Read Surrender to Darkness Online
Authors: Annette McCleave
Surrender to Darkness (5 page)
Sora’s gaze found hers as he accepted the brimming teacup. “Did you share some of your own energy, as I taught you to do when healing?”
“No.” She forced a swallow of tea down her tight throat. She had not attempted that maneuver since she’d stumbled upon the crumpled figure of her father in the office garage, severely burned and near death. “I have no energy to spare—you know that.”
“Then how do we explain the man’s sudden ferocity?”
Kiyoko shook her head. “He already had the power, dormant within each cell of his body. My touch released it, though I know not how.” Which was true, but only half the story. Explaining the rush of arousal that had preceded Murdoch’s descent into fury was a little awkward. Tiny ripples of sweet desire still washed over her from time to time.
“Dormant power,” repeated Sora thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I’ve seen descriptions of something similar, but I cannot recall where. I will have to consult my journals to investigate.”
Having shared her every thought with Sora since agreeing to study under him twelve years ago, Kiyoko felt compelled to add, “A jolt of energy shot from his body into mine. I can feel the remnants even now.”
“Yes,” Sora said. “I saw it enhance your auras immediately.”
“Do you think this meeting is significant?”
“Well, it does explain the forceful description of the man I divined entering your life, doesn’t it? As to what impact he will have on your future, that remains to be seen. Perhaps it was a solitary alignment of events, never to be repeated.” He sipped his tea.
“Or?”
“Or perhaps it is the answer to your prayers. If Murdoch-san indeed contains a rare power within his body, you may be able to leverage it … rekindle your ki and gain the strength to transcend.”
“We’ll never know the truth if he leaves Japan,” Kiyoko said slowly, excitement stirring in her belly. The thought of seeing Murdoch again was very appealing.
“True.”
Kiyoko stood and walked over to the open window. Darkness masked the palette of November browns that painted the valley, but gave a surreal glow to the moonlit river below. “Then we should invite Murdoch-san to the dojo. I’ll send Yoshio and eight of our best warriors to accompany him.”
Sora smiled. “I hope that’s enough.”
Murdoch closed the door to the shower stall with a crisp snap.
What a bloody awful night. He’d lost track of Kiyoko Ashida, drawn far too much public attention, and racked up a whopping bill at the restaurant that he had no spare funds to pay. It could have been worse, though. Had the two warriors not hobbled away at the first bleat of sirens in the distance, he might have kept fighting until the police showed up.
Killing cops would have brought him to a new low.
Hands braced on either side of the white ceramic sink, he peered at his face in the foggy bathroom mirror. Not a scratch on him. Not a bruise or a strained muscle anywhere on his body.
Unfortunately, his two opponents couldn’t say the same. Both had left with a collection of injuries ranging in severity from a gut wound to a broken limb. Exceptionally nimble, they’d lasted longer than most, but judging by the way their feet had begun to drag, their destinies had been about to meet the cold hard ground. Given that their only crime had been protecting a young, defenseless woman, that knowledge didn’t sit well.
What the hell had happened?
Sure, his berserker was a tad unruly and taming the beast was a constant battle, but tonight it had beaten him senseless. He’d lost complete control, much as if he’d been thrust into a situation with overwhelmingly poor odds and his berserker had burst free in a last-ditch attempt to survive. But against two puny humans, such a severe reaction didn’t make any sense.
He rubbed his bare chest with a rough hand.
The minutes following his descent into full-on berserker rage were a blur of battle moves. But his memory of the moment just before he sank beneath the waves remained clear as spring water:
The accidental touch of Kiyoko Ashida’s hand.
The sultry hot brush of skin against skin, the sweet burn of desire in his veins, the sudden and very urgent need to possess her.
The accidental touch of Kiyoko Ashida’s hand.
The sultry hot brush of skin against skin, the sweet burn of desire in his veins, the sudden and very urgent need to possess her.
In seven hundred years of existence, he’d encountered every type of woman imaginable and enjoyed every delicious facet of physical desire. Hell, he’d long ago lost count of the number of women he’d tupped. But the craving that had risen up inside him tonight could barely be described as desire. It was more like … mindless frenzy. He’d wanted Kiyoko so badly that his knees had gone weak and his wits had fried. Tossing her over his shoulder and absconding with her had seemed a perfectly rational notion.
Not that rational thought had prevailed. No. Primitive instinct had taken over.
And that had left the door wide-open for his berserker.
Murdoch spun on his heel and returned to the main living area of the hotel room. The room was comfortably large, with a modern king-sized bed and plenty of space to move around. But the hotel’s ample hospitality was diminished by the nine black-robed men who waited outside the bathroom door, swords strapped to their sides.
Any other man dressed in nothing but a towel, with sopping-wet hair hanging to his shoulders and his weapon lying useless on the bed, might have felt intimidated. Murdoch had to squelch a bubble of satisfaction.
Nine was much more of a fair fight than two.
3
U
nfortunately, killing nine of her men would not endear him to Kiyoko Ashida. And she was all that mattered right now. Murdoch’s gaze roamed the faces of the men, seeking the leader. It took a moment to identify the lad in the sea of stoic expressions, but the firmness of one man’s stare gave him away.
nfortunately, killing nine of her men would not endear him to Kiyoko Ashida. And she was all that mattered right now. Murdoch’s gaze roamed the faces of the men, seeking the leader. It took a moment to identify the lad in the sea of stoic expressions, but the firmness of one man’s stare gave him away.
“Is this an invitation?” he asked pleasantly.
The warrior nodded. “Ashida-san requests your presence.”
“Really? So that grand exit she made a couple of hours ago was just for show?”
The young warrior responded with silence. A clearly disapproving silence.
“And where will this meeting take place?” Murdoch asked.
More silence.
Not the chatty sort, apparently. And too arrogant by half. Good thing for this bunch that going along for the ride served his purpose, else he might have been tempted to pummel a few heads just to soothe his pride.
Murdoch brushed past the lead warrior and strode to the bed. Unzipping his heavy canvas backpack, he dug for some clean clothes. White T-shirt, black jeans. Same as always. He whipped off the towel with a complete lack of modesty and proceeded to dress. With the last buckle on his boots fastened and his shoulders encased in his bomber jacket, he snatched his sword off the bed. Daring his new friends to object, he waved a hand at the door.
“All right, lads. Let’s find out what Miss Ashida has in store for me, shall we?”
Although it was only a routine demon roust, Emily followed Brian’s instructions to the letter. Trouble could happen in San Francisco as easily as anywhere else. She waited until her watch said 2:15, then entered the deserted warehouse through the side door. Lafleur and Hill were on her heels.
The dark ooze of demons swallowed her almost immediately. Not a literal ooze, of course. A mental one. After a year and a half of battling demons, her senses had become attuned to their creepy essence, and she could find them even with her eyes closed.
But when entering a nest of havoc demons, it was best to keep your eyes open. Avoiding the broken glass and metal bits littering the floor, Emily slid silently along a partition wall and under the sagging pipes of an old duct system, her sword in her hand. The nest was in the furnace room in the basement, but a havoc demon could pop upstairs at any moment and blow the place sky-high.
Forming a nest allowed the demons to pool their energy and remain on the middle plane indefinitely. Using the nest like a staging area, the hellspawn could launch much longer and more vicious attacks. Which was why destroying them was a high priority.
Em reached the door to the basement at the same time Brian arrived from the front of the building. He wore his usual demon-hunting attire—designer jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of badly scuffed Nike sneakers. His girlfriend, Lena, stood behind him, looking fierce with her tightly bound hair and vigilant stance.
Twelve,
Em mouthed to Brian. An even dozen demons.
Em mouthed to Brian. An even dozen demons.
He nodded, then tugged the door open and skipped down the stairs, two at a time. The rest of them followed.
The rectangular room was dimly lit. Only one sputtering candle stood in the center of the pentagram painted on the floor. Stuffing-challenged cushions and piles of fast-food wrappers rimmed the outer circle, crediting the summoning to juvenile delinquents.
Emily rolled her eyes.
Giving teens everywhere a bad name.
Giving teens everywhere a bad name.
Empty crates and a collection of old janitorial supplies were stacked against the longest wall. In the far west corner of the room, where the shadows were deeper and darker, a gray knot of writhing limbs obscured the unpainted cement and rickety shelving.
The nest.
Taking the lead, Brian dove at the softly humming dark mass, his blade slicing through the air with ruthless intent. He cut through the shield around the demons, creating a long, thin rift in the protective bubble and exposing them to the open atmosphere. Immediately, the babble escalated into a crescendo of howls and twelve demons swooped out into the room, their agile, winged bodies diving at the Soul Gatherers.
Em ducked.
The trick to defeating a havoc is never to let it grab you.
Which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Havocs were almost invisible. Only a faint outline of their bodies showed up, and even that appeared as a shimmery, transparent flicker. If you weren’t quick, they had a nasty habit of digging their claws into your clothing, increasing their hum to a fever pitch, and exploding. All in the space of a few seconds.
Em closed her eyes and let her senses find the demons.
In her mind, she swiftly identified the twelve patches of putrid ooze that represented the demons, separating them from the brilliant white light pulsing at the core of each Gatherer. Then she attacked.
Her sword was short and light, specially designed to suit her teenaged body. She let instinct guide its swing, and with a soft swoosh of air, struck one of the havocs accurately in the throat, killing it instantly. As demon gore slid down the blade, the steel brightened with green luminescence and vibrated with the pent-up energy of a demon blood enhancement spell.
Em dodged an incoming demon, pivoted smoothly, and thrust the blade into the belly of another of the creatures. The move took her a shade too close to the tip of Brian’s sword, and she felt the cold steel slice into her arm.
He swore.
She ignored the wound and dove at yet another prey.
With six Gatherers fighting alongside her, each of them a seasoned warrior with immortal strength and dazzling speed, the battle did not last long. In no time at all, twelve bodies were heaped atop the pentagram and sprinkled with holy water from Lena’s purse.
“Time to call in the cleanup crew,” Em said with a satisfied grin.
Brian lifted his gaze from the demon carcasses. “You take too many risks, Emily. Do you really need to fight with your eyes closed?”
“Sorry. I know it sounds weird, but closing my eyes helps me see them. I didn’t mean to spin so close to you.” Glancing at the bleeding wound on her arm, she willed it to mend. The flesh instantly knitted, leaving only healthy pink skin. “All better.”
“
All
will only be better when I don’t have to send a fifteen-year-old into a nest of demons,” he said grimly.
All
will only be better when I don’t have to send a fifteen-year-old into a nest of demons,” he said grimly.
“I’m going to be sixteen in a couple of weeks. Practically an adult. I’ll be able to get my driver’s license.”
He grunted. “Don’t remind me.”
A flash of blue electricity forked through the attic, grounding against a folded metal chair and the blades of a rusty fan. The air dried and the sharp scent of lemons filled Em’s nose. A second later there was a pop, and a handsome young man with long brown curls and a loose skater-boy outfit appeared out of nowhere.
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