The Lycan Rebirth (The Flux Age Book 3) (11 page)

Florence looked at Julian, whose face had gone white. There was nothing to say, really. The arachne were brutal but effective, especially here on their home terrain.

But the battle wouldn’t be as simple as the opening salvo. Several aquilan were killed by the spider silk volleys, but the aquilans bravely risked further attack by hovering over the canopy and firing into the gaps. Florence saw spider ichor splatter over the edge of the north platform and knew the corrosion spiders were getting hammered. She couldn’t stay put any longer. Too many spiders were going to die if the lycans couldn’t get involved somehow.

“Come with me,” she told her trainees as she clambered up the north slope. “Find a place to hide, Emmaline!”

She regretted leaving the diviner behind but when a battle called Florence always found it hard to resist. She led her willing trainees up the rocky slope and threw herself to the ground as a trail of bullets spat its way across the dirt. Narrowly avoiding the lethal silver bullets, Florence bounced to her feet and bolted across the rock bridge that joined to the north platform. It was a huge granite slab and she was shocked to see it was slick with spider ichor. Every single corrosion spider had been shredded by bullets. Worse still, teams of aquila were now descending to the platform. Wave upon wave of eagle wearing bronze body armor. Many of them opened fire on the vulnerable orb spiders on their webs. The beautiful orange spiders were struck by a torrent of bullets. The webbing that spanned the hollow was incredibly strong, but couldn’t withstand such a barrage indefinitely. One by one the orb spiders fell to their deaths at the bottom of the hollow.

There was no time to hesitate. Florence rushed forward, hoping like hell her trainees followed. The first course of action seemed simple enough. Howling a feral war cry, Florence bowled over three aquilans by the time she’d made it through their ranks. Wilson, Miss Garvey and Julian also caused havoc as they pushed their way through. Now that the eagles had close quarter assailants among their ranks, most of the imposing warriors drew long, silver swords.

“Stay away from the blades,” Florence warned as two aquilans circled to attack. She dodged left as a blade came swinging down, then plunged her claws into the bronze breastplate of the closest attacker. Yanking on the armor savagely, she almost dislodged it. With her free hand she swiped at the aquilan’s face and open two bloody gouges in the woman’s cheek. The aquilan sank to her knees, momentarily dazed, but before Florence could deliver a killing blow the second aquilan pressed close, swinging his sword wildly.

Florence jumped high over the low-swinging blade and grabbed hold of the warrior’s wrist. A simple nerve squeeze was enough to encourage the man to drop his sword. Florence followed with a kick to the ribs. Under normal circumstances a broze chestplate would easily counter a front kick, but this aquilan happened to be up against an enraged werewolf. The breastplate closed in over the man’s ribs and impeded his breathing. Florence turned to the first aquilan, who had now recovered herself and was preparing for another sword attack. Her vision was affected by the blood tricking over her eyebrow. Florence sought to press home this advantage, sidestepping the blade and clawing at the woman’s face a second time. Scarlet blood poured into both eyes and the woman took a step back in a panicked response. Bad move. Florence was already flanking the woman from behind and calmly tore her wings free with a grunt. As the aquilan slumped to the rock, Florence kicked her sword free, leaped over the body and circled the male enemy. He was protecting his ribs with one hand, meaning his defensive stance had been compromised. Florence ducked underneath his clumsy attack and ripped the breastplate free. Punching the warrior in the ribs repeatedly, Florence felt bone crack and knew her job was almost done.

The aquilan fell to the ground, his breathing ragged. Florence bent low and removed his wings with a flourish. She was about to turn and check on the female when she felt a sharp pain lance through her side. It was the female aquilan, clearly dying from her mortal wound but not quickly enough. The warrior had removed a silver dagger from a thigh scabbard and plunged it into Florence’s tawny fur.

In a starburst of panic Florence realized she was probably dead. She collapsed to the rock as if she’d been hit by a truck. She couldn’t control her limbs, such was the pain her mind was dealing with. She wondered if an internal organ had been lanced by the silver weapon. If that had occurred, she was done for. She’d never known why silver was kryptonite to a lycan, only that it was. The concept had always been an abstract classroom theory, well documented over the centuries but inadequately explained. Right then Florence was experiencing first hand how deadly silver could be to a lycan. All she could do was haul herself to the edge of the battle and wait for death to come.

Oddly, her senses remained as sharp as ever as she lay panting on the rock. She felt like she had left her body and enjoyed a commanding, almost peaceful view of the melee.

She noticed Julian grappling with a male warrior a few yards away. Her lover noticed that she was injured and seemingly found an extra reserve of strength. He wrested the sword from his opponent and cut savagely at the man’s leg. The aquilan toppled to the ground and Julian wasted no time in removing his wings.

Florence surveyed the wider battle. Wilson and Miss Garvey were locked in a desperate tussle, facing foes on all sides. More aquilan reinforcements dropped from the canopy and Florence wondered if there would be any spider forces to match them. Judging from the number of aquilans dropping to the bottom of the hollow, the spider ranks were probably pinned to the ground. For a horrible moment Florence pondered the nightmarish prospect of losing the battle and being executed by the aquila. The most frustrating thing was lying on the edge of battle and being unable to move. She saw a large aquilan drop to the platform and drew her breath in sharply.
Hector Caliri
.

“He’s mine,” she found herself saying, realizing how stupid it sounded from her position. It was a reflex action, a manifestation of her hatred of the man who had engineered the lycan slaughter.

Already the aquilan leader was swinging his sword with abandon, confident no lycan could get near his pristine armor. The sword glowed hungrily, as if sensing lycan blood. Hector laughed outright as he penetrated Wilson’s defenses and struck him on the temple with his sword pommel. The trainee collapsed like a rag doll and Florence feared he was dead. Hector saw Florence lying on the hard stone and his eyes took on a sinister gleam. He strode toward Florence, his heavy boots thudding ominously on the granite. A pair of black furry feet filled Florence’s vision - Miss Garvey was now standing between her and an appointment with death. Hector engaged the plucky werewolf and was forced to block a few times before cutting brutally across Garvey’s midriff. The wound wasn’t deep but began suppurating immediately. The trainee looked at Florence in shock before falling backwards. Her head cracked loudly against the stone and Florence was certain she’d lost yet another friend.

Hector grinned at Florence and held his sword high.

“The lycans have breathed their last,” he murmured arrogantly. He swung the sword down for the killing blow and Florence made a point of looking Hector straight in the eye - but instead of the wet sound of sundered flesh, the abrasive clang of metal on metal reverberated in the werewolf’s ears.

Julian had blocked Hector’s blow with a sword from one of the fallen aquila. Florence watched her man flick Hector’s sword away and saunter out into the middle of the rock platform. Hector smiled again and joined him.

“Okay,” the aquilan leader said softly. “She can wait just fine.”

The men squared off with each other, circling slowly.

“How’s that wing of yours, Banes?” Hector crowed. “Just imagine, the first aquilan cripple.”

Julian said nothing, leveling a steely gaze at his foe.

“You should thank me for this,” Hector said. “What use is a crippled aquilan to anyone?”

Julian maintained admirable discipline, which probably saved his life as Hector made a lightning lunge suddenly. Any lesser swordsman might have been skewered, but Julian turned Hector’s sword aside and resumed his stance. The man had clearly been well schooled in the ancient art of swordplay.

Hector made attack after attack but was repelled each time by Julian’s excellent defense. Just as Hector’s blows became a little more ragged, Julian began counter-attacking. Most of the young aquilan’s blows glanced off Hector’s breastplate and did no damage. Julian completed a flurry of blows and paused as if he was tired.

“Looks like running off with that bitch has dulled your edge, Banes,” Hector drawled. “I think it’s time we finished this.”

And with that, Hector twirled around and swung his sword so powerfully that Julian couldn’t hope to defend against it. But the younger man wasn’t there. Anticipating Hector’s killing move, Julian had pressed himself flat on the stone. In the split second it took for Hector to realize his mistake Julian had risen like a murderous tide, pushing his sword through Hector’s throat. The aquilan champion’s eyes went wide as blood spurted from his mouth. Incredibly, Hector pulled himself along the sword, drawing so close to an astonished Julian that he was able to run his glowing sword through the younger man’s torso. Both men fell together, joined by steel and blood.

His face a mask of pain, Julian was able to reach over and peel away one of Hector’s wings. A clear, viscous fluid joined the blood on the stone.

Through sheer, bloody-minded will, Hector pushed Julian’s head to one side with one hand and and tore at his wings with another. With amazing strength the older aquilan tore away a section of Julian’s wing at the base. “No!” Florence cried, sure that her own heart had stopped beating. “Not Julian!”

Before she knew what she was doing Florence was crawling across the stone and laying her arms across her lover’s motionless body.

“He was mine!” she wailed to no one in particular, not caring what tumbled from her mouth. “He had no one else!”

As Florence descended into a hellish sea of grief, she was vaguely aware of a sickening patter. Hundreds of spider’s legs on the stone, but she knew a million could never be enough to bring Julian back to her.

8

Rocky Mountains, USA

Like most living creatures, the naturebound had strong protective instincts. Many of them had children and were understandably concerned about the future.

Jack had successfully convinced the naturebound that life in the Rockies, so deep in the shadow of the aquila, was not the kind of life a child deserved. Which meant the brash werewolf now had hundreds of refugees on his hands. A good thing he knew a place that might possibly house them. Only problem was, it was in a city preparing for battle. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Of course, Jack was now flying high on the message Yasmin had sent him. It was a bolt from the blue and exactly what he needed, even if it meant there was serious trouble brewing in his home city of New York. The only question now was how to get all these naturebound folk to New York without arousing suspicion? Thankfully there seemed to be less aquilan activity over the last two days. Jack wondered whether aqulian forces had been mobilized against Florence, if she was still alive. He itched to contact her but in the end made the hard decision to hold back. If his comrade was under attack, or indeed on the run, the last thing she needed was someone to give her position away. No, the one thing Jack knew for sure was that Yasmin was in New York and that’s where he needed to be.

The first task was to hike out from the Rockies with the naturebound. Thankfully, these folk were hardy and traveled light. Within a day and a half the entire community had reached the outskirts of Stelton, a small town on the eastern fringe of the Rockies. From there it was a relatively simple matter of booking several buses to ferry the naturebound to New York.

Even though Jack was on high alert, there were a number of factors in their favor. First, no one could reasonably expect him to show up in New York alongside hundreds of naturebound. Second, these folk spent most of their time in human form, reducing the chance of drawing attention. Finally, most enemy eyes in New York would now be focused on the attack that would soon take place. Jack hoped to cruise into town largely unnoticed.

New York City, USA

The bus convoy was a little tricky but ultimately uneventful. Jack found that some folk needed extra reassurance that what they were doing was right for them. Doc Oaks and Nate Fincher both played their part in maintaining solid morale. Jack was initially surprised that Nate had made the trip, but was slowly discovering that despite his many flaws, the burly bear shifter had his people’s best interests at heart.

Jack had the buses run all night, paying extra for relief drivers. His emergency funds account was still intact and he was happy to spend large on this enterprise. The convoy rolled into New Jersey as the eastern sky was flooded with pink and orange.

Jack had the drivers stop at the Newark Penn Station and hustled everyone onto an early morning city train. At the New York Penn Station he had everyone alight, which was no easy task for folks who had never been on a train before.

Gathering the naturebound together, he used his master lycan key to descend deeper into the subterranean tunnels under New York. It wasn’t until he reached the expansive ocean tunnel that he dared believe they had reached the timeless sanctuary of his youth. All the familiar faces of the tunnel, all the homeless men and women that acted as a front line of defense for the lycans, were nowhere to be seen. Still, it was gratifying to hear the excited murmur of the naturebound as they ventured into the remarkable space.