Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)(103)

Trey cut his eyes at the Hindu warrior who was obviously using the stone to control her, and going to die painfully if he didn’t let her go. He had to get that damn rock.

Vyan turned back to Trey. “You see? I may take her as my own unless Batuk chooses her as his new queen. A witch might better survive the demands of a mighty warrior than the women he’s had in the past.”

Trey’s heartbeat pounded into high gear. Not a smart move when it would only deplete his strength faster, but his control slipped farther away with every poisoned word from Vyan’s lips. Trey struggled to hold back in order to prevent a war.

“Watch, Belador. She wants me,” Vyan taunted then turned to Sasha who was still twenty feet away. He lifted the rock from his pocket. She began walking toward the Hindu, who raised his sword, pointing it at Sasha’s abdomen. “Better yet, watch as she walks into the sword and dies without me striking her. Then I will take her sister, the stronger witch who Ekkbar controls.”

When Sasha continued to move toward the sword, Trey lost the ability to think rationally. He lunged at Vyan who shoved the rock into his pocket and blocked Trey with a swing of his thick forearm. Trey stumbled, caught his balance, and shook his head, relieved to see her stop walking. He’d never wanted Sasha to see him in combat, because of what he turned into. But she wasn’t cognizant of anything at the moment and his powers were dwindling with each tick of the clock.

Vyan sprinted forward. When Trey would have hit him with a full body slam, the Hindu flipped up in the air, legs churning as he spun over Trey who swung to see the fighter land surefooted. Cramps hit Trey in his midsection. He gritted his teeth against the pain and roared, calling forth his warrior form.

Bones cracked, lengthening. Muscles flexed and pumped, growing his thick body even larger. His hands curved, fingers expanding into thick digits as hard as tempered steel, the sharp tips flashing with electricity.

Vyan shouted in his native tongue. Lightning struck around them, bursting craters the size of a sink in the ground. He tossed off his jacket and wielded his sword. Sparks crackled along the razor edge. He came at Trey, who spun, deflecting the sword. But the Hindu was quick and strong. He swung the weapon with blinding speed.

Trey charged forward. Vyan sliced the air with the sword, turning it flat as he brought the blade shoulder high . . . to take off a man’s head. Shoving a hand up, Trey caught the brunt of the attack with his steel fingers. The blade skipped off and sliced him across the chest.

The cut was not deep enough to damage muscle, but his increased heart rate pumped blood furiously through the wound.

“Noooo!” He turned at Sasha’s scream. Her eyes were clear and terrified. She struggled to move her legs as if her feet had been anchored to the ground.

“Get out of here, Sasha!”

“She can’t.”

Trey wheeled back around to the grinning warrior and lost any compassion he might have felt at one time for this man’s losses.

“Aid him and I will make his death very slow and painful,” Vyan warned her then turned to Trey. “And if you make a move toward her, she goes up in flames.”

Thunder vibrated the ground beneath Trey’s boots. Pain stabbed his thighs and neck. He was running out of time. Trey fisted his hands, the tips digging into his palms. He stretched his neck and rocked his shoulders back and forth, pumping his forearms. A guttural noise clawed up the inside of his chest and burst out, firing the air around him into a hot blast.

Vyan came at him, slicing that wicked blade with deft efficiency. He turned the blade sideways at the last minute and slammed Trey in the head, knocking him ten feet in the air, bouncing his head on the concrete. The goggles flew from his eyes, yanked away by an unseen force. He rolled face-first into a puddle of water. Mud splattered his eyes. Muscles kinked in his arms. His body began shrinking back to his normal size.

Death crooned to him, offering a quick end to the pain racking his muscles. His chest burned from the gash. Every breath became harder to draw.

Sasha screamed, “Don’t you dare die!”

Trey shook his head and opened his eyes to the rain that washed his vision clear. He shoved himself up to his knees, wet hair slapping his face when he lifted his eyes to the Hindu warrior.

“Rise, Belador. I will not kill a man on his knees.”

Trey clenched his teeth to contain the scream of pain that shot up his legs as he struggled to his feet. His gaze wavered to where Sasha stood with arms wrapped around her middle, shivering, her beautiful face contorted in agony, crying. He could not fail her.

He took a rasping breath and turned toward Vyan, drawing on what minimal power he had left to attack. But when he stepped forward, his legs almost buckled.

Vyan reacted swiftly, lifting the sword high in an arc intended to strike Trey in the center of his head and split his upper body in half.

The sword began the long descent with Trey powerless to stop the inevitable. Inches from his skull, Vyan went flying backward, landing against a tree and hitting the ground.

Trey stared in shock. What the hell had happened?

Then he felt the presence of another supernatural, more than one. Out of the black sheets of rain slashing through the park, three images took shape. Two men and a female. The men were Beladors he’d fought beside before—Tzader Burke and Quinn Vladimir. The woman stood an easy six feet tall . . . and was an Alterant, a mix of Belador and some other species.