Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(102)

The answer was an unfortunate one for her…

No.

She sighed softly. “Let’s do it.”

Flexing her fingers quickly before the warlocks entered, she opened the channel to her mind for Tzader and Quinn.

The immediate synergy that shot between the three of them sparked the air with combined power. She flagged physically for a couple seconds, experiencing how drained the other two were, then she focused only on sending energy to them.

You got some screamin’ optics, babe, Tzader’s voice whispered in her mind.

And her vision isn’t her only asset, Quinn muttered through her thoughts like a warm flood of fine whiskey.

If she wasn’t so concerned over the threat entering as soon as the wall disappeared she’d have smiled at the flirt.

Don’t move until I give the signal. Tzader gave that order with enough heat to let everyone know he was in no mood to joke.

Guess we’ll allow him to lead this one, eh? Quinn’s sarcasm took the edge off Evalle’s anxiety and filled her with a flush of confidence.

She glanced over at the rogue and winked then sent them a message. I’ll wait for the word to attack, but let them unshackle me before you do anything if you want the full force of my power.

Tzader gave a curt nod of his head.

Quinn lifted a finger in acknowledgment.

The wall cleared. Four warlocks in swirling gray robes with no hoods carried torches into the room, all headed for Evalle. Without her shades on, she squinted to be able to see in what for her eyes was brilliant light.

A serpent tattoo wrapped their thick necks then swept around each bald head until the pointed tip of the viper’s head stopped at the bridge above the warlocks’ wide noses. Yellow-orange eyes with narrow black diamond centers glowed brightly above their smooth cheeks. When one warlock stood in front of each of her arms, they chanted in unison, releasing the shackles.

She dropped to the floor.

One of the other two warlocks extended his hand, not touching her. His fingers kinetically circled her throat and lifted her off the dirt floor.

She fought to breathe. Tzader? What the hell are you waiting on?

“She is secure, Priestess,” the warlock choking Evalle called out in a loud voice.

Kizira appeared at the entrance, her face stoic.

Quinn answered Evalle. Tzader was waiting on Kizira to enter. I’ll deal with her.

Kizira closed her eyes and held her hands in front of her with the palms turned up. Her eyes glowed yellow. She began murmuring foreign words that sounded ancient and deadly.

Now, Evalle, Tzader roared in her mind.

Evalle willed herself into battle form, a minimal physical change all Beladors were approved to use when engaging with an enemy. She tightened her fingers into fists. Spiked cartilage raised along the length of her arms. Power surged throughout her, expanding muscle tissue and driving her adrenaline to a volcanic level.

She gripped both hands around the invisible arm holding her and bared her teeth. “You’re dying first, just to kick this party off on a high note.”

The blunt-nosed warlock smiled and squeezed tighter, drawing tears to her eyes.

Using her kinetic ability, she knocked the torches into the dirt, killing the flames. The warlocks howled in anger.

She shouted Ready? to the Beladors.

Tzader and Quinn broke free of their shackles, drawing the other three warlocks around to face them.

Battle screams ricocheted off the walls, gathering force like the wail of a banshee.

Pulling in opposite directions with each hand, Evalle snapped the force holding her throat. The warlock screamed in agony, his arm falling uselessly to his side. Released from his power, Evalle dropped to the dirt floor. Blunt-nose snarled with pain and dove at her. She shoved her hands up, palms out, blocking him with shield of power. He bounced back, falling to the ground.

Kizira swayed, caught in a deep trance.

Evalle stomped each foot and silver spikes with razor-sharp tips shot out from around the boot soles. She took a step toward Tzader who fought two warlocks.

Quinn snapped the neck of the Medb he battled, tossing the body aside quicker than yesterday’s trash then snatching one of Tzader’s opponents away.

The warlock Evalle had knocked out gained his feet. He charged her, his mouth opening wide to release demonic curses on a stream of black breath.

She spun, whipping her boot high, the lethal tips slicing his neck like a buzzsaw. Purple liquid bubbled from the mortal wound, filling the air with a soured orange stench. Evalle whipped her boot up again in a crosskick. The warlock’s head flew off sideways, hitting Kizira in the chest. That jolted the priestess out of her trance. Her glazed eyes started clearing.

Oops.

Evalle swung back to the fight, but she couldn’t jump in kicking and risk killing the Beladors who now fought the only two warlocks still alive. Of the two dead, one lay facedown on his chest with his head spun around to stare at the ceiling.

Tzader battled a warlock armed with a three-pronged sword he hadn’t possessed a moment ago.

Quinn blasted the fourth warlock backward with a shot of energy, then produced three Celtic Triquetra with jagged blades and threw them with deadly accuracy. The blades struck the warlock in his throat, heart, and eyes, killing him instantly.

“Not my brother! No!” Kizira screamed. She looked at Quinn, her agonized face a mix of shock and betrayal. When the priestess lifted her hands at Quinn, Evalle dove at her.