Loved (House of Night Other World #1)(73)

“All right, let’s do this.”

With military precision, the men moved out. We didn’t use the elevator. We made our way quietly down the two stories to the door that opened to the lobby. Then we moved across the gorgeous space to another side door that opened to a drastically different-looking Philtower, morphing from Gothic and ornate to industrial and rather boring in the space of just a few feet.

“Okay, this is where you wait,” Stark told me.

“Brownston, stay with the High Priestess,” Marx ordered one of the men holding a flamethrower. “Be sure nothing gets to her.”

“Will do, detective,” Brownston said.

“And you back him up,” Stark told Shaunee.

“No problemo. Z will be fine,” Shaunee said.

“Leave that door open,” I said. “I want to hear what’s going on down there.”

Stark nodded. The men moved silently down the first set of stairs. I heard Marx speaking quietly into his radio.

“On my mark counting down. Going at one. Starting—now. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two—engage!”

I paced while Shaunee and Brownston took positions near the open door.

Except for muffled footfalls, there were no sounds at first. Then there was what seemed like a forever pause, followed by the groaning of old hinges swinging open.

And then it was chaos.

“Red vampyres inside the tunnel! This is the Tulsa Police Department and the Sons of Erebus Warriors from the Tulsa House of Night. You have trespassed on a world not your own. You are trapped. We have flamethrowers and rifles trained on you. Adult vampyres—come out slowly with your hands open and raised. If you surrender, you will not be harmed. This is your only opportunity to save yourselves.”

Marx’s voice echoed up from the basement.

“Engage! Engage! Engage!” a voice shouted—one that seemed weirdly familiar to me, and I wondered briefly if some other vampyre who doesn’t exist here anymore might have slipped from their world into ours.

Then I didn’t have time to wonder about anything. Deafening shots echoed against the carved walls, filling my ears with ringing that almost, but not quite, covered the screams and curses of the men below us.

“No flamethrowers!” I distinctly heard Stark’s shout. “You’ll fry the fledglings!”

That had me running for the open door. Shaunee caught me as Brownston blocked the way to the basement with his body.

There were more shots—and more screams.

Then Stark again. “What the hell?” A pause. “They’re getting away!”

And shoes pounded against tile as Stark surged through the open door.

“What’s happening?” I shouted.

“They opened the door! They’re in the Philcade! Brownston, come with me! Shaunee, stay here with Z!” The men sprinted to the door.

Shaunee looked at me.

“No, we will damn well not stay here,” I said.

“Yaasss!” Shaunee said with a grin that was really just bared teeth.

We ran after the two men.

Moments ahead of us, Stark shoved open the doors to explode out onto a deserted, whitewashed street. He ducked his head and pulled his hoodie down over his face as he raced across the street to the Philcade with Brownston beside him.

The building was locked. Stark grabbed the flamethrower and hurled the butt end of it against the glass-fronted doors. They shattered and he reached in to yank open the door before disappearing into the T-shaped lobby.

“Go back!” Stark glared at me as Shaunee and I caught up with them.

“No!”

“This way!” Marx blew past me, rifle in his hand, pointing to his left. The five of us sprinted over the sleek marble floors, running past beautifully veined columns that held up the gold-leaf domed ceiling.

The men were ahead of me as I rounded the corner that fed into the decorative entrance to the tunnel system.

“Halt! If you do not stop, we will shoot!” Marx shouted.

I saw him lift his rifle and aim at the same instant Brownston flipped the safety off the flamethrower, and Stark, who was suddenly at my side, notched an arrow in his bow.

A long, evil hiss pulled my gaze to the end of the hall as the group of red vampyres, fangs bared, hands lifted like claws, and eyes glowing the red of old blood, converged on us.

“Steady. Fire as soon as they’re in range,” Marx told Stark and Brownston.

From the corner of my eye I saw Shaunee drawing deep breaths to center herself, and I knew she was evoking her element.

My gaze flickered to the group of red-eyed demons closing on us—and all the breath left my body.

Leading the group—eyes glowing red, fangs bared, full adult tattoo blazing scarlet against his skin—was my little brother.

“Ready, fi—”

“No!” I screamed, plowing my shoulder against Stark so hard that he fell against Marx. Stark lost his grip on his bow and almost dropped it. Marx’s rifle wavered. “Don’t shoot!” I yelled at him.

“Detective?” Brownston said, backing away with his finger on the trigger of the flamethrower.

At the same instant, Marx and I shouted together:

“Fire!”

“That’s my brother!”

I heard Shaunee’s shocked intake of breath, and then she moved with blurring speed to stand between the flamethrower and Kevin. The flamethrower engaged with a nauseating clicking sound. Shaunee lifted her hands, palms out. The tongue of flame simply licked against them harmlessly. She twisted her wrists, aiming her palms up, and the flame ricocheted off them to blast the ceiling.