The Curse (Belador #3)(10)
In the face of a threat, Quinn could kill an enemy without hesitation or remorse, but he still suffered when forced to destroy the mind of any living thing, even a dangerous beast. But he would do whatever it took to protect those he cared for, and that’s what Evalle kept telling herself—he did care about her.
That’s why she’d suffered this sick ball of guilt in the pit of her stomach for the past three weeks.
She hated the seed of doubt that Kizira—a Medb witch priestess Quinn had history with—had planted in Evalle’s mind about him. How could she question one of her two best friends in the world?
Her heart knew better than to believe a lying Medb, the most dangerous enemy of the Beladors, but Kizira had produced evidence that Evalle couldn’t easily dismiss.
With bodies scattered across the landscape, that conversation with Quinn would have to wait. She told him, “Thanks.”
Tzader issued orders, pointing at several Beladors as he did. “You five form a perimeter around this area to keep any other humans from coming in while we wait on additional VIPER assets to arrive for cleanup.” He turned to three more, nodding toward the battlefield. “Get a head count of humans and find out if any of them realized what was going on over here. We need ambulances for injuries.”
Devon spoke up. “Hate to tell ya, but three humans did see the Rías shift and attack. Two of ’em passed out from shock. Third one pissed himself. I gave him a tap to put him to sleep. We’ve got those three pulled away from the other humans. Any chance that hot Sterling witch is nearby? She could help us out by altering the memories of a few minds.”
“Adrianna’s still on leave,” Tzader answered. “Supposed to be back tomorrow.”
Evalle just realized she hadn’t seen the Sterling witch in the past three weeks either. No loss in my world. Men acted stupid when Adrianna showed up with her designer clothes, angel-face makeup and red pouty lips, especially now that her bobbed blond hair had grown halfway to her waist practically overnight.
I hope she stays on leave … finds a new profession … gets kidnapped by aliens …
Devon’s gaze roamed over the bloody field that darkness thankfully shielded from any curious humans. “Guess that leaves us with calling in Sen.”
Of course they’d have to call in Sen, the one person Evalle could go the rest of her life without ever seeing again. She kicked the dead troll. “Thanks.” Not meaning it one bit. “This day just gets better all the time.”
Her shove caused the troll’s head to rock from one side to the other and his arm to slide off his chest. An odd burn scar on the inside of his forearm looked intentional, something like a gang insignia.
Tzader looked down, doing a double take on her lobotomy kill. “What the hell?”
She arched an eyebrow at Tzader. How did he get away with cursing? Brina hated foul language. Their warrior queen never left her castle except as a hologram, but she had the ability to reach out kinetically to touch someone if she chose and always seemed to know when a curse slipped out of Evalle’s mouth.
“Bloody hell,” Quinn muttered.
What was so awful for Mr. Proper to curse, too?
Then Devon jumped in. “That’s bad.”
She didn’t see what they were making a big deal out of. Okay, the top third of the thing’s head was missing.
Looking from Quinn to Tzader, Evalle said, “What? I know he’ll be hard to identify without all of his head, but that couldn’t be avoided. And those tats on his face have to mean something.”
“They do,” Devon confirmed, sighing. “So does that runic S burned into his arm. Identifying him isn’t the problem.”
“If you know who he is, what’s the issue?” she asked.
Tzader ran a hand over his bald head, wiping sweat off. “That’s not just any troll. It’s a Svart troll.”
Evalle searched her mind for what she knew of them. “Aren’t they some European-based bunch?”
Quinn answered, “Svarts are a black-ops type of mercenary troll who originated in Switzerland. They are the most deadly trolls on earth and hire out to the highest offers. It would require a significant player to even gain their attention.”
She’d heard snippets about Svarts, but only trolls with death wishes would tangle with VIPER. Evalle thought out loud, “Who has the kind of jack it would take to send them up against a coalition like VIPER, and why would a Svart troll incur the wrath of the coalition? Atlanta is one of the most powerful VIPER hubs in the world.”
Quinn gave her a disheartening smile. “Contracts in our world aren’t necessarily about money. Power is far more highly valued than coin. And Svarts don’t accept just any offer. They choose their contracts judiciously, based upon how powerful their benefactor is and how well they expect to benefit from a successful mission.”
She asked, “What kind of extra benefit? Like a bonus?”
“No.” Quinn thought for a moment. “Whoever did this is unconcerned about poking around in an area protected by VIPER and the Beladors. I caught up on Belador alerts while on my flight or I wouldn’t have understood Tzader’s call to arms for a gang battle. All this gang and troll activity makes me wonder if Svarts have been involved all along. If so, those behind the Svart contract would seem to be intentionally engaging VIPER, and quite possibly the Beladors, which means we have a far deadlier problem than just gang battles. We’re facing an enemy who wants something they’re willing to risk everything for … even war.”