Gaslight (Crossbreed #4)(13)
What I didn’t know—what I couldn’t ask—was if he needed me back. Not wanted, but needed. When male desires and curiosity were stripped away, did he have a calling deep within his bones that went against all reason?
Someone rapped on the door. “Christian!” Wyatt called out. “Zip up in there. As soon as I find Raven and Niko, we’re heading home. Viktor sent a message, so chop-chop.”
When Christian and I emerged from our private room, the main area in the club was thumping with music. We weaved through the crowd, colorful lights slicing through the darkness as we passed the oval-shaped bar in the center of the room.
“Do you see anyone?” I asked.
Christian didn’t need to see. He had an uncanny knack of filtering out different sounds one by one. When he stopped in the middle of the club and cocked his head to the side, he did a slow turn that caught my attention.
Someone bumped into me from behind, but instead of shoving him back, I kept watching Christian’s expression morph until he suddenly snapped his gaze toward the back of the building.
I gripped his sleeve. “What is it?”
Christian bolted toward the hall, weaving around people to avoid knocking them down like dominoes. I was one step behind, my heart thumping against my chest.
He flung the back door open, and the first sound I heard was the clanging of swords. I stepped around Christian to discover Niko fighting a dark-haired man with tatted biceps. Sweat glistened on his brown skin as he matched every move Niko made. It took a minute for me to place him. Cyrus was the man who’d ambushed Niko in an alleyway not so long ago.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Cyrus said as they fell in a clinch.
I gripped Christian’s arm, my senses on high alert. “Look around. He’s got minions.”
“How the feck do you know that?”
“Long story. Keep your eyes peeled.”
Something whistled past me, and Christian jerked his body to the side. The rip in his sleeve exposed a bloody gash that slowly began to heal.
“Impalement wood,” he growled.
The moment we looked up and saw archers on the rooftops, we bolted in different directions.
I flashed to the end of the alley and turned left in front of the club. People yelped and complained as I shoved through the line to get to the other side of the building. Once there, I scanned the wall, the escape ladder my only way up. It was too high out of reach, so I backed up to the side and decided to scale the wall like they do in the kung fu movies.
My first attempt died in a lake of fire when I fell on my ass.
It was only a matter of time before the archer searched the other side of the building, so on my second attempt, I ran headlong and managed two steps up before grasping the bottom rung, which didn’t lower. It must have rusted in place, so I gathered my strength and grabbed the rung above it. When my abs clenched, I quietly thanked Niko for all those morning workouts of pull-ups and rope climbing.
Once I got a foothold, I scaled the ladder in three seconds flat. When I reached the top, I raised my hand above the ledge and waved.
An arrow whistled by.
That moron would need a few seconds to reposition a new arrow, so I leapt over the edge and ran toward him. When he fired again, I flashed to the right and almost slipped and fell on my ass. A sheet of ice covered parts of the roof like it was a skating rink, though areas near the door and pipes had melted.
I winced as an arrow nicked my left shoulder.
At least it wasn’t my dominant arm. I rushed toward the dark-haired man, my dagger in hand. When I swiped the blade, he did an aerial cartwheel that defied gravity. I pivoted around, slicing the air as he appeared behind me.
This goon wasn’t one of the men who’d fought against Niko with swords. He didn’t even wear a scabbard.
Anchoring his bow over his shoulder, he reached in his quiver and pulled out an arrow, gripping it like a knife. I took notice of the metal tip—possibly a stunner. Though immune, I wasn’t sure if I wanted this guy to know all my secrets.
With the grace of a panther, I dodged his every attempt to impale me. As I flashed behind him, an idea sprang to mind. I grabbed his bow and yanked him backward, stealing an arrow from his quiver. When I raised my arm to strike, he spun around so fast that I glimpsed a shiny arrowhead spearing for my gut.
I flashed out of reach and then scurried across two metal panels slicked over with ice. My foot skidded out from beneath me, and I fell hard in a patch of snow. With water soaking my pants, I crawled to my feet and reached a smokestack, the heavy aroma of grilled meat filling the air.
I stole a glimpse of the building across the alley. Christian was ripping pieces of the roof off and hurling them at another of Cyrus’s goons, who kept flashing out of reach.
Twenty feet separated me from my adversary. Most of the ground between us was wet but not frozen. When he snagged the bow off his shoulder, I charged before he could draw back the string. Our bodies slammed into each other, the bow knocking out of his hands, and I sank my push dagger to the hilt in his chest. As we hit the ground, the force of impact rolled me off, knocking the dagger out.
“Kallisto!” someone yelled. “Follow orders!”
The Mage rolled onto his side to get up, flecks of snow clinging to his long braid. I kicked away his bow and then yanked his hair, hoping to keep him down. Kallisto turned to face me and lunged.
Wasn’t expecting that.