Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(80)

She had always thought death was a massively indifferent, inescapable juggernaut, for sooner or later it came to every living thing. Through accidents, acts of war and sometimes illness, it even eventually struck down the long-lived creatures of the Elder Races.

But the kind of death Xavier embodied was a fiery, passionate blaze.

The death in his eyes cared far too much to stand idly by and watch an injustice being done. It cared about the thinking that went behind each action, and the reasons for war.

It would never rest, never stop, until either harm had been averted or balance had been restored.

Her limited human eyes couldn’t track what happened next. He simply left her behind on this heavy, solid Earth and went somewhere else, shooting through the air like God’s arrow.

That was when the screaming began.

More gunfire sounded in short staccato bursts. From the backseat, Diego shoved open a door on the driver’s side and angled his body out to shoot at the group of attackers behind them.

Keeping her head down, she punched through the commands on the phone that took her to Xavier’s list of favorites. Locating Raoul’s number, she dialed it.

He answered immediately. “Have you heard anything?”

“It’s Tess,” she told him. “We’re in the city. We’re pinned in an alley and under attack. Marc’s dead. They cut off his head! Whoever they are.”

Raoul’s voice changed. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been to San Francisco once.” As she watched, Diego sagged against the side of the vehicle. He brought the muzzle of his rifle back up almost immediately, but she knew he’d been shot. She said rapidly, “We came across the Golden Gate, we were headed toward the Four Seasons Hotel and now we’re in an alley. Figure it out.”

“Keep this phone on,” Raoul said. “I’ll track you, Tess. Do you hear me? I’ll track you.”

“Hurry the f*ck up,” she said between her teeth.

Of course he wouldn’t make it in time. Even if she called Julian and he sent people from Evenfall, or from within the city itself, nobody would make it in time. She disconnected, shoved the phone into the pocket of her jeans and scrambled over the seat to the driver’s side of the vehicle where Xavier had left the door open.

With both of the SUV doors open, she had cover, of sorts, on both sides.

Diego had given her another Glock, like the one that had been stored in the glove compartment. It was her favorite of the handguns she’d practiced with, so far. She checked over the assault rifle. It was a SCAR, a special forces combat assault rifle, like the one he’d handed Xavier. While she didn’t care for them, she did know how to use it.

“Here’s where you get to show off everything you’ve learned in class,” Diego said, from the other side of the open rear door. He sounded breathless, and his rifle had slumped to his side again. “Look up, chica. Move fast.”

Using the car door as a shield, she angled out her head and checked the rooflines of the neighboring buildings.

Nearby, a muzzle of a rocket launcher aimed at the SUV, the figure of the shooter hunched over it.

She didn’t give herself time to think.

Snapping up the SCAR, she shot. The figure holding the rocket launcher jerked and disappeared.

If that was a Vampyre, he was going to reappear in a few moments and try again. “We can’t stay here,” she told Diego. “How badly are you hit?”

“You know, I’ve seen better days,” said Diego. “Go for. The doorway. Fifteen yards. Back. Take. Cover inside.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she watched the rooftop for the rocket launcher to reappear. “You don’t sound so good.”

The tip of the launcher reappeared. Her heart kicked. She sighted down the SCAR and sprayed it. To her immense surprise, it exploded. A ball of fiery light lit up the night, and she swore.

Diego laughed and went into a spasm of harsh coughing. She could hear his breathing hitching from where she crouched. Daring to peer around the edge of the door, she saw that the immediate area around their SUV was deserted.

Near the garbage truck blocking them at the rear, a vicious, whirlwind fight was taking place. She couldn’t track all that happened—they all moved too fast—but she could tell there were several figures involved.

Even as she watched, two of the figures dissolved into dust. Oh, God.

But the fight continued, so she knew Xavier had to be alive.

“Come on, Diego,” she said. “We’re going to get to that doorway together.”

“Sorry. No can do.” His voice was noticeably weaker. “I want you to tell Xavier . . . I want you to tell him . . .”

Furious, horrified tears filled her eyes, and she swiped them back. She couldn’t afford to cry. She needed to see.

Down the alley, opposite the fight, two figures crept around the edge of the garbage truck. She took careful aim and pulled off a shot, and one of them blew into a cloud of dust. As the other darted back to cover, she leaped up and scooted around the edge of the rear door to Diego.

He sat on the ground, his back propped against the running board of the car. As she knelt beside him, he lifted his head to look at her. Propping the SCAR beside him, she ran her fingers over his chest. He’d had time to put on a vest, just like she and Xavier had. Where had he been hit?