Chapter 38: The Son of the Myragnar

Dark spots clouded Kitara’s vision as Jamal pistol-whipped her with the butt of the gun, and she swayed.

“Now now,” he growled, hauling her to her knees again. “No passing out—can’t have that. We’ve barely started.”

Searing pain in her shoulder told her the shadowy power had nearly finished neutralizing the paralytic. It took every ounce of will she possessed to refrain from writhing in pain as it burned through the poison in her veins, making her excruciatingly aware of the true extent of her injuries.

Now to provoke the vampire to her advantage…

“All this because I wouldn’t suck you off?” she finally bit out past the fiery agony reverberating from her broken leg. “For all your swagger, your ego is even more fragile than I thought. And I didn’t have high expectations to begin with.”

Jamal backhanded her. Her vision tunneled—that part wasn’t feigned—and she crumpled forward, using her supposed paralysis for all it was worth.

“What?” he sneered. “I didn’t catch that.”

From her prone position nearly beneath the couch at Jamal’s feet, she had just enough leverage to pull the duffel bag within reach. She managed to snort past the blood pouring down her face, splattering crimson droplets across the scuffed floor. “You don’t give two shits about who I am,” she rasped. “You’re just pissed I wouldn’t fuck you.”

Fury blazed in his eyes. “You think so?” He landed a well-aimed kick to her solar plexus, forcing the wind from her lungs. “The General was nonspecific as to what shape you should be in when he gets here beyond ‘alive,’” he said as she coughed and gagged for air. “You should be grateful you still have all your limbs.”

Gasping, she retorted, “your dick must be the size of a string bean if you have to resort to beating on a girl while she’s already down.”

The vampire leaned forward to leer down at her. “Since your mouth still works, I think it’s about time I use my dick to teach you some manners.”

Jamal spread his legs wider, his arousal obvious now, along with his intentions. Leaning forward, he seized her by the hair and hauled her to all fours again. Kitara’s eyes watered at the pain in her scalp as the vampire tucked the barrel of the gun under her chin, using it to lift her head to meet his gaze.

Kitara swallowed, feeling her throat bob against the cold, unforgiving metal of the firearm.

Jamal shoved her back, releasing her hair to undo his pants one-handed, keeping his gun trained on her with the other. “If I sense you’re even thinking about using your teeth, I will put this bullet in your skull, no matter what the General says,” he said. “I told you I’d find a better use for your mouth—”

Kitara ducked and snuffed out her aura, disappearing into thin air.

Jamal spat expletives as one, two, three gunshots rang out.

A blade hit the back of his throat, driving beyond and pinning him to the couch through the base of his skull.

“So did I,” Kitara growled as she appeared again—her knife wedged between his jaws and her weight heavy above him.

The barrel of the gun blazed white-hot against Kitara’s arm as Jamal fired one last shot before his ashy remains scattered across her couch. She slid to the floor as stars exploded behind her eyes, a fresh wave of pain searing up her bad leg.

Kitara was winging it now, pivoting as the other vampires surged into the room again, Scarlet first. The last of her adrenaline waned, but she pulled her other knife from the duffel bag, bracing herself against the couch.

Scarlet tracked the ashy remnants of her fellow vampire drifting through the air. “Saved me the trouble of doing it,” she murmured, smile widening. “Coven was on its last legs anyway. Still, chiclet, you should know better than to take out an active coven member. Obnoxious or not, he was still my coven-mate. Now you’ve triggered a blood feud.”

Through the haze in her vision and blood in her eyes, Kitara tried to keep track of the various vampires spreading across the room. Her knees shook as she struggled to draw breath, the attempt scraping like white-hot sandpaper in her lungs. She glanced down only to find a bullet hole weeping crimson in her chest.

“You don’t look so good, Sabine,” Scarlet said.

“You…” Kitara grunted, “…talk too much, Scarlet.”

The vampiress laughed. “You’re tougher than you look,” she admitted, eyeing the blade in Kitara’s hand. “But don’t think that means I won’t break you if I have to.”

“You wouldn’t…be the first…to try,” Kitara gasped through what was surely a collapsed lung, clinging to her last vestiges of life as blood trickled down her sternum and ran in rivulets over her abdomen. “Yet…here…I am.”

Scarlet stepped forward as her smile widened, revealing fangs that highlighted the hunger flaring in her eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Blinding white-hot light exploded in the room, cracking like thunder.

Storm’s aura resounded through the space with such sudden force, it nearly overwhelmed what consciousness Kitara had left.

The surge of light and sound sent the vampires stumbling back.

They never stood a chance.

Electricity crackling in one fist and his broadsword glowing in the other, Storm stretched out a hand and charbroiled a vampire. Surging forward, he swung his blade, and another fell.

“You—” Scarlet gasped.

The lights in the apartment flickered and hummed under the pressure of his influence as Storm spun, directing his next surge of power in her direction.

With a shriek, Scarlet turned tail and ran. He missed, leaving a charred, smoking hole in Kitara’s front door.

None of the rest escaped, no match for his furious, crackling power. When Storm burned up the last vampire, the current he wielded illustrated his rage as every bulb in the room exploded, showering sparks across the floor below. He and Kitara remained alone in the darkness, lit only by the pure white light emanating from his hands and the blue sigil glowing softly on the floor.

Kitara collapsed in front of the couch; her skin paled to a sickly gray. Pain-induced perspiration left a sheen on her forehead.

Storm fell to his knees beside her as his sword disappeared with a cracking sound. “Stars and hellfire, Kit—”

“You’re here,” she murmured as he ran gentle fingers over her skin, ascertaining the damage.

Storm met her eyes for a fleeting second, incredulous. “Of course I am. Of course I’m here, Kit.”

“But…you—” Electricity surged through Kitara’s veins, cutting her off, and she groaned as Storm set about the daunting task of healing her. He put a hand to her chest, his focus darting between her wounds and her face as he worked.

“Scarlet escaped,” she ground out between her clenched teeth. “She got away, Storm.”

His expression darkened. “I know.”

“They’ll know I’m alive, she’ll tell them you came—”

“That doesn’t matter now,” he said fiercely. “All that matters is the first thing: you’re alive.”

She shook her head fervently. “If he knows you came to get me—” She broke off. “How…did you know?”

“Devika,” came the simple reply.

Kitara slammed a fist against the floor when he set her leg, but otherwise didn’t make any noise.

“What happened?” he asked, a note of hesitation in his voice.

“Ambushed,” she replied, breath hitching as pain flared anew. “They learned about the hit. Itzal wants me alive—he’ll come for the AIDO when he learns you were here, Storm.” Panic fueled by adrenaline seeped into her voice and she struggled to sit up.

“Don’t.” His hand pressed to her chest again, gentler now. “You should be dead, Kit. Try not to move so much.”

Storm’s hands moved over her wounds with practiced efficiency, his brow furrowed in concentration as he knit her broken body back together. Despite the urgency of their situation, his touch remained gentle, almost reverent.

Kitara fought to maintain consciousness, to focus on his face, but the edges of her vision blurred and darkened. She opened her mouth to reiterate their precarious position, but something completely different escaped her instead. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Storm faltered for a beat. His expression flitted through a range of emotions. Regret, relief, and something more fragile. “I did too,” he whispered finally.

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the crackle of Storm’s power and Kitara’s labored breathing. Questions burned in her mind, fueled by the desperation in his eyes and the tenderness of his touch. She wanted to ask him how he was here, why he risked everything to save her, if he’d changed his mind, and most importantly…

How long would it last?

Kitara parted her lips, a thousand words dancing on the tip of her tongue, but Storm shook his head.

“Kit, you need to stop talking.” The command was tender despite its severity as his hands worked over her injuries. Energy thrummed from his touch, electrifying yet somehow soothing her ragged breaths and slowing pulse.

Storm inhaled sharply as he traced the curve of one wing with his palm. Kitara shuddered while his fingers caressed the underside, and sparking energy bristled through every feather. Her tense shoulders relaxed as her wings healed.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered.

“No,” she whispered. “Not all. Just…some.” She attempted a smile, but it crumpled into a grimace.

Storm’s eyes flicked to hers, full of a grief she almost couldn’t bear. His hand cupped her cheek. “I’ll find a way,” he murmured. “I’ll make it up to you, Kit.”

His aura radiated warmth and safety, and it was all she could do to resist leaning into his touch.

Finally, Storm sat back on his heels and cleared his throat. “I think you’re healed enough to get back to the AIDO,” he said. “I can do the rest there—Alasdair only gave me thirty minutes.”

She nodded. “I’ll be all right. Your suggestion of a go-bag was a smart one.”

“Where is it?”

“Here.” She leaned over to pull the bag into view from under the couch.

Storm slung it over his shoulder, then extended a hand to help her up. She got to her feet slowly, but when he turned to look for his tablet, her knees gave out again. Storm caught her as she pitched forward, wrapping an arm around her to keep her upright.

“I’m fine, I’m okay…”

He leveled a glare at her. “You are not fine. Stars, you can barely stand. If I hadn’t—” he cut off and sparks jumped off his free hand. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, steadying himself. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’re alive.”

Kitara lacked certainty herself, considering one of Jamal’s bullets connected with her chest. Storm’s comprehensive healing skills proved stronger than she could have imagined. If she hadn’t harbored equal gratitude for his elimination of the remaining vampires, she’d almost think him wasted as a Warrior.

“We need to get back before you collapse entirely.”

Kitara nodded wearily, unable to summon the strength to argue. After a moment of hesitation, Storm lifted her in his arms, duffel bag and all.

She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Despite everything between them, despite the betrayal and mistrust and pain, something more persisted too.

Deadly, perhaps, but undeniable.

Storm activated the portal. Blackness squeezed around them as they traveled outside gravity and space.

They appeared in Storm’s quarters—and they weren’t alone.

Zayne and Alasdair converged, followed by Devika and Declan. During Storm’s absence, someone must have summoned the Guardian from his shift—he still wore his official black body armor.

Kitara managed a weak nod in their direction. “Captain. Zayne.”

“Hey, Kitara,” the Ambassador replied, a concerned furrow between his brows.

“You look like death,” Declan noted.

“Not quite, but close.”

“What the hell happened?” Alasdair asked as Storm settled her gently into an armchair.

“She was attacked,” Devika rasped. “God, ’Dair, can’t you see that?”

The Engineer busied himself with returning the portal and didn’t answer.

“Dev…” Kitara extended an arm as Storm set her duffel bag beside her chair. “Come here.”

Devika fell into her arms. “I thought you were dead,” she sobbed. “I thought I would never see you again.”

Kitara ran a hand over the Historian’s curly hair, trying to soothe the younger woman. “It’s all right, I’m all right. It looks worse than it is, I promise.”

Storm snorted but didn’t contradict her, instead kneeling beside her to finish addressing what remained of her injuries.

Zayne observed but didn’t speak, his expression severe as his gaze flitted between Kitara and Storm, trying to decipher the mood between them.

“You can’t go back out there,” Devika pleaded, her voice muffled in Kitara’s bloodied hoodie. “Please tell me you’re not—”

“I can’t,” Kitara said quickly. “They’re…” She hesitated, mind racing for an explanation. “They’re targeting Fallen now.” She chuckled weakly. “I can’t exactly do my job when they’re after immortals like me.”

“Stars,” Declan muttered. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“That’s a word for it,” she said.

Now that she wasn’t at immediate risk of death, Kitara took a moment to ascertain how bad she did look. The vampires’ blades had slashed her shirt to ribbons, to the point she blushed when she recognized how little modesty it still afforded. The amount of blood on her clothes made their original color unrecognizable, though the number of rips and tears spoke to the outcome of the ambush. Blood and ash matted her hair, discoloring its platinum color to a muddy, russet brown. Her trademark braid had all but unraveled.

Most of all, the new lack of numbness, pain, and adrenaline made Kitara excruciatingly aware of Storm’s thorough—if clinical—examination. He ran his glowing fingertips over nearly every inch of her, ascertaining for remaining damage. Suddenly, all she could feel was his gentle touch; her entire focus homed in on the warm trails of sensitivity his movements left behind.

Her blush intensified, and she tried not to squirm as the discomfort from her injuries faded to something…hotter.

“Can we get her cleaned up?” Devika glanced at Storm, both oblivious to the Sleeper’s self-consciousness. “It’s…so much blood.”

He sat back on his heels to regard the teary-eyed Historian and the bloodied Sleeper. “Probably safe enough,” he conceded, his voice weary. “Rinsing off the mess will give me a clearer idea of what else needs addressing, anyway.”

Kitara attempted a stretch and grimaced, both relieved and disappointed by the withdrawal of Storm’s touch. “No arguments here. Maybe a little help to the shower, though?”