Wrong Side of Hell (League of Guardians 0.50)

And they were coming for her.

Chapter Four

KIRA UNCLENCHED HER hands and forced the tense muscles that stretched across her shoulders to relax. She needed her head clear and her body loose, ready to fight.

There was a certain amount of anticipation tingling along her nerves that made her jumpy. She’d be a fool not to recognize what the adrenaline pumping through her veins meant.

She’d somehow always known that the events of that long-ago night had been real. They’d not been the imaginings of a girl gone crazy.

That’s what had driven her to the brink so many times. It’s what fueled her suicide attempts. As much as the memory of the beast had pushed her to train and prepare to fight, it had also fed the fear inside of her. And that’s what had almost made her as crazy as everyone thought she was.

Kira tore her eyes from the nameless man and whirled back toward the two specters, a smile widening her face. To have proof—absolute knowledge that she’d been right—was enough. The mad ramblings of doomsday and fire and Armageddon had been bang-on. It brought some small sliver of peace.

Even now the pain and frustration she’d felt at the poorly hidden disappointment and denial in her parents’ eyes hit her hard in the gut. They wouldn’t listen to anyone—not even her beloved nana, Catherine.

They’d called in all sorts of specialists, the best that money could buy, from every corner of the globe, and pummeled them with questions. What’s wrong with her? Will she be normal again? Is she crazy?

Their answers had been as varied as the doctors. She’s delusional. She’s psychotic. She’s dangerous.

After six months of trying to fix their now-broken child, Andre and Miriam Dove had tossed her aside and left her to rot in the Institute. They’d come to visit at first, but after months of no improvement the visits had dwindled and eventually stopped. Her nana had never been allowed to visit.

Every birthday from her eleventh on had been spent in that hellhole. No longer was Kira the perfect blending of the Doves’ fabulous genes. She was damaged. Deranged.

Yet she was stronger than any of them. Not once had she accepted the diagnosis—even as young as she was. The doctors had tried all sorts of “therapies” to get through to her. Some were passive but most involved some sort of pain.

When she was nineteen, a new specialist arrived at the Institute—one who seemed invested in her case. Dr. Mergerone had been inventive and took perverse pleasure in “treating” her.

Kira had never given in. She’d known her savior was real.

The beast existed.

She’d known the beast would return for her—she’d seen him in dreams, among other things. Kira knew bad tidings were coming as surely as she knew the sun would rise each day. They’d hidden inside shadows that twisted in the corners and fell to her ears as whispers in the night. Images of destruction and pain had haunted her every night for as long as she had memory.

Sometimes it had been too much and she’d retreated deep into her mind, her physical body in a catatonic state as she grappled with what she saw. Her savior. The beast. A child.

And now, for the first time in years, the fog had lifted. All those moments of clarity—when she’d trained hard, pushed her body until collapse—had been important. She needed to be strong.

She had to survive.

One of the specters spoke, a high-pitched sound as piercing as a thousand cicadas singing off key. The words made no sense and she struggled to understand even as she wanted to cover her ears and hide.

“I want you the hell out of here, now.”

Kira’s heart nearly fell from her chest as she jerked to the left. He was there. The savior. Inches away.

“I won’t. I can’t leave you.” How could she? She would fight by his side. It’s what she’d trained for.

His eyes no longer burned red and the shadows melted away, giving her a glimpse of his face.

In all her imaginings, both as a young girl and later as a woman, she’d never seen his face. It had always been the eyes—those blood-red eyes—that had burned within her memories.

And oh, what she’d been missing.

He was breathtaking. He was hard and masculine and wild and big. He was the tallest man she’d ever seen in person, easily topping six feet by several inches. Dressed in black denim and a tight-fitting black t-shirt, he presented an intimidating figure. His jaw was shadowed in several days of scruff, and thick, black hair waved down to his collar.

He had strong cheekbones and a nose that was slightly imperfect—as if it had been broken at least once. Or twice. His lips were full and for a second her eyes lingered there.

He scowled and hissed loudly, taking two steps forward until he was abreast of her.