Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin 1)

He was done talking. He wanted the girl. “Give! Now!”

“Open the cage, Matas,” Jecis demanded. “You’ve still got one working arm, yes? After that, change the lock. I don’t want Vika able to set herself free during the solar flare.”

Murmuring, still crying, Matas lumbered to his feet.

Every muscle Solo possessed tensed, his body readying to jolt into action the moment the lock disengaged. He would grab Vika, and he would run. He would get her to safety, and he would return. He would save the otherworlders, just as she wanted, and he would destroy her family, just as she didn’t. Or hadn’t. Maybe she’d changed her mind.

Only, the now glaring man pushed the button that caused the cuffs to pump him with sedatives, and strength abandoned him in an instant. His arms and legs became too heavy to move, and black dots winked through his eyes.

“Touch her,” Matas snarled, even as he whimpered in pain, “and I’ll slice you into pieces.”

“Enough,” Jecis said, closing the distance and peering into Solo’s eyes. “When the solar flare hits, you’ll discover there are monsters worse than you out there. They’ll come for you, and they’ll try to eat you. Keep Vika in the center of the cage, and they won’t be able to reach her. You, on the other hand . . . you’re so big, I bet they’ll be able to get you no matter where you’re lying. You’ll have to fight them.” He grinned, but there was no amusement to the expression. “That should be just the thing to scare her and keep her from ever wanting anything to do with you.”

Solo cared nothing for the warning. He collapsed, saying, “Will . . . kill . . . you both . . .”

• • •

Eyelids splitting apart, Solo sat up with a jolt. Residual sparks of fury blazed in his chest, each one serving as a reminder. Vika. Beaten. Carried into the cage. His to save. He twisted—and found her lying on her back on the opposite side, still, too still.

Despite the aches and pains in his body—new aches and pains that proved he had not imagined Jecis setting Vika down and giving Solo a beating of his own—he scrambled over to her.

There were two cuts in her bottom lip. One was from before, and it had opened up, and the other was new. But that was it, the only damage that he could see. For her to sleep this deeply, to have moaned so thickly, there had to be more. He gently ran his fingers over her scalp, and felt two egg-size bumps. Between one heartbeat and the next, he’d partially morphed.

As gently as possible, Solo checked her vitals and the intense trembling of his hands surprised him. At least her heartbeat was strong, granting him a measure of relief. As X had said, she would survive.

He should wake her up. She needed to remain alert for the next six hours. At least. But only if Jecis hadn’t given her any of the new medications available for just such a human head injury. Solo hated that he didn’t know.

For once, X didn’t appear with an answer or an encouragement in a time of need and Dr. E did not appear to tell him why he should be angrier. As if he needed any help with that.

How he wished he possessed the ability to heal others, as Corbin Blue did, taking her injuries into himself. Or, like John No Name, the ability to hypnotize with his voice, forcing people to do anything he wished. But no. The Allorians apparently came with many flaws, and very few benefits.

He glanced around. Night had fallen. His cage hadn’t yet been moved, so Jecis’s trailer was still in front of him. No one was outside. Which was strange. The circus was supposed to be packing up, moving to a new location. There should have been a ton of activity.

In the far corner of the cage, he found medicines, bandages, a blanket, bottles of water, and food. As gently as before, he doctored Vika’s lip, then folded the blanket to put it under her head. Only once did she make a noise, and that noise was a low, mewling whimper.

“Vika,” he said. “Wake up for me, honey.” He caressed her cheek. “Come on.”

Another moan, but she blinked open her eyes. They were iced over, glassy. “Solo?”

Good. This was good. She knew him; that part of her memory was intact. “I’m here.”

“My head hurts.”

“I know.”

“And I’m tired.”

“Did your father pour a sweet-tasting liquid down your throat before carting you to my cage?”

“I don’t—” A pause as her features scrunched. “Wait. Yes. He did.”

“Sleep, then.”

“Thank you,” she said with a soft sigh. Her head lolled to the side.

He traced the delicate curve of her jaw. He’d found her beautiful before, but now, knowing what he did about her, feeling the warmth of her skin surround him, inhaling the delicacy of her scent, mint and jasmine, she was exquisite. She was everything he’d ever wanted in his woman, and everything he’d never been able to have.

X claimed she belonged to him. Despite everything, Solo wanted to believe that. He no longer wanted to fight the knowledge.

And he wanted to believe she would be happy to wake up—really wake up—and find herself inside his cage, that she would not scream and cry and beg for mercy. After all, there was a big difference between seeing to an animal’s care and getting close enough to be bitten.

His ears began to twitch. Finally, sound. Mumbling.

Solo looked around, but saw nothing. Still the mumbling continued. And it was nearby. Frowning, he stood and approached the bars. He found Jecis on top of his trailer, meaty arms spread.

Lightning flashed in the sky.

Jecis’s voice rose in volume. The wind kicked up several notches. More lightning flashed, this time arcing toward the human, as though drawn to him. Maybe he would die, Solo hoped, but the moment the bolt made contact, the man’s body seemed to expand, black shadows bursting from him. A thick white fog formed at the edges of the shadows and rolled from the trailer to the cage. Solo listened, heard a whoosh of air, the patter of footsteps and slam of a door. Jecis must have gone inside.

Next he heard the crackle of flames. Even felt the heat. He heard the soft rustle of shuffling footfalls, and there were enough to form an army.

Uneasy, he stood guard. The fog began to thin . . . thin . . . and then everything changed—though nothing was for the better.

Seventeen

You will not be afraid of the terror by night, or of the arrow that flies by day.

—PSALM 91:5

A WASTELAND APPEARED.

Solo looked around. He could still see Jecis’s trailer, but it was now surrounded by barren hills littered with dead trees, fat insects flying from one gnarled branch to another. There were fire pits in every direction, yellow-gold flames dancing in the hot, dry wind.