Darkness Rising (Dark Angels 2)

Now what?

I glanced over to the silhouetted figure. I had to get up and over there fast. Really fast—because God knew what other traps he had waiting for me.

“Look,” I said, keeping my voice croaky and weak—which wasn’t reall

y all that hard given I’d just been zapped. “I didn’t hide the book on the gray fields. The reaper did. And he doesn’t want the book found or used, trust me.”

“Well, that is not helpful,” he said. “I shall have to consult with my employer to see what he wants done.” He paused, then added softly, “Please behave yourself. I am watching and—trust me—I can get to the switch far faster than you could ever hope to escape the wire or pull it free from the wall.”

He turned away, giving me the only chance I was ever likely to get.

I released the wire. It made little sound as it snaked backward along the concrete. With my eyes on my captor’s back, I pushed carefully upright. My limbs protested the movement and lights did a crazy dance in front of my eyes, but I bit my tongue, using one pain to ignore the others.

Then I ran—as hard and as fast as I could—for the door behind the figure.

He sensed me—he was always going to sense me—but I crashed through the projection of his body and then into the door, hitting it so hard I broke it off its hinges, sending me and the door spilling into the small room beyond.

He was already up and running. I scrambled to my feet and gave chase, launching myself at him as he fled through a second door. We both went down in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling along the concrete before we dropped off a ledge and splashed into some foul-smelling water.

Forman swore, his body twisting and bucking, his blows raining across my shoulders and back. It was all I could do to hold on. I didn’t have the strength to fight back—not right now. Not when I was still suffering the aftereffects of both the electricity and the accident.

Then one of his knees hit my ribs and, for a moment, everything went red. I gasped and my grip loosened a fraction. He was up in an instant, and running yet again.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” a voice boomed out behind me. A voice I recognized but wasn’t expecting.

Lucian.

Forman slowed and turned around. Surprise registered then his features disintegrated as the gun boomed and the bullet exploded his head, sending bits of blood and bone and brain matter splattering across the wet, slimy walls behind him.

As he slumped—lifeless and headless—to the ground, I battled the bile that rose up my throat. No reaper came to collect his soul, and that could only mean his death wasn’t supposed to happen now.

I closed my eyes and attempted to keep my breathing even as footsteps approached. Then Lucian was bending over me, his warm fingers lightly brushing damp hair away from my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, swallowed again, then said, “Why the hell did you shoot to kill?”

“He had a gun.”

“He did?” I hadn’t felt it when I was grappling with him. And if he’d been armed, why didn’t he just shoot me rather than running?

“Yes. Wait here.”

He rose and walked forward. I took a deep, shuddering breath and regretted it almost instantly as the stench of the muck I was lying in made my already unstable stomach twist harder.

I pushed to my hands and knees and clambered from the water to the concrete walkway lining it. After a moment, Lucian returned. This time he was holding two guns.

“Told you,” he said, handing me the smaller of the two.

I accepted it somewhat reluctantly. “And why would I want this?”

He offered me a hand. “Because I don’t know who—or what—else might be down here, and another gun might come in handy.”

I nodded and placed my hand in his. He pulled me up easily, but the minute I got close to him, his nose wrinkled. “You, my girl, stink to high heaven. Are you okay to walk, or do you need a shoulder to lean on?”

I let go of his hand. “I’m fine.” Which was a total lie, but if there were other people down here, he needed to be able to react fast, and he couldn’t do that if I was hanging off him. “How did you find me?”

“Remember that telepathic connection you were bitching about only this afternoon?”

I raised my eyebrows. “I would hardly call what I said bitching. I was just a little unimpressed that you were wandering through my mind uninvited.”