Ash and Quill(118)

Jess took the blow that Wolfe landed on the side of his head. It staggered him, but he didn't let it stop his motion. His right arm slammed hard against Wolfe's throat and pinned him in place.

His left clipped the Translation tag to Wolfe's collar, and in that last instant, as their eyes locked, Jess saw the hell of despair in the man's eyes, and something else. Resignation. Acceptance of an end of things. I'm sorry, Jess wanted to say, but Brendan wouldn't.

Brendan wouldn't be sorry for any of it.

Santi was coming for him, he felt it like the heat before a fire, and he knew he was out of time. Only two seconds had really passed since he'd lunged, but that was all the grace period he was going to get. 

Jess tapped the Translation tag and felt the wash of energy rush out of him and into the tag, and Wolfe opened his mouth and let out a scream of despair and pain as the alchemical energy contained in the clip ripped through him and tore him out of the world, and into it somewhere half a world away.

Off to Alexandria.

There was another scream, one right next to him, loud enough to deafen him, but it wasn't pain. It was rage, pure, unbridled rage, and Jess ducked and twisted out of the way just as Santi grabbed for him.

Wolfe was gone. He was gone. And Santi was going to rip his head off.

He dodged and rolled over the trestle table, and as he did he saw a whirling kaleidoscope of violence: Dario, down on the floor and screaming Spanish curses while his chains were clapped on. Khalila Seif armed with an iron bar that she'd pulled from next to the furnace, weaving and dodging the guards who were closing in on her. She lunged and stabbed one through the heart, but the iron bar caught in the man's ribs, and as he fell, she was disarmed.

She screamed something in Arabic and lunged at them anyway, a beautiful, defiant, graceful whirl of silk and power.

There was nowhere for her to run, but she wouldn't give up, and he loved her fiercely for that.

Jess rolled off the table, landed on his feet, grabbed Morgan by the throat. He backed into the corner and used her as a shield against Santi-a different Santi than he'd ever seen, a wild tiger that checked his spring at only the last second when he realized that he'd have to go through Morgan to reach his enemy.

"In bocca al lupo," he whispered against Morgan's ear, and pressed his lips there, just for an instant. Then he slipped the second tag onto the collar of her dress and activated it, too. She didn't have a chance to reply to him, if she'd intended to. Kill the wolf, Morgan. Kill it for me.

As her body dissolved in a tormented whirl, Jess braced himself and kicked out, hard. He caught the captain with both feet in the chest and sent him flying back, into the arms of two guards, and before Santi could break free they slammed him down on the table, and the chains were going on.

Jess stood there breathing hard, gagging on the knowledge of what he'd done. Khalila was still free. She'd killed two men now, but as he watched, he saw one slip behind her and pin her, and then it was over; she was finished, too. Dario was begging her to stop, stop fighting. He was nearly in tears.

Where's Thomas? He wanted to throw up, suddenly, to weep, to scream, but he couldn't allow himself to do any of that.

Because his father was walking into the room, taking a quick and efficient count of the damage and the gain.

His gaze stopped on Jess-no, on Brendan. Took in the blood on his face, but Jess knew he wouldn't mention it.

He didn't. He said, "Are they away?"

"Gone," Jess said. He kept the answer short, because he was afraid of what he'd say otherwise. "And where's Thomas?"

That was the moment when the wall behind him, the cracked wall, suddenly and catastrophically collapsed, and Jess fell backward into a pair of enormous, grasping hands that closed around his throat and dragged him painfully over the rubble.

Thomas. Oh God, it was Thomas.

His friend was bloodied, but he wasn't down. There were four guards around him, but he was tossing them around like children, and his whole focus was on the Brightwell son he held.


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Whom he yanked into the air and held there, dangling and choking.

Jess remembered Willinger Beck in Philadelphia, and the way Thomas had dismissed his violence toward the man. If I hadn't played the German berserker . . . But Thomas wasn't playing this time. There was nothing but rage burning in those huge blue eyes. Red veins had spread around the irises, and Jess knew that the only thing keeping him alive, the only thing, was that Thomas could see the other three behind him in chains. Dario. Khalila. Santi.

Thomas's lips drew back from his teeth. Jess had never realized how big they were, those teeth. How straight and white and utterly terrifying, with the inhuman fury burning above them.