Blood-Bonded by Force (20 page)

“Covered? Shucks, I was kind of hoping to see her the next time you went swimming at the Water Cliffs.”

Faith chuckled, then glanced down. “Well…” She fiddled with her menu. “I’ve stopped liking it, anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“When I got it, I imagined I’d be a ballet dancer forever, but now my injury has put it in my face that all dancers stop dancing. Eventually.”

“Maybe you should get a brace added to the leg of your tattoo. Kind of an
up yours
to the industry.”

A breath tumbled out of her. “Maybe.”

The waitress dropped off the canapés, pointing to each as she described what was on the little rounds of bread. “Herb cheese, caviar, and fruit puree.” She took their menus and left.

Nỵko leaned forward and peered down at the appetizer. “How about I leave the fish egg ones for you?” He slid an herb cheese canapé off the plate.

Faith took a fruit one. “Do you regret it?” she asked him.

“Regret what?”

“Getting your tattoos?”

Nỵko popped the canapé in his mouth and chewed. “They weren’t exactly my choice in the first place.”

Faith sniffed her canapé. Smelled like mango. “How is that possible?”

“My father forced them on me. They were supposed to make a man out of me, at least according to the old man, who happens to be a Pure-bred Om Rău and a full-blooded asshole.”

“But…” Faith took a bite.
Oh, delicious
. “How do tattoos make a man out of you?” Maybe because they were scary teeth…?

“My father put them on with tacks, so it hurt. A lot.”

Faith blinked, then her stomach dropped. “Oh.” She ate the rest of her canapé in silence. “Where was you mother during all of that?”

Nỵko considered a fruit canapé. “She was protecting me and my brothers, for sure, but there was only so much she could do.” He glanced up from the serving plate. “Have you heard of Oţărât?”

“The neighboring town of bad guys?” It was a town full of demons, in reality, but that sounded too weird to say. “Underground here, too, right?”

“That’s it. My brothers and I spent the first years of our lives there. A very nasty place, lots of violence.” Nỵko picked the fruit canapé and set it on his appetizer plate. “My mom used to wear these gloves, see, the knuckles sewn and glued with shards of broken glass and bits of metal. Anyone who tried to mess with her boys, she’d sock ’em a good one.” One side of his mouth lifted. “And with her Vârcolac strength, that was no small punch. The only person she never challenged was our dad. Maybe she thought it would ultimately make it worse for us. Maybe she knew she couldn’t beat him and was trying to stay healthy in order to keep an eye on us in other ways. I don’t know. But she shielded us from a lot of hassle, I’ll tell you, and in the middle of all that Oţărât crazy, she taught us to be good men. As best she could, at least.”

“Well, it shows.” She smiled a little. Goodness, and she thought her childhood had been stressful.

Nỵko’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Mom got us out of
Oţărât
,
too, risked Lørke’s wrath stealing maps of the Hell Tunnels in order to save us. Too bad the heat of those tunnels disintegrated the maps, otherwise we could’ve gotten more people out.”

Faith chose a caviar canapé. “Your brothers have the same tattoos. Does that mean…” she hesitated over the question. “They went through the same thing as you?”

“Yes.” Nỵko exhaled a long-winded breath. “I tried to get them out of as much as I could. I’m the oldest, you know, so I can’t help looking out for them. Even today, I still worry about them sometimes. Despite our mother’s love, Jaċken came out a hard man. If Tonĩ hadn’t happened into his life, I don’t know what would’ve become of him. And Shọn…” Nỵko poked the fruit canapé around on his plate. “He…uh…” Nỵko trailed off again.

“You don’t have to talk about him, if you don’t want.” Kacie had told Faith that Shọn was temporarily banished from Ţărână. Kacie hadn’t known what the man did to warrant that, but it must’ve been pretty terrible if this community had been willing to oust a Vârcolac to topside. They seemed very prickly about their anonymity and secrecy around here. For some reason, Kacie was fascinated by Shọn, or maybe just the idea of him, like she was harboring some fantasy of the Teague twins marrying the half-Rău Brun brothers.

“Oţărât wasn’t fun for any of us,” Nỵko said. “But I think it was especially tough on Shọn. He…got lost, and I feel bad. I should’ve done a better job protecting him.”

Faith felt her heart roll over. “You can’t save everyone,” she said softly.

“I have to,” he said, completely serious. “I mean, look at me, Faith. Who else is going to do it, if not Big Nỵko?”

She smiled gently. “I can kind of relate, actually. After my parents died, I shouldered all of the responsibility for parenting Kacie.” She coasted a hand over her bun. “And my Aunt Idyll.”

A thin line appeared on the bridge of Nỵko’s nose. “How old were you when they died?”

“Ten.”

“Wow, that’s…shoot, that’s not good.”

“No.” Pain pressed outward from her chest. “They say bad things happen to good people, though, right?”

Wolverine suddenly appeared at their table. “Hey, guys.”

“Hi, Dev,” Nỵko said. “What’s up?”

Dev…yes, that’s right, Wolverine’s name was Dev.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dev said. “But Ãlex just had a vision about the Symbol Killer’s next victim. Videön is taking out the dude in about an hour, so we need to go wheels up right now. Sorry.” He repeated, casting an apologetic look at Faith. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have cut in on your date.”

“I understand.” Faith said. “If you have a chance to catch a madman, you need to take it.”

Nỵko scooted out of the booth and stood. “We’ll pick up when I get back, okay?”

“Absolutely.” She gazed up at him, dressed in dark slacks and a dark blue button-down shirt, looking so large and virile. Invincible. But nobody was invincible, not even the biggest Vârcolac on earth. She swallowed, struck by the sudden urge to kiss the top of his scruffy head. “Be careful, Nỵko.”

His eyebrows shot up, then he smiled. “I sure will.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Topside: downtown San Diego, same night

The Park Place Condominium complex sat at West Harbor Drive and Kettner Boulevard in San Diego’s swank Marina district, soaring thirty stories into the night sky. It was a ritzy-looking tower of sparkling lights and balconies stacked one on top of the other, zipping up every side of the structure.

Not many stars were visible, blotted out by the power of the surrounding city lights, but the moon hung like a bulging eyeball off the building’s right shoulder. Across the bay, a US carrier hulked in port at the North Island Naval Air Station on Coronado. In the other direction, the city skyline spread out its arms, the view rendered distinctly San Diegean by the neon green lights circling the tops of eight skyscrapers: “Emerald Plaza,” as it was officially known.

Nỵko lurked in the shadows of a parking lot on the south side of the condominium complex on West Harbor Drive. Dev, Thomal, and Gábor were stationed at the other three compass points around the building, their team maintaining full surveillance. Videön’s next victim, Samuel Preston, had an apartment on the sixth floor, but Ãlex hadn’t known which side of the sixth floor. It would’ve been nice if Ãlex had also been able to tell them why he’d had this vision; his future ones only came when the episode somehow involved the Vârcolac. But Ãlex had drawn a
nada
on that, so it was anybody’s guess what they were going to face.

“Jay-sus,” Gábor’s voice crackled through Nỵko’s earpiece. “Who is this rich prick Preston, anyway? An astronaut or something? Knows the secret ingredient for converting dog crap into gold?”

“Plastic surgeon, I think,” Dev crackled back.

“Ho, hear that, Costache?” Gábor returned. “After we save this Preston guy from Videön, maybe he’ll offer you a freebie for that face of yours, transplant a few whiskers onto that girlie chin and rid you of some of your Barbie.”

Nỵko heard Dev laugh. Blond, Mixed-blood Vârcolac couldn’t grow facial hair, and it was a constant source of ribbing from the black-haired Pure-breds who could.

Oddly, Thomal didn’t shoot a comeback. He didn’t laugh, either, but that part wasn’t odd. Thomal didn’t laugh so much these days.

“Heads up,” Gábor suddenly clipped out. “I’ve got six nut-fuckers doing the human fly up my side of the building.”

“Damn, right on time,” Dev said. “Another gold star for our Soothsayer. Okay, everyone meet at Pavenic. Double-time.”

Nỵko took off, running in a low crouch and staying close to the shadows. His sheathed knife lightly banged his thigh and his handgun pressed against his lower back as he crossed West Harbor and headed east up Kettner to Gábor’s position. He arrived first, a moment later, Thomal, and finally Dev, who’d been clear on the other side of the building.

Dev narrowed his focus on the six black-clad forms swinging lithely from one balcony to the next up the side of Park Place.

The bad guys were already at the third floor.

Dev cursed. “They’re moving fast. We need to haul balls. Pavenic, you’re with me, Spider-Manning after them. Costache and Brun, main entrance. Meet us on the east side of the sixth floor. Whichever door the bad guys go for is our rendezvous point.

Dev and Gábor disappeared.

Nỵko sprinted across the street with Thomal at his side. Adrenaline pounded in his ears as he slipped up to the main entrance and pressed his back against the outside wall, peering through the glass doors into the interior. More ritzy-looking stuff, with a floor done in shiny white tile, the middle decorated with a black geometric design, and a latticed partition wall that partially concealed a line of three elevators. To the left was a black grand piano, and the right, a…
oh, no
.

A doorman.

Spotting the man behind the desk at the same instant, Thomal glanced at Nỵko and made a face.

Might’ve been smarter if Dev had sent Big Bad Nỵko up the wall instead of into possible public confrontations. Even not dressed in his current black-and-gray camo pants and black turtleneck sweater, he couldn’t go anywhere without being noticed and remarked upon.

“That Costache charm everyone’s always talking about?” Nỵko whispered to Thomal. “Now might be a good time to put it to use.”

Thomal exhaled an unhappy-sounding breath, but pushed inside the building, buttoning up his overcoat to hide the weaponry strapped to his body.

The doorman came to his feet. “Good evening, sir. May I help you?” The man was clearly curious about the newcomer’s all-black attire, but Thomal did his job and plastered a magnetic smile on his face, keeping the guy’s curiosity from becoming anything more than mild.

“Yes, thank you.” Thomal walked forward and slammed a fist into the doorman’s jaw.

The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he sank limply to the floor.

Nỵko hurried inside. “What the heck was that, Thomal?”

“You have a better way for me to get you in here?” Thomal shot back.

Good point. “All right, let’s—”

The elevator
dinged
.

“Shoot,” Nỵko hissed. More people.

Thomal chopped his hand at a spot behind Nỵko, indicating the other side of the piano.

The lobby stairs!

Nỵko flew up them, Thomal on his heels. At the top, they ducked through an employee doorway, finding themselves in an emergency stairwell. Racks and racks of metal stairs going up, up, up—six flights for them.

Thomal growled. “This is taking too long.”

No sooner had he spoken those words than the muted sounds of gunfire spilled down from high above. Dev and Gábor were already engaging the enemy!

“Dammit!” Thomal blasted up the stairs, his Dragon speed immediately putting him two flights ahead of Nỵko.

Nỵko followed at top velocity, running harder than he ever had. Careening onto the fourth level, he caught a glimpse of Thomal.

The warrior had unbuttoned his coat and unholstered his pistol.

Panting, Nỵko pulled out his own gun.

Overhead another employee door opened and shut. Pounding feet rattled the stairs, heading down.
Incoming bad guys
. Another surge of adrenaline poured into Nỵko’s system, speeding his heart and rushing his blood. He caught sight of Thomal, rounding the last turn with his gun held straight out in front of him. Then he froze. Didn’t shoot.

What is he—
?

The deafening report of a gun being fired roared through the stairwell.

Blood spackled the wall by Thomal’s side and he was jolted back on his heels.

Nỵko stopped, watching Thomal struggle to regain his balance.

Thomal’s boots slipped.

Nỵko shouted as Thomal tumbled butt over brainbox down the flight of stairs, the flaps of his overcoat slapping over the top of his head. His comm headset flew off and clattered down the stairwell, cartwheeling along steps, bouncing off handrails, plummeting into nowhere. At the bottom of the flight directly above Nỵko, Thomal hit the wall, his skull doing most of the hitting with a sickening
crack
.