Unchained

Chapter Eight

Color Lily surprised when Michael didn’t question her. She could feel him at her back when she went to the door. “Damn it. They’ve found you out, buddy.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I warned you. So did Remy and Luke. But we didn’t think it would happen so soon, because they hadn’t found you before.”

“If they are after anyone, it’s you,” he said. “You brought this bad shit on me.”

“Ha!” She grasped the doorknob. “I thought cops had to be smart. You, my dear, are as dumb as a deadhead.”

He tried pushing past her, but she blocked him easily. “Let me check the hallway.”

“Really?” she drawled slowly. “You want to try that one out and see what happens? Get back. Watch and learn, Mikey.”

Sparks practically flared from his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Flipping him off, she yanked open the door. On the other side of the threshold stood a minion dressed in a business suit. He would have looked rather normal if it wasn’t for the dead eyes and twisted mouth.

Michael raised his gun, but she was faster. The daggers came out of her silver cuffs as she shoved one deep into the minion’s chest. He jerked back before he fell to the floor. He didn’t even get a chance to make a sound. That’s how she liked them, silent and dead.

“One down,” she counted airily, “two to go!” She stepped over the already dissolving body. “Maybe I underestimated the deadhead count. There’s more than three.”

Michael came up beside her. “I’m getting this weird feeling you may be enjoying this.”

Shrugging, she edged around the hallway. “What can I say? It’s the little things.”

His eyes rolled. “How many do you think there are?”

“Maybe five.” The light in the hallway flickered and then went out. She bit back a bored sigh. They always had to be dramatic, flaunting their evil bag of parlor tricks as if it would actually scare her.

“What the hell?” he muttered behind her.

“Don’t pay attention to that. Stairwell anywhere nearby?”

He gestured across from her. “Why not go downstairs?”

“You would think that.” She sighed. “All right, Mikey Mike, things are about to get a tad bit messy.”

“What?” He stopped behind her.

“Whatever you do”—she reached the stairwell—“please do not shoot me accidentally.”

He snorted. “I have better aim than that, thank you very much.”

“I hope so.” She opened the door and stepped into the stairway. Thankfully, the lights were still on there. Although she could see fine in the dark, she wasn’t sure where Michael was with that, and she didn’t want him fumbling with the gun in the dark.

They weren’t in the stairwell for five seconds before the door busted open a floor below. She glanced down. “How many floors is this?”

“Ten.”

“And we are on what floor?”

“Five,” he responded a little impatiently.

Damn it, she hated running up stairs. “Mikey, get behind me.” When he gave her a me-man-you-woman expression, she physically pushed him up a step. It was just in time, because what sounded like a herd of elephants rounded the level below them. She leaned over, peering down.

Goody gumdrops, we’re about to have a party.

Two possessed humans—deadheads—sprang around the corner, clamoring over one another. The younger one looked about twenty-five and was drooling. She grimaced. The other was fresh and frighteningly fast. Behind them was a minion calling the shots, and she knew there were at least two more deadheads and another minion somewhere.

A voice rang out, echoing through the brick stairwell. “Kill the female. Do not kill the male.”

Lily tipped her head back at the startled man behind her. “And I’m the one bringing you the bad shit?”

His eyes were wide in disbelief.

“Shoot them in the head. It will slow them down.” She turned back to the deadheads. “Don’t worry about their bodies. I’ll take care of them before anyone has a chance to call the police.”

The fresh one crested the landing, wearing gym shorts and Nike shoes. Apparently they had gotten her on an evening run. An iPod was still hooked to her arm, creating the illusion she was still human. It was all rather disturbing. Once she got a sight of Lily, she laughed hysterically. “Kill the female,” she sang. “Kill the female.”

Lily arched a brow at her. That one definitely did not have a singing career in her future. Or breathing. She leaned back just as a gun went off in her ear. She flinched as the bullet zinged past her face, smacking into the woman’s chest. Sweet baby Jesus! She patted her cheek to make sure he didn’t graze her.

The runner glanced down at her top. There was a hole in her shirt a few inches off from her heart. “Kill the female.”

“The head, Michael!” she yelled. “I said the head!”

He gaped. “Holy shit.”

Exactly. She leaned back, planting her foot right in the face of the woman. The deadhead stumbled backward, crashing into the slower one. A middle-aged man who had the appearance of a professor lifted his head, roaring a string of guttural words.

“Get up the steps, Michael.” She went down a step, kicking the runner again. This time the deadhead fell back against the wall with an enraged scream. “And don’t shoot again, okay? Just put the damn gun away!” With that, she hopped down next to the professor and slammed the dagger into his chest. He toppled over the railing and, as he fell, his skin began to flake off.

The woman struggled to her feet, and Lily whirled to face her. Instead of listening, Michael was now on the landing beside her.

Apparently, he’d decided bullets weren’t effective. He pistol-whipped the deadhead. Her head snapped to the side with a sickening crunch. Even with her neck broken, she managed to turn back to Michael and laugh.

“Screw this,” he whispered as he fired the gun at point-blank range in her forehead. She fell backward and slid to the floor, twitching and screeching.

Lily sidestepped the runner’s flailing legs, bringing the dagger down. Such a shame. The girl had been pretty.

“Stab them in the chest with this type of silver etched with holy symbols and they are done for. Anyplace else is just going to hurt like crazy and piss them off,” she informed him coolly. “Those bullets are pretty damn useless.”

Michael stared at her. “Are you trying to teach me?”

She pushed him up the steps. “Get.”

“Nephilim,” called the minion from the landing below, “wanna play?”

Taking a deep breath, Lily turned and smiled. Like the one from the previous night, this minion was young, but the similarities ended there. Instead of black hair, his hair was dyed ice blond, and he didn’t bare any of the gothic trappings. He looked rather preppy in his pressed polo and designer jeans, smiling up at her.

She positioned herself in front of Michael, hoping he didn’t bum-rush past her like an idiot. “William, how have you been? Grow back that finger?”

The grin slipped from the minion’s face. “Why don’t you come down here and find out?”

She pretended to consider his request. Most minions were all fight and no brains, but William retained his cognitive thinking skills, and he had a couple of scores to settle with her. One of them involved the four-fingered left hand.

Edging Michael back, she sensed another was coming up behind William. Stuck in a cramped landing wasn’t the ideal place to take care of business. “So who’s holding your leash, Willy?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Not convinced, she rolled her eyes. It was more likely for her to kiss William’s rosy butt cheek before one of the Fallen actually involved themselves in a fight. Her gaze darted toward the newest arrival. Practically a carbon copy of William, the other minion stepped in front of him. Ah, the pawn. Before her were the brains and then the brawn. The pawn rushed the steps.

Behind her, Michael shifted and raised his gun. Distracted, she called out a warning to him. “Don’t do that!”

She realized a second too late that he didn’t know any better. Trained to fire a gun when his life was threatened, it had to be hard for him to overcome the logic behind it. He squeezed off a round and bull’s-eye! The bullet struck the one on the steps right between the eyes.

She cringed inwardly, crouching. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

And she was right.

The minion roared to life, charging the steps two at time.

She launched herself at him, managing to block his attempt to rush past her. They crashed into each other, slipping down a step or two in a tangle of leather and pressed khaki. When the minion reared back, she twisted out of his grasp. The light from the bulb above caught the glint of silver in his hand. It wasn’t that he had a blade that jolted her into action. All of the minions had some sort of weapon. It was the intricate writing scrolled on the length of the blade that made her take notice. It was just like hers, which meant it could kill her.

Not having time to consider where they might have gotten their grubby hands on a Nephilim blade, she sank hers deep into the minion’s flesh. His weight fell against her. “Ugh,” she grunted.

Michael came down the steps two at time, plucking the minion off her. By the time he heaved the creature over the railing, the face had already begun to disintegrate.

She passed him a thankful smile. “Two down…”

Michael’s lips twitched. “One more to go.”

She snatched up the blade the minion had held and turned back to William. Three more deadheads surrounded him. And they were all brand spanking new to the world of possession. How many human lives were wasted tonight?

“Kill her,” William ordered coldly.

All three lifted their heads, stares fixed on Lily. Normally, she would have happily gone after all three and William, but there was Michael. The deadheads were surely a decoy to get to him. They would keep her busy enough so William could go for him. Michael’s aim had drastically improved, but William was strong and smart. She didn’t believe Michael was ready for that.

“It’s your lucky day,” she announced. Not giving either one enough time to figure out what she was doing. She pivoted and grabbed Michael’s hand. “Come on!” Pulling him behind her, she raced up the stairs.

“We’re running?” He sounded shocked.

“I can’t let them get you. That’s Willy boy’s plan.” She rounded the eighth level. “They’ve got a hard on for you, boy.”

“Why are they coming after me?”

She passed him a dubious look over her shoulder. “You seriously have to ask that—really?” She rounded another level with Michael on her heels. She let go of his hand, grabbing the railing. “You’re an adult Nephilim who has no knowledge of what he is. They will either use you or kill you.”

He shifted and was at her side. “It can’t be true.”

Irritated by him and the fact she was running up the stairs, which had to be her own personal Hell, she fought the urge to backhand some sense into him. They rounded the last landing, and she reached for the door.

Sickness crept over her. The tremor that ran through her was different than the tingling the minions gave off. She faltered at the door to the rooftop. “Michael?”

“Yes?” He was right beside her, eyes narrowing as he studied her face. “What is it?”

She backed away from the door. Where in the hell is Luke? She needed to get Michael out of here. Now. There was no more time. On the other side of the door was death, and below them were William and his crew.

They had been trapped, and she had run right into it.

She cursed under her breath, looking around wildly. The only way out of this was going through William and his minions.

“What is it, Lily?” Michael asked as he kept his gun cocked and ready. He took a step closer to her. “Lily?”

She turned to him with wide eyes. “If I tell you to run, Michael, you run. Don’t ask why, and…please listen to me.”

“Bullshit.” The tips of his cheekbones flushed. “I’m not leaving you.”

She grabbed his free hand once again, dragging him back down the steps, hearing the sounds of a scuffle and William cursing. Then the unmistakable fleshy smack of a body hitting the ground and then another.

“Lily, you up?” Luke called out from four floors below.

Relieved, she opened her mouth to respond but was cut off. Turning, she felt her heart drop as the door above them swung open. At once, she twisted and leaped in front of Michael, forcing him behind her. “Michael, please listen to me.”

A cold laugh echoed around them, etching its way down her spine. She shuddered once. The smell of sulfur filled the cramped stairwell. Her step faltered a bit as she clenched the railing tightly.

She paled as he came into view, her heart sinking. Rage and fear swirled inside her, making her dizzy. His name came to her lips, blistering them. “Baal…”