Ares Page 3

  “It will take more than steel to win this fight,” the blond man snarled and she frowned at his accent. French?

  A bright flash exploded overhead, the thunder rolling in time with it, and she flattened against the wall. Both men had found their feet and were fighting close to her, heading back towards the end of the alley in a flurry of kicks and punches.

  She caught brief flickers of the blond man’s thin face as he fought the bigger brunet. Rain rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his small goatee. He didn’t look scared as he fought a man twice his size.

  That man circled with him, his expression a picture of darkness and intent. Strands of his overlong dark hair had fallen down and were stuck to his sculpted cheeks. Not a trace of fear lined his features either.

  If anything, both of them looked angry.

  The Frenchman attacked with a burst of punches, landing a few despite how quickly the other man moved to evade them and then he was on the defensive as the big man swiped with his twin knives. He grunted as one of the blades sliced across his arm and the sickening tinny scent of blood instantly joined the smell of earth and ozone in the air.

  He flipped backwards towards the mouth of the alley and came to a halt. He straightened, facing the larger man, and squared his shoulders. The lights in the alley blinked back into life and Megan looked at the street beyond him. They were back on there too. The dim alley lights shone down on the two men as they faced each other, both casual despite the fact they were in the middle of a fight, as if this was an everyday occurrence for them.

  The Frenchman tipped his chin up and his eyes narrowed. “I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time.”

  “Your death?” the larger man growled, his voice deep and edged with darkness. “You should have dropped in earlier. I’m always happy to send scum like you into the afterlife.”

  The Frenchman’s thin lips twisted in a cruel smile. “It is you who will die here tonight.”

  “We’ll see.” The larger man launched himself forwards, boots pounding the tarmac.

  The blond man raised his hand and suddenly the big one was flying through the air towards her.

  She dived out of his path and hit the wet ground hard. Pain blazed through her right shoulder and she curled up on her side, covering her head with her arms. The brunet hit the wall and shards of brick rained down on her. When everything went quiet, she gathered the courage to crack her eyes open.

  The large man lay face down on the ground near her. Above him, there was a huge dent in the brick wall of the building. What the heck had just happened? Was he dead? Her hands shook with the thought of witnessing a murder. It wasn’t possible that a man could survive something like that, at least not without broken bones and a severe concussion, but then everything that had happened in the last few seconds seemed impossible.

  Her gaze darted between him and the blond man. She had faced some dire odds in her life and survived, but something told her that she wasn’t going to survive this. She should have run when she’d had the chance. She didn’t want to die here tonight.

  The large man snarled something dark and her eyes widened as he moved. His hands shifted closer to his elbows and he pushed himself up onto his knees. He shook his head, causing the long strands of his wet hair to caress his face, and then got to his feet.

  How the heck could he move after that?

  He shouldn’t even be conscious.

  His dark eyes shifted to her and she swore red embers lit their penetrating depths. He stared at her for a few seconds, as though they were the only two in the world and there wasn’t another man in the street with them.

  A man who wanted to kill him.

  “You okay?” he husked and she swallowed and nodded. He nodded too and then did something that surprised her. He smiled, his sensual mouth curving into it and setting her heart racing. How the heck could he smile when he had just been tossed into a wall with such force he shouldn’t be standing right now and was bleeding? “Stay down. I won’t let him near you. It’ll be over soon and you’ll be safe. Understand?”

  He growled like a feral beast before she could respond and launched his right hand forwards, as though throwing something at the other man. A bright fierce orb of fire burst from his hand and shot down the alley, blinding in the darkness. He turned and chased it. It exploded against a wall and another flash of fire followed it.

  Megan couldn’t believe her eyes.

  The large man dodged and air whooshed past her, ruffling her wet shoulder-length hair. Trashcans further along the alley exploded as though something had struck them. Was that what had hit the large man and thrown him into the wall?

  She crept to that brick wall and crouched there, keeping as small as possible. Her heart pounded and eyes darted, trying to take in the fight as fear turned to fascination.

  The brunet unleashed another swirling orb of fire from his palms and the Frenchman evaded it, rolling forwards in the alley. The man levelled another fiery blast at him, catching him this time and sending him spinning through the air. He landed hard on the tarmac and rolled.

  Awestruck didn’t cover how she felt as she watched them now. Both of them had powers. It was incredible.

  The big man pounded towards the other one and he disappeared, reappearing right in front of him. They clashed again and the sound of material tearing cut through the thunder rumbling across the city. The brunet leaped backwards, towards her, distancing himself.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he growled and she looked at the Frenchman. He stood in the middle of the alley, black cloth dangling from one of his hands. Had he torn the man’s clothes?

  The slim blond smiled, tossed the piece of material aside and crooked a finger. “Come and make me.”

  The brunet charged and they clashed again, each throwing punches. Megan flinched with every heavy blow and vicious kick, fear slowly trickling back in to wash away her fascination. She had seen some brawls in her time, but nothing like this.

  This wasn’t a brawl.

  It was a battle.

  The lights on the walls flickered, flashes of lightning causing them to stutter. She couldn’t tell who was winning. She hoped it was the brunet because she had the impression that he wasn’t out to hurt her. Not like the other man. There had been moments when he had looked her way, and each time there had been a look on his face that said she was next.

  The Frenchman ducked to evade a punch and threw his palm at the larger man. Was he trying to push him over? Megan couldn’t see why he would want to do that and it was the only explanation she could find for him pressing his palm against the man’s chest.

  The immense brunet flung his head back and threw his arms out at his sides as he roared in agony at the storm. The lights on the wall of the alley died as his garbled scream filled the night, battling the growling thunder. He fell to his knees and arched backwards, the Frenchman’s hand still pressed against his chest. Orange light shone from the point where they connected, illuminating the blond man’s face as he grinned.

  “It was too easy.” He drew his hand back and stared at his fingers.

  Something glowed in the centre of his palm, strange light illuminating threads that ran around the back of his hand. He turned his cruel gaze on the large man.

  The man collapsed forwards, palms pressing into the wet ground, and the lights on the wall blinked back into life again. His big body heaved as he breathed hard and she frowned as she realised something.

  He was shaking.

  Flames flickered over the Frenchman’s hand and a fireball grew from the centre of his palm. He aimed it down at the other man.

  In an instant, Megan knew what he was going to do and she couldn’t allow it to happen. She couldn’t let this man kill the brunet. She wouldn’t stand for it. Her gaze quickly scanned the dimly lit street and darted back again. One of their guns lay on the wet tarmac only a few feet from her. She reacted on instinct, pushing off the ground and running for it.

  She scooped
it up.

  Raised it.

  Fired.

  A loud crack like thunder split the silence and she jerked back from the force of the recoil.

  The bullet nailed the Frenchman in his right shoulder, knocking him backwards, away from the other man.

  An unholy shriek pierced her ears, more like the sound a bird of prey would make rather than a man, and the Frenchman turned his gaze on her. Megan hesitated, fear washing through her stronger than ever and her heart smashing like a jackhammer against her ribs. Eyes that glowed ethereally locked on to her.

  What was he?

  He raised his hand, the light from the fireball casting dark shadows across his face. She didn’t hesitate. She lifted the heavy silver gun and took aim again.

  The fireball exploded from his palm.

  The brunet launched to his feet and sprinted straight towards her, racing the twisting golden orb as it grew in size.

  Megan stared death in the face, and it was fiery and painful and terrifying, and then there was darkness and heat. The man’s thickly muscled arms wrapped around her and he crushed her against his solid chest, shielding her, his heart pounding against her ear. He jerked forwards and she smelled the heat of the fire, felt the force of it rush past her, and curled into his embrace, waiting for the pain.

  Waiting for the end.

  Cold rain soaked into her scalp and slid down her face, and she opened her eyes as reality penetrated the haze of her fear and shock that she was alive and unharmed rushed through her.

  The man loosened his grip on her and took an unsteady step backwards. He swayed on his feet, his face in shadow, head hung forwards. Smoke curled from his slumped shoulders.

  “Need to get my powers back... going to kill the bastard...” he muttered and then his hands settled on her arms, heavy and trembling. His gaze lifted and met hers, red illuminating his irises. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  A flicker of a smile curved his lips and then it dropped from his face as his expression went slack. He collapsed to his knees, his head landing on her chest and his grip on her taking her down with him. She hit the tarmac hard, pain shooting up her legs and spine. The man breathed heavily and rolled off her, landing on his front with his cheek pressed into the wet ground.

  Megan shook so hard the gun still locked in her fingers rattled.

  She stared down the alley to the Frenchman.

  Steadily raised the gun and aimed again.

  Slowly squeezed the trigger just as her grandfather had taught her.

  The man disappeared.

  The sound of rain filled the silence.

  Megan let the gun fall from her grasp to clatter onto the ground near her thigh. She breathed slowly, her shoulders slumping as her tension melted away, leaving her chilled to her marrow as the adrenaline that had been fuelling her disappeared with it. Her gaze drifted down to the man lying on the cracked tarmac in front of her.

  The scorched and smouldering back of his black coat revealed blistered skin beneath.

  He had shielded her from the blast, taking the damage for her. She crawled over to him, removed her sodden coat and laid it down on the ground, and carefully eased him onto his back on it. He groaned. She welcomed the small sign of life and looked him over.

  The front of his black t-shirt was missing and there was a dark burn mark in the middle of his defined chest, right over his heart. She didn’t know what had happened to him or what the fight had been about, but she knew one thing.

  He wasn’t an ordinary person.

  He was like her.

  Megan gently laid her left palm on his pectorals, over the dark patch, and focused. The man flinched and his eyes slowly opened, coming to meet hers. He stared up at her, his dark gaze relaying his shock. She had always rejected her ability because it made her feel like a freak and an outsider, but she was quick to call it now. The burnt skin on his chest began to heal beneath her hand.

  The man opened his mouth and then grimaced, his handsome face contorting viciously as he unleashed an unholy snarl that was more beast than man.

  She focused harder, wishing she could do this painlessly. Healing a major wound always caused the injured party pain and it hurt her too. She was doing it as quickly as she could but for some reason, he was slow to heal and she was already beginning to feel the effects of using her gift.

  Megan drew her hand away, revealing smooth unmarked skin. She stroked it and looked down at his face, checking on him. Rain poured down on them. It chilled her but he still felt warm beneath her fingers. She shifted her hand to his cheek and cupped it.

  “Can you hear me?” She frowned when he failed to respond and she patted his cheek, hoping to rouse him. She didn’t want him to pass out and she could feel that he was barely holding on to consciousness. Fat drops saturated her clothing. They rolled down his face and soaked into his overlong dark hair. She picked the strands from his face and willed him to respond to her. “Please hear me. Move if you can. Do something to let me know.”

  His eyelids fluttered and he moaned.

  “I’ll try to heal your other wounds, but it might hurt. Just hold on, okay?” She waited long seconds before his mouth twisted into a grimace and he frowned. Her stomach rolled in time with the distant thunder. She had to heal his back for him, no matter how much it drained her or how much it hurt him, but she didn’t want to risk making him lose consciousness.

  The voice of reason said that what she had to do was call an ambulance and then the police. She couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand if she told them the truth. The other man had powers, and he wanted to kill this one.

  This man had protected her but the police wouldn’t care. They would throw him in jail for being a part of the fight and the other man would get away with everything.

  She looked down at his face, absorbing how beautiful he was, strong and masculine, like a warrior. A fine layer of stubble coated his straight jaw and the slight crook in his nose told her he had broken it more than once. He was a fighter, and he had risked his life to protect her and now she would repay him by healing his wounds and taking care of him.

  His lips parted.

  Strange words fell from them, a language she didn’t understand, and pain speared her skull in time with each one. She snatched her hands away from him and covered her ears.

  Her eyes widened as he stopped speaking and silence fell.

  Darkness swirled in front of her, obliterating her view of the other end of the alley. She moved closer to the man, afraid it was the other one come to finish them off, and grabbed the gun.

  Ribbons of black smoke separated to reveal two tall handsome men, both clad head-to-toe in dark colours and sporting black long coats like the one her protector wore.

  Megan stared up at them, her fingers clasping the gun. She raised it and aimed, darting between the two newcomers, and breathed slowly to steady her nerves and her hands. Neither of them acknowledged her. They approached and she switched aim between them, and her fear began to get the better of her again.

  She glanced at the man resting against her and resolve flowed through her. He had protected her and now it was her turn to protect him.

  “Keep back,” she warned but they kept advancing.

  She aimed at the white-haired one and squeezed the trigger.

  Her finger stiffened and palm froze, and her eyes widened when she saw the ice covering the gun. It burned and she dropped it. The ice shattered, scattering across the wet ground and instantly melting.

  “What the heck?” She stared at her palm, desperately trying to move her stiff fingers as they burned, numb from cold. Where had that ice come from?

  Her eyes snapped to the white-haired man.

  Had it come from him?

  He towered over her now, his build slimmer than her protector’s was but not as lean as the other man beside him. His pale eyes held hers, glacial and dark.

  “Did you do this?” the other, black-haired man snarled in a voice laced with darkness and she
made the mistake of looking at him.

  He was incredibly handsome but there was endless cold in his dark eyes. A ring of vivid blue encircled his irises and she shrank back, afraid of the sensation of danger that washed over her and told her to run. He might be slimmer than the other two, but he wore an air of lethal darkness, a threat that beat in her blood as though every sense and instinct she had was warning her that he was dangerous and would kill her without hesitation.

  The man with softly spiked white hair stepped in front of him, placing himself between them, and turned his head and looked over his shoulder at his comrade.

  “A gun did not do this.” He turned his pale eyes on her. “Why did you turn his gun on us?”

  The black-haired man moved past his friend, swept both sides of his open long black coat behind his hips to reveal a worn grey-blue shirt and lighter grey scarf, and crouched beside her protector. His black jeans stretched tight over his thighs and she noticed he wore the same leather army boots as her protector, but the ends of his jeans had been loosely tucked into them.

  He tunnelled his slender fingers through the long lengths of the top of his hair, pushing it back from the shorn sides and back, and ran dark eyes over him. Fine black eyebrows met hard above blue eyes that seemed strangely bright in the low light, swirling like a stormy sea.

  “What happened?” It was the white-haired one who spoke but the question was there in the black-haired man’s eyes too.

  “Another man attacked him,” she said, and then added, “and he protected me, so I protected him.”

  She was still intent on protecting him. They didn’t seem like a danger to him, showed no sign of attacking, but if they made a wrong move, she was going to grab the gun again and use it this time.

  They both stared at her and then exchanged a glance that told her the man wasn’t in the habit of risking his life to protect people.

  The white-haired one moved forwards and frowned down at her protector too. “We must get him to safety. Take his arm but be careful. We should be safe while he is unconscious, but it is hard to tell.”