Samhain Publishing

Orson’s soldiers thundered past, manic grins fixed to their faces as they fired indiscriminately at the crowd. Tirana felt someone’s hand on her neck, shoving her to the ground, a body throwing itself over hers. She nose-dived, felt the scrape of grass against her cheek, the smell of damp soil pressed against her nostrils. Screaming and shouts reverberated around her, punctuated by sharp volleys of gunfire.

“Get off me!” She fought against the dead weight forcing her down, managed to jab her elbow into his ribs. The body slid off her. She pushed herself away, struggled to her knees and pulled the stunner from her holster, turning to protect herself.

Thurley lay sprawled facedown on the ground beside her. Laser fire had blasted a gaping hole in his back, his flesh blackened beneath the edges of his singed jacket. He was dead, taking the shot obviously meant for her.

The hot sting of fury wiped out the shock of horror. She rose and pushed through the frightened crowd running to escape the battle being fought on the far side of the hill. The bonfire had toppled beneath the weight of two robed men lying across its scattered centre. Loose embers fluttered into the sky from the trail of fire spreading over the hill.

“Orson!” Tirana strode towards the knot of soldiers herding the crowd. It was difficult to see more than the circling shadows of their uniforms, the points of their rifles. A scatter of bodies littered the area.

Someone slammed into her, screamed. Tirana stumbled, gripped her stunner firmly. She heard the sobbing of women, the cry of children. Children!

Damn Special Forces. Damn Orson. She would make him pay for this outrage.

Orson was standing on the exact same spot where only minutes before the man in the necklace had stood. In the flash of lightning, she saw a smug smile settle over his countenance as he watched his soldiers rounding up the crowd. Half a dozen of the robed men knelt before him, the soldiers’ weapons digging into their backs. Their hoods had been yanked back to reveal spider-like tattoos engraved on their bald heads.

“Orson!” Tirana raised her stunner.

Orson turned and saw her. A nasty smirk spread over his face.

A blazing heap of embers obscured her view, making a sure shot difficult. She stepped closer and flicked her stunner to its highest setting.

“I wouldn’t try that,” Orson called, raising his voice to be heard over the space separating them and the sobs from the crowd. “You’re outnumbered, Captain. I suggest you stand down.”

“You’ll be court-martialed for this.” Tirana aimed at him through the shimmer of heat. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Orson laughed in derision. “Who do you think authorized this?”

No. Oh, no. She stared at him in horror.

“You think they’d give something like this to you without a reason?” His voice rose in scorn. “You were in way over your pretty head from the start, Tirana.”

Her shoulders jerked when he said her name. There was menace and rage in his voice, a desire to hurt. And in his eyes the lust to control, to make her submit, to destroy her.

“Come here, bitch.” Orson’s mouth thinned into a vicious twist. He lifted his laser rifle, aimed it, and took a step towards her.

Standing in the open was suicide, her stunner no match for a rifle. She wheeled and ran, stumbling over the bodies strewn in her path as Orson shouted her name. Laser fire sizzled past her ear. Up ahead, she saw Thurley’s body beside the menhir. Beyond the standing stone lay the bare hill, where Orson would get a clear shot if she ran. She’d have to make her stand there.

She ran to it and jumped over Thurley’s body. Someone caught her arm as she landed and dragged her behind the menhir. She smacked up against the solid chest of the man standing there. He gripped the top of her arms and held her still against his hard body.

Tirana gazed up into blazing green eyes. A shock of recognition shivered through her body. The man with the necklace stared at her, his beautiful face austere in the shadows of the tall stone, his mouth set in grim determination.

“Come with me.”

She heard the low authoritative growl of his voice and shook her head, twisted out of his grip. Something screeched. The gargoyle jumped from foot to foot at her feet, his tiny, leathery hands pulling at the edge of her trousers.

Shock had her stepping back involuntarily, out into the line of fire. Something sizzled, slapped into her arm. There was a moment of excruciating pain before everything went black.