23. The Warrior

Knowing that Wren is alive gives me all the motivation I need. I won’t let Emerson hurt her. I will make her safe or die trying.

Basement.

I didn’t see a basement on the blueprints. It’s not surprising to me that Emerson has had this planned for a while and added one off the books. If he weren’t such a sadistic prick, I could admire his work ethic.

With my M4 Carbine in hand, I prepare to go in with the group starting at ground level in the rear of the building. Everyone has a mic and earpiece so we can communicate anything meaningful. If it isn’t explicitly necessary, we were to be silent. Our goal is to incapacitate, extract, and then we will burn everything to the fucking ground.

We are positioned at the back entrance, waiting for the roof team to give the go-ahead. They have quietly dispatched two lookouts that weren’t particularly good at their assignment.

“Top clear,” Charlee calls on comms. “All teams are go for breach.”

Hand already on the handle to the door, I twist it quietly until I meet the resistance of a lock. It is nothing to force the lock to break as I keep turning. The crunch of the mechanics failing is louder than I would like. I pull the door open, and Rolando enters first, keeping his back to the door.

He sidesteps to make room for the rest of us. “Clear.” He says to us, not on the mic. I come in next, Chandra and Zach are right behind us. We are in a back hall, an old employee break room to one side and offices and closets to the other. Splitting into groups of two, we move to clear the back.

Turning right to check an office, I come face to face with a rather large man. He seems vaguely familiar. No doubt one of the more infamous criminals Emerson turned. He slaps the barrel of my rifle, trying to make sure it won’t tear into his face.

I pull my pistol from my side and fire five rounds into his skull.

I hear rapid fire in the next room as Rolando takes out another guard.

For being his security, they were doing a shit job of protecting Emerson’s assets.

The other half of our group sounds like they found a few others.

Easier than expected, the back hall is now clear.

Sounds of gunfire come from the front. The four of us converge on the door leading to the main section of the warehouse, confident that they will be distracted by our other team. Rolando mans the door this time. I step into the room and see men tucked behind the old machines of the factory for cover. But they aren”t paying attention to their backs. I sidle to my left and begin firing.

A man to my right picks up on what is happening and repositions to return fire at us.

Ducking down and rolling, I put a large cement pillar between me and his bullets. Rolando makes it out and is tucked by a machine to my right. Chandra and Zack are pinned at the door.

Fuck.

I peer around the corner fire, pulling back in time to save myself from getting a nice gaping head wound. While the attention is on me, Rolando takes his turn to fire. I hear the sound of several bullets colliding with flesh, but none of them are the money shot to drop him.

Zach fires from the door, forcing the gunman back around his machine.

The sound of breaking glass from behind him, and a pool of blood begins to seep from behind it.

One of our sharpshooters got him.

Wren reveals her escape in the middle of the gunfight and is trying to get upstairs to us. I can hear Charlee descend, killing stragglers. Emerson has yet to make an appearance.

My attention shifts to the remaining enemies attacking my front team. They are unable to advance but holding their own. Zach and Chandra join us now, and we put pressure on the remainder of Emerson’s men until they are overwhelmed by our numbers and our angles.

An old machine, damaged in the reign of bullets, explodes and I feel searing pain as shrapnel catches me in the chest. It may heal, but it still hurts like a bitch. I see one of ours get knocked backward, likely with some matching metal in their flesh. I know they will be fine. Thankfully the damage to my team isn’t extensive, and we continue to put pressure on the last of Emerson’s lackeys.

A round from above slides into a man I am exchanging fire with. His skull is practically blown apart before me. Looking up, Charlee offers me a jaunty little salute. The rest of my coven joins me, and just like that, the main floor of the warehouse is clear.

Gunfire sounds from below, and I eye the walls for the stairwell. A door at the far side catches my attention and I see a flash of movement. I think I see Wren’s face for a second.

Her voice in my head tells me I did.

“Fuck,” I whisper, and Rolando looks at me. “He’s got Wren behind that door,” I gesture. “He wants me to join. If he hurts her….”

Rolando nods. “I’ve got your back.”

“Stay out of sight. I don’t want him to know you’re there. You’re just back up to get her out if something goes wrong, understand? I mean it Rolando, if you have to choose between us, choose her. She never asked for any of this.”

With a grim face, Rolando says to me, “I will get her out or die trying.”

I call to the rest of my coven on our comms, “Nobody else follows me, just secure the building and hold off any reinforcements.”

A chorus murmurs “copy” on my earpiece. I signal for Rolando to follow and we quickly make our way to the door.

Adrenaline settles into me as I stalk towards the door. If I had a pulse, it would quicken. I’ve never been more nervous about anything—if he hurts her, if he so much as harms one hair on her head, oh, the things I will do to him.

Like he can hear the dare, Wren cries out in pain, sending my blood boiling. Rage turns my world red until I register Wren laughing maniacally.

That’s odd.

Examining the door hinges, I note that it will pull open. It’s heavy, and metal, I can see through the window. Wren is propped against the wall on the floor, blood pouring from her cheek, chest, and gut. She sits with a smile on her face. Her expression is a distorted echo of my Wren, and I realize then that her dark half has control. Emerson’s enraged expression turns to the window and pierces through me. He doesn’t like this at all. No, he prefers to hear women begging.

Placing my hand on the cool brushed steel of the door handle, I twist and pull.

The second the door is open just half an inch, he calls to me, “Drop your weapon and leave it outside the door.” I remove my M4 strap from my shoulder and lean it against the wall before passing my pistol to Rolando. Every movement is slow and calculated. Showing one hand through the window, I use my other to pull the door again.

Gently, oh so gently.

Having to awkwardly hook my foot around the door to finish opening it, I ensure Emerson can see I don’t have a weapon. Entering the stairwell, I have no choice but to let the door swing shut behind me. The weight of the door pulls it closed with a thunderous clunking sound. The look on Wren’s face is unsettling, though I suppose I should be grateful that the harder and darker part of herself is getting her through this. The smell of the blood that covers her is intense. Some of it is hers, some of it belongs to others. I expect her dark side to be more wild.

Instead, she seems in complete control.

Is she resolved to what needs to be done?

A flash of something primal in her eye told me not exactly, and one false move on Emerson’s part will send her into a frenzy.

Good.

Her wild vampire is indeed driving, and she still hasn’t merged with her other self. Part of me is grateful that she hasn’t combined yet. Having her darker half in control gives her some measure of protection.

Wren’s eyes don’t even move to mine. She studies Emerson. She wants to kill him, and I want to let her. I just need to give her the opportunity.

Emerson keeps the gun pointed at Wren, though his eyes shift back and forth between us. I need his concentration on me. All it will take is a brief moment where he doesn’t see her as a threat, and then she can go for the throat.

“You finally did it,” I said, disappointment coloring my voice. “You killed your creator and got your revenge for him not letting you ravage and rampage like an animal. Happy?”

The scowl on his face tells me that happy isn’t the right word. No, he is proud. “We are superior to humans. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t take what we want.”

I laugh at the insanity of his logic. We come from humans, we still have humanity inside of us. Emotions, logic, love, empathy. Emerson never had empathy while he was alive, that’s his problem. “That didn’t stop you in your human life. What was your excuse then?”

That throws him off guard.

He studies me, probably curious about what and how I know the details of his life before Leland and me. Likely thinking I am bluffing, he says, “I was the perfect gentleman until the pair of you came along.”

“Is that why we found you half gutted in some back alley behind a brothel?” He blanches. I remember the way he tried to stuff his intestines back inside his body. Someone had very much wanted him dead, and I do not doubt he deserved it.

Pretty stories of heroism spoke to our naivety then. That’s why Leland agreed to turn him at my request. I saw myself in him. A man dying undeservedly, with only the blood of the immortals able to save him. I thought he was like us. I thought he was good deep down and the unfortunate victim of an evil out in the world. I thought he could join our family.

I thought wrong.

I didn’t know until after Roanoke, but Emerson had been the disinherited son of a nobleman. He lost his titles, money, and legacy when it was discovered that he was raping and mutilating the servants in his home. He’d killed a few, able to cover it up at first, but apparently, his father walked in on him in the middle of the act and refused to overlook it, so he removed him from his will and told him to leave their home. His father’s love and influence only went so far as to not have Emerson arrested immediately.

I close my eyes momentarily, trying to force the image out of my brain. The journals I found told me Emerson had become exceptionally good at skinning his victims and keeping them alive while he forced himself on them. He would even consume their innards from time to time.

Fucking cannibal.

Rumors of his next atrocities are all I have to go on after he was rejected from his home. Fortunately, his father included the rumors in his journals as well. If they were accurate, Emerson spent his time carving up prostitutes, attacking women at night, and a few break-ins where he’d assault the servants and noblewomen alike. Less mutilation, probably pressed for time. He is disgusting.

“Your family found out you were a monster and abandoned you. You got off on hurting women and girls, and one night, you messed with the wrong one. Was it her brother, father, or husband who got revenge on you? Do you even know which woman was able to identify you? Do you know how they found you? Do you still feel their blade as it ripped into your stomach?” He trains the gun on me.

Finally.

“Shut the fuck up, Oz.” He screams at me. I’ve broken through his mask, his cover. He loves doing the deed, but he hates being judged for it. “You don’t know shit. All of them deserved it. All of them as they wriggled and writhed. They were using their bodies to control men and I made them feel like the nothings they were. I was doing a service.”

“A service?” I step to the side ever so slightly, which makes him almost turn his back to Wren. She is reaching behind her. Does my lovely have a weapon he doesn’t know about? “You take your sick and twisted pleasures in any way you can because you feel entitled. When faced with the reality that you aren’t, you break down like the worthless and pathetic piece of shit you are.”

He shakes with anger.

“That’s why you ran at Roanoke. You weren’t afraid Leland would kill you. You were afraid of his judgment.”

He puts his finger on the trigger.

In a flash of movement, Wren leans forward and presses a pistol to Emerson’s knee. As she fires I jerk forward, gripping his hands and angling the gun away as a spray of bullets releases and he screams in pain. Overpowering him with my strength isn’t too difficult, but Wren wants to have all of the fun.

She latches onto his neck. Her snarls echoing in the stairwell, harmonious with the sound of her teeth clacking together and his flesh ripping apart. There is blood everywhere and I yank the gun away from him. He tries to shove her off, but it’s useless.

His hands swipe at her hair, her face, gripping and pulling but not doing a damn thing to deter her. Emerson’s scream is incredibly satisfying.

“Stop, you crazy bitch,” he yells, his eyes finally looking scared as Wren spits some of his flesh on the floor and resumes tearing into his neck.

Every single muscle in her body is focused on feeding right now. To get her to stop, I’d have to kill her and I obviously have no intention of doing that. They slide together down the wall. Whatever blood isn’t pouring out of his gaping wounds is in her mouth. I crouch beside them and watch his eyes begin to lose focus. I run my fingers through Wren’s hair, soothing her as she takes her fill.

“Please…” his voice is getting quiet now, begging.

My mate moans in pleasure at the sound, letting him go for just a second. “I told you that you would beg me.” Amusement colors her words before she latches back on. Emerson’s movements slow, and he is dead in moments.

When he quits twitching, Wren pulls back. Her nose, mouth, and chin are covered in his blood. She uses her hands to wipe some of it off and suck it from her fingers, focused on getting every drop possible. I untie Leland’s sword from Emerson’s waist and unsheathe it. In a swift motion, I swing and separate his head from his body.

There will be no regeneration, and we will set fire to this building as we leave.

Wren looks up at me, still being held onto by her wild side, though I can’t tell if she is returning. It doesn’t matter. They are the same inside. When she can finally merge the two of them, they will be whole and one. I push her up against the wall, kissing her blood-stained lips, pressing myself into her to feel as much of her as possible.

Nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing her. Her hands snake up my chest, and she wraps her legs around my waist. We stay like this for a few minutes, kissing and holding one another.

I finally break the kiss and rest my forehead on hers, panting.

“Oz,”she whispers. My eyes lock on hers, she isn’t back to her usual self, but I can see the flicker of them both in her eyes. “Oz, let’s get out of here.”

“Of course, little bird. Let’s go home.” She doesn’t want to let go of me, so I carry her as she is. Clinging to me like it is the only way for her to stay safe. Exiting the stairwell, I say calmly to Rolando, “Burn it all down.” A few members of our coven stay behind to do just that. The rest of us pile into the cars and begin the trek back to our mountain home.

Back to peace.