Chapter Four Ronin

Bloody fuck.

Sure, the rough surface of psychic friction from this whole shitshow's been chafing me since I set foot on this blooming boat. The atmosphere on board's been bristly enough to give any Valyrian telepath the hives. Even after that nullifying object some bloke's carrying numbs me out like Novocaine.

But Zara's scream rips through my deadened senses like a Sawsall.

Snarling with fury, I lob a flaming fireball at the wall of assholes powering toward me and take those bastards out like ninepins. All screaming like blazes, some doing the drop-and-roll to extinguish their smoldering shirts. Others run to hurl their flaming bodies over the rail into the sea.

With any luck, they'll drown.

I've got kilojoules of blistering rage crackling through every synapse.

No one—and I mean no one— fucking touches my girl.

I pivot to find Zara losing her shit, eyes glowing ultraviolet, lightning crackling round her hands. She's staring at Dez's glittery purse, lying on the empty deck where our housemate was literally just standing.

But I've also got eyes on Racetrack, crouched on the bar behind Zara in a sea of shattered glass, with one arm outflung, eyes burning silver, and her hard face all wicked with witchcraft.

"Oh, bloody hell," I mutter.

RT's witchcraft is teleportation. No shocker then. She's teleported her girlfriend out of danger, probably straight back to the domus . Even though teleporting a whole girl that kind of distance, kilometers back to shore, would drain anyone's psychic battery.

In this case, my housemate's judgment sucks.

"Fuck me, RT!" I bellow. Her freaky gaze snaps toward me. "You got anything left in the tank?"

Racetrack hesitates, then jerks her chin in a nod.

Not exactly the ringing endorsement I'm hoping for. But a bloke takes what he can get.

"Then get Zara the hell out of here!" I snap.

Zara swings round and scopes out the sitch. Her panicky worry for Dez vanishes in an eyeblink as she grasps what's gone down. Her face fires with awareness. "Oh, hell to the no. No way. Not me!"

Of course, my girl's not down with getting whisked out of play herself.

For shit's sake. I'm already pissed. Now my aggravation ratchets way up. That's bad news for the big trooper who barrels into me from the side. His body mass sends me flying. I tuck and roll into the impact, then come up from the deck snarling. He's right on top of me, but my booted foot snaps out sideways to hammer that asshole into next week. Bone cracks under the force of my side kick. The guy flies back and drops like an anvil.

I let out a satisfied growl and spin back toward the fray—

That's when the shock stick slams into my chest.

From that other bloke I never saw coming.

The hit delivers an electric jolt that fries every cell of my body. That jolt of juice rattles my wits like peanuts rattling in a jar.

My pores crawl. A sensation like stinging bees swarms through my skin. Pretty sure smoke's rising from my ears.

When my brain stops sizzling, I'm sprawled flat, face down on deck, limbs limp and heavy as a load of wet laundry. Basically, I'm in no state to avoid the steel-toed boot that slams into my ribs like a baseball bat.

I absorb the sickening impact with a groan.

Through blurred vision, I can just make out Xiao's sneering face looming over me. With the fucking shock stick that hit me still swinging from his fist.

"Not such a badass now, are you, Pendragon?" he gloats down at me. "His Royal Hotness doesn't look so hot when he's drooling. "

Fuck, am I? My face is way too numb and tingly to tell. I'd like to sweep that asshole's legs out from under him. But my body's not responding.

My circuits are fried.

My bleary gaze drifts through a sea of running legs to catch a fractured glimpse of Zara kicking some royal ass. I know she's afraid to hurl lightning in this crowd, but she's a spinning fury of fists and knees and elbows—even in her stilettos. She's single-handedly fending off three AIB assholes.

She trained for this shit, but she can't hold them off forever.

Especially with those shock sticks in play.

"Racetrack," I groan.

My housemate's the only ally in sight. She's got to get Zara the fuck out.

Now.

I can just make out RT, still standing on the bar, scowling and kicking some fool in the face with her shitkicker boot.

Xiao's foot slams into my diaphragm. My sternum ignites in a red blaze of pain.

I curl into the blow with an oof! Try to clear my head. Order my limbs to function.

No joy. I'm limp as a clubbed fish.

"You'd better… fucking… run," I grind out, with my chest on fire, "before I… fucking… kill you."

"Wow, Adam . I'm really scared." Xiao sneers at my rubber-lipped threat.

"Not me, RT!" Zara's gritty yell spirals through the buzz in my brain. "You got anything left, you help Neo! Then Ronin!"

That gets my heavy head off the deck in a hurry.

Blast.

There's my sweet Red, handcuffed and struggling, getting perp-walked (more like dragged) between two grim-faced coppers toward the cabin. His white tuxedo jacket's all sooty, his glasses are knocked askew, and his horrified gaze is locked on me.

Hearing Zara's yell, Neo's desperate face swings from me to Racetrack. "No way! Not me. I'm not leaving Zara. You help Ronin!"

"Bollocks," I groan.

I know what my girl's doing. Neo's a civvy, a noncom, he's helpless in a fistfight. Zara feels like it's her responsibility to protect him first, then the rest of us.

Never mind that it's our job to protect her. Pulling that sweet lad of ours away from Zara while she's this deep in the shit will kill him.

Xiao's foot swings toward me like a wrecking ball. I flop away from the kick and manage to avoid the worst. Still heavy and tingling with shock, I swing my leg round, clumsy and uncoordinated as fuck. Through sheer brute force, without any of my usual panache, I knock Xiao's feet from under him.

He crashes to the deck with a yell. The shock stick he's gripping clatters out of reach.

Over his sprawled body, I catch a glimpse of RT charging up the old battery to do her thing, with eyes like molten lead and the ends of her short hair floating.

Poor Red's fiercely protesting the whole plan as he's muscled toward the cabin. "No no no, not me! Ronin—"

"Abigail Prudence Bulworthy Prynne." Zara roars in the lightning voice, edged and humming with the voltage of a good strong Compulsion spell. Because that mouthful's RT's proper name, and names have power in the witching world. "HELP. NEO."

RT's face hardens with resolve. I bark out my own protest—it's Zara who's the target, Zara we've got to save—but I'm too bloody late. Racetrack's Compelled, and her arm sweeps wide.

Neo's desperate protest ends in mid-syllable. Our bookworm's solid body vanishes in a blink.

His two bullies bellow in surprise and outrage.

"Hell." I flop onto my gut, get a knee under me, use my wobbly arms to muscle my aching chest off the deck. "Red."

He'll never bloody get over this.

Gods willing, Neo's already materialized back at the domus . With any luck, he'll find Dez on the landline ringing up the Dean.

My head's still muddy, so I barely register the flash of steel. That fucker Xiao's back on his feet.

Coming at me from my blind spot.

With a blooming knife.

"Shit." I push up to stand, but my clumsy palms skid in a puddle of spilled booze. I crash back to the deck, hard enough to bite my tongue. The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth .

The blade slices past with a thin seam of fire that licks my shoulder blade.

Now I've really gone round the bend. That prick just ripped my D&G jacket that Vasili picked out for me. I'm probably bleeding all over the thing. When Vasili sees the damage, I'll never hear the end of it.

Growling with fury, I roll hard into Xiao—hard enough to bruise—and knock that six feet of trouble right to his knees.

"What's your bloody problem anyway, mate?" Forcing my heavy arms into action, I pin his knife hand above me, holding the blade at bay, even though I'm still wobbly and shocky as fuck. "You jealous of me or what?"

His lip curls in contempt.

"It's not about you, hot stuff. It's about her . About what it'll take to make her lose her Gemini shit on live TV." He's got leverage in this position and he uses it, pitting his full weight against my numb and tingling arms, glaring into my eyes the whole time, teeth bared in a grimace of effort. "I figure—this'll do it."

Hell, he isn't wrong.

Despite all I can do, that shining blade's inching, inexorable as fuck, toward my neck. If he buries that blade in my throat, he'll make Zara mental. Not to mention what it'll do to Vasili and Lucius, who'll both blame themselves.

Plus he'd put a serious damper on my whole day.

I haven't got shit for leverage. But I manage to twist my hips and knee him a decent knock in the junk.

He yelps and collapses on top of me, nearly skewering me like a damn kebob. I barely catch his wrist, a breath before he'd give me that involuntary tracheotomy he's jonesing for.

He hisses out a curse in his native tongue.

"That's got to smart a bit, yeah?" I grin into his agonized face.

But he's still in the game.

Fucker literally hurls himself at me.

We're scuffling and swearing and scrabbling for the knife when a snarling blur of chestnut fur streaks over me and drives Xiao's weight right off my body.

I push up to sit with a gasp of relief, then scramble to my feet, weak and knock-kneed as a fawn. Totally fucking helpless to do anything but watch while Xiao and Lucius' wolf tumble end over end, knife flashing, the prick yelling, the wolf growling and snapping…

…right th rough a gap in the guardrail…

Over the side of the ship.

Still locked together, the two tumble out of sight with the wolf's surprised yip.

A long second later, the silence splinters in a heavy splash.

"Lucius!" I stagger to the rail, swaying like a drunk, and stare wildly down into the night-black sea. "Lucius!"

Where in blazes are they? The inky sea's all choppy, but they're nowhere in sight.

Gripping the rail for balance, I twist for a lookabout to see if, somehow, I've missed them. Most of the action on board seems to have shifted to the lower decks, except for those losers we've left scattered in various piles of moaning incapacitation on the poop deck. There's gallons of spilled blood splashed about. Looks a bit like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre up here, because Lucius' wolf tore through anyone who threatened us, and he's savage with those wicked chompers. Plus my psi fire's taken a bunch of blokes off the board.

The remaining action on this deck's centered on Zara.

Her face has gone incandescent like the goddess she is, eyes pulsing platinum, hair writhing round her face like Medusa snakes.

Now my girl clenches her fists and does this foot-stomp trick, with an echoing cry that summons her little lightning. An electric jolt of ultraviolet whoop-ass ripples outward across the deck, with her at the center, and arcs through those three guys troubling her.

Our queen's way more lethal than a shock stick, even when she's pulling her punches (like now). That crackle of electric discharge puts all three of them on the ground.

Knocked out cold, just like that beefy civvy who grabbed her before. That guy's only now coming round near the oyster bar, while the chick with the purple boa sobs and flutters over him.

Racetrack's down, slumped over the bar, though I can't see any blood. Looks like she's maybe spell-stunned, like she burned through too much juice porting Dez and Neo (who's a big boy, a lot of mass for her to move) kilometers out of play.

Or else she's been thunked on the noggin. Which is a bloody good way to take any kind of telekinetic out of the game.

Speaking of telekinetics …

I can't see Vasili any damn place. But the main deck below is bedlam. Place looks and sounds like it's coming apart at the seams. There's screaming. Running. Random police brutality.

At a guess, that's where I'll find my boyfriend. Right in the bloody thick of it.

"Ronin!" Zara races toward me, face wild and hair flying. "My God. You're bleeding!"

"Fuck, it's nothing. Flesh wound." Sure, Xiao nicked me with that knife. My shoulder stings a bit. But I've handled lots worse.

I grip my girl's silky bare arms, her skin cold under my hot hands, and give her a quick once-over. She's lost her stilettos and one strap of her party frock has snapped. Otherwise, thank fuck, she looks undamaged.

Shuddering in relief, I drag her into my arms in a quick hard hug. "Fuck, Zara."

"Sweet Jesus. Ronin." She presses into me, arms winding tight round my waist. Guess whoever has that nullifying object's moved along, because the familiar tingling rush of our psychic bond floods through me. She's trembling in my arms, which totally makes me mental.

I pull her head hard into my chest and tighten my grip.

Yeah, she's shaken, who wouldn't be after this circus? But she's also pissed as fuck.

That's my girl.

I mean to wreak hari-kari on Messalina, Cleo, Xiao and the whole lot over this load of rubbish.

"Okay, look." I pull in a breath, lock onto my girl's wide eyes, and make my voice firm. "Time to regroup. Retrench. Circle the wagons. Whatever. First thing we've got to do is get our crew together and get off this blasted boat."

Her teal brows draw together in a frown. "Yeah. Working on that. But Cleo's gone… somewhere… and Messalina's vamoosed down below. I think Vasili's gone after her. Maybe he's gone after both of them." Her alarmed gaze veers to the sea. "Is—is Lucius in the water?"

"Think so, yeah. With your ex." We both lean way out over the rail to look, but I still can't see shit.

I can't find Lucius.

What's worse, I can't feel him. Which has to mean that nullifying object's still in play .

Somewhere.

"Lucius?" I'm still wobbly from getting juiced, but I've got enough left in the tank to cock an arm and lob a weak fireball over the water for illumination. Not that there's much to illuminate. "Lucius!"

I can't feel him, but I can feel Zara, and she's spiraling.

She's not afraid for herself. She's afraid for him. Afraid for me. Afraid for all our lot.

I barely manage to get hold of her arm before she lifts off the deck to fly down there and investigate for herself.

"Look, Zara. You'd best get Racetrack into the dive boat." Sensing the protest rising to her lips, I rush ahead. "She's hurt. She needs you."

"God. I know." Zara's teeth sink into her lower lip. Her forehead scrunches with conflict, and the look she darts at RT is poignant with guilt it fucks with my heart to see. "But what about Lucius? I won't leave him, Ronin."

"No one's bloody leaving him." Thinking fast, I'm already powering for the gangway, urging a still reluctant Zara along with me. "I'll get Vasili to have a look round. He's a wicked flier. He can telekinetic our wolf out of the drink, just in case… in case Lucius is hurt. Which you can't, love."

Her mouth pops open in instant protest. She's set on getting her two pence in, she doesn't like admitting there's anything she can't do. But, all of a sudden, I can't hear shit.

Just an earth-shattering roar that splits the night like a tyrannosaur's bellow.

That roar sets my ears ringing. It's the roar of an angry dragon. (Because we've got a few of those round again in the witching world.)

This dragon's massive black form blots out the night sky under the span of his outstretched wings. He soars toward us over the waves. Right over the complete fucking pandemonium of the Aquarius Queen .

That's the type of pandemonium that ensues when you're overflown by a dragon roughly the size of a flying Godzilla, bellowing with deafening fury.

It's pandemonium even before his fanged jaws open over the deck below.

When the dragon starts flaming, that scene of pandemonium turns to literal Hell.