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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 thathappyisn’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.
