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I know Aurelia is alive, and she’s here, and since I’m not bleeding anywhere, I know she isn’t, either. It’s one of the few benefits of our screwed-up bond: I’ll always know when she’s bleeding or injured.
Still, I don’t see her.
What I do see is the thickly tattooed arm of an oracle’s soldier, and as I peer farther around my cover, I notice he doesn’t look so good. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest, yes, but it appears shredded from the number of rounds pumped into it. He’s covered in blood from what looks like a double-tap headshot, a thick graze to the jugular, and to top it off, the poor bastard has a pair of wicked-looking throwing knives where his eyes should be.
A phoenix can receive a wound that will “kill” us for a few days, but we will regenerate and get back up once we’ve healed, unless we’re injured with Morganite. So wounds that are considered mortal to humans are still mortal wounds, because while we’re healing, we are completely inert.
No breathing. No heartbeat. As dead as dead can be.
For a little while, anyway.
I made a medical examiner nearly shit himself when I popped up on a morgue slab after I’d been declared dead two days prior. That took some explaining. Sometimes humans are a nuisance. Though, given the fact that the man provided a pair of scrubs and a turkey sandwich after he got over his shock, it is possible that humans might not be so bad.
With the healing required for the trio of mortal wounds, it will be a long while before he is up again.
His buddy is still standing, though, and in full tactical gear, save the Kevlar helmet. Since he’s also a soldier, he seems to have lost his shirt so he can be a douchebag and display his Legion markings. Like the rest of us, they cover his entire right arm, his right pectoral, and right scapula.
He’s wounded, too, with a few metal slivers as thin as knitting needles impaled in his left shoulder, thigh, and shin. He has Aurelia pinned down behind another I-beam, peppering gunfire with an awful ping-ping-ping against the metal. But my girl? She’s far too crafty for him, and he has run out of bullets faster than expected. I raise my weapon, ready to sever the poor bastard’s spinal cord.
Before I have a chance to pull the trigger, Aurelia has abandoned her sanctuary of steel and has launched herself at him. Wearing a pair of black slacks that cup her tight ass like the hand of God, she flies from the I-beam, her ink-covered arms pumping as she sprints toward him.
Fury is stamped all over her face as her raven hair streams behind her, her eyes glowing white even behind those stupid contacts she has to wear to blend in. She has the hilt of one throwing knife in her left hand, and her right hand is empty, her fingers pulled into a tight fist.
Three bounds cross the ten yards that separated them and then she’s on him, leaping to hook her legs around his shoulders and hauling his carcass to the ground in an MMA maneuver I’ve forgotten the name of. His guns are history, having skid across the room in the takedown, and Aurelia has him pinned with a knife to his throat. Her right hand is now grasping his jaw, her fingers digging into his flesh.
Knowing she’s most likely going to use the electricity that courses under her skin to fry the fuck out of this dude, I scan my surroundings to see if I’m standing on something conductive. While most of the flooring is concrete, steel beams stand like sentries through the whole building like lightning rods. Yeah… electricity bad, especially since if I burn, so does she. I need to stop her before she disintegrates this asshole.
Questioning him might be beneficial.
“Aurelia, stop,” I shout, but she’s not listening.
Of course she’s not. When has she ever listened to me?
Never. The answer is never.
As quick as I can, I rush her, hooking my arm around her waist, keeping her from lighting this entire building up like Christmas morning. Flipping her over, I try to keep her hands away from me while also trying to keep from knocking her around. I’m only marginally successful, and now we have matching cuts on our left cheek.
I’m lucky she didn’t take my eye out. But we’ve got bigger problems than some piddly little nick. The soldier has reached his guns, albeit he’s hobbling like an old man. It’s completely possible she damaged his spine in that MMA move. Only he seems to be having trouble concentrating because he’s still trying to chamber a round.
Seriously? Did Iva send the bottom of the barrel, or what?
“Time to go,” I say as I try to scoop her compact little body up, but she’s having none of it.
“Don’t touch me, you abominable prick,” she screams at the same time she realizes it’s me, slapping my hands from her waist.
Normally, she’d try to kill me. Again. But I think the soldier is a bigger threat than I am at this point.
“I was trying to keep you from frying me. Don’t blame me for attempting to save your life. Again,” I growl, irritated I can’t even be the good Samaritan with this woman.
“I wasn’t in danger of losing my life, you moron. I am perfectly aware of where I am and the simple fact I’m basically in a metal box. I’m also aware of how the laws of conductivity work, as well as a vast number of other laws of fucking physics. I’m not trying to kill anyone else, and there are some wounded people still here. I was just going to slit his throat like a good little girl.”
Well, that takes the righteous wind right out of my sails.
“Oh. Well. Sorry?” I shrug just as the soldier finally heals enough to figure out how to work the firearm in his hand.
“You plan on killing this guy, or are you waiting for him to blow my head off with that hand cannon?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at me.
I lift my weapon and fire two rounds into the soldier’s shoulder. Glancing back at her, I quip, “I’d planned on questioning him first.”
