Bond of Darkness (36 page)

"Texas Rangers," their leader finished in a gasp, all but doubled over in anguish.

Madre de Dios
, he was strong to have spoken at all.

¡Silencio, chingado
! Rafael shouted at the enemy vampiro, hurling the full weight of his mind at him. From this close, it could easily be a death blow—and he'd be damn glad if it was. That
hijo de su chingada madre
had undoubtedly caused more than one fine man's suicide while serving El Gallinazo.

A single scream split the night and faded, its echoes washed away by the clean rain. The pressure against Rafael's mind vanished.

The Ranger stood erect again and surreptitiously rubbed his temple. "Stop for inspection," he ordered in a clearer voice. The lead Toyota lumbered closer and Posada gallantly remained erect, shooting a quick glance at the nearest boulder.

Rafael clucked his tongue and silently signaled one of his men. He'd never willingly permitted good fighting men to die needlessly.

A window spun down, the sound startlingly clear in the brief pause between thunderclaps.

"Go to hell!" a deeply accented voice sneered. Other windows instantly opened and guns sprang into the night, gleaming like miniature lightning. They burst into action, hurling a hail of bullets at the barricade.

The flimsy wood exploded into splinters but the Texans and Feds were already firing back. Posada lunged for the nearest cover and Rafael's compañero swiftly dived on top of him, rolling him behind the rocks where other Rangers had taken shelter.

Cursing under his breath, Rafael began to carefully fire his M-4T, steadily picking off any of El Gallinazo's men who were foolhardy enough to try for the rocks.
Gracias a Dios
for his assault rifle's light trigger, which gave his vampiro eyesight and reflexes the speed to catch those devils.

Unfortunately, he'd never glimpsed enough of El Gallinazo to ensnare his brain.

So this fight was going to have to be done the old-fashioned way—hand to hand, and very messy, especially if those beasts were armored.

The enemy leapt up the stairs and burst onto the courthouse's second floor, dressed like the foundling he'd once been, in grubby jeans and flaunting a pistol. Not that prosaico weapons would help him in this duel.

"Good evening, Devol." Ethan bowed mockingly to him, never taking his eyes from him.

"You should have known better than to interrupt me, you effete bastard, let alone destroy one of my best men." His gaze swept the room, probably looking for Ethan's allies or escape routes.

Lightning blazed once again, revealing the space's utter lack of anything except wood and pipes, plus the narrow gaps in the floors on either side.

Ethan's mouth twisted slightly. Little chance of any quick retreat from this cockpit.

"Now I must kill you." Devol's eyes were brilliant, glazed with a killing lust.

"Now you can
try
," Ethan corrected him, and bowed again, using the move to scan his enemy for weaknesses.

"You were a fool to have come alone, Templeton." Devol spat and began to circle. "But your doing so will save me time."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and started to pace, always facing his enemy. Damn, how he'd like to see the bastard reduced to a pile of ashes in that fireplace.

Suddenly a jet of mist burst out of Devol's clothes, instantly transforming him into a great gray wolf. It sprang, jaws widening to rip out Ethan's throat.

Ethan's new black wolf shape met it in midair, twisting like a snake for a good hold. Devol's teeth ripped into his shoulder but he slammed against his opponent's hips and broke free.

Devol tumbled but landed upright, his clothes falling unnoticed to the ground, followed an instant later by Ethan's shirt, jeans, and boots. They backed away, spitting out blood and fur, and circled again.

Ethan's leg burned, a painful wound but not crippling. Better to call it a nuisance since he'd lose blood from it, which he'd prefer to use for shifting or fighting. And the smell would madden them both. Sanity fled quickly, faster than friendship between vampiro duelists.

What the hell had Madame Celeste fed the bastard all these years? Death and terror, yes—but how much? Christ, he was stronger than a vampiro twice his age!

Thank God for all those years when Don Rafael had drilled Ethan on tactics. Cunning might be a better weapon than his greater age. Best to shift as seldom as possible. A wolf could give out punishment and receive it for a very long time, longer than logic dictated. Which might just be the length of this bout.

Another thunderbolt rattled the windows' broken glass and Devol charged Ethan again.

Steve waited and watched, forcing herself to keep her breathing steady. Why had she ever thought that was easy, even during tournaments? Because it sure as hell wasn't in a darkened, ruined city when her lover was fighting for his life.

She pressed her belly deeper into the mud until she imitated an earthworm. She was downwind of town where no vampiro could smell her, where she'd arrived in time to see seven vampiros talking on the courthouse lawn. She couldn't hear what they'd discussed, but it didn't take a fool to realize their plans didn't involve Christmas presents—especially when two of them flourished bloodstains from their wrists to their elbows. Bastards. An electric chair would be too easy for them.

She'd glimpsed a familiar golden head watching from the courthouse's second floor window. Ethan, thank God—but alone? Was that why he wouldn't answer his phone? What the hell kind of idiot tried to take on seven brutes by himself? The sort who needed help—but good Lord, she wished there was more handy than just her.

The bastards' chat had been interrupted by a grenade tossed out of the courthouse, like a verdict. God bless Ethan, he had taken out one of the brutes but the rest had scattered like quail. The leader had raced inside after Ethan and was fighting him even now, in a cacophony of snarls and growls and thuds of bodies against walls and glass.

But she couldn't go there to help, dammit, because they'd smell her coming and make her do—oh, God, who knew what? Scream like a silly virgin and distract Ethan? Shoot him in the back?

Instead she had to crouch out here in the dark and pray they didn't turn her into a helpless puppet, as they had in San Antonio.

Her breath froze again in her throat despite the night's heat.

She closed her eyes and tried to think.

Ethan. Remember Ethan. Ethan needed her.

Ethan of the blond hair, hazel eyes, and crooked smile. Ethan, her heart's only true delight.

Her lungs began to sigh in and out, once again. Thoughts began to lurch forward within her skull.

She could stop reinforcements from reaching him—or even better, kill the sons of bitches out here in the storm, where they couldn't find her.

She'd found herself a lovely hiding place—a future sewer ditch, almost five feet deep, which bordered one entire side of town. Nobody could easily see her in it, although a dog could smell her. If vampiros were as good as a police K-9—well, she was keeping her head down.

One vampiro down, six to go. Ethan had one more pinned, which left five for her. Plus, she had plenty of ammo.

She watched the lightning sparked streets, her finger light and steady on her M4 carbine's trigger. Locked and loaded, a round in the chamber ready to go. Night vision goggles, her beloved NVGs, showed her anyone who might stroll through the old town.

Come on, boys, it's time to party with a big girl.

Yoshi squatted in the construction office and stared at all of his materials. The old bank made a lovely place for sorting this stuff, thanks to its heavy stone walls. Of course, it didn't have a good roof—but that's why he'd headed for the ground floor where everything was dry. He had plenty of explosives—he smirked—enough det cord, and barely enough detonators to do the job at Compostela. Man, people would be talking about him for decades after this job! To say nothing about the truly excellent meal Don Rafael's bitch was going to provide.

Awesome, man, just awesome—whether or not he managed to escape Devol.

But the newcomer who'd thrown the grenade had to be Templeton, Don Rafael's alferez mayor. He needed to be stopped but how?

Yoshi wasn't a gunman—he shuddered, remembering how heavy and clumsy rifles were. But he could work magic with bombs. Like make a little bundle of joy to drop into that courthouse and immediately blow up the bastard who was spoiling his plans.

Still, he needed explosives, det cord for fuses, and detonators.

He stared at the three piles in front of him. Explosives, yes, with plenty left for Compostela.

Det cord? Yes, but only if he made the bomb into a drop-and-run. The fuse would still be far shorter than he'd like, though.

Detonators? He grimaced. No, not if he wanted to have any of his good ones for the real target.

But Templeton needed to be killed here and now or they wouldn't get there.

Maybe if he used his cell phone for the detonator instead…

A man sauntered down the street from the old livery stable toward the bank, singing a scatological aria about dead enemies and casually spinning a scoped Barrett .50 caliber rifle over his head like a helicopter rotor.

Steve stared, goose bumps running down her neck away from the newcomer. He sure as hell wasn't anybody she wanted to let loose on a Texas street, if he planned to use a sniper rifle firing heavy machine gun ammunition.

Her finger eased a little deeper onto the trigger. She slowed her heartbeat, matching it to her breathing.

Exhale, no pulse, utter stillness throughout her body—except her trigger finger. Just as she'd been taught.

Bam!

His head exploded into a cloud of dust.

Before his few powdery teaspoons of remains could reach the ground, Steve was bent over and running, her retreat camouflaged by the intensifying storm. This hide had been lovely but, unfortunately, the only one with a clear line of fire to that now lonely sniper rifle and its two full box magazines.

Two down, four to go with one for Ethan.

Viterra burst into the construction company's offices in the back room, his beloved Steyr AUG A3 cocked and ready. Futuristic looks matched with brutal efficiency, it had never failed him.

Nothing here.

He swept his assault rifle's muzzle slowly over the silent room, itching for a chance to eliminate whoever had run across this floor.

Dammit, this was the place closest to where Hunter had died. Why else would anyone be in here?

Maybe the killer had gone farther into the old bank building, to where it became two stories instead of only one.

But who wanted to assassinate a prosaico when they could smash him into the ground instead? Yoshi's explosives could make that happen faster than anybody.

Viterra rested his AUG on his hip and flipped his cell phone out of his chest pocket.

Over his head, Deaf Smith smiled at his old friends. Together, they faded into the walls.

Twenty feet away, in the construction office's lower floor, Yoshi finished the final touches on his drop-and-run delight.