Page 18 of Sanctuary

A big, chitin-sheathed body burst from the ground. Huge pincers cut like chitin shears and sliced the merc on the left in half.

“Farhang!” Wayne snarled from midway down the driveway. “Do something!”

Farhang clenched his fists. The magic swelled inside him and tore out like a geyser, sending a ball of searing fire ten feet into the air. The tiny sun flooded the front yard, incinerating the darkness in an instant.

Pain lashed Roman with a burning whip, setting fire to his bone marrow, cooking his eyes in his head, steaming his brain. His insides clenched, and he vomited onto the porch.

Magic backlash was a bitch.

The midnight dawn blazed, furious and vivid, making every snowflake stand out.

The last merc looked around, realizing he was the only one left standing. The ground in front of him exploded outward, and a cow-sized black scorpion lunged out, huge, segmented tail striking. The merc shuddered, impaled by the spike. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp.

The remaining Shadow Strikers stared, shocked.

Vasya locked two of the bodies with his pinchers and dove back underground, taking his dinner with him.

“Fucking kill that bastard!” Wayne howled.

Farhang shoved the ball of light at Roman. He saw it coming, and the familiar rage that always fed him when he’d been beaten down reared its ugly head.

Not today. Not fucking ever. Not in my own house.

Roman planted his feet and thrust the staff in front of him. His body opened, like a door, no longer just a physical form, but a conduit to elsewhere, a place without light, a realm of cold, where power lay waiting. He welcomed it. It filled him, packed itself into a huge, clawed fist, and smashed into the ball of light.

Magic clashed in a burst of purple lightning. The world shook.

The clawed hand squeezed the searing flame ball. It popped and went out.

Blood poured from Farhang’s nose and mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went down like a sack of potatoes.

The torches bordering the yard flared with blue fire.

With a blood-curdling howl, Roro tore out of the front door, bounded across the yard, locked her jaws on Farhang’s side, heaved him like he weighed nothing, galloped back to the porch, and dragged him into the house.

Roman swung his cloak of darkness around him, pushed Finn through the door, and went in after him. The last thing he saw was the stunned look on Wayne’s face.

4

The problem with dramatic exits was that they cost a couple of seconds, so by the time he got back into the house, the nechist had managed to drag the unconscious priest down the hallway and toward her room.

Roman thrust Klyuv against the wall and stomped down the main hallway.

“Drop him!”

Roro shook her head, flinging a limp Farhang back and forth. The priest’s head smacked into the wall. Great, now he’d be concussed on top of befuddled.

Roman charged into the kitchen, flung the fridge open, grabbed the beef shank bone he’d saved for soup, and ran back to the main hallway. Roro was trying to drag Farhang through the utility room doorway, toward her lair.

“Trade!”

Roro sighted the shank bone. Her jaws fell open, and Farhang crashed to the floor.

“Roro?”

Roman tossed the bone at Roro. She leapt three feet up, snatching it from the air, and took off toward the utility room. The door swung closed behind her, moved by the draft. A massive hole gaped in the bottom. She’d chewed her way out.

Great. Now there would be no stopping her, and he’d have to replace the door.

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