Page 60 of Torn Between Two Worlds

The demons that fought at their side showed no mercy, they didn't know how to. The cries of the losers were music to Stryder's ears. His daggers sliced through flesh, his claws following and making quick work out of anyone else that came too close. His eyes saw a flash of light and a trail of fire, and he cursed before swinging his head. There she was. Gods be damned, that crazy female of his was still there, hands launching her blessedly controlled power left and right. He whistled low as the light slammed into a soldier and exploded him.

“Damn! I better not piss her off.” Distracted, he didn't feel the bullet that slammed into his left shoulder, but he sure as fuck felt the poison begin to course through his system. He reached and tried to pull the bullet out to no avail. If it wasn't out soon, he wasn't going to make it out of there.

He heard Ciara scream and figured she would drop her guard to rush around the doorway to him. Perfect. Forcing himself to walk forward, he grabbed onto her as she ran toward him. He could see her lips moving, but couldn't hear the answer. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, and the sounds of the battle washed away. Just this once. He should've told her. Should've mentioned the poison. But someone else could tell her, someone else would guard her.

She looked at him, and he realized he’d growled at the thought of someone touching his woman, and then he pushed her.

Stryder pushed her straight into the shimmering portal he had all but tricked her into standing in front of. The look on her face as her backside connected with the carpet on her apartment floor would haunt him forever, or however, much longer he had.

The shimmering grew smaller, acknowledging that its safety target was indeed inside. He was thankful that she wasn't always in control of it and assumed, at times, that the mysterious man in the trench coat was.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Bro, but really, not the time for that shit.” Jameson slapped a hand onto this shoulder and pulled back. “Fuck. Bloody fuck, Stryder. Hold still.” Jameson used his dagger to dig into the flesh around the bullet.

His fangs punched into his lower lip from the pain, and he grabbed his gun from his pocket and shot the pack of three advancing on them. Headshots, nothing less for the Horseman of War. He could feel the warm ooze of his own blood down his back, and the pressure release as the bullet was yanked out.

“Son of a bitch, Jameson!” he roared and turned to see his brother wiping his dagger free of blood, onto his bloodied clothes. He shook his head, and his eyes looked over the scene before them. Hundreds dead, humans and demon alike, yet hundreds more were filling into the cavern on either side. He walked forward after pulling his sword free, stumbled and almost fell, but Jameson caught him.

“I don't think we got it in time. Just promise me you'll tell Ciara. Tell her, I love her,” he shouted and raced into the thick of battle. If he was going to die, he was damn sure going to take down as many as he could to protect her from them when he was gone.

His mind was a blank wash, and as he fought his way through the sea of bloodied and broken bodies, he didn't connect with anything. He was War, he was death, and he was the nightmare the angels had told The Initivate the Horsemen were. Stryder took no mercy as he crossed the cavern, slicing, shooting and stabbing everyone—even a few demons on their side that were stupid enough to get in his path.

He went through weapon after weapon, snarling as one gun ran out of bullets, and he realized he had none left to load it with. He was left with only the small handgun to deal with Jonathan, with one lousy slug because he never used the piece of shit weapon. Throwing the gun to the floor, he used his claws and the daggers to continue walking to his goal. He would save the handgun in case he only got one shot at Jonathan.

When he reached the other side, he found his target with ease, trying to hide behind a column. Stupid shit was clear as day since reinforcements from both sides had stopped flooding in. Jonathan was his. He should've killed him months before for trying shit then, but he'd had no way of knowing the annoying twit had risen to command an entire section of the Initiative. It was time to kill him.

His feet pounded into the cavern floor as he raced after the man. Damn it. Of the course, he'd been spotted, why would anything be easy? His movements were hindered as the poison raced its way through his body, and he knew he would need to drink soon, or it would kill him, even if he won the war. He felt footsteps pounding behind him, and without looking back, turned his gun hand and shot.

“Fucking hell, brother. I'm helping damn it!” Demarcus's voice grew closer as he talked.

If that didn't take the cake. He was going to need help taking down the bastard who ruined his remaining life. He'd had to toss the gun to the floor to keep up, the poison making it harder for him to grip things. Fighting sure was going to be a bitch.

“Seriously, Demarcus, I have this. Go.” He shoved Demarcus out of the way and continued to run toward what must have been the exit. He could hear Jonathan and a few others, plus his jerk of a brother hadn't backed off. He knew it was going to be a mess if they didn't work together, so he waited and motioned for his brother to stop as he came close.

Nodding to him, they split up and walked in different directions in the cavern to block in however many Initiative were making that sound. Their eyes met when the tunnels looped back together. He would bet his shirt the wicked grin on Demarcus' face was on his too.

With another nod, he took out clean daggers from his belt. Stryder bent over, holding his hands to his side as he ran. He sliced clean through the stomach of the two men guarding the doorway to either an exit or a room where Jonathan was hiding. Either way, he was going through. His fingers gripped into a ball, his knuckles turning white when he kicked the door open. More men waited inside, and he could see Jonathan running up a staircase to the real exit.

Blocking in their prey at opposite ends, his diamond gaze locked with his brother’s, a wicked grin still on Demarcus' lips. With a nod, he gripped his daggers as best as he could and saw the swing of the scythe as Demarcus sprang into action. His eyes flashed as a poison-tipped blade sliced into his stomach. His leg swept in front of him, and the man slammed into the ground.

Leaning down, he dug his claws into his neck and whispered into his ear, “You picked the wrong Horseman, buddy. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to get involved with War?” The kill was quick and bloody. Wonderful and sexual, he was astonished his libido could work with the fight unfinished and the toxin slowly killing him. Retracting his claws, he turned to see Jonathan halfway up the stairs and took off, leaving the remainder to Demarcus to finish off. His brother was the better fighter, the more lethal would always be Death, the more violent would always be War.

Taking the steps two and three at a time, he sucked in a deep breath to counter the pain. His blood spilled down from cuts and bullet holes he hadn't even felt. Would the poison ooze out while he ran? He caught Jonathan at the top as he was scrambling to open some hidden lock. He cleared his throat and landed a punch to the face, launching the man into the wall, so his skull hit the rock first. The crack of the hit made Jonathon delirious, and his cry of pain was even better.

His nails wrapped around Jonathan's shoulder and began to dig in until he picked the pathetic male off the ground. His scream tore from his throat and was music to Stryder's ears. His legs were stick-straight, and it pissed Stryder off. His nails dug in deeper, and he shook Jonathan like a rag doll. His left hand lost its grip as the claws sliced clean through Jonathan's shoulder. Quickly slamming his claws into another section of his shoulder, he clamped a hand over his prey's mouth.

“No screaming too loud. I want your death to be better than flying down stairs. With your luck, you could survive, maybe be a paraplegic. But, honestly, I need you dead because when I travel to hell, I want to be able to make your soul suffer for this.”

His whimper shot adrenaline through Stryder, and he dropped Jonathan to the ground. Jonathan's eyes grew wide, and he tried to scramble away, the blood trickled quickly down his throat and cascaded over his shoulders, matching Stryder's own blood-covered body.

Stalking forward he bent over and grabbed the dagger from the belt hook on Jonathan's jeans. He ran it over his jeans to clean it. “How fucking poetic?”

He stepped closer, and Jonathan scrambled his ass right back into the cavern wall.

“To die by your own knife, of course.”

Smirking, he thrust the knife into Jonathan's chest, right into his heart. Jonathan's scream wasn't muffled that time, and it sure as hell wasn't when he twisted the knife deeper into his heart.

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