Page 59 of Soulmates
“Sure.” I stand, and soon we’re soundlessly moving down the hall to the stairs. The tracer is keyed to David’s DNA, and if he’s anywhere in the storage facility, it should find him.
We go single file down the stairs, Trajan first because he doesn’t need help to see in the dark. Except for the occasional piles of trash, the hall and stairs are bare, lacking even the slightest residual aural energy. I’ve got one hand on his shoulder, the other holding my Glock at the ready. The stairwell smells like urine and mildew, and despite my best effort to stay focused on the threat in front of us, part of me is conscious of the dense muscles shifting under my hand.
The idea that we are witnesses to a robbery is pinging something in the back of my mind. I’d spent the last two years in Germany searching for someone who seemed to be assembling the tools for a major magical bomb, and while this is the wrong city and the wrong personnel, I have too much invested not to react to an obvious theft.
Near the bottom, he slows us. I don’t ask why. I just drop a round into the chamber and aim at the floor.
Trajan glances over his shoulder once. The flash of recognition passing between us settles me, and when he takes the final few steps, I follow.
We land in a small room with doors in two of the walls. One must lead into the building’s lobby and the other to the outside. I ease over to one door, and Trajan takes the other. The space is desperately quiet except for the whisper of my breathing.
Gently turning the knob, I open the door a crack and peer into darkness. Even with my goggles, there’s nothing to see. It must be the lobby because the outdoor dark has more life to it. This is the absence of any light.
I close the door. To my right, Trajan gently opens his door an inch. I shift to one side to give him better coverage if something’s waiting for us.
He opens it a few more inches. “Hmm?”
The door flies open, and a fist bigger than Trajan’s head smashes him to the ground. I start firing. The doorway is filled with a single large body. A troll. My bullets bounce off whatever he has strapped across his chest. I go for the head instead, but he takes another swing and knocks the gun from my hand.
The creature is huge, easily eight feet tall and much wider than any human. They’re not smart, but when you’re that much bigger and that much stronger, you don’t need a PhD. It either found us by dumb luck or we’d done something to give ourselves away. I abandon my handgun and make a run for the lobby, hoping to lead the thing away from Trajan.
I can’t run very fast in the pitch black, afraid of putting a foot wrong and ending up on my ass. The troll follows, but when he reaches the door, he gives a little rage squeal. I stop in time to see the vampire’s white hands wrap around its throat. The creature claws and thrashes, bellowing loud enough to make my ears ring, but somehow, Trajan hangs on.
No one seems to be disturbed by the commotion we’re causing. I pull my backup pistol from the holster on my hip and take aim again. Trajan must have been having some success, for the noise from the troll drops to a raspy holler.
“I have a shot.” Or I will if they stand still for another few seconds.
“No,” a strange voice says, cool and feminine, so close to my ear, I can feel her breath. “Put the gun down.”
I freeze. No one should have been able to sneak up on me like that. Inhaling, I try to identify who’s behind me. I don’t get much of a physical sense, no scent, no body heat, no aura, nothing brushing against my skin. Just the voice, and the breath, and another cool command. “Drop it and put your hands on top of your head.”
Still I resist. “What are the consequences?”
“I don’t think you’ll like them.” The edge of a blade skims my throat.
“Yeah. Persuasive.” I slowly lower my arms. Something about this situation sets off more than the obvious alarm bells. This isn’t simply a gang of losers looking to make some petty cash.
The troll crashes to his knees. Trajan keeps his grip, though his hands spasm when he realizes my predicament. After the briefest flash of surprise, his expression—and his grip—locks down.
The person behind me shoves hard enough to drive me to my knees, grasps a handful of my hair, and jerks my head up to make more room for the blade.
Anger stabs sharper than the knife at my throat. I haven’t even sent the tracer out. Instead I’d wasted time fawning over Trajan, too distracted to keep us safe from this foolishness.
“What do you want?” I grind the words out. I have an even chance of getting an answer, but that’s better than no chance at all.
Whoever’s behind me jerks harder on my hair, making my eyes water. “I want your friend to let my associate go.”
My captor’s shivery lisp makes my skin crawl. Trajan’s expression is flat, lacking any emotion, his eyes hollow. The troll’s face turns purple and his bellow drops to a wheeze.
The blade presses more firmly against my skin. “I’m really not kidding.”
If I drop my elbows straight down, I can likely shove the knife away from my skin. Then I’ll need to duck and roll in order to avoid being stabbed in the back. The troll starts to slump, and without giving Trajan any warning, I make a move, my elbows slamming into muscular arms. With another lurch, I throw my body out of the way.
Trajan pushes the troll in my direction as if anticipating my move. I avoid it, but the big lump gets stabbed.
I’m on my feet and running as fast as I can, and Trajan’s right behind me. I shoot a glance over my shoulder. The knife is dripping blood so dark, I can’t even tell if it’s red. I’d never much bothered with what color blood trolls have.
More startling, the person holding the knife is invisible.
