Page 67 of The Heir
And I swear, if a single hair on Melody's head—or those two babies in her belly—has even a scratch? I'm going to rain fire down upon Ella. Newly found status as Nephilim be damned and fucked sideways.
From the corner of my eye, I see a medical cart that toppled over in the blast. Stainless steel scissors glint on the floor—I snatch them up, hacking at the security gate. If I can just pry it loose from its groove in the floor, I can batter my way to the hall. I can get to my wife. I can fucking save my wife.
As I work to pry the metal from the floor, another blast hits the building—rocking me to my core, throwing me off my balance, and slicing my thumb open with those fucking scissors. The sirens cut off—they must have damaged the alarm system. All I can hear isthe low rumbling from the blast. I hear the panicked whimpering of the medical staff. They left the shelter hatch cracked for me if I change my mind.
Not a fucking chance. Not a single chance am I crawling into that hole without Melody.
Another wave of kinetic energy rolls through the earth. White tiles fall from the wall and shatter. Blood drips from my thumb, mingling with sweat and concrete dust. My ears pop and ring—I can't hear a sound. I can only feel rhythmic pounding through vibrations in the floor.
Someone's trying to force their way in. This isn't just an air strike for the sake of destroying the facility. This is a capture mission.
"Lock the fucking hatch!" I bellow, hacking at the security gate again. "Lock it! They're trying to get in!"
I don't know if they heard me—I can barely hear myself. But the hatch falls flush with the floor, entirely hidden by the interlocking white tile. It's as if it were never there at all. Good.
Grunting, I push myself from the floor. Blood still oozes from my thumb. The security gate remains firmly wedged into its groove in the floor, but based on the pounding from outside… that might not be a problem for much longer. Fuck, I need a gun. I need a weapon. I needsomething. The Eligos's people are always armed,but they didn't think to give me—or Melody, for that matter—anything?
I'm going to have a serious talk with that woman. Gratitude towards her hospitality only goes so far, and now that I'm fuckingunarmedwith the Seraph bearing down on us… shit. Exasperatedly, I swipe away the sweat beading on my forehead. And completely forget about the concrete dust that's now stinging theshitout of my thumb.
"Fuck!" I hate this. I can't get out. I can't get to Melody. I don't have a goddamn gun. All I can find is a scalpel and a few packs of blades. Fuck. I guess it'll have to do.
The moment I pocket the scalpel, a piercing scream shatters the air. "Melody!"
My adrenaline spikes, and the wall crumbles in a flurry of cement and tile. Overlapping voices shout over each other, and I find myself on the business end of a rifle.
"No. No, you can't do this," I whisper.
The wielder cocks their head to the side. They're covered in body armor and desert camo. I can see myself in the reflection of their helmet visor, and I look positively unhinged. Good. If I can strike fear into this person, whoever they are, my chances of survival increase.
"Dantalion?" Ah, it's a man. His voice is rough, like he's smoked a few packs a day for the past five years.
"And if I am?"
"Where is your wife? The Nephilim was very clear. You are a bonus, but she is the target." He flicks the safety off of his gun, aiming it directly at my head. Cold sweat gathers on the back of my neck.
Maybe it's time to be stupid. "She can't show up herself, huh? She sent you? If Melody is the target, why isn't Ella here herself?"
He doesn't respond. He just cocks his gun and motions behind him—to the gaping hole in the wall. "You can come quietly or not at all."
Fuck. My pulse rushes in my ears. I don't care if I die, but Melody… actually, I do care if I die. I can't leave her alone. I can't leave her here with my two kids. She needs me. I need her. And god, those babies are going to need me.
"Fine." I raise my hands in surrender and slowly walk toward the hole. Another soul-shattering scream rings out, and I fucking panic—I sprint. I sprint out into the surrounding jungle, toward the sound of my wife's agony and anguish, completely forgetting the man with a gun at my back.
"Melody! Where are you? What are they doing?" I shout into the wind.
"Dante! Help!" It's not Melody—it's Helena. Oh,fuck.
"Hey!" the Seraph soldier yells. "Get the fuck back here!"
He's not shooting—that's a good sign. I'm not as indispensable as he made me out to be. Paying him no mind, I sprint toward the sound of my wife's guard. Dodging tree branches and low-lying brush, I burst into a small clearing where my wife—my fucking wife—is on her knees, hands behind her head, tears streaming down her face.
Helena lies on the ground next to her, hands zip-tied behind her back. More armed men stand around them, pointing guns at my vicious wife.
One man turns to face me, pointing his rifle directly at my head. "Stop."
The calmness in his voice startles me, and though I don't want to, I skid to a halt. Panting heavily, I glare at the man and clench my fists.
"What's Ella doing here, huh?" I snarl. "Why is she sending you? Why not her?"
