Page 12 of Mitchell
Mitchell turned to see a guard stumble with his hand on the hilt of the knife sticking out of his chest. A second later, he fell to the ground.
Seryn met Mitchell's gaze. "Can you stand on your own for a second?"
"I should be fine." Mitchell had done alright for the last minutes. A few more wouldn't hurt anything.
Todd stepped up to help Mitchell, but Seryn shook his head. "Don't touch him."
Todd's eyes widened before he held up his hands as if in surrender.
Seryn walked over to where the dead body was, pulling the knife out of the man's chest. He wiped the blade on the man's clothing and stuck it back into his coat.
"How much shit do you have in that thing you're wearing?"
"It's called a duster." Seryn smirked. At least he was coherent and made sense.
"I know what it's called." He knew a hitman who wore one. He was like Seryn and could do extraordinary things.
Seryn wrapped his arm around Mitchell's waist. "You settled on what you're going to call me."
"Sweetheart, you mean." Mitchell grinned as much as his fat lip would allow. He knew what Seryn had meant, but Mitchell liked the endearment.
"I didn't mean that. You called me Seryn." He wasn't an easy person to read. His expression often fit his nickname. It was probably why he'd gotten it. But that permanent smile made it impossible to tell if he liked it or not.
"Is that what you prefer?" Mitchell would call him anything he liked.
"I like the endearment."
"I see."
"You don't, actually, but we'll have a conversation about it later."
"And about the fire shit you do. You also have glowing eyes and fangs. Will we talk about that, too?"
"If you like."
Mitchell didn't know if he wanted the details. It was fucking weird, but Seryn hadn't hurt him. There wasn't any reason for Mitchell to think he would just because he was…different. It was just that the level of difference was off the charts. Mitchell wondered if Seryn had some type of illness. Maybe he had some rare disorder that made his teeth look weird and his eyes glow or something. There wasn't a logical explanation for the fire. Not even sickness explained it. But Mitchell knew he should find out the details.
Mitchell owed the guy a lot, considering he was free for the first time in months. The least he could do was help him with his problem. Even the one that made him say weird stuff.
Chapter Six
The visions were getting more frequent. The only relief he'd gotten was Mitchell flirting with him and when he had taken charge. All Seryn could do was breathe through them.
Seryn pulled a handgun out of his coat when it was apparent the guards wouldn't stop hunting them. How many more guards were there? Surely Davorion didn't have that many on his payroll.
Seryn hadn't killed Davorion when he had the chance. It would prove to be a big mistake. He already knew that. But between his visions and Mitchell's injuries, He'd overlooked the fact Davorion was still breathing.
With Mitchell not able to move quickly they couldn't make a run for it. But Seryn had planned for that.
Seryn turned to Todd, who was stupid enough to stick with them. He would have been better off running along with the rest. At least, in the short term. After Seryn got them far enough away from the tunnels, they would be in less danger. But not out of the woods completely.
Seryn wasn't sure what to do after. All he knew was Davorion's reach was pretty long and that would be a continuous problem until Seryn killed him.
"My one regret is that I didn't make sure Davorion was dead." Seryn hadn't meant to say that aloud.
Todd sucked in a breath. "He's not?"
Seryn sighed and changed the subject. He'd never been good at sugar coating things, mostly because he wasn't sure why people needed it. Seryn had lost his fear during his childhood, and it hadn't returned until the vision of Mitchell dying popped into his head. He had forgotten how fear felt. But feeling it again had allowed him to recognize it in Todd. "Do you know how to use a handgun?"
