In the Company of Witches
Page 55

Mikhael’s wings took him over some of the rougher spots, and Derek used short bursts of levitation, but the Well had a mind of its own. When the ground gave way on one of his landings, Derek let out a curse, falling chest deep before he could catch himself. The heat of the lava flow that ran a few feet beneath the crust was a burning lick along his boots, but before it could do more than singe, Mikhael’s strong hand closed on his forearm, his wings beating hard to pull Derek from the greedy opening. The Dark Guardian dropped him back on the ledge, a safer distance from the hole.
“Hell, it burned my boots.” Derek knocked the flame off the dragonskin with his staff, expelling it. He dropped in closer behind Mikhael then. When it came to this kind of work, neither one of them was going to get into the whose-dick-was-bigger bullshit. Mikhael was right; familiar alone didn’t cut it down here. If Derek got knocked out of the game by the damn trip to get there, Mikhael would be facing what was ahead on his own.
The rock formations became more frequent, the teeth consolidating into cliffs that curved over them on both sides, eventually transforming into a closed archway. The ground opened up beneath it, forcing them to walk a narrow ledge of rock against the cliff side. Five hundred feet below, a wide lava flow was visible, the heat felt even at this distance.
A rumble through his soles, through the wall next to him, and Derek anticipated, thrusting up with the staff as Mikhael grasped his forearm. The contact allowed Derek’s domed shield to protect both of them, the rock that fell from the cliffs above bouncing off it and around them like giant hailstones. He’d protected the ledge integrity as well, and now Mikhael’s shielding joined his, the two locking together to stabilize it.
Once the avalanche was done, Derek swept the area above with expanded senses. “Just random. More of the Well’s carnival routine.”
“I agree. Our enemy still lies ahead.” Mikhael jerked his head and they were moving on. Within moments, the catacombs rose up like a malevolent beehive before them. The Dark Guardian didn’t take the upper passages, heading without hesitation into the mouth of a tunnel that would take them farther down.
Though they both knew the female demon would detect their coming as soon as they engaged her perimeter guards, stealth was the order for now. They moved soundlessly, Mikhael’s wings tucking in close to his back and then dissipating so as not to scrape the walls, since the initial passage was narrow. When the tunnels widened out, they became a chain of larger chambers connected by dark hallways. Derek and Mikhael both came to a halt, Mikhael turning to meet Derek’s gaze. The arcane school had been centuries ago, but now, without thought, they fell into the hand, eye and body language signals they’d developed then.
Feel it? Ancient. This demon is old.
Mikhael nodded. They resumed their course, but now there was no banter, two warriors moving toward a battle they knew was going to be tougher than expected. Derek kept an eye on their six while Mikhael scouted forward, a sweeping sphere of surveillance.
When the tunnel narrowed again, Mikhael brought him up short. Derek felt it at the same moment. A low-level warding just ahead, so close Mikhael could reach out an arm and touch it. A trip wire.
Mikhael directed them both to hug the wall, nodded to Derek. This was precision work, and of the two of them, Derek was better at that. No room for ego here. Somewhere ahead, the woman his wife loved was being harmed, held against her will. They were getting her back. It was obvious there was nothing else as far as Mikhael was concerned. Hell, Derek loved the prickly bitch himself.
Derek focused on the warding, felt the shape of it, the make. Dropping to one knee, he summoned the magic, rolled it into a ball in his hands, and then gently tossed it over the warding mark. It spread out along the surface, a bluish tint. “Go now,” he mouthed, and he and Mikhael stepped through it, like ghosts passing through a wall. A moment later, the magic dissipated, and the trip wire was intact again.
Mikhael made the short gesture that said their opponents were around the curve of the wall, about a hundred yards of ground to cross.
Derek closed his arm on Mikhael’s. Chameleons.
Mikhael’s eyes narrowed; then he felt what Derek had. His lips curved in that grim, dangerous way, and he nodded. They would have turned the corner and run right into a wall of chameleon demons, able to blend into the colors and energy of their surroundings until the last moment when their opponents—or victims—charged right into their grasp.
Paint ball? Derek lifted a brow.
Mikhael nodded, that glint in his gaze. I go first. Let their leader reach me.
They counted it down to five. Then they were in motion, stealth replaced by savage speed, an infantry charge.
Mikhael moved swift as a panther through the narrow passage, bursting out into a wider area. Stone pillars had the look of cypress trees, trapped in the sludge of a foul-smelling swamp, the air rife with sulfur and toxic fumes. Derek realized immediately they were dealing with twice as many as the Well dweller had warned them about. The lying sack of shit. With a snarl, he cast the paint ball spell, as they’d dubbed it years ago. The orange miasma spun out from his staff, swirled through the air and settled on everything living, everything in motion. Ugly muscle. That part had been true, even more than expected. The demons bearing down on them had been mutilated, their faces a horror of cuts and alterations. They were also slathered in protection like kids in sunscreen, the intent of that magic to keep Derek and Mikhael from impeding their main talent—brutal killing strength.
His staff became a lethal blade, and he threw out a slowing spell to protect Mikhael, no matter what the bastard had said. But the leader was already in full charge toward the Dark Guardian. Or maybe Mikhael had made a beeline for him, the biggest thug of the group, a giant ogre-type creature, with hands designed to crush elephant skulls.
Mikhael leaped right at him, his wings out once again to give him propulsion. Fists clenched, arms locked, he plowed right into the creature. Or rather, right through, because he plunged his hands into the creature’s chest up to the elbows, his feet braced on the demon’s massive torso.
The Dark Guardian’s face was a mask of murderous bloodlust that curdled even Derek’s bones. Mikhael snarled like an ancient demon from the deepest level of the Well. The ogre screamed, tried to dislodge him with powerful fists and rippling arms, but the shift of power in the chamber was a sudden tide of heat. Even those bearing down on Derek came up short, confused, turning toward the struggle between Mikhael and their leader.
Mikhael ripped the heart out of the creature, flipped back off him and landed on his feet in a crouch, holding the oozing, dripping thing in one hand. But he wasn’t done. The dark aura of his magic, now inside the demon’s protection, spread over the creature. The she-demon had allowed for things that would try to sap their strength, but she hadn’t anticipated this. Hell, Derek hadn’t, either. With fascinated horror, he watched the demon’s skull peel back like a grape and then, with an explosion of blood, sputum, and one final agonized shriek, it turned inside out like a purse, falling into a heap of still-quivering, jerking matter.
A moment of silence reigned in the large chamber, the only sound the rasping, snorting breath of creatures with long fangs and wide nostrils. Then two dozen denizens of the Underworld were scattering, scrambling back toward the dubious protection of those cypress pillars as Mikhael straightened and moved forward. He strode knee deep through the gore of the thing he’d just demolished, looking neither left nor right.
Apparently it was a big mistake to attack a Dark Guardian and let him live. And take his girl.
As Derek filed away that important tidbit of information, he fell in behind him. He knew what a Dark Guardian did, what their capabilities were. But it was the first time he’d seen it exercised in quite that way. Then he thought about what he might do if someone took Ruby, and he was right on Mikhael’s heels, moving almost shoulder to shoulder with him.
They went through another narrow passage, then wider areas, but the message had been passed. As they descended farther, the heat intensifying, nothing else bothered them. For now. She’d have something more powerful waiting for them. They couldn’t lead merely with the dangerous vengeance he felt pulsing off Mikhael right now. When a male was in a rage like this, he needed someone to cover his back. Not just physically.
So when they slowed, taking account of the terrain, both of them sensing their prey waiting in the nest of chambers just ahead, Derek touched Mikhael’s shoulder.
Mikhael shrugged him off. I can feel her. Raina. She’s close. They’re all close.
Derek risked the whisper. “Is she worth it?”
Mikhael, his mind in a blood haze from the latest kill and focused on the next, most important one, stumbled over the unlikely question, the strange familiarity of it. He turned his gaze to Derek.
The Light Guardian had a grim curl to the corner of his mouth, something expectant in his eyes. When Mikhael figured it out, he stared at him. Derek couldn’t be yanking his chain at a time like this. He’d lost his fucking mind.
“You’re quoting Prince of Thieves to me?” he said, disbelieving. “Kevin Costner?”
“Raina got us hooked on movies.” Derek kept the whisper, as well as that same, steady expression.
Mikhael rubbed a hand over his face, rolled his shoulders. Derek always kept his wits about him. He remembered that, along with a lot of other things about him. He got it, then. He understood. And though his blood was pumping hot, his darkness up close and personal on the surface of his skin, he gave Derek the answer he was seeking.
“You remember the stillness lesson? Each time we moved, even from merely breathing, we were electrocuted?”
Derek nodded, his blue eyes darkening.
“You said I was focusing too much on what would happen if I moved, and not so much on being still. You were electrocuted fourteen times communicating that through body signals. I did not forget that. Or the lesson. My rage won’t cloud me from my goal.”
His gaze locked with Derek’s. “And to answer your question, she’s not only worth dying for; she’s worth living a thousand lifetimes.”