Chapter Eighteen
Sylvain
Briar fell asleep on Hudson’s shoulder, and the dickhead refused to pass her over. “Leave it, Sylvain,” he told him after the twelfth request.
Grumbling, Sylvain faced the window and watched the scenery pass. The sky seemed too light for how far they were from home. Leaning forward, Sylvain peeled his flannel shirt off and tucked it over Briar. She had her coat on, and wouldn’t need it, but in a pinch, it could cover her face.
“We’re an hour from daylight, at least.” Marcus must have caught his move in the rearview mirror. “Daylight savings, remember?”
“I know,” Sylvain replied. He didn’t elaborate. There was a pit in his stomach that grew with each passing minute, and he wouldn’t be at ease until Briar was in bed, preferably wrapped in his arms.
Ahead of their car, there was a row of brake lights, and Marcus slowed. Sylvain edged forward in his seat to see what the problem was. The street was flooded. City workers had set up cones and directed traffic around the fast moving waters. Caution lights blinked orange, reflecting off the water as Marcus pulled around and followed the direction the worker pointed.
“Of fucking course,” he muttered and glanced at Briar. She’d sleep through the whole thing and wouldn’t know he sat here, stressing like a freak.
No one answered, but Valen glanced back when Sylvain spoke. Lips pressed together, eyes narrowed, Valen’s gaze was loaded. Then he, too, stared out the window at the sky before facing front with tight shoulders.
The drive from Boston College to Back Bay was around five miles, which in Boston, without traffic, took just over twenty minutes. It was a straight shot from west to east, but for some reason, the detour took them north.
“Just turn right then right again,” Sylvain grumbled. There was no reason to continue north when they could run parallel to their original route.
“I tried that,” Marcus replied. His tone was short, spoken through clenched teeth. “But the road is closed. That’s why I need to go further north before heading east again.”
“I could get out and run her home,” Valen offered. “I could be there in minutes. We all could. Let’s ditch the car and do it.”
“I don’t like the idea of dashing through Boston right before daylight,” Hudson said. “At the very least, if we’re in the car, we can cover her with coats and protect her.”
Sylvain glanced at the clock again and the sky. “Fuck.”
A sharp crack interrupted their conversation. The windshield shattered, spiderwebs of cracks obscuring the street and Marcus swerved to the curb. “Fuckfuckfuck,” he repeated, jerking his head from side to side as he tried to find a way to see through the ruined glass.
Briar startled when the windshield shattered, but she didn’t scream or yell. Sylvain caught her eye and saw the confusion clear, leaving only fright.
He growled and peered out the window. He didn’t see anyone, or anything, but he knew they were out there. This whole thing, from the water to a wandering detour, was a ruse.
This wasn’t a residential area. Industrial businesses and a self-storage warehouse were on either side of the street. It was, for all intents and purposes, abandoned, but Sylvain recognized it for what it was—a battlefield.
“Do we run or fight?” he asked Hudson and Marcus.
“We have to fight,” Valen said before they could take breath to answer. “They’ll be prepared for us to run. We have no choice.”
Marcus reached forward, punching the glass. Valen caught on quickly. He unbuckled and lifted his legs, kicking the windshield out of the frame so Marcus could see. It was a last ditch effort, but worth making. The engine revved as his brother gunned it, wheels spinning on the wet pavement. But they were ready for the move.
Marcus hadn’t made it a block before the tires popped. Knuckles white, he tried to keep driving. White and orange sparks flew off the stripped rims. It was a losing fight. All the strength in the world meant nothing when the tires tore into the brakes and suspension. The car seized to a halt, the smell of burned rubber and exhaust heavy in the air.
For the first time in his immortal life, Sylvain wished his sight wasn’t so good. Briar’s blue eyes were wide and her face pale. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as her body trembled. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was what he saw in her eyes. Fear, yes. But, also acceptance, as if she knew what was about to happen could never be avoided.
He reached toward her quickly and gripped her arm, pulling her closer so her human eyes could see how serious he was. “Don’t you give up. You fucking fight, Briar. You run. You survive. Got that?”
It felt as if every muscle in her body quivered in fear, but she nodded. “I’ll fight with you.”
“No,” Hudson commanded. “We’re going to get you out of here. But there may be a point when we tell you to run. Listen to Sylvain. You run when we say run. And you don’t look back.”
Tears spilled from her eyes, but she made no move to swipe them away. “I won’t leave you.”
“We’ll find you,” Valen whispered. “We promise.”
Something landed on the front of the car, and the metal groaned against the weight. Sylvain saw the soldier, crouched, fangs bared, but because of the broken headlights and streetlights, Briar couldn’t see that. All she felt was the sudden movement, and heard the crash.
Still, she didn’t scream.
With one smooth extension, Marcus reached over the steering column and dashboard. One-handed, he caught the soldier around the neck and snapped it.
It would have been too quick for Briar to follow what happened next. A tug, and the soldier fell into the car. A bite, and the head was removed from the body. His brother opened his door and shoved the body outside, but in the second that the dome light illuminated the interior of the car, Briar saw the soldier.
And she saw how deadly they were.
Hudson held her hand, looked across her to Sylvain, and nodded before they exploded into motion.
Wrapped in his arms, Briar could only hold on as Hudson jumped out of the car and took off. Sylvain followed on their heels, with Valen and Marcus surrounding them.
Their best hope was to run toward a populated area, push Briar among the throng, and then disappear into the darkness to fight.
But Sylvain had never been one to pin much on hope, and they hadn’t made it twenty feet before the soldiers set upon them.
The first one went right for Briar. Sylvain caught the blur from the corner of his eye and plucked the soldier from the air before it could connect with his woman.
Snap. Bite. Tear.
One soldier dead.
They came one after the other, though Hudson still pushed forward. Valen and Marcus were machines, moving faster than Sylvain had ever seen them before. Valen was in his element, a berserker. He clawed apart anything that came close to them, throwing body parts in all directions, while Marcus ripped out throats, gouged eyes and tore limbs from bodies, all with a grim, teeth-baring smile.
And Briar.
Briar was silent.
The only sound she made was to suck in breath after breath. Her heart raced, the quick patter of a hummingbird’s wings against the air as it sipped from apple blossoms.
Hudson ran like a footballer, head down. He’d lifted Briar into his arms, moving as fast as was possible when every step was met with resistance. But he ducked, spun, and weaved between their attackers, his only goal to keep the girl in his arms alive.
There could be no other outcome.
The lights gleamed off the water, and Sylvain realized they’d been herded. The attack wasn’t meant to kill them, it was meant to push them to the place where the battle would truly begin. Here, with the ocean in front of them, the sun in their face, and only warehouses and empty cargo containers as company.
At the last moment, Hudson veered away, toward a warehouse. The soldiers didn’t like that, and they redoubled their efforts, coming twice as fast, twice as hard.
Sylvain didn’t break a sweat. He was made for this. Bodies fell at his feet, limbs littering the street like a path of rose petals. His brothers were blurs of motion, as relentless and merciless as him.
He’d never been so proud of them.
And he’d never been so scared for them.
Because Sylvain was wrong. This wasn’t a battle. This was the culmination of hundreds of years of anger, of waiting for the opportunity to exact revenge against the sons who rejected him.
And punish them.