Blood Kiss - Ward J. R. - Страница 19

I just want to see, she thought into the black void. God … please, let me see something—

Over in the corner, a brilliant, blinding light appeared.

It was so overwhelming that she lifted an arm up against the glare, and in its lee, she saw that yes, they were in a pool, one that was very clean and had a nice tile border that was pale blue and green. And then there was Peyton, looking wrung out behind her. And other candidates in the water.

Pushing her dripping hair out of the way, she winced and tried to focus—

What the …

“—fuck is that?” Peyton finished for her.

On the far side of the still-emptying pool, a huge male with blond-and-black hair had entered the space—and at first, she thought he had brought the light with him. In fact, his body was the light. He was glowing as if he were a living, breathing incandescent lightbulb.

But the crazy thing was … that wasn’t actually the biggest shock.

He was wearing a scuba mask and snorkel set pushed off his handsome face … a set of flippers that slapped over the slick floor as he approached the pool’s edge … a slingshot bathing suit that was hot pink … and a children’s yellow-and-blue floaty around his waist.

Every single one of the soaking-wet half-deads in the pool stared at him like he was the second coming in a SpongeBob–meets–Magic Mike parallel universe.

Slapping, flapping his way down to the diving board, he stepped up, took great pains to arrange a flesh-covered nose plug on his snoz, and cleared his throat.

After a couple of “me-me-me-mes”—like he was warming up to do a solo—he took a great breath and—

“Cowwww-a-bunga!” he hollered, and ran down to the end.

Springing high off the tip, he held the kiddie floater in place as he executed a perfect tuck-and-roll and nailed the dwindling water with a cannonball that kicked up spray to the ceiling.

As Paradise ducked so she didn’t get hit in the face with the tsunami, she thought … points to the Brothers.

Whatever she might have expected?

That was so not it.

Chapter Nine

Craeg’s running shoes found the bottom of the pool just as the … well, it was a male, that was for sure … hit the water with an impact like a sedan had been tossed in there. After the deluge settled, the environment became evenly illuminated, the light emanating from that big, ridiculously outfitted body creating a glow that turned the Olympic-sized bathtub into its own lamp.

The guy was like part pro wrestler, part Toys “R” Us.

But Craeg wasn’t going to waste any time figuring that combo out.

Wiping his face, he identified the possible escape routes first—there were four or five doors, including the one that thing with the floaty corset had come through, but he was willing to bet they were all locked. Nothing on the ceiling. On the walls. On the bottom of the pool.

Second check-in was to see if there were any other third parties in the mix. Yup. Over on the periphery, there were two huge males dressed in black with hoods over their heads and night-vision goggles on their eyes. They were armed heavily, but their weapons were holstered—and they appeared to be monitoring everyone in the pool as if searching for signs of weakness or danger.

Third assessment was of who else had made it to this stage. Ten—no, twelve … wait, thirteen people were in the pool with him, including the female he’d fallen from that great height with.

And the blond receptionist, Paradise.

Although she was not alone.

Nope, she was up against one of the males, her hand resting on the protective arm that was around her waist.

Hardly a surprise. Females like her were never without someone of the opposite sex around them. Moths to a flame and all that bullcrap.

Craeg forced his eyes away from the pair of them—and that worked for maaaaybe a minute. Next thing he knew, he was leveling a combat assessment at the guy, taking note of the male’s size, the strength in his shoulders, the set of that jaw.

As if the two of them were going to come into conflict.

Which was insane, of course.

He had no right to that female—and more to the point, the only thing he needed to care about was making it to whatever finish line was waiting for him at the end of this—

Conventional lights came on all around the room, cutting the shadows down to nil, showing nooks and crannies that hid no further threats.

But he didn’t think it was over yet. He certainly wouldn’t have stopped now if he were the Brothers. Too many people still standing.

The door in the far right corner blew open as if it had been kicked in.

And that was when the next wave appeared.

One by one, a group of almost a dozen warriors marched in—the Brotherhood, he thought. This had to be the Brotherhood: Their bodies were enormous, dwarfing even him, and like the other two guards, they had masks over their faces and black leather covering them from boots to heads.

Unlike the other two, they had guns in their hands.

In a flash, the one who’d made the big appearance with the kiddie props up and disappeared. And then the last of the water glugged out the drains in the deep end of the pool.

All around him, candidates milled in their soaked clothes and relative exhaustion. He stayed still—as did Novo, who seemed to sense, as he did, that things were only going to get harder.

So it was best to conserve their energy until they had something valid to confront.

Those guns, he thought, were bad news.

With classic group-think, the other candidates congregated together, people in the shallow end backing up as the fighters came down the long side of the pool and made the turn to the set of steps that were slick and led to nothing but concrete and puddles now.

And then those menacing males with the guns were descending into the basin, their shitkickers landing like thunder, the shifting of their holsters making creaking sounds. When they came to a halt, it was impossible to know precisely who they were focusing on, as their heads were all facing the group, but their eyes were covered.

Triangulating his position, Craeg decided that, for the moment, sticking with the pack was for the best, so he—

One by one, the Brothers raised their autoloaders, aiming directly at the trainees. And then the tallest of them stepped forward, swinging his muzzle in a slow, lazy circle as if looking for the best target.

Talk about herd panic. Candidates freaked out, running this way and that, fighting to get behind others, slipping, falling. A couple of them went down on their knees, blubbering and begging before there had even been any shooting.

Craeg was having none of that. If the trainees were going to get hit with some lead, it wasn’t going to be anywhere lethal. There were too many precautions in place so far. And he was ready to take a bullet—if that was what he had to do to get to the next round?

Hit him. He wasn’t afraid of pain.

Squaring his shoulders, he faced off—and was aware that there was probably another reason why he halted. But he refused to acknowledge it in any way.

Come on, he thought. Over here.

Over here …

But they didn’t go toward him.

No … they went toward someone else.

Not her, he thought. Shit, not Paradise.

“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, asshole!”

As soon as those males in black stepped into the pool area, Paradise recognized the Brothers. After having spent so much time working around them, their scents, their auras were well-known to her—and she had grown to consider them like protective pseudo-fathers of hers.

That was not the case tonight.

Especially as they came down into the now-dry pool, lifted their guns … and one of them settled on her as a target.

Rhage. It was Rhage who trained his weapon on her and then began to walk forward. She knew because his body was so much larger than the others’.