Forever As One by Jackie Ivie Page B

up.
    “Holy shit, Babyface. I’m speechless. Death
and dismemberment must be part of your Viking training? Yes?”
    “No.”
    “Looks pretty barbaric. You sure?”
    Dane raised bloodied hands. “Nothing but bare
hands.”
    “Better and better. You’re more in a
Berserker mode. What a great idea for a video game! Remind me
later. We got work to do. You spot him, yet?”
    Len pulled night goggles from around his
throat and adjusted them. Dane narrowed his eyes and scanned stone,
seeing heat tracings in several locations.
    “There’s a lot more than eight,” he
remarked.
    “Sue me.”
    “I’d rather reward you. You use
steroids?”
    “No. And what the hell does that matter?”
    “Has an effect like Nitrous Oxide, only not
near as fun. When I change you, I don’t want to be riddled with
laughter for hours afterward.”
    “Whoa. Hold on there, Babyface. I don’t want
to be changed. Not yet, anyway. I like living day to day.
Honest.”
    “You change your mind, start feeling old age,
you let me know. Fair?”
    Another round of bullets peppered the rock
about them. Dane shoved Len behind him until the fellow ran out.
And then their attacker tossed a long knife. Dane caught it and
launched it right back, pegging the guy in the throat. They both
watched as the man grabbed his neck and plummeted to the
ground.
    “Reflex,” he remarked in the dead silence
that followed.
    “That was pretty amazing. Truly. Frickin’.
Amazing.”
    “Nice to know I can still do it.”
    “What?”
    “Part of my upbringing. Dodge and throw.
Forget it. You spot him, yet?”
    “I’ve got three in that tower. None of them
Mister Heat. You?”
    “No. I’ll handle the main house. I’ll be
busy. You get in trouble, you call.”
    “Oh. I’ll be in full-bore screaming. You just
keep your ears—”
    The last bit was lost as Dane jumped the
parapet and slammed through double wooden doors, splintering the
bolt that had barred them. Through the blizzard of slivers and
dust, he swiped through one man’s chest, ripped another man’s arms
off, and used them to bat the next fellow’s skull into the wall
before putting the armless fellow out of his misery. The screams
brought more footsteps, and Dane turned into a smear of movement,
slashing through flesh and severing bone, until the amount of blood
running down the walls called to every atom of his existence. Every
sense hammered need through him.
    Not just yet.
    They were using unsilenced bullets somewhere.
Gunfire sound cut through the scene of carnage as Dane just stood
there, head lowered, teeth elongated, eyes narrowed and deadly. The
only trace of heat came from the newly deceased, and then he caught
a glimpse of warmth and color, shimmering from down a hall. He took
off at a run that sent him to the end of the hall and up a spiral
staircase.
    The figure blocking his way was a martial
arts enthusiast. And he was large. Cocky. Settled into an
aggressive stance. Waste of time. Dane was going to be late to his
nuptials. Dane took a moment to lock gazes before slamming both
palms into the guy’s chest, right through the defensive motion of
his arms. Martial Arts slammed into a wall, breaking most of his
bones and liquefying the organs that resisted. Dane was right with
him, holding his shoulders in place as the guy gasped his last
breath. It was visceral. Sensory. The near-taste called him, the
aroma taunted, and need for sustenance almost overtook him. Dane
was just slicing a fang through Martial Arts throat when a blade
glanced off the rock at his cheek.
    A snarl accompanied his pivot, and then his
flight, streaking into a moonlit enclave where a slight figure
stood, eyes wide and hands to his cheeks. He really didn’t need to
ask. The fellow’s heat signature already had him identified. 99.7
degrees. Serge Karakov. CEO.
    Dane put his head back and howled the
satisfaction into the room. The sound echoed and re-echoed,
carrying every bit of his rage with it. Even in the dimness, it