Runebinder. Alex R. Kahler

Katherine’s limp body. Tomás had killed her, not by draining her heat, but by snapping her neck. He’d killed for the hell of it.

      Until now, Tenn had thought Howls only killed for food.

      “What do you want from me? Why?” Tenn’s voice shook, but it still carried. That was enough.

      “I want you to do your job,” Tomás said. His grin widened. Any larger, and it would split his face. “A job you are proving more than capable of doing—killing the minions of the Dark Lady.”

      Thunder crackled overhead. Tomás burst into giggles.

      “Oh, She is watching. Yes, She is.” He looked up into the sky and raised his hands. “But what do I care, Mother? What do I care, when you are dead dead dead?” He hopped around when he said it. One rotation, and he snapped back to attention, calmly staring at Tenn with his head tilted to the side. “You will help me. But you cannot do that if you stay. Your friends cannot beat this army, Tenn. Not when the army is coming for you.”

      Tenn opened his mouth to speak, heart thudding with Tomás’s final statement, but Tomás was there again, faster than lightning, faster than anything human. One hand gripped Tenn’s jaw. The other snaked behind his waist, pulling their hips close. Tenn couldn’t help the moan in the back of his throat. Tomás very clearly noticed.

      “Run along, little mouse.” He bit Tenn’s lower lip. Fear and shock and desire pulsed through Tenn’s chest. When Tomás let go, it took all of Tenn’s control not to bite back. “Run before the monsters get here. I want to make sure you live long enough to play with.”

      Then he was gone.

      Tenn staggered at the sudden loss and fell to his knees. Once again, he couldn’t stop staring at Katherine’s body. He could no longer hear his thoughts in the drowning silence and rain. Gingerly, he touched his own neck, feeling Tomás’s handprint burning ice-hot. He hunched over and heaved.

      He cowered there, curled over in the rain, his knuckles dug into the concrete.

      He waited for Tomás to reappear.

      He waited for Katherine to wake up, for it all to have been a dream.

      He waited.

      Katherine stayed dead.

      The nightmare stayed reality.

      And on the horizon, he felt a surge of power flare.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      FOR THE BRIEFEST moment, Tenn thought it was the enemy attacking.

      There was no one else out there—at least, no one from his troop—that could use that much power. A power that was racing toward the outpost, strobing against the sky like lightning.

      Tomás had barely been gone a minute and Katherine was dead and what the hell was going on that everything was falling to shit so quickly?

      He jumped up and ran to the edge of the hotel, ready to send out a signal, ready to scream that they were under attack, when he realized the power was coming from the west. From Outer Chicago. And there was no way the enemy could be coming from there. Not when Outer Chicago was ringed with outposts like his to keep it safe.

      Light flared as the door burst open, and Derrick ran up beside Tenn, followed by two younger recruits. Fire flickered to life all around the edge of the roof, casting garish shadows and splays of light over the crew. Whether the fire was for defense or a beacon or just from Derrick’s anger, Tenn wasn’t sure.

      Derrick didn’t even look at Katherine’s body. He was too trained on the sky. The others, though, they lingered. Kneeled at her side. Tenn looked away.

      They would say he did that, too. They would say he killed her to hide the evidence of his treason in the field.

      “Commander...” Tenn began, not knowing what to say, but Derrick cut him short.

      “They’re here,” Derrick muttered.

      “The army, sir?” one of the recruits asked.

      Derrick glared back at him.

      “No, idiot. The fucking cavalry.”

      That’s when Derrick noticed Katherine.

      He turned back to Tenn. Tenn had seen his commander angry before, but never like this. Derrick’s jaw was tight, and full flames swirled around his hands and from the burning Sphere of Fire in his chest.

      “What the hell have you done?” he seethed.

      Tenn didn’t get the chance to answer.

      Lightning flashed above them as a gust of wind buffeted the roof, sending Tenn to his knees.

      He blinked away the afterglow, his ears ringing with thunder.

      There were three of them—two guys and a girl—all in pale clothes and white trench coats, all emanating more power than Tenn had felt in his lifetime...save for what he’d wielded that afternoon.

      The blond-haired guy stepped forward. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and his pale, angular face bore a dozen half-healed scars. Something about that face made Tenn’s heart flip, almost with recognition, but he was positive he’d never seen him before in his life. The man didn’t speak at first, his arms in front of his chest. He looked like he was assessing their value.

      He looked like he didn’t enjoy what he saw.

      “Outpost 37,” he said. “I’m Jarrett, captain commander of Outer Chicago. I’ve been sent here to handle the rest of this mission.” His eyes looked over all of them again. Maybe it was Tenn’s imagination, but they seemed to linger on him.

      “And one of you has fucked up.”

      * * *

      “This is madness,” Derrick said, chasing behind Jarrett. Tenn and the others followed them down the steps. The other newcomers were silent, ghosting behind them all. Easy to forget, if not for the shivers they sent down Tenn’s spine every time their cold eyes raked over him.

      “What do you expect when your orders are disobeyed so flagrantly?” Jarrett replied. He was taking the steps two at a time, his pale undercut glowing red in the light of Derrick’s angry fires.

      Even with fear lodged in his gut—surely this would get him discharged or killed or worse—Tenn was mildly impressed that Jarrett knew the word flagrantly.

      “This is my outpost and my troop. You can’t just waltz in here and—”

      Jarrett stopped and spun, and before Derrick could blink, Jarrett had him pinned against the wall, one hand to Derrick’s chest and the other holding a dagger to Derrick’s neck.

      “This outpost is owned and run by Outer Chicago,” Jarrett said. There wasn’t the slightest hint of emotion in his voice, which almost seemed worse than Derrick’s anger. “And that means we own and run you. You screwed up, commander. That is why we are here. So I suggest you take your cocky attitude and shove it somewhere dark and quiet, because the army is nearly here. And, quite frankly, I’m more than happy to throw you out there as bloodbait. I can promise you that Cassandra won’t give a damn if you’re gone.” He resheathed the dagger and patted the side of Derrick’s face, smiling. “Understood?”

      He stepped back, turned and continued down the steps until they reached the bottom floor. Derrick seethed silently behind him, fires flickering in and out. Once in the lobby, Jarrett gestured to the strangers he brought with him.

      “Devon, Dreya, go secure the perimeter. I want troops every hundred yards. Keep them tight and close to base. You know the drill.”

      The two strangers nodded in unison. Tenn had to believe they were related, despite the contrast in their appearance. They were both tall and lithe and angular. But the girl was paler than ivory, with long willowy fingers and silvered