Hunting Fiends for the Ill-Equipped (The Guild Codex Demonized #3) - Annette Marie Page 0,69
Zylas smashed a beam aside as he leaped upward.
Saul was shouting Claude’s name. He was shouting at his sons for help.
Zylas caught the broken edge of the floor and sprang again, soaring over the wreckage of the garage. Wind rushed past, streetlights gleaming brightly. He landed in the alley and whirled so fast my head snapped sideways.
Crimson flashed, Zylas leaped, and a blow like a speeding car hit us.
Everything spun, and we crashed to the ground. My arms wrenched painfully, still tied behind my back. Zylas rolled over and lurched up, standing over me in a protective crouch. Dust roiled through the air, a swath of pavement disintegrated from the attack.
Wings spread, Nazhivēr dropped through the haze and landed on the road. He bared his teeth in a vicious grin as he extended his clawed fingers toward us for another strike. Spells flashed up his arm, pulsing with power.
Somewhere behind us, an engine roared.
Zylas thrust out both hands, magic blazing up his wrists, but he’d never defeated Nazhivēr in combat. Had never even come close.
The roaring grew louder—and Nazhivēr unleashed his attack. An incomprehensible beam of pure destructive power rocketed toward us, and Zylas’s counterspell wasn’t ready, runes still forming, a second too slow.
Crimson lines flashed across the ground beneath me—magic that hadn’t come from Zylas.
A wall of red light appeared inches from my face. Nazhivēr’s blast struck it and deflected upward, the screaming power surging into the sky. The shield shattered, and a shockwave of power thudded into me. Zylas staggered, then slashed his hands down.
Red blades whipped at Nazhivēr. The unprepared demon shielded his head with his arms, the cutting attack scoring his armor and slicing his flesh. His blood splattered the asphalt.
The roaring sound grew louder, then tires squealed. The stench of burning rubber hit my nose—and someone grabbed my jacket.
“Come on!”
I was unceremoniously thrown across the front of a motorcycle, the air punched from my stomach.
“Zylas!”
A hand roughly grabbed mine, and a cold metal disc was shoved against my palm. My fingers closed over it, instinctive, reflexive, my grip so tight it hurt. Light blazed and the infernus vibrated as Zylas’s spirit filled it.
Tires screaming against the pavement, the motorcycle took off. I twisted, squinting past my rescuer. A gritty dust cloud hung over the street, and Nazhivēr was no more than a shadow with dark wings and crimson claws glowing through the haze.
“Robin? Robin, talk to me.”
I blinked slowly. A face came into focus—bronze skin, a white scar, a pale eye that burned scarlet deep in its center.
“Ezra?” I mumbled.
“Are you hurt?”
Struggling to focus, I mentally catalogued my aches and pains. Nothing seemed too terrible. The worst pain came from my fingers, where I was clutching my infernus so tightly my skin had rubbed raw. My wrists were no longer bound, but I didn’t remember who’d freed me or when.
I glanced around. I was sitting on the back of an idling motorcycle in an unfamiliar downtown alley, and I didn’t remember getting here either.
Ezra stood beside me, frowning worriedly. He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll take you to a healer and—”
“Home,” I croaked.
His frown deepened. “We should at least go to the guild so—”
“Home. Please.”
“Where do you live? The address in the guild database is wrong.”
Later, I would be annoyed that he’d tried to stalk me at my home. I told him my real address, too exhausted and shaky to worry about whether that was a good idea. He swung onto the bike in front of me and instructed me to hold on to him.
As I looped the infernus chain over my neck, I muttered, “I didn’t know you drove a motorcycle.”
“It’s not mine. I borrowed it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And it’s not my favorite mode of transportation, so you really should hold on.”
That was reassuring. I gripped his jacket tightly.
The ride to my apartment was cold and terrifying, partly because neither Ezra nor I had helmets, and partly because he didn’t take a direct route. He cut through alleys, zigzagged along the downtown streets, and circled several blocks. I understood why but I didn’t enjoy it.
Finally, he pulled up at my dingy building and cut the engine. I fumbled through my jacket pockets to find my keys and unlocked the barred security doors. He followed me to the third floor and waited as I unlocked my apartment and stepped inside.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll make sure we weren’t followed, then come check on you.”
I nodded.
Searching my face, he gave my shoulder another brief