Page 78 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

The East Wing's entrance loomed, its steel doors hanging askew from an earlier explosion. Max pressed forward, keeping his weapon trained on the shadowy corridor beyond. Behind him, Drova's breathing came in short, controlled bursts—the girl was barely holding it together.

"Remember," Jade said into the comm, "We can't leave anyone alive to report back about us."

Anton and Dima fanned out to either side, their movements fluid and predatory. The Kra-ell hybrids might not have formal military training, but their instincts were razor-sharp.

The corridor stretched ahead, fluorescent lights flickering. Max's enhanced hearing picked up the shuffle of boots from multiple directions—too many to pinpoint. The acrid smell of gunpowder still hung in the air from the earlier fighting, mixed with something else.

Fear.

The entire building reeked of it.

"The stairs leading up should be around the next corner," Max said as he carefully moved forward.

The images from the soldier's memory were still vivid in his head, making the place look oddly familiar. He knew where each door was located and what was behind it. This floor was mainly used by the serving staff, but that didn't mean that soldiers weren't waiting for them with guns ready, hiding behind corners and doors to supply closets.

The other thing that remained stuck in Max's mind from that short peek was the face of the doctor. The soldier was even more afraid of him than his higher-ups in the Revolutionary Guard. And now, that face was burned into Max's memory.

Next to him, he heard Drova's heavy breathing, and he glanced at her to see if she was okay. The girl was barely seventeen, a fledgling warrior with a compulsion power that could freeze everyone within earshot, but she was still a kid.

She'd proven her worth in the courtyard and before that during the Beverly Hills mission, but her eyes revealed the aftershocks of what she'd witnessed.

A session or two with Vanessa might be in order.

Max took the lead, raised his weapon, and moved forward with Jade by his side and Anton and Dima slithering along behind them like a pair of coiled cobras while keeping Drova protected between them.

The corridor was only partially lit by intermittent overhead fixtures, some flickering, some shattered. Every few yards, bullet holes marred the walls, and the sour tang of spent rounds hung thickly in the air. The place was in disrepair, and it wasn't just because of the current battle. It was years of neglect.

They slipped around a corner where two uniformed men crouched behind an overturned desk, the stench of fear radiating from them. The muzzle of a rifle peeked above the desk edge, trembling. Max signaled to Drova with a curt jerk of his chin. She understood instantly. These were humans, and her compulsion was sure to work on them.

A sharp crack tore the air, and Drova cried out, staggering sideways. A streak of bright red blossomed along her shoulder, near her collarbone.

"Drova!" Jade lunged, grabbing her daughter before she hit the ground.

A roar like thunder reverberated through Max's skull as Jade's sidearm joined his, unleashing a volley of gunfire into the men behind the desk. One soldier toppled backward with a strangled cry, the other slumped sideways, dead eyes still wide in shock. Blood pooled beneath the makeshift barricade. Their weapons clanked uselessly to the floor.

For a second, everything went eerily silent. Drova crumpled against her mother, breathing raggedly, one hand pressed to the wound at her shoulder. Jade's face twisted with fury as she knelt, examining the injury. The bullet must have torn through the muscle, maybe grazed bone. Drova's dark eyes welled with tears, but she didn't utter a sound.

She tried to stand, but Jade clutched her protectively.

"Don't move," Jade growled. Her free hand pressed onto Drova's shoulder, stanching the blood. Beneath Jade's fierce persona was a surge of maternal worry that practically radiated from her every movement. "I need to dress your wound."

Given how fierce the Kra-ell were, it was easy to forget that they didn't heal as fast as immortals and that Drova would need a few days for her injury to recover.

They'd just lost their compeller.

Drova couldn't project a command if she could barely breathe.

Max cursed silently.

Without her, they'd have to rely on brute force, which, thankfully, Dima and Anton had in spades. The Kra-ell hybrids were a force to be reckoned with in close combat.

As a dozen uniformed figures materialized behind them, rifles spitting bullets, the two Kra-ell hybrids responded with lethal efficiency, moving like specters, darting side to side, returning fire, and cutting them down.

Shots rang out, muzzle flashes igniting the gloom. A bullet ricocheted, sending fragments of concrete into Max's face. He swore, leveling his own gun at a guard charging in front. Three short bursts from his semiautomatic weapon, and the guard collapsed, chest bloody and eyes blank.

One of the guard's companions sprinted forward, howling in either rage or terror. Anton swiveled with inhuman speed, caught him by the throat, and snapped his neck in a single motion. The limp body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

All at once, silence settled again. The bodies lay sprawled in disordered tangles, warm blood creeping across the tiled floor. Max's ears rang from the gunfire despite the sound being somewhat muted by his earpieces.

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