Page 16 of Sins of Leo

The engine smoked, one of the bullets having struck something in the engine compartment.

As he slowed them to a stop, he assessed their options. Not many. Make that none.

His shrink groaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Suck it up, Buttercup. We don’t have time for you to be losing it.”

“You’re mean,” she complained.

“Because I don’t have time for your whining. We are in a shitload of trouble.”

At his claim, she peered from the footwell and saw the armed men running toward them through the ranks of parked cars.

“There’s so many. How are we supposed to escape?” she squeaked.

“We’re not. I don’t even know if they’d accept our surrender,” his grim reply. They seemed more likely to shoot them.

“I don’t understand. Who are these people? What do they want with us?”

“That’s a complicated question, and we don’t have time. Where’s your dad’s journal?” He’d not forgotten about it.

“Glove box. You think if we hand it over they’ll leave us alone?” The suggestion had her twisting to open the compartment, but before she could reach in, he’d already grabbed the leatherbound tome and shifted his position to shove it in a pocket.

“Come here.” He patted his lap, and she blinked.

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“I need you close,” he growled.

“I am not going to be your meat shield,” she huffed.

“My what? Never mind,” Leo grumbled as he leaned over and grabbed hold of the shrink by her upper arms.

“Let me go,” his therapist hollered as his sheer strength pulled her from her hidey spot.

“She’s with a Zodiac,” yelled one of the gunmen. “Shoot before he escapes.”

Well, that confirmed one thing: Cetus most definitely sent them.

As the bullets began to fly, his shrink screamed, a shrill thing full of terror. He had no time to reassure. He called on upon his power and felt the tattoo that spread across his back heat. The warmth turned to intense cold as his constellation yanked him from the Bronco before it got slammed by missiles.

His shrink stopped screaming, most likely because, for a millisecond, they were nothing but atoms, disassembled motes that shot to the sky, to his constellation, and then back down to Earth. The Zodiacs called it starbeaming, a power they alone had, and, no, he didn’t understand how it worked. All he knew was his tattoo linked him to home: The Tower of Babel.

He arrived standing on his sigil, in one piece if still bleeding from his bullet wound. Dr. Warmstone hung limp in his grip.

Had she been shot?

He lay her down and checked her over quickly.

Nothing bled. She’d just passed out. It happened. Some human bodies found the passage through space more traumatic than others. At least she wasn’t hollering anymore.

Safety meant his adrenaline faded and his injury throbbed. He grimaced. Another scar. Yay. At least he didn’t have to suffer.He left his shrink and headed to the chamber next door to get patched up.

By the time he returned to the portal room, Dr. Warmstone had woken, and she wasn’t happy.

Not one bit.

CHAPTER 5

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