Page 103 of Killaney Blood
I feel the spray before I hear the scream. Warm blood hits the side of my face, and Nathan collapses in front of us, shot clean through the neck. Blood pools beneath him, spreading across the pavement like spilled wine.
"Fuck!" I yell.
Lyra's scream tears through the night as she clutches my arm. I pull my gun from my waistband in one fluid motion, pushing her behind me with my other hand.
"Stay behind me!" I growl, scanning the darkness.
Another shot cracks through the alley, and George grunts, spinning with a bullet in his shoulder before dropping like a stone.
My heart is a fucking drum, but my hands are steady.
I back up, pressing her between me and the wall.
I look around frantically, my gun moving with me, but I can't see anyone, and I'm not sure where the shots are coming from.
Silence falls, heavy and ominous. No footsteps. No breathing. Just Lyra's terrified gasps against my back.
"When I say run, you fucking run," I say, tightening my grip on the gun.
"I'm not leaving you," she says back.
Before I give her the order, we hear footsteps.
Four men, all armed, dressed in black with faces shadowed by hoods, fan out in front of us, guns raised.
And then a fifth man appears.
He's wearing a mask, and in his gloved fingers, he twirls something.
As he moves into the dim light from the streetlamp, I see it.
A single black feather.
My blood goes cold. This has to be the Morrigans. The same people who've been targeting our shipments. The same people who nearly killed me in that alley.
"Declan Killaney," the man says, voice distorted by some kind of voice changer. "You've been hard to pin down."
I shift my stance, making sure Lyra is completely behind me. "You're here for me. Leave her out of it."
The figure laughs, a mechanical robot sound. "That's not how this works. You took everything from us. We take everything from you. That's the balance."
I grip my gun tighter, trying to think my way out of this, beat the odds. Five against one. Lyra defenseless. I might take two, maybe three if I'm lucky, but not all of them. Not before they get to her.
The leader raises his hand, and the others tense, ready to fire.
He doesn't speak, just tosses the feather to the ground.
I exhale slowly, preparing for what comes next.
The first shot sounds like thunder, but it didn't come from my gun or theirs.
The masked leader's head snaps back. He crumples to the ground. In rapid succession, the other four attackers fall, one by one.
We stand frozen.
"What the fuck?" I say, gun still raised, scanning the rooftops, the alleyways, anywhere a sniper might be positioned.
Lyra grips the back of my jacket. "Declan," she whispers, voice trembling. "What the hell is going on?"
