the inside. Ice slid down his spine. Had she broken it herself or had someone else? Another shrill cry ripped through the air.
The alley.
At a full sprint, he bolted toward the rear of the garden and charged through the open gate into the alley. Opening all of his senses to everything around him, he waited for the smallest noise or scent that would lead him to Emma. The rain made it difficult to see as he came to a halt and looked in both directions. From where he stood, he saw headlights from a car as it passed by the alley. Merda, where the hell was she?
Lightning lit up the narrow lane, and he drew in a harsh breath. Crumpled in a heap on the ground, Emma had her hand raised in a defensive manner. The tall, cloaked figure towering over her caught him off guard for a moment.
Praetorian warriors no longer dressed as their religious order once had. A flash of light from the heavens lit up the silver blade at the man's side. Mater Dei. Whether the man was a Praetorian or not, his sword made his intentions clear.
Ares launched himself into a dead run. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins. Because of it, he ran faster than he ever thought possible. In seconds, he eliminated the distance between him and Emma's attacker. As if expecting him, the man suddenly turned and swung his sword through the air in a familiar move. Then a solid, yet invisible, push knocked him off balance.
Sicari. The bastard was a Sicari.
The warrior's blade whipped through the air in a series of small arcs. He ducked as the man's sword whispered across the top of his head. Probably taking a few hairs with it. Not that it mattered. He needed a trim anyway. The moment he visualized his foot landing a solid punch to his opponent's stomach, the man grunted.
In little more than a heartbeat, he found himself on the defensive again. His opponent's blade flew downward in a stroke filled with deadly purpose. Only years of training kept the sword from splitting his head open and killing him instantly. As he twisted his body sideways, he visualized knocking his opponent's sword out of the way. The man's mental abilities rebuffed his attempt and the blade bit into his upper arm as an unseen foot planted itself squarely in his ribs.
Growling loudly in pain, he dodged the fighter's second strike. Blood soaked his shirt, and his arm hurt like hell. Merda. This guy seemed invincible. Worse, he could already feel his own mental ability beginning to fade. If he didn't do something fast, he'd be dead.
The Sicari fighter's sword whipped effortlessly through the air in yet another skillful sweep. This time the blade headed straight for his jugular. Another move Ares knew well. He could have been fighting himself. Their swords glided off each other in a spray of sparks. An uneasy feeling shot through him.
There was something very different about this man. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The man fought like a Sicari, but not like any fighter in the Order he'd met over the years. The hooded cloak he wore didn't help matters either. An opponent's eyes always revealed something, but he couldn't see this man's face. That increased the difficulty in battling him.
"Do not interfere in that which you do not understand, DeLuca." The man's voice rang out flat and without emotion.
How in the hell did the bastard know his name? Ignoring the warning, he centered himself and threw his sword up to block the man's swing. Steel scraped along steel until their blades met at the hilt. Even up close, his opponent's expression remained hidden in the dark folds of his hood.
He threw a large portion of his mental strength into his effort to push the Sicari
The alley.
At a full sprint, he bolted toward the rear of the garden and charged through the open gate into the alley. Opening all of his senses to everything around him, he waited for the smallest noise or scent that would lead him to Emma. The rain made it difficult to see as he came to a halt and looked in both directions. From where he stood, he saw headlights from a car as it passed by the alley. Merda, where the hell was she?
Lightning lit up the narrow lane, and he drew in a harsh breath. Crumpled in a heap on the ground, Emma had her hand raised in a defensive manner. The tall, cloaked figure towering over her caught him off guard for a moment.
Praetorian warriors no longer dressed as their religious order once had. A flash of light from the heavens lit up the silver blade at the man's side. Mater Dei. Whether the man was a Praetorian or not, his sword made his intentions clear.
Ares launched himself into a dead run. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins. Because of it, he ran faster than he ever thought possible. In seconds, he eliminated the distance between him and Emma's attacker. As if expecting him, the man suddenly turned and swung his sword through the air in a familiar move. Then a solid, yet invisible, push knocked him off balance.
Sicari. The bastard was a Sicari.
The warrior's blade whipped through the air in a series of small arcs. He ducked as the man's sword whispered across the top of his head. Probably taking a few hairs with it. Not that it mattered. He needed a trim anyway. The moment he visualized his foot landing a solid punch to his opponent's stomach, the man grunted.
In little more than a heartbeat, he found himself on the defensive again. His opponent's blade flew downward in a stroke filled with deadly purpose. Only years of training kept the sword from splitting his head open and killing him instantly. As he twisted his body sideways, he visualized knocking his opponent's sword out of the way. The man's mental abilities rebuffed his attempt and the blade bit into his upper arm as an unseen foot planted itself squarely in his ribs.
Growling loudly in pain, he dodged the fighter's second strike. Blood soaked his shirt, and his arm hurt like hell. Merda. This guy seemed invincible. Worse, he could already feel his own mental ability beginning to fade. If he didn't do something fast, he'd be dead.
The Sicari fighter's sword whipped effortlessly through the air in yet another skillful sweep. This time the blade headed straight for his jugular. Another move Ares knew well. He could have been fighting himself. Their swords glided off each other in a spray of sparks. An uneasy feeling shot through him.
There was something very different about this man. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The man fought like a Sicari, but not like any fighter in the Order he'd met over the years. The hooded cloak he wore didn't help matters either. An opponent's eyes always revealed something, but he couldn't see this man's face. That increased the difficulty in battling him.
"Do not interfere in that which you do not understand, DeLuca." The man's voice rang out flat and without emotion.
How in the hell did the bastard know his name? Ignoring the warning, he centered himself and threw his sword up to block the man's swing. Steel scraped along steel until their blades met at the hilt. Even up close, his opponent's expression remained hidden in the dark folds of his hood.
He threw a large portion of his mental strength into his effort to push the Sicari
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