Logan led with his good arm, punching rapidly into the soldier’s face. The mask took too much of the impact.
Who commanded these soldiers? Their gear was better than the demon nation’s.
The guy caught Logan with an uppercut, and his teeth slammed together. Damn it. The mind attack lessened, and the soldier on the floor began to get up. There was no choice. Logan lowered his head and sent out a blast hard enough to drop the guy cold to the pavement.
Pain blared through Logan’s head from the strong attack. Blood dripped out of his nose. He couldn’t strike that ferociously without repercussions. The vision in his left eye fuzzed. Now he was mentally spent—for at least an hour. Maybe more.
His ears rang, and his spine felt swollen.
Mercy cried out behind him.
Anger caught him, and he shoved emotion and sensation away. His role, one he was more than familiar with, settled him into place. Defend and kill. There was nothing else.
He jumped forward and clasped the soldier beneath the chin, manacling his hand around the guy’s neck. Growling, he lifted up with all his strength and crashed the bastard to the ground—head first.
The mask took too much of the impact, and the guy struck upward, hard and fast.
Pain exploded in Logan’s jaw and neck.
He altered his approach, methodically hitting and ducking until he felt the soldier’s cheekbone finally give beneath the mask. Seven more punches in rapid succession, and the man passed out.
“No!” Mercy yelled.
Logan flipped to his feet, turning in time to see the soldier fighting her ignite a stun gun.
She tried to dodge to the side and out of the way. Her hair stood on end. The air sparked around her as it looked like she started to teleport away from the fight.
Logan jumped for the guy, but he’d already pressed the button. Several odd blue wires burst out, biting into Mercy’s upper chest.
She screamed. Her body convulsed, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She fell to the cement, her small body curled into a ball, and her long hair floating around her head from the static electricity.
The remaining solder went for her, the air already sparking around him. Shit. If he got to her, he might be able to teleport her out of there. Wasn’t happening.
Logan tackled him into the nearest wall and away from Mercy. Sparks flashed against his arms. Drawing on what little strength he had left, he stopped the bastard from teleporting him. The guy struggled, his power increasing. Logan groaned with the strain and brought his knee up, squarely in the guy’s groin. The soldier made a sound like a strangled cat.
“Sorry about that,” Logan wheezed, grabbing for the guy’s neck with both hands. His left one was weakened from the bullets in his shoulder, but he made do.
The guy fought him, flopping like a fish. But Logan pressed harder, choking the air out of him. Finally, the soldier went limp.
Logan stumbled to his feet and looked at the carnage. Four down—five including Mercy. He reached down and ripped off the mask of the guy he’d just knocked out, shoving it into his pocket.
The soldier had dark hair and a very faint immortal signature.
Shaking his head, trying to clear his vision, Logan reached Mercy and lifted her. There had to be reinforcements coming.
He needed to get her away.
Fast.
* * * *
Mercy caught her breath and woke up, remaining perfectly still and keeping her eyes closed. Her nerves felt like a thousand-degree sun was beating directly on them—and they were exposed and misfiring. Something soft cushioned her, and traffic sounds filtered in from outside.
A scent caught her attention. Male and woodsy. Cedar and pine mixed together with a hint of something even wilder.
“Logan,” she whispered, opening her eyes to find herself lying on a bed. She could see clearly. Oops. Her one colored contact had fallen out in the fight, revealing her two different colored eyes.
He sprawled in a chair across from her, his green eyes thoughtful. He overwhelmed the chair, his elbows on his knees, a gash slowly closing above his left eye. The male was a force even just sitting. “Why didn’t you teleport?” His voice was even hoarser than usual after the fight—deep and rumbly. Almost gritty.
