He poured every ounce of his will, every scrap of the tether to that distant, real ground, into one single purpose.Hold the line. Bring them home.
The world dispersed into a storm of purple light and tearing energy. Rupture's claws scraped against his back, a searing cold that tried to pull him apart, but the thick buffalo hide held. Null's invalid presence tried to swallow the sound of his chant. His brothers flickered and faded in his arms.
But he held.
He was the anchor. He was a fucking SEAL officer. They never fucking quit. Were never out of the fight.
He pulled.
With a final, guttural roar that was half his own and half something ancient and wild, he ripped them backward through the veil of wrongness, through the tearing fabric of the bubble, and threw them all into the blessed, solid, unyielding reality of the hotel hallway.
They collapsed in a heap on the carpet, gasping, whole, and alive.
Behind them, the hotel room shimmered, the purple haze and the two assassins trapped within, waiting for the next chance to strike.
North lay on his back, chest heaving, the fractured trident pulsing with a dull, exhausted ache. He had held the line, but as he looked at his brothers, he knew the truth.
The ground had given way once. Chaos would find a way to make it give way again.
Try it. I will hold.
3
Joint Expeditionary BaseLittle Creek-Fort Story, Little Creek, Virginia
The morning sun beat down on the asphalt at Little Creek, overhead helicopters and shouted commands blending into the familiar soundtrack of base life.Flash stood outside Building 101, watching special operators move around with the same purposeful stride they always had, and found it all surreal that they'd had a battle with supernatural creatures just hours ago.
The smell of salt air mixed with jet fuel and coffee from the base exchange. A group of Tier 1 operators jogged past in loose formation, their cadence echoing off the concrete buildings. Everything looked exactly the same as when they'd left for California. But Flash felt the difference in his bones, in the way shadows seemed deeper, the air itself felt wrong now, charged with things he could no longer ignore.
Fly and North sat on a bench near the entrance, still in the rumpled clothing they'd been wearing, and they hadn't said much since Flash had received the copies of their new orders to report to him for reassignment.
Fly was in worse shape than his stoic fellow officer and friend. His skin was ashen, his face haggard, his mouth tight, and his body primed to fight. His eyes darted, then stared at solid walls as if they were going to dissolve.
Easy clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Fly. It's over for now. We fucking won this one. Take the win."
Fly flinched at the contact, his jaw tightening like a vice. "Easy," he growled, the sound barely human, "don't touch me."
North's gaze shifted between them. "He just needs time."
"We don't have time," Flash said, his voice harsher than he intended.
North's mouth tightened, his weathered face set like stone. "We fucking make it, then."
It was clear to see that the bonds between these two were thick with different, deeper golden threads. From looking at Fly, he'd think right off the bat that the kid needed serious medical attention, but Twister was clear. His perception had been badly shaken, and now he was trying to logically define a world he no longer understood.
His teammates were faring better, but they were seasoned SEALs who’d survived hell before. More importantly, they all had something waiting for them now. Wives. Children. Homes. Reasons beyond duty to survive whatever came next.
Twister was completely sure after checking them all out that they were sound. No residual physical wounds on any of them. The shifting transformations had been brutally painful, but not as painful as they had been for Fly and North. The six of them had already taken the oath.
Flash's chest tightened as the weight of almost losing it all hit him. His brothers had families now. Lives worth living. If Fly had been lost in that purple haze, if they'd failed to bring him back...
That would have spelled total mission failure. Play the end of the world music now. Lights out. Permanently.
The thought of never seeing her amber eyes, never hearing her call himáguila estrellada, never touching her skin or tasting her lips again…That thought carved something hollow in his chest. She was out there somewhere, and he couldn't reach her. Couldn't protect her.
He thought about how fragile this alliance was. How there were still hurdles to overcome. Somewhere in the chaos, Lechuza was fighting her own war, not knowing he'd almost been lost trying to save two officers integral to this fight.
Flash's cell chimed and he looked at it. "Change of venue, guys. Tex's house," he said. "Let's move."
