J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [706]
His troops were fighting his teachers.
How fucking poetic was that?
But enough with the nostalgia. Concentrating on his hand, he created a whirlwind of molecules, spinning them with his mind faster and faster until the centrifugal force spontaneously combusted. As the whirling mass of energy pulled together, he kept it palmed and raced forward toward the purple-scaled beast, knowing the damn thing had to take an inhale break after it threw out its bombs.
The dragon was no dummy and crouched down, viciously clawed arms coming up to defend itself. Lash stopped just out of swiping range and didn’t give the bastard a chance to pounce. He threw the energy ball right into the beast’s chest, plowing it over, knocking it out cold.
He didn’t hang around to roast s’mores over the smoking carcass. Sure as shit, after some deep-breathing recovery that dragon was going to pop up off the ground like the Energizer Bunny, and at the moment the coast was clear between Lash and the barn.
In a tearing rush, he raced for the outbuilding and burst into the empty, unremarkable space. In the far corner, he saw a horse stall, and he followed damp footsteps over to it. The treads disappeared into a black square.
Lifting the slab was grunt work and then some, but the sight of more prints down a set of stone steps got him juiced. Tracking them all the way to the bottom, he found himself in a stone corridor, and thanks to the red glow from black candles, he was able to follow their wet path—although his road map didn’t last forever. With all the warmth being thrown off, water dried fast, and by the time he got to a three-way branch, he had no clue which way the bunch had gone.
Inhaling, he hoped to catch a scent, but all his nose picked up on was burning wax and earth.
Threre was nothing else. No sounds. No rustle of movement. It was as if the four he’d seen going down here had disappeared.
He looked left. Right. Straight ahead.
On impulse, he went to the left.
SIXTY-NINE
Ehlena’s eyes refused to process what she was looking at: They just flat out no-way’d the situation.
It couldn’t possibly be spiders. She couldn’t possibly be looking at thousands upon thousands of spiders…oh, God, spiders and scorpions…covering not just the walls and floors, but…
In horror, she realized what was hanging in the center of the room. Hanging from ropes or chains. Hanging and covered with the teeming masses that blanketed every square inch of the cell.
“Rehvenge…” she moaned. “Dearest Virgin…Scribe.”
Without thinking, she lurched forward, but Xhex’s strong hand pulled her back. “No.”
Struggling against the iron band locked on her upper arm, Ehlena shook her head violently. “We have to save him!”
“I’m not suggesting we leave him,” the other female said tightly. “But if we go in there, we’re going to be attacked like something out of the Bible. We have to figure out how to—”
A brilliant glow flared, cutting off Xhex and bringing Ehlena’s head around. Vishous had removed the glove on his right hand, and as he lifted his palm up, the planes of his harsh face and the swirls of the tattoo around his eye stood out in sharp relief.
“Bug Be Gone.” He flexed his illuminated fingers. “The Orkin man only wishes he had this kind of shit on his truck.”
“And I have a buzz saw,” Z said, grabbing a black tool from his belt. “If you can clear the way, we’ll get him down.”
Vishous crouched by the sharp edge of the swirling insects, his hand spotlighting the tangling, surging horde of small bodies and twitching, spinning legs.
Ehlena clapped her palm over her mouth, trying not to gag out loud. She couldn’t imagine that all over her body. Rehvenge was alive…but how had he survived? Without being stung to death? Without going mad?
The light from the Brother’s hand spiraled out in a straight line, singeing