Page 43 of Remnants
Seeing Kellan changes the mood of the room, and I can see more people nodding or with open expressions than those still disbelieving what’s being said.
York accepts the microphone back from Aiden. “Unfortunately, folks, that means we’re done for the night and all nights until furthernotice. I’ll send a message out to anyone who’s not here. If you’re joining the fight, come to the stage for directions. Otherwise, have a good night and be safe!”
The room splits; those interested in fighting surging toward the stage while the rest linger behind at the tables.
“Hype is in danger, too,” I say in a hushed tone to Jack and Dane. “GE may not know it’s a hot-spot for gifted, but it’s only a matter of time. We should at least warn them.”
Jackson hums softly, so I know he’s heard me, but he seems distracted by something. Before I can ask him about it, shouts echo through the room.
Chapter twelve
Raegan
Aportalappearsatthe foot of the stairs, blocking the one and only exit. GE agents run out of it, like wasps from their hive, immediately going on the offensive and grabbing people.
I swing my gaze across the room to Aiden on instinct. Our eyes connect for a solid beat before all hell breaks loose and something knocks our table over. Jackson catches it, aims, and then tosses it at an agent. I jump from the stool and knock it into the corner out of my way.
The gifted people here aren’t afraid of fighting with their gifts, and they know how to use them. They fight back, gifts slinging through the air and hitting both friend and foe.
Calling on my gift, I fist my hands and search through the crowd for anyone I can grab. I can’t send my gift through the floor without risking everyone else, which means I’m restricted to only the agents I can touch. But even then, people are shoving into one another or being thrown about. Can I take the risk of using it at all?
A Pits fighter falls into me, and I rush to release my gift and catchthem, helping them upright again.
Nope. No gift.
I grab the knife from my boot instead. Time to put Kell’s training to use with close combat fighting.
I dive into the fray, seeking out anyone with the GE logo. One of them swings a fist at me, and I dodge to the side, flipping the knife to my left hand and slashing his arm. The agent yells, grabbing the wound, and I switch my knife back and sink it into his chest to finish him.
The next agent comes at me from the side. I pivot, ducking down and then leaping at him from below with the knife. His blood hits my face, a warm and wet feeling that I brush aside.
A shoe squeaks behind me, and I spin in time to see a hand reaching toward me before the agent’s forearm is cleaved from his body. His head follows, and the agent drops to the floor in a thud, revealing Aiden behind him retracting his whip sword.
That’s when I realize the area around me is clear when I thought I’d run into the crowd. Dane grabs an agent attacking a Pits fighter, shutting his gift down and then punching him in the jaw for a quick lights-out.
Something bright catches my eye, and I turn to find Kellan ripping through agents, the golden scales covering the backs of his arms and reflecting even the dim lighting from above.
And in front of me, Jackson.
Most of the Pits fighters are now standing along the walls, watching him with fear as he decimates the remaining agents. His hood fell at some point, revealing his messy black hair and wicked smile ashe effectively eliminates groups of agents at a time. Blood streaks his face, and I wonder how much is on his clothes that we can’t see.
He looks like the God of Death, exacting his brutal vengeance on these agents who never had a chance.
The last one falls.
Silence fills the room as Jackson lands at my side. He looks at me, and my breath hitches. He’s covered in blood and panting for air, but it’s the look in his eyes that captures my full attention.
They shine with bloodlust. With the need to take more. Kill more.
The darkness emanating from him is a tangible feeling that evokes a sense of dread to be close to it—fear to snake down your spine.
His gaze darts to the people along the wall behind me.
I palm the side of his face to draw his attention back to me. “Jack.”
His chest works double-time with his heavy breathing, and I can feel the fine tremble running through his body where my hand touches him.
“Look at me,” I order, soft but firm. There’s a second where I worry he won’t listen, a heartbeat that I’m afraid he’ll act on the murderous impulses driving him. But then his dark blue gaze lands on me, and its weight is staggering. My heart pounds relentlessly, my blood on fire. “It’s over.”
