Flames of Mars (Celestial Shifters Book 2) Page 2

  Sagan’s eyes bugged. He took hold of Nika’s shoulders and shook her sharply. “I need you to do something for me.” Nika grimaced as he continued. “I need you to go to Tempecrest Island and break both Nathan and Thane out.”

  1

  Piña Coladas and Internal Hysteria

  A scream shredded Violet Chamber’s vocal cords, but that pain paled in comparison to the excruciating torment of the contraction that clamped around her entire torso. There aren’t enough painkillers in the world! This baby needs to get out. Now!

  As the contraction eased, Violet’s shriek reduced to a small whimper. She moaned and gritted her teeth until the ache in her belly mercifully subsided.

  “You’re doing great.” Autumn’s voice held a pained edge, either from stress or from Violet squeezing her hand in a death grip—Violet didn’t care. Her friend could endure a crushed hand if Violet had to endure the torture of passing something the size of a watermelon out her lady parts.

  The waves of agony had increased with each contraction since she’d been induced a few hours ago. That last was the worst by far. The only saving grace through this whole delivery business was the small gaps of relief between contractions, but these suckers were starting to come faster, and the pain-free respites were getting shorter.

  “I’ll, um . . . go get you some more ice chips.” Autumn pried Violet’s fingers from her hand and shook it out with a small whimper, then rushed out of the delivery room.

  Violet lay back against the pillows and tried to get comfortable, but it was next to impossible with a belly the size of a beach ball and the next excruciating contraction looming in her very near future.

  “Hey.” The midwife patted Violet’s forehead with a damp cloth. “How are you holding up, love?”

  Violet gave her an overenthusiastic thumbs-up. “I’m doing great. Don’t know why everyone makes a big deal of this labor stuff. It’s just like sitting on the beach drinking piña coladas.”

  The midwife gave her a kind smile

  “Where’s Dawn?” Violet asked. “She’s been gone a long time.”

  “She’ll be here when she’s needed,” the woman said calmly, but Violet didn’t miss the concerned glance she shot at the door.

  Autumn’s aunt, Dawn Farrow, was Maple Shire’s doctor. She used to be a famous big-city physician, but when she became pregnant with Autumn’s cousin, Gus, she left that life to join her sister at the humble community compound. Apparently, Maple Shire’s medical care and accessibility had been abysmal when she arrived, but by calling in favors from her big-city doctor friends, Dawn had ensured she had the best medical equipment and supplies to look after the residents of not only Maple Shire but also the surrounding communities. If Violet had been able to think about anything besides the baby trying to tear through her lower abdomen, she probably would’ve been thankful she wasn’t giving birth in conditions equivalent to medieval times—Dawn’s words, not hers.

  Violet struggled to sit up, and the midwife—Macie, she finally remembered—dutifully wedged some cushions behind her back for support. Macie was a relatively new addition to Maple Shire. Apart from the last few prenatal appointments, Violet hadn’t spoken with her much, but she’d noted the midwife’s guarded demeaner and occasionally haunted gaze. Violet recognized when someone was dealing with a past trauma; she could respect the woman’s wanting to keep to herself.

  The midwife glanced at the monitor by the bed, where the tubes and cables strapped to Violet’s stomach connected. Violet didn’t know what the squiggly lines on the screen meant or even what the numbers referred to, only that the machine was reading her heart rate as well as her baby’s.

  Tightness began to enclose Violet’s abdomen once more. “Oh nooooo.” She winced and breathed out a low moan, her legs squirming.

  In her periphery, Dawn and Gus rushed through the door. Macie began conversing with them, but Violet could only hear snippets over her rising wails.

  “. . . baby’s heart rate drops with each contraction . . .”

  “. . . window to deliver is closing . . .”

  “. . . the others are ready . . .”

  “. . . get her to the theater.”

  Violet became faintly aware that her bed was moving, but her tormented groans and the severity of the contraction drowned out the rest of the world.

  “What’s going on?” she managed to say through gritted teeth, but her question was lost beneath Dawn’s barked orders to Gus and Macie. Violet tried to ask again, but the torturous ache in her stomach stretched on and on until her screams pitched up to a new level of intensity.

  The next thing she knew, Gus was looking down at her, a surgeon’s mask partially hiding his face and a cap covering his dark brown hair. He was speaking to her, explaining . . . something, but she couldn’t comprehend any of the words. He and the midwife pulled her into a seated position as the contraction released her at last.

  “Violet.” Dawn’s calm voice came from behind her. “I’m going to give you an epidural so you don’t feel anything, okay? I need you to curl up into the fetal position as tight as you can.”

  “What?” Violet screeched. “How on earth do you suggest I curl up with this wretched beach ball I have for a belly?” Her words morphed into a cry of pain as another contraction clamped down on her abdomen.

  Dawn’s instructions cut over Violet’s whimpers. “I need you to hold still. It’s very important that you don’t move.”

  A barrage of insults flew to Violet’s tongue, but her howl of agony cut them off. How could she possibly be expected to keep still? She needed to get out of here. She needed some super-strong painkillers. She needed to get this baby out. She wanted to go home, back to Brookhaven, where high school was the hardest thing she ever had to deal with.

  Her room at Nathan’s place had become a haven after he’d taken her in. How she longed to snuggle up in her bed and wait until her agonizing contractions were over.

  But she couldn’t go back. Not after Nathan had betrayed her. Not after she’d come home to find both Nathan and that treacherous liar Thane in the kitchen of that house.

  While Violet’s trauma had hidden her memories of the kidnappers who’d snatched her and her best friend, Lyla-Rose Branstone, Nathan had known all along Thane was complicit in Lyla’s murder. And he’d never told her. Never tried to protect her. Instead he’d brought Thane into her home—into her sanctuary—as if he were an old friend and not a manipulative criminal who’d torn her heart to pieces in ways that could never be mended.

  It was Thane’s fault she was in the Maple Shire infirmary. His fault she was screaming her lungs out while her body was tearing itself apart from the inside. She hadn’t seen Thane since the day she’d discovered his true identity. How she wanted to fasten her hands around his throat, to dig her nails into his stupid neck with his stupid crystal scorpion tattoo.

  And yet . . .

  Her contraction ramped up into another level of pain, and she couldn’t snuff out the sliver of longing to have Nathan, and even Thane, by her side. Nathan for his solid parental support, and Thane for his—

  No! Thane’s the bad guy. He’s the BAD GUY! Her jaw clamped down with tooth-breaking force. She couldn’t allow herself to ever forget that.

  A sharp prick stabbed Violet’s back. Within seconds, numbness flooded her body, and the wails died on her lips. With the help of Gus, Macie, and another doctor Violet had seen around Maple Shire, she was transferred to another bed and laid down flat.

  Dawn’s face, also covered in a surgical mask, came into Violet’s view.

  “Wha . . . what’s going on?” Violet asked again, her words almost strangled by hiccupping sobs.

  “I’m so sorry, Violet.” The mask muffled Dawn’s voice. “With your baby’s dipping heart rate, we couldn’t wait for you to dilate to ten centimeters. We needed to perform an emergency C-section. Everything is under control, but if we don’t do this, we could lose you both.”

  Violet’s breath heaved. Eac
h inhalation was more constricted than the last, this time because of fear rather than pain. “Is my baby okay?”

  “It’s all okay, Violet.” Gus’s voice was low and soothing. “We have a good window of time to get your baby out safely.” He’d pulled over a chair and was sitting by her head.

  Violet nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears spilled over her temples and into her hair.

  “Don’t worry.” Gus wiped the tears away with a gloved hand. “I’m going to be here with you the whole time.”

  When Violet first met Gus, he’d had an affinity for ripped jeans and copper-and-turquoise jewelry and was taking Greek poetry and textile classes at college. But it turned out he had a real talent for medicine—which he’d been avoiding for reasons Violet didn’t know. However, when she’d passed out and cut her feet on some broken glass months ago, Gus had decided to start helping his mother in the infirmary again. His knowledge and talent were astounding. If he ever went back to school as a med student, he’d give his mother a run for her money. They were a phenomenal team, and Dawn was a proud and enthusiastic mentor.

  But as much as Violet trusted his skills, nothing he said could ease her panic, her torment, or her endless inventory of questions. Internal hysteria shot up from her gut as she realized her body was numb below her armpits and the only things she could move were her arms and head.

  Never in her life had she felt so trapped.

  My baby. What’s wrong with my baby? Is my baby okay? What if they can’t get my baby out in time?

  Her eyes darted around the ceiling. The terror and uncertainty would have been enough to paralyze her if she hadn’t already been frozen by the needle numbing her body. If only the epidural had numbed her thoughts as well.

  The next few minutes were a haze, a flurried commotion of Dawn, Gus, Macie, the other doctor, and a number of nurses weaving in and out of Violet’s sight. A blue sheet was suspended from the ceiling, blocking her view from the chest down.

  Gus kept up a gentle stream of encouragement, explanations, and sometimes just trivial things to distract her. Every now and then Violet nodded in response—the only control she still had over her body—as tears flowed down her face. For an eternity, she breathed and cried as silently as possible.

  Her panic had zoned in on a single worry that echoed over and over in her mind.

  My baby. My baby. My baby . . .

  Then Gus’s chatter paused as a tiny cry sliced through the theater.

  In an instant, all of Violet’s anxiety disintegrated into nothing. She glanced at Gus; his whole face was beaming.

  Dawn’s voice came from beyond the blue sheet. “Well done, Violet! Congratulations! You have a beautiful baby girl!”

  Gus hooted his own excitement as Violet grinned, her flood of tears now joyful. Her baby was okay. A crying baby was good, right? “Can I see her?” Violet asked. “Where is she?”

  “In a few moments,” said Dawn. “Macie just needs to weigh and check over your baby. We’re just going to close the incision now.”

  Gus patted her shoulder. “It won’t be long until you can hold her.”

  Just as Violet was about to nod, Macie’s voice cut through the room. “Dawn! I need you. Now!”

  Every coherent thought and feeling fled Violet.

  A few silent moments passed after Dawn disappeared from her view. Not daring to breathe, Violet waited. Waited.

  Then Dawn yelled, “Everybody out!”

  2

  Dog Shredder

  The muted roar of the crowd in the outer arena fueled Nathan Delano’s adrenaline. He rested his head against the wall, its cool surface leeching the warmth from his bare back.

  On either side of his head, the Metallikite cuffs at his wrists rattled as he yanked. Despite knowing he would never break free, it had become his prefight ritual. To wrestle with his shackles. To suppress his nerves and the impending surge of adrenaline. To keep his inner beast contained a little longer. Or maybe he consistently fought his restraints because he still held out hope that the human hunters would forget to lock them properly, and he could escape from this rotten gladiator hellhole.

  Even in the shifter world, humans—or rather, Erathi—had claimed their natural role. As far as Nathan was concerned, that role was to be a blight upon the world. Though they lacked the powers of their prey, they still managed to enforce their dominance over virtually every kind of shifter they hunted down.

  And yet, as much as Nathan hated every Erathi hunter on Tempecrest Island, there were still some humans who had surprised him—who cared for the well-being of others, who fought against the darkness of this world. Those like his work partner Jude and his other colleagues back at the Brookhaven police station. He’d also known Erathi who deserved to be looked after and protected, such as Violet and . . . Levana.

  His neck and shoulders tensed. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to think that name. It brought back too many memories, too much grief, and . . . the image of her. Her eyes, nose, lips, cheeks, hair. The curve of her shoulders. The sway of her hips . . . Every feature was still crisp in his mind’s eye, as if he’d seen her five minutes ago.

  Another wave of cheering and applause rumbled up through the stone floor, reverberating through the circular metal panel beneath his feet. The hanging fluorescent light overhead shook a little, causing a slight strobing effect throughout the room.

  Nathan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the noise: the other gladiators’ prefight routines, their mumblings, their whimpers, and the scuffle of feet on their own metal panels.

  “Oi, slith,” said a guttural voice.

  Nathan opened his eyes and scanned the circular room. It was roughly thirty feet in diameter, and at regular intervals the other shifter gladiators—eight in all—also had their wrists cuffed to the curved wall. His eyes met the intense gaze of a dark-haired Lycan across the room.

  “This time, you’re mine.” In human form, the werewolf had severe scarring over his face and bare torso. He’d clearly been through more than his fair share of times in the arena. It was a wonder he had any unmarred flesh left.

  Nathan didn’t bother replying.

  “You hear me, slith? I’m gonna gut you, and I’m gonna tear out your lungs while you’re still breathing.”

  An amused scoff came from Nathan’s left. Tio, the young Jiovis shifter, was shaking with quiet laughter.

  “What are you laughing at, clanger?” The Lycan’s lip rolled up in a sneer.

  Tio shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just an odd way to threaten someone.” He put on a deep mocking voice. “‘I’m gonna tear your lungs out while you’re still breathing.’” Another loud snicker escaped him. “It’s like saying, ‘I’m gonna rip your ears off while you’re still hearing.’”

  The Lycan snarled. “Keep talking, boy, and I’ll decide to hunt you down first.”

  “Is that a promise?” Tio wriggled his fingers. His hand began to glow a brilliant orange, and amber electricity ignited in his palm, crackling and dancing around his fingertips. “Because I’m dying to see what one thousand kilovolts will do to your puppy-dog skull.”

  Staring pointedly at Tio’s electricity, the werewolf bared his teeth but wisely decided to keep silent. Instead, after a final glare at Nathan, he turned his focus to the ground.

  “Don’t worry, Nathan, I’ve got your back.” Tio smirked and extinguished his power.

  “Uh . . . thanks, kid.”

  Tio winked. “Anytime.”

  “The Lycan’s right,” said a new voice.

  Nathan turned to the captive on his right.

  Thane Alvarez’s vintage-gold hair hung in a tangle over his brown eyes, and his scruffy goatee desperately needed a trim. Like the rest of the captives in the holding chamber, he was bare chested. The gladiator lifestyle had forced him to maintain a somewhat toned physique, but his ribs were becoming more defined with each passing week.

  Thane lifted his head and shot a pointed look at Tio. “You n
eed to learn to watch your mouth. Just because you’re Jiovis doesn’t mean you’re immortal.”

  Tio rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

  Nathan bit back his own scoff. Tio was barely sixteen years old and just as hotheaded and haughty as his kindred shifters who drew their power from Jupiter’s energy. But regardless of age, when push came to shove, he was just as tough and bloodthirsty as the rest of them.

  After almost a year, Nathan and Thane were well aware that this gladiator prison exclusively held Lycan inmates—until Nathan, Thane, and one other Veniri had been thrown into the mix. Nathan had lost track of Kronan. Hopefully that filth had been disemboweled in the arena and tossed out with the rest of the putrid garbage.

  Not long after Nathan and Thane’s capture, Tio was thrown into a cell nearby.

  As a rule, shifter races didn’t intermingle, but of all the imprisoned shifters in Tempecrest, Tio, the out-of-place Jiovis, had chosen to join forces with Nathan and Thane. Nathan could understand the youth seeking to form an alliance, but he hadn’t quite figured out why Tio chose to associate with two Veniri instead of any of the hundreds of werewolves.

  Tio pulled a face as Thane continued his lecture, once again reminding Nathan of the Jiovis’s adolescent age. He still couldn’t believe the gall of these Erathi hunters using such a young shifter for their blood sports—but being a Jiovis did give Tio many advantages. In human form, his skin was almost as dark as obsidian. His Jiovis genes already had him bulking up more than most teenage boys, and in height, he was nearly at Nathan’s eye level.

  The roar of the crowd reached a crescendo; presumably another gladiator had reached their dismal end. A few seconds later, the deafening wail of a siren announced the conclusion of the current round.

  Another Lycan on the other side of the room raised his head and released a mournful howl.