Free Catch the Lightning by Catherine Asaro Page B

The web couldn’t completely control-his actions, but it helped keep him in check.
    Up to a point.
    Somewhere, far away but coming closer, sirens wailed. An explosion cracked here in the alley, and Althor staggered back into the wall of the cleaners as if someone pushed him. On the other side of the car, Nug stood with his arms straight out, his Luger aimed at Althor. He had hit Althor’s side, at the waist above his left hip, between the edges of his vest and pants. His second shot missed: just as he pulled the trigger, light flashed across his face, making him shut his eyes. Althor had drawn his knife. In my room it glittered; out here it bounced and refracted light in a blinding display of radiance and rainbow colors, like a gigantic diamond.
    Althor snapped his wrist and the knife streaked through the air. Nug was already moving, so the blade missed his heart and stabbed his shoulder. As Nug shouted and dropped his gun, Althor ran around the car, straight at him. He slammed Nug against the car, but Nug was smarter than the others; instead of trying to best Althor’s strength and speed, he grabbed his vest and used his weight against him, throwing him over his shoulder onto the hood. Althor rolled easily across the car and came down in front of it, landing on his feet.
    The sirens were closer now, their wail going up and down, changing in tempo to a faster beat, then back to the drawn-out cry. Althor lunged at Nug and they grappled with each other. With them moving so fast, it was impossible to see who had the knife. It flashed around their bodies, stabbing in a blur of light.
    The sirens swelled and pulled into the plaza out front. Pits couldn’t get his car out of the alley without hitting the fighters, so he jumped out and took off like fire on oil. I wasn’t sure if he was running from Althor or the cops.
    Althor stopped moving—and Nug collapsed to the ground in a limp heap. He wasn’t breathing.
    “Drop the knife,” a voice commanded.
    Looking up, I saw a policeman at the end of the alley, his gun out and aimed. Althor stared at him. He was standing over Nug’s body, his boots on either side of Nug’s hips, the knife still raised in his hand. Blood dripped off its diamond-bright edge and splattered on Nug’s closed eyelids.
    “Drop it,” the officer repeated. “Now.”
    For a moment I was afraid Althor wouldn’t respond. Then he opened his hand and the knife clattered to the asphalt.
    Footsteps sounded behind me. Turning, I saw a second officer coming up the alley. Another siren was wailing, faint but growing louder. The side door of the library opened, revealing Martinelli with a policewoman. Martinelli’s clothes were rumpled and an ugly bruise showed on his forehead.
    The woman came over to me and carefully pulled off the gag. “Are you all right?”
    I nodded. But I was lying. I had never witnessed a murder before.
    “It was self-defense,” I said while she untied me. “My boyfriend was protecting me.”
    “You can give your statements at the station.” She tilted her head toward Martinelli. “Go back inside with him.” Then she headed toward the others.
    As I grabbed my bracelet out of the car, I heard a man say, “Stand up against the wall.” Straightening up, I saw the three officers watching Althor. He stared back as if they were enemies, his head turning from one to the other like a well-oiled machine.
    “Move it,” the first officer said. “Now.”
    I didn’t like the way the cops looked, as if they believed they might have to shoot. Althor! I thought. You have to do what they say. I made an image in my mind showing him facing the wall, ready to be searched.
    Althor shot me a look, as if I had yelled in his ear instead of in my own head. A thought brushed my mind, cold and impersonal: Combat mode toggled off. Moving slowly, he backed up to the wall of library, still facing the three officers.
    “Turn around,” the first man said.
    Althor watched him, wary and silent. Then he