Free Surrender to Darkness by Annette McCleave Page B

dared move. He was speaking in Japanese, his voice low, urgent, and angry.
    Keeping to the thin morning shadows along the wall of the main hall, Murdoch slipped closer.
    Getting shot wasn’t a big concern—bullets wouldn’t do anything more than piss him off—but it might be smart to assess the situation before engaging the enemy. Not that his berserker rated the fellow as a real threat—his blood was only lightly simmering and most of that was the residual effect of standing close to Kiyoko.
    At the corner of the building, he paused.
    The gunman’s back faced him, although the slow circle he was making would have them eye to eye in a moment. Three bodies lay sprawled in the courtyard, unmoving. Impossible to know if they were dead, unconscious, or just playing it safe.
    And it didn’t really matter.
    The gunman held a 9 mm pistol firmly in one hand and some kind of switch in the other. He had three other holsters stuffed with steely black guns, a belt hung with several replacement clips, and something strapped to his chest that looked remarkably like a … bomb. This was no accidental firing or ploy for attention. The man was on a mission to kill and be killed.
    Murdoch’s hand flexed around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. An ordinary blade, nothing special. No heavy two-handed superweapon like the one MacGregor carried. Just a sturdy, double-edged broadsword crafted by an ancient Norse sword master and kept in pristine shape by meticulous daily care.
    He called it Bloodseeker.
    For good reason. The blade was blessed with an uncanny ability to deal a killing blow, and it had served him well long before it received the mystical augmentations provided by Stefan Wahlberg. Its history was as colorful as his.
    But before he resorted to slaying the fellow, he ought to try something more diplomatic. Like a sleep spell. Or not. The fellow’s thumb might accidentally depress the trigger of his bomb and blow up the compound. A bind spell would work, though.
    The gunman continued to pivot, wary eyes vigilant for any sign of movement. One more step and …
    Murdoch cast the bind spell.
    It hit the shooter’s shield and bounced harmlessly into the air, only a few blue sparks confirming the accuracy of Murdoch’s aim. Now alerted to Murdoch’s presence, the gunman fired into the shadows with deadly intent.
    Now or never .
    Murdoch drew on his Soul Gatherer powers and leapt, springing into the courtyard with an easy flex of his thighs. He landed four feet from his opponent and, using the shield-piercing augmentation on his weapon, promptly knocked the gun from his grasp with a sharp whack of steel on steel.
    The younger warrior reacted swiftly to the attack. He fell back in a smooth motion, letting go of the switch and drawing his katana. In a flash, he had settled into a firm guard position, snarling at Murdoch in Japanese, ready to battle.
    Murdoch felt a warm burn in his muscles.
    His berserker doing a lazy stretch.
    “You don’t want to do that, lad,” he said gently. “Trust me. It’ll only end badly. Put the sword down.”
    The gleam in his opponent’s eyes remained bright, and the volume of his Japanese lecture only increased.
    “Yamete!”
    It was Kiyoko, approaching from behind him, speaking in a crisp, unequivocal voice.
    Murdoch tensed, his berserker springing to protective alertness. The man had a bloody bomb strapped to his chest, with the bright red thumb switch dangling visibly from a couple of wires. Why the hell hadn’t she stayed where he left her?
    “Lass,” he said, addressing her as calmly as he was able to under the circumstances. “I have this under control. Get the hell out of here.”
    “Under control? He says he’s going to blow up the whole compound.”
    “Exactly why you need to back up,” he muttered.
    She ignored him. Continuing to speak to the young warrior in a soothing manner, she tried to step around Murdoch.
    He extended an arm. “Over my dead body.”
    “He just got