Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

with Nagas, serpent gods. Inside that was a sapphire the size of her palm.
    Riora didn’t seek the sapphire; she wanted that box.
    With the steady rain—May equaled monsoon season—the field was more of a morass, with soupy mud and splashing puddles. Kaderin exhaled. Mines hurt , but she needed some high-dollar points. She, the Lykae, and the siren continued to be neck-and-neck. There was only one prize here, and she had to have it.
    At the edge, she swallowed. Easy to lose a foot here. She’d lost a foot before, and she had to say she’d enjoyed cheerier scenarios.
    She flexed her fingers, then got to work, scanning for something heavy to toss into the quagmire. If she was quick, she could detonate quite a few—
    Her ear twitched. Over the strengthening rain, she barely heard the stealthy movements of a predator. No... not the...
    Son of a bitch. There was Bowen, and just to his right, the sodding siren.
    The three grasped the situation at the same time. All dashed heedlessly past the warning sign, sprinting out into the muddy space. The Lykae was fast and ran as though crazed. He let his beast out of its cage, turning in the midst of the field, his body becoming bigger, fangs lengthening. His normally short, dark claws shot longer and grew stronger. When he glanced back to snarl at Kaderin, she saw his amber eyes had turned ice blue.
    Though Kaderin was fast and Cindey was strong over the slogging terrain, they shouldn’t be able to keep up with him as they were. He’d smoked her in the cave. The witch must really have cursed him.
    Kaderin ran in his path, exactly where mud flew up in intervals, letting him take the risk. Cindey began gunning to pass Kaderin on the right.
    An idea arose. Kaderin pumped her arms, darting forward. “Cindey!” she called. “The right leg!”
    She nodded. A breath later, they both dove for him, tackling him into the mucky ground. He twisted around, white fangs bared, snapping at Cindey, who jammed her elbow into his throat. He slashed out at Kaderin with his deadly claws, but she sprang back. They whistled by just millimeters from her face. If Mariketa hadn’t weakened him, they’d both be dead.
    As the two wrestled to hold him, inflicting injuries to down the large male, he fought like the animal he was. The three covered a large area, yet they hadn’t triggered a mine—there had to be one close by. “Kick, you idiot!” Kaderin screamed to Cindey.
    They dodged claws, booting his chest to send him rolling over and over far back. All three heard the distinct metallic click. He had time only to grit his teeth.
    Light flashed. Kaderin yanked the siren in front of herself for cover. Bowen flew in a hail of red mud fifty feet away, but the explosion caught them as well, catapulting them back.
    When it ceased raining clumps of earth, Kaderin shoved Cindey off her. Moaning, Cindey staggered to her feet, holding her sensitive ears, blown from the percussion. She had blood splattered all over her, running down her bared arms and neck through runnels of mud.
    As Kaderin scrambled to her feet, she saw Bowen, who had a short bar of shrapnel jutting out from his ribs. Claws digging into the ground, he rose to his hands and knees, then unsteadily to his feet. He must know that if he removed the metal, the blood loss would put him out of this.
    Kaderin took inventory, assessing her own injuries. Apparently, she’d caught a good bounce for once, just a few scratches.
    Incredibly, Bowen loped ahead, dripping blood, turning back toward the explosion. She yanked her head around, perceived a kind of fluorescence in one of the puddles. The explosion must have unearthed the box. She surged forward, darting through the mud, uncaring of the mines. She gained on Bowen.
    The bar was skewered completely through him. His jostling run was no doubt agony, but he was still going. Soon they were side by side. There, glowing before them, was a wooden case, smaller than a cigar box. It was sealed and bobbing like flotsam.
    Kaderin dove for it, just as Bowen did. Sliding through the mud, they collided, butting heads so hard her vision briefly blurred. The box went sloshing back.
    His ice-blue eyes showed a complete loss of reason. His voice was guttural and breaking. “You’re about to wish I could kill you.”
    They both dove forward once more, grappling for the prize. As it bobbed down, they rooted blindly for it, uncaring if they were about to have their hands and faces blown off. They each