Read Online Phoenix Contract: Part Five (Fallen Angel Watchers) by Melissa Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Melissa Thomas
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heaps. Thankfully, both were still alive but out cold.
Arms stiff and extended, Tristan moved forward holding a Ruger, a .45 caliber firearm, aimed at Magnus. A burst of muzzle flashed and a booming succession of shots were fired. Magnus jerked in response to each bullet drilled into his torso. Tristan aimed for the Celt’s heart as he tried to destroy the vital organ which even the undead needed to survive. He could’ve aimed for the head, but Magnus’ hood obscured his face, making a precise shot impossible.
Magnus took a full clip of bullets into his heart, and the Celt didn’t once try to evade. He didn’t lose his footing either. Tristan’s gun clicked empty, and Aiden released her held breath with an explosive exhalation.
“My turn,” Magnus drawled, sounding both vicious and amused. His tone terrified Aiden, because she knew that he meant to kill.
Aiden leapt forward and placed herself between the two men. The act was the height of stupidity and bravado, but she couldn’t stand by and watch Magnus murder the boy.
“Magnus, do NOT hurt him, or I swear to God I’m going to…” Aiden left the threat hanging and turned to glare at the Celt with her hands on her hips. Behind her, she heard a distinctive click.
Tristan had taken advantage of the opportunity to reload. Hardly reassuring, because now she had weapons aimed at both her front and back.
“I might point out that you called me. You can’t just change your mind in the middle of a cry for help,” Magnus replied, irate with her inconsistency and illogic.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it violates the damsels-in-distress code,” Aiden muttered. “So sue me.”
“Aiden, what’s going on?” Tristan demanded. “You know this thing ?”
The insult struck the soft underbelly of Magnus’ ego, and a low snarl issued from the Celt.
On a gut level, Aiden sensed Tristan was testing Magnus. Her newly learned spellcasting abilities allowed her to perceive the mystical energy crackling in the metaphysical miasma about them. Tristan’s power was solid and rooted in the earth, an immoveable and unyielding force. What Tristan lacked in flexibility, he made up for in sheer, stubborn cussedness.
In contrast, Magnus’ distinctive power swelled through the alley, constantly shifting, swift and supple, never fully revealing his entire ability. The fog obscured the true extent of the Celt’s power. He was darkness and mystery, both beautiful and terrifying.
Electrically charged currents streamed through the air as their auras clashed, and the entire cloud roiled, a building storm hanging above their heads. And she stood in the center of the tempest, trying desperately to prevent the psychic conflict from escalating into further bloodshed.
“Jesus, he’s ancient. I’ve never seen one this old,” Tristan murmured in the distant, dreamy whisper of reverie. “Thousands of years, centuries crushing centuries, chaos and creation...”
“Your young friend has a bent for the poetic, Aiden,” Magnus observed with an amused chuckle.
Struggling to shake off the weight of the enchantment enshrouding them, Aiden stared at the Celt. “What’s with this ‘thousands of years’ stuff? I thought you were a millennium max?”
“Maybe he’s mistaken,” Magnus suggested mildly.
“Would it kill you to give a straight answer just once?” Aiden asked.
“Maybe.” Magnus gave an elaborate Gallic shrug.
The fluid movement seemed to shock Tristan out of his spellbound state. “You’re under his influence. He’s exercising some sort of mind control over you,” Tristan concluded, his voice thick with tension. He adjusted his stance slightly, this time taking aim at Magnus’ head.
Aiden could see him working through the dynamics of taking the shot, calculating his chances of killing and survival.
“I am not under his control!” she exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated with the very suggestion which was both outrageous and insulting.
“It’s hard to explain, but
Arms stiff and extended, Tristan moved forward holding a Ruger, a .45 caliber firearm, aimed at Magnus. A burst of muzzle flashed and a booming succession of shots were fired. Magnus jerked in response to each bullet drilled into his torso. Tristan aimed for the Celt’s heart as he tried to destroy the vital organ which even the undead needed to survive. He could’ve aimed for the head, but Magnus’ hood obscured his face, making a precise shot impossible.
Magnus took a full clip of bullets into his heart, and the Celt didn’t once try to evade. He didn’t lose his footing either. Tristan’s gun clicked empty, and Aiden released her held breath with an explosive exhalation.
“My turn,” Magnus drawled, sounding both vicious and amused. His tone terrified Aiden, because she knew that he meant to kill.
Aiden leapt forward and placed herself between the two men. The act was the height of stupidity and bravado, but she couldn’t stand by and watch Magnus murder the boy.
“Magnus, do NOT hurt him, or I swear to God I’m going to…” Aiden left the threat hanging and turned to glare at the Celt with her hands on her hips. Behind her, she heard a distinctive click.
Tristan had taken advantage of the opportunity to reload. Hardly reassuring, because now she had weapons aimed at both her front and back.
“I might point out that you called me. You can’t just change your mind in the middle of a cry for help,” Magnus replied, irate with her inconsistency and illogic.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it violates the damsels-in-distress code,” Aiden muttered. “So sue me.”
“Aiden, what’s going on?” Tristan demanded. “You know this thing ?”
The insult struck the soft underbelly of Magnus’ ego, and a low snarl issued from the Celt.
On a gut level, Aiden sensed Tristan was testing Magnus. Her newly learned spellcasting abilities allowed her to perceive the mystical energy crackling in the metaphysical miasma about them. Tristan’s power was solid and rooted in the earth, an immoveable and unyielding force. What Tristan lacked in flexibility, he made up for in sheer, stubborn cussedness.
In contrast, Magnus’ distinctive power swelled through the alley, constantly shifting, swift and supple, never fully revealing his entire ability. The fog obscured the true extent of the Celt’s power. He was darkness and mystery, both beautiful and terrifying.
Electrically charged currents streamed through the air as their auras clashed, and the entire cloud roiled, a building storm hanging above their heads. And she stood in the center of the tempest, trying desperately to prevent the psychic conflict from escalating into further bloodshed.
“Jesus, he’s ancient. I’ve never seen one this old,” Tristan murmured in the distant, dreamy whisper of reverie. “Thousands of years, centuries crushing centuries, chaos and creation...”
“Your young friend has a bent for the poetic, Aiden,” Magnus observed with an amused chuckle.
Struggling to shake off the weight of the enchantment enshrouding them, Aiden stared at the Celt. “What’s with this ‘thousands of years’ stuff? I thought you were a millennium max?”
“Maybe he’s mistaken,” Magnus suggested mildly.
“Would it kill you to give a straight answer just once?” Aiden asked.
“Maybe.” Magnus gave an elaborate Gallic shrug.
The fluid movement seemed to shock Tristan out of his spellbound state. “You’re under his influence. He’s exercising some sort of mind control over you,” Tristan concluded, his voice thick with tension. He adjusted his stance slightly, this time taking aim at Magnus’ head.
Aiden could see him working through the dynamics of taking the shot, calculating his chances of killing and survival.
“I am not under his control!” she exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated with the very suggestion which was both outrageous and insulting.
“It’s hard to explain, but
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