We abruptly stopped, and my head spun like a Ferris wheel out of control.
Before I could reach around, someone grabbed my wrists in a tight hold. The familiar sound of duct tape ripping came seconds before the sticky adhesive was wrapped around my mouth and head, covering up my two best weapons inside my mouth.
Still dizzy, I writhed despite being stretched between two men who were subduing me with an iron grip on each arm. I couldn’t reach for my weapons, I couldn’t fight them, and I couldn’t escape.
I erupted with anger, kicking at their legs and trying to pull out of their grasp. Someone punched me in the back, and I crumpled to the ground long enough for them to tape up my ankles. They lifted me back to my feet, still gripping my arms. I sensed their Mage energy, and that meant I couldn’t even use my energy to blast them.
“Let her go. She has nothing to do with us,” I heard Niko say.
When I shook some of my hair away from my eyes, I got the full scope of our situation. Niko was in a position of genuflection, but I had my doubts that he was worshipping these men.
I hoped.
Two flanked him, joined by a third man, who tossed a giant roll of duct tape to the ground. The others looked to him, waiting for his command.
“Nikodemos… did you think I wouldn’t find you? I almost didn’t recognize you with the long hair.”
Niko’s arms tightened around his stomach as if he was going to be sick.
I grimaced, bending my knee and trying to loosen the tape around my ankles. The dark-haired men were also Asian, but not the same ethnicity. Sometimes older immortals had different physical features than modern people—carrying genetic traits that had phased out or changed through new generations. But in this case, I was certain they weren’t of the same origin. The leader appeared Samoan with a broad nose, dark hair and eyes, and skin like bronze. He had ink on his biceps that looked like sleeves of armor disappearing beneath his blue shirt.
“Let the woman go, Cyrus,” Niko repeated.
Cyrus advanced and flipped Niko’s hood back. “Still the same weak man I remember. I’ve spent five centuries searching for a blind Mage. I finally gave up in Europe and came here. You were always so much trouble.” He briefly glanced over his shoulder at me. “So, did this white woman take pity on you and make you her servant? You fool. You can’t even see the people you don’t belong with.”
Niko’s crystalline eyes rose, and when I saw a flicker of light within them, I fought harder against the men restraining me. The man on my left was the weaker of the two, so I buried my nails into his arm until he almost lost his grip. He wrenched my arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket.
“I am not the weak boy you remember,” Niko said, his voice cold and defiant.
Cyrus laughed haughtily.
That laugh galvanized Niko into action. He withdrew his hands from inside his open jacket, brandishing two katanas, one in each hand.
My eyes widened as he expertly sliced the air around him, forcing the men to retreat.
Cyrus stared him down, unflinching. “Let us see what the boy has learned.” He stepped back and nodded at the two men, who reached behind their backs for their own swords.
Energy flooded my veins, and without being able to use it, I was forced to keep it tempered so that it wouldn’t consume me.
The swords weren’t long, which was how Niko had managed to keep them concealed underneath his long jacket.
Niko extended his left arm and glanced over his right shoulder, his gaze skating about as the men advanced. Steel clashed together, clanging as they exploded into action with expert moves I’d never seen before. These men didn’t fight with savagery but with precision.
Cyrus’s men attacked from different directions, and Niko spun around, blocking each strike and dodging their swings with impossible speed before countering with his own attack.
One man swiped his sword in a lateral move, and Niko bent backward, his long hair cascading behind him. Before righting himself, he swept his arm along the ground in an arc and sliced the legs of the man behind him.
A guttural scream poured from his opponent, blood streaking across the air and splattering on the wet asphalt.
When Niko was upright again, he lunged at the uninjured man with a vengeance, wielding both swords in a whirling blur and driving the man back, who could barely keep up his defenses. This wasn’t a typical skirmish between men; these were warriors.
The man with the injured legs looked up, cursing the clouds for shielding the sun and preventing him from healing. He staggered forward, holding his sword like a baseball bat, ready to swing at Niko from behind.
I screamed through the tape, trying to warn Niko.
My heart clenched as the man raised his sword over his right shoulder, his eyes wide. He was aiming for Niko’s neck, and beheading was certain death for a Mage.