Incubus Read Online Free

statues, pretending
    to study the carved figures while I quickly thumbed moisture out of my eyes. I turned back to the
    sanctuary, scanning the room for my friends. If I hadn’t been so distracted, I would have seen her
    sooner. As it was, I only caught the motion of her darting from behind a statue out of the corner of my
    eye. I barely had time to react, shying to the side as she attacked.
    That tiny movement probably saved my life, not that I had time to appreciate my good fortune.
    One moment I was twisting to shield myself from an unknown attacker, the next I was skidding across
    the floor, pain lancing through my shoulder, and she was there, on top of me, lips pulled back in a
    snarl.
    I reacted without conscious thought, my muscle memory kicking into action. I drove my knuckles
    into the woman’s throat, which should have flattened her. She barely reacted, but her grip loosened
    enough for me to plant my feet against her ribs and kick her off of me.
    I heard someone scream. Lucas shouted. And then she was diving for me again. I threw my body to
    one side, rolling onto my feet and spinning around, hands up and ready for a fight. She was already
    mid-lunge. I was dimly aware that she was the woman I’d seen earlier, slipping through the gate into
    the mission’s inner garden.
    She collided with me before I could do more than block her punch. The force of her blow sent me
    staggering back a few steps. I faced her, frantic, but hard as I wracked my brain I knew I’d never seen
    this woman before in my life. Could she be a spotter? Maybe a member of the Guard from a different
    unit? I held out my hand—a gesture of truce.
    “I’m not your enemy.”
    She lunged for me again, swinging her other arm with more force. I saw the tire iron with just
    enough time to drop. It sailed through the air where my head had been moments before. Ice gripped
    my stomach. Whoever this woman was, she was not playing around. That blow was meant to end me. I
    tried to run past her but she caught me by the scruff of my shirt and jerked me back, hard. I hit the
    ground with a sickening thunk, red and black swirls overtaking my vision. When they cleared, I saw
    her standing over me, tensing to swing the tire iron for my head.
    Lucas hit her like a freight train, bowling her over before the killing blow could fall. A wave of
    nausea rose in my throat but I pushed it down and forced myself to roll to my knees.
    Lucas was wrestling with her for the tire iron beside a bank of stained glass windows. She released
    the iron suddenly and Lucas, unprepared, lost his balance. Before he could recover, she turned,
    punching him savagely in the solar plexus. Lucas dropped the tire iron. It struck the ground, impacting
    with the sound of a clanging bell. Something was wrong—Lucas gasped for breath with a horrible, wet
    sound. He dropped to his knees, unable to do more than struggle for oxygen.
    The woman picked up the tire iron and turned back to Lucas, hunched over on the ground before
    her.
    “No!” My voice sliced through the sanctuary. The woman turned toward me, and I saw again the
    lifelessness of her eyes. My breath came out in a ragged hiss of realization. “No.”
    The woman left Lucas, bearing down on me. I realized that I had to end this fight, and I had to do
    it now. Nothing would make her stop, and the next time I went down, there would be no one there to
    save me.
    I charged toward the woman. She lifted the tire iron to strike, but at the last moment I dropped,
    skidding toward her across the slick, polished stone, feet first. I connected solidly, the force of my
    kick shoving her up and back.
    No surprised flickered through those dead eyes as she hit the stained glass window. The glass
    exploded behind her like a shower of multi-colored gems, clearing the way for sunlight to flood the
    sanctuary with blinding intensity.
    I skidded to a stop beneath the window and threw my arms over my head protectively. Tiny
    fragments of stained glass