Libra Ascending: An Epic Urban Fantasy Romance (Zodiac Guardians Book 1) by Tamar Sloan (adult books to read .TXT) 📗

His only option is to take as many of them out before they know he’s here.

He skitters a pebble from the opposite corner of the stack of crates and waits.

“Go check it out,” mutters a voice.

Which tells Tristan babkas about how many are heading over.

He’s already in fighting stance when a Skin rounds the corner. Tristan grabs his shirt, snaps the man’s head back then jerks him down. Pain ricochets through Tristan as he slams the crown of his head into the Skin’s nose and the man crumples.

The second Skin rushes around having heard the commotion. Tristan jams the palm of his hand into the man’s chin. He collapses on top of his comrade.

There’s silence and Tristan knows the other Skins are now suspicious.

Two down. Four to go.

“Dan? Ivan?”

Tristan takes two steps back, allowing him to keep a better eye on the two sides of the crate stack. If they’re smart, they’ll come around both sides at the same time.

The first man launches from the left, his face twisted in fury.

Angry. But not smart.

Three punches and the man is unconscious.

This time though, two men rush from both sides. Tristan runs and leaps onto the stack, takes two running steps then launches off the other side. The momentum flips him through the air and he lands on the ground on the other side.

Several startled faces stare at him.

Including Zarius. He mouths one word. “Tristan.”

Tristan grins. “To the rescue.”

From his left, a Skin snaps into motion, running at him. Tristan grabs the man, spins him to gain momentum, then releases him at Zarius.

Zarius’s eyes widen as he sees the human projectile coming at him, but then does what Tristan hoped he would. At the last moment, Zarius stands and spins around. The Skin slams into the chair, knocking Zarius over, but also smashing the timber to pieces.

Zarius is on all fours on the ground, but free.

Tristan hears the swing at his head and he spins around, his return strike already in motion. It hits the Skin’s chest, yanking out an oomph but it’s not enough to down him. He staggers back, the desire for retribution twisting his face.

Tristan raises his fists, watching as a second Skin joins the first. The more who are on him, the fewer are on Zarius.

“I’m glad you brought a friend,” Tristan growls. “It’s more fun this way.”

The Skins glance at each other before simultaneously launching at him. Tristan is ready for them. Fists connect with flesh, kicks aim for vulnerable gaps. He lands a few good shots, but so do they. A blow to his ribs reminds him they only recently took a knock from these guys. Pain spirals through his chest but he ignores it. Broken ribs can be healed.

Death can’t.

Behind him, Tristan hears the sounds of more fighting. Zarius is up, dealing with the other two. It’s only a matter of time before they get to victory dance.

When one of the Skins lands a second jab into Tristan’s ribs he grits his teeth. Time to end this. He doubles over like the pain wants him to, seeing the glint of satisfaction in one of the Skin’s eyes.

They both move in, faces lighting with the prospect of triumph.

But they never get to taste it, let alone see it. Tristan jumps, spins, and spears out his leg. Both men slam to the ground as, one after the other, as his foot connects with their jaw.

Tristan straightens, breathing heavily. The sound of another body hitting the ground almost has him smiling. Zarius has taken another Skin out.

That leaves one more.

Tristan spins around to see the Skin slowly stepping backward. The coward is retreating. For every step back, Zarius takes a step forward, not losing any ground. His face is swollen and purple and one hand looks like it won’t be making a fist any time soon, but he doesn’t take his gaze from his prey.

Tristan heads left, fanning out so he has a better chance of coming between the Skin and the door. The guy is going to run for sure.

The Skin glances between the two of them before his gaze settles on Zarius. “He can fight.” His hands shift to his side. “You’ve taught him to protect himself.”

“Stay still,” commands Zarius.

The Skin stops, only to turn his hollow gaze toward Tristan. “Hello, Gem.”

“My name’s Tristan.” Although Gem’s the name he was born with in the Gemini solar system, no one’s called him that since he was a baby.

In fact, Zarius only uses it when he’s feeling exceptionally sentimental or particularly angry. Usually, it’s the latter.

The Skin dips his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll let Chardis know you’ve assimilated more than we thought.”

“Enough,” barks Zarius. “Put your hands on your head and face the wall.”

The Skin cautiously lifts his hands but the slowly spreading smile has Tristan on high alert. Skins aren’t smart—hell, sometimes they seem to like the pain—but this guy doesn’t look like he knows he’s lost.

That Zarius is about to finish him.

It all happens fast. Too fast. The Skin jams his hand into his jacket, yanking out a gun.

But it’s not a gun Tristan has seen before. Slick and narrow, it glints blue-black like a shiny, metal bruise. The Skin lifts it, spins his arm wide and aims it at Tristan.

“No!” Zarius is already running, but even he can’t run faster than a bullet.

The Skin’s eyes blaze as he pulls the trigger.

A split second later, a sharp sting pierces Tristan’s chest. He has time to suck in a startled breath before his body crumples.

He expects there to be pain, but there isn’t. An icy cold explodes from the site of the bullet, catapulting through his veins and spearing down his limbs.

Vaguely, Tristan registers the crack of a snapped neck. He wants to make sure it’s not Zarius’s but his head feels like lead.

Zarius’s freaked out face appears above him and Tristan tries to smile, hoping to give the man who raised him like a son some reassurance.

Except he can’t. His entire