Page 30 of Helsing: Demon Slayer (The Dragon’s Paladins #1)

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, pulling the slide back and checking the clip. “Though maybe don’t shoot near an open gas tank. Sparks, flammable liquids, and all that.”

“Oh, yikes! Sorry!”

“Try not to shoot anyone while I finish up here.”

“Then hurry. Something tells me I don’t have enough bullets for everyone.”

“That’s when you use the combat knife,” he deadpanned, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. “After that, your teeth, maybe some elbows and a headbutt or two.”

Despite his attempt at levity, adrenaline hit Ryan’s system at the thought that Dianne might be rushed, and he wouldn’t be able to protect her. Nevertheless, he ignored his racing heart to return to siphoning gas.

Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast , he reminded himself as he sucked the liquid gas until it rose high enough that he could transfer the end of the hose to the Opel’s open tank and then let gravity take over.

The entire time the people in the shadows increased in number, and their muttering grew.

Ryan finished filling their gas tank, spilling extra gasoline under the van as he pulled the tubing from its side. Almost at the same time, the growing crowd spread out along the far edge of the parking lot.

“Let’s go,” he said. As they slammed their doors shut, he looked at Dianne. “You got the hotwiring? I’ll take the gun.”

Dianne handed him the pistol using a thumb and a finger to hold the grip. “Please.”

“I don’t know why you’re so skittish. You handled yourself like a pro.” Ryan pulled the slide back and checked the chamber as she bent down to twist the ignition and power wires together again. Half a clip. It would do if they got out of here pronto. “I wouldn’t have done better.”

“Beginner’s luck,” she said, grabbing the loose wires hanging below the steering column.

“Better hurry,” he said, scanning the crowd. His spidey senses as Olivia called them had started to tingle.

Something metallic clattered, and angry voices rose in sporadic shouts. Shoes scuffed the pavement as an uneasy ripple of movement shifted the onlookers.

“Crap!” said Dianne, dropping the wires as a brief spark jumped between them.

Ryan looked back at her. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast,” he said, injecting a calm he didn’t feel into his voice.

He surveyed the van through the driver’s side window, a thought occurring to him as he focused on the crowd, which had by now divided into two clear groups. Was it chaos? Or something more organized?

Dianne heaved a sigh and grabbed the two wires again, twisting the exposed ends together before tapping the end of the starter wire to the bundle. The engine coughed, the Opel shook, and then the car died.

Ryan caught sight of a tall figure directing the onlookers with two fingers.

The first group shuffled toward them as the second one disappeared around the corner of the veterinary hospital.

It took only a moment to process what was happening.

The second group would continue on around the other side of the building and come out behind the van.

They’re flanking us .

Not good. Not good at all.

“Anytime, Markham,” said Ryan, aiming the muzzle of the Glock at the ringleader, who like any rat bastard, hung back while the others risked their lives.

“I’m trying, I’m trying.” Dianne pressed the starter wire against the combined ignition-power bundle, not dropping it even though it sparked again. The ringleader yelled something at the same time that she said, “I got it!”

Ryan didn’t respond. Instead, he shot the ringleader, followed by three other people at the forefront of the first group, which now charged at them. As these attackers fell, those nearest them tumbled over their bodies, throwing the impetuous charge into disarray.

Ryan turned toward the hospital just as the other group emerged from behind the far corner. Dianne threw the Opel into drive and sped away. Ryan waited as long as he dared before rising through the open passenger window and, twisting, firing toward the spilled gasoline under the van.

Three things happened almost simultaneously.

First, Dianne plowed into two of the still-standing attackers, sending one flying over the car’s hood and the other into the rest, who’d started to scatter.

Second, the bullet striking asphalt ignited the spilled gas.

Third, the flames rode on the fumes leaking from the open tank, igniting what gas remained.

As they raced onto the nearby street, the van exploded behind them. Ryan watched as the resulting blast threw the fastest attackers a dozen meters and the boiling flames caught the rest. Screams followed them into the night as he sagged into the passenger seat.

He checked the clip in his gun. Empty.

Dianne gave a little whoop. “Holy hell, that was insane. I thought I’d panic, but I didn’t. I actually did something. I didn’t freeze. I didn’t fail.” She glanced over at him. “That cartridge you asked me to hold is in the door pocket.”

“Thanks.”

Ryan ejected the spent cartridge and inserted the new one with a concerted effort before looking at Dianne. She looked tired. Yet despite the shadows under her eyes, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful—or brave—woman, and that was saying something given the Elioud warriors he knew.

“Listen, Markham—”

“Dianne.”

“Dianne.” He swallowed. They’d run out of water an hour ago.

His throat was thick, and his mouth burned from the gasoline.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it to the safehouse.

I have enough energy left in my system to set an EMS beacon.

Someone from the ops center will contact you, give you directions.

You keep the Glock until you get there.”

He tried to hand the gun to her, but the exertion from their last action had finally drained him as the adrenaline rush faded. The Glock dropped to the center console.

“Ryan!” Dianne’s piercing shriek penetrated the descending fog. “You said you’d never leave me. I can’t do this without you, soldier. We’re a team, remember?”

Ryan closed his eyes. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his life. “You’ve got this, Beauty. I trust you. Don’t stop until you reach the safehouse.”

“Do you know why I made the key to Emily’s diary into a ring?” she asked out of nowhere.

“Hmnh,” he said, not able to formulate the word no .

“Because I read it. I read her personal, private thoughts. I saw that she planned to break up with him, that she didn’t love him and wanted to date someone else in college, to travel, to major in international relations.

I read what she said about their breakup, the fact that he got so obsessed, so mean, so clinging. She thought he was following her.”

Ryan forced himself to listen, but it was like he’d taken a narcotic or depressant. He didn’t know why Dianne sounded so frantic about something that might as well have been a whole other life ago.

“Why … are you … telling me … this … now?” he asked.

“Because it’s my fault! It’s my fault that no one knew Emily was scared. They just saw her smiles, her concern for Jai when his mother said he was depressed.”

“That’s … not … your … fault,” he said, taking shallow breaths between words.

“It is! And it’s going to be my fault if you die!” She was sobbing. “You can’t die. Not now. I need you.”

He couldn’t stand to hear her sob. He tried to lift his hand, but it was too heavy. It fell against the console with a thud.

Dianne’s heart jumped to her throat after Ryan lost consciousness.

As panic beat at her, she gripped the steering wheel so hard her fingers ached.

Outside, the moonless night seemed all-encompassing.

Without intending to, she pressed on the accelerator until the Opel’s engine roared, and cool air sent her hair whipping around her face.

Suddenly the highway curved. She barely managed to turn the wheel in time to keep them from smashing head-on into the trees and other foliage that lined the road. Even so, the rough sound of branches scraping the car’s side snapped her back to reality.

Ryan didn’t stir, however.

“Slow is smooth, smooth is fast,” she said, easing her foot up off the gas and forcing herself to breathe more slowly.

She glanced down and saw the Glock where it had landed between her and Ryan, whose large frame had sagged against the passenger door. She picked the weapon up and put it into her lap, as certain as she’d ever been about anything that she’d use it to protect Ryan.

He’d said he trusted her.

“Teamwork means I’ve got your back, too, Demon Slayer,” she said aloud. She wrapped her hand around the gun’s grip, the hard polymer too light for its power. It settled against her thigh like a vow.

Somberly, she gazed at Ryan. No matter what .

She refused to think about what would happen if she didn’t make it to the safehouse soon. If Ryan didn’t recover.

Not yet.

The drive to Shkoder in the black night took three times as long as the male voice in Dianne’s ear—Aerie Actual—said that it would under normal circumstances.

Whoever he was, his no-nonsense tone kept her anchored and determined to get Ryan to safety and help.

And he checked in with her in fifteen-minute intervals, sending music through the comms when they weren’t speaking that reminded her of the soundtrack of an epic movie. It galvanized her.

Dianne drove slowly enough that she didn’t outpace the illumination of the Opel’s headlights on the winding mountain highway.

Overhead, faint stars sprinkled against the midnight-blue sky delineated the outline of the charcoal mountains crowding the horizon.

Even though she drove with the windows down, she heard nothing beyond the sound of the car.

When they passed unlit buildings, their walls briefly illuminated by the headlights, nothing moved.

They could have been driving on the moon for all the signs of life that she saw.