TITLE: TURN OF THE CARDS

AUTHOR: PEJA

FANDOM: ORIGINAL FIC

RATING: PG-13, for violence

SUMMARY: The subject of a hit confronts the hired killer

DISCLAIMER: No need, these be mine

GENRE: SCIFI

FEEDBACK: If you like this group of characters, let me know

SERIES: BROTHERS OF THE BLOOD: a prequel to MARK OF CAIN

BROTHERS OF THE BLOOD: TURN OF THE CARDS

by PEJA

Why would anyone in their right mind set a meet in this particular saloon?

Ian Horizon' s ultra-sensitive perceptions absolutely prickled flame up and down his nerves. The vampiric aura of this Dantesque tavern sucked innocence dry. Perverting even the purest of souls beyond the unspeakable if they lingered over long within these blood-spattered walls.

The rough and ready backstreet marauders who congregated inside the smoke-drenched bar revelled within a kaleidoscope of maniacal desperation that threatened to choke the breath out of him. A man could die in this little corner of hell and the body would never be found, absorbed into pure, undiluted evil.

Swallowing hard, he tried to comfort himself in the shallow belief that the tattered remnants of his Coalition uniform with the military bars that identified him as a qualified pilot would garner him an easy pass as one of those rugged, soulless men.

Even though he was definately not one of them.

And that fact alone was enough to sign his death papers if anyone challenged his right to be there.

The intuitive hairs at the nape of his neck were quivering even now. Warning him that too many hostile eyes had already singled him out.

Slumping deeper into the scarred, ladder-backed chair, his arm snaked around his companion's slim waist and with one quick tug, he jerked her backward spilling her tiny form ackwardly against his brawny chest,

Yessenia Manatu squirmed rebelliously in his arms, batting at his hands. "Leave off, Ian."

He tightened his possessive grip. "I be needing you, lass. Anchor me."

She quieted instantly, her concerned emerald glance slanting toward him. "You all right?"

"Sure and I've been easier."

"Ian...."

"Sh-h." His hand glided over her shoulder, then traced the delicate line of her cheek before he plunged strong slender fingers into her flaming red hair.

Wincing, Yessenia eased his grasping hand out of her hair and laced her fingers with his. "Ian, are you feeling the pump?"

He nuzzled her neck. "More than less, I be thinking."

"Tell me you're not succumbing to this madness?"

Ian grinned impudently. "Nay, lass, their undisciplined emotions be too basic to overcome my control."

"Sure?"

The grin faded. "For now."

"It was your decision coming here, Ian."

"Aye, and correctly so."

She stared into his slightly unfocused eyes. "I hope we're not wasting our time by answering that queer summons to meet him here. It isn't safe for us going abroad in public, even in a place like this."

"Hell and 'tis aware of that, I am. But I be na' making a mistake. Something. Someone be indeed approaching. Someone strong."

"Him?"

An uncertain frown scrunched his brows into a tight bridge. "Mayhap. Aye. Aye, 'tis him, I be thinking. The presence I be receiving feels powerful. Deadly dangerous. Like something I've never encountered before."

Yessenia frowned. "Ian, you're sure we're doing the right thing?"

He lifted their meshed hands, setting the blood-red, fire gems glowing in the eye-sockets of his death's head signet ring, and brushed her fingers against his smiling lips. "We be na' wasting time, lass. He's coming. I feel him. Very close."

Yessenia shifted in his arms, curling a limp hand around his neck. Her pouting lips whispered over his throat. "Every time you do this sensitivity thing I get a damn creepy feeling."

"Well now, imagine that. I be making a special forces hitter nervous." He chuckled softly. "Hell and I think I like it."

"A defected hitter, if you please." A frown puckered her elegant brow. "Do you really think this is going to play out the way we intend? This St Moritz character isn't exactly known for taking people at their word. What if he decides we don't fit his requirements. Refuses to take us on?"

"He bloody well has to be bringing us in. The alternatives do na' bear consideration. Still, if we want a chance of convincing him he be needing us on his crew roster, we may well need to get him out of here alive."

"Not easy. The Assassin's Guild owns this haunt." She met his jade eyes grimly. "Ian, I know I said this before, but I think you may need reminding. St Moritz is a political fugitive. A fourth generation dissenter. He's rumored to have been brought up under strict discipline as a master assassin in his own right."

"So?"

"So-o, I think maybe you've got your signals crossed this time."

Ian chuckled. "Is that what you be thinking?"

"It stands to reason. St Moritz knows he's a high priority kill. If he has any decent kind of informants, and he must have a damn good underground line to have survived this long, he has to know Madrid has taken up the kill paper on him. He's not going to waltz in here bold as brass."

"Sure and you be certain of that, lassie mine?"

She nodded. "Only a fool would...."

The front door slammed open, sending an icy blast sweeping through the room. Silence descended like a shroud as all eyes swiveled toward the entrance.

Dalton St Moritz, wearing a black cloak that swirled around his lithe form like a snake, was silhouetted against the lighter greys of the night. His eyes, intense chips of iced blue, captured the upturned gazes of the crowd, telegraphing a silent deadly warning.

"This guild has offended me."

His quiet spoken words exploded in the room, igniting a current of danger throughout the bar patrons.

Ian whistled softly. "He be damn impressive, that one. Still think he's a fool, lass?"

"Dumber than a gnat."

Dalton's brutal glance swung toward them, cutting the pilot's soft chuckle short. Suddenly uncertain, Ian plunged a mental psychic finger into the newcomer's mind.

"No," the stranger snarled.

An impenetrable barrier slammed down, cutting short Ian's curious probe. For the first time in his life, Ian felt himself violently expelled from another man's mind.

The explosiveness of it shook him to the core.

"Never try that again," St Moritz growled. His burning stare fixated on Yessenia. A slow, grim smile curved his generous lips and he gave a slight, satisfied nod.

"Creepy," Yessenia whispered under her breath. "He looks like he's recognized us. You don't suppose...."

"I'm thinking he be no danger to us, Yessenia. Even if he's knowing about our own collection papers. He be na' one to roll on us."

"You talking from hoping or knowing?"

Ian chucked her under the chin, laughing softly. "What do you think? Believe me, lass. I'm a level ten Medusan. I know of what I speak."

Dalton, apparently satisfied with his brief survey of the room's occupants, sauntered bold as visiting royalty into the saloon.

A small, wiry man scampered along behind him, moving with an unusual, skipping gait. "Come on, Dal," he yapped at the man's heels like a small panicked puppy, his whining voice carrying through the silent room. "This isn't such a good idea, Dal."

Dalton St Moritz stopped abruptly and whirled around on the balls of his feet. His brittle glare could have frozen blood as he viciously rammed two fingers into his companion's chest. "Leave off, Paris."

Paris gave a jerking nod. "I just hope you know what you're doing, is all," the man's mewling voice cut through the silence like a high-grade laser through bone.

Sensual lips twitched into a slow, chilling smile. "Trust me."

The smaller man swallowed convulsively and nodded again.

Smiling grimly, Dalton gave Paris a single, sharp pat on the cheek. "Good man." He swung around on the balls of his feet and resumed his slow prowl across the sawdust covered floor.

The arrogant man selected the table one down from where Ian sat, well within the pilot's range of hearing, keeping his unprotected back to the suspiciously rust splattered wall.

Casting one more warning glance at the pilot, he slid into the hard, ladder-backed chair. Paris dropped into the second chair at Dalton's side and slouched low in his seat, thrusting his long legs out before him while his glazed hazel eyes darted restlessly around the room.

A waitress in an ancient-styled harem outfit glided up to them. Her slow, lascivious glance crawled curiously over the disdainful man who was heir to the rebellion.

"What you wanting, love?"

"Wine," Paris answered before Dalton could respond, licking his lips thirstily. "Bring a bottle."

"One glass, Paris," St Moritz said. "No more."

"And for you?"

His chilled glance trapped hers without even trying. "Madrid."

The color drained from her face. "I get drinks, mister. I don't know this Madrid."

"You have our order. See it filled." Dalton's soft, graveled voice carried an edge of biting steel. "All of it."

The woman gnawed on her lower lip, drawing a thin scarlet line of blood. "I'll do what I can," she said finally and scurried away.

"He's cool as his reputation," Yessenia murmured, shoving a heavy strand of bright red hair behind her ear. "You'd think he was at church meeting or something the way he eases in here and asks for the very man who's hired to hit him."

"Sure and I told you he'd be fitting our needs."

"First we've gotta convince the man he needs us," Yessenia reminded him softly. "That one looks to be pretty damn self-reliant."

"Aye, he may be self-reliant, but Madrid just pitched his two cents." Ian tipped his head slightly, directing Yessenia's glance toward a pretty dark haired woman sashaying toward Dalton's table. "You recognize the lady."

She nodded. "Madrid's playmate."

"Right first time, and she never goes anywhere without being loaded for bear." He drew his gun and laid it on the table, curling his finger loosely on the trigger.

The woman, standing at the next table, cast them a contemptuous glance. "He one of yours, St Moritz?"

Dalton lifted a disinterested shoulder. "Never met him before." His chilled glance slid lazily over her. "Or you either, for that matter."

"Time we remedied that." She turned a chair backwards then straddled it, sitting with her arms braced on the back.

Leaning back in his chair, Dalton's heavy lids lowered midway over slumberous eyes and he studied her above steepled fingertips. "I did not invite you to sit."

Her lips curved in a mocking false smile. "Name's Arissa Storm."

"Ah." His icy glance traveled slowly over her again, taking careful account of the numerous weapons that adorned her one-piece bodysuit instead of jewels. "I must admit you accessorize with a certain flair. I count nine visible means of death."

Her pouting lips thinned. "I'm carrying twelve, actually. You approve?"

He shrugged a lazy shoulder. "Not particularly, however in your profession..."

"Yes, in my profession. And you don't approve of that either, do you?"

"Not that it matters."

She rested her chin on her crossed arms. "What are you doing here?"

Dalton swooped forward over the table, the intensity of a cobra's mesmerizing stare in his clear gaze. "I want a meeting with your lover."

Arissa grimaced, but held her ground. "What Madrid and I have between us is not love. He bought me plain and simple."

The cold smile curved Dalton's mouth and he leaned back in his chair, resting his muscular arms on the scarred table. "I like a woman who knows her price, if not her worth." His chilled glance roamed over her, coming to a rest on her exposed cleavage. "Perhaps I should make an offer?"

"Keep your money. You've been a dead man since you walked in here."

Dalton chuckled dryly, shaking his shaggy head. "Lesson number one, dear lady. Never sneer at a dead man when you don't know the rules directing him."

"So, you are operating under some private set of rules, then? You don't just live a kamikaze life style?"

Sleepy lids lowered, cloaking his thoughts. "Even the kamikaze have rules, my dear. They are successful because they are prepared to die for their beliefs."

"And you're ready to die for your beliefs?"

Dalton chuckled, soft, dangerous. "That's the problem with the kamikaze mentality. Those lads can really throw you when they decide to make their final screaming run into infinity. I, myself, prefer a cool head." He paused, meeting her veiled eyes. "And right now, I want you to arrange a meet with Madrid."

"Why should I?"

He presented her with a lop-sided smile. "Because you need me."

Contempt gleamed in black eyes. "Need you? I hardly think so, Dead-Man-Walking."

His hand lashed out, wrapping around one thin-boned wrist, and he shoved her sleeve up her delicate arm, revealing the mass of mottled bruises that had been peeking from below the hem. "I can get you out."

"You dare too much." She sprang to her feet, knocking the chair over in her haste. "And as for getting me out, well, you can't even get yourself out."

Without a backward glance, she whirled away from the table, fleeing from the man who had exposed her raw humiliation.

A burly man snagged her arm in his brutal grip as she ran blindly past him, halting her escape. "You're being disrespectful of our guest, Riss."

He twisted her around, wrenching her arm roughly up between her shoulder blades. "Apologize to the man."

Dalton's chair scraped loudly against the floor boards as he rose slowly, his hand caressing the waffle-cut butt of his gun. "Madrid."

The man swiveled his massive head around and grinned, revealing blackened teeth. He twisted Arissa's arm higher, his muddy eyes daring Dalton to interfere. "I'll break it, Riss. Apologize."

Sharp teeth tore her lip, but her black hair swirled around her in a quick, negative shake. Madrid jerked her bodily about and slapped her hard across the face, knocking her to her knees.

"Leave her." The bite of steel was barely concealed under the quietly spoken words.

Madrid met his eyes as he kicked the woman in the shoulder, sending Arissa sprawling backwards in the sawdust. "She's mine to do with as I please."

Harsh, approving laughter filled the room. The laughter died more quickly than it had begun, halted by one, deadly glare from Dalton.

The cobra gaze shifted, fixing firmly on the man Dalton had come for. The renegade rebel sauntered around the table. "Touch her again, you die."

Not letting his gaze waver from the other man, Dalton reached his hand down, helping Arissa to her feet. "All right?"

She glared him, absently massaging her arm, then quite suddenly, a quivering smile curved her lips. "I've lived through worse."

Dalton's lids drooped lazily. "Judging by what I have seen here, I have no doubt." He settled her into a chair beside Paris, gifting her with another half-smile. "And as I have told you, I can get you out."

Madrid stalked menacingly forward. "You ain't taking her nowhere."

"I wouldn't," Paris warned softly, his gun directed at Madrid's gut. The dangerous glint in his suddenly alert hazel eyes denied the coward he'd seemed before.

Madrid froze. "There ain't no need getting unfriendly. I just want what belongs to me, now don't I? I paid good credit on that woman, didn't I? I'm naturally reluctant to just let her go."

"Put the gun away, Paris. We're not here to start trouble."

"You have a funny way of not starting trouble, Dal," Paris said, then following Ian's example, laid his weapon on the table near his hand.

Madrid propped his meaty fists on his hips. "Didn't you hear me? That woman is mine."

"You have a fetching way with women."

The man swaggered from side to side a bit. "Works for me."

Ian groaned as his stomach roller-coastered under a jarring psychic assault. A wave of adrenaline flooded his system. Sucking in a harsh steadying breath, he struggled for control of his stampeding emotions.

"Ian, are you all right?"

"I can na' block him, Yessenia. Judes, I've never encountered anything like what I be reading off St Moritz."

"He's damn mad, isn't he?"

"'Tis na' anger he's experiencing. Hell and I can na' put a name to it, but the tension. It be almost blinding."

"Nonsense, Ian. They're like two prize bulls fighting over the same cow."

"'Tis a sensory-stunning sight, be it na'?"

His tongue darted over dry lips, anticipating the battle that hovered over the bar like an explosive angel of death. "Get ready, love. From the way those two are heating up, I'd guess it will na' be long now."

Yessenia glanced around the room. "The numbers are not looking good, Ian. Just how bad do we want this party?"

"Bad as it can get, lassie mine. Bad as it can get."

"I suddenly wish I hadn't let you talk me into deserting the service. I don't think I'm gonna like being on the run."

"Sure and now you be liking what the Coalition made us?"

"Did I say so? Look, forget I said anything. We didn't really have a choice when we left Earth, and we sure as hell don't have a choice now. If St Moritz doesn't take us, our days are numbered."

"If he takes us, our days are numbered, I be thinking. Only difference, we stand a better chance of living a little longer with him." Ian chuckled, raking his unruly, auburn curls. "As long as we're getting out of this firefight alive."

"He's watching us again," Yessenia whispered, her voice quivering slightly. "Ian, he gives me the creeps worse than you ever did. I don't think the man cares if he lives or dies. Just that he wins."

Ian caught Dalton's mocking smile and returned it with a curt nod. "He's gonna take a chance on us, Yessenia. I be sensing it."

"How does he know we wanted to join him? That's what I'd like to know."

"How the hell do I know? Maybe he reads us like I read others."

"You think he might be a sensitive?"

"Na' a sensitive, no. He be having too much discipline over his emotions. He'd never permit anyone else's emotions to touch him, but he does read us. Somehow. He does read us."

"That is right," a soft, melodic voice broke into their whispered conversation. "The commander is a reader of souls."

Ian rotated in his chair to find a man leaning his shoulder against the wall behind them. Ian's glance absorbed the muscular build, the light brown hair without an strand out of place and the curious, blue iridescent tint of his skin.

An alien?

"And who might ye be, my friend?"

"You ask questions, but you already know the answers. You have come to find us, yes? In response to our invitation?"

"Sure and you apparently know a lot. How is that?"

Pale lips curved. "That would be telling." The man's brows lifted as he met Dalton's eyes and his hands moved, forming an open circle with his fingers, then the first two fingers flicked straight out. 'Okay.'

Ian turned in time to catch the slight nod that passed between them.

Dalton leaned back in the chair, resting his meshed fingers over his trim stomach.

"Let's get this over, Dal," Paris grumbled. "I'll feel a lot better back on Hellequin."

"I agree," Madrid said, standing aggressively over them. "I think we should indeed get this over with, but first, why don't you tell me why you felt you could walk into my sanctuary and get out alive, St Moritz?"

Dalton's husky laugh sounded eerie in the room as he rocked his chair on its back legs, blatantly displaying his cold contempt. "Perhaps I'm here because you have left me no other choice. Perhaps I have come because you have acquired a utilizer who wants my blood."

"And I mean to collect my blood money."

"It has been tried before." He spread his hands wide away from his sides. "But you are welcome to try, always remembering that once you have drawn, I reserve the right to retaliate, and I have a reputation of living the devil's charmed life."

Madrid paled, casting a nervous glance around the room for support.

Support that never came.

"Your guild will not fight with you, Madrid. They do not hold my papers." Dalton eased his chair down flush with the floor. "You made a mistake, Madrid. You counted on these people to back your play with me, even though you know that is not how the guild operates."

"How do you know how this guild operates?"

"It's high card wins, then?" the merc asked gruffly.

Dalton rolled the pack in his hands, examining the deck with the care of a professional gamester, then broke the paper seal. "One draw each. Quick and clean."

"Agreed."

Shuffling the cards expertly, Dalton spread them out in a fan design. "Make your draw."

"I think I'd rather you pulled your card first," Madrid said, his gaze clashing with Dalton's.

Shrugging, Dalton ran his fingers lightly over the cards, first right, then left and back again before he finally slipped a card from the fan and pulled it, face down, toward him. He bent the corner up just enough to read the card then crooked his dark brow, waiting.

Madrid snatched a card from the fan and flipped it over. Queen of spades.

Ian sucked in a harsh breath. "The death card."

Madrid chuckled darkly and reached for the woman.

St Moritz rested a possessive hand on Arissa's arm. "I think not." Holding the assassin's muddy gaze, he casually flipped his own card, the king of diamonds, over. "My win, I fancy. I demand immediate possession."

Madrid snapped to his feet, blustering furiously. "You cheated."

"Dal may be a lot of things." Paris eased to his feet, clutching his gun firmly in both hands. "But he is not a cheat." He took a step backward and braced his feet wide under him. "We'll be leaving now, boss?"

Dalton gave a slight nod. "Perhaps we have out stayed our welcome."

His strong fingers cupped Arissa's elbow, drawing her up. "You are now one of my crew, woman. Or you may have your freedom. Either way, you choose. Only know this, if you join me, you are mine, and what is mine, I keep. I will not allow you sold away from my service. You understand? What is mine, I keep. Until death."

Her black gaze met and clashed with his, then softened and she nodded. "I'll willingly pledge my loyalty to you."

Madrid backpedaled suddenly, going for his gun. "Then you'll die with him."

Dalton and the woman reacted swiftly, separating as each grabbed for the gun at their waist. They cleared leather together, before the massive man could complete his draw.

Outclassed and out-gunned, Madrid held his hands away from his weapon, chuckling softly. "Maybe this time, I let you leave, hey? I can afford to be generous. After all, you can't run far enough to escape me forever, St Moritz."

"You might do well to abandon your contract on me, Madrid. That way we both get to live awhile longer."

"I might have considered that before. But then before, tracking you, killing you, was just a job. Now, you have made it also my extreme pleasure."

Dalton shrugged, grinning. "Whatever happens, happens. I'm to busy staying alive to worry about you."

Ian glanced at the alien, frowning. "He's taunting the man. Is St Moritz mad?"

"Mad crazy or mad angry?"

"I figure he must be crazy just walking in here. What I want to know is just how mad is the guy?"

The mercenary's silver eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly. "Judging from the bored look on the commander's face, does the word meltdown give you an idea of his emotional state?"

Ian chuckled, nodding. "Vividly. Mayhap it does na' need saying, but we'll back any firefight your boss wants to instigate."

"You do understand if we get out of this alive, you will face some stiff questions. The commander does not trust easily."

"Sure and I never thought different."

Ian crossed the room, gliding closer to the door, into a more strategically placed position. The alien stayed close by his side.

"Paris, take the woman out of here." Dalton gave Arissa a gentle push in his man's direction.

"We're half way gone."

Dalton's chill glance swept over Yessenia, then moved to Ian. "According to my sources, I believe you are the defectors, Horizon and Manatu. The Coalition is most anxious to get you back."

"We've heard that," Ian admitted, grinning. "But, we be na' exactly eager to return to the fold."

"Your signet ring identifies you as originating on the Medusan colony. I understand your people are psychically gifted. That this talent makes you the best pilots in the force."

"Aye, 'tis a shame they do na' ask before they recruit my people? Just bank on their psychological inducements to convince us to accept slavery."

"I am to understand you were not convinced?"

"They murdered my sister. My twin sister. Sure and it will be my greatest pleasure to see many of them dead before I die."

"If that is true, you are welcome to join us. Provided you can play the game."

Ian grinned, giving a tiny bow and made a curling gesture from his forehead to his lips, ending at his chest. "My lass and I heard the terms you offered. We be most willing to accept them also."

"Then, for now, you are acceptable."

"In that case, where you be leading, we'll be following." He grinned recklessly. "Boss."

Madrid's scornful glance moved over the small, but fast-growing force who dared oppose him and snickered. "You may leave here, but you won't get far. None of you will live to talk about this night."

"Well then, I suppose we should hand over our guns and line up against the wall? Make it easy for you?" Paris said, edging slowly toward the door.

"That is, of course, one option," Dalton said softly. "But I am not exactly desperate just yet. Domani, take our friends out of here while I hold this barracuda at bay."

The alien, Domani, jerked his thumb toward the door. "You heard the commander."

Yessenia and Ian, their alert glances swinging from side to side, slid cautiously toward the door.

One of the on-lookers made a sudden grab for Yessenia as she moved past him. She whirled and fired, cutting him down without blinking an eyelash.

Dalton cast a glance in her direction, frowning. "It went off in my hand, didn't it?"

"Move, now." Dalton eased gingerly around Madrid, keeping his gun leveled at the furious man. "Keep it easy, friend. I don't need much reason to lay you down."

Madrid smiled, shrugging. "I would have relished fulfilling my contract on you tonight, but living to enjoy the profits is more important. There is a certain wisdom in letting you leave. After all, I can bring you down later."

"Try, if you dare." Dalton backed slowly into the middle of the room, then glanced around, placing each of his expanded ground force.

Seeing a break in his enemy's attention, Madrid reacted with a viper's speed, drawing his gun.

"Look out," Arissa shouted, snapping off a shot.

A stunned look came over Madrid's battered face. He turned disbelieving eyes toward her. As he stared at her, his muddy eyes clouded and he slumped slowly to the dusty floor.

Dalton grimaced, glaring at the woman who had saved his life. "That's the trouble with recruiting new people into the ranks without a thorough background check. It opens one up for careless mistakes."

He knelt at the dead man's side and stabbed his fingers into the thick neck, checking for a pulse that no longer existed. He grunted his approval. "Ah well, it seems we have accomplished what we came to do. Unless anyone else wants to pick up his contract?"

His cold, cobra's stare glided over the silent bar crowd. "If so, know that I will be waiting for you. And also know that the people who stand at my side are the best. How about it, then? Anyone else want a piece of me?"

Several men shook their heads and one said, "The contract was made solely between Madrid and his utilizer. We have no reason to bother with your bloodsport." He chuckled. "And from the looks of him, even less reason to accept any follow-up papers on you. You'll have no more problems from this guild."

Dalton smiled grimly. "I'm glad to hear it. See that you don't change your minds."

His eyes moved over the nervous people in the saloon once more, then like an avenging shadow, he followed his expanded ground force out, fading into the comforting arms of the night.

END