Standing under the shower, he felt guilty about resting while other Templar might even now be out in the streets fighting for their lives while he was preparing for bed. The hot spray broke stinging needles against his skin.
You can’t be everywhere at once, Simon, his father had told him. When it comes to fighting, you’ll get more than your share of it. But when the demons come, it won’t be one encounter or one day. They’ll come in strength. The Templar taught them they would have to do that when we fought during the Crusades. When they come, you’ll fight until you’re sick of it. So when your mates step into the fray to carry the burden of it for a time, do yourself and them a favor by letting them.
Images of the battle played through Simon’s mind again. Most prominent in his thoughts, though, was the helplessness in the girl’s face when she’d come to him.
Would another Templar have helped her? Would he or she have gone against Booth’s wishes and simply stuck to the mission?
Or would that Templar have left her there to die?
Simon couldn’t believe they would have been asked to do something like that. Not all of the Templar Houses could possibly feel that way. There were a lot of people still trapped in London. He’d seen their campfires.
When the Dark Times come, Simon, we’ll have to be the light that leads humanity out of the night. We can do that. It’s our destiny.
Some destiny, Simon thought sourly. I ran off and wasn’t here when you needed me, and High Seat Booth wants us to sit back and watch innocents die. That’s not what I expected from the Templar, not what I want to be part of.
No longer able to take the heat, Simon turned the shower to full cold for fifteen shivering seconds, then stepped out, dried himself, and pulled on the sweat pants.
When he stepped to the door, he was confronted by a tall, powerfully built woman with short-cropped red hair. She wore a cropped t-shirt, sweat pants, and sneakers.
“Simon Cross,” she snarled. “You got my sister killed tonight!”
Before Simon could think of anything to say, the redhead doubled her fist and slammed it into his jaw. She put enough muscle and weight behind the blow to knock him backward. His feet slipped on the wet tiles and he went down. In the next instant, the woman straddled him and curled both hands into fists. She attacked without hesitation, driving blows into his face.
Thirty-Six
T emperance! Temperance, get off of him!”
The woman scored hit after hit, bruising Simon’s face with punishing force. Someone pulled at her from behind, but she locked her legs around Simon’s midsection even tighter. With her seated on his chest and squeezing him in the middle, he had a hard time catching his breath.
Bucking his hips up, Simon lifted himself and the woman from the floor. Then he reached across his body with his right arm and slammed his hand against the inside of the woman’s right elbow, trapping her right wrist in his left hand. Using the leverage provided by the grip, he pulled her weight to the side, dumped her off of him, and stood.
He’d no more than got to his feet when someone else delivered a roundhouse kick to his face. Simon barely got his hands up in time, palms turned out and open to cushion the blow across the meaty parts of his forearms. Grabbing the leg with one hand as the new attacker tried to pull it back, Simon shifted and uncoiled a side kick to the center of the man’s chest and knocked him back against the tiled wall. The man hit the wall hard enough to knock tile from the wall.
Breathing hard, vision blurred by pain and tears, one eye already swelling closed, Simon turned to the redhead as she scrambled up. She attacked at once, throwing a series of punches and kicks.
Simon blocked the attempts as quickly as the woman threw them. She was good, though, and several of them connected with his face and stomach. He knew he was in trouble if he tried to fight defensively. He was taller and heavier, and had more reach. But the cramped quarters of the showers took away all those natural advantages. He was easily inside her reach, and his larger size made him easier to hit and impeded his own efforts.
Avoiding the woman, Simon wrapped his arms around her from behind, pinning her arms against her sides. She headbutted him in the mouth, sending comets erupting into his vision. Then she lifted her arms like she was going to perform a jumping jack while bending her knees and dropping slightly. She slid right out of his grasp and delivered a spinning side kick to his temple.
Knowing he could no longer fight defensively, Simon caught the woman’s foot before she could draw it back. He swept her other foot from beneath her with his own and tripped her to the ground.
Another man threw a punch at Simon’s throat. Simon dodged to the side, flung his own arm up and locked it inside his attacker’s, then stepped behind the man and yanked. The attacker left his feet in a rush and went flying, rebounding from one of the bathroom stalls with a harsh clang.
The woman scrambled to her feet, looking more intent than ever.
“Enough!” The harsh voice rang out inside the small enclosure.
Hands open at the sides of his face to defend himself, Simon stepped back.
A grizzled sergeant stepped into the room. “Attention! Every one of you! Right now, or I’ll have you up on charges and in a conditioning room running laps for the next twenty-four hours.”
The Templar came to attention in a heartbeat. They weren’t
