CHAPTER 21 – Opportunity Slips

Raphael lumbered out from the mouth of the alley just in time to see Deborah crouching at the edge of a truck trailer, only a few feet away from him. His heart jumped to his throat as he left the shelter of the alley's shadows. He lurched forward, only to be pulled roughly back by Michelangelo.

"I'm goin' in!" Michelangelo hollered in Raphael's ear as he shoved him backwards. Raphael lost his footing as his weight came down awkwardly on his weak leg. He fell onto his shell with a grunt. What was Mikey doing?

"Mikey, no!" he barked.

The sound of his voice was drowned out by the clatter of bullets. Only steps away from Deborah he watched as Michelangelo's body jerked unnaturally. His brother rose in the air and then flew back pushing a path through the deep snow with the back of his shell. He skidded to a halt, crashing into a pile of pallets and lay still as Raphael scrambled, crawling towards where he lay. His eyes closed, chest heaving with shallow breaths, Michelangelo's hands worked at the snow. Raphael gasped. He was shot, the wound in his shoulder pouring blood out with frightening speed. He pressed the heel of his hand onto the wound and Michelangelo groaned. His eyes fluttered.

"Yeeouch," he said weakly and huffed out a weak chuckle that dissolved into a whimper. "So much for my heroic moment."

…

The Mistress pulled Leonardo towards the portal. A look of pure glee on her face, twisting the perfect features into something otherworldly; demonic. She lowered herself and crouched before him. Leonardo's eyes were wild with fear. He clawed at the cord wound around his neck. The white flames stinging, but not actually burning his flesh. She caressed his cheek and he shuddered, still trying to pull away from her. Making the whip only tighten around his throat. Black spots appeared in front of his vision.

"Your presence in this world is out of sync with the natural order. You don't belong in this desert world, my pet." She glanced over where Donatello knelt in front of Splinter's shaking body. "None of you do, really. Should I bring your brother along as well?"

Her eyes watched Leo's carefully as she raised her hand and Donatello's body went rigid. Her voice dropped lower as Leonardo struggled to shake his head no. The pain electric through him as he resisted. The blood from the wounds on his wrists now trickled down his forearms.

"He is ripe with his own desires. I could feast off him for days."

She released the whip and it wound around his torso on its own, pinning his arms to his side, his wrists pressed painfully against his chest. He fell forward and rolled onto his side. His fingers pried at the length around his throat, loosening it a little. Air seared his aching lungs. It was a painful relief.

She strode past April who was kneeling at the entrance of their kitchen with one hand pressed against her throat, still gasping. She shrank back as the Mistress moved across her line of sight. She started towards Leonardo, but hesitated, turning to see the golden woman reach down and grasp Donatello by the back of his neck. He cried out in protest and squirmed as she lifted him; dragging him back; his heels scraping along the floor. With a glance at Splinter, who stared with glassy eyes at his hand held up in front of his face, lost in his terror and memories, she turned away, a grim smirk on her lips. April stood up on quivering legs. Her knees felt like they were jelly.

"Let him go, right now," she said, her voice sounding small and weak and strained in her own ears.

The Mistress cocked her head at April. An eyebrow raised. She reached around and began to stroke Donatello's plastron as his legs bucked and his hands fought to free himself from her hold. Her long, claw-like nails scraped lightly over him. The Mistress watched April but turned her mouth to the side of Donatello's face.

"Now, now, don't fight. Save your energy for more productive endeavors," she spoke gently in his ear, but made sure April heard each word.

"Let him go!" April shouted, hands balled into fists.

…

Raphael glanced over his shoulder; eyes grew into wide circles as Deborah moved out into the open with his sai clutched in her fist. No, Deborah, don't do this to me. She was going to die in front of him. He turned back to his brother, shaking his head in frustration. His heart tearing in two. He knew he couldn't save them both. There was nothing he could do. His throat worked and he blinked trying to stop the burning sensation he felt in his eyes.

His eyes met Michelangelo's, wide and glassy with pain and fear. His eyes pleaded with him not to leave him. Raphael closed his eyes, ground his teeth together. Decision made. With a groan, he ripped off his masked, balled it up and forced it onto the gunshot wound. Michelangelo winced. He grabbed Michelangelo's hand and had him press; then gripped his brother's other fist in his and pulled him up to sitting.

"I can't carry you, bro," he said, his voice urgent and rough. "Can you walk?"

Michelangelo nodded and moved to stand, grimacing in pain.

"Raph," Mikey started, his voice cracking, "I'm sorry."

With a burning glare and a rough, short shake of Raphael's head, Michelangelo ducked his head and closed his mouth. With one last glance over his shoulder and a sinking heart, Raphael stumbled back, retreating into the shadows with his injured brother. Reluctantly leaving his love to her fate.

…

Tears pricked at the back of April's eyes. She cast around for a weapon, anything she could use against the demon woman. She spotted Leonardo's katana a few feet away. She edged towards it a step but forced herself to stop as the Mistress chuckled. The sound of it sent ice through her veins. Her attention shot back to Donatello still struggling against the Mistress' hold on him. The force of Donatello's kicks slowly abated and his arms fell limply at his sides; subdued.

"That's better," The Mistress purred.

She began to whisper in his ear. The sound floated all around them, the sound of whispering; the echoing words blurred and unrecognizable. A smile spread across the Mistress' face as she continued, her eyes never leaving April's. The look on Donatello's face was a mix of fury and fear. His head twitched a bit as if he tried to shake it, 'no'. He began to tremble. His face colored and twisted into a look of agony. The Mistress kissed him gently on the cheek, her eyes shot to where April stood. Donatello's eyes grew round with terror.

"Please...n...no, don't!" he pleaded softly. The Mistress' laughter echoed around him.

April lurched forward as she felt a wave of some unidentifiable but powerful emotion sweep over her. The force of it knocked her to her knees with a gasp. Her head swam with sensual and sultry images; most a blur of hands and lips and caresses. But one thing stood clear, all the images featured Donatello and her. She was sweating and her heart raced. Her fingers gripped the throw rug beneath her hands. Her breath came in shallow pants. A tremor went through her and she shuddered. Her head pressed against the floor; her body curled over her folded legs. She moaned.

Behind her Leonardo growled. "No! April. Leave her alone," he cried out.

"His desire, for you, pure and unencumbered," The Mistress informed her in a flat voice, ignoring Leonardo as he struggled against the whip holding him fast.

The Mistress dragged Donatello forward to April and threw him down. He collapsed next to her. Face flushed and burning, his shaking arm went around her back, protectively. He felt her shivering body stiffen and shrink away from him; his heart breaking as she did. His eyes darted over the back of her head. Wishing he could see her face, but dreading what he'd find there. The bitter thought rose up. What did I expect?

"A…April, I…I…" his voice was barely a whisper. He felt like he was going to be sick.

The Mistress stroked his cheek, appearing next to him suddenly. He jumped and yanked his head away, narrowing his eyes.

"I will not reject you."

…

Deborah stepped through the snow, her body moving sideways in a partial crouch. Her eyes scanned the open parking lot, only catching the fleeting movements of the gang members falling back and a few unlucky souls struggling, injured in the deep snow. Of her fellow ninjas, they lived up to their name. She couldn't spot any of them. Her eyes went wide as she watched the Shredder pushing himself up with hands braced beneath his chest. Blood, black and sticky, soaked his chest and the crushed snow beneath him. Her knees buckled and she wrapped her arm around the back of his neck; gripped the corner of his tattered cape in her fist, pulling him upwards. The sai in her quivering right hand angled for his throat.

Now's your chance, Deborah! Kill him! He murdered your brother!

The Shredder's eyes, dark and fathomless rose to meet hers. One damaged and forever blind, one whole and black and filled with despair and emptiness. Her heart hammered in her chest as time slowed around them. His mask had fallen from his face, exposing him to her. Strands of his dark hair were plastered against his forehead. Drips of melted snow trickled over his eye brows and down the sides of his face. One half ruined, twisted and scarred, the other it's shadow of what he once looked like. He was completely vulnerable. It was her only best chance she'd ever get. Her mind screamed at her to finish him. The bloodlust coursed through her veins with each rapid heartbeat.

Do it!

She hesitated. Of all the things she had done over the years to keep her and her brother safe, she had never killed anyone. She'd been forced into situations that called for her to be clever and quick and do things she made herself believe she'd forgotten. But she swore she wouldn't lose herself so far that she would become a killer. Over the years, she'd slid through the underbelly and sub-societies of the cities without ever really being touched by the filth. Everything and anything that was required of her, she could do without guilt or remorse. But not that. It was one of the main reasons she'd pressured her brother, Tyler, so hard to leave the Foot Clan. She became distracted and he lost his life because of it.

She panted as her pulse raced, the wind blowing wet strands of hair into her face, then off again. Their eyes continued to stare into each other and something passed between them. She couldn't do it. Not like this. He was defenseless and so now, was she. Her hand faltered and fell to her side, her fingers numb from clutching the sai so tightly, just as Robert pounced on them, nearly knocking Shredder into her from the force.

"Master!" His face shot to Deborah's then back to Shredder's. "We've got you. Help him up, Deb. Hurry." He stared at Deborah's frozen form. "Now, soldier!"

She snapped out of her daze. Shaken and numb, Deborah slid Raphael's sai into her belt. The Shredder's arm went around her back and shoulders as she stood, still somewhat lost in a haze of furious emotions, helping him. Helping the Shredder. Her actions mirroring how she'd carried Raphael and his brother to safety with a surreal accuracy. A strange feeling swept through her.

Robert lifted the silver mask from the snow. The Shredder snapped it into place with a hand that trembled ever so slightly as he did. His eyes never leaving Deborah's face.

…

"I will never reject you. Your desire is only what I require," The Mistress stroked his cheek again.

Donatello growled and cringed away from her touch even as April pulled further away from him, out from under his protective embrace. April scurried backwards, away from Donatello, feeling his fingers grasp at her weakly, desperate not to lose contact. His stomach sank and his throat worked, trying to swallow away the lump that formed there. Keeping his eyes locked on the Mistress and her cat-like pupils, it was all he could do not to turn to April, clutch her in his arms and beg for her understanding or at least her forgiveness. Maybe he could still salvage a friendship. His heart constricted at the thought. He couldn't think about the pain right now. If he lingered on it for just a second, he was sure he'd break down. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You will finally know what it is you long so desperately for."

She leaned over Donatello as he fell back. His hands going behind him; heels digging into the ground; scrambling away. She merely followed. Some force flowed out of her and over him. He wanted to kick at her but couldn't. His traitorous body wouldn't heed any of his mind's orders. She reached out and gently pushed his chest back. He gritted his teeth and trembled at her touch. Feelings he'd only ever had for April surfaced. He strained against the urge to release himself. It was as if she could control his most base instincts.

Some kind of physic control over our deepest desires, he thought. What the hell was this woman?

…

April crawled to Leonardo's side, her foot moving Leonardo's katana closer as she did. She didn't want to hurt Donnie right now, but she had to act while she managed to gather some control of her emotions. She pushed away the heated feelings and imagery still swirling in her mind's eye. The Mistress told her it was Donatello's desire crashing through her mind and flowing over her body. But that was only partially true. It wasn't only Donatello's thoughts and desires that assaulted her in that moment. That he felt these feelings for her really was no surprise. The fact that she felt that way for him seemed to have given her some small amount of control on the situation. Her face burned with embarrassment but she clenched her jaw and focused on the now. She'd have to consider the implications of her own feelings later. Once they got rid of this evil demon!

For now, she clung to the distant memory of what Leonardo had confessed to her just a few hours ago. Was it really only a few hours since Leo came tapping at her window? When he gave her a tear filled explanation of his ordeal and lost in the pain of it, tried to find some misguided comfort in her? This Mistress woman had some sort of dark power connected to desire and lust and she'd wielded it like a weapon against them. But the power was not affecting her like it was the guys and April was reminded of stories of succubus she'd read about. Maybe she wasn't exactly a succubus, but April didn't care about the details. She had to act while the Mistress was distracted with Donatello. Donatello! April shook but dared not look back. She bit her lip and sat up. She hoped her courage would hold out.

Leonardo could see her face was reddened and flushed as she sat up and began pulling at the whip fastened around him. The flames did not seem to burn her either, only sting as she pulled back her fingers to shake them every few seconds. The feelings she had experienced had shook him as well. Each and every slight brush of her skin on his made him tremble. It was only because of the pain that he managed to control himself. But it was a tentative control at best. He pushed back the wicked visions clouding his mind, pushed them aside and tried to see her as she was to him. But the image of him leaning in to kiss her flashed through his mind and he cringed.

"April, I…" he began in a soft broken voice.

She shook her head quieting him and gave him a wavering smile of reassurance as the cord loosened beneath her fingers. Finally it gave enough for him to brace himself up with his blood-coated arms. He leaned on one elbow, the unnatural golden irises flicked between her eyes. He was struggling, she knew. A thought came to her, then. If desire and lust fueled this creature…

April reached out to Leonardo, whose gaze only intensified. She swallowed nervously under the power of that look, the hunger and desperation nearly making her quail. Her hands gently patted him on the shoulder. He shook violently from the contact. She leaned in.

Leonardo's frantic mind scattered as April leaned into him. His ears filled with the thunderous sound of his heartbeat. He felt his thoughts clearly split in half – one side embracing the need, the other pulling away, refusing to give in to the raging emotions inflicted by The Mistress within him.

What was she doing to him? Couldn't she tell he was barely holding onto himself? Why would she do this to me?

A fleeting sadness of betrayal tugged at his heart. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he felt the last of his resolve fracturing.

"April," he croaked.

April brought her face close to Leo just as his eyelids fluttered closed, she tilted her head and planted a kiss on his cheek. A kiss of love. The love of a big sister encouraging and supporting her little brother.

Leonardo closed his eyes as he felt her lips on his cheek; felt the purity and honesty of her love. A deep sigh like the first breath he'd taken in weeks passed through his lungs. His mind cleared. When he opened his eyes, they shone blue; the deep blue of a summer evening just after the sun had set. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his katana and he climbed to stand.

The Mistress looked up from Donatello and hissed just as Leonardo leapt forward; a blur of green and silver; sword aimed high. With a scream of rage, he plunged it deep within her chest until the tip burst from her back.

…

Leonardo's scream of pain and rage struck them, causing their approach to come to a stuttering halt.

Raphael and Michelangelo looked at each other and despite being barely able to hold each other up, adrenaline kicked in and together they hobbled towards the entrance to the lair. A blinding light flashed and a noise like a sonic boomed erupted from the entrance, throwing them back into the filthy water. The sound was unlike anything they'd ever heard; a rupturing, shattering noise that was a physical assault of their ear drums. Gasping and grabbing at Michelangelo, Raphael gripped his fist and hurled him up to his feet with all the strength he could muster. Michelangelo swayed and leaned heavily into his older brother. Raphael gritted his teeth, ignored the pain from his throbbing leg and stumbled forward into the lair.

Michelangelo collapsed out of Raphael's hold as Raphael abruptly stopped just inside the entrance, taking in the scene before him.

Leonardo knelt next to a shivering Master Splinter. His fur was mussed and his whiskers twitched uncontrollably. His amber eyes rolled upwards and held a distant, frightened look that made Raphael's skin crawl. Leonardo was murmuring something he couldn't make out, sounding like he was trying to comfort their shaken father. In the center of the room, Donatello and April sat a few feet apart, looking awkward and nervous. They kept stealing furtive glances at each other like they'd never seen one another before, only for their eyes to meet then look away hastily.

Donatello's eyes met Raphael then traveled to the floor and landed on his brother. Instantly, he jumped to his feet. This sudden movement snapped Raphael out of his daze. Michelangelo moaned.

"Mikey!" Donnie called as he ran over and began taking in his condition.

"He's been shot," Raphael said, his voice flat, and felt the strength leave his legs.

He collapsed to the ground as Donatello hauled Michelangelo to the infirmary. April made to follow, hesitant at first, but following behind eager to help. Raphael braced his elbows on top of his knees, ran a sweaty palm over his face and felt the hot tears beginning to fall despite his best efforts to fend them off. He rubbed and pinched his eyes roughly between his fingers and thumb as if he could smear away the last image he had of Deborah: her dark silhouette highlighted by the white snow, her hair billowing out around her head, his weapon in her fist as she moved in for the kill. But whose life had been taken while he was busy saving his little brother?

He choked out a strangled chuckle that was more of a painful sob. He trembled and couldn't fight off the vision of her laying in the blanket of snow ringed in crimson, her eyes open and staring into the darkness.

"I'm sorry, Deborah."

He broke down then until finally sleep took him where he lay at the front of the entrance to their home where she had stood alive and smiling at him only a few hours before; when he had known a happiness that he thought he'd never be granted in this world.

…