by Karen Chance
But while there was still a knife in his hand, I didn’t get the same feeling of menace as before. He was starting and stopping, jerking and shaking, looking even worse than the troll Dorina had ridden. And then dropping onto the ground in convulsions, because he was fighting her, I realized. He was fighting!
But Alfhild was desperate, and despite having another problem right now, she was shoring up her control. Louis-Cesare was an extremely powerful vampire, but I doubted he’d ever faced an enemy like this. I didn’t know if he’d win or not.
And I guess he didn’t, either. Because the next thing I saw was him lurching to the side, near one of the crates, and snapping off a piece of wood. And stopping for a moment, to stare at me.
One last time.
“No!” I screamed. “No!” and tried to run. Forgetting that I couldn’t, and falling, slipping on my own blood.
And watching helplessly as he drove the stake straight through the heart, while the knife in his other hand came up—
And went clattering across the floor.
Dorina, I thought, seeing her shadow behind him for an instant, before she did something that caused him to slump over, in a spreading pool of dark crimson.
I stared, not understanding anything. And the world didn’t give me a chance to get a grip. Because the trolls all started this way, like they were marionettes on the same string.
“Dory!” Caedmon said, like I hadn’t already seen them. But there wasn’t a lot I could do, or Mircea, either. Because they burst through his image, making it roll away like steam on every side, and came hurtling this way.
I saw Dorina rush to meet them, but I already knew it wasn’t going to work. They were too many, and we were too weak, and whatever ward Efridis had thrown up around her brother, she’d used enough fey bones to make it impenetrable to his power.
We had no champions left.
Or so I thought. Before a bunch of massive jagged-edged bones, femurs from creatures ten and twelve and fourteen feet tall, suddenly leapt up from a pile, as if carried by an unseen hand. And the next thing I knew, the trolls were bisected and trisected and whatever it is when you have a forest of your victim’s body parts suddenly spearing through your own.
I saw White Hair’s eyes glaze over, as he hit the cave floor, along with most of his kin. But Gravel Face was made of sterner stuff. He’d been hit by at least three bone segments, but I guess they hadn’t taken out anything vital, because he kept coming, hate for me burning in his small eyes—
Until Purple Hair, immaculate in yet another catsuit, jumped out from behind a bunch of crates and slammed a knife through his skull.
Because, yeah. She was telekinetic, wasn’t she? And didn’t get the Senate seat if she didn’t kill me herself. So I wasn’t seeing a real upside here.
Until she stretched out a hand that, weirdly enough, didn’t have a weapon in it. I looked up at her, hurting and confused. And she put an arm under mine and pulled me up, while the storm crackled and hissed overhead, boiling brilliant white as Alfhild’s power was consumed.
Dizzy and agonized, I yet remembered one of Dorina’s thoughts from the vargr attack at Claire’s, one about Caedmon. That he looked fey but wasn’t, at least not entirely. And it looked like his sister wasn’t, either, because Efridis was absorbing her power easily—too easily.
We didn’t have much time.
Purple Hair stared upward, looking like she was thinking the same, as the light of more power than either of us had ever seen played over her face. And then she looked down at me. “I’ve decided Radu was right,” she said. “I don’t wanna be a senator.”
“Yeah. Me, either.”
“Let’s get out of here!”
“Wait!” Caedmon called. She scowled in annoyance. And then a whole case of weapons jumped up from the floor and hurtled for the shield around him, making his eyes blow big.
I didn’t see them land, because Purple Hair was protecting me with her body. But I felt the hot wind blow past, strong enough to slam us back into the ground again. And then Caedmon was up and Efridis was facing him alone, because Alfhild was nowhere to be seen.
And then, a second later, neither was Efridis.
“Fuck me,” Purple Hair whispered. “I thought they made that shit up for the movies.”
“Guess not,” I said, as we watched Efridis decide on the better part of valor, take a running jump for the opening of the cave, and be caught halfway through her fall by a giant freaking eagle.
Well, she always did like birds.
They soared off, leaving us with only a large army of approaching stone giants and a murderous fey king to deal with.
“We can’t let Aeslinn have the bones!” Caedmon said, rounding on me.
“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do?” Purple Hair said, gesturing savagely with her free arm. “Those things are gonna be here any minute!”
“Burn them,” I said, and for some reason, I felt Dorina jerk.
But Caedmon was nodding. “Some of our people used to burn the dead, saying it sped up the process, and allowed them to reincarnate more quickly.” He glanced around. “I think these have waited long enough.”
“So have we! Let’s go!” Purple Hair yelled, and grabbed a grenade.
Caedmon shoved the crates of weapons over by the biggest piles of bones, and then gently picked up Louis-Cesare. We ran for the door, while behind us an army crashed through the entrance to the cave, obliterating it.
Only to be obliterated themselves, a moment later—at least, I assumed so. Because Purple Hair threw that grenade like a World Series pitcher in the ninth inning. And the last thing I saw before the portal grabbed us was an explosion of light brighter than anything Efridis had ever put out.
And then we were gone.
Chapter Sixty-one
I woke up in a familiar bed with a familiar guy. Louis-Cesare was sprawled next to me, wearing a lot of bandages and no clothes. I smiled at him, even though it made my cheeks ache. “We have to stop meeting like this,” I whispered, and put a hand on his chest.
And felt him flinch.
I was still half-asleep, and groggy. The residuals of some of Claire’s hideous concoctions hung in the air, which probably explained why. Or the pain that was slivering through them anyway, from my nonexistent leg, like someone was poking at it with shards of glass.
I’d heard of phantom limb pain, but had never had a chance to experience it before. It was possibly the only pain I hadn’t previously experienced. Do I shout bingo? I wondered blearily, and sat up.
And found myself staring at a perfectly good, if seriously bruised and battered, left leg.
“What the shit fuck!”
I almost fell out of bed.
Louis-Cesare grabbed me, just in time, and hauled me back to the bed’s center. Which left me half underneath him, not that I minded. But I still didn’t know—
“What the hell is going on?”
He licked his lips nervously. For someone as naturally—let’s be kind and say confident—as him, it was a strange sight. “They found your leg.”
“I see that.”
“Mircea reattached it.”
“That was good of him.” Considering that I lost it on senatorial business, and the Senate didn’t have a medical plan. I glanced downward again, although I couldn’t see anything, having a rather large amount of naked vampire in the way. “Is it . . . likely to stay that way?”
“He thinks so. He is hoping there is no lasting nerve damage. He is having a specialist brought in from Paris to make certain.”
“That’s good.”
Louis-Cesare didn’t say anything else, and what he had said was stilted, unemotional. His body was likewise rigid, instead of the lean, muscular strength I was used to. He looked like a guy who would rather be anywhere else.
It hurt more than the
damned leg.
“And that’s it?” I said flatly. “You don’t have anything else to say to me?”
The blue eyes had been focused somewhere on my left shoulder, but now they slid to mine. And then abruptly wandered off again. “I am sorry,” he told me.
“You damned well ought to be!”
He flinched noticeably. “I don’t blame you for being furious,” he said quietly. “They put me in here, while I recover, but I told Claire that it might be best if I were not here when you awoke—”
“What?”
“But she seemed to think otherwise. And she was right.” He manned up, and met my eyes. “I understand how you feel. I would not blame you if you never wish to see me again.”
“What?”
“I took your leg.” His fingers touched it lightly, almost reverently. “If they had not been able to find it—”
“Well, yeah. But they did find it. And if they hadn’t, think of all the neat attachments I could have gotten.”
It was his turn to say: “What?”
“Think of it: a peg leg, especially a sharp wooden peg leg, for a dhampir? It would almost be worth—”
I broke off, because Louis-Cesare was having a small fit. I wasn’t sure of what kind, and I didn’t think he was, either, because his face tried out a couple dozen expressions before settling on one. It was incredulity.
“I maimed you!”
“You tried to maim me.” I flexed my leg at him. “And you only managed it because I was already hurt when you showed up. If I’d been at my best, I’d have kicked your—”
He shook me.
“What?” I said again.
“You are angry with me! You hate me! You possibly even fear me!”
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. It had been a very long week. And the sudden ability just to let everything out caught me by surprise, and then sort of swept me away, until I was lying there, crying with laughter.
Louis-Caesar looked at me in growing concern. “I—I will go find Claire—”
“I don’t need Claire!” I rolled on top of him. The leg, I was glad to notice, responded to commands, although it bitched at me about them. That was okay; I got that a lot.
Including from my lover, I thought, judging by his expression.
“You think that’s what I want an apology for?” I asked him. “For the leg?”
“Yes!”
“And you’ve been lying here, blaming yourself and getting more and more worked up about it?”
“As I should do! I hurt you! I could have—” He broke off, but it was obvious what he meant.
“But you didn’t kill me. Alfhild ordered you to, but you didn’t. And when you thought you might, that there was even a chance, you tried to kill yourself instead. And that,” I added, before he could interrupt me, “is why I’m angry.”
He looked at me, and he’d found a new expression. It was bewilderment. But he didn’t say “What?” again. He said “Why?” instead.
And looked like he genuinely didn’t get it.
“Because, when you’re part of someone else, you don’t get to make that call,” I told him quietly.
And then felt like cursing, because the damned man still didn’t get it.
I could see it in those shimmering blue eyes: confusion, awkwardness, more than a little fear. He, who wasn’t afraid of anything, was afraid of this. Of me. Of being sent away.
And there was one really good way to solve that problem, wasn’t there?
I felt my fangs pop. “I’m proprietorial about my things,” I snarled, and bit him.
And, God, yes, it was good! So good, so warm, so rich. I heard Louis-Cesare cry out, felt him grab my arms and try to push me off, but I knew his true strength now, and he wasn’t pushing very hard.
Not that it would have mattered. I wrapped my legs around him as my fangs sank deeper, and I felt it: the swirl of magic around us. It should have been a surprise, but it wasn’t. Maybe because it was so right, so good, so—
“Perfect,” I heard him murmur, and then he was drawing me close, and it was. It really, really was.
* * *
—
I awoke an indeterminate time later in a warm embrace, one that had ended up with me wedged into an armpit, with Louis-Cesare draped over top of me. Like he wanted to make sure I would still be there when he woke up. No worries, I thought, letting my fingertips ghost over the tops of the new little fang marks on his neck.
He shuddered slightly, and drew me closer, tightening the embrace even in sleep. But not so much that I couldn’t slide out from under, when I felt it again. A mental tug from above.
It was still dark, although on which day, I didn’t know. It felt like I’d been in bed awhile. I was stiff, to the point that it took me an embarrassingly long time to get the sash up on a window and look out. And then to clamber onto the roof.
Dorina was there, looking something like Mircea’s ghostly form, only paler, less distinct. But it was more than I’d ever seen of her before. “So you can materialize.”
“Not to anyone else. At least . . . I don’t think so.”
She sounded a bit unsure.
I knew the feeling.
“You let them go,” she said, as I settled beside her.
“What?”
Visuals came, instead of words. Mircea’s gloved hand picking up the glowing ward where Alfhild had kept her power, all those years ago in Venice; him arguing with Abramalin, who couldn’t do as he’d promised, after all, since he’d just made up the procedure to get Mircea to work for him; Mircea bending over me as I lay in my small child’s bed, his eyes glowing with stolen power . . .
And then there were two.
“So, that’s how it happened,” I said, my voice hoarse.
She nodded.
I didn’t know how to feel about that. It hadn’t sounded like it was possible to return the energy stolen from the bones, once it was extracted and made into something else. But even so. People had been destroyed for it, real people, with hopes and dreams and lives. . . .
It had been done at a megalomaniac’s command, to quench her thirst for revenge, not so Dorina and I could live. But it had given us life, all the same, and so it still felt weighty. Not like a burden, but like . . . a gift. And a responsibility, not to waste it.
I’ll try, I thought, staring up at the stars.
“I should have told you before,” Dorina said. “But I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“So much power, in those bones. Fey, even more than vampire. I knew what Mircea had done with it; I didn’t know what you would.”
“Didn’t you?” My voice sounded choked, even to me.
“With that much power, you could have locked me away forever. Made it so that I could never get out, not even when you slept. You could have been free of me, completely free, for the first time.”
“And you could have banished me,” I pointed out. “Sent me off to wither and die alone, to dissolve on the winds. Taken this body and lived your own life. Been free yourself.”
She shook her head. “That wouldn’t have been free. I would have been haunted by what I’d done, how I’d hurt you.” She turned to look at me. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
She raised a hand, and I swear I felt a brush of phantom fingertips against my cheek.
“You do that enough to yourself.”
I blinked. “What?”
That wasn’t exactly what I’d expected to hear.
“For five hundred years, you existed on the fringes, as you told our Sire. What you didn’t tell him is that you’re still there. In here.”
Her touch dropped to my chest.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s not—I don’t know what you think—”
“Five hundred years of watching,” she to
ld me. “I saw. You weren’t any freer than me. You think you decided what we did? They decided. Where you could go, what you could do. You didn’t become a hunter merely because you’re good at it. You did it because it was all they would allow you to be. You were dhampir, hated, despised, outcast. It was a hard, meager, cold life. But it was all you knew. And, eventually, it was all you wanted to know.”
“You know—you can’t talk to me like—”
But she could, and she did.
“It became familiar, comfortable. Most people are frightened on the fringes, in the woods in the middle of the night, in the old, abandoned places. They set horror movies there, don’t they? But you weren’t frightened. You were the eyes in the darkness, the shadow on the wall, the thing that goes bump in the night. Others were afraid of you. They didn’t know those places. You did. You made them your world—”
“You don’t understand anything!”
“It wasn’t the dark or the cold that frightened you. It was the light and the warmth, the places where it wasn’t possible to hide, the places where you had to be seen. You think I wanted all those things: family, home, children, because they were what you wanted. But you couldn’t have them, either, and every time you tried, every time you came close to anyone, you were hurt. So you learned to love the shadows. . . .
“But the shadows are gone now. You stand in the light. Surrounded by all the things you always thought you wanted, and it terrifies you. Even after what you just did, claiming that vampire, there’s a part of you that wants to run. That is so afraid of losing all you have, that you are thinking of throwing it away, to leave before you’re left, to go back to the desolate wastes because there, at least, you know the rules.
“You don’t know them here.”
