House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  “It looked like you were.”

  “But I…ah…” In hindsight, Nessa supposed that it may have looked like that from where he was standing. “I guess that’s what it might have appeared as.”

  “Ah-ha!” Heimaey was triumphant.

  “That’s not what I was actually doing, though.”

  “Did what you were doing involve stabbing the devil?”

  “Well…no.”

  “Did it involve scaring the bugger away?”

  “Uh…probably not.”

  “So, essentially, you were doing little more than giving it a pat on the head?”

  Give up, Aoife advised. I don’t think you’re going to win this battle.

  Nessa sighed and shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was pointless arguing over something not even Nessa was sure about. While she’d had no intention of petting the monster like it was a damn cat, she’d also had very little intention of actually harming it, especially after seeing what was hidden beneath the warped shadows and darkness.

  “You see,” Heimaey said to no one in particular, “this is the problem with girls. They’re all sunshine and rainbows and ‘oh, let’s see the good in everyone and everything’. No. Stop doing that. There ain’t no happy endings and magic wishes in the real world. No, there’s monsters built of shadows and mystic mists and who knows what bloody else. Is there a way to solve these wee problems, I hear you ask, dear female friend?”

  I like him, Aoife murmured. He amuses me greatly. I take back what I said about leaving him to fend for himself. Should there ever be a time where he needs saving, you should most definitely save him.

  Nessa rolled her eyes. Over Heimaey’s shoulder, she spied Hunter starting to grin. He, like Aoife, was enjoying Heimaey’s little tirade.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you asked, my wee, female friend,” Heimaey continued. “I’ve found that the best policy is to stab first and ask questions later. That’s always a winner when it comes to beasties.”

  Hunter’s grin grew.

  Nessa scowled. “I’m not sure—”

  “I shall help teach you,” Heimaey announced grandly, “in the fine arts of maiming and wounding.”

  Hunter’s grin became a full-blown smile, complete with a devious twinkle in his amber eyes.

  Chapter 34

  Whoosh.

  Nessa barely ducked in time as the stick swung overhead, missing her scalp by the barest of margins, making flyaway strands of hair flutter in its wake. The brief amount of joy she felt at such an achievement was quickly knocked out of her, quite literally, when a booted foot connected heavily with her side.

  She grunted, the air forced from her lungs, and fell to her knees, her arms instinctively wrapping around her waist.

  “Up,” the hazel-eyed fiend barked, twirling the stick by his side like it was a sword and not half of an old broom handle. “Fight me.”

  “Kind of hard…to…” Gasp. “When I can’t…” Gasp. “Bloody well breathe.”

  The fiend smirked. “And yet, you can still offer up your lovely, little quips.” He looked over to where a handful of darkly dressed men loitered at the side of the courtyard, perched on a row of empty barrels, onlookers who watched with an array of amusement and sympathetic winces. “I just don’t know what I’m meant to be doing at this point.”

  “You’re meant to be teaching her how to fight,” Orm supplied helpfully, his voice a little muffled by the cigar he had propped in the corner of his mouth. “You don’t seem to be very good at it.”

  Heimaey sighed and looked down at his stick, which was salvaged and modified to resemble something akin to a training sword, like it was to blame. Nessa, too, glared at it from where she was kneeling on the dirty ground, slowly regaining the ability to breathe, her ribs aching dully. She hated the thing with a passion. It was the source of the many bruises that covered her from head to toe. A natural-born fighter Nessa was not. This had been learned fairly quickly upon her foray into the realm of swords, punches, kicks and all manner of other painful activities.

  “You missed the blow to the head,” Heimaey informed Nessa, “but you didn’t see the kick coming at all.”

  “Really?” Nessa muttered dryly, managing to pick herself up off the ground, tucking a few wisps of hair behind her ears. No matter how tightly she braided it, strands were always escaping, sticking to her cheeks and getting in her mouth. “I wasn’t aware that I had just been kicked. Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Nessa glowered as laughter rolled across the courtyard. She whirled around, hands on hips. “What’s so funny?”

  Bo or Luca, whichever blonde-haired identical twin it was, shrugged a muscled shoulder. “You have so much sarcasm for one so small.”

  “Yeah,” Luca or Bo agreed. “She’s, like, sixty per cent sarcasm, thirty per cent rage and ten per cent bruises.”

  “And one hundred per cent angry cuteness,” Hunter added sweetly, sensing that the thirty per cent rage was about to make an appearance.

  “You’d be grumpy too,” Nessa grumbled, rubbing her aching side, “if you were covered in as many bruises as I am.”

  I think you’ve added another one to your collection, Aoife notified Nessa oh-so helpfully. There was no attempt at masking her amusement. Nessa could feel it pouring through their bond.

  Somehow, she managed to stop herself from snapping a sharp retort. Perhaps Luca/Bo was onto something…

  You know, Nessa mumbled, you could support me more. I’m struggling a bit.

  A bit? Aoife chortled.

  That’s not supportive at all.

  You don’t want support. You want me to help you cheat.

  It wouldn’t necessarily count as cheating, Nessa mused. More like utilising our unique connection.

  It’s cheating.

  Using it to its full potential?

  Cheating.

  Nessa sighed. Sometimes it was pointless to argue with a dragon. Can’t you give me a bit of a warning? Point out what they’re going to do so that I have a second to form a reaction?

  That’s cheating.

  It’s a pre-emptive strike.

  You want me to tell you what they’re planning so that you look like you don’t suck so much.

  I’m merely suggesting that we use our bond as any other Rider and dragon would. You know, sharing our strengths and weaknesses so that we are united, mind, body and soul.

  Oh, my little Rider. You can try and put much reason behind this, but you’re not going to sway me. There are times when you’re going to have to rely on yourself. You need to be able to handle yourself in a fight without my aid. I would have thought that the events of the other night would have taught you that.

  Nessa flinched as the memories laid siege on her mind, frightful and potent. That night was happening all over again. She was forced to relive it.

  There was a sharp jab to Nessa’s side, bringing her back to the here and now.

  “Less daydreaming,” Heimaey ordered, “and more paying attention.” He had poked her in her ribs with his training sword.

  Nessa blinked away the memory of that night, the catalyst to how she had wound up in Jerome’s courtyard, facing a fiend armed with a training sword, being whacked repeatedly—with an audience, no less. Nessa was beginning to think that she needed to redefine her definition of friendship so that it didn’t include forms of physical abuse hidden under the guise of “self-defence lessons”.

  “It doesn’t matter how much I pay attention,” Nessa sighed. “We’re just going to have to admit that I’m useless at this kind of thing.”

  “Maybe,” Heimaey said, tilting his head to the side, thoughtful, black ringlets slipping over his shoulder. He wasn’t one to sugar-coat things. “But I think you’re improving a wee bit. A teeny-tiny bit. But hey, it’s improvement nonetheless. I suppose.” He grimaced. “Well, you almost have ducking and dodging covered.”

  Nessa glared, her hand still pressed against her still aching ri
bs. “Almost.”

  Heimaey shrugged. “Except for the kick at the end, you went for a good three minutes without me landing a blow. That’s marginally better.”

  “You’re not very good at making me feel better,” Nessa said. “You do realise that, right?”

  “I’m not here to make you feel better.” He smiled sweetly. “That’s something best left to your chap over there.” Heimaey flicked his hand at Hunter.

  Nessa scowled.

  “I’m sure he’s more than willing to cheer you up in any way he can.”

  Heimaey’s murmured tone was a touch too suggestive for Nessa’s liking. “Stop that.”

  He quirked a brow. “But he’s over there, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just waiting for an opportunity to come over and save your day.”

  Nessa resisted gazing over in Hunter’s direction, refusing to give Heimaey the satisfaction of confirming whatever he thought he knew. Sometimes there was no point in trying to talk sense into certain people once they had a particular notion in their head, no matter how silly it might be.

  “You’re being stupid,” Nessa said. “And that kick was mean and underhanded.”

  “That kick was the next obvious move, and you should have seen it coming from a mile away.”

  I saw it, Aoife traitorously told Nessa. From miles and miles away.

  Nessa ignored her and the following echo of Aoife’s chuckle. “How am I meant to see your kicks when you’re wearing that…thing?”

  Heimaey followed her gaze and plucked at his rather eclectic ensemble. “Thing? What thing are you referring to?”

  “You know full well that those trousers are ridiculous.”

  “They’re baggy.”

  “Too baggy.”

  “A man’s legwear can never be too baggy,” Heimaey argued. “They accommodate movement and have plenty of breathing room.”

  “They’re so ridiculously baggy that you might as well be wearing a skirt.”

  Their audience laughed.

  “You might be onto something there, Nessie,” Bo chortled, his blue eyes bright with mirth. “He probably is wearing a skirt. The bugger just sewed up the bottom hem so we wouldn’t see his unmentionables when he’s arsing about.”

  “I’ll have you know that these were a gift from my father,” Heimaey said, plucking at the faded fabric that had once featured colourful stripes, the greens, pinks and purples only just visible. “He swore by these things. Came across them during his travels in the east. Reckons they’re the reason my kin over there have so many children.”

  “Really?” Luca grimaced. “I would have thought that they’re women repellents.”

  “Nonsense,” Heimaey huffed, adjusting the waistband of his trousers, tightening the bow of a collection of silk scarves that acted as a rather decorative belt. “How else do you explain the fact that I have sixteen siblings?” Heimaey smirked at Nessa’s dumbfounded expression and mouthed, “Breathing room.”

  “I’m going to go with the fact that he’s a serial adulterer,” Luca said. Bo nodded in agreement. “That’s how his clan of curly-haired miscreants came about.”

  “Miscreants,” Heimaey laughed. “What a great word. One day, I and the others shall rise up and take over the world. Just you wait and see. It’s all part of a grand plan. There’ll be stunningly handsome, green-eyed, black-haired beauties everywhere.”

  “And now we know how the world will come to an end.” Luca shook his head. “Who would have thought that we’d succumb to a tide of beautiful idiots. What a grim way to go.”

  “Tragic,” his brother agreed.

  Heimaey twirled his training sword, his lips twitching with barely contained laughter. “You think me beautiful? My, my, Luca. I never pegged you as one who had such thoughts about me. I’m most flattered.”

  Luca looked unimpressed. “I merely meant that sometimes you look pretty enough to be mistaken as a girl.”

  “Yeah,” Orm spoke up as he drew on his cigar, the tip glowing green. “When we were first introduced, it took me a couple of seconds to puzzle it out. It’s those cheekbones of yours.”

  Bo and Luca howled. Nessa snickered. To be fair, Heimaey did have lovely cheekbones.

  “It’s all the hair,” Hunter added, tears streaking down his face, shoulders shaking with laughter. “And the baggy clothes. No one can tell exactly what’s going on.”

  “I’m finding this banter just proves that you’re jealous,” Heimaey said, tugging at the ringlets that trailed over his shoulder in a messy cascade, barely held in check by a dark-blue bandanna. “Your envy is distracting and unhelpful.”

  “It’s a great improvement to the previous activity,” Nessa murmured, eyeing the practice sword in his hand, watching as he twirled it around and around by his side. “In my opinion.”

  “That lot can barely tell the difference between me and a girl,” Heimaey informed her, “which means that they may occasionally mistake you for a boy. How does that make you feel?”

  “I think we’ve established that it’s you they get confused about, pretty boy,” Nessa said breezily. “Not me.”

  “Wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” Heimaey shot back, nodding to her outfit. “Dressed like that.”

  “Dressed like what?” Nessa looked down at herself, at her dark trous that were tucked into her black boots and at her loose, linen tunic. “In some trous and a top?”

  “Exactly. Who knows what their feeble minds might mistake you for?”

  “Someone who’s dressed in a practical manner for an unpleasant and somewhat torturous ‘training’ exercise?”

  “Ahh. There it is,” Heimaey sighed, a mischievous gleam leaping into his eyes, bright and promising trouble. “The sass has returned. Which means…” He lifted his training sword, the point coming to rest on Nessa’s chest, just over her heart.

  Nessa groaned. “No. No more. I have enough bruises as it is. I don’t want any more.”

  “Collect your practice sword, and let’s resume,” Heimaey ordered without mercy.

  Nessa turned and searched for it reluctantly. Her training sword was on the other side of the courtyard, laying on the ground where it had landed after being launched from Nessa’s grip by a particularly complex and painful parry.

  “You’re heartless,” she told him. “You do know that, right?”

  Heimaey grinned.

  “Can’t we just do some stretches?” Nessa implored, making no move to retrieve the wooden sword.

  Heimaey shook his head.

  “How about some sit-ups?”

  He gave another shake.

  “Push-ups?” They weren’t one of her favourite exercises, but they were preferable to being whacked with a modified stick.

  “Training sword,” he said simply, pointing to it with his. “Then get into position.”

  “Hasn’t everyone had their fill of watching me fail for today?” Nessa gazed at her audience, searching for an ally. “Obviously not,” she muttered, turning back to Heimaey. They were all heartless, she decided, judging by the varying levels of anticipation and amusement on their faces.

  “Come on, Nessie,” Orm said encouragingly. “You’ll catch on soon. Just like with horse riding. You learnt that fast enough.”

  Nessa frowned, uncertain. “The horse riding?” She could have sworn that they had told her she’d done it before. She just couldn’t remember…

  Hunter leaped off the barrel he had been perched on and jogged over to her, scooping up her discarded training sword as he went. Before Nessa could blink, he was at her side, thrusting the wooden handle into her hand, which reflexively grasped it. Nessa tried to look past him, wanting to tell Orm that he was mistaken, but Hunter was in the way.

  “Come on,” Hunter said. “Two teachers are better than one. You’ll be kicking people’s arses in no time.”

  “More interested in kicking your arse right now,” Nessa muttered, her thoughts conflicted. Had it merely been a slip of Orm’s tongue? Him getting confused about
certain things? He did get things mixed up occasionally.

  Or was it something else?

  Nessa reached out to Aoife, needing a voice of reason to tell her that she was just being silly, that she was paranoid. She needed Aoife to tell her that Orm wasn’t lying to her, that he hadn’t been lying about things, especially small things like her having ridden horses before. If he could lie so easily about something so small, so trivial, then what else was he capable of? And if Orm was lying, did that mean Hunter was to?

  Nessa discovered that Aoife had silently retreated, and Nessa got the sense that she didn’t want to be disturbed. Perhaps Aoife was in sudden need of a nap? It was a little strange that Aoife had gone without saying something first, though, issuing a warning or some kind of threat.

  Hunter laughed and nudged Nessa with an elbow. “If you ever want that to happen, then you had better start practising more.”

  “Can’t I practise more tomorrow?”

  “No,” both Heimaey and Hunter said.

  Nessa looked at them, a sense of doom settling in her stomach. One fiend was bad enough, but two? She wasn't sure she’d be able to cope. They got on like two peas in a pod. Sometimes Nessa couldn’t help but speculate that they might be long lost brothers.

  “Now,” Hunter instructed, “get into position, and I’ll help guide you through the next steps. Heimaey will go easy on you to start with.”

  Nessa glared at him, wondering at what her chances were of getting a few hits in before Hunter could defend himself.

  “Ah-ha,” Heimaey murmured smugly to her, his hazel eyes bright. “Here’s Hunter to save the day.” He gave her a knowing wink.

  Save the day indeed.

  If that was true, Nessa thought, then why did it feel like Hunter was merely trying to distract her from something?

  Chapter 35

  Standing in the shadows of the alley, Nessa nervously bit her thumbnail as she gazed at either end of the street. To her right was Jerome’s guest house, just in sight and with light streaming through the windows, streaking across the ground. Dark shapes of people moving around inside could be seen, and a couple of people loitered outside the door, waiting for friends to arrive, or just getting a breath of fresh air. That was what Nessa claimed to be doing. Getting a breath of fresh air. She was merely taking a breather from the overwhelming noise of drunken men and the eye-watering levels of smoke that spewed from pipes and cigars.