by Laken Cane
There was a sheath beneath the hilt, a beautiful red sheath—so dark it was nearly black—and decorated with inlays of blood red stones and carved lines and squiggles that stood out in the darkness in which they were embedded. Words, I was nearly certain, but I couldn’t read them. More of the soft-looking silver filaments wound around the case, climbing it like strange ivy. The ends of the filaments trailed, lying around the leather like untied shoestrings. I couldn’t imagine what they were for, but then, I didn’t know a lot about swords and their sheaths, either. Next to the sword, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
But that sheath, though stunning, was so small it would never have held the sword.
I stared down at the gift, a gift from the vampire with whom I would be forever linked, the vampire I despised more than anything or anyone else.
And my mouth watered.
I wanted that blade.
Just as I wanted to hunt and kill vampires, I wanted that blade.
But I wasn’t sure if the blade would want me.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my shirt and finally, I grasped the handle of the sword. Tentatively, gently, I lifted it.
“You’re magnificent.” I ran my finger over the smooth silver, awed.
For a heartbeat there was nothing, then the sword...softened. The hilt changed, moved, and suddenly, I no longer held the hilt. It held me.
It wrapped around my hand like a leather fist, almost seemed to melt into my flesh, and coldness traveled up my arm into my shoulder, icy, painful, terrifying.
I screamed and tried to fling the sword away but it clung effortlessly, moving with me. Part of me.
The blade shrank—not in width but in length—and as I drew back my arm and slammed it against the wall, it turned toward me. It turned on me.
And then it took control of my arm.
I plunged the blade into my own chest, screaming as my flesh parted like water, then closed around the bite of the silver. The sword rippled as it drank, pulling my blood up its blade and into the hilt, contracting, expanding, breathing.
The sword was alive, but I was pretty sure I was dead.
Amias Sato had killed me after all.
Chapter Nine
Amias surely knew I might not survive his dubious gift, but he did not return to see. Perhaps he realized I’d have shoved the blade into his shriveled up excuse for a heart. Or maybe he simply didn’t doubt me.
I lay bloody and panting on the bed, and the sword rested across my ribs like a sated lover. Once again, Silverlight was just a blade.
I pushed it gingerly off my body and slid from the bed, ignoring the dancing bright spots that hung in the air. I’d barely recovered from the first round of blood loss before the second one had occurred, and I was close to fainting.
My cell rang, the sound a little muffled, and I patted my pockets for a good five minutes before I realized the ringing had long since stopped and my phone was not on me. I finally caught sight of it on the bed, snatched it up, grabbed Silverlight, and stumbled to the bathroom. I placed the sword across the sink before I lowered myself to the tiny bench that had come with the place. I peeled off my borrowed clothes, then turned on the shower to let the water heat before I walked to the mirror to investigate the damage.
I shoved slick blood away from the wound, crying out when pain shot through my chest and more blood welled from the gaping hole. The blade had entered right above my left breast, digging and twisting as it had slid in, and unless something magical occurred, I was going to have a hell of a scar.
Mentally, I shrugged. What was one more scar?
Someone began pounding on the front door, and even as I spun toward the sound, I automatically reached for Silverlight.
“Guard her well. She will kill the world for you.”
The sword attached to me. To my hand, my arm, my shoulder, my blood. It had accepted me. She had accepted me. She’d taken my blood and now she was mine.
Or…
I was hers.
The attachment wasn’t something I could see, but I could feel it like a tight, pulsating sleeve, tingling through my flesh, cold, then hot, sizzling like electricity, and rushing like water, almost painful in its shocking intensity.
With her vibrating and eager in my grip, I strode down the hall and to the living room. Before I reached the door, it crashed open.
Silverlight’s power fizzed and went out, and I nearly dropped her. Apparently, she sensed no threat.
Clayton the Golem stood framed in the doorway, and somewhere behind him Mrs. Watson shrieked and scampered back into her apartment. I heard her door slam and the clicks of half a dozen locks, loud in the sudden silence.
Clayton and I stared across the floor at each other, neither of us moving, until finally, he stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind him.
And despite my blade, he strode toward me, his stare narrowed and probing, his face unreadable as he surveyed my body.
“You broke my door,” I said, finally.
“I picked your lock,” he replied. “You should get better protection.” His eyes dropped to the sword I held.
“I have protection.” I gently waved Silverlight.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m okay.” I tilted my head at the sound of water coming from my bathroom. “Now that you see I’m okay, you’ll have to leave. I need to shower.”
“I’m not leaving. I’ll guard you until…”
I frowned at his hesitation. “Until?” I squeezed the hilt of the sword, but she never moved. I could feel her, though, as though she were listening to me. Still, she looked like a cold, beautiful object—not something that could come to life and chew through my ribs.
Clayton stood as still and emotionless as the sword, but there was a spark of light deep in the darkness of his eyes, and he seemed disinclined to hide that from me.
But then I understood. “You’ll guard me until Miriam tells you to stop.”
He said nothing, but his expression hardened. I wasn’t mocking him, just stating facts, but he was sensitive to his forced servitude. I couldn’t blame him for that.
“How can you gain your freedom?” I hadn’t meant to ask the question, but there it was.
“Go clean up. I’ll examine your wound afterward.” He dropped his gaze to my chest.
And just that quickly, I was naked.
Not a bloody, sword-wielding warrior, but a naked human female. And when I lifted my arm to cover my breasts and turned slightly away from him, I saw him smile for the first time since I’d known him.
That smile was full of satisfaction.
For a few minutes, I not only forgot I was unclothed and vulnerable, but I forgot the scars that marred my body—more gifts from Amias Sato.
I shivered and backed awkwardly from the room. “Go away. I don’t want you here and I don’t need a guard. Go back to your mistress.”
I didn’t wait to see the look on his face then as I fled the room, sword in hand.
“Wash quickly,” he called. “Your neighbor has summoned the police, and though I imagine they receive a dozen calls from her each day, they will still be bound to check.”
“Well you’re just downright chatty, aren’t you?” I muttered.
Maybe it was only in Miriam’s presence that he refused to open his mouth.
Still, he was right. The police would come, and I had to get the blood washed off me and a bandage slapped on before they arrived.
I took Silverlight with me into the bathroom and placed it in the linen closet while I showered. I didn’t trust Clayton with my sword. Not even a little bit.
I hurried through my shower and was just ripping open a package of large bandages when Clayton called through the closed door that company had arrived.
“Shit.” I stuffed the bandages into the cupboard with Silverlight before belting on a thick robe and leaving the bathroom. I remembered my phone and darted back into the bathroom to grab it and drop it into my pocket.
<
br /> My wound was no longer bleeding, so I didn’t worry about the police seeing blood seeping through the fabric of my robe. Still, it was tender and the entire left side of my chest groaned when I so much as moved my arm.
I ran my hand through my damp hair and joined Clayton and two policemen waiting in my tiny living room.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, making sure my eyes were wide and my voice was high with impending hysteria. I wrung my hands, then went to stand beside Clayton. I wrapped my fingers around his wrist. “Clayton? What’s going on? Is something wrong with Nina? Did something happen to her?”
There was no Nina, of course, but the cops wouldn’t know that.
Clayton lifted an eyebrow but played along. “No. Apparently one of your neighbors called to report that I broke into your apartment and that you were covered with blood.” He grinned.
Honestly, for a moment I forgot the cops were there. His smile, genuine or not, was breathtaking in its unexpectedness. And it made him look almost…human.
One of the cops cleared his throat. “Ma’am? You invited this man in?”
I took my slightly dazed stare from Clayton and looked at the cops. I wrinkled my nose, glanced once more up at Clayton, whose arm I still held, then back to the policemen. I frowned in puzzlement. “Clayton? Of course. He’s my…friend. Look, I don’t understand what you’re doing here. Nothing’s wrong with Nina?”
The cop on the left sighed. “We’re sorry to have bothered you.”
“It was Mrs. Watson, wasn’t it?” I asked. “I swear, that woman is a pain in my ass.”
“Not just yours,” the second cop said. He and his partner traded glances, shook their heads, and headed for the door.
“Well, thanks for checking,” I said, uncertainly.
Clayton followed them to the door, then shut it gently behind them. “You’ll have to move,” he said, all signs of his former softness and smile gone. “You can’t have neighbors. I’ll begin looking for a suitable place for you in Bay Town.”
I put my hands on my hips, then quickly lowered them when my wound began screaming at me. “Vampires are in the city. I need to live here.”
“You can hunt in the city,” he said, calmly. “You cannot live in it.”
“I can live wherever I want.” I gestured at the door. “Goodnight, Clayton.”
“I’m not leaving.” He walked to the sofa and sat down, crossed his legs, and picked up the remote.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly angry. “That’s right. You’ve been given orders by the tiny woman who owns you.” I didn’t even try to keep the contempt from my voice.
He looked up, slowly. His eyes were empty, but still, I took a quick step back. His expression didn’t change. “I will protect you until I’m pulled away. If that’s something you can’t accept, call Miriam.” He went back to the TV.
“Shit,” I whispered, and turned to leave the room. He could do whatever he liked. I’d get dressed and go out into the night to see if I could find a vampire or two to test Silverlight on.
At the thought, the excitement was back. My heart began to pound, my stomach tightened, and a slick sweat broke out on my face. Cold chills chased each other over my body, and when I lifted my hand, it was shaking.
My legs weakened, and I swayed as darkness descended. The floor rose up to meet me and the next thing I knew, Clayton was bending over me, patting my cheek—a little too hard—and calling my name.
“What happened to you?” he asked, as he leaned forward, slid his hands beneath me, then lifted me to his chest. He stood smoothly and carried me to the couch.
He smelled good, like vanilla and…cake. Why would a man smell like cake? I had no idea, but I liked it. My stomach growled.
“Put me down,” I told him.
“Answer my question.” He lowered me to the sofa. “The wound on your chest. Who gave it to you?”
“Silverlight,” I murmured.
He narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”
“The sword I held,” I told him. “Its name is Silverlight. Amias stole it for me.” I gave a soft laugh, then stopped abruptly when pain shot through me.
“That’s impossible.” He dug his cell phone from his pocket without waiting for me to answer. “Where is it?”
I struggled to sit up and glared at him. “It’s mine.”
“I need to make a phone call. May I use your bathroom?” Blankly polite, no matter what.
I sank back against the pillows and nodded. I heard the bathroom door close before I remembered that Silverlight was in the bathroom. With Clayton.
There was nothing I could do about it now.
He needed privacy to make a call. He would have no reason to go rummaging through the bathroom cabinets. He’d never see the sword.
I fell back against the sofa cushions and waited impatiently for him to emerge from the bathroom. My stomach rolled, then stopped, then rolled again, as though it couldn’t make up its mind about whether it should dispose of its contents or not.
I wasn’t going hunting. I was in no shape to kill vampires, mystic badass sword or not. The excitement from the mere thought had made me pass out. All I’d do if I went out in this shape was get myself killed and my sword stolen.
Finally, I heard Clayton’s footsteps, and I gingerly swung my legs over the edge of the couch as I waited for his large body to darken my doorway.
But when he stepped into the room, he wasn’t alone. He held Silverlight in his fist, and he didn’t look like he was in any sort of hurry to let her go.
Chapter Ten
“Amias Sato was here,” he said before I could open my mouth. “He was here, and he brought you Silverlight.”
“I told you he did.”
“I…” He shook his head, frowned, and looked at the sword, as though he still didn’t quite believe me, though he held the evidence in his hand. It sparked once when he squeezed it, and he shivered. “I didn’t believe it until I felt her. I didn’t think it was possible. And you tossed her into the bathroom. Do you have any idea what he’s given you?”
“Yeah, I do.” I pressed my hand to my wound and felt the sticky wetness beneath the thick robe. The wound was once again bleeding. I’d caused that when I’d passed out on the living room floor. “That blade tore into me like it was alive.”
“It is alive,” he murmured. “In ways you and I can’t really understand.”
“It attached to me,” I said. “It drank my blood like a vampire and now…” I shrugged.
“And now it belongs to you. It will fight with you. For you. He couldn’t have given you a better guardian.”
I nodded. “I was going to take it hunting tonight but after being stabbed in the chest I’ve had to rethink my plans.”
“Silverlight,” he said, slowly, as though trying to convince himself. “Did he say where he got it?”
“He said he stole it.”
He sighed. “I imagine he did.”
I held out my hand, something greedy and urgent inside me. “Give her to me.”
There was only a slight hesitation before he gave me the blade. “The scabbard,” he said. “Where is it? You need to sheath the weapon before you hurt yourself. I’ll tend your wound and then make something to eat.”
“I’m not your responsibility.” I stood, wobbling only a little. “Stop fussing over me like a little old lady. If you’re staying here until Miriam tells you to go, then we’re going to need some ground rules.”
He stared over my head, carefully blank. He said nothing, just waited.
I gave up waiting for him to speak and continued. “Rule number one. Don’t bother me.”
He completely ignored my words. “Where’s the sheath?”
I growled, feeling slightly less weak and a lot less dizzy. “On my bed, damn you.”
He turned immediately and left the room, returning a couple of minutes later with the scabbard in his hand. He handed it to me. “Sheath the sword,” he said quietly.
“Obviously y
ou’re not good at following the rules,” I snapped. “It bothers me when you try to tell me what to do.”
“Of course,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “What’s your story?”
He didn’t answer my question, and I wasn’t surprised.
“You’re a stubborn golem,” I said.
I’d almost forgotten that his blank eyes could sometimes hold a world of hate, but they were overflowing with it when he met my contrite stare.
I couldn’t look at it. I dropped my gaze to my hands. “I’m sorry, Clayton.”
Fear lay like metal on the back of my tongue, but not only fear. Shame, as well. I was not an asshole. I wasn’t. And I’d seen Clayton’s pain. I’d seen his humiliation at the hands of Miriam. I knew she held him against his will. I didn’t know how she did, but she did.
“Clayton.” I put my hand to my chest. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just…” I waved my hand, then flinched at the flare of pain. “I’m sorry.”
Then I swayed and he reached out to steady me. His grip was tentative, and the look on his face said he’d rather have been doing just about anything other than touching me.
“Ouch.” I tried to breathe through a fresh wave of pain. “This sword can be an asshole.”
He waited, saying nothing until the pain passed—sort of—and I lowered myself gingerly to the sofa.
“Where are the pills Rhys gave you?” he asked.
I looked up at him, frowning at the tight anger in his voice. “Nightstand drawer.”
“I’ll get them and the first aid kit. Sheath the fucking sword.”
I stared after his retreating body, bemused. He was nothing like I’d thought. But then, I’d never been alone with him. Miriam was always with him, and when she was with him, he was just an insubstantial shadow at her back.
I looked at the beautiful but small sheath, then shrugged and slid the tip of the blade into the leather. “Get in there,” I muttered. “Before Clayton has a stroke.”
The sword began to shrink. It slid smoothly into the sheath, growing smaller as I pushed, crumbling in on itself, changing from a sword to a…knife.
