“What’s his name?”
“I told you. Heie.”
“His name is He?”
“Yes. Spelled H fucking E fucking I fucking E. He thinks he is a God.” Then she shrugged. “Maybe he is. He’s something. Something I’ve never felt before.”
“What did he do to you, Vera? How did you get away from them?”
“I have my ways, Watcher. And they will regret ever coming here. Ponga will regret ever knowing me. Why do you think I haven’t left yet?”
“To help your people who remain?”
She gestured impatiently. “No! To rain down fire upon the shadows. To curse them. To make them wish each day of their miserable lives that they had died a long time ago.”
Her smile was so full of darkness that Slawomir couldn’t help but take a shocked step back. He blinked, and she was once again Vera. Only Vera. Still, his mouth dried up, and he had to attempt to speak several times before actually getting the words out. “You can do nothing, sweet. I’m going to take you away.”
“’Fraid not, sweet. But you can help me kick some ass, if you want.”
He grabbed his weapons from the ground. Sternly, he stared at her. “You are to leave with me, Vera. I have horses. Once I have led you to safety, I’ll come back for Mila and whatever villagers have survived.”
She stared at him, her mouth a round little O. “Mila! Mila is here? Why?”
“She came back for her shadow, and to see to her people.”
“The Ednian just let her skip away?”
“Hardly. She drugged him. I thought perhaps she could convince you of my feelings for you and that you’d—”
Her laughter, mocking and deep, rang through the clearing. “I’ll be damned. Mila came back. She drugged him, you say! I’ll be damned.”
“Quiet, Vera. You’ll bring the shadows down upon us before I can get you away.”
“I can’t believe you’re willing to just leave her here.”
His eyes narrowed at the accusation, the downright judgment in her tone. “I will come back once I’ve seen to your safety, Vera.”
“You’ll never make it back, Slawomir. Lake will take off your head. Even I know that.”
He pressed his lips together. Damn woman, she was going to be a handful; that was a fact. But she was truthful. “I can worry right now about no one but you, Vera.”
“It’s not in you to just walk away.”
He sighed. “We need a plan.”
She smiled. “I knew you’d come around, sexy.” She slapped his ass.
He grabbed her wrist and jerked her to him. “Shut up, woman.”
“Don’t you—”
He captured her lips with his, shutting her up.
Chapter Nineteen
The days and nights blended together, a thick, murky milk in which floated chunks of fear, confusion, and terrible knowledge.
Cho didn’t visit her again, but early one morning, a shadow strode into the kitchen where she’d been relegated. He pushed aside the shadows who’d been ordered to watch her and looked down his rather long nose at her. “Come, dog.” When she moved too slowly, he snapped his fingers. “Quickly!”
Exhausted and starving, she could do little but growl and give a halfhearted lunge toward him before some shadows laughingly shoved her away. She barely had enough strength to remain standing. They starved her, she knew, to keep her under control. Perhaps wherever they were taking her she’d be given some food. She could have happily swallowed a raw, flopping fish, bones and all.
It wasn’t only the lack of food that sapped her strength, but the constant, agonizing fear. Last night someone had stumbled into the kitchen, chased by a half dozen giggling shadows. It had taken her several heart-stopping moments before she’d recognized the poor creature as Creasy.
His expression hadn’t changed when he spotted her. There was no recognition in his eyes. The shadows chased him from the room, and she closed her eyes in grateful relief. At least she hadn’t had to watch what they did to him.
The shadow prodded her from the house, and she shielded her eyes from the brightness of the day. Though it was overcast and gloomy, she’d become unaccustomed to light in the few days she’d been held in councilor’s dark house.
“Where are you taking me? Where is Cho?”
No one answered her or even glanced at her. Prodding her quickly along as though they were on the most important errand of their long lives, they delivered her, at last, to the meanest house in the village.
The hut they pushed her into was a dark cave of a house, half buried beneath the ground. The old house had fallen into disrepair, and no one had ever dared to repair it. Spirits lived here, the elders believed. Spirits that would suck a man’s soul from his body if he messed with this chosen residence.
Not so strange then that the soulless shadows would chose this house in which to stash their leader.
When she entered the hut, her throat closed, her eyes watered, and her heart beat thick, sluggish beats of desperation. Immediately she tried to back out of the house, but the shadows refused her. Hands at the small of her back pushed her, so hard she stumbled and fell, fell at the feet of the shadow she knew immediately was the ancient master of the shadows. She glanced at his face then away again, as quickly as her numb mind would allow her to.
The shadows stepped back, silent and respectful. The one who had forced her to bow to him raised a slightly shaking hand, as though asking for permission to speak.
The master ignored him, and though she couldn’t bear to look into the dark holes that passed for eyes in his cruel, horrifying face, Mila could feel his gaze upon her, freezing her, sending sensations like millions of spiders over her skin.
“Comely,” he whispered, his voice creaking and somehow terrible with disuse.
She looked up then, and the hideous nothingness in his gaze chilled her, froze her thoughts in her mind, and wrung from her throat a moan of protest at being in the presence of something so very, very evil.
He smiled. The loose skin on his face moved as though tiny insects lived within the folds, and she was suddenly quite sure they did. He sat upon a rotting chair in the middle of the room, and when her frightened gaze skittered away from him, she saw heaps of unmoving shadows lying in the corners of the room, as though they’d been used for something she dared not dwell on, and then tossed carelessly away.
“Look at me,” he said.
She could not. Looking into his face, especially his eyes, drained her will and froze her heart. She could not.
She buried her face in her palms and screamed silently for Lake. He must come. He must save his child. Even if he hated her for running, he would save his child. She prayed that the Gods lend wings to his horse. She feared her mind would soon break, split from her body and run screaming away from this pit of despair in which she sat.
“Look at me.”
Oh, that voice, that horrifying, wicked voice. “Leave me be,” she meant to yell, but her voice came out as a whisper, sliding between the fingers she held tightly over her face.
She heard his sigh, as gentle as a spring breeze. “Child, you need not fear me. I am incapable of hurting such as you. I merely seek your attentions. I wish to look into the deep, lovely pools of your eyes and bask in the innocent glow of your flawless face. You cannot deny me that, can you?”
So desperate was she, so full of hope, she made herself believe him. It was either that or go mad. Slowly, she lowered her hands. Lifting her face, she managed to force her gaze to his mouth, and no farther.
“Good girl, good girl. Tell me. What do they call you?”
She swallowed, swallowed again, and finally the word came. “Mila.”
“You are pure, Meee…la. I have great plans for you. You may express gratitude.”
She retched, earning a sharp kick from the cruel shadow who had forced her to bow to him.
Before she could blink, the master suddenly moved, streaking toward the shadow who had hurt her. The unfortu
nate shadow screamed and died before the shriek had ended. The master had nearly taken his head off with a flash of sharp silver he’d secreted in his robes.
He knelt down beside her, and despite her horror, she was shocked that someone so old could move so easily. “I apologize for my oafish minion, Mila.”
She thought the skin of her face would turn to ice and crack beneath his frigid breath. “Let me go.”
He peered into her face, smiling. “But no. I will have you.”
She scrambled away from him. “You disgust me!”
He threw back his head and howled with laughter, and the shadows joined in, their own voices forced and fearful. As suddenly as it had begun, the laughter stopped. He tilted his head and stared at her. “I do not care.”
He opened his mouth wide, wider than could surely have been possible, and his fangs dropped with a snap. “I hunger for innocence, you see. I thirst for the blood of life.” He edged toward her. “I will have yours. And for a time, a short, sweet time, I will live again.”
She didn’t care what he meant by that. The only thing that mattered to her was somehow escaping him before he hooked those sharp, yellowed fangs into her body.
It was useless to try to fight him, but her reflexes weren’t listening to logic. Jumping up, she kicked him in the face so hard his head snapped back, and for a long shocked moment, no one moved.
Except for her. She ran for the door with a swiftness that nearly matched the shadow’s speed, her frantic stare planted firmly on the door. If she stared hard enough and ignored all else, she would reach that escape. She had to.
He appeared by some wicked magic, standing against the door, his expression a combination of rage and amusement. His eyes narrowed, and full of slyness and contempt, he stretched out his arms to catch her.
“No,” she screamed. Her voice echoed, rushing between the cracks in the old door and shot into the freedom of the bleak, gray day.
Chapter Twenty
Lake shuddered as an icy finger of doom scraped his spine. His stomach clenched, and the metallic taste of fear coated his tongue. He kicked his horse into an even faster run. Throwing his head back, he screamed her name to the heavens, beseeching the Gods to lend a hand.
“Fly, Sister, fly,” he whispered to the horse, flashing for an instant to more carefree days. His mother had given him this horse, and he’d named the big stallion Sister Lily just to peeve his older sister, who’d raged for days over his naming the horse after her. He’d never changed it, and now the whole family knew his horse as Sister.
Something was wrong. He could feel it, could taste it, and he feared he was going to be too late. Too late. The two most hateful words in existence.
If something happened to Mila, to his child, he would never forgive himself. Groaning, he leaned into his mount’s neck, urging him ever onward, faster, faster.
It was easier to deal with rage rather than fear, so he concentrated on the face of his watcher. Slawomir would pay dearly for his betrayal.
He thundered into the Myaian woods, his only thought finding Mila and getting rid of the terrible fear that had gripped his gut. When Slawomir jumped into his path, waving his arms madly, his first desire was to simply lean from the horse and run the man through with his sword. But no, Slawomir deserved a slower death than that.
He jumped from the horse before it’d halted, his rage so loud in his ears he neither heard nor cared to hear Slawomir’s frantic words. Before he could reach Slawomir, arms slid around his waist from behind, and for a moment, he forgot his anger. Mila.
When he turned and grabbed her into his arms, it was not Mila he held but the vixen, Vera. He pushed her away from him and once again started for Slawomir.
“Ednian, wait! You must listen or Mila will die!”
Her words halted him like a short chain, and he stomped back to her, wrapping her skinny arms in a tight grip. He shook her, perhaps too hard, for the watcher dared interfere.
“Release her, Lake! She is only trying to—”
Lake reached out, almost casually, and sent Slawomir flying with a clip to the side of his head. He then looked back down at Vera. “Where is she?”
She glared at him. “If you’d but listen, you Ednian idiot, I would tell you!”
He clenched his fists, trying hard to control himself. “Speak then, woman.”
Slawomir staggered to her side, his own glare outshining even hers. “Mila is in the hands of the shadows, and if we cannot find a way to get to her, she will die.”
“If she isn’t already,” Vera added.
Lake looked down his nose at both of them, full of contempt. “Why have you not gone to get her?”
They glanced at each other, their uneasiness making him nervous. “He has her,” Vera said.
“He who? Cho? I will cut the little bastard in half.”
“Not Cho, Heie. H-E-I-E. The Master of the shadows. He is…ancient. Powerful. You will not defeat him with fists and fury, Ednian. And he has Mila.”
A movement caught his eye, and Ponga stepped from behind a tree. Vera motioned him forward. “Ponga has decided he would rather go against his master than me. Smart little fuck.” Her voice was cold. “He told us everything, and with his help, we will save Mila and destroy the bastards.”
Lake grabbed Ponga by his ragged shirt and lifted him into the air. “Tell me.”
“Mila is all right,” the little shadow squeaked, his fingers digging into Lake’s hand. “For now. We must hurry. Master is taking her blood.”
“Now?” Lake roared, dropping Ponga. “Why the fuck are we standing here then? I’m going to get her.”
Slawomir dared grab his arm. “Lake, if you go charging in there, you will secure her death. We cannot be careless. Not this time.”
Silence filled Lake’s mind, and he stared at Slawomir. “When she is safe, Watcher, I will see to your death.”
Slawomir paled, but held his ground. “I didn’t know there was danger, Lake. I came only for this one.” He pointed his chin at Vera. “Mila thought to help me and see to her people. That was her right.”
Lake smiled and knew it was as full of darkness as his heart. “It was not your right to take her. For your betrayal, you will die. You risk not only her, but my son.”
Vera gasped. “She carries your babe?”
Lake glared at her. “She does.”
She put a hand to her mouth as Ponga buried his face in his hands. “You did not tell me, Ponga!” She lashed out at him, burying her fingers in his matted hair and shaking him. “This is why Heie takes her blood so eagerly!”
Lake pulled her from the shadow. “What do you mean? How does he know?”
“They know.” Her voice was full of deadly certainty. “They know. He will not wish her dead, so…” She shrugged, unwilling to say the thing Lake knew she wanted to say. It was good that Mila was pregnant, for the master would keep her alive until she delivered.
Ponga spoke, his voice so quiet Lake had to strain to hear him. “He will live on her blood until the child is born. Then he will raise the child as his and condition it to be his blood donor forever. His human. If it lives. Not often do they live, but Master does not stop trying.”
Lake walked a few steps to lean against a tree, suddenly weak. He’d known in his gut that the shadows were evil, but he’d had no idea just how evil. “What is your weakness?” he asked Ponga. “How do we kill your master?”
“Fire,” Ponga said. “We burn him.”
Lake pushed away from the tree and straightened his shoulders. He whistled for Sister and grabbed the weapons he’d brought; a short double edged axe his father had created for him, a powerful flail with multiple heads, and his favorite weapon, a long, deadly sword he called Baby. Sheathing the axe and sword, he gripped the flail with a tight grip.
“Let’s go light a fire,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I am not without sympathy,” the monstrous master said. “If you will but gaze into my eyes, I can
make it so you will enjoy my attentions.” He ran his gnarled fingers down her cheek, smiling at her struggles.
The shadows held her securely, and she could only cringe with horror as the master prepared to take her blood. She knew, knew without a doubt that once he started, he’d never stop. She’d become a slave, a dead husk he kept alive so he could feed. And her child…
She renewed her struggles. Screaming with rage and fear, she managed to rip one arm from the grasp of the shadows, and without stopping to think, she stiffened her fingers and rammed them directly into the black eyes of the master.
The shadows restraining her yelled in horror and rode her to the floor, some of them sitting on her to hold her down. The master’s screams bounced off the walls of her mind, and she hoped with everything in her that she’d blinded the bastard, and that he hurt.
“Give me her blood that I might heal,” he shrieked, and the shadows lifted her like a weightless sacrifice and bore her to him.
She could do nothing more. Harsh hands gripped her hair and forced her head to the side, offering her neck to the blinded master. More shadows guided the master and his eager mouth to her, gently, reverently.
“Drink,” they urged, their voices so soft. So dark. “Drink. Drink. Drink.”
He drew back his lips and prepared to strike, a black snake of her deepest nightmares, and she screamed. She had dared injure this horror of a man, and he would see that she suffered for it.
When the door shattered, for a brief second, she thought it was her mind, breaking beneath the horror. But the shadows released her so quickly she fell to the floor, trampling her, her blood forgotten.
She heard him then, calling her name, his voice a roar of familiar rage. Lake had arrived.
The room was chaos, lit with what seemed like a hundred torches, thick smoke clouding the air, burning her lungs. She crawled toward his voice, afraid to rise and be spotted by the master.
When hands encircled her arms and tried to tug her to her feet, she fought mindlessly, her only thought on reaching Lake.
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