The wards had me functionally paralyzed. My mind was beyond panic, and saw the entire thing from the cool, detached viewpoint of "Oh."
"You killed Thorpe," I said.
Lockhart carefully skirted the edge of the binding he had imprisoned me in and brought out a small case that held soldering iron and a roll of shiny wire. "Why, yes, Detective, I did, after the flaming sidewalk failed to do the trick."
"You really thought you could scare me off from your master?" I snarled. "Your games don't impress me, you bastard."
Lockhart, closed the case and tossed it aside, smiling grimly. "Your problem," he said, plugging in the soldering iron and setting it on the table, "is that you don't take a hint." He tested the temperature against his finger, frowned, and turned the power up. "I told you to leave Alistair Duncan alone. I shot you in the arm with a Hexed silver bullet—listen to me, I'm starting to talk like a plain human. My point being, any sane woman would have given it up. But not you. You just kept hunting him, like a wolf and a wounded deer, and frankly I'm at the end of my chain with your interference."
"What did Duncan do to you?" I sneered. “Torture? Threats? Or did he just dangle a big fat wad of cash and the chance to be a sick son of a bitch in front of you? You seem like you'd enjoy that."
Lockhart shook his head. "Not even close to it. You fail to understand, Detective—"
"I understand," I cut him off with a snarl. "I understand that you chose to become right hand to a man who murders innocent women—sacrifices them. And I understand you probably enjoy it as much as he does."
"Detective," said Lockhart impatiently as he took the iron off its stand and held it to the end of the wire, "what part of this are you not hearing? I do not work for Alistair Duncan. I mean to dispose of Alistair Duncan."
Nothing like having your righteous indignation cut off in midspeech to grab your attention. Even when I thought it couldn't get any worse, Lockhart kept right on rolling.
"What in the name of all things Hexed are you babbling about?" Dmitri demanded from the floor. The hot wire came close to him and he winced.
"Let me guess," I said flippantly, hoping it would distract Lockhart for a few more seconds. "Our friend here is a rogue daemon hunter wandering the night seeking revenge on all things magickally naughty."
"Wrong," Lockhart said with a thin smile, "except for one thing." He held the melting wire over Dmitri's arm and let it drip onto skin. It sizzled and Dmitri screamed. I could almost feel it on my own arm—hot, searing, nerve-burning silver. "I am a sick son of a bitch."
"Hex you!" I shouted at him. "You want me, then deal with me!"
"I've been Regan Lockhart for some time," he continued conversationally, ignoring my screams. "Only a bit less than the time Alistair Duncan made the mistake of thinking that he could be the one to call the daemon known as Meggoth. Thirty years, to be precise, waiting for Duncan to learn and for the circumstances and dates and times and tides and Inferno knows what else to be right for a calling. I've lived in this stinking world for too long to let Meggoth escape me again, Detective, and I won't have a pathetic Insoli were stand in the way of my hunt."
I stared at him, wanting to tear his throat out, which he interpreted as, What?
"Make no mistake," said Lockhart as he started to melt the wire again, "you've put up a very good fight. Between your interfering and those freaks Duncan has under his thumb, I almost lost the daemon. Fifty-seven years is enough time in this realm. I won't lose him."
The wire came close to Dmitri again and I screamed, "Don't!"
"No, no," Lockhart chastised. "You haven't learned your lesson quite yet."
"Leave him alone or I will rip your throat out," I snarled. "I swear on the moon."
Lockhart turned one eye on me.
"Detective Wilder, an Insoli were does not threaten a watchman. Shut your mouth."
I bared my teeth at him but kept quiet. Lockhart had all the aces. My only hope was to figure out what the Hex he wanted.
"Duncan mistook Meggoth for a true daemon, a resident of my jurisdiction, not one of the Abandoned. Meggoth has wandered your world since the Descent, hiding in the spaces between magick and mortality, waiting and watching and trying to find her since his exile."
The third time he came at Dmitri with the wire, Dmitri lashed out with his feet, trying to bite, kick, knee— anything to hurt Lockhart. Lockhart jumped out of the way, and the only thing Dmitri accomplished was falling forward into a prone position.
"The Abandoned are fugitives," said Lockhart. "Refuse. I was dispensed to bring Meggoth to our empire for punishment, and I have become very short on patience." He came to the edge of the circle and caressed the dancing wards with his fingers, making them crackle. "We are both hunters, Luna, relentlessly pursuing a target." He stood up again and took out the gun I remembered from the night he had shot me. "Unfortunately, you hold something that I must possess in order to subdue mine."
He bent over Dmitri with the wire again, this time touching it directly on to the skin.
"I'll tell you!" I jerked desperately against the binding. "Just stop! What do you want?"
Dmitri panted against the pain, bent almost into a fetal position. "Luna, don't… worry… about me."
"Touching," said Lockhart, reheating the wire and turning to me. "I seek Marcus Levinson's spellbook, the one he copied from the original tome written by the blood witch who sealed Meggoth in your world, safe from the Descent. Where's this book? Speak."
To tell would be to set Lockhart on Sunny. I looked to Dmitri's paper-white face and then down. "I can't tell you that."
Lockhart pulled out the gun, the one I remembered from the night he shot me. "Then we move to the next step." He chambered a round and held it against Dmitri's kneecap. "I mean you no disrespect," he told Dmitri. "Weres are a low form, but nonetheless you are one of us. Unfortunately, your companion and I are at cross purposes. We both want Duncan and Meggoth. I have—what do your plain humans call it—privilege of seniority?"
"She'll never tell you," Dmitri promised him. "She's stubborn as a phased were with a rare steak."
"Detective Wilder does not have a lot of options," Lockhart told him with that damn smug grin. "Either she refuses to tell me, ensures your death, and lives the rest of her life as a cop killer, or she speaks up like a sensible person and takes her chances on my goodwill." He ground the gun barrel deeper into Dmitri's knee and cocked his head at me. "Which is it, Detective?"
I have never begged for my life. Even in situations when I probably should have, I've never broken down, never given in to that deeper than deep belly-shaking fear that imminent death brings over a person.
But this wasn't another person. This was Dmitri. When Lockhart put his finger on the trigger I thought about Olya first. She would take losing her brother hard and badly. Sunny would cry for Dmitri. He would have to die knowing that he'd never fulfilled his pack duty to Lilia. According to weres, that meant he would never walk in an afterlife that held any kind of happiness.
Lockhart flicked off the Glock's safety.
"It's upstairs!" I blurted. "In Sunny's room."
I tried not to show that I had been holding my breath when Lockhart took the gun away from Dmitri's leg and holstered it. He reached into the circle and clamped his hand around my wrist. "Show me."
It was a horrible gamble, foolish and desperate, but I remembered the scream that had come from him when I smashed his face in with my tea mug. Lockhart felt pain, and he felt it when I swept up the hot soldering iron with my free hand and jammed it against his cheek. He threw me away from him, and my arm hit the outside of the warding circle. Pain raced across my entire frame like 220 volts lighting up a Christmas tree. I yanked my arm out of the binding wards and saw a neat circle of flesh seared away.
Lockhart doubled over, breathing hard through his nose but making no sound. "Bitch," he ground out.
I crawled to Dmitri and untied him with my good hand. "Nothing personal, Regan. After all, it's no
t even your face."
"You have no idea what you've landed in the middle of," he whispered. "Meggoth will kill you, and he will enjoy it. His sacrifices are finished and he can finally get what he wants. Why do you think I tried so desperately to bring him back?"
"I don't care, Lockhart," I said. "Alistair tried to kill me. You tried to kill me. At this point, I'm not differentiating. Take your holy daemon hunt and go Hex yourself."
Lockhart's smile was becoming decidedly creepy.
"You stupid were," he said. "Someone should have put you down at the beginning." Most of the skin on one of his cheeks had peeled away and the muscles twitched when he spoke. He picked up his gun and aimed one-handed, covering his burned face with the other. "But it doesn't matter now, Officer. You told me what I needed."
"Oh, I totally did not," I scoffed, mustering up a laugh. "You think I'd really tell you where the spellbook is? Get real."
Lockhart's face twisted and he chambered the gun, leaving smears of his own blood on the barrel. "Where is it?"
Behind me, Dmitri spoke up. "Leave her alone."
Lockhart swung the gun to Dmitri. "You are in no position to give orders, Mr. Sandovsky."
Dmitri got to his knees, shoulders hunched. With a roar, red fur erupted along his backbone and he fanged out, eyes going gold.
I took that as my cue to do something diversionlike and slammed a boot into Lockhart's kneecap, sending him to the ground. He screamed for a change, and the sound was almost musical.
I disarmed him, twisting his wrist almost completely around and applying pressure. When our eyes met the gun was against his forehead.
"You're not going to kill me," he rasped. "You don't have it in you."
I pressed the barrel of that gun against his skin hard enough to leave a mark, wanting so badly to pull the trigger and pay him back for the misery he caused. I wanted Regan Lockhart to hurt as I had hurt, I wanted him to feel pain and terror and helplessness.
The were commanded me to kill and take my dominance back.
"You're right," I finally said, swallowing hard to keep my voice even. My hand shook, but I thumbed the hammer down slowly, deliberately removed my finger from the gun's trigger guard. "You're right, Regan. I won't kill you."
I dropped the gun from his forehead and stared into his black, expressionless eyes, the eyes of someone faking human emotion and not doing a very good job. The glamour rolled back and his skin became waxy and hair-stiff, the barest shade of human.
"Don't you think for a second I don't have it in me," I hissed at him. "The only reason you're still alive is that you're not worth my fucking time."
He started to speak, but I stepped away and let Dmitri come forward.
The sounds Lockhart made when he saw Dmitri as a were, when Dmitri landed on him and put teeth to his throat, were indelible. I will hear them until I die.
Screams grated from his ruined throat until he had no more air or blood in his borrowed body. When Lockhart had bled out on my living room floor, Dmitri de-phased, naked and blood-covered.
"For Lilia, bastard," he said, and gave the body a kick.
"Pants?" I offered. It was the only coherent sentence I could think of. Pretend everything is normal and it will be. If I gave in to the building panic I would very likely spend the rest of my life in a padded room, wearing pajamas with Velcro fasteners.
Dmitri pulled his jeans back on and started threading his belt. "God damn," he said. "That was uncomfortable." He cast one last look at Lockhart. "He should have known better than to fuck with us, right?" The nervous musky smell coming off him told me he was as freaked out as I was, but he hid it a hell of a lot better. I decided if Dmitri could play it cool, so could I.
"You did good, Luna," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I ducked out from under it.
"Tell me that when we find Alistair and lock him in a deep dark hole until the Rapture."
"And if we don't?"
I closed my eyes. "Then we have a much bigger problem and all of this will just be an amusing footnote."
Dmitri said, "You're bleeding."
The spot where my arm had touched the binding wards hurt a lot now, and the circle of seared flesh was bleeding freely.
"You are, too," I said, trying to stanch the flow with the hem of my shirt.
"Who cares about me?" said Dmitri. "Get your ass upstairs so I can have a look at you."
I started to object to the continuation of the damsel treatment, but Dmitri pointed up the stairs. "Go."
"Only if you let me look at you, too," I relented, touching the silver burn on his forearm. He hissed and yanked it away.
"Fine. Let's just stop you from dribbling all over the floor before your cousin has heart failure."
"Makes sense, because she'll totally ignore the dead daemon bounty hunter on the floor and focus right on a few blood droplets from me."
Dmitri growled, showing teeth that were still fanged. Oddly attractive, on him, I decided. I also decided he made a good point about the blood after all and let him hustle me upstairs.
Twenty-Four
In the bathroom I fetched bandages, antiseptic, and peroxide and laid them out on the edge of the tub, then held out my hand. "Arm."
"No way," said Dmitri. "You first."
"Are we really going to argue about who gets to play doctor?" I must have flushed brighter than a sunburn at high noon, because Dmitri smirked.
"Maybe I just want to touch you first," he told me in that gravel-laced voice that spoke of sheets wrinkled and stockings torn.
I swallowed hard so I wouldn't squeak. "Why?"
"Maybe I like it," he murmured. A full-body chill danced over me. Whether or not my brain allowed me to acknowledge the smoking-hot man that was Dmitri Sandovsky and what he did to me, my were and his were responding like two wildfires feeding off each other.
"You made a mistake with me, Luna," he whispered into my neck, one hand sliding up the nape and tangling in my hair.
"What?" I managed, although to this day I'll never know how I spoke.
Dmitri purred low in his throat. "You left me wanting more."
I pushed away a few inches and looked him in the eyes. His were cloudy, like old emeralds, and his cheeks were as flushed as mine. "Why do you want this so badly, Dmitri?"
He flashed me that grin that I'd seen the first time I ever met him, the one that was a perfect and impenetrable mask. "I figured if I sweet-talked you a little, you'd be more inclined to let me do what our laws demand where Lilia is concerned."
I jumped up, scattering first-aid supplies over the bathroom floor. "Damn you, Dmitri!" I yelled. "Is that what I am? A Hexed replacement?"
He at least had the grace to look ashamed. I was hot all over, and not just from what had almost happened. I had a flash of Joshua positioned over me, snake tattoo in my face, smirking like I was all his.
"Get out!" I snarled, throwing open the bathroom door. "I don't need you to clean up my scars."
Just when the night couldn't get any worse, Luna and Dmitri find an entirely new way to Hex everything. I was beyond pissed at Dmitri—this was twice he had shoved me away and twice I had felt the burning shame of rejection by an alpha. It made me feel small, vulnerable, and young.
I hated it.
Dmitri had his head in his hands, still on the edge of the tub. "Luna … I didn't mean that."
"Then stop being so gods damn selfish and listen to yourself!" I was breathing hard, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. A border of black appeared around my vision and tunneled on Sandovsky, the object of my rage. "Lilia is dead!" I screamed, thrusting my finger at him. "And it's horrible and sad and it hurts and it's not fair! But you're wasting yourself chasing after the man who did it, because you can't touch him! I can't touch him! No one can unless you put aside your asinine pack law and help me!"
Dmitri picked up the bottle of peroxide and flung it against the wall. It shattered and spread a crisp-smelling pool across the tiles. "You think I like being thi
s way?" he thundered. "Knowing I got to die to keep the pack honorable?"
"Why?" I spread my hands. "Dmitri, why do you have to die with her?" I sagged against the door frame, too exhausted and too short on plasma to hold myself up. "Pack law is Hexed and stupid. Pack law doesn't take into account that there are people still on this earth who need you." Tears pricked and I tried to fight them, but that battle was over before it started. "I need you," I whispered, and started to sob.
Dmitri stared at me for a long second, the mixture of pain and helpless rage on his face heartbreaking. Then he took my face in his rough hands and kissed me, hard.
Our mouths met and my lips were wet from crying and screaming. His were dry and warm, soft like worn velvet. He pushed into my mouth with a warm tongue, covering mine, and we kissed for what seemed like an hour, my hands claiming the skin on his back and clinging, bis tangling my hair with long thin fingers. I felt something inside of me break and burst as Dmitri pulled me flush against him, never letting go of the kiss.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled against my lips.
"Bastard," I hissed as I reached for his belt. He grinned as I freed him from his pants and stripped off my own T-shirt.
"You love it." He unzipped my jeans and slid them down to my knees, lifting me onto the edge of the sink and catching me in another kiss.
We didn't speak as Dmitri pushed himself into me and touched his hips to mine in a steady, insistent rhythm, my thighs sliding on the cold porcelain. In fact, the first sound I made was an involuntary shriek when he slid his hands under my ass and lifted me to him, sending a stab through me that tingled to the tips of my toenails.
I braced my arms against the wall, letting Dmitri hold me up as sweat broke out up and down my back and he groaned with each stroke. This was different from Joshua and from the men in the bar where I waitressed and from anything, ever. The were let go and raked her nails across Dmitri's shoulders and he howled and dropped me. I slammed the porcelain hard and slid to the floor, caring only that Dmitri and I were separated. I sprang to my feet and he instantly pinned me against the sink again, but I pushed him away hard and turned, gripped the edges of the basin, and watched in the mirror as he came up and grabbed my hipbones, leaving fingerprints.
Night Life Page 24
