by Laken Cane
And she released him.
He got slowly to his feet. “Holy shit.” His voice was quiet. “Holy fucking shit.” He stared at her, then at the crew, then shook his head. “I feel it. I feel the…” He tapped his head. “I’m alone in here again. I’m fucking…I’m me again.” He stared down at her, his fists clenched, his eyes wild. “Fuck you, fucking monster cunt!”
Lex reached him before any of the others could so much as twitch. She slapped his face, hard, then began beating him with her fists. “Don’t you dare,” she screamed. “Don’t you dare, Levi-fucking-Montrosa.”
He held his hands up to fend her off, backing away, his eyes wide and horrified. “God, Rune. I didn’t mean it.”
Ellis, out of breath, a hand to his chest, ran into the clearing. “Here,” he yelled. “What? What?”
Gunnar knelt beside Rune. “Give it to me. Let me take it all away.”
“Back off, Gunnar,” Jack yelled.
Rune put her hands over her too sensitive ears. “Shut up. Everybody just shut the fuck up.”
Into the sudden silence she climbed to her feet. “I want to walk for a while.” She held up her hand when Strad stood. “Alone. I just need to be alone for a little while. I’ll meet you all back at RISC in a couple hours. We need to get back to work.”
Then she walked away. She let the thoughts come, the grief, the worry. It wasn’t as good a purge as getting fucked up, but it was all she had.
She was too exhausted to even hurt herself.
So she walked, deep into Wormwood, alone but for a few watchful Others hiding in the shadows.
She didn’t care if there was danger. Her mind was numb and she was full of confusion. The witch’s magic was inside her, and she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to rule the dead. God, no.
Did she?
Gunnar might take it, but she couldn’t hand such power over to a ghoul. That’d be like handing a loaded gun to a kid.
It was her responsibility.
Maybe she did want it, if she could be honest with herself. She wanted to rule, to be queen, to put down the zombies and the vampires and to learn how to harness her stolen power into something fucking great. Yeah. Maybe she wanted it.
She put the back of hand to her mouth to keep in a sob. Or a laugh. She wasn’t sure which. “Something is wrong with me,” she muttered.
As if that was news.
When the attack came, it came with such force and suddenness that her mind went blank and her body tried to curl into a tight knot of protection.
She scrabbled at the hard earth as her claws managed to fight their way a couple of inches from her fingers. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
Lying on her side she saw the end of a long, black blade erupting from her chest. Her heart. She’d been stabbed through the heart.
Staked.
Hadn’t someone asked her what her weakness was, once? She hadn’t known what that weakness was.
She did now.
She fought to see in the darkness, a darkness the moon did little to brighten. There were few lights that deep in the cemetery.
Someone stood above her, and just as it occurred to her who had attacked her, he drove his fangs into her neck.
Nicolas Llodra.
He sucked hard and fast, and she could feel the blood leaving her body. And something else. He’s taking the magic.
The thought of the witch’s magic in Llodra’s hands made her struggle, but it was a pathetic struggle. He’d known what to do to incapacitate her.
He’d known everything.
Had he counted on her feeding from the witch? Had he been planning this even before he’d taken Ellis?
Nicolas Llodra was mad, but he’d been incredibly smart.
And he was draining her. She could die with a blade in her heart and a bloodless body. She could.
Peace? Peace for me?
She stopped struggling.
Peace.
Really, that was all anybody ever wanted.
But Gunnar wasn’t ready to let her go.
She heard him calling, his voice high and terrified, as he ran into the dark to save her.
Leave me alone, Gunnar.
Llodra pulled his fangs from her neck, his chin glistening with fresh blood, and stared down at her. “Your blood is spectacular,” he whispered. “Not just hers, but yours. Not even Damascus can rule me. I’m going to find her, and kill her, and it’s all because of you. No one else could have done it.” And gently, he kissed her cheek.
“Rune,” Gunnar called, and like a skinny torpedo, he flew at Llodra, a silver blade flashing in the scanty moonlight.
“Ah,” Nicolas said. “Your knight comes. But he is too late, isn’t he?” There was no fear in his eyes. Absolutely no fear.
Gunnar rammed the vampire, his fury and fear tangible and thick.
“Stop,” Llodra said, casually.
But Gunnar the Ghoul did not stop. “I cannot be ruled by such as you,” he said, his voice full of contempt.
Rune lay unmoving, drained and dying. The blade in her heart sat solidly, a block of ice she could not budge.
Llodra leaped off her, deflecting Gunnar’s blade with his arm. He screamed with shock when the blade sliced through his flesh.
“I have the magic of Damascus,” he screeched. “I rule the dead.”
“Not this dead, you mad fool,” Gunnar said calmly. “Not this dead.”
He threw the blade with force and precision, and Rune watched from her bed on the ground as it buried to the hilt into Llodra’s face.
Damascus’s magic might have given him power over the dead, just as it had her, but it did not make him immune to pain.
And it would not make him immune from staking.
Rune wondered vaguely how Gunnar could handle silver. He was carrying it—had thrown it at Llodra, whose face was even now smoking and melting before he finally pulled the blade free and flung it away in disgust.
Silver did not seem to affect Gunnar, just as it did not affect her. Or her monster.
The vampire had not staked her with silver, but a black blade. Maybe obsidian.
Llodra slammed Gunnar into a crumbling old tombstone and Gunnar rolled away immediately, barely avoiding Llodra’s stiffened fingers as they attempted to pierce his chest.
Rune felt like she moved through thick, sticky tar as she turned to her head to watch the two battling Others.
She caught misty glimpses of other vampires—Marta’s children. They now belonged to Llodra.
They would die with Llodra.
Tottering precariously on the thin edge between life and death, between chaos and peace, she let herself wish for darkness to come claim her.
But only for a moment.
Llodra might have sucked most of the life out of her, but there was something left that he couldn’t touch. That something, that spark, wasn’t in her blood, wasn’t in the magic.
It was her. Rune Alexander.
And she would never give up.
Not really.
Chapter Thirty
Gunnar was giving her all the help he could by keeping the bastard vampire away from her.
She would save herself.
The men struggled on, the sounds of their battle continuing to rage through the night. Wormwood watched balefully, and she could feel Others creeping closer, like buzzards awaiting their turn at the spoils.
The blade in her heart held her paralyzed and frozen.
Llodra has staked me.
But she was not dead, likely because she wasn’t a vampire. Not only a vampire, anyway.
But Llodra had staked her.
Yes, that was the only way he could control her, could get at the magic that would free him forever from those such as Damascus and even Rune.
But…
And she let herself think it once. Just once, she let the child inside her, the needy little kid who cried and begged for someone, anyone, murmur the word…
Daddy.
&n
bsp; Her daddy had staked her.
Then she stomped it into the ground, beat it ferociously, and left it there in the graveyard of her mind.
She was not a child. She was Rune Alexander, super monster, and she needed no one.
Gunnar was holding his own against the master vampire, somehow, but if she didn’t help him Llodra would surely destroy him.
She could no longer see them as they tumbled and streaked through the graveyard, locked in a battle they couldn’t win, should only run away from.
But neither one of them seemed willing to do that.
From the darkness something crept closer to her—she could feel its heat and hear its quiet panting. A dog, then, or a wolf.
Well, fuck.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her hand, trying to will the frozen flesh to move. A finger might have twitched. She thought it did.
But she opened her eyes when she felt the wolf’s warm breath upon her skin. The beast licked carefully around the wound in her chest, then drew back to stare at her with glowing eyes.
She couldn’t talk, couldn’t make her mouth move to form the words. Don’t fucking eat me, you son of a bitch.
But then, she recognized it.
This wolf had once belonged to her.
Sherry’s sister. Sherry the murderer, the betrayer, the dead bald girl who had allowed COS to steal Strad’s son.
Amanda. The wolf’s name was Amanda.
Rune hadn’t checked on the wolf pack since she’d handed them over to a man better suited to lead them, a man she’d fought in the woods of Hawthorne.
A million years ago.
Amanda once more began licking, loosening up dried blood and gore around the knife blade, before finally grasping the hilt with her teeth.
Rune would have screamed if she could have, but it wasn’t Amanda’s fault. If she was going to get the stake out, there was nothing else she could do.
So the wolf took the hilt into her mouth, and began to pull.
Because she healed quickly, her flesh had begun to knit around the blade, trying to mend the damage. It held on to the knife, and with each pull, Rune screamed in silent agony.
The wolf couldn’t pull it free, not without doing damage that may have been irreparable, even for Rune.
Amanda wasn’t a big girl, but she was a big wolf. And strong. She did the only thing left to her—she sank her teeth into the back of Rune’s pants and began to drag her through Wormwood.
Rune lost consciousness after the third time her chest scraped over the ground. When she came to, she had no idea how close to the gates Amanda had managed to drag her.
But she heard something, something so sweet and familiar she knew she was going to survive the night.
Ellis singing.
He’d waited for her. For whatever reason, her crew had gone but Ellis had stayed. Stayed there to wait for her.
His voice rose into the darkness, guiding the wolf and giving Rune comfort. She didn’t need a father, she didn’t need a mother, and she didn’t need to know why they’d abandoned her
It no longer mattered.
She had Ellie and her crew, and that was more than enough.
And she had this wolf, this girl Amanda who risked herself to get Rune away from the vampire.
She couldn’t see him, but she knew the exact moment Ellis saw the wolf bringing her to him.
His song faltered, then stopped, and then he screamed.
Inside, she smiled.
He gently pulled her around when the wolf released her, his face pale in the cold lights of the graveyard. “Oh Rune, oh, Rune,” he kept repeating.
Amanda shifted. “Get her out of here. The vampire is still fighting the ghoul, but…” She shook her head. “Get her out of here.”
“Vampire,” Ellis said. “A vampire did this?”
“The mad master. Maybe for her blood. He staked her, then nearly drained her. I got a taste. It’s like…it’s like nothing else. I have to go before he comes.” And without waiting for Ellis to say another word, she shifted and fled so quickly it was almost as though she’d never been there.
Ellis tried to lift her into his arms, but he wasn’t much bigger than she was and nowhere near as strong. “I’m not going to drag you.” Then, “Hang on, Rune. Hang on, honey.” He ran to the gates, slipped outside, and punched in a number on his cell.
“Hurry,” she heard him say. “She’s been staked.” Then he sprinted back to her and gently eased his legs under her head. As they sat there, he pulled her gun from its holster. “He’s coming, Rune. It’ll just be few minutes.” His voice was thick with tears.
She wanted to reassure him, to let him know that she was going to be fine. That she was better than ever. That she no longer had the poisonous magic inside her.
That she loved him.
But she couldn’t speak and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. In the next second Llodra was there, and he was ready for dessert.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Rune,” he screamed, “I couldn’t find you.”
As though he’d lost his kid in a shopping mall.
He grabbed Ellie’s shoulder, jerked him into the air, then tossed him away.
“No,” Ellis screamed, and she could only pray he’d lost the gun. If he shot Llodra, the vampire would kill him without a second thought.
God, Ellie. Stay the fuck down. Please. Stay the fuck down.
Llodra squatted beside her and lifted her upper body off the ground. “The blade shouldn’t have stayed in so long,” he chided.
He turned suddenly at a noise and dropped her back to the ground, then left her in a blur of motion. She heard a sound like a sledge hammer hitting a melon.
Then Llodra was back with her.
Ellie.
“This is going to hurt,” Llodra said. There was nothing tentative about his pull, nothing hesitant. He simply grabbed the hilt and yanked the knife from her back.
She felt her insides sticking to and sliding out with the blade. Her heart stuttered, then began to beat uncertainly.
Each beat sent a throbbing pain through her entire body, until her body was the heartbeat.
She moaned, surprising herself.
“Oh you’re fine,” Llodra said.
“Fuck you, buddy,” she whispered.
“I had to do it.”
“Ellis.” She still couldn’t move well, but she could move. She lifted her fingers to her chest, holding her palm over the wound. Her back felt like an elephant had stomped on it.
“First things first.” He lifted his wrist to his mouth and opened a vein. “Drink before you make liars of all those who believe you immortal.”
She turned her face away. “Get away from me.”
He grabbed her chin and jerked her face toward him, then pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips. When she refused to open he squeezed harder, and then harder. She heard her jaw crack and too weak to fight him, opened her mouth.
At the first taste, she slapped her shame into the shadows and drank eagerly. No matter what, she had to have blood. Even if it was fucking Llodra’s. It slid into her system, into her very soul.
But he didn’t let her feed long. Just long enough to ensure that she’d be able to get her ass off the ground.
“You’ll be addicted and I’ll get the witch’s power,” she said, half believing it.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The dead cannot be addicted and the magic of Damascus is secure.” He tapped his chest. “In here.”
“Ellis,” she said. She really didn’t care if Llodra did or did not become addicted. She didn’t even care if some magic seeped back into her body. “Where is Ellis?”
The master stood, a pale monster covered with blood and gore. “I must say goodbye. The sun comes.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I do not know if your friend lives, but if he does I will keep my word. As long as you keep yours.”
Then he was gone.
Terrified, she struggled to sit up. “Ellis,” she called, b
ut no one would have heard her croaky voice. “Ellie!”
She dragged herself to her feet, stood with her hand over her heart, and began searching. She found him in seconds—not by sight but by scent. Ellis smelled of vanilla and warmth and when she concentrated, her nose led her to him.
He lay sprawled against a tree. The entire left side of his face was swollen and bloody, extending over his temple. Using every single bit of her growing strength, she lifted him into her arms.
Strad’s truck roared up to the gates just as she stepped through. He was at her side in seconds, his face grim.
“Take him,” Rune said, perhaps reminding them both of a time not long before when she’d carried his son out of the burning COS church.
He gently gathered Ellis to him, holding him with one arm, guiding Rune to his truck with the other. “Ellis called me. I thought you…”
“Llodra staked me. He and Gunnar…Oh fuck me. Gunnar!”
He held on to her. “No, Rune. Whatever happened has happened. You’re not going back in there. Come on,” he urged, when she resisted. “We have to take care of Ellis.”
She could barely move. Her body groaned in agony with each step. Llodra had taken the blade out, but her back didn’t seem to know that.
But she was healing. Healing from a staking.
She stood by the truck as Strad put Ellis into the seat and buckled him in. Ellis moaned and stirred, and the berserker backed away so Rune could reach her injured friend.
His eyes were glassy and unfocused when he opened them.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for not leaving me.” But really, there were no words.
He threw up suddenly, and she backed away to look at Strad. “Get him to the hospital.”
“Rune. No.”
She moved into his arms and flinched when her wound pressed against him. “You know I have to go back, Berserker.”
“Llodra—”
“Is gone.
“You take Ellis, I’ll find the ghoul.”
She drew away. “Go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She didn’t wait for him to argue further—Ellis needed the hospital and Gunnar needed her.
Jogging back into the graveyard, she forced her moans to stay inside where they belonged. But fuck, she hurt.
