Modern Magic
Page 48
“Isn’t what right?” the man called Zane asked, his words directed over my head to Clarence. Reluctantly, I left lust behind, realizing that though I’d been basking in this man for what felt like an eternity, in reality he’d crossed the room in mere seconds. Now, of course, he was answering Clarence’s question—a question about which I’d already forgotten.
“Our Lily,” Clarence said helpfully. “I was explaining that there are some things her body craves, but only a few things it actually needs.”
The man took a step closer to me, those cat eyes taking in every inch of me.
Cravings. Oh, yes. I understood all about cravings.
I clenched my muscles, forcing myself not to look away, to keep my breathing under control despite the way my blood burned in the wake of his gaze, as if he’d reached out and stroked me, his fingertips skipping red-hot over my skin.
“Oui, ma chérie,” he said, the Cajun cadence thick in his voice. “But do not pay too much heed to this old fool.” He bent forward so that his face was near mine, his breath soft on my ear as he whispered, “You are alive, are you not? And sometimes, living is as much about the want as the need.”
I swallowed, which represented about as much physical control as I had at the moment.
Zane caught Clarence’s eye. “She is exceptional in many respects. You are certain she is the one?”
The lusty haze that had settled over me began to dissipate. It was one thing to be the intense object of Zane’s attention. It was another thing entirely to be under such scrutiny for practical rather than prurient reasons.
“I am certain,” Clarence said. “She wouldn’t still be with us if I were wrong, would she?”
“I hope you are right,” Zane said, his voice almost wistful.
“Who are you?”
“I will be teaching you many, many things,” he assured me.
I turned stupidly toward Clarence. “But I thought—”
“I’m your main man, pet, but take a look at him. Who do you want honing your fighting skills? Him, or me?”
“Right.” I wiped damp palms on my jeans. “Great.”
“Where do you want to begin?” Clarence asked.
“She prevailed against the Grykon?”
“Eventually. In their first encounter she failed to terminate the creature. I’m happy to say that she rectified that mistake a few hours ago.” He scowled a bit. “And then some.”
“She must learn not to hesitate. There is no room for error, no room for pity. Hesitation is an invitation, and the enemy has already claimed too many victories.”
“She is standing right here,” I said.
“So you are, ma fleur,” Zane said. “Standing proud and battle-scarred.”
I winced, certain he knew about the slice on my arm, even though there was no way he could have seen it, hidden as it was under both a sweatshirt and my duster.
“Your coat,” he said, nodding to a bench. “And the overshirt.”
I grimaced, then peeled off the garments, leaving me clad in jeans and my tank top.
“I see,” he murmured, his eyes trained on the wound that now marred Alice’s arm, courtesy of the Grykon.
“You heal faster now, Lily, and most wounds will fade by morning. This, though,” he said, brushing his finger down my arm. “This was rendered with poison.”
I rolled my shoulders, determined not to reveal any regret. “I’m a warrior, right? Now I look like one.”
“I think we would rather you blend in. And I know that I do not wish to see you either dead or injured.”
“Too late for that,” I countered. “On both counts.”
His lips twitched in amusement, but that didn’t catch my attention nearly as much as what he was doing with his knife. He sliced the tips of his fingers, and then he stepped in closer to me, his eyes dark and serious as he traced that finger down the length of the wound. There was no need for me to ask what he was doing—I could feel my skin knit in the wake of his touch.
“How—”
But he pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. “It is a gift, ma chérie. From me to you.”
“Then I’ll only say thank you.”
He inclined his head. “This creature who wounded you,” he began. “He had the chance only because you let him live when you first encountered him in the ceremonial chamber?”
“Well, technically.” I said.
“And why did you not kill the creature when you awakened?”
“I had no idea what was going on then. I was trapped. I was terrified.”
My skin prickled as I remembered the shock of waking up, of seeing that beast enter the room and bear down on me. “We fought, and I managed to lay it out with a candlestick. After that, I ran.”
“Escape is not your mission.”
“I didn’t know I had a mission,” I snapped back.
“Your mind must be firmly in the moment,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said a thing. “Firmly on the goal.”
“And that goal is?”
“You must kill, Lily. You must complete each mission, without exception. This is a take-no-prisoners war, and the only way to prevail is to win. Kill,” he said. “Or be killed.” He fixed me with a hard look. “Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Good. Because right now, your mission is to kill that demon.”
Chapter Thirteen
I turned sharply in the direction he pointed, and saw that a portion of the floor had opened up to allow the rise of a steel cage on a hydraulic platform. But where I expected to see a another Hell Beast with long teeth and cold, scaly skin, all I saw was a young girl. About sixteen, with a thick black collar around her neck. And when she lifted her eyes to mine, I swear it was Rose who stared out at me.
I drew in a breath. “That’s not a—She can’t be a demon—”
“She can,” Zane assured me. “And she is.”
“But—but—Where? How? You have a stash of demons tucked away for—”
I cut myself off. From the look on both their faces it was easy to see that was exactly what they had. A little demon collection, all hidden away, ready to be dragged out for training purposes.
I swallowed, not sure if I was disgusted by the reality or impressed that the training was so damn serious.
Zane was apparently oblivious to my mental meanderings. He held a small black device with a number of buttons. Now he pushed one, and the front panel of the cage descended into the floor, leaving three sides surrounding the wary teenager, looking ultra Goth in black with spiky silver jewelry.
Beside me, Clarence pulled a notepad and pen from his interior jacket pocket. “I’ll be evaluating your performance, of course,” he said. “Try not to be nervous.”
“Nervous,” I squeaked, gesturing toward the girl, who remained crouched on her haunches, unmoving, looking up at me. “This is insane.”
“If that’s the way you feel, ma fleur, you have failed already.” He reached down and pulled a ten-inch blade from his sheath. He handed it to me, the blade landing cold and deadly in my palm, the blue stone on the hilt sparkling under the harsh light.
I wanted to argue, to give it back. But Zane’s thick hands closed around my upper arms, and he lifted me up to the platform as easily as a child might lift a rag doll. I stood for a moment, unsure. Surely I wasn’t actually expected to fight—to kill—this child!
“Maintenant!” Zane said, and although I know absolutely no French, I got the idea: Get moving!
But I didn’t move. A mistake I would soon regret, as my opponent had no qualms. She sprang up and came at me, snarling like a feral animal. Her fingers splayed out like claws, and she was on my face before I could even react, her fingernails ripping my skin, barely missing my eyes.
“Holy shit,” I cried out, as I smacked her hands away, instinctively turning my face from hers. Apparently instinct wasn’t the primo option, though, because now I couldn’t see her, and she took advantage of that mistake by hauling
herself up and jumping on my back.
“Untrained,” I heard Zane say, from what seemed like a thousand miles away. “I have much riding on this. I hope you are sure . . . ”
Clarence’s reply was muffled, but I heard Zane’s grunt of acknowledgment clearly enough. What I wanted was to scream that they needed to get this little bitch off me.
What I did was fight.
And as soon as I made the decision—as soon as the very thought entered my head—a burst of power exploded through my body, even stronger than the surge I’d felt in the alley. The strength they’d put inside me was coming out in fits and starts, and I instinctively knew that I still wasn’t fully primed. But it was going to be a sweet ride getting there.
I twisted at the waist, pressing my hands against the mat to get leverage even as I kicked over, my heel connecting to her head with a sickening snap. I finished my spin and arched to my feet, the knife held at the ready as she recovered and rushed me, snarling like a wild thing.
It was me, though, that gave in to the wild thing within. I don’t know if it was frustration, anger, or just plain fight-or-flight, but I kicked into action with a vengeance. More, I wanted blood. Her blood. This sassy little bitch who wanted to take me down. No freaking way.
The girl lunged, and I thrust, forgetting that although I might have the strength, I definitely didn’t have the skill. She used the back of her forearm to knock against my wrist, then reared back for another hard lash that had the knife flying out of my battered fingers before bouncing uselessly on the mat.
I allowed myself about half a second to mourn its loss, then realized it really didn’t matter. I had all the weapon I needed inside me, and I set on her with a vengeance, ripping and clawing and beating and pummeling. More animal than woman, I was pounding the shit out of this demonic kid who would kill me if I didn’t kill her first.
“Ah, c’est vrai. There is fight in her, after all,” Zane said, his voice seeming to fill the hall.
“Told ya the girl had fire.”
“Resourceful, too. Though there is still much work to do,” Zane said, his voice matter-of-fact as I kicked out blindly, catching the girl under the chin and sending her stumbling back until she landed hard against the ropes that enclosed three sides of our ring.
“On so many levels,” Clarence said, his tone suggesting I was going to require quite a bit more work than he’d anticipated. I glanced over and saw him scribbling notes, and for some reason that innocent action fueled my fury. I turned to take it out on the girl, but she was already taking advantage of my distraction.
With a guttural howl, she leaped, landing hard and knocking me down. My lungs emptied with a whoosh as she deposited her full weight on my chest. My brain ordered me to struggle, but before I could put that innovative thought into action, the girl had her knees hard in my sides, as if I were a bucking bronco and she were hanging on for dear life. At the same time, she pressed her whole body forward, our faces intimately close, and her thumbs digging deep into my windpipe.
My body spasmed as my cells screamed for oxygen, and I struggled to get her off me. Apparently, though, demons are endowed with much the same strength I’d been blessed with. Which kind of sucked, when you thought about it.
Her face contorted, and I no longer saw Rose. Instead, I saw the true dark depths. I struggled beneath her, trying to get free, trying to breathe. And as I did, I saw hate and vileness and pure evil.
And, yes, I saw something familiar in those shadows. A cold darkness that had moved in, taking residence in the secret places of my mind. A longing to step up to the kill.
The thought that anything—anything—in that beast of a girl could be reflected back on me filled me with disgust. I pulled my knees up hard and fast, slamming them into her backside even as I rocked forward, my head smashing hard against hers. Starbursts screamed behind my eyes, but pain wasn’t enough to stop me. Not anymore.
I heard her low grunt of surprise, then felt the lessening of pressure around my neck. That was all it took. I twisted at the waist rolling left, then thrusting back to the right when I felt her center of gravity shift. I had the advantage then, and I took it rolling her over and over until we were only inches from the knife.
I saw the realization spark in her eyes, felt the twitch in her arm as she tried to reach for it—and I felt the lust of pure power as my fist smashed hard into her nose.
She howled, and I lunged sideways, my fingers closing around the knife even as she grappled at my face, her fingernails clawing at my cheeks, mere millimeters from my eyes.
I’d won, though. We both knew it, and I saw the flash of resignation as my blade hand arced back, the cold steel glinting in the air before I thrust it hard under her chin, a single line of blood rising under the edge as I pressed down, silently daring her to struggle.
She didn’t.
Instead, I watched as fear flooded her face. Tears glinted in wide eyes, and she said the first recognizable word I’d heard her utter: “Please.”
My will evaporated; I was being pulled back home, those eyes taking me to Rose. To everything I’d lost, and to everything I’d loved.
My hand shook, and I released the pressure ever so slightly. That was all it took—she was up and on me, slamming me backward as she clambered on top, her quick hands snatching the knife from my reluctant fingers even before I had time to register the victorious smirk distended across her mouth as the knife arced toward my chest.
Time seemed to slow as my mind grappled to find some scenario that didn’t end with me dying right there. But no ideas sprang helpfully forward.
I had no place to go.
She’d gotten me smashed up against the corner of the ring, a steel pole pressed hard against my ribs, and her own body blocking any movement to the opposite side. Beneath me was a solid floor, and above me was the sharp steel of my blade.
I was screwed, and I knew it.
I struggled anyway, not inclined to die gracefully. Not really inclined to die at all.
I thrust out my hands, and she sliced my palm with my own knife, drawing a thin line of blood.
Fire shot through my hand, the sting of steel against flesh.
I screamed, my hand closing around the blade, my blood smearing over the angry metal.
No good. The pain burned through me, and when she lashed out with her other hand to pummel my face, I let go, failing, and dreading the inevitable. As I knew it would, the knife continued its treacherous arc toward my heart, and I knew without doubt that this time I was truly going to die. And damn it all, I was terrified.
The scream erupted from my throat, a living thing composed entirely of sound and fear, as the tip of the blade caught my shirt. I was dead, and I knew it and—
I was free.
The demon released me with a bitter howl, clutching the collar around her neck and straining as if her life depended on ripping that thing off. Then she fell to the mat, totally still except for the erratic rise and fall of her chest.
I scrambled sideways, my eyes on Zane. He held up the remote control. “To allow for training of our warriors.”
I glanced sideways at Clarence. He didn’t look back, still scribbling furiously in his notebook.
I drew in a trembling breath, desperately wanting his reassurance. Too bad for me, none was coming.
“Now you understand,” Zane said, entering the ring with me and moving to the demon, who still lay motionless on the mat “Kill or be killed.”
He picked up my knife, holding it carefully. I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak.
“You did not kill,” he said. “And you almost suffered that fate at the hand of your enemy. You failed us, ma chérie. I had such high hopes that Clarence was right. That you were the one. It is most disappointing,” he said, his voice low and hypnotic.
I stood there, my palm throbbing in pain as I drank in those vibrant tones carried on his masculine scent, floating away on a sensory mist. The man was sex personified, so silky and sensual tha
t I could concentrate on nothing else, even though a deeper part of my mind was screaming that this was off, that I needed to push through the mist. That whatever I felt in the presence of this man, it absolutely wasn’t real.
I didn’t care. I could stare at him forever, drinking in the sensual pleasure, relishing the tingle that his mere proximity sent coursing over my skin.
I sighed, my body humming even as through the haze, I saw his hand tighten around the hilt of my knife.
The steel glinted in the spackled light, the flashes an encoded warning only for me—Wake up, wake up, wake up!
The mist parted and I understood—I’d failed. And now it was my turn to die.
The blade slashed down, breaking the spell. I grabbed Zane’s wrist with my sore hand and pulled, bringing the blade dangerously close to my chest, but also pulling him off balance.
He tumbled toward me, and as he did, I shifted, taking his arm with me as I rolled over. The haze evaporated, drowned out by the singular need to survive.
My hands locked on his wrist, and I pressed forward, ignoring the sting from the wound in my palm, wanting only to move the knife as far away from my flesh as possible.
And, yes, wanting to cut the son of a bitch who was trying to take me out.
I heard a sharp snap as his wrist broke, going limp as I forced the blade through the taut, caramel skin. Blood flowed, warm and sticky, and I opened my mouth, a wisp of an oh filling the otherwise silent room.
“Ma petite coeur,” he whispered as a blood bubble formed on his lips. “Je suis mort.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mortified, I fell to my knees, pulling the knife free as I tried to take back what I’d done—even as I watched the final spark of life fade from Zane’s eyes.