by Laken Cane
Her claws were deadly, sharp blades and she ducked, slashed, and decapitated with venomous joy. She ceased to believe that even in her weakened condition they could take her.
She drank quickly of slayer blood, and even the small amounts she managed to get inside her made her almost immediately stronger.
That was what she’d been born to do.
Emerson backed away and she raked her claws across one of his men, turning to stab another, desperate to get to the one man who really mattered. Emerson.
And she may have. His men littered the floor. The three remaining stood with fear in their eyes, prods held like baseball bats.
But Emerson knew how to stop her. “Alexander,” he screamed.
She looked toward him, knowing immediately what was going to happen.
He crouched over Matthew, vaccinator pushed against the boy’s head. “Stop or I will kill him.”
Immediately she retracted her claws and fangs and dropped her hands to her sides. She was breathing hard, her body still too hurt to be in top shape. “Okay.”
The three men who yet lived converged upon her, beating her with their fists, their boots, and finally, their vaccinators.
“No silver,” Emerson yelled. “She has to feed me.”
She fell to her knees and one of them swung his prod at her face. She hit the floor, her cheekbone shattered, her entire body one soft ball of misery. Her claws slid out again, but slowly.
She heard buzzing inside her head as the room began to spin, her fingers scrabbling at the hard floor.
And as she lay dazed, one of the men lifted a vaccinator and slammed it against one of her claws. It shattered and seemed to scream, as though it’d been an actual living thing. Or maybe the screams were hers.
“Enough,” Emerson roared. He waded into their midst and shoved the men away from her. “Sean, hold your prod to the boy’s head. If she refuses to feed me, kill him.”
He buried his fingers into her hair and jerked her to her knees. She hung from his grip, her battered body unable, for a moment, to function.
He knelt and grabbed her right arm. When she listed to the side he yelled at another of his men to hold her up, and he stared into her eyes. “Is there anything special you have to do to heal me? Or do I just…” he hesitated, shuddering with disgust. “Or do I just drink your blood?”
She didn’t fucking know. “Drink,” she managed.
He nodded. “Good.” He pulled a small folding knife from his pocket and handed it to the one man left who had nothing to do. “Cut her wrist.”
“Fucking coward,” she murmured. “Can’t even use a knife.” But her mouth didn’t move the way she meant it to and her voice was too thick for him to understand her.
The man bent down, grabbed her arm, and sliced her wrist with Emerson’s knife. Too deeply.
Emerson took a deep breath and pulling her bleeding wrist to his mouth, began to drink.
She had little to give.
If I can die, it’ll be now.
He was draining her.
The agony was immediate, just as it had been with Lex. Pain like nothing she’d ever imagined grew inside her when she fed a dying person. The world went dark and silent, and the pain ruled her.
Seconds or hours later—she had no concept of time—he finally pulled his sucking mouth from her wrist and released her.
She lay on the floor, unable to move.
“Is she dead?” someone asked.
“I don’t know,” Emerson replied, “but oh my, I feel so…so good.” He was crying. She heard the tears in his voice. “Oh, so good. So good.”
“What do you want us to do with her and the kid?”
“You go push the magic button. The case is in the hall. You’ll have ten minutes to get out before the church explodes. Everything is in place.” He giggled, giddy with the ecstasy her blood gave him. “I’m not even here. Burn it down!”
One of the remaining men held his vaccinator to her hip and sent silver into her body. One last act of hatred. “Just in case,” he murmured.
They left the room, running, in a hurry to torch the church and escape before the blast either trapped them inside or brought the authorities too close.
Finally, all was quiet.
She grabbed at the slippery floor and dragged herself to Matthew. He hadn’t moved, as far as she knew, the entire time. If he still lived, she’d be surprised.
The finger with the destroyed claw was shrieking with red-hot, excruciating agony and the strands of silver exploded inside her, but after the feeding, any pain would have seemed tolerable. Why had she been given the ability to heal people when doing so was unbearable?
“Matthew,” she tried to say. She had to get him out of there. They were going to blast the church and according to Emerson, there was only a ten minute window to get out.
Ten minutes for her to heal enough to carry a small boy from the building. She gave herself a few short moments to simply lie on the floor and do nothing. She had not the energy to even close her mouth.
Those moments would not be enough, but it was all she had.
God, she hurt.
“Matthew.” Her voice was a raspy whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear, let alone the boy. She slid her hand across the bag to shake his shoulder. “Wake up, baby. We’re going home now.”
He looked worse in the light than he had in the shadows. His little chest barely moved with shallow breaths. Otherwise he was still as death.
She forced herself to her knees, allowing groans to escape between clenched teeth. She deserved to fucking groan.
She had to get Matthew up. Letting him die was not an option. Hands trembling, she unzipped the bag. It seemed to take hours. Inside her head, the clock was ticking the short minutes away. Ticks of doom.
When he was free of the bag she climbed to her feet, her screaming body resisting every move. Adrenaline fueled her, helped her shove through the agony. Part of her would have liked nothing better than to lie down beside him and give in.
She leaned over him and slipped her broken hands beneath him, ignoring the pain. She pulled, trying to lift the small child from the floor, but only managed to fall on top of him.
“Shit,” she cried, and tried again. She could feel him fading, almost see his life force dimming, leaving her staring at only a shell of flesh and bones.
And somehow, she stood, cradling him against her chest. She swayed on her feet and cackled, for a moment nothing more than a deranged, half dead girl.
“I got him. By God, I got him.”
The door was a million miles away. She slid one foot forward, then the other. She wasn’t walking, exactly, but she was moving.
He was only a tiny, thin child, but to her tortured body, she might well have been carrying a car. Her arms shook with the effort of holding him and her legs buckled.
But on she went, nearly crying when she stepped out the door and into the hallway. How long had it been since Emerson had left her there? Three minutes? Eight minutes?
She had no way of knowing, but the urgency inside her pushed her on and she carried her treasure down the hall.
The hall was carpeted, unlike the room she’d just left. That floor had been tiled and slippery with blood, which had made it easier for her to slide her feet across.
The carpeting in the hall seemed to grasp at her soles with fingers of harsh wool, trying to make her fall.
Careful, Rune. Walk the fuck out of here.
Matthew’s little face was the face of an angel. She kept glancing down at him, maybe to reassure herself that she truly held him, maybe to remind herself why she must keep going.
The hall stretched out before her, seemingly endless, but she saw the doorway at the end. Through that doorway was the room she’d first entered, and then freedom.
She kept her stare on the doorway, that distant doorway, and put one foot in front of the other. One slow, tortured step at a time, she neared the end of the hall.
But then th
e world exploded.
She fell to the floor, her precious bundle spilling from her arms, and was plunged suddenly into total darkness. Another blast shook the building, and she smelled the sharp, acrid scent of smoke.
“Matthew,” she screamed hoarsely, crawling on the floor, her hands out before her.
A sudden whoosh! and the room lit up, scorching the skin from her naked, bloody body.
But she saw the child in the sudden light and snatched him to her once more. She struggled to get her feet beneath her, wondering for a moment why she even tried.
Flames surrounded them.
Disoriented she walked aimlessly on, unsure. Was she headed back, or was she going to the doorway?
She had nothing with which to cover the child’s face, but bent over him as best she could, trying to see through the smoke and fire. Trying to see something that would let her know where she was.
But there was nothing. Nothing but smoke and fire. She was trapped.
She threw back her head and howled, rage overflowing.
And terror. There was that.
She had failed a child.
Even over the roar of flames and her screams of fury, she heard sirens. But they were too late, the sons of bitches. Too late.
She stood with the child in her arms, lost, surrounded by scorching fire, and finally, she gave up.
She dropped to her knees, whispering nonsense to the boy. Thankful that at least he slept, unaware.
The smoke would kill him before the fire did.
But then, two shapes rushed out of the flames, mouths open, roaring, and as though they were made of smoke themselves, impenetrable smoke, they wrapped her and the boy in a circle of space. Cool space. There was no heat, no singeing flesh in that space.
Blood and Fire.
She sobbed as she was lifted on invisible wings and set on her feet, the now formless shapes pushing her onward.
Inside the silence of Blood and Fire she stumbled on, sure they would lead her in the right direction. There was nothing to see but the slow motion dancing of yellow and red flames and the thick waving wall of gray smoke.
Her earlier dejection was forgotten. She and the wild, beautiful spirit beasts would save the boy. And she knew—that moment right there was why the dogs had come to Spiritgrove.
The smoke cleared enough for her to see the great gaping exit doors of the church, beckoning her into the cold, soothing dark of the outside.
Through the flicker of flames she saw the outside as if it were a different world and she was about to step through a portal, spat out into that dark, icy beauty.
It was a chaotic world. Men running, sirens blasting, lights turning. Screams, yells, desperation.
She saw her Shiv Crew among them, her vision as clear and bright as though there was no smoke, no fire. The night was tinged red from the burning building, confusing her for a second. She’d expected to see daylight.
“We’re coming,” she said, and squeezed Matthew tightly against her.
And wrapped securely in the mysterious arms of the invisible dogs, she strode through the doorway.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She walked out of the fire with Matthew in her arms, and everyone outside the burning building was stunned into silence.
At first no one moved, no one spoke, no one so much as blinked.
Blood and Fire withdrew. Just melted away. One minute they were there, and the next, they were gone.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then every injury, every pain she’d lived through came roaring back. She began to fall as her legs gave out, and her arms bent beneath the weight of the child. “Take him,” she begged. “Take him.”
The berserker was there, his arms around her, supporting both her and Matthew. His eyes were wet and filled with disbelief. “Rune. Rune.”
“He’s alive,” she whispered, smiling. “He’s alive, Strad.”
He took Matthew from her, stepping back to allow her crew to take his place. They surrounded her, protecting her beaten, bloody body from the flashing cameras.
“Get the fucking EMTs over here,” Z screamed.
She was dizzy. The sounds and sights became blurred and confusing, melding together in a frenzied mess that made no sense. Nothing was clear.
Raze picked her up and cradled her in his arms, and Jack shrugged off his coat to cover her.
“What’d they do to you,” Lex murmured. “Oh, evil fucking COS.”
Owen and the twins ran up to the small group, closely followed by EMTs hurrying along with a gurney.
Levi’s eyes widened when he got a look at her. “God, Rune.”
Denim turned away, but not before she saw the look of murderous rage in his eyes.
Owen just grinned. “I’ll let you off the hook for dinner, Alexander.”
She couldn’t help but smile back, at least inside. Fading in and out of consciousness, she caught snatches of their conversations, heard them discussing where to take her. Levi convinced them to drive her to the Other clinic to be with Ellis. It was the right thing to do.
Raze lowered her to the cot. It was cold. She began to shiver as the EMTs belted her into the small bed.
I need to feed.
If she could manage to get some blood into her, she’d feel better and would heal a hundred times faster.
But her eyelids were so heavy, her brain so tired. She couldn’t make herself form the words.
I need to feed.
Levi answered his ringing cell. “She’s…she’s not good, Ellie.”
Then he listened, nodded, and clicked off. “Ellis says to give her blood.” He glanced at Rune. “His exact words were, one of you motherfuckers feed her, and feed her fucking now.”
Again, Rune grinned.
Ellie was a force to be reckoned with when he was pissed.
Later she’d want to hear about their battle with the Others at the clinic. Right then, it was enough to know they were all safe and accounted for. Ellis was safe.
But was he turned?
That was a question for another time.
“I’ll feed her,” Denim said, and every one of her crew offered as well.
But she wasn’t about to addict any more of her people to her blood.
Lex took her hand. “I will be the one to feed Rune. You guys don’t need to know the reason why it has to be me. It just does. Get the strangers out of here and let me help our captain heal.”
They sent the medics away and formed a protective circle around her, and Lex climbed up on the cot. She didn’t hesitate to lie down on top of Rune’s ruined body and bare her neck.
“Drop those fangs, honey,” Lex whispered, “and take your medicine.”
Her first attempt to drop her fangs failed, as did her second. But finally, she gathered enough strength to send them through her gums, and right into Lex’s neck.
Thank you, baby.
She felt Lex smile. No problem.
For one startled second she realized that not only could Lex hear her thoughts, but she could hear Lex’s as well. Maybe not real words, but the feelings. A knowing of thoughts.
It was fucking freaky to be so connected to another person. The line of blood from Lex to Rune was a strong link.
She was bathed in the blood, the magical, healing blood. Each time she swallowed a mouthful it coated her inside, flowed through her veins, made her heart beat.
It made her high.
But she’d been devastated, and it would take her longer to recuperate. The blood hurried things along.
She took only what she absolutely needed, then reluctantly released the Other. Now, she could rest.
Her burns, cuts, and bruises were less painful, no longer flooding her with agony. Yes, she still hurt, but it was bearable. She could think.
When Lex climbed off the gurney, Owen leaned over and took her hand, gently. His eyes, once hopeless and full of secrets, were now bright and full of promise. Maybe he’d just needed Shiv Crew. They were awesome, after all.
/> She smiled at the thought.
“We got the fucker, Rune,” he said. “We got Emerson.”
She blinked back tears. Emerson was going to prison. He was going to have to live with an addiction worse than anything he’d ever known or imagined, with no access to the drug he needed.
“A cruel and unusual punishment,” she murmured. “Way to fucking go.”
Jack was next to lean over her. He kissed her on her forehead, his one visible eye gleaming with relief. “You’ll be all right, sweetheart.”
She wanted to touch his eye patch, and was shocked when she found she could actually raise her hand to his face. “I’m so sorry about your eye.”
He grasped her hand and turned his face into it, kissing her palm. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It makes me irresistible to the ladies.”
“You were always irresistible.”
“True,” he said, smiling.
“Let’s get her to the clinic,” Z said.
She closed her eyes and spiraled down into a dark and dreamless sleep. Her crew would take care of her, and Matthew was safe.
So she slept.
When sleep released her and she swam through the murky depths to awareness, she knew a lot of time had passed.
Hours, many hours.
She opened her eyes and found Ellis staring down at her, his eyes cloudy and sad. But when he saw her watching him his face immediately changed.
“Rune,” he yelled, and started raining kisses onto her face.
She grinned. “Hey baby. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing great. Now.”
She studied his dear face. “Did you…?”
“No. Not yet.” He squeezed her hand. “Maybe not ever.”
Please God. “How is Matthew?”
A quick frown, there and gone. “He’s doing better.”
“Don’t lie to me, Ellie.”
He sighed. “He’s not great, Rune. But there’s nothing else you can do for him. He’s being cared for.” Again, he squeezed her hand. “You just concentrate on getting better, my love.”
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She’d dragged the boy out of bloody hell only to have him die in a hospital? He’d been born for greatness. She knew it.
