Selene

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “Stop that. Jesu, I’m even insulting my dead brother now.” She dried off with angry swipes, her skin shrinking from the rasp of terrycloth. Finally, she stalked out into the sanctum, the towel balled up in her fist.

  Her charred clothes lay on the floor by the wrinkled bed, sending up a powerful stink of Nichtvren and fear. The faint but thunderously lingering odor of werecain filled her nose briefly.

  She balled the pitiful remainders up with the towel, wrinkling her nose, and shoved them through the door into the bathroom. Her black bag was scorched at the edges. It had been under her in the wreck of the car. The Seal glittered on the floor, its emeralds sending up thin needles of light.

  Selene shivered, copper filling her mouth. I could have died.

  It was too much. Too many shocks, too close together. And the All-Dead Hit Parade inside her head didn’t help either.

  She took a deep breath, plopped down on the bed with the bag cradled in her arms.

  After a few seconds of sitting, staring fixedly at nothing, Selene fell back onto the bed, curling on her side and hugging the bag to her chest. A few sharp edges—file folder, her athame, her wallet—poked into her chest, but she wriggled a bit until the softnesses were in the right place. Carson the teddy and the flannel shirt—had Danny worn the shirt the day he died? It had been tossed on the bed.

  Selene squeezed her eyes shut and hugged the bag. The pressure behind her eyes was familiar, natural, normal, human. She wanted to cry.

  I wonder—will they be blood tears?

  Oddly enough, that was the last straw.

  The low keening sound of grief began somewhere in her belly and rose up through her spine, dragging broken glass with it. Selene felt her throat swell. She buried her face in the rough canvas of the bag, curling her knees up and coughing out an endless scream.

  How strange. So I do have to breathe after all.

  “Selene?” Nikolai’s voice.

  I didn’t hear the door open, she thought dimly.

  The bed creaked as he lowered himself down behind her. “Selene?” He cleared his throat and touched her shoulder. His fingers burned through the linen. Then he touched her hair, running his fingers through the charred bits.

  The keening sound coming from her stomach wouldn’t stop. Selene squeezed her eyelids even tighter, bringing her knees up, something wet and warm trickling from her eyes. Her nose was full.

  “No.” Nikolai’s voice made the entire room go cold. “Selene? Selene!”

  Leave me alone. You’ve ruined everything. Go away.

  “You can grieve all you like later.” His hand clamped around her shoulder. “Not now. Not like this. It’s dangerous, shock can kill a fledgling. Selene, for the love of God, don’t cry.”

  I’m not crying. I’m screaming, can’t you hear it? A kind of wonder filled her at the thought. I should have let you die. I wish I’d let you die.

  Why didn’t I? Oh, right. I need you to kill Grigori, and I need Grigori to kill you, and then. . .

  The future was a blank empty wasteland stretching in front of her.

  “Do not waste your tears on a pillow when I am here. Would it make you feel better if I let you try to harm me again?” He squeezed her shoulder even more tightly. Muscle ground against bone, pain slicing down her chest. But the pain melted, changed into liquid heat, pooled in her lower belly.

  The scream broke, jagged into a hoarse sob. “Fuck you,” she managed around the dry heaving sounds. “Leave me alone.”

  “No.” His fingers ground in even further. Her breath caught halfway, she sobbed again. Would she bruise? Did Nichtvren bruise? “There is no comfort in alone, Selene, no matter how much you may wish for it. Cease this. You will damage yourself, and that I will not allow.”

  Selene pulled away, trying to wrench her shoulder from Nikolai’s grasp. He didn’t let go, but his fingers eased up a little. Then he leaned down, his breath brushing her ear. “If you do not fight now,” he whispered, intimately, “I will break you, dear one. It takes very little effort—a few days without feeding, some pain. How would you like to be a mindless thrall to my will? A submissive Consort?”

  She tore away from him, pushing up on her hands, and scooted across the bed. The bag came with her, clinking. She faced his back across the expanse of wrinkled red velvet. He didn’t move, his spine perfectly straight, sitting on the edge of the bed, one pale hand dropping to his side. His hair was still damp, slicked down with rain. Selene flipped her bag open with trembling hands, and her fingers curled around the wooden hilt of her athame.

  “Try it,” she whispered. Cool air touched her wet cheeks. Her heart triphammered, pulse pounding in her ears, the medallion burned against her chest. Her bones crawled with Power, shifting inside her skin. “You’re such a fucking bastard.”

  He was utterly still, unbreathing.

  “I wish I’d killed you when I shot you,” she said. She took a deep shaking breath. “How can you be such a. . .such a. . .”

  “Think of some more creative epithets, Selene.” He did not turn. The air shimmered around him like the haze on pavement on a summer day. “You are beginning to bore me.”

  Bore you? What the fuck? Her hand shook inside the bag.

  If I stabbed him, it wouldn’t matter. He’d shake it off. The knife won’t cause enough damage. I shot him, and it didn’t even make a dent. Determination caught fire inside her chest. Her breathing evened out. I’ll give it the old college try, though. Let’s see if that bores him.

  New life flooded her arms and legs. “Like I ever wanted you to be interested in me.” She slipped off the bed and rocketed to her feet. “I don’t know why I even came here.”

  “Because you have nowhere else to go.” Pitilessly, no quarter given. “Grigori will hunt you down and use you before he makes you beg for death. I simply require your presence. I am by far the lesser of two evils.”

  “Evil’s a good word for you,” she flung at him. And manipulative, ugly, arrogant, delusional, chauvinistic, sex-crazed fucking little freak—”

  “There,” he interrupted. “That, at least, is something new even from you.” He rose from the bed slowly, still not bothering to look at her. “Now you should feed, and rest. Dawn approaches.”

  “Hour and a half,” she said, automatically. Pointlessly. “I wish you’d just leave me the fuck alone.”

  He shrugged. “You keep saying that. What would you be without me? Still combing the streets to find the men to feed your precious curse? I have given you shelter, and yet you curse me. If I were crueler to you, would you be kinder to me?” He took two steps away from the bed, tipped his head back. She could see a pale slice of his forehead, the coal-black wave of his hair falling back.

  “How could you be any worse?” she yelled. The sound bounced off the paneled walls, made the entire room shake. Will you look at that? I’m doing his trick, the I-can-shake-the-walls trick. Holy shit. But no, there’s nothing holy about it.

  He rounded on her, his eyes full of black fire, his face a twisted mask. “I could be Grigori!” he yelled back. Selene’s shoulders hit the wall. The echoes boomed. Glass shattered in the bathroom, tinkling.

  In one graceful, inhuman movement he was over the bed, his entire body pressing hers against the wall. Well, isn’t this familiar, a snide little voice caroled inside her head and was quickly strangled.

  “I could be Grigori,” he repeated, venomously, his cheek laid against hers and his breath hot in her ear. “I could take you, break you, and keep you; I could become what I fear most. I could lose you to my own hunger and smash your spirit, trying to chain what I cannot live without. What I cannot buy or steal or win, what you will not give me even though I do not take, I only ask.” His voice rose harshly, spilling out as if he could not help himself. “I am trying to be better than Grigori was to me, and you make me wonder if perhaps I should follow in his footsteps and simply take what I must have, what you deny me—”

  “You are like him! You’ve tried to break
me all this time!” Selene lunged away and actually succeeded in throwing him off-balance. It was a small victory, but she immediately froze, terror and fresh arousal flooding her.

  What did I just do?

  “I could be much worse,” His lips moved against her cheek, teeth gently scraping her skin. The ragged tone was gone, he had mastered himself. “I could have taken you and Turned you the first night I found you. I could have stretched out my hand and taken you at any time after that, but I refrained. I played your games and took what crumbs you gave me, and in return I gave you time. I was far more patient with you than you deserve, you ungrateful little beggar of a tantraiiken.”

  The fact that he was kind of right, that he could have forced her and hadn’t—much—didn’t help. “You manipulated me. You never took no for an answer.”

  “I kept you safe. I allow you far more than a Master has ever allowed a tantraiiken. There is no freedom to be had in this world, Selene.” He kissed her cheek, a strangely gentle movement.

  Selene shoved him again. The possibility of being stronger—almost as strong as him, strong enough to stop him from overrunning her—dangled in front of her.

  This time he didn’t even move. “Next time,” he said quietly, his dark head dipping down, lips trailing over her jaw, “hit me with Power as well as physical force, Selene. Anything else is useless.”

  “Get away from me,” she gasped.

  “There is an hour and a half until dawn.” His lips moved against her jawline. Selene’s cheeks flamed. Her knees threatened to buckle. “I suggest we spend the time doing something pleasant. I have waited, and I have made you immortal, Selene. I risked losing you far too many times. I will not lose you now to a fledgling’s bloodsick despair.”

  “Doesn’t anything ever stop you?” She sagged against the wall. And could I have, if I didn’t stop? Why did I stop? “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

  “There is no comfort in alone,” he repeated, and peeled her away from the wall. She let him, then erupted into wild motion, kicking, screaming, her teeth clicking together as she tried to bite him. He backhanded her, his hand blurring, her head snapping to the side. Blood flew—her lip was cut. “Stop, Selene. Now.”

  She found herself crumpled on the floor, shaking her head to clear it. A gigantic shivering sound like the inside of a huge brass bell filled her head and receded, leaving a disorienting weakness in its wake.

  Nikolai squatted down, his hands hanging loosely. “That is a Master’s command over a fledgling. Disobey me again, I will use it again. Stand up.”

  The bell rang again, her entire body shaking with the inaudible, world-cracking sound. Selene found herself swaying on her bare feet. Nikolai caught her, his arms closing like a steel trap. “Shhh,” he crooned, “it isn’t so hard, is it, to cry on me instead of a pillow? Trust me a little, a very little. Please, Selene. Help me.”

  Me? Help him? Is he crazy? Selene crumpled, folding into him. He moved back a little, as if surprised, and his arms tightened. The stone egg of grief in her chest cracked completely open. “Danny—” she heard herself sob. It was a long, drawn-out moan.

  Nikolai held her, stroking her hair. He moved slightly, rocking from side to side, making a low thrumming noise that shook her bones into jelly. She sobbed into his shirt, messily and completely, while he crooned to her, occasionally stopping to kiss the top of her head and whisper soothing nonsense in whatever harshly musical native tongue he used just for her.

  Fifteen

  “Kristian Muller.” Selene stared up into the red velvet. Nikolai traced the curve of her ribs, spread his hand against her side. His skin slid against hers, two perfect textures. Selene caught her breath. “I wanted to visit him, see what he knew. Danny wrote that G. was coming to collect the Seal, and. . .” She gasped again when Nikolai’s hand trailed fire across her belly. Her eyes were dry and full of sand, her cheeks raw and inflamed. Even a Nichtvren couldn’t cry prettily.

  Dawn was coming. Lead weighed her arms and legs, started creeping up her limbs.

  “G as in Grigori.” Nikolai set the manila folder on the nightstand. The picture of Grigori stared up until he turned it over and tightened his arms around her.

  Selene shuddered. Her head moved slightly against his shoulder. She shut her eyes. “I guess so. Grigori killed Danny. Played with him and killed him.”

  “It would appear so. Grigori stole from the Sitirrismi, they contracted me to bring the Seal back without telling me who had stolen it. I contracted Danny to find it, he stole from Grigori, and Grigori. . .You were expected to be at his apartment, Selene.”

  Cold. . .Lena, don’t. . .don’t. . .Danger. . . Danny’s voice on the phone echoed in memory. The smell of the rain, the heat of her panic as she raced to his apartment—and the front hall, bloodsoaked and scattered with little bits. Nikolai said Danny was shot before. . .that. A shiver spilled through her. Nikolai was silent. I hope so. Jesu, I hope it was quick for him. “What if Grigori was in the apartment? If I hadn’t run across Bruce I might have been there earlier, and he alerted you, didn’t he? Or if I’d caught a cab, I’d have been there.”

  Nikolai’s hand tensed. “I owe both Stirling and the cab service distinct gratitude, then.” But he didn’t sound as amused as he usually did. He sounded, in fact, like he had something in his throat.

  I don’t have to breathe. Why am I yawning? “Nikolai?”

  “Hmm?” He moved, his hair sliding against the pillowcase and making a low sweet sound. His lips met her temple.

  “When I. . .fed from you, I saw—no. I felt like—or maybe I saw something, like it was a dream.”

  He was utterly still. “A dream?”

  “I was tied to a post and being whipped while they screamed for me to recant.” She swallowed dryly. “Is that where the scars come from?”

  Nikolai didn’t move. The silence returned, and she knew it had been the wrong question to ask. If there were any right questions, she hadn’t learned what they were—and he probably wouldn’t answer them anyway.

  Just like a Nichtvren.

  Selene finally sighed. I don’t know why I even try. It took every scrap of energy she had left to hitch her hip up, as if she was about to move away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

  “No.” His arm tightened under her head. He pushed her hip back down with his free hand. “I do not like to speak of it. Before I was Turned. . .yes. I was tied to a stake and lashed as a heretic.” His voice was low and even, emotionless. “It was dusk.” The rhythm of another language wore through the English, accenting strangely. “There were dark clouds in the sky. Dark comes early in winter, that far north. Then Kelaios Grigorivitch Grigori came.”

  “He saved you?” The blackness of approaching dawn swamped her. She couldn’t feel her hands anymore, or her legs.

  He kissed her temple again, the touch burning through the lassitude creeping up her body. “Yes.” Very softly. “But you see, it was Grigori who arranged for the punishment when I would not submit to him. He wished me broken so he could Turn me. But the torture, starvation and whipping was too much for mortal flesh, he had no choice but to Turn me unbroken. He thought he could finish the process at his leisure.”

  Selene would have spoken, but the blackness was closing over her head like deep water.

  The last thing she heard was Nikolai’s sigh. “I will not lose you to him, Selene. I swear it.”

  Irritation flooded her. Goddammit, Nikolai. As if I’m a bicycle chained to a rack, and you don’t want him making off with me. But the words refused to come.

  Darkness, then. Dawn.

  Sixteen

  Selene fought upwards through sleep, layer after layer of black water, sand swirling in darkness, the sound of Nikolai’s voice. He was saying something very important, but she couldn’t quite hear. A ragged tone she’d never heard from him.

  Fire, a lash laid along her nerves. She cried out weakly, her body convulsing. The feeling was familiar. Movement, the taste of him in her mout
h, his fangs brushing hers and sending a jolt of pleasure down her spine.

  Selene moaned into his mouth, her hips arching up. He slid into her, exquisite friction, and her eyes half-opened, drifted closed again, drowning. His breath ran into hers, shallow and labored. She arched her back and he murmured, soothingly, said something harsh and accented like poetry. Then his mouth broke away, kissed down her throat.

  Don’t. Selene knew what was coming, tears slipping out of her eyes. “Nikolai,” she whispered. Please. . .

  His hips slid down, driving into her, and his fangs drove into her throat at the same moment.

  Selene’s breath tore out of her in a long howling scream, her entire body shaking, shivering to bits. Power exploded along her nerves, sparking, swirling, filling all the empty hollows and bleeding out in a spreading haze of gasflame light. Sparks popped, showering from her skin.

  He didn’t take much, just a single mouthful, but the pulling against her veins sent another jolting tide of flame through her. His fangs slid free while she was still bucking under him, her entire body flushed with sweet sugared volcanic heat.

  “Feed,” he whispered in her ear. “Feed, Selene.”

  Her own fangs slid free, and he bent lower, thrusting into her so that she arched her back and gasped again. “Feed,” he repeated, and Selene dug her fingers into his back, pulling him down. Her fangs broke his skin and blood sprang free, burst into her mouth.

  Nikolai stiffened, a hoarse scream wrenching out of him. Blood and Power mixed, drove through Selene’s nerves, she drank until Nikolai collapsed onto her, spent. Her fangs retracted, easing free of his flesh. She lapped at the small wound, once, twice, her tongue rasping. Nikolai shuddered, and she blinked.

  What a way to wake up. She hugged him, his weight sinking into her. Good thing I don’t have to breathe. Wow.

  “Stay with me,” she whispered. “Don’t fall asleep. I hate that.” As if he ever had. A small prickle of chill ran down her skin.