Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1)

by Megan Blackwood

  "Why do I have to climb the tree?"

  He squinted at me. "Do I even have to answer that, vampire girl?"

  "No." I sighed to hide my smile and eyed the first tree in the row, the one Lucien had been hiding behind. Careful not to ruin any more clothes, lest Talia give me an earful, I gripped the lowest branch and swung myself up, anchoring the string in the leafy boughs.

  While he spread the string between the trees, I hunkered down on a low, thick branch, letting my legs dangle over the path below. From here, the labyrinth of hedges revealed all its secrets, and the shadows passing by the windows of the estate revealed the rotation of DeShawn's people. I'd have to ask Adelia if she had thicker curtains. If not, we'd have to instruct the Sun Guard to stay well away from the windows unless they needed to peek out. On the horizon, in the direction opposite Maeve's cottage, a thick mist congealed.

  "I don't know how your magic shit works," DeShawn called out from further down the path. "But this garden will be lit up like hipster wedding."

  "I have no idea what that means," I called back, leaning forward to get a better look at the mist. I'd grown suspicious of England's weather these past few days.

  "You telling me Talia didn't install Pinterest on that phone of yours?"

  I blinked, shaking my head to clear it. The mist appeared darker. "Install what? Pin the rest? Is that some sort of entomology system?"

  "You really have been living under a rock."

  "A slab of stone, technically."

  "Sometimes I think you have a sense of humor," he called back.

  His palms slapped together as he brushed dust from them. I spared him a glance over my shoulder, saw him lean back and put his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. He turned back to me.

  "There. Like to see those bloodsuckers find a shadow to piss in now. No offense."

  DeShawn grinned at me, wide and pleased with himself, his white teeth flashing against the contrast of his dark skin. A tension swelled in the sky. The small hairs on the back of my neck bristled. DeShawn's grin flickered.

  The sun went out.

  Thirty: Black Clouds Rising

  A howling burned across the sky. A wolfish, primal emanation of rage and hate and hunger, of blind raving and bloodied madness. Even as the dark compressed my power, I reached for it, drawing strength through my veins like air into mortal lungs. All along the path, the string of lights flickered into brightness, their small lights feeble against the coalesced darkness that swallowed the sky.

  DeShawn took one look at the work we'd done and said, "Well shit."

  "Fall back to the house," I said.

  I dropped from the tree beside him, hunkering into a three-point landing as I tipped my head back to sniff the air. I may not have Roisin's nose for magic, but even I could scent the acrid bite of ancient spellwork. The scent of it was nothing, though, in the face of the stench of remnants.

  "They come," I whispered.

  "Could you be less creepy?"

  I cocked my head to look up at him, knowing my golden eyes would flash in the faint gleam of the fairy lights, and grinned. He scowled at me.

  "I hope you're ready for this." I kept my voice constrained to a whisper as I pushed to my feet and drew the blade strapped to my back.

  "Lady, I don't even know what 'this' is," he said, but his gun was in his hands, held low and ready. He half-turned, covering my flank as I made my own slow scan of the area.

  Though the gloom was thick, my eyes adjusted, piercing the unnatural shadows that hemmed us in. A scrambling sound, like rats swarming over crates, came from the direction of the wall. I pushed to my toes and peered through the swaying branches of the trees, trying to get a good angle.

  A whump concussed the air, a radiant flare of purple-black energy flickering up from the top of the wall. A remnant screamed, and then another, their voices rising in rage and pain. The whump came again, the purple flaring bright.

  "What in the hell are they doing?" DeShawn demanded. He retreated toward the house, head on a swivel. I followed.

  "Testing our defenses. Which is, by the way, far too clever a thing for a simple creature like a remnant to be doing."

  "So someone's making 'em?"

  I tracked a hint of motion, a deeper shadow moving on a hill behind the wall. "It would seem so."

  They hit the wall en masse, a maelstrom of light ripping through the false dark. Though I could not see them, I could hear them scrabble against each other—hear the crunch of their bodies and their screeches of pain and frustration as they used one another to mount the wall.

  "The ward's working," DeShawn said, as if saying the words out loud would make them true. Would hold back the tide. Denial had never really been my forte.

  "Not for long. They're using the remnants as fodder—trying to overwhelm the wards."

  "Will it work?"

  "I have no idea. We need to find Maeve."

  "And get the fuck inside," he said.

  "Best idea you've had all day."

  He sighed. "I thought the fairy lights was a pretty good one."

  An otherworldly howl preceded the body of a remnant being flung through the radiating light of the ward's defenses. The creature had once been a man of substantial muscle, possibly chosen by the nightwalkers specifically for this task. His shirt had long ago been rent to bloody shreds, and as his body cart-wheeled through the angry glow of the ward his limbs convulsed, his whole body shuddering from the arcane forces railing against it.

  Momentum won. The remnant punched through the invisible shielding of the ward and struck the ground at the end of the path. He rolled without control, arms and legs flopping every which way, and came to a limp stop a dozen yards from where we stood. I tensed, waiting to see if the magic had destroyed the creature.

  His fingers clutched the ground.

  "Back," I ordered, putting myself between DeShawn and the remnant. He stepped into my shadow, aiming his weapon past me at the thing in the dirt.

  "Would shooting it help?"

  "Those the gold bullets?"

  "Yes."

  Its arm flexed, twisting to push itself upright.

  "Save those for the nightwalkers," I said.

  The remnant charged.

  Thirty-One: A Rising Tide

  Given over to animal instincts, the remnant drew itself to all fours and raced toward us with the long, elegant gait of a cheetah. His fluidity would have impressed me, considering the tumble he'd just taken, but the long string of bloody drool streaking back from his lips like a banner rather ruined the effect.

  Sunlight or not, the sight of the thing filled me with so much repulsion that an inner fire sparked within me—a consummate desire to smite the abomination. DeShawn barked something at me, but I was already moving, falling into the offensive stance I needed to shred the beast.

  I charged, leaning toward the creature as it howled in anticipation. DeShawn shouted something like "crazy bitch," but the words washed over and through me. This is what I had been made for.

  At the last second before impact I veered to the left and took a knee, bracing my blade so that it rammed hilt-deep into the chest of the remnant. He let loose a roar of shock and pain, thrashing against the steel protruding from his back. Black blood dripped from the tip of my blade. That'd take forever to clean off.

  Human nails clawed at me, but I was faster, twisting to ram my blade up and through his chest cavity, the visceral crack of rib and tearing muscle overriding the screams which quickly descended into whimpers. I sliced the blade up, and out through his throat, leaving him a quivering pile of pulp. I hated not to finish the job—remnants took a long time to die on their own—but I had other, more pressing matters.

  Like the dozen or so remnants who'd just dropped over the wall.

  "Go!" I ordered DeShawn as I spun back toward him, sprinting full speed as the pile of bodies that'd passed the barrier twitched and grunted, getting their bearings and their strength back. Not all of them would have survi
ved, but this was quickly becoming a numbers game, and I'd had enough of those.

  DeShawn ran, but not fast enough for my tastes, so I grabbed the back of his coat and pushed him along, not caring that he swore and scrambled to keep up. His mortal legs would be exhausted, but that was a whole lot better than being snacked on by a bunch of remnants.

  The door to the garden banged open, Adelia blocking the way. She wore a crisp black suit and an expression so severe it damn near stopped me in my tracks.

  "Adelia! Get back!" DeShawn shouted.

  I understood his concern, but the look on Adelia's face read murder—cold, deliberate, murder. She brought a gun up, a double-barreled affair longer than her forearm, braced it against her shoulder, and aimed. I marked the tracking of her eyes and shifted my course slightly to the right, giving her a cleaner shot. She gave me a tight nod, breathed out, and squeezed the trigger.

  Her body jerked, the kickback knocking her sideways, and a few strands of hair tore free from her bun. Adelia sighted once more, and fired. I didn't dare check to see the damage she'd done. Somehow, I doubted Adelia would miss.

  She stepped aside as we stumbled through the door, giving us room to slow our mad dash with some degree of dignity. She put one hand on the door and stared out the gap at the mass of remnants still advancing. Her lip curled with distaste.

  "You were not invited," she said to the churning madness. Her words carried the heaviness of ritual, and the bitter scent of magic sparked around her. She slammed the door to the garden, a beautiful set of glass French doors, that would do nothing at all to slow down the horde coming our way. The moment the door shut, it transmuted into raw, red brick.

  "What the—" DeShawn drew back, eyes widening. His gaze flicked to Adelia and his hand dropped to his sidearm. If she noticed, she paid the subtle aggression no mind.

  "This house is on lockdown," she explained, tucking the shotgun into the crook of her elbow. "Nevertheless, I suggest we remove ourselves to a more secure location and confer with the others regarding strategy."

  "I need Maeve," I said, and pointed to the library door where I could hear the drone of her chanting, even above the howling madness outside the walls of the Durfort-Civrac estate. "She alone can strengthen the wards and buy us more time."

  "Then let us speak with Miss Quinn."

  Adelia led the way to the library, pushing the massive doors open with the flat of one palm. Roisin stood just before the doors, her hands resting on the grips of her weapons, her keen eyes locked onto the door.

  "Trouble?" she asked in a slow drawl.

  "Remnants are overwhelming the wards on the walls." I tipped my chin to Maeve. "How soon until they're awake?"

  "Not soon enough."

  "Dammit. Interrupt her, we need her power reinforcing the wards."

  "I can hear you," Maeve said and dropped her arms to her sides, then shook out her skirt with an irritated huff. "And all these interruptions are growing quite tiresome."

  My eyes narrowed. "I apologize if this house being under siege is boring you, but if you'd like to live long enough to see the sun come back, then you'd better shelve the attitude and get your ass on reinforcing the estate's wards, otherwise we'll be up to our tits in remnants in no time, and they're seriously going to mess up your chanting."

  Maeve threw back her head, copper curls flying out in all directions, and roared with laughter. "I knew there was a reason our Roisin liked you! Show me these walls. I need to see what I'm working with."

  "Not possible," Adelia said. "The house is on lockdown. All substantial means of ingress and egress have been sealed."

  Maeve eyed the large skylight above our heads pointedly. "This one seems to be functioning just fine."

  It was spilling sunlight onto the coffins of the sunstriders, despite the unnatural dark outside. I'd been so concerned with securing the house that I hadn't noticed.

  "That," Adelia said, "has its own enchantments. You do not want to go through it. The damage to a mortal body would be... irreversible."

  Well, there was a question for later, I thought, but racked my brain for another way to get Maeve a visual of the wall.

  "What about Seamus's cameras?" I asked.

  "A video feed would do," Maeve said in the same tone of voice one might use to accept a glass of apple juice when they'd ordered champagne.

  "I'm on it!" Talia said, popping up from a chair near the caskets where she'd been taking notes. Her booties clicked on the floor as she sprinted out of the room, a blur of brown hair and blue jeans. She was back a moment later with Seamus in tow, a haunted look on his face as he clutched a backpack in one hand.

  "What's going on?" he asked. "I was looking out my window when the sun just... vanished, and then my window sealed over."

  "We've been discovered by the nightwalkers," I said. Blunt, but I figured Seamus was inoculated to shock by now. Judging by the way his face paled, I probably misjudged that, but there was no time to coddle the mortals if I was going to keep them alive. "Did Talia tell you what we need?"

  "Yeah," he said, snapping out of his shock in an instant. "It'll just take a second."

  He found a clear table and yanked a laptop out of his bag, popping it open. While he worked, I turned to Talia and lowered my voice.

  "Gather everyone in this building who is a non-combatant and bring them to the library. This is where we hold."

  "On it," Talia said so fast the syllables blurred into one word, then took off at a sprint yet again. I felt DeShawn's eyes on me and met his gaze, raising my brows in question.

  "The cellar's more defensible," he said.

  I lay a hand on the nearest casket. "We can't all make it there."

  He grimaced, but nodded. "Understood." He pressed a finger to his earpiece and tipped his head, listening. "My sharpshooters have lost sight lines. Roland is directing them to take up positions on the balcony above the grand staircase."

  "Appreciated," I said.

  "Feed's live," Seamus said, leaning back in his chair. We crowded around him to get a better look.

  In every view around the estate, a seething sea of remnants smashed against the walls, sending up plumes of violet energy into the false dark. At the front gate, where the wards would be the weakest due to the gate needing to open occasionally, the remnants were thickest. Many had already made it over the walls, battered and slowed, but functional. So long as they had their legs and arms, they were of use to the nightwalkers controlling them.

  I squinted, trying to find the point of power in the madness. There—just on the other side of the gate—an eye in the storm of remnants. A lone woman, unaffected by the multitudes scrambling around her. They didn't dare get close enough to touch her. She might have been of Greek descent, before the nightwalker change had drained the blood from her olive-hued skin. She certainly looked like a Greek goddess of war.

  She held a long blade in one hand, a smaller handgun in the other, the dull edge of the blade resting against her shoulder as the gun pointed at the ground. Her posture was relaxed, as if this bored her. As we watched, the remnants on our side of the fence heaved out one last, great effort, and tore the wrought-iron gate from its hinges.

  Magic fizzled, deep violet smoke snuffing out in lavender wisps. The woman advanced.

  "Might be a bit late to reinforce the wards," Maeve said.

  Thirty-Two: Encore

  In seconds, the remnants pounded against the front doors, clawing at brick and wood, searching for any fissure in the magic hiding us to let them in. My stomach dropped. They would be inside any moment, no matter Adelia's defenses, and the mortals of the Sun Guard weren't yet secured.

  "Where's Talia with the guard?" I demanded.

  DeShawn relayed my question into his earpiece. "Third floor. Coming down the stairs. My shooters are covering them."

  I shared a look with Roisin. She inclined her head in silent agreement.

  "It won't be enough. Seamus, Adelia, fall back and find defensive positions. Protect yo
urselves if it comes to that, but do not go on the offensive. Maeve, DeShawn, cover us at the door.

  "I didn't agree to this," Maeve muttered. Roisin gave her a sharp, glittering look. She huffed and crossed her arms. "Fine. You lot don't understand what you're up against, anyway. You need me."

  "Yes, we do," I conceded. She blinked owlishly at me. "I should have asked. Will you help us?"

  "Oh." She worked her mouth for a moment, clearly unused to being asked. "Yes, of course, don't be a ninny-head, dearie. Roisin's family."

  "And my daughter is out there," Adelia said, hefting the shotgun against her shoulder. "I won't be corralled in my own home, Miss Shelley. The leadership of the guard is my responsibility."

  "Lady Adelia, with respect, your leadership is what placed us in this position. And your mortal body cannot hold against—"

  An eruption of stone interrupted me, making the massive doors of the library seem paper thin. The screech of the remnants filled the entry hall of Adelia's home, punctuated by the heavy report of gunfire from DeShawn's people.

  "Hold the library." I ordered Adelia. She met my gaze and said nothing, but gave me a tight nod. That would have to do. There was no time for second-guessing.

  Drawing my blade, I stepped into position alongside Roisin and Maeve. DeShawn flanked our left, us directly behind. Roisin drew a pistol and looked over her shoulder to Maeve.

  "When you're ready," she said.

  In the foyer, remnant screams rose to a frustrated crescendo, gunfire from Roland and his team pushing them back. Above, I could hear the thundering of dozens of feet making their slow way along the balcony that connected the second level to the grand staircase. They had no place to hide, no servant's door to run for.

  Either the mortals of the guard stayed locked in their rooms and hoped for the best—a foolish plan, as then our ability to defend them would be hopelessly divided—or they followed Talia's lead and ran down those stairs for the library, facing down dozens of blood-slobbering remnants. It was a miracle, I thought, that they were moving as cohesively as they were.