Emeline stumbled under the weight of the woman with the ripped-off arm, drawing Ragnar's attention like a limping gazelle draws the ire of the lion. Before I could reach him he was upon her, tearing the injured woman from her arms and throwing her to the ground. Emeline staggered at the force and dropped to one knee, her hands slipping in the woman's blood. Ragnar grabbed her by the hair and yanked, flinging her over the railing like a toy.
She hit the ground on her side, rolling awkwardly through the viscera left by the battle. Maeve ran to her, but Ragnar was there first. He lashed out, his palm striking the witch in the center of the chest. She went down gasping. Roisin had almost cleared a path between the remnants and the library, but Emeline had been thrown on the other side of that line. I gritted my teeth and leapt after her.
Ragnar was still distracted by Maeve, who took up an unsteady chant under her breath. I crouched beside Emeline and met her eyes. They were scrunched with pain, but focused. No time for questions. She took my hand and I hauled her to her feet, angling my body to put myself between her and Ragnar. He spun, snarling, claws flexing at his sides as his chosen prey hobbled as fast as she could for the library door.
Maeve chanted. DeShawn dragged his fallen comrade toward the library. Roisin rained death upon the horde. Emeline did her best to run. There was only me. Me, and the monster.
I came in low, ducking under the wide swipe of his claws, and drove my shoulder into his solar plexus. He gasped at the pain, head snapping back, and brought his hands around to claw at my back. Pulling away, I flung my arms out, knocking his grasp wide, and re-centered. He may have been fast, and riding the high of a bloodrage and the Venefica's magic, but I was calm. Focused. His animal instincts kept drawing him back to Emeline, her limp irresistible.
He growled and lunged, slipping around my range. Maeve hadn't finished her chant. DeShawn's hands were full. Emeline's eyes widened and she threw her arms up to shield herself.
A blast like lightning broke the air. Adelia stood in the doorway of the library, shotgun propped against her shoulder, sweat dampening the shirt against her collarbone, a grim set to her lips. Ragnar staggered backward, a hole as big as my fist through the center of his chest. She'd missed the heart, but then, we'd already seen how well that worked.
"You will not touch my daughter."
Ragnar tipped his head back and began to laugh. The sound whistled through the ruin of his lungs, a gurgling cacophony. Already, the maw the shotgun had rent began to close.
Adelia pumped the shotgun. Ragnar lashed out. Her throat gaped red and white, the bone of her vertebrae glinting. Her eyes rolled back, the shotgun fell from her hands and clattered to the ground. Adelia crumpled alongside it.
"No!" Emeline screamed, the sound like a wounded animal.
She dropped to her knees and dragged herself to her mother, taking the shotgun from her fallen hands. Ragnar loomed over them both, his eyes rimmed red, the blood seeping from the wound a molasses-slow trickle. Emeline turned, her back against her mother's corpse, braced the shotgun, and fired.
Ragnar's hip exploded in a shower of gore, pieces transmuting to ash as they fluttered to the ground. He looked at the wound, cocked his head to the side curiously, then tipped his head back and howled.
Out in the mists of the moors, the sound of scrambling, frantic footsteps echoed. More. He had more remnants. And they were coming.
Thirty-Four: Tyranny of Doors
Maeve shot to her feet, the breath back in her lungs, and flung a hand toward Ragnar. He blew back like a breeze-tossed leaf, his already broken body leaving a smear of gore against the wall as he struck it and slid down, that mad smile frozen in place.
Emeline stared after him, her mouth open wide, her hands trembling as she tried to steady the shotgun. DeShawn gripped her by the shoulder and she jumped, screaming.
"I've got you," he said, hauling her to her feet as he took the weapon from her hands.
"Mother..."
He shook his head. She swallowed a wail.
I looked away, focusing on what I could do. Ragnar was getting up, and Roisin was mopping up the last of the remnants in the building. We had a chance, an opening, to get them into the library where we could hold down until we could regroup.
Roisin saw it too. "Run!" she shouted. The guard jerked like they'd been kicked from behind, what was left of them sprinting as fast as they could across the remains of the battlefield for the safety of the library doors.
Ragnar's head snapped up, drawn by the sudden movement. That monster just wouldn't stay down. On the gore-smeared floor, the edge of my blade winked up at me. I kicked it into my hand, not bothering to wipe the blood from the grip, and clenched it until my fingers throbbed. Ragnar would not leave this room alive.
"Hey, dickface," I shouted. His head jerked toward me. "You keep running from me. Afraid?"
He snarled and covered the distance between us in a blink, shoving a member of the guard aside to reach me. The guard was Roisin's problem. I had my hands full of pissed-off nightwalker, and my own rage was riding high. It was harder for sunstriders to fall into a bloodrage, we were created to protect mortals, after all, but watching Adelia fall had wrenched something inside of me. I wanted nothing more than to rip Ragnar limb from limb and deliver a nice little pile of ash wrapped up with a bow to the Venefica. If she wanted a vampire for a pet, she'd learn how hard we could bite.
Claws raked my shoulder, but my blade found the notch in his hip and twisted, shoving upward. His whole body quivered from the shock of pain and he lurched, wrapping taloned claws around my throat before I could wrench my blade free. Choking me wasn't an option. He dug his claws in, trying to gouge out my jugular as he had Adelia's.
Fat fucking chance. Roaring, I rammed into him and dropped the blade, shoving my claws into the connective tissue of his shoulder. Ragnar reeled, one arm going limp at his side, the other slashing out at my arms. My wrists opened, dumping blood slower than a mortal's would, but bleeding quickly all the same.
My strength ebbed as the blood left me. My body cried out at me, angry at the abuse it had taken and bending under the lack of light and blood. Ragnar came at me again, and it was all I could do to twist sideways, barely scraping free of his grasp.
"Magdalene!" Roisin called.
I turned to her voice. The guard had disappeared behind the shelter of the library doors. Looking over my shoulder, remnants filled the front doors. A fresh wave, ravening and desperate, whipped forward by the pull Ragnar held over their minds. He grinned that rip-stitch grin at me, flexing his clawed hands in preparation. The hole in his chest had all but healed, and even the chunk blasted from his hip had sealed over, raw muscle knitting itself back into place while I watched.
It would take time for the remnants to reach me. Not much. But then, I was the fastest of my kind. And while Ragnar was healing, he was wounded. Grievously. I would not have this chance again.
He curled a clawed finger at me, beckoning.
"This ends tonight."
I lunged, feinting low, but pooled power in my legs and sprung high at the last moment, sailing over his head as I reached down, claws raking his face. The world twisted as I turned through the air. Ragnar's hand found my ankle, impossibly fast, and he yanked.
The ground slapped my side and I kicked out, connecting with the meaty top of his thigh. Ragnar hovered above me, the stink of the Venefica's magic so strong I gagged. He leered, the bloodrage gone from his eyes, but that didn't mean he lacked a lust for killing.
I braced one elbow against the floor, seeking the knife in my boot with the other. He had me dead to rights, but I could take him out with me.
We need her alive.
A feminine, serpentine voice lashed through the air between us. Ragnar jerked back, hesitating, his eyes narrowed in frustration. My fingers found the cold grip of the blade and I slashed up, opening a long valley across his chest. Ragnar pulled away, hissing, then snapped a hand down and grabbed me by the shoulder, dragging me
to my feet.
Chest-to-chest, the cracks in his veneer showed deep. Ash tinged the edges of his flesh, the half-moons beneath his eyes dark as midnight. The Venefica's magic could not hold him together much longer. Before I could get another slash in, he flung me with all his strength toward the massing ranks of remnants.
Roisin hit me like a lightning bolt, her body a blur of color and motion as she swooped into my side and shoved me with all her preternatural strength, flinging me toward the library. I crashed to my knees right outside the great doors, the knife clattering from my hands.
"Get her in," Maeve snapped.
"Sorry girl," DeShawn said, and grabbed me by the back of my shredded jacket and dragged me, dazed, into the shelter of those doors.
"Take her!" Ragnar roared.
The howl of the remnants swelled against me, deafening the shouts of my allies. I staggered to my feet and turned, clawed hands hanging limp at my sides. Maeve stood in the door opening, her hands outstretched as she chanted, low and even. Over her shoulder, Roisin battled with Ragnar, forcing him back every time he tried to get close to the library.
I couldn't let her stand against him alone. I checked for another knife, came up empty, and decided to rely on my claws once more. I stepped forward, one leg dragging strangely, and tried to ignore the pain radiating from my hip—dislocated?
DeShawn grabbed my shoulder and gripped hard. "Stay. Roisin's orders."
Roisin didn't look like she planned on coming back anytime soon. I narrowed my eyes, realization dawning slowly.
"No," I hissed.
"Mags!"
I wrenched my shoulder free of DeShawn's grip and tried to sprint toward the door, but my leg held me back. Maeve's hands came up, as if in slow motion, the final word of her spell locking into place. A wave of power lashed out from her fingertips, a gout of psychokinetic force that drained her right before my eyes, her body rounding as she folded upon herself.
The wave slammed into the group in the foyer—remnant, Ragnar, Roisin. All of them tumbled backward, light as feathers under the force of Maeve's power. A shout tore from my throat as I saw Roisin's hair—a dash of lively color amongst the bodies—blown like chaff.
Maeve turned toward me, eyes blazing despite her slouch, and threw up a hand. A smaller burst of power tossed me into the library, and then Maeve was inside, the doors slammed shut behind her. She slapped a hand against the wood, a ripple of power tearing out from around her fingers, and I knew she'd sealed us all within. And sealed Roisin's doom.
Thirty-Five: Broken Skies
I would not lose another. Not today. Never again.
What scant light seeped through the enchanted cupola fueled my body, giving me the strength to drag myself to my feet and throw myself at the door. I snarled, digging my claws into the wood, struggling not to recoil as the warded magic ran through me like an electric shock.
"Enough," Maeve said, close to my ear, and the power crested, flinging me back from the ward as if I were little more than a toy. I landed on my back and swore, spitting up small droplets of blood. Rolling to my side, I pushed myself up, and gathered my legs beneath me.
"They won't kill her." Maeve regarded me with deep-water eyes, her hands open at her sides as she prepared to cast against me, if it came to that. "But they need you. Be reasonable."
"Mags," DeShawn said, placating. His fingers brushed against my back and I shrugged him off. "Listen to her. This was Roisin's plan. We can track Roisin, we can't track you."
"We can destroy him now!"
"And find the others how?" Emeline, her young face streaked with salt and blood, came to stand between me and the door. "We do not know where Ragnar's hive is. We do not know where the other sunstriders are being held. Roisin volunteered to be taken so we can regroup and find them all."
The tethers that bound me to humanity strained, frayed. Ragnar could be hunted. But there was no telling what he'd do to Roisin in the meantime. Just because we had Lucien's word the others were alive did not mean that Ragnar wasn't in the process of leaving Roisin a pile of ash on the foyer floor.
The eyes of the Sun Guard watched me, hunkered down around the tables of the library, wary. Their expectations radiated off of them, laced with fear. They wanted words from me. Wanted a calm strength to carry them through the harrowing they had experienced. My blood oath tugged at me, called on me to stay here. To be their protector, their solid wall against the night. My hands relaxed, the claws retreating.
Roisin screamed.
Maeve's magic buffeted against me, binding, as I whirled away from her. The door was pointless, she'd never let me pass. But the wide shaft of light plunging through the center of the room gave me the exit I needed. Maeve's magic gripped me, squeezing, strangling the strength from my limbs as I pushed through.
The guard scattered, knocking over tables and chairs. Though my leg dragged behind me, Maeve's magic snapped, her exhausted will too tired to hold against my own. Sunlight washed over me and for a moment I froze, gasping in the strength. My muscles flexed, rejuvenated, and a sucking sensation in my hip ended with a teeth-cracking pop that echoed in the large room.
"Mags..." Seamus half-stepped toward me, hand outreached, Talia dangling from his other arm as she tried to hold him back.
I crouched, then sprung upward with all my strength. The spell keeping the sunlight falling through the cupola pushed against me, the salt-bitter tang of magic heavy on the air. It snapped, night flowing in to fill the void, and I burst through the stained glass.
Glittering shards rained all around me. Some sliced my arms, my cheeks, but those small injuries were nothing compared to what I had already endured. I threw out my arms, hovering just a moment above the broken dome. Black mists swirled over the roof of the estate, an unnatural darkness marring the sky that stank of the Venefica's magic.
I hit the sturdier edge of the dome and rolled, coming to a stop on the damp tiles. The false night was so pervasive I could hardly see the slates just a bare few inches away from my nose. Without the strength of the sun coursing through me, my body shook as I pushed myself up, every sinew issuing an aching complaint.
Laughter echoed through the cloudy mists. The dark greys and blacks swirled around me, mocking. The voice I had heard only a bare few moments before, but it was one I would remember for the rest of my life. The soft woman's voice, the one who had whispered: Do not kill her, to Ragnar. The Venefica.
"Show yourself, witch," I said, standing on shaky legs. My hip socket burned.
The mists parted before me. Not enough to let the daylight through, but enough to carve a path across the grey roof. I followed, stretching my clawed hands with every step. Some distant part of me remonstrated myself for not grabbing a proper weapon, but the scent of my enemy dragged me forward.
An ornate railing barred my path, marking the edge of the roof. I coiled my claws around the cold iron and leaned forward, struggling to see through the shroud of mist to the ground below. Ragnar and his remnants were little more than a trace scent upon the wind, I could sense them moving away from me, back up the road and over the wild moorland.
I swung down from the roof, landing on a balcony below, and leapt again, hitting the ground hard. Shock jarred my knees as I crouched into the landing, and pain exploded in my hip, but the part in the mist continued, meandering away from the estate, a tunnel through the dark across the scraggly moors.
With the estate to my back, and Ragnar's forces to the front, I hesitated. Everything about this stank of an ambush.
Roisin's scream echoed back to me, the same sound I'd heard in the library. It tore through the mist, reaching me from all directions, spurring my anger and desperation. I sprinted after the sound, unsure of the direction, tearing at the mist with my claws is if it were fabric, as if it were the flesh of my enemy.
Laughter rose in harmony to Roisin's screams. Over and over again, she cried out, and I drove myself forward, but the sound came from everywhere—and nowhere. Paths in the mists
opened, then closed as soon as I stepped into them, sucking me into a darkness so complete not even my night-adapted eyes could only register the faintest of shapes.
Brambles snagged at my ankles and I stumbled, landing hard on my palms. Stinging nettles and thorns bit into my skin, itching and burning, as I tore myself free of the scrub and pushed on, panting, making my breaking body work as hard as it could to find the source of those screams.
They faded. First in little hiccups, growing soft and dim, and then a gentle hush fell across the moors, and the tunnels of light ceased to open. Only the mist remained, coiling lazily. I bent over, hands on my knees, and struggled to see beyond a few steps in front of me. The laughter died. Silence thick as syrup washed over me.
"Roisin!" I called, my throat raspy.
Nothing. Not even the breaking of a twig underfoot. I turned in a slow circle, trying to catch my bearings. There was no way to tell how far I'd gone, no way to guess at how much time had passed. There had been only the mist, the screaming and the laughter, and now only I remained. Marooned in the dark, bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts and shaking from pain and exhaustion. If the Venefica had not meant to kill me, she had done a poor job.
Crouching close to the ground, I examined the growth for the crunching tread of my path and found a few bent twigs. Slowly, I followed the path my frantic flight had left. The darkness drew in closer, tighter. The mist tactile against my already cold skin yet somehow colder—as if it were made of frost.
Another step. A deeper darkness.
Closing my eyes, I struggled to sense anything near me. The mortals in the estate, the perversion of the remnants—anything to give me a compass. Nothing. Not even worms in the ground.
"Mags!" Seamus's voice, soft and wavering, pierced through the fog.
Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1) Page 19
