Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  And to reform, seeming no worse for wear.

  I stepped in front of Charles as its reprisal came; the blood golem lost its humanoid shape for a moment as it lashed out, forming a tendril of blood as thick as my torso that whipped out at us. I raised my arms to block as the blow crunched into me, sweeping me into Charles, throwing us both backward toward the broken wall of Flora’s home, where cracked stucco, sharp shards of glass, and splintered wooden supports waited to welcome us.

  Knowing what that kind of impact would do to my frail mortal companion, I grabbed him mid-air and swapped places with him, my dead body bouncing off the wall unharmed. I quickly dropped Charles in the dirt behind me as the golem advanced, giving us no quarter. Looming high over me, its bloody form distorted by refracted moonlight, it brought down another massive, crimson hammer to crush us.

  I caught it full in the chest and held my ground as its bloody fist broke apart, chunks of gelatinous, sanguine fluid splattering the ground all around me. I grabbed the rest of its arm before it could retract and heaved mightily, sending it staggering back and nearly toppling over.

  “Ashes,” Charles leaned against my back, breathing deeply and keeping his voice down. He held something in his hands, but I couldn’t see what it was. “Hold it off. I have a plan.”

  I struggled with concern as Charles uttered what sounded like famous last words and glanced back in time to see him clambering back into the kitchen window. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I trusted him enough to give him a gentle, helpful kick to boost him back inside.

  I booted him through the window hole just in time; the Sanguinarian’s pet conjuration was already reformed and prepared to strike again. I barely braced myself before it pounded me into the wall again, pummeling me once, twice, three times in quick succession. Stucco cracked and shattered all around me, and I was forced to sink my fingers into the wall to keep from being shoved back through the window myself.

  More blows arced in, mace-like tendrils striking home one after another, each spikier and more menacing than the last. I endured a few, timing the strikes, and lunged forward in between them, throwing myself under a lashing blood-tentacle and wincing as it crunched into the side of Flora’s poor, abused home. Eighteen inches of deadly Strigoi claws burst from my right hand and handily severed the tendril rippling overhead. The spiky ball of blood immediately lost its unnatural cohesion, splashing to the ground with a wet splurt, then dissipating into the air with an ear-hammering crackle of static.

  Got your number now. I threw myself between the golem’s legs, claws aimed for Salvatore’s chest—

  —and promptly got enveloped as it dropped its entire body onto me, suspending me in a sea of murky red. From inside the bloody construct, I could see the Sanguinarian’s distorted grin, as if in a fun house mirror, as I floated helplessly inside the animate creature.

  “You know, I thought it would be harder to capture you.” Salvatore’s voice came to me if from far away, reverberating through his creation. I had a feeling he was raising his voice for my benefit. “I suppose you’re no brighter than the rest of your kind were. All flash and brawn, no forethought or finesse.”

  I growled in response, my ire on the rise, the sound of it echoing in my own ears.

  “You know, Ashley, I even made something especially for you.” I could just make out the white flash of teeth as Salvatore grinned. He reached under his crimson vest and pulled something out, a small, shiny object hanging from a chain around his neck, like an amulet. I didn’t like where this was going. “Let’s see if it works anyway, shall we?”

  He held out the indistinct object, pointing it toward me. Even through the bloody body engulfing me, I could see some sort of sigil blaze silver, then impossibly deep, dark crimson.

  The blood squirmed in my veins, suddenly cold as ice, then blazing hot. I would have cried out as my nerves caught fire, but the blood suffocating me didn’t allow for it. I spasmed uncontrollably, arching my back, having grown almost unaccustomed to pain since my death. Even my claws ached. I tried to move, to do anything, but my body wouldn’t obey. My heart beat once, a stabbing pain, and trembled as my blood forced its way unbidden though the dead organ. Slowly, the claws on my right hand turned inward as my right arm curled toward me, inching the sharp points toward my chest. Outside, through the veil of blood and haze of pain, I could see Salvatore making sweeping, arcane gestures. Realization dawned.

  He was controlling me.

  Rage sparked at the idea, drowning out some of the pain. Now that I knew what was happening, I knew what to fight against. This was that asshole’s will against mine, and I refused to go down without a fight. I focused on my traitorous arm, just like in meditation, and channeled my will, my anger, and even my pain down toward it. My right arm shook, stopping dead, fresh pain lancing up my arm and into my chest.

  Outside the golem, the sigil in Salvatore’s hand blazed like an unholy brand, searing my eyes. The entirety of my blood shook, rushing through my veins like a current of razor blades, but I didn’t care. There was no way I was letting this asshole get the better of me. He thrust the sigil toward me, blindingly bright, and I thrust my will right back, unyielding.

  The light went out. The golem rippled. The object in Salvatore’s hand exploded with a dull thrum.

  I was free of the blood magician’s grasp, and I didn’t hesitate. Around me, the golem rippled, otherwise unmoving. I curled into a ball, then thrust outward, slashing violently as the claws burst from my other hand, rupturing the monster’s “skin” and spilling myself onto the ground at Salvatore’s feet.

  The vampire leapt back, shaking free shards of the demolished glass amulet that were embedded in his hand. Bloody footprints splattered the ground with every step as I stalked him, the Sanguinarian retreating to keep the reforming golem between himself and my claws.

  Then he started laughing.

  Not maniacal laughter or fearful laughter, but a sound of honest amusement and relief.

  I dodged around the conjuration, but Salvatore was almost as quick as I was. “You won’t be laughing in a minute,” I growled, red starting to tint my vision.

  “You don’t understand!” He retorted in his cultured Spanish accent. “You may have gotten free, but you’ve also proven me right. You’ve given me such a gift, Strigoi, done me a service the likes of which you could never believe. Saved me, in fact.”

  I only had a moment to wonder what in the hell he was on about before, above me, the golem suddenly roiled and burst into motion, following the quick directives of Salvatore’s dancing blood claws. It swiped broadly, clumsily at me, forcing me back and away from the vampire I was chasing.

  The golem raised another heavy hammer hand high overhead. “In fact, I’m glad I had this chance to test you, to make certain of what you were before—” The golem slammed the blow down and I darted to the side, bounding off of a wall and almost ending up in Salvatore’s face. His words cut off with a note of alarm as he scrambled away from my claws and leapt backward, widening the gap between us.

  “You think I’m going to let you walk out of here alive?” I retorted. The golem rose above me like a tidal wave, dropping an axe-like appendage down on my head. I caught it on my claws and ripped in in half, blood sizzling and sparking as it dispersed. “I think you forget why your kind feared us so much in the first place.”

  A sudden loathing anger ignited in Salvatore’s dark brown eyes, and a note of fear crept into his words. “Do you know anything, little Strigoi? I’ve lived long enough to remember your kind firsthand.” He gestured, a bloody puppet master directing his minion with furious intent. The first blow hit me across the side of the face, sliding me backward and twisting my head violently to the side. I grinned and shouldered the next blow aside, dead flesh tougher than conjured blood, and caught the third on my claws, ripping it to pieces.

  Salvatore danced away from me, just out of my grasp, keeping the golem between us and flailing at me with dangerous purpose. “Oh yes,
I remember the Strigoi,” he teased, wearing a cruel grin like a badge of pride. “I remember watching as our allies killed your Hollows, tore down your walls, and dragged you out into the daylight. I remember your whole clans and families, helpless and staked.” He grinned even more broadly. “Burning.”

  My roar shook the air as I threw myself at him, golem or no. The Sanguinarian’s smile suddenly evaporated as instead of his creation stopping me or absorbing me again, I cut a chunk free from its leg and heaved with all my might, flipping the golem over and nearly crushing him with it. I leapt for him, desperate to sink claws into his bloody flesh, only to see the relief on his features close up as the golem wrapped a tendril around my ankle at the last instant, slamming me face-first into the packed dirt of someone’s backyard instead.

  “I remember the cries of your kind, as they found their voices in pain.” His voice grew distant as he leapt a good twenty feet away from me. Raising my head from the dirt, I twisted and whipped my claws through the bit of blood-rope around my ankle, blood-rusted iron making short work of it. But by then, the golem had already reformed itself, upright and in the way again. I shrugged and started forward again, resolute and inevitable.

  “I heard the cries of your matrons, your children, your brothers and sisters,” he hissed. “I watched them wail and beg and burn anyway. And now that we know you’re back, we won’t stop there.” The golem swept forward, striking at me suddenly from both sides and above at once. “The world itself will burn before we give up what we have gained, and I will be part of it all once more.”

  The blows careened toward me like a trio of bloody wrecking balls…and I refused to move. My legs buckled partway under the force of the assault, but I grabbed one of the mace-headed tendrils, yanking the creature toward me and sawing off a huge chunk with my claws.

  “Is it just me,” I croaked, “Or is your golem getting smaller?” Holding out one hand, I raised a single finger, eighteen inches of Strigoi claw flipping him off clearly through the amorphous body of the golem.

  The wind picked up suddenly, whipping around me and yanking at my clothes. What hair along my neck and arms that wasn’t already touched by static stood suddenly at attention, and a thousand tiny, invisible somethings scraped painlessly across my iron-like skin. “Ashley!” I glanced behind me at Charles, standing in the window, eyes dilated and intent, a barely contained vortex of wind clutched in his hands. “Get down.”

  I dropped to the dirt without question as a small tornado funneled over me. The wind tunnel drilled into the bloody body of the golem—and cut effortlessly through it. I hopped back to my feet as the column of winds burst apart, filling the air with small, drifting specks through the air. Salvatore scrambled as his golem staggered, both of them reeling in unison.

  I glanced back over my shoulder as Charles clumsily hauled himself out of the shattered window. “The hell did you do?” I rasped. I made a face as a bunch of the tiny particles made their way into my mouth. “Oh. Salt.” Salt, the metamagical bane of Sanguinarians—and especially, their blood magics.

  I helped haul the wizard out of the window and set him upright. Charles raised his blurry hands and summoned wind from Next Door once more as I turned and dashed recklessly forward. Wind whipped into a frenzy, drawing in the salt from all around us. The granules scraped harshly at my exposed skin, but I shielded my eyes and ignored it. Salvatore, his dark eyes wide with alarm, leapt away and hauled ass in the opposite direction as the blood golem reared up between us; it stretched wide, making itself into a wall. I dove claw-first into it, pushing through as it tore apart around me, rent to shreds by salt borne on Charles’ storm winds.

  The blast of static, booming like thunder, caused by the golem’s animating magic grounding out hit me from behind and knocked me flat.

  By the time I shook it off and got back on my feet, Salvatore was gone.

  Charles grabbed my shoulder firmly with one big, calloused hand, and shoved me forward. “Well, don’t just stand there, go catch that asshole.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Giving me the run around

  “So, what took you so long?” It was hard to keep the irritation out of my voice as I dropped heavily into the passenger seat of Charles’ Silverado, no longer parked in the drive of Mama Flora’s half-demolished home.

  Charles shrugged. “Couldn’t find the salt. Did you see her kitchen? That shit was a wreck.” I snorted. The wizard cast me a curious, serious eye and turned the key in the ignition.

  “Fuck, no,” I answered the unspoken question “Not a fucking sign of him.” I balled a fist and raised it in unthinking frustration, but Charles’ flat stare brought me up short of thumping the dash with it. “Sorry.” I put my hands firmly on my knees and used some of the exercises I’d learned the past few months to clear my mind and flush some of my overflowing anger down the proverbial drain.

  “He was gone. Just gone.” I sighed, calmer now, my breath making strange sounds as it wheezed in and out of me. “No blood trail, no scent, no nothing.” I frowned. “Dammit, he shouldn’t have been able to just disappear into thin air like that.” In the right places, with the right energy in the air, I could do it, a Moroi could do it, any demon or Fae might could do it. But not a Sanguinarian.

  The engine roared to life, but Charles didn’t move. “It’s not the only impossible thing going on. Where did he get enough blood to form that monstrosity? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  I grimaced, thought of the most likely answer, then shook my head. “Next Door. He got it from Next Door. I know because of the energy discharge when I cut it up, and when we finally killed it. He just drew it from there, just like…”

  Charles smirked as I trailed off. “You see the problem with that, right? Sanguinarians don’t call energy from Next Door like I do, or even like you do or Tamara does. They’re unnatural and don’t have those kinds of connections.”

  “That one did,” I objected.

  Charles frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “You’re not—” he cut off and took a deep breath, starting over. “It’s simply not possible; it defies the laws of metaphysics.” His frown deepened, wrinkling his face. “But something’s not right here. I’ve never seen—or even heard of—a Sanguinarian controlling that much blood at once. They don’t have a link to Next Door to simply manifest it, and it’s kind of hard to come by in such massive amounts here at Home.”

  “Maybe he just killed something huge over there and brought its blood over. That would explain it dispersing into static, right?”

  Charles snapped his fingers, looking pleased. “That’s it. Got to be.” I didn’t think he realized he was congratulating me. But an instant later, he was frowning again, his brow furrowed. “But that doesn't explain his disappearing act… Hmmmm. What did the construct’s blood smell like?”

  Now it was my turn to frown. I hadn't even thought about it. “Well, not tasty at all, for a start.” He stared at me, unblinking. “More like Sanguinarian blood does. Stale, and off-human.” I gritted my teeth. “Not far off from what I’ve been smelling at the abduction sites.”

  He nodded. “Figures. All of this just isn't adding up—”

  “—But still seems connected,” I finished. He grunted his agreement. “So how do we—” I cut off with irritation and rolled down my window, then pounded on my chest until I coughed up a bunch of foreign blood onto the pavement and the side of Charles’ truck. I was tired of it clogging my voice and making me sound even less intelligent than usual.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded, watching the blood splatter darken and dissipate into the air. “Maybe.” I looked back over, subdued. “That asshole has my number.”

  “The one from the phone call?” Charles returned a brief, flat glance. “I figured that out, thanks.”

  I stared out at the pitch-dark night sky, tarnished by the constant haze of the ever-burning city lights. “I mean...he knows, Charles.” The wizard cocked an eyebrow.
“About me, about what I am, and that we’re not all dead. I confirmed it for him tonight.” I looked back over at him, my expression heavy. “What’s going to happen now? You heard how he talked about us—I mean, the Strigoi, right?”

  He was silent for a long moment, long enough for me to wonder if he was going to answer. What did it matter to him, after all?

  “The way I see it, you’re not much worse off than you were yesterday,” he said finally, his voice heavy. “There are two scenarios. One: someone powerful believes him, and you’re suddenly up to your neck in ‘Bloodbags’, as you say.” He snorted, seeming amused. “Two and most likely: he needs more proof. Maybe a lot more. Being his own eyewitness won’t cut it.”

  I grunted, nodding. He had a point. Things weren’t going well, but it wasn’t one minute till midnight, either. Not yet. “Fair enough. It’s like if I said I saw Elvis down the street at Randy’s Burgers. It could be true, but no one’s going to take me at face value.”

  He nodded slowly, then sighed quietly. “I should have gone with you. Helped you look. Maybe we could have caught him or tracked him down.”

  The sympathy—or was it regret?—caught me off guard. I shook my head, ticking off reasons on my dirty, bloody fingers. “Someone had to check on Mama Flora,” I rasped. “And we both had to bail. Between the three of us, our combined pyrotechnics might have blown up every active cell phone and landline on the block, but you know someone out there figured out a way to call the cops.”

  He nodded. “Someone did. I watched a convoy of flashing lights pass me on my way out. I hit the road just in time.” He frowned. “She was gone, just like she said she’d be.” While I’d scaled the nearest rooftop and gone hunting futilely for Salvatore, Charles had gone back to make certain Mama Flora was okay. Then he’d removed his truck and any evidence of his presence before anyone paid him too much attention. Charles still had a mortal, totally arrestable, secret identity, after all.