Crowned by Fire

by Nenia Campbell

  But she had tried that already, and sacrificed several teeth to no effect.

  Another idea flickered into existence, just out of reach. Something about appetite…about feeding. The wheels of her drug-addled brain turned slowly, with effort. Feeding makes them vulnerable, said Predator quietly. Feeding makes them weak.

  And her paws were free.

  She rallied her strength and landed two blows on his neck that would have killed a human, instantly. A sound like a rifle shot split the air as Alec's head twisted to an angle that didn't normally occur in nature. Rivulets of blood—her blood—coursed from his slack mouth as he tried, and failed, to speak.

  Breaking his neck wouldn't kill him. It was a painful inconvenience, nothing more. But it had bought her some extra time—and it had forced him to let her go.

  That was the important thing. She had to get away. She had to Change.

  There was a sickening pop as Alec cracked the vertebrae back into place with a rough jerk of his head. It sounded painful, and probably was, but Catherine had no interest in sticking around to watch. She had seconds. Maybe less. Probably less. If she'd gotten lucky and severed his spinal cord she had a few more seconds' grace.

  He's coming, Prey cried. He's coming for us.

  Catherine shifted back into her human form, ducking inside the nearest clothing store. Being out in the open made Prey panic, so she dove under one of the racks to regroup. The smell of fabric preserver was overpowering but being surrounded on all sides by clothes was comforting to Prey; it had the feel of a nest.

  She yanked one of the dresses off the rack and tore off the anti-theft device with her teeth. Fabric tore, and ink squirted out from the sensor to spray her. She hissed in annoyance, wiping it away with the back of her hand. At least it hadn't been one of the noisy ones. An alarm equaled a dinner bell as far as the vampires were concerned.

  Because that's what she was to these creatures. Dinner. Prey.

  Gods, what was she going to do? Her claws were useless. Her teeth, useless. She rubbed at her jaw and felt the phantom pain of her teeth cracking around the vampire's rock-hard skin all over again. How on earth was she supposed to fight that?

  I should have gone with the cheetah. At least then I'd match them in speed.

  And reveal herself as a black beast. The vampire had been surprised to see her as a cat instead of a bird, which meant the Slayers didn't know she wasn't settled. For all the vampire knew, they had gotten it wrong as humans did often enough, and she was a leopard. Once was a fluke—but twice? They would know something was wrong.

  She was going to have to fight the vampires the old-fashioned way. The human way.

  The Slayer way.

  “Gods help me,” she muttered, sucking in a deep breath of chemical-laced air. Then she pushed the clothes aside and stepped out of her hiding space.

  Alec was nowhere in sight. Looking for me, she thought grimly, picking her way around the shattered glass and rubble. But not if I find him first

  Catherine had spotted a furniture store earlier. Pete's Suite's, she thought it was called. Knock-off IKEA. The cheap wood would splinter easily and then she would have the perfect weapon. Only if you get him through the heart.

  In her haste, she almost missed the store, crammed as it was between a See's and a Bath and Body. She checked to ensure she wasn't being followed before ducking inside Pete's and seizing one of the chairs on display. With enough force the leg tore off easily, showering wooden splinters across the lap of her dress. She brushed them off, testing the weight of the makeshift stake in her hand. Solid wood. Perfect for vampire hunting.

  If the legends are even true. There's a whole lot they've gotten fucking wrong.

  What was she supposed to do, then? Cower in the corner and cry?

  Hide, Prey suggested. Lots of hidey-holes. Easy to wait them out.

  No. She wasn't going to hide. The vampires were predators, and they were playing with her the way a cat would with a mouse. If she ceased being entertaining they would grow bored and simply kill her outright.

  She scanned for Alec. No sign of him. In the food court down below the witch was with the female vampire. Still fighting. Surprising, considering that he had disposed of his first adversary so quickly. Her corpse lay crumpled on the floor and Catherine could smell her rotten, melted flesh from where she stood. The blonde must have been older, faster, more experienced.

  The female vampire struck tirelessly at the witch's weak points. He had many. Unlike shape-shifters, witches didn't possess any extraneous healing abilities beyond what they could conjure up themselves. They were essentially glorified humans.

  Slow. Frail. Weak.

  Prey, suggested Predator.

  But the witch was holding his own. Not like Prey. He had cast a dragon out of fire: flame red, rippling with hotter blues that jagged through the hot mass like veins of lightning. Clouds of flame seared at the vampire whenever she came too close, and her face, as she stalked him, was one of wary concentration.

  The witch mirrored her footsteps; he was slower, but more lithe—as if he could anticipate her moves in advance but didn't quite have the speed to retaliate.

  Like watching a time lag on a video.

  In comparison to the vampires, and even to her, he was deceptively slender; but there was a fluidity behind his movements that made his attacks look choreographed, lag or no. The witch wouldn't have been able to pull off some of those feints and dodges if he didn't have the muscle to back it. She knew firsthand that he was quite well-built.

  And then Ebony struck, shattering the illusion, and the smell of blood jerked Catherine from her thoughts. She had wasted precious time standing here, watching the witch and the vampire fight. Time she should have spent running for her own life.

  Still, she couldn't help flinching when she saw the damage. It was not good. Ebony had struck a nasty blow, shallow but painful—her claws had raked right into his bare chest, shredding his skin from neck to navel. Her bright laugh pierced the air.

  The witch man aged to pull back and avoid the follow-up attack, using the dragon to parry the swipes and kicks she aimed in his direction. But Ebony could feint better—and faster—than he could, and they were almost indistinguishable from the real blows. What she lacked in finesse she made up for in speed, so she was still achieving her goal. The witch was losing his vigilance and losing blood. She was wearing him down.

  The dragon moved into place to ward off another blow and stuttered, slowing down. Something rose up in Catherine's throat. A warning, though it could have easily been bile. This time, the spell wasn't fast enough and Ebony caught the witch on his side. Not a glancing blow, either. The smell of blood and magic filled the air, hot and metallic, copper and ozone mingling together in a bitter, acrid smog that clung to the back of her throat like a film she couldn't swallow away. Overhead, the dragon flickered, like lights on the verge of extinction. Which made Catherine remember—dragons.

  The man in her dreams, the one fated to end the word, had spoken of his dragons. He had said that they would rule the world in darkness when everything else was gone. Catherine's heart leaped into her throat. Was Phineas Riordan the Shadow Thane?

  Leave now, then. Best to let him die if he's going to fucking annihilate the world.

  But what if she was wrong?

  What if she was right?

  The witch pressed his arm against his wounded side to staunch the blood flow. Catherine watched him center his balance and resume chanting, though his voice was guttural with pain. The dragon dove down with renewed strength but lacked the leisurely grace from before; its movements had grown sharper, more precise. The coils that previously flowed and spiraled were now cracking out like brightly-colored whips, lashing at Ebony with such savagery that even the Predator inside Catherine was impressed.

  She wasn't alone.

  “He's very talented, isn't he?” said an all too familiar voice.

  Catherine stiffened. She hadn't even heard Alec approach, but
there he was, leaning back against the elevator doors. Both his eyes were on the food court but she knew at least one of the was paying attention to her because of the way he straightened when she turned around. “Yes,” she said coldly.

  “You're quite attractive as a human.”

  “Chalk it up to good genes,” she said.

  “Very good.” Alec glanced over her. “Why are you with him?”

  Her hands clenched at her sides. “That's none of your business.”

  “I see.”

  Did he?

  Alec turned his eyes back to the witch. “Well. In any case, it will be a shame when they kill him.”

  “Your friend?”

  “There would be no point.” He smiled, baring fang. “We can't drink ichor.”

  She didn't miss the threat buried beneath those words. “Does that mean that you are working for the Slayers?” she demanded.

  Alec didn't bat an eye. “Yes.”

  Mercenaries, then. “Why?”

  “They agreed to leave our hunting grounds in peace if we delivered the witch and the book. Gave us our advance in blood. It was a good deal. I agreed.”

  Why didn't they just kill him? Why were the Slayers dealing with an intermediary?

  He's lying, a small voice whispered.

  “I was a witch in my past life, you know,” he said, his eyes slipping back to the fight, “But then I was reborn and then I became faster, stronger”—he paused—“better.”

  “Maybe,” said Catherine.

  “Maybe?” He glanced to his right. Catherine did too, warily. There was a car on display for a contest the mall was having—a champagne-colored Pontiac G3. He raced over to it and picked it up, hoisting it over his head with both arms.

  “Maybe,” he repeated, mockingly, and threw the car at her. She screamed and hit the floor as roughly two tons of steel flew over her head. It bounced twice. Then there was a heavy crash that shook the floor. Glass windows exploded out of their panes. She heard a groan of steel, the crumbling plaster as the shops caved in from the car's impact.

  “Maybe.” He raced around the entire perimeter of the mall, ruffling the fabric of Ebony's dress—an untraceable black blur, visible only by the destruction in his wake—before halting in front of Catherine with such suddenness that she stumbled backwards. He threw back his head and laughed.

  Catherine glanced over her shoulder at the mess of twisted steel and shattered glass, the numerous storefronts that he had destroyed, and was filled with a sudden, horrifying vision of what the vampire could do to her, easily.

  Swallowing her fear, she said, “You sure showed that car who's boss.”

  “I am stronger than you have any hope of being,” said Alec. “The ultimate predator.”

  “You broke the Fourth Rule to get your powers,” said Catherine. “That's why sunlight and spirit burn you. That's why you can't spell-cast or shift. It's your curse.”

  She raised her right hand, the hand with the stake.

  “That's why only wood and fire can kill you. They're organic. They're alive.”

  “And I suppose you have no weaknesses?”

  He was holding a silver necklace that he'd stolen from one of the jewelry stores during his impossibly fast run. She gaped at it and felt her control of the situation slip through her fingers. This is bad.

  “Go on,” he said. “Attack me, if you dare. Pit your stake against my silver.”

  Catherine had two options: she could fight, or she could run. And she knew without a doubt that if she ran, the vampire would catch her and kill her instantly.

  So Catherine lunged. She lunged, and she brought down her hand in a swift, downward arc. The sound of the stake plunging into his cold, hard flesh reached her ears as the wood splintered on impact. She—had missed. She had missed his heart.

  “Shit.” Her stomach heaved from panic. “Shit.”

  Alec grabbed her wrist and bit down—hard. There was a clatter. It was the stake hitting the floor. She hissed through her teeth, even as tears stabbed at her eyes.

  “I love the taste of adrenaline in the blood,” he said. “It's such a rush.”

  “You're an abomination.”

  “Some would say the same thing about you, babe. Besides—” every animal inside her cried out when she felt his breath against her neck “—you'd be amazed how easy it is.”

  “How easy what is?”

  “Breaking the Fourth.” His mouth pressed lightly against her neck and she strained in his grip, resisting. “If you tense up like that,” he said against her skin, “it will only hurt more.”

  “You said it would be painless.”

  Alec laughed. “I lied.”

  Which made her struggle harder, but it was like fighting against a concrete wall. His arms were crushing her; she could not breathe; she could not resist. Prey took over her consciousness and made her go limp and submissive. Pain lit up and down her throat like a fuse, exploding in agony, only to be chased away by the drug-infused void.

  “There was some tearing,” he murmured. “You shouldn't have struggled.”

  The blackness was settling in. She grasped at her throat, and her groping fingers closed around a delicate chain, soaked with blood. Her fingers were so wet with it they came back red. The creature had ripped open her neck and put the silver necklace on her.

  She wouldn't heal.

  He's going to kill me.

  She could feel her life ebbing away, the animals in side of her swallowed up by the shadows. “I'll just be taking that book of yours,” he added.

  He was picking up her messenger bag. No, she thought weakly. No!

  The air in front of the vampire shimmered, before growing hot. Much too hot. Suddenly, a small, but raging inferno erupted, and the vampire was pushed back by the flames.

  Catherine hit the floor, kicking backwards with her feet to put more distance between herself and the fire. She grabbed her bag and strapped it over her body, looking around to see what had caused the blast, although she regretted it when she felt the wound throb in warning, and more blood oozed down her throat.

  The witch was standing slightly behind her, upside-down from her current perspective. He was breathing quickly, burning so brightly with magic that it almost hurt to look at him. Blood dripped from his side, splashing on the floor in glittering droplets.

  “That is Council property,” he said, straining with the effort. “Stand aside.”

  Alec studied him through the wavering shield. “Don't you know how rude it is to interrupt someone when they're having dinner?”

  Then she heard Graymalkin say, very quietly in her ear, “Shifter…grab the chair leg. And the fire extinguisher. To your left.”

  Catherine turned her head—which felt as heavy as a slab of granite—and saw one bolted against the wall. Across the plaza. So near, yet so far.

  “Yes,” Graymalkin said, following Catherine's gaze. “That one.”

  “I can't. The vampire took too much blood.” She clapped her hand against the wound, and blood oozed through her fingers. “I can…barely move.”

  Pain jagged through her arm, slicing through the fog like a diamond-edged blade. Catherine made a sort of backwards-sounding scream and stared down at her arm, at the four trails oozing blood. Graymalkin glared at her, claws extended and ready for another swipe. “Now. Or you'll both die.”

  Slowly, so as not to attract the vampire's attention, Catherine scooted in that direction. It took effort—she felt woozy and with every move her vision blurred and tilted.

  Her fingers closed around the stake. One down, she thought blearily. One to go.

  “—think I might take her with me,” Alec was saying. “Something for the road.”

  The witch growled. “She's mine.”

  “Is she?” Alec said. “And what does your father think about that?”

  The witch said nothing. Catherine could hear the sound of blood falling in the silence. Plink.

  “I was a water-caster myself.”

/>   “Once. I remember,” the witch said coldly, “but not anymore.”

  Plink-plink.

  “No,” Alec agreed. “Not anymore.”

  Almost there.

  “There aren't many truly powerful fire-casters anymore. The only son of the royal family, I believe, is one of the few remaining masters. I was lucky enough to see one of his performances in my past life.” His crimson eyes bored into the witch. “One vial of his blood would fetch an unimaginably high price, wouldn't it…Prince Riordan?”

  So it was true, then.

  His father was Royce Riordan. The same Royce Riordan who currently presided over the Council in its entirety; who had mastered all four elements; Who had almost single-handedly supervised the construction of the Keep. Who had executed countless members of her kind for treason.

  “Your highness.” The vampire bent from the waist, dropping into a bow. Then, in a voice laced with amusement, “I always did wonder if the rumors were true.”

  Some unspoken conversation seemed to pass between them. The witch's eyes grew colder, icier, until Catherine could feel the chill radiating from his pale skin.

  “You look just like your mother,” Alec added.

  Plink.

  How very original.

  She dragged herself to her feet, swaying dangerously. Her vision tunneled. She was going to faint. Or die. Same end result, either way. If she passed out, the vampire would finish her off. “Shifter!” Graymalkin cried out. “Don't fall!”

  The witch whirled around to look at her, making the most fatal but elemental mistake of battle. Catherine saw what was going to happen, even before it did. Fool.

  “Behind you!” someone screamed. It could have been her, or Graymalkin. Or maybe it was both of them, at the same time. Everything was swimming, even the air. Reality no longer held any sort of cohesion.

  Alec pounced through the murk, knocking the witch to the ground. He clapped a hand over the witch's mouth, cutting him off mid-curse. “I don't think so,” he said pleasantly, as if they were having a debate instead of a fight. He flicked out an iron dagger—the only kind of blade that could spill a witch's blood without absorbing some of the magic. “Time to bleed.”