“Can you help her?” Scooter asked Ilanion.
“Possibly.”
“You might want to hurry. She’s fading.”
Fading was the right word. Max didn’t feel any pain anymore. She felt like a deflated balloon. The pain eased as she lost feeling. It was like she was evaporating.
A jolt of magic flashed through her. She felt herself flop and puddle back into herself. Blackness charred the edges of her mind.
Another jolt.
Fading.
The last thing Max felt was a distant snapping. Like fishbones and icicles. Then there was release and velvet blackness.
THEY CAME WITHOUT STEALTH, AND THAT SAVED their lives. Had they been hunting, he would have ripped their throats out.
He had exhausted himself. He sprawled on a shelf of stone above a small valley. Behind him, a cave wormed deep into the rock. He would have safety from the sun, if he wanted it. He could easily defend the entrance against a horde of enemies, or he could escape across the cliff face or leap to the valley floor. He would break bones, but he would heal. He had energy to burn.
He had killed things and eaten them. Blood smeared his chest, arms, and face. His shirt lay in bloody ribbons on the ground behind him. Fifty feet below, Beyul sat panting, his green eyes glowing softly as he watched him.
Alexander growled low from deep in his belly when the three Blades jogged over the opposite ridge and descended into the valley. Knowledge rose in his mind: Niko, Thor, Tyler. The names meant nothing to him, nor did the men. Before he could react to their appearance, a scent hooked his attention, and he looked up. The air whistled across metal wings. Tutresiel dropped out of the sky like an eagle.
Alexander sprang to a crouch, his body clenching tight. He bared his teeth and growled again. A warning.
The angel landed opposite. In his arms, he held a woman, dark-haired and slender. Valery. The silver wings curved forward around her, the feathers a shining fence of deadly knives. She started to pull out of his grip, but Tutresiel held her still.
“No,” he said, his red gaze fixed on Alexander. “Stay here. See his eyes? He’s gone totally feral. He’s been teetering on the edge since Max was taken. His Prime is in total control, and the man is . . . far away. Just now, he’s likely to kill you, no matter what you mean to him. I don’t think you can bring him back to sanity.”
“The hell with that,” she said, struggling.
Alexander watched her shoving at Tutresiel’s unrelenting arm, a snarling part of him wanting to leap to her aid, another part coldly curious.
She went still and focused on him. “Alexander,” she said quietly. “You have to pull yourself together and come back.”
He only stared at her, his lips curling back from his teeth in an expression of total contempt. Never.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Tutresiel observed. “He’s deep in the pit and still falling.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Valery snapped. She elbowed the angel with no effect at all. “Alexander. This isn’t you. Max wouldn’t like you going all Cujo. She’d want you to come back to Horngate.”
Words churned deep inside. They rose onto his tongue, ripping at his insides. They felt strange, as if he’d forgotten how to speak. “Max is dead.” The words sent a jolt of shuddering pain through his body. He curled his fingers into claws as a red film clouded his vision.
“How do you know?” Tutresiel demanded. “She’s broken witch bindings before. Have you no faith?” He shook his head, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a Shadowblade. You don’t deserve her.”
Rage roared through Alexander, and he leaped at the angel. Tutresiel dodged aside, his wings pumping powerfully as he lifted himself and Valery into the air.
“Is it a fight you want? Then come get me.”
Tutresiel dropped to the valley floor and shoved Valery toward Niko. He stood with his legs braced, his arms crossed, his wings spread as he looked up at Alexander.
Without thinking, Alexander launched himself off the stone shelf. He had hated the angel since their first meeting. He landed and lunged at Tutresiel. The angel folded his wings, a deadly smile spreading across his beautiful face. Alexander had fought Tutresiel twice before and knew what he was capable of. The angel could not be killed, but he could be made to hurt. Alexander meant to make him scream.
He charged like a bull. Tutresiel set himself, his smile turning arrogant. Cocky bastard. But Alexander was not stupid. Just before he would have crashed against the angel, he swerved. The angel stepped aside to dodge his rush, and Alexander drove his shoulder into his stomach. Tutresiel toppled back, caught in midstride.
Alexander’s momentum made him sprawl past. Instantly, he was on his feet, but Tutresiel was, too. They circled each other.
“Alexander, stop this! You have to think!” Valery shouted. “He’ll kill you. He’s an angel.”
He ignored her, his attention entirely focused on Tutresiel.
Thor’s voice joined Valery’s. “Son, you’ve got a Fury rising at Horngate. This ain’t a time to let your brain go to mush.” His slow drawl was tense.
“Max wouldn’t want this,” Tyler said, his voice thick with grief.
Suddenly, something struck Alexander from behind. He dropped to a knee as debilitating pain exploded in his gut. Niko kicked his leg out from under him and booted him in the chest—once, twice, three times. Bones cracked loudly. Alexander coughed, blood spraying from his lips.
Niko straddled Alexander, pinning the fallen man’s arms under his knees, and jabbed a knife into his throat. A warm stream of blood ran down Alexander’s neck. “Hold still, you motherfucker,” Niko ordered between gritted teeth. “None of that telekinesis shit you use, either. I’ll cut your head off before you can kill me. Be sure of it.
“Now, I want you to listen real good, because the sun is coming, and we don’t have time to fuck around with you anymore. Max. Isn’t. Dead. Got it?” The knife prodded deeper. “You’ve got that damned prophecy telling you she’s not. But even if she was, we’d hunt her down in hell or wherever Scooter took her, and we’d drag her ass back. So you can stop with all this bullshit and get back to the work she left for you, which is being Prime of Horngate. Either that, or I’ll let Tutresiel kill you. Trust me, he’ll enjoy it.”
Before Alexander could answer, a hulking shadow blocked his vision. Beyul snapped his jaws shut on Niko’s knife hand. The Grim dragged him away as if he were wadded-up newspaper. Oddly, Niko didn’t fight. He sagged, his face going gray. Beyul growled and shook his hand back and forth.
Niko toppled over onto his stomach, his eyes sprung wide. A gravelly gasp rattled slowly from his throat.
“Let him go,” Alexander ordered. The words felt unfamiliar, and it was difficult to move his tongue and lips to form them. Beyul snarled at him around Niko’s hand, the Grim’s green eyes flaring brightly.
“He is mine,” Alexander said, leaping to his feet and baring his teeth back. “Let him go.” His Prime had not receded, and his vision blurred as the predator clamped down on him. This time he did not give in.
Beyul eyed him for a long moment, then let go, dropping Niko’s hand and sitting down, panting, looking like an ordinary dog.
Alexander reached down and turned Niko onto his back. The other Blade wasn’t breathing. No.
“Val, can you help him?”
She dropped to her knees on the other side of Niko. She glared at Alexander, her expression taut, tears shining on her cheeks. “Don’t go running out on me like that again. I couldn’t take losing you.”
The furious accusation in her voice made Alexander wince. “I will not,” he said, his cheeks flushing as he dropped his gaze. Even so, he was still fighting for control with every bit of strength he had.
“Better not,” she muttered, and then turned her attention to Niko. Her head tipped to the side, her eyes closing as she extended her hands flat above him. Silvery smoke wreathed around her arms and ribboned
around his body. “Shit.”
“What?”
“His soul has slipped out of his body.”
“It what?”
“Whatever anchors his spirit to his flesh has been broken. He’s going to die.”
Alexander’s body clenched, the feral part of him clawing up inside him. He fought it down. “Can you bring him back?”
“No, but you can. If he hasn’t drifted off, he’ll have to answer to your Prime.”
“What do I do?”
“Cut him. You need blood contact. Then tell him to get his shit together and get back into his body.”
Alexander reached for his knife, but it was gone. He had no idea when or where he had lost it.
“Here.” Thor handed him one.
“Can we do anything?” Tyler asked, his voice emotionless. He had gone as cold as the black ocean depths.
“Pray, if you have gods that will listen,” Valery said in a dreamy voice. The silvery smoke had taken on a tinge of green and brown. It curled around Niko’s body and burrowed inside him.
Alexander grabbed the prone man’s hand—the same one Beyul had been chewing on. The skin was doughy and white, with a dozen or more puncture wounds. They were bloodless, as if they’d been sucked dry. He glanced at the Grim. Beyul’s tongue lolled from his mouth. It looked like he was grinning. “You could help,” he told the Grim in a hard voice. Beyul closed his mouth, his green eyes flaring brightly, then he shook himself and lay down, propping his muzzle on his forelegs. Bastard.
Since he doubted that there was blood to be had in that arm, Alexander jammed the blade straight into the lower part of Niko’s thigh, sawing back and forth until he found an artery. But instead of a bright red spray, the blood oozed out in a thick syrup. Good enough.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do, but Valery was too caught up in healing to answer questions. So improvise. He pushed his fingers into the wound, splaying them wide to keep the wound from healing before he got Niko back. Thick blood coated his hand. Now what?
“The dawn is coming, Niko. Time to get back into your body.” He muttered the words, as if speaking to himself. Nothing happened. He looked up and then around at Tutresiel, Thor, Tyler, and Valery. His brow furrowed. “Get your ass back into your body, now, Niko!” The shouted words echoed from the valley walls.
He gouged his fingers deeper into the wound, as if he could force Niko’s spirit to obey.
“Blood is all you need,” Val whispered. “Be Prime.”
Suddenly, Alexander understood. His hand clenched, and he pulled it free from Niko’s flesh. His skin went cold. The risk was high. He’d almost lost himself entirely to his Prime when he’d heard about Max’s death—
He sucked a harsh breath, and his mind veered away from thinking about the probability of it. He had to believe in her. If he let himself slide back over the line into feral madness, he would be lost forever. It was unheard of to come back even once; he would not bet on twice.
And yet—
To bring Niko back, Alexander had to give himself to the Prime inside him. He had to unleash the beast’s power. He had no choice. It was his fault Beyul had attacked and it was his responsibility to keep Niko safe.
He looked at Tutresiel. The angel was the only one who could terminate him if he went rabid. He could not be allowed to roam free, killing. “You will do it if I go too far again?”
Tutresiel needed no explanation. He reached his hand out into the darkness, and a sword flashed into his hand. Its long length shone with brilliant white witch-light. “I’ll be more than happy to help out,” he said, flourishing the blade.
“I knew you would.”
With that, Alexander let go of his humanity once again. It sloughed away like a shed skin. His Prime flexed, his senses spreading out. He searched the group around him. Not threats. No. His. His to protect, his to punish. His lips curled at the angel, his head dropping as he tensed. He growled softly.
“Remember Niko,” Tyler urged hoarsely.
Alexander’s head jerked around. The other Blade was rigid, his muscles twitching as he held himself still. He kept his eyes averted, unthreatening.
Niko’s body was sheathed in a blanket of woven mist. A sheen of sweat gleamed on Valery’s forehead. The caustic-sweet scent of Divine magic filled the air, along with his own sweat, blood, and the smells of the mountain.
There were no sounds except for their breathing. Every other creature had run or burrowed deep down where he could no longer hear their hearts beating or their wings flicking. He could feel the sun coming, like a fiery tide. It was only an hour away, if that.
“Hurry the fuck up before we lose him!” Tyler took a jerking step forward, his face twisting with unfamiliar fear. He had lost Max; he did not want to lose a brother.
Thor caught Tyler’s arm and held him back as Alexander rose to his feet with a fluid, animal grace. He pushed outward, straining his senses, reaching out further than he ever had. Everything inside him bent toward retrieving Niko. The bastard was not going to get away that easily. Alexander was done losing.
He could feel Niko’s spirit like a thickening in the air. There was a distinctive flavor to him: week-old coffee grounds, chocolate, and starshine.
“Niko, return to your body,” Alexander ordered with all the power of his Prime. The spirit twitched and trembled, but nothing. He knew Niko was not unwilling, but the Blade needed something more. Alexander clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles knotting. He had to do more.
He had unleashed his Prime, but he had not given himself to the beast. It was not enough. He had to cut the last ties to his humanity. He might never come back. Even going feral, he had on some level remembered himself, his name, and who he was.
Now—
He did not think as he let go of the last of his humanity and fully embraced the Shadowblade.
The Prime glared around at those surrounding him. Their bodies were ghostlike, overlaying cores of rainbow color. He sniffed, recognizing each one. His, his, his—
The angel was silver fire. No ghost, no rainbow. Heat rolled off him and around the Prime. He snarled, and the silver fire laughed low but said nothing. He held a long spike of power. It shone with fierce light, but inside was a core of black so hard and so cold that it felt like soulless death.
The Prime’s attention shifted to the other one. A Grim. He could barely see it. Its color and shape were like clear water rushing in an ancient river. Despite the vast hum of the creature’s power, he felt no threat from it. No threat from any of them.
A flicker caught his attention. His head jerked up. A cancerous gray blob boiled in the air. He wrinkled his nose, his lips pulling from his teeth. Rot. Sickness.
He growled deep in his belly and paced toward it. He was aware of everything. The brush of the wind, the smell of the rock and pines, the beating hearts of his companions, the billowing currents of power across a landscape of the spirit.
His attention honed in on the drifting spirit. It was being pulled away. The Prime felt it fight the dragging demand. Fury swelled inside him.
His.
He leaped. His body arced through the air, and he hooked clawed fingers in the gray. They caught. The spirit wrapped around him. Acid seared his flesh and bubbled his skin. He dropped to the ground, landing on his hands and somersaulting before coming to his feet.
Pain soaked through his flesh like water on parched sand. He snatched the gray spirit before it could flitter away. He balled it in his hands like moth-eaten silk, his skin blackening and dripping away in greasy blobs.
He clenched his hands, crushing the spirit. He felt its essence—anger, pain, fear, and, underneath all of that, a deep and unwilling trust.
The last shocked him and sent odd warmth down into his soul. Roots. He did not know why. The spirit was his. Of course, it would trust him. And yet . . . It felt remarkable. Strange and precious.
“Alexander!”
He wheeled around at the harsh shout. It came from the smoke witch o
n the ground. Divine magic poured out of her and wrapped a fading figure on the ground. She smelled of wind and freedom and the bones of the world. He had the urge to rub against her like a cat. She was safe.
“Put him back,” she whispered.
He heard her heart pounding and smelled her sweat. It was sharp and bitter with adrenaline and exhaustion. He looked down at the gray spirit. His hands were entirely black now, and the gray had crept up over his forearms. He sensed its urgency and frustration.
He paced over to her and squatted down. Guided by knowledge he did not understand, he slammed the spirit ball down onto the mist-wreathed body. Pain exploded in his hands and jetted up his arms. He stayed that way, scowling down at the prone man. He was supposed to do more. He was certain. He had no idea what. He snarled silently.
“Tell him to stay,” the smoke witch urged. She swayed back and forth with exhaustion, and he could smell copper-sweet blood. “You have to tell him to stay. He needs you to anchor him, or he’s going to die. Hurry.”
He reached for words. His mouth worked. Nothing came. It was as if he had never learned to speak. But he had once. He was sure.
“Hurry.” The smoke witch gasped. Her voice had turned high and thin, like a trapped animal.
He hesitated. Urgency filled him with punishing force. He bent over. The gray spirit had unfurled and floated like a tattered sail above the body, pinned in place by the Prime’s hands. The edges were curling like burned paper.
“Damn you! Fucking do something!” This from one whose colors swirled with fiery life. He was strong. Not a threat. Not now. Another wrestled him back. He was full of wild blue storm light.
The Prime turned back to the fallen one. Anger spiraled into a blistering tornado inside him. Impatiently, he grabbed the man’s collar and pulled him up. He shook him. The man’s head bobbled and flopped back and forth. The Prime sucked in a seething breath. Force would not do it. He had no words.
Shadow City Page 13
