The creature screamed again and again, its body twisting, warping, as muscles knotted and snapped. Bony spikes pierced its shoulders, curving from its frame like horns. It reared and pawed at the ground, leaving cuts in the asphalt. I could see Slayer's blade through the hole in its chest.
The vampire charged me. It came with astonishing speed, impossible to stop. It smashed into me, and I grabbed Slayer's hilt and thrust with everything I had. We hit the asphalt and skidded until we crashed into a wall.
Good thing it was in our way. We might have kept going.
I lay very still. The creature's blood surged from its ruptured heart, drenching me. Colored circles blocked my view. Gradually I became aware of two eyes glowing gentle yellow above the vampire's shoulder. I blinked, bringing the furry nightmare of a face into focus.
"You okay?" My voice sounded hoarse.
With a short growling noise, Derek swiped the corpse off me and pulled me to my feet. "Thank you," I said.
Derek was bleeding. A long gash marred his right leg and jagged claw marks seared his shoulder. He saw me looking and snarled, swinging away, so I couldn't see his hip. I was bleeding, too. Fire bathed my waist, and it hurt to bend forward.
I put my foot onto the vamp and pulled out Slayer. It came away easily, the flesh enclosing the blade liquefied by its magic. Positioning myself, I swung the saber and sliced through the creature's neck. The deformed head rolled. I picked it up. The fire had gone out of its eyes. They looked empty. Dead.
Drenched in foul-smelling blood and hurting, I looked for Frau. Through all that, the mare stayed put. I couldn't believe it. I started toward her, stumbling a little. Walking, for some odd reason, proved to be troublesome. Halfway to Frau I changed my course and aimed for Ghastek's vamp instead.
The vamp lay on its stomach, its face toward me. I put the head down in front of it and tapped it with my finger.
"I guess that settles it. How old is it, Ghastek? Three hundred years? More?"
The vamp struggled to say something.
I shook my head. "Don't bother. I'll find out. Thanks for your help. You can tell Nataraja he can take his security and shove it."
The vamp moved its hand, clamping onto my foot. Gently I took the hand off my bloodstained shoe, stepped over it, and headed to the horse.
Derek stared at the bloodsucker with malice.
"Let him be. We need to get out, before the People's cleanup crew gets here."
I patted Frau and jammed the head into the saddlebag. The mare snorted, offended by the awful smell. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
I took down a large army-issue waterproof bag. "Gasoline," I told Derek as if he couldn't smell it.
I splashed it over the spill, threw the bag aside, and reached for my matches. My fingers shook. I struck one match, another, on the fourth the gasoline flared. Ghastek's vamp screeched as his evidence and my blood went up in smoke.
I walked Frau into the night and my loyal wolf followed me, limping.
WHEN WE REACHED THE DEAD-RAT WIELDING kids, Derek collapsed. He fell forward, snout first into the asphalt. The kids stared, startled, but didn't bolt.
A soft shudder went through the werewolf, releasing a mist, and leaving the naked human body curled on the ground. The kids looked on.
The gash on his thigh was deeper than I had thought. The creature's claws had severed the thick muscle shield of the quadriceps and cut deep into the calf. I peered into the wound and saw the shredded femoral artery. The injured flesh quivered. Torn blood vessels crawled toward each other amidst the muscle starting to knit together. The Lyc-V had shut his consciousness down to save energy for repairs.
Pain lanced my waist, tearing up into my chest. Gritting my teeth, I turned Derek on his stomach, worked one arm under his hips and threaded the other across his chest under his arms. He was heavier than he looked, weighing in at one fifty, maybe one fifty-five. No matter.
"Hey, lady!" said the kid with feathers in his hair.
The children stood huddled together. We must have made quite a spectacle, Derek, nude and no longer furry, and I, drenched in blood, with my sword still smoking in its sheath.
"You need some help?" the kid said.
"Yeah," I said, my voice hoarse.
He came forward, picked up Derek's feet, and looked back at his pack. "Mike."
Mike spat to the side and tried to look mean.
The kid with the feathers glared at him. "Mike!"
Mike spat again, for show—there wasn't much spit left—came over, and awkwardly clutched Derek's shoulders.
"Hold him under the armpits," I said.
He glanced at me, fear dancing in his eyes, set his jaw, and shifted his grip.
"On three," I muttered. "Three."
We heaved. The world swayed in the whirlwind of pain and then Derek was draped across Frau's back. He would be fine. Lyc-V would repair him and tomorrow morning he'd be like new. I, on the other hand… A wet bloodstain was spreading from under my jacket at an alarming rate. If the blood started dripping, I'd be in a world of trouble. At least I still hurt.
"Thanks," I muttered to the children.
"My name's Red," the kid with feathers said.
I stuck my hand into the pocket of my pants. My fingers found a card. I handed it to him, careful to wipe the bloody smudge marring it on my sleeve. Not my blood. Derek's.
"If you ever need help," I said.
He took it solemnly and nodded.
THE STAIRS WERE DARK AS HELL.
I climbed, the steady pressure of Derek's body distributed over my back. If I bent over just right, the pain was bearable, and so I dragged Derek and the bag up the stairs one step at a time, trying to keep my angle steady and being careful where I put my feet. I wasn't certain if a werewolf could survive a broken neck. I knew I couldn't.
I paused on the landing to catch a breath and glanced up at my apartment's door.
A man sat on the stairs, his head leaning against the wall.
Gently I lowered Derek to the floor and went for my sword. The man's chest rose and fell in a smooth, even rhythm. I padded up the stairs, breathing through clenched teeth, until I could see his face. Crest. He didn't wake.
I tapped his head with the flat of Slayer's blade. When I awoke, I did so instantly and silently, my hand looking for my sword before my eyelids snapped open. Crest awoke like a man unused to danger, with luxurious slowness. He blinked and stifled a yawn, squinting at me.
I gave him a moment to recognize me.
"Kate?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to pick you up for dinner. We had a date."
Shit. I had completely forgotten about the date.
"I got held up until ten," he went on. "I called you but you didn't answer. It was too late by then, but I figured I'd drop by with a peace offering." He held up a paper bag full of white cartons, decorated with a stylized Chinese symbol in red ink. "You weren't here. I thought I'd wait a couple of minutes, sat down here on the stairs…" His brain finally registered my bloodied clothes, the sword, and the smudges of dried blood marring my face. His eyes widened.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll live."
I unlocked the door to the apartment, opening the ward.
"There is a naked man on the landing," I said hoping to forestall any upcoming questions. "I'm going to carry him into this apartment."
Crest threw the Chinese food into the apartment hallway and went down the stairs to get Derek without saying a word. Together we brought him inside and put him on the hallway carpet. I shut the door in the world's face and let out a breath.
I kicked off my shoes and turned the lantern switch. My shoes were bloody again. Oh well, nothing a lot of bleach wouldn't fix.
The tiny flames of feylanterns surged up, bathing the apartment in a comforting soft glow. Crest knelt to examine Derek's leg.
"He needs emergency care," he said. His voice had the brisk, professional, slightly distant tone good physicians adopted u
nder stress.
"No, he doesn't."
He glanced at me. "Kate, the cut's deep and dirty and the artery's probably severed. He'll bleed to death."
Dizziness came, and I swayed a little. I wanted to sit down, but couches and chairs were harder to bleach than shoes. "He isn't bleeding."
Crest opened his mouth and looked back at the wound. "Shit."
"The Lycos Virus in action," I told him and went to the kitchen. There was no ready ice and scraping the freezer walls wasn't in me right that minute, so I put the bag into the sink and pulled off my shredded jacket in a flash of pain. The top underneath was soaked with blood. I tried removing it but it was stuck. I rummaged through the everything drawer for scissors, found some, and tried to cut off the vest.
The scissors got caught in the soggy fabric. I cursed and then Crest was beside me, his hand over the scissors. "I remembered you didn't have the Lyc-V," he said and the vest fell to the floor in a sodden, heavy mass.
He knelt to examine the jagged claw marks on my stomach.
"How bad?" I asked.
"Mostly shallow. Two deep lacerations, here and here." His finger grazed the skin lightly and still I winced.
"Hurts."
"I'd imagine. Would you like me to take you to the emergency room?"
"No. There is an r-kit on the table in the living room," I said. With magic this high, a regeneration-kit was almost as good as the spell doc. It cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. And its magic healed with very little scarring.
He looked at me. "Are you sure? We'd get it stitched in no time."
"I'm sure."
He went to get it. The trouble with regeneration-kits was that sometimes, like all things magic, they backfired and ate into the wound instead of healing it.
I shrugged off my pants, my panties, and my bra on the way to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The water ran bloody. My stomach hurt. When blood no longer swirled around my feet, I shut off the shower and yelled for Crest to come in. He did, carrying the roll of brown paper.
"Do you know how to use one of those?" I asked.
"I am an M.D."
"Some M.D.s want nothing to do with the r-kits."
"You're not giving me a choice about it," he said. "Raise your arms."
I put my arms to my head and chanted the incantation. Crest untied the cord securing the paper and unrolled it. It contained a bandage and a long wide strip, smeared with brown ointment and covered with waxed paper. Crest peeled the paper off and held the strip by its edges. I chanted. The ointment on the strip obeyed, liquefying. A strong smell of nutmeg spread through the room.
Crest pressed the strip against my stomach. It adhered and a soothing coolness spread through my injured muscles, slowly transforming into warmth that suffused my stomach, drowning out pain.
"Better," I murmured. Crest bandaged my waist. After putting in a long day at work this seemingly normal guy would come all this way just to see me. Why? What would it be like to crawl home after a hard day and instead of licking my wounds in solitude in a dark and empty house, find him? On the couch, maybe. Reading a book. Maybe he would put it down and say, "I'm glad you've made it. Would you like some coffee?"
His hand grazed the tattoo on my shoulder. "Why a raven?"
"To honor my father."
The fingers continued to gently slide across my skin. "The writing under it, is that Cyrillic?"
"Yes."
"What does it say?"
"Dar Vorona. Gift of the Raven. I'm my father's gift."
"To whom?"
"That, my dear doctor, is a story for another time."
"The raven is holding a bloody sword," Crest said thoughtfully.
"I never said it was a nice gift."
He finished the bandage and was examining it critically. "You know those things are unreliable." His voice held just a touch of reproach.
"Eleven out of twelve work fine. I'd say that's better chances than getting an orgasm with a blind date and women still try."
He blinked and laughed softly. "I never know what you'll say next."
"I don't either."
He rose and put his arms around me. So warm. I resisted the impulse to lean back against him. "Are you hungry?"
"Ravenous," I murmured.
"The food's probably cold by now."
"I don't care."
He kissed my neck. The kiss sent tingling warmth down into my fingertips. I turned and he kissed me again, on the mouth. I was so tired… I wanted to melt against him and let him hold me. "You're trying to take advantage of an injured naked woman."
"I know," he whispered in my ear, drawing me closer. "How awful."
Please don't let go. What am I thinking? Am I this desperate? I took a deep breath and pushed away from him gently. "I have to finish my work. I don't think you want to watch me."
"Do it after," he whispered and kissed me again. Somehow instead of breaking free, I pressed against him. I wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up in him like this, smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine… And then the vampire's head would lose the last of its magic and Derek and I would've bled for nothing. Poor Derek. "No," I said, my face a grimace. "By then it'll be too late."
"Work first. I see."
"Tonight. Not always."
"I'll watch," he said.
"You don't want to, trust me."
"It's part of what you do. I want to know."
Why? I shrugged and went to the bedroom to find some clothes. He didn't follow me.
IN THE KITCHEN I SET A LARGE SILVER TRAY IN THE middle of the table. Supported by four legs, it rose above the surface of the table about three inches. Greg had kept an excellent supply of herbs in his apartment. Having combined them in the right proportions, I spread the aromatic mixture on the platter so it covered the metal completely. Crest sat on the chair in a corner and watched me.
I pulled the strings of the bag, took the head out, and placed the monstrosity onto the powder, balancing it on the stump of the neck.
"What the hell is that?"
"A vampire," I said.
"I've seen pictures. They don't look like that."
"It's very old. My guess is, at least a couple of centuries. Undeath brings certain anatomical changes. Some are immediate and some are slow. The older the undead, the more apparent those changes become. A vamp's never finished. It's an abomination in progress." The fact that vampires weren't suppose to have existed two hundred years ago when the tech was in full swing bothered me a great deal. My experience and education offered no explanation for this monster's existence, and so I put it aside, filing it for future reference.
I brought out a shallow glass pan, the kind used for baking lasagna, put it in front of the platter and slightly under, and dumped two quarts of glycerin into it. The clear viscous liquid filled the pan and settled.
I took one of my throwing daggers from my sheath. Crest grinned at the black blade.
"Fancy."
"Yeah."
This wasn't going to be pleasant and it wasn't the kind of magic I did often. Something in me rebelled at it, something born of my father's instruction and my own view of the world and where I stood in it.
The head rested on the herbs. In half an hour it would be useless.
I pricked my finger with the point of the dagger. A drop of bright blood swelled on the skin. Power pulsed in it and I touched the blood to the herbs. The bloodmagic inundated them, acting like a catalyst, fusing, shaping, molding the natural force of the dried plants. It surged upward, through the stump of the neck, spreading through the capillaries in the face, engulfing the brain, saturating the dead flesh. I guided it, helped it along, until the entire head sat suffused with magic. My finger touched the thick skin of the vamp's forehead, leaving a bloody smudge and sending a shock of power through the undead flesh.
"Wake!"
The dead eyes snapped open. The horrid mouth opened and closed soundlessly, contorting with impossible elasticity.
The vamp's eyes stared wide at me, unblinking.
"Where is your master? Show me your master."
Dark magic boiled from the head, drowning the room. It swelled, vicious and furious, like an enraged animal ready to strike. In the corner Crest drew a sharp, loud breath.
A tremor rippled through the head. The eyeballs bulged from their sockets. The black tongue, long and flat, hung from between the reptilian lips and the sickle teeth bit into it, drawing no blood. Impaled on the teeth, the tongue jerked obscenely. I pushed harder, bringing the weight of my power upon the resilient necromagic.
"Show me your master!"
Red drowned the whites of the vampire's eyes. Two thick streaks of dark blood poured from what had once been tear ducts. The streams carved their path down the face and into the herbs, mixing with a torrent of blood from the stump of the neck. The foul flood swept the dried herbs, falling into the glycerin and spreading in uneven angry stain upon its surface. The blood darkened until it was almost black, and in it I saw a distorted but unmistakable image of a gutted skyscraper with a round Coca-Cola logo half-buried in rubble.
Unicorn Lane. Always Unicorn Lane.
The head jerked. The bones of the skull cracked like a broken nutshell. The flesh peeled off the vamp's face, curving in long slabs to the herbs. The exposed jellied mass of the brain glared through the fractured skull. The stench of putrescence filled the kitchen. I threw a plastic trash bag over the head and inverted the tray, sending the head and the herbs into the bag. I tied the bag and set it into the corner. The blood in the glycerin had clotted into an ugly rotting mass. I dumped it down the drain.
Crest rubbed his face.
"I did warn you."
He nodded.
I washed my hands and my arms up to the elbow with fresh-smelling soap and went into the living room, pausing on the way to check on Derek. He was sleeping like a baby. I sat on the couch, leaned back, and closed my eyes. This was the point when most men ran for cover.
I sat and rested. The desire for intimacy had passed and my longing now appeared unreal, ethereal like a half-forgotten dream.
Kate Daniels Book 1 - Magic Bites Page 14
