Bitter Night

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Mercury and Attila stood ten yards in front of the headlights carrying heavy, double-bladed axes cradled in their hands. As Alexander watched, they prowled slowly forward. The other six were more sensibly armed with shotguns and handguns. Thor had an Uzi. Brynna, in the middle, held her Glock dangling down at her thigh, pointed at the ground. Stupid. She knew better. Alexander had taught her better. But she made a habit out of arrogance. She was entirely opposite to Max, who seemed to be completely competent without any self-importance at all. It had made him underestimate her. If they survived, he would not do so again.

  For a moment time seemed to freeze. Alexander looked into each face, reading death there. There would be no concession to the fact that until an hour before, he had been their Prime. It did not matter that he had taught them, guarded them, laughed with them, mourned with them, loved them. These people were his family. A homicidal family.

  The moment snapped when Max tapped the barrel of her gun on the steering wheel. He looked at her. Her gaze was calculating and ruthless. Alexander wondered if she knew how to panic, or even worry. Then he remembered the hours during the Conclave before the challenge. She was not as cold as she seemed.

  “You do know they’re going to kill you, right?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He forced the word out through a throat tight with loss.

  “Then you know what you have to do.”

  She handed him her gun without waiting for an answer. She did not ask him if he would use it, or if he would kill her and try to escape back to Selange. He took the weapon, his heart thudding. All he had to do was twist his hand and he could kill her.

  “It’s chambered,” she told him, her voice as steady as if she were commenting on the weather. “Bullets are hollowpoints.” She stared straight ahead at the closing semicircle of enemy Shadowblades. The corner of her mouth turned up in mocking humor as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t miss.”

  “I will not.” Or so he hoped. His head was spinning and his eyes had begun to blur.

  She flicked a quick glance at him. He could almost read her thoughts. Was he worth all this blood and pain? She looked away, clicking the key a notch and pressing a pair of buttons on her door to slide down both front windows. She jerked her head at Brynna to come around, even as she quietly slid in the clutch and put the Tahoe into first gear.

  “Look, I don’t give a shit about this asshole. What’s it going to take for me to get out of here alive?” Max called, infusing her voice with nervousness.

  Brynna, arrogant bitch that she was, bought it. She stepped in front of Thor, fouling his sight lines, a triumphant smirk twisting her lips.

  As soon as Brynna tangled Thor, Max twisted the key, let out the clutch, and floored it in one swift, smooth motion. The four wheels of the SUV spun, sending gravel and dirt flying in a cloud. The vehicle fishtailed sideways, then leaped forward as the wheels caught traction. Brynna, Thor, and Attila lunged out of the way on the left. There was a thump! thump! as the tires popped over something’or someone. Alexander was leaning out the window and squeezing the trigger. Bullets whined through the air. He heard the popping as they hit the car, the crash of glass shattering, the boom! of shotguns, and screams and shouts of fury and pain.

  Alexander hardly felt the impact as a lump of lead jolted his shoulder, burrowing deep into his flesh. A streak of fire erupted on his neck and another in his right bicep followed.

  He shot swiftly, knowing he hit at least some of his targets. He aimed to kill, a horrifying and inconceivable act of betrayal. But his world had turned inside out and upside down. Though his feelings had not yet caught up to the fact, he no longer belonged to Selange, and these men and women he had called friends and family wanted him dead. He was their enemy, and a dangerous one. What he knew could kill them all.

  The Tahoe swerved and fishtailed again. They were past their attackers now. A spray of bullets crashed through the rear window and pelted the back of the seats. Max was in third gear and shifting to fourth. The tires screeched on the road and they sped around a jut of rock and skimmed along the winding road, the dense trees screening them from their pursuers. Alexander slumped against the doorjamb, letting his eyes drift shut, his hand still firm on the gun resting on his thigh.

  Max slowed down only slightly when she hit the gravel road leading to the edge of the veil. The jolting of the car made Alexander’s wounds flare. He gritted his teeth.

  “Are you all right?” Her voice was as calm as previously, though she sounded tired. So. She did have limits after all. It was more comforting than it should have been. He felt as if he’d been mauled by rhinos, and she was acting no worse for wear. It was embarrassing as hell.

  “Not particularly,” he said slowly, deciding pretense was impossible. The spells protecting him were less potent than hers, or his wounds much worse. His strength had run out. He could not even hold his head up. He had three bullet wounds and his stomach was about to explode. He was having trouble breathing, and his heart was beginning to flutter weakly. Max’s gun dropped to the floorboards with a thud.

  “You said you wouldn’t die,” she reminded him. “Did you lie?”

  “Not so far.”

  “I don’t like liars.”

  “I will remember that.”

  “You do that.”

  Suddenly the Tahoe veered, diving down a steep incline. It jolted and bounced. Alexander flopped in his seat, unable to swallow his cries of agony. Branches and leaves clawed through the open window, and then the SUV leveled out.

  “Hold on, if you can,” Max said in a strangled voice. Then nonsensically: “I want it to work. Please work.”

  A heartbeat later, they slammed into the veil. Magic roiled around them. The engine of the Tahoe revved high as Max floored it. But they hardly moved. For a moment they were caught like a mosquito in amber. Then miraculously, the Tahoe began to roll.

  A second later they were clear. The SUV jolted and leaped, even as Max eased up on the gas. Alexander wanted to ask how she had done it’how she had got them through the veil’but he was too weak. Beside him he heard a rattle on the console, then he heard her flip open a cell phone. It beeped twice as she punched a number into the speed dial and hit send. The call was picked up almost immediately. She did not bother with a greeting.

  “Things went way fucking south. Is Giselle with you? ...Good. Get her out of here.”

  A pause. A man was demanding to know where Max was.

  “I’ve rabbited. Outside the veil. Going across the golf course now.”

  Her voice had become sluggish and her words were starting to slur. There was a bubbling sound to her breathing. Alexander fought to open his heavy eyes and turn his head.

  “Use the ...GPS. Be ...quick. I’m almost ...done,” she said haltingly.

  Her hand dropped before anyone could reply. The phone skittered over the console onto the floor. The car swerved and straightened, then jolted and coughed as her foot released the clutch. A moment later the motor died.

  At last Alexander got his eyes open. He twisted his head to look at her. Max was slumped against the door, her hands loose in her lap. Her eyes were closed. Blood ran from a deep gash in her scalp, matting her hair to her skull. The entire right side of her face was awash in crimson. The smell of blood was thick; he had thought it was his own.

  His gaze wandered lower. He sucked in a ragged breath. Sticking out of her upper thigh was a knife. He recognized it; it was Brynna’s. She must have grappled onto the door as they made their escape and struck Max through the open window. Alexander had been too busy shooting out the other side to notice. From its angle, he knew the blade had sliced into the femoral artery. Because Brynna had not had a chance to jerk it out, Max had not yet bled to death. Shadowblades were hard to kill, but slashing the femoral artery would take out a healthy Shadowblade before any healing spells could kick in. Max was not healthy.

  “Are you going to live?” He had to get her talking. Keep her here with him until help arrived.


  Her lashes flickered. Her answer was slow in coming, her words barely audible through her unmoving lips. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Then: “Damn. Forgot to ...tell them ...not ...to kill ...you.”

  Her body went slack’boneless and far too still.

  8

  THE SECONDS TICKED BY LIKE MINUTES. GRAY wings fluttered at the edges of Alexander’s vision. He blinked, holding hard to consciousness. He could do nothing to help Max. He had no strength to put pressure on her artery, and even if he did, he did not dare touch the knife. If he even jarred it a little bit, he could speed the bleeding out. All he could do was wait for help to arrive and hope she did not die before it did.

  Alexander shied away from the possibility. Anger flared. He was not entirely helpless. He could at least protect her. Selange would not give up. Her Shadowblades would be tracking the Tahoe. He shook his head to clear it. Pain lanced along his neck and drilled through his arm. He choked on the pain, swallowing hard. But it helped clear the fog from his head. How long had it taken Brynna to get back to Selange? How long before Max’s Shadowblades came to fetch her? Who would arrive first?

  With nothing left to do, he fumbled at the door until the lock snicked. He groped for the handle and pulled it open, letting his body fall against the door, his arm dangling on the outside. Slowly it swung open. He followed, his rubber legs sagging. He gripped the door under his arm to keep himself from collapsing to the ground. The pain of his wounds was terrible, but he pushed it away. There was no time for it.

  Clumsily he reached for the gun on the floorboards. He popped the clip. He was down to three bullets. They would do little against a mob of Shadowblades. He needed more. He knelt excruciatingly on his seat and reached into the back of the car for Max’s backpack. He moved carefully so as not to bump her and loosen the knife. He unzipped the pack and pawed inside, finding what he was looking for in the bottom. He snapped a full clip into the .45 and pushed three more into his front pocket before sitting back down on the seat, his back to Max. He watched their backtrail, straining for any signs of enemies coming through the veil.

  Blood continued to run down his neck, shoulder, and arm. His hands had begun to shake and his eyes were fogging again. Not good. He could hear car sounds from the city and the twittering of birds and crickets. In the east, the sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was still another hour away, but with Max’s extreme response to moonlight, Alexander was sure the twilight of dawn would be dangerous for her, probably fatal in her current state. If she lasted that long.

  Not more than five minutes later, he heard them coming. He found his feet, slewing drunkenly sideways as he stood up. He shook his head, thankful for the shooting agony that cleared his vision again.

  Engines roared as two’no, three’vehicles approached. They came from ...the west. Slowly Alexander turned to face them. He lifted his arm, bracing it along the top of the open door. The cars bounced over the golf course at high speed. The first was a vintage El Camino. It was well ahead of the others. It was followed by a yellow Mustang and a red Chevy crew cab.

  The El Camino plowed to a halt, skidding sideways on the wet grass and tearing dark scars into the turf. The door was open and the blocky, dark-haired driver was sprinting toward the Tahoe before Alexander could blink. The driver bent low, guns in both hands.

  Alexander wasn’t so far gone that he could not aim. He shot at the other man’s feet. “Stop.”

  The other two vehicles caught up to the first and three more bodies boiled out of them’Max’s witch among them’even as the first Shadowblade dropped to a crouch, both guns trained on Alexander.

  Before he could shoot, Giselle interrupted, “Drop your gun before Niko drops you.”

  Relief warred with his instincts that told him that these people were his enemies. Slowly Alexander released the hammer of Max’s gun and raised the nose. Instantly Niko was moving again. He glared at Alexander, but made no move to disarm him, and instead went to Max’s door.

  “Careful!” Alexander cried. “She’s got a knife in her leg. Move it and she’ll bleed out.”

  To his surprise, Niko listened. He leaned in the window, assessing the unconscious Max. When he pulled back, his face was grim.

  “How is she?” Giselle’s face was pale and strained. She ignored Alexander entirely.

  “He’s right. She’s lost a lot of blood,” Niko said. “Cuts and scrapes on her head. I can’t see what else.” He slammed a fist on the roof, leaving a fist-shaped dent.

  “We will have company soon,” Alexander said, all too aware of the compact Asian woman standing silently behind him, her gun leveled at his back. “Selange will not let me go so easily.”

  “Don’t look like it was easy,” the slender, blond Shadowblade said. He stood behind Giselle holding a shotgun across his forearm, the muzzle aimed at Alexander. He did not blink. “What do you want to do?” he asked the witch.

  “We have to move her,” Giselle said. “We need to get her to the hospital truck and quick, or she’ll die.”

  “Might die anyhow, the way she’s cut,” the blond said in a soft, deadly voice.

  “No. I won’t let her get away from me that easily,” Giselle said fiercely. Alexander was shocked to see tears running down her cheeks. “Quickly. Tyler and Niko, lift her into the truck. Hurry.”

  “What about him?” the Asian woman asked.

  Giselle’s hot stare fastened on Alexander. He looked back patiently, resigned to his death sentence.

  “You could have killed her,” the witch said in a stone voice. “Instead you guarded her.”

  “She’s my Prime.” The words came out before he knew he was going to say them. They felt right.

  Giselle jerked back, her mouth falling open.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” Niko urged. “She’s hardly breathing.”

  The witch nodded, still staring at Alexander. “Get yourself into a vehicle if you can. We won’t wait on you.”

  Shock ran through Alexander. He did not understand this witch, her Prime, or the game that they played. In the same situation, Selange would have cut her losses and put a bullet in his head and probably in Max’s, too.

  Giselle was no longer paying any attention to him. She opened the driver’s-side door. Niko squeezed through and caught Max, gently pulling her out. Tyler slung his shotgun around so it hung from his back and slid his arms beneath her thighs. Giselle stripped off her own shirt and pressed it around the knife, holding it in place and putting pressure on the wound. Blood dripped across the ground as the three carried Max off toward the truck in a tight knot. The Asian woman climbed inside the backseat to help ease Max across.

  It happened so fast that Alexander forgot to move. Tyler stepped away from the truck, his arms, chest, and thighs wet with blood. Niko followed after, and Alexander realized he was going to be left behind if he did not hurry.

  Without thinking, he snatched up Max’s backpack and pushed himself away from the Tahoe, clutching the .45 against his stomach. He staggered across the smooth, green grass toward the El Camino. He was startled when an iron arm wrapped his waist and nearly lifted him off his feet as Niko propelled him to the car, shoving him inside and slamming the door. A half second later Niko was in the driver’s seat, twisting the key.

  The engine roared and Niko spun the wheel and stomped on the gas. The El Camino fishtailed and lunged in a tight circle, sending chunks of dirt and grass flying. A few moments later they had overtaken the Chevy truck. It was going slowly.

  “She’s going to die if we don’t get a move on,” Niko gritted through his teeth.

  “She is tough,” Alexander said, though he did not know if Max was nearly tough enough, even with magic enhancements. “And Giselle is helping her.”

  “She’s’” Niko broke off and punched the dash. His hand went through the thin metal. “Fuck.”

  Behind them, an explosion rocked the early morning. Alexander looked over his shoulder, hissing at the pain. Behind them, orange and yellow tongues of
flame leaped into the sky. So much for the Tahoe.

  “He’d better have cleaned it out,” Niko muttered. “She’ll kill him if he blew up her stuff.” He paused. “If she lives.”

  His worry was palpable. And personal. He truly cared about her. Alexander was not immune. He found himself silently urging the red truck to go faster.

  “Who are you?” Niko asked as they jolted across a low ditch and up onto Twenty-sixth Street, turning right.

  “My name is Alexander. I am’I was,” he corrected, “the witch Selange’s Prime. This is her territory.” Forming the words was difficult. He was still bleeding and the pain in his stomach had not lessened any. He held the gun loosely, unable to firm his grip. His head bobbed and jerked. He could hardly hold it up any longer.

  “Max beat you in the challenge tonight.”