Obsidian Wings (Rune Alexander)

by Laken Cane

  Lex stared through the windshield toward the gated graveyard, which was lit with infrequently placed lampposts. “I’ll wait. Say hi to the ghoul for me.”

  Gunnar the Ghoul stood just inside the gates, his hands clasped behind his back.

  He was dressed all in black, except for a faded, once white shirt beneath a tattered vest. His topcoat was long, reaching the tops of his muddy black boots. He’d even found a battered stovepipe hat somewhere and had placed it atop his mass of tangled black hair.

  As soon as he saw her, he bowed. “Your Highness.”

  “Hi, sexy.”

  They stood silently, watching each other. She noticed he’d taken what appeared to be a scrap of white satin and tied it into a bow around a length of his long, frizzy hair.

  It made her smile.

  But just for a moment.

  “COS is planning to sacrifice the twins to call a demon, Gunnar. What can you tell me?”

  “I know the church is full of trickery, Your Horror, but I do not believe they are dark enough to call the demons.”

  “I’m not worried about their lack of skill. I’m worried about the twins dying. I need help.”

  “I have feelers out. I have heard nothing that will help you.” He looked at the ground. “I am sorry.”

  She sighed. “How are you, Gunnar?”

  “I am old, Your Magnanimousness.”

  She walked a step away to lean against an old, gnarled tree. “I brought you some candy, Grandpa.”

  His dark eyes gleamed. “I will accept your gifts.”

  “You’ve done a lot for me. The least I can do is bring you chocolate.”

  He snatched the bars from her, his fingers trembling with eagerness. He closed his eyes and took one long sniff of the wrapped bars before putting them away in his pockets. “You have done much for me as well.”

  She folded her arms and grinned. “Like what?”

  “You destroyed the mad vampire. He was going to take over Wormwood and then I—as well as the others who call Wormwood home—would have been forced to live with torments and tortures as the master slowly took over.” He shuddered delicately, then pursed his thin lips when she raised an eyebrow at his melodrama. “Scoff if you must, but I am not an admirer of torture. Not my own, anyway. People who enjoy it are a touch…demented.” He bowed slightly. “No offense.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Damn you, Gunnar.”

  He placed his long fingers over his heart. “What did I say?”

  She rolled her eyes and strode back to the gates. “If you hear so much as a hint of information about the twins, let me know.”

  “Of course.”

  She left him with his Baby Ruth candy bars, her heart lighter because she’d given a dusty old ghoul some joy.

  She checked her phone on the way home, her stomach tightening when she thought of the berserker on the mountain with the birds.

  He might trust them, but she didn’t.

  Not even a little bit.

  When she arrived home his truck was sitting dark and silent in front of her house, and he was waiting for her.

  “Just point me to the spare room and take care of your man,” Lex said, climbing from the car. “I won’t make a peep.”

  Rune led her up the walk to the front door, glancing at Strad’s truck as he slammed his door and leaned against the hood. She could feel his stare, heavy and dark, on her body.

  “Come in,” she told him. “I need to help Lex get settled.”

  He didn’t move. “I’ll wait for you.”

  But fifteen minutes later when she came out, he was gone, and Sam Cruikshank was on her porch.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She pulled her cell from her pocket and read the text Strad had sent her.

  Got emergency call. Be back soon.

  Dammit.

  She stared at Cruikshank. “Why are you here?”

  “You know why, Rune.”

  “Do you understand the danger you’re in? Are you really as stupid as you seem to be?”

  He only smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dimness of the porch light. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Then you are stupid. Because you should be very afraid of me.”

  He took a step closer. “You’re afraid of you.”

  It wasn’t good that she’d been hurt too much in the recent days. It wasn’t good that she’d managed some sort of control over her monster and had held him in an unbreakable chokehold. Her monster wanted loose, and that wasn’t good.

  Not for Sam Cruikshank, anyway.

  She dropped her fangs.

  At that moment, Lex opened the door and stuck her head out. “Rune?”

  “I’m here, Lex.”

  “That’s not the berserker, is it?”

  “Nope. This is Cruikshank. He was just leaving.”

  Lex nodded. “Is Strad coming back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come say goodnight when he does. I want to see that you’re okay.”

  “We will.”

  Lex shot a frowning glance at the reporter and withdrew, shutting the door softly.

  “Leave,” Rune told him, “while you’re still able to leave.”

  He studied her solemnly. “You want what I can give you.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe some part of me does. But I’m not taking it. So get the fuck out of here before I rip your arms off.”

  Finally, a glimmer of fear showed in his face. He took a step back. “You need some time. I expected that. But I will be back.”

  If she hadn’t known him, she would have thought him harmless. His blue dress shirt was tucked neatly into his belted trousers, everything pressed to within an inch of its life. His hair was perfectly styled, deliberate in its casual messiness. He looked like he wrote for a newspaper.

  He did not look like he should be naked, passionate, and handing out pain.

  “You don’t want to die, Cruikshank. Please.” She softened her voice, knowing he heard the threat of menace running through it. “Leave me alone.”

  “No, Rune. I won’t.” He smiled ruefully. “I can’t.”

  And he walked away.

  “What the fuck?” she murmured.

  She never heard a car start up, and had no idea where he’d parked. Maybe he lived with the rest of the freaks in the Moor. She was going to have to make it her business to find out more about Sam Cruikshank.

  Soon as she got time.

  She leaned against the wall, listening to the boisterous sounds of the drunk and disorderly coming from nearby bars. A few houses down a woman cursed her man. The sudden, sharp tinkle of breaking glass and the barking of a dog followed.

  “Oh, the sweet music of the Moor,” she muttered, and turned to go back inside to wait for the berserker.

  Then she paused, sniffing as her nose caught the subtle scent of bird shifters. Her body reacted before her mind did, and she shot out her claws and dropped her fangs as she spun around to face the threat.

  “Whoa,” Cree Stark said, holding up her hands. “I just want to talk.”

  Rune straightened from her crouch but left her fangs and claws out. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Cree crossed her arms. She was dressed in black. Even her strange, changing hair was hidden by a black watch cap. Her hands were covered with black gloves, and Rune caught sight of a sheath buckled at her side.

  “I know,” Cree said, “that you don’t like me.”

  “I’d like you fine in a nice stir fry with some spicy ginger sauce.”

  A quick gleam of anger, there and gone, showed in Cree’s dark eyes. “Personally, I don’t like you, either. But I have some information you need.”

  Rune’s stomach knotted. “What information?”

  “Can we go inside and talk?”

  “No.”

  Cree shifted from one foot to the other. “Fine. It’s about Strad Matheson.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you put those away?” Cree gestured at Rune’s claw
s. “If I want to fight, I’ll be sure to let you know. Right now, I need to talk.”

  She seemed sincere. Worried, even.

  Rune retracted her claws and fangs and took a deep breath. She really didn’t want bad news about the fucking berserker. “What about Strad?”

  “He’s too good for you,” Cree said, crossing her arms.

  “If you’ve got something important to say, spit it out. If not, get the fuck away from me.”

  The tall bird curled her lip. “You’re a real bitch, aren’t you?”

  “Fuck you,” Rune said. She wasn’t in the mood to cater to a pissy bird. Disgusted, she turned to go inside. To hell with Cree Stark.

  The bird was on her in two seconds, her huge body bearing Rune to the porch floor even as she shoved something sharp and deadly through Rune’s back.

  Into her heart.

  Fuck.

  Almost immediately, she was incapacitated. It was bad that she had a weakness. It was worse that the whole fucking world had learned what that weakness was.

  She wanted to cry out, wanted to fight, but she had nothing.

  “Don’t ever give her your back, Rune.”

  She should have listened to the berserker.

  “You staked me,” she whispered.

  “I splintered you,” Cree corrected, her breath warm on Rune’s neck. “A long sliver of obsidian, in case you’re interested. I’ve been informed that a staking won’t kill you. It will, however, make you weak as a fucking newborn.”

  Rune’s cheekbone scraped painfully on the rough concrete as Cree grabbed her ankle and dragged her off the porch.

  Once at the side of the house, Cree undressed and stuffed her black clothing and shoes into a mesh bag she’d brought with her. “Strad,” she said, “thinks he can trust us. He thinks we have honor, at least amongst ourselves. If you’re one of us, you’re going to be honored—maybe—by us. But I’ll tell you a little secret. Strad isn’t one of us.”

  No shit, Rune wanted to say. But she couldn’t talk.

  Cree looped the string of the bag around Rune’s neck, and then, she shifted.

  Sharp talons ripped into her clothes, and then into her skin, as Cree lifted her from the ground. The almost soothing sounds of her wings, whoosh whooshing through the air, accompanied the roar of wind through her ears. The bird soared with her held securely in the grip of her giant claws, taking her away.

  Away.

  Far below, she caught the bright shine of headlights on her street. She imagined the vehicle was being driven by the berserker as he headed, oblivious and impatient, back to her house.

  And then she could think of nothing but pain as the splinter of obsidian sat solidly in her heart, reminding her with a black sadness of the mad master, Nicolas Llodra.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Each moment seemed to last for an excruciating hour, but in reality it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Cree set her down in the nest on Spikemoss Mountain.

  And just that quickly, Rune was in the territory of the birds.

  It was a whole new world.

  An inadvertent cry of pain left her as Cree dumped her on the hard ground. She wouldn’t stay down forever, and when she was able, she was sending Cree Stark to hell.

  “I’m going to tear your wings off and feed them to you,” she said, as Cree paused to stare down at her. Her voice was rusty and weak, but it was there.

  Birds pressed forward, their eyes glittering with curiosity. Lights on tall poles tried to push back the gloom, but the area was darkened by shadows caused by something more sinister than mere night.

  She expected at any time the haunting strains of banjos would begin to duel.

  “Who’s that?” a young voice asked.

  He was quickly shushed.

  Cree ignored them all. “I don’t see you getting out of this alive, Alexander. I’m sorry for that, but…” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t see it.”

  “My crew will tear this place apart.”

  “Strad was already here. He asked his questions of the scepters, and he left satisfied. He won’t be coming back.” She crouched down beside Rune and pulled the bag of clothing over her head.

  “This is going to end badly for you,” Rune said. There was no doubt in her mind that it was true.

  Cree hesitated, then she gave a small shrug and stood. “Maybe. But I can’t do a damn thing about it now.”

  Rune managed to turn from her side to her back, a simple enough action that would have been impossible when her father had staked her. The splinter wasn’t as incapacitating as the blade had been.

  “Wait,” she said, when Cree started to leave. “Why?”

  Cree surprised her by actually answering. “I pay what I owe. I have no choice. Your fate is out of my hands now.”

  And after the cryptic words that gave Rune no real answers, she hurried away.

  The place was silent, eerily so. That silence was broken only by the shuffling feet of the curious shifters and the distant sounds of animals sharing the woods and hollows with the birds.

  She closed her eyes when a wave of pain rushed over her, and when it receded enough for her to breathe again, she opened her eyes to find Fin Lynch standing quietly over her.

  “Dude,” she murmured. “This is not cool.”

  “Some invincible monster,” he said, but his voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, Rune Alexander. The birds stick together, and Cree…” He shook his head. “She’s my resp—”

  “Step away, Fin,” a male voice interrupted.

  Fin stepped away.

  Rune knew that voice. Knew it, and hated it. “Bach Horner,” she said, her voice as full of contempt as the pain would allow. She wasn’t surprised COS was in cahoots with the birds.

  She was furious, though.

  But then…

  The twins. If the birds were hiding COS, the twins were there as well. Oh please let me see the twins.

  Suddenly, she was grateful as hell that she’d been abducted by the bird. She was exactly where she needed to be.

  But if she didn’t find a way to get the obsidian splinter out of her heart, she wasn’t going to be worth a damn to anyone.

  “Rune Alexander,” Bach Horner, or Black Horror, as she had nicknamed him, said. “We meet again.” He was dressed in a suit, as he’d been the last time she’d seen him.

  “Asshole.”

  “Classy.” He crossed his arms and studied her in silence for a long, humiliating moment.

  She’d survived a lot of shit. She’d made the monsters and the humans fear her. She had silver claws and fangs, as well as magic and mystery in the addictive blood running through her veins.

  But there she lay, helpless and weak, while her enemy stood inches from her body.

  “It amazes me, really,” he said, as two of his men flanked him. He paused, and when she remained silent, he continued. “Amazes me that one such as you could be taken down so easily.”

  “It’s because she’s more trusting than she’ll admit to being,” Cree said, her voice slightly mocking as it floated from the knot of onlookers. “She gave me her back. I took it.”

  “You’re probably wondering what I want with you,” he said, ignoring Cree.

  Yeah, she wondered.

  “Ask,” he went on. “Ask, if you want to know. Otherwise, my men are going to throw you in your cage and you can just wait and see.” He gestured at her. “So ask.”

  She flinched as she tried to pull air into her burning lungs. A cold sweat popped out on her body, a sweat of not only pain, but fear.

  Hateful, fucking fear.

  “Fuck you, buddy,” she said.

  Someone in the knot of watching birds gave a snorting laugh, quickly cut off and half disguised as a cough.

  Horner glared. “As you wish.” He leaned forward. “I’m going to enjoy every second of owning you. Every second.”

  She stared at him, but didn’t really see him. She went into the darkness of her mind, then went deeper still
, to where her monster lived.

  I am my monster and my monster is me.

  Come out and play, motherfucker.

  She wanted Horner’s throat. She wanted to drop her fangs and tear into his flesh and feel his hot, evil blood splashing into her mouth.

  So with everything she had, everything she was and had ever been, she fought the obsidian splinter.

  She called her monster.

  But her monster didn’t answer.

  She was well and truly caught, staked and helpless and at the wicked mercy of COS and the fucking birds.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Horner’s men were not gentle.

  She hadn’t expected them to be, so she wasn’t disappointed when they went out of their way to hurt her.

  But she memorized their faces.

  Soon after the men began kicking her most of the birds melted away, throwing furtive, ashamed looks over their shoulders.

  Or maybe she imagined those looks.

  She dimly heard one of the birds shouting, demanding they leave her alone. Demanding someone let him go…

  And then the cruelty held all her attention.

  Horner didn’t kick her—he watched with dark, distant eyes, only once breaking his silence. “She’s used to pain, boys. Likes it. Give her want she wants.”

  In the end she lay in a daze, unable to so much as spit blood-filled saliva at her torturers.

  She didn’t cry.

  Not then.

  “What we wanted,” Horner said, his voice soft, “was to take you out of commission. I’d say we’ve accomplished that goal.”

  One of the birds ran toward them, and it wasn’t until he started speaking that she realized who he was.

  Her eyes were almost swollen shut, and her vision, what little there was of it, was blurry and unfocused.

  They’d kicked the hell out of her.

  “She’s just a girl,” Fin yelled. “There is no need to torture her.”

  “Bleeding fucking heart,” one of the men muttered, and knelt beside her to relieve her of her weapons. He tossed her shivs and her gun into a small pile beside him, then ripped her badge and her cell from her jacket pocket and tossed them into the pile with the weapons.

  “Fin,” Cree said, her fuzzy form appearing briefly in Rune’s peripheral vision. “Come on. She’s nothing to us.”