Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  She quivered. The temperature continued to drop, and the snow swallowed the world again. The stench of the Divine penetrated everywhere: a caustic, sweet miasma that filled Alexander’s lungs like cold oil. Once again, the magical blast had burned out his ability to sense far. Only this time, it was worse. It was like the brilliant splotches left behind after staring into a bright light. Odd blurs and smears of ghostly magic swam across the landscape, and he could not tell real from false. He might as well be wearing a burlap sack on his head.

  He listened intently, but the snow muffled all sounds. He shifted Max, trying to get his feet under him in case they were attacked, but she made a mewling sound that cut through him like a sword, and he stopped dead.

  “Give me some power bars.”

  Tyler grappled in his vest and fished out a couple of bars. He tore one open with his teeth, and Alexander took it and put it to Max’s mouth. “Eat,” he ordered.

  She forced her jaws to open and bit down, chewing slowly. She swallowed hard and took another bite. He fed her both bars. Before he could take the next from Tyler, the cold snapped.

  It was an audible sound, like the crack of a whip. It echoed from the mountains. Instantly, the bitter cold lifted, and warmth flowed down into the trench.

  “About time,” Thor said, and then Alexander heard him and Gregory moving. The witch staggered over. He was crusted in ice. He knelt down beside Alexander and pushed his hands under the silver emergency sack.

  Magic seeped into the air. This time, Alexander recognized it as belonging to Gregory: a green flavor with hints of cayenne, honey, and hemlock.

  A warm white glow like moonlight on water streamed down his arms. Max made a gasping sound, her body jerking. Alexander’s arms clamped down, and she whimpered. He forced himself to loosen his grip. His vision went entirely gray, as if the world was a landscape of the dead. His Prime was scrabbling at the bindings of his control.

  No, he told himself. No. Gregory would heal Max. She would be all right.

  But how long before she is not? How long before death finds her? It would, he knew. Her life was a never-ending war, and she was always at the forefront of every battle. She would never be safe; she would never hold back. He could never keep her from harm.

  Bile flooded his throat as his stomach twisted sharply. He felt a mixture of self-disgust and utter impotence. They clawed at him like twin lions, shredding him from within, ripping at the seams of his fragile control. If they kept up, one day soon, he would simply vanish, and all that would be left was the beast within. That beast was bloodthirsty, ruthless, and brutal. The only way to stop him would be to kill him.

  A feral Prime was not easy to kill.

  His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. He had foolishly thought he had found a balance. But every time something like this happened, he felt his human side thinning as the Shadowblade Prime took greater control of his divided soul. This time, Alexander would win. But next time—

  HEALING MAGIC SUFFUSED MAX WITH STUNNING heat. It flowed through her body and wrapped her skin in a silken cocoon. It soothed her nerves, and the pain slowly melted into something more bearable.

  She let it go on longer than she should have, reveling in the combination of being in Alexander’s embrace and the nearly orgasmic pleasure of evaporating pain. But Gregory was wasting himself. She pushed him away. “Save your strength,” she rasped. “I’m okay.”

  “It’s my fault,” he muttered, grasping her again. “This shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know where I was going. One minute I was in the shack, and then I needed to go, to follow the path.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “It was Sterling. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. So back off, already.”

  Thor pulled him back and put his emergency silver sack around the witch’s shoulders. “She’s crabby,” he pointed out reassuringly. “It’s a sure sign she’s going to be fine. Come on over here, and squat down for a minute and get yourself defrosted. Let’s see if I can find us the makings for a fire.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Tyler said, and leaped out of the trench.

  Thor settled Gregory and then followed. The two returned a few minutes later, and before long, they had a small fire going. In the meantime, Max found herself relaxing against Alexander’s chest. His heart beat fast beneath his ribs, and his body was coiled tightly, although his arms were slack around her hips.

  She pushed herself away slightly so that she could look at him. He stared past her, his face carved in an iron mask. His eyes were pearl white. A snake of ice wriggled down her spine.

  “Alexander?” she asked carefully.

  His gaze flicked to her, quick as a cobra strike.

  “You okay?” she asked. If he was really feral, if he had really lost his mind to his Blade, he wasn’t acting like it.

  He blinked. “I am fine,” he said, and then heaved himself up, lifting Max with him. He set her on her feet before stepping back. “I am fine,” he repeated, and then jumped out of the trench and vanished into the snow.

  Max stared after him, then forced herself to turn away. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. How was she going to fix this?

  The silver sack crinkled as she turned, and she looked down at herself. Her clothes were charred scraps of nothing. The soles of her boots had melted to her feet; the rest of her boots were gone. Her skin was still puckered and red, with a few shrinking blistered and black patches. Why was it she kept ending up naked? And never having any fun getting that way? It was damned unfair.

  She bent and peeled away the remnants of her boots and brushed off what was left of her clothes. She examined her arms ruefully. Her favorite knives were gone. She had a feeling only Tyler would sympathize with that.

  Alexander had left his vest. She picked it up and fished out his supply of power bars and ate them. Next, she took out his cell phone. Hers was gone with all the rest of her stuff. She flipped it open and punched in Giselle’s number. Nothing. It wasn’t working. She wasn’t all that surprised. The magical blast had been extraordinary. She would have been more surprised if the phone was still working.

  She slid the phone back into its pocket and turned to her companions. Gregory was hunched over the small fire, Thor’s silver sack around his shoulders collecting and reflecting the heat back on him. His head hung low.

  Max tightened her silver sack around herself, so that Gregory wouldn’t have to blush when he looked at her, and crouched down opposite him. “What exactly happened back there?”

  He lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His shaggy hair clung wetly to his forehead. He didn’t speak right away. That was Gregory. He liked to collect his thoughts first. Probably figuring out the fewest words possible to say what he had to. Max waited, fighting for patience.

  Finally, he spoke. “It was a trap, of sorts.”

  “What do you mean, of sorts? Either it was a trap or it wasn’t.”

  He sighed and scratched his cheek. “It was a trap, but only for witches, and it wasn’t the sort of thing designed to kill me or capture me. It wanted to eat me.”

  “Eat you?”

  “Eat my magic.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.” Again that grim smile. “Don’t get me wrong. It would have killed me. But only as a by-product and not quickly. Maybe not for years.”

  “What do you mean, eat your magic?” Thor asked.

  Gregory tipped his head, thinking. “Think of it as milking a snake for venom,” he said finally. “The snake keeps living, keeps giving up its prize. Just like a milk cow. Until the milk runs out, and eventually it does.”

  He stopped, his attention turning inward. His gaunt face turned bleak. Max was about to prompt him again when he continued.

  “Every witch is connected to his or her specific element. It’s like we have roots digging down into, well, magical soil, for lack of a better explanation. Anyhow, witches have those roots. The deeper they go, the stronger we are, and the stronger we
are, the deeper and broader their reach. This trap wanted to pull me up by the roots, but more than that, it wanted to pull the magic with it. Eventually, the roots die, but not for a long time. A long, painful time.”

  He stopped abruptly, as if disconcerted at how much he’d been talking. He looked at Max. “If you hadn’t—” He grimaced. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have left. I walked right into it, and I didn’t deserve what you did for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to pay you back.”

  She stared at him. “You are a fucking idiot. You don’t owe me anything. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  He shrugged. “Still.”

  There was no talking him out of it, so Max didn’t bother to try. It was surprising to discover a witch with a sense of morality. It was sort of like finding the holy grail. A singular event. Mythical, even. Maybe miraculous.

  “What now?” Gregory asked.

  “What made you leave the shack?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not entirely sure. I felt compelled, like I was needed, like someone was ill and calling for me. I knew I should stay, but I kept following the path in front of me.” He grimaced. “I really can’t remember very well.”

  “We have got to get on with killing Sterling.”

  “You make it sound easy. He’s got power to burn.”

  “Then we’ll burn him.”

  His lips quirked in a gallows smile. “I’d like to light the match.”

  “Get in line,” Tyler said through stiff lips.

  Max looked up at him. He was visibly struggling with what had happened to her. This was the second time she’d come close to dying in less than twelve hours. She didn’t know how to help him. How to reassure him. Her habit of dealing with loss and fear was to isolate herself. But the two of them were too close for that. They had to figure out a new way.

  She looked down.

  “Before we go off hunting Sterling, we’ll want to scavenge you up some clothes,” Thor said, breaking the tension. “Not that I object to the Lady Godiva look, but it could call more attention to us than we want.”

  He cast a looked at the falling snow. Max knew what he was thinking: where was Alexander? She was wondering the same thing.

  She felt him returning long before he dropped back down into the trench. He was layered with snow, and the white ringing his eyes had thinned. He dropped a fat gym bag at Max’s feet.

  “Clothes and weapons,” he said tersely. “I will get more wood.”

  He snatched up his vest and was gone again. Max bit back her annoyance and unzipped the bag. She found a pair of blue jeans, a long-sleeved navy shirt, and a pair of black boxer briefs. They smelled of Alexander.

  Max put them on. The scent of Alexander wrapped her. She closed her eyes a moment, just breathing him in. The pants were too big, but there was a belt to keep them up. The shirt was also baggy, but comfortable. She dug in the bag to find out what else he had brought back from the truck. She found another tactical vest and a .45. She put on the vest and tucked the gun into her rear waistband. At the bottom of the bag were a combat knife and a bag of pepper sticks. She offered them to Thor, Tyler, and Gregory. All three refused.

  “You need the calories,” Gregory said with a stern look. “Eat all of it.”

  “Getting pushy, aren’t you?”

  “Apparently, it takes an entire coven to keep you out of trouble.”

  “You think that one coven would be enough?” Tyler asked, his voice brittle.

  “No,” Alexander said before leaping down beside her. His gaze slid over her, his nostrils flaring. “I had no extra shoes.”

  Max shrugged. “Won’t be a problem. Thanks for going to get this stuff for me.”

  His brows rose, and he gave her a distant look. “Someone had to,” was all he said. He bent and built up the fire until it roared.

  “That should help you warm up,” he told Gregory.

  The witch stood, rubbing his hands against his thighs. “We don’t have time for me to warm up. We need to get going.”

  “Sure,” Tyler said. “Tell us where to start.”

  “I had an idea about that,” Max said. “Maybe we could track the people who attacked the compound.”

  “Probably a long shot,” Thor said.

  “If you’ve got other ideas, I’m all ears.”

  No one offered any.

  “All right, then. Gregory, you got hit pretty hard. Are you sure you don’t need more rest?” Max asked.

  “Do you?” he returned, his gaze running down to her hands. They were red now, the new skin smooth and tight, her fingernails growing back in.

  “Then let’s go,” Max said. She climbed up out of the trench with Tyler right behind. Thor helped Gregory up, and Alexander came last. He continued to simmer with hard-held emotions. She decided to ignore him, to give him space until he was ready to talk to her. His presence grated against her, and right or wrong, her temper was rising by the minute.

  Max figured she’d find a pair of shoes at the compound, along with a trail to follow. Being barefoot didn’t bother her, but she didn’t like leaving her blood around if she cut herself. Sterling might be able to make serious trouble for her with it.

  She led the way, going slowly to let Gregory keep up. Alexander brushed past her to walk a few steps ahead. Max scowled at his back but didn’t try to overtake him.

  They edged east through the quiet neighborhoods. It looked like a bomb had hit. Many houses had collapsed, and the rest were leaning drunkenly, with caved-in roofs and walls. Everything was eerily quiet, like a grave. Maybe it was one mass grave. Who knew how many people had been tucked into bed or hiding in the basements?

  Max ran her tongue along the sharp edge of her teeth. One way or another, Sterling was going to die.

  The burst of heat and subsequent cold had melted the heavy blanket of snow and refrozen it into sheets of thick ice, sleeking everything inside a brittle shroud. Thor held on to Gregory to help him walk, but all five of them had a hard time keeping their feet. With the thickly falling snow, it took them nearly an hour to reach the bridge.

  It had not suffered the same damage, although it sagged to the left. The river had absorbed the brunt of the magic. They carefully crossed and slogged back up the river path to the compound.

  Crews were working on repairing the outer skin of the wall with a patchwork of metal and wood. Welding torches flashed blue-white through the heavy snow. Others were carrying bodies to a spot near the river. Max tore her eyes away from the sight, her throat knotting. Too much death.

  “We should not stay here long,” Alexander said. “We might have trouble pulling Gregory away from the wounded.”

  “Oh, so you talk, do you?” Max responded sourly. “And here I thought you’d lost your voice. Or maybe you’re just the strong, silent type.”

  He made a growling sound low in his throat. “I speak when I have something to say.”

  She stopped, turning to look at him. “I get a feeling you’ve got a lot to say, Slick. In fact, I get the feeling you’re choking on it. So why don’t you stop pouting like a five-year-old and get it off your chest, already?”

  He spun, grasping her arms, the tendons in his neck taut as wire.

  Max’s chin jutted. “I guess I hit a nerve there.”

  “You. Hit. All. My. Nerves,” he said, each word spaced out and bitten off. He punctuated each one with a small shake.

  “Sounds painful. Maybe you should see a doctor for that.”

  Thor snorted softly and pulled Gregory back a few steps. “Can’t be too careful,” he told the witch. “You don’t want to be too close when the shit hits the fan.”

  “There’s no place on earth far enough,” Tyler replied sardonically. “I might have to strip down with all the heat coming off them. If only they’d kiss and make up, already. Time’s a-ticking.”

  Max’s lips twitched despite herself. She caught a glint of humor in Alexander’s eyes, then it vanished. His gaze bored through her as
if he was searching for something.

  He didn’t find it.

  His hands dropped, and it was like watching a dozen barred doors slam shut. It was almost like watching him fade back into the distance, even though he was standing right in front of her. But his expression was closed, sealed as tight as Fort Knox.

  “No need for doctors. I believe I am cured of whatever ailed me.” His voice was offhand. “It is quite a miracle.”

  He turned away. Max stared after him. Panic erupted inside her, and she felt cold and brittle, as if she’d been dunked in liquid nitrogen. What just happened? What did he mean, cured? Cured of me?

  Her throat filled with boulders, and her eyes burned with tears. They did nothing to break the grip of the cold that held her like a statue. Until—

  “Well?” he said, looking at her. “Shall we get moving, boss?”

  The question shattered her. His demeanor was impersonal. He wasn’t even angry. It was like he felt nothing.

  She’d been waiting for it to happen. It was inevitable. Why would he keep chasing her when she acted like she didn’t want to be caught?

  Max blinked. Then she stretched her lips into a grin. It felt like a grimace. She wanted to scream. To cry. To punch him in the stomach. Break his jaw. Make him react. Instead, she headed for the bridge into the compound.

  As they walked, Max fought to get a handle on her emotions. Or, rather, she grappled at them, trying to ball them up and stuff them down inside. She’d deal with them later.

  Maybe in a hundred years.

  Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed her nausea. Every single cell of her body was attuned to Alexander. She had given in to feeling things she had never been willing to feel before, and she didn’t know how she was going to survive them shattering. They would. He was done. He had made that much clear.

  A flame of anger flickered to life in her chest. It was cold and cut like a scalpel with every flicker. If he had ever really cared for her, he wouldn’t have been able to shut down so completely. Which meant the real problem was that his ego was bruised. She didn’t let herself think through her logic. Instead, she embraced the pain and the anger. It was armor. With it, she wouldn’t have room to feel anything else.