Blood and Kisses

by Shah, Karin

  He stiffened as if punched in the stomach. His powerful body arched away from the bed. Fresh blood stained the sheets as his unsheathed claws bit his flesh. He howled. The unearthly sound pierced Thalia to the core. Her chest ached. She couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath. Tears pearled in her eyes, but she held her focus, continuing to feed him the precious force.

  “Gideon, the hunger is not your master. You’ve got to fight. Take my power. Use my strength. Come back to me.” She maintained the steady current of energy, even as she carried on a desperate monologue, barely aware of the words rushing from her like the tide through a spillway.

  As she spoke, Gideon writhed against the damp, blood-dyed sheets. His glorious face turned toward her, and she saw the red haze begin to fade from his eyes.

  The spell was working.

  Thalia drew more power from inside. She exhausted the reserves of her energy and began to take from her own life force. Her body shook with the effort. Her voice quavered. Feeding him more and more of her personal strength, she was painfully aware of her dwindling capacity; willpower alone kept her on her feet. She couldn’t go on much longer.

  Gideon’s face twisted with agony. Thalia could feel the struggle raging within him as the man fought to subdue the beast. Who would win?

  Thalia’s magic rushed over him like a shock wave and suddenly Gideon remembered why taking blood from her would be wrong. Not only was witch blood poisonous, but more importantly, he didn’t want to hurt the witch. A glimmer of sanity returned. Not the witch.

  Thalia.

  That was her name. She was brave and beautiful. A rare mixture of strength and vulnerability.

  Vulnerable, no. Weak. The creature insisted. The beast wouldn’t surrender without a fight. Ripe for the taking. She was nothing more than a feeble human, after all, destined for only one purpose. To fill the hollow ache. He would gorge on her blood, milk her of every scarlet drop.

  No. Fortified by the power Thalia was feeding him, Gideon rejected the vile thoughts and attacked the vicious evil within, wrestling for control. He herded the demon, prodding it into submission. Gradually the whirlpool of hate and anger let loose by starvation drained. Reason returned.

  The hunger still beat within him like a swarm of angry wasps, but the beast was in retreat. Gideon, the man, reinforced by the surge of energy Thalia provided, shoved the demon into a small dark corner of his soul and raised the mental walls that would imprison it, at least for now.

  In control once more, he collapsed, temporarily debilitated by his long battle despite her generous gift. The bed groaned under his weight.

  The blue light flickered out like a defective neon light, and Thalia sank to the ground, her skin the color of wet clay. She’d given him almost everything she had.

  She’d risked her life to help him cage the monster.

  He hadn’t come so close to the edge in millennia. That this woman had seen him this way was almost more than he could bear. He closed his eyes against the crippling shame. He didn’t want to see the revulsion in her clear blue gaze.

  Thalia, clearly too sapped to open his chains, drew the key from her pocket and handed it to him. The chains fell to the floor with a thunk.

  He steeled himself to face her, but when he turned to her, he found her kneeling on the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed, unconscious. Gideon swept her up into his arms.

  Spirit was waiting in the hall. His ears went back, lips curled and for a moment, Gideon thought the familiar would take a chunk out of his leg. “She’s all right,” he said.

  “She’d better be.”

  Gideon didn’t bother to answer. He felt the same. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

  She stirred when he crossed the threshold to her bedroom, but never opened her eyes. He laid her gently on the bed. Her hair formed an ebony halo against the vivid red and green of the quilt. She looked so small and helpless on the bed and yet she had saved his life. His hand brushed her hair back from her damp forehead. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had just enough strength left to feed safely. If he waited much longer, her sacrifice might be for nothing.

  He went to the window and hit a button to raise the shutter. It whirred softly as it rose section by section and came to rest in its recess.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said over his shoulder. “Watch over her.” Without waiting for a response, he threw open the window and launched into the darkening sky, wondering as he shape-shifted into a massive osprey, whether she would be there when he returned.

  Chapter 13

  “Hey, Cole!” Poole’s deep voice was husky as he called up the gloomy stairs. The acrid bite of bile still stung his raw throat. The overpowering stench from above seemed to roll in undulating waves down the stairs. He grimaced and swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he’d actually puked. He’d never live it down. Maybe he could bribe Cole to keep it to herself. She liked those little gem donut things from the vending machine back at the station. The crumb covered ones.

  The fading light cast a gray pall throughout the run-down house. He shot back the cuff of his white dress shirt and checked his watch, then looked back out the door. It was getting dark and there was no reason for them to hang around any longer.

  He stood on the front landing. Above him were the worn stairs that led to the second floor. Below him, rickety wooden steps led down into what was no doubt a cellar. He glanced uneasily down into the black depths and shivered. He couldn’t remember ever being as disturbed at a crime scene. Even now he felt as if something lurked in the heavy shadows just beyond his view, watching him. Something evil. He shifted his weight. “Cole!”

  A sharp creak sent an electric shock through him, raising the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. It hadn’t been his imagination. Someone was down there.

  He drew his gun. “Cole!” he barked, his face pulled tight with fear, and started down the stairs.

  “What?” Cole’s voice was brusque and impatient as she spoke from above. Poole whirled to face her. A rush of air escaped from his lungs. He gestured down the stairs with his head and turned back to the black pit.

  “There’s someone down there.” He could hear the soft rasp of metal against leather as Cole produced her weapon. He pulled out a small flashlight, shining it above his gun, into the deep hole before him and felt with his foot for the lower step.

  Cole joined him. She put a hand on his shoulder. He looked back. The whites of her eyes shone in the feeble light from the half-open front door as she indicated that she would take the left. He was abruptly aware as he nodded that night had fallen. Heavy shadows had yielded the right of way to complete darkness.

  He’d discarded his suit jacket after he’d been sick. Bricks pricked his skin through the thin fabric of his dress shirt and chilled his flesh as he pressed his back against the wall to the right.

  Cole slid down and pasted herself against the opposite wall. She took a deep breath and raised her weapon. “Ready?” she mouthed. He nodded again.

  “This is the police! Come out with your hands where we can see them.” Poole’s words rang through the stairwell and into the inky gulf below them.

  Silence.

  He nodded for a third time, and they burst simultaneously into the dark basement. Shots, accompanied by flashes, bangs, and shouts, echoed off the stone walls as a large black shape hurtled between them, knocking them to the hard cement floor.

  Poole lost control of his gun. It clattered as it hit the unforgiving ground. The flashlight went flying, illuminating isolated objects as it spun, the floor, the wall, Cole’s white face. She was groping for her own weapon, lost somewhere in the murk behind her. The flashlight came to rest against the wall. Its light reflected off the brick and revealed their attacker.

  Gideon Damek.

  His face, highlighted by the reflected light, shone like a macabre mask in the blackness.

  He grabbed Poole by the throat, choking him. Poole clawed at the other
man’s large hands. God, he was strong! Each of Damek’s fingers was a steel manacle constricting around Poole’s windpipe. As he struggled to breathe, Poole’s raspy, desperate coughs seemed to come from far away. Tears of pain streamed from his eyes. The edges of his vision fogged. He was dying. He kicked out at Damek. The blow landed with a thump, but it was like kicking granite. The man didn’t even flinch. As the fog expanded and finally swallowed him, Poole heard a shot ring out.

  He barely restrained a laugh as he bolted into the cool embrace of the summer night. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but it was easily replaced. The policewoman probably thought he had run off because he feared her weapon. He feared nothing and no one except the dawn.

  They had no idea how lucky they were to still be breathing. How the rush of their blood called to him. How he longed to feel the warm, rich spurts upon his tongue, to glut himself on the delicious fluid. If only he didn’t need the pathetic fools. Even now he could imagine the ecstasy of draining the last embers of life from their twitching corpses. He shivered. Oh, the power, the pleasure of the Claiming, how he loved it. Even the taste of blood could not compete. Unlike Gideon, he was not restrained by some fatuous notion of morality. A notion his enemy had not espoused as a human.

  He smiled, and felt his eyes flame, not with bloodlust this time, but with anticipation. He was so close to his goal. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon he would have power such that would make the Claiming seem like nothing but a cheap thrill.

  If only Inanna were here to share his triumph.

  Hatred seethed through him. It was Gideon’s fault he was alone. Everything was Gideon’s fault. It was long past time for his enemy to pay for his crimes.

  Thalia fought to wake up. There were things she had to do. Gideon to find, a murderer to stop, but the tentacles of unconsciousness wrapped around her, burying into her flesh, unwilling to let her go, and she lapsed once more into fevered dreams. A swirl of images solidified into another place and time, all at once foreign and familiar.

  She walked down a long, smoky hallway lit with flaming reeds and approached the throne, falling to her knees and laying down her heavy basket in front of the pharaoh and his guest, keeping her eyes carefully downcast.

  “Is she to your liking?” Pharaoh’s tone was idle, but his deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. The attention of the god/king could be very dangerous. She, a mere slave, had never thought to draw his awesome gaze.

  “She is beautiful,” his guest observed.

  Thalia hid a gasp. It wasn’t his words that startled her, but the godlike timbre of his voice. Even Pharaoh’s voice could not match its majestic resonance. Her eyes skimmed up across the stranger’s face before she remembered herself and glued her gaze back on the stone floor.

  Who was this man who dwarfed Pharaoh?

  His commanding presence implied he was at least a king, but she had not heard of a visiting king, nor seen the extensive entourage traveling royalty would require.

  “You have served us well. She is yours.”

  Thalia bit her lip. Her breath came fast. Three words and her life had changed.

  “I’m honored by your generosity.”

  “Her name is Neferet.”

  Thalia opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, her heart still pounding within her chest. The dream had seemed so real. Her breathing slowed. She could hear Spirit snuffing softly in his sleep.

  Only a dream.

  She’d had vivid dreams before. The one she’d had the night before she met Gideon, the clairvoyant dream last night, but something about this dream wouldn’t let her go. Even now, she felt she was that slave girl, her life changed forever on one man’s whim, given as a reward to the king of a foreign land. No, not a king—Gideon. Her conscious mind identified the slave girl’s mysterious stranger. She closed her eyes, hoping to finish the dream, certain there was a clue she needed somewhere in it, and sleep claimed her once more.

  “How is she?” Gideon slipped into the room, hands in his pockets, his equilibrium restored by a night’s feeding.

  Spirit lifted his whiskered chin from the comforter. Look for yourself.

  Thalia lay sprawled on the bed, her dusky lashes shading her cheeks. Her color had returned and she was breathing deeply and evenly.

  I think she’ll wake soon.

  Gideon nodded. “I’ll sit with her.”

  Spirit leaped from the bed. I think she’ll be okay for a moment. Why don’t we go downstairs?

  Gideon followed Spirit back down the stairs and into the kitchen, wondering what the familiar wanted to say.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  I’ve held my tongue, and didn’t interfere, Spirit began, because although she is not the strongest witch ever to be Champion, Thalia is a talented investigator with excellent instincts and that has always seen her through, but you should know I have the means to protect her, if necessary.

  Gideon let slip a tiny bitter laugh. He didn’t know if that was true, but God, he hoped it was. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had proven he couldn’t be trusted to keep the animal inside at bay. That he was only a thread away from going rogue. He should leave her. But the image that had convinced him to join her would not go away. He had to stay.

  He opened his eyes and made himself face Spirit’s dark-rimmed gaze. “I deserved that. But I will walk into the sun before I endanger her again.”

  Spirit nodded, which should have looked absurd coming from a dog, but Gideon had become inured to the sight of human gestures coming from the familiar. Spirit’s dark, almond-shaped eyes lingered on Gideon’s face. I must be mad, but I believe you.

  “It’s good to know she has you to watch over her,” Gideon said. He wished it could be he, but since that could never happen, at least she had someone. “How did you come to live with the Kents?”

  Spirit looked at the floor. For a moment Gideon thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, he said, I love her like a daughter. But I serve her family as atonement.

  It was clear the familiar was stepping into painful territory, perhaps was already regretting his words, but Gideon couldn’t help but ask, “Atonement?”

  Spirit sighed. Thalia comes from a long line of beautiful women. It was a long ago ancestor, Georgina Atwater, who bound me to her family. I...made a mistake. That mistake cost her her life. She had a young son. I promised her as she died that I would protect him. I gave up my life as a mage and took on the role of familiar, so I could do just that.

  “Why a dog?”

  Spirit chuckled without humor. It seemed a fitting penance. Of course, I wasn’t a basenji in those days.

  The familiar seemed in a talkative mood. “Tell me about Thalia.”

  He walked over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and settled into it while pulling the chair next to him out for Spirit. Spirit hesitated, then leapt into the chair. He lay down, sphinx-like and crossed his white paws. What do you want to know?

  Gideon shrugged. “Everything.”

  You don’t ask for much, do you?

  Gideon cocked a dark brow.

  Thalia has always been different, even for a witch. Her mark sets her apart from witches because it identifies her as the Champion. And it keeps her from forming attachments with pettys because she feels it’s unattractive.

  “I think it’s lovely,” Gideon said, then regretted it. But perhaps it was the right thing to say because Spirit seemed to relax at the words and when next he spoke, he seemed less guarded.

  A Champion can be male or female, but they always have the mark. It’s hereditary in Thalia’s family, as is potent magical powers. Unfortunately, Thalia has never shown more than average talent in magic and I’m afraid... He broke off and then began again. I’m afraid that the local magic community has lost faith in her. I’ve been hearing rumors from some of the other familiars and earlier this evening while you were...ill, I got word of a meeting being held to discuss Thalia’s suitability as Champion.

  “What?”

 
; Spirit raised a paw. They’re scared. They mean well.

  “Do they?”

  “Yes, do they?” It was Thalia speaking from the doorway, her hands braced against the doorframe on either side.

  Thalia couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who doubted her abilities. Blindsided, her chest clenched. What more could go wrong? She took a shaky step toward the table.

  In the blink of an eye, Gideon was there. He helped her take a seat and began rummaging through the massive, state-of-the-art refrigerator, looking, she assumed, for something for her to eat.

  He piled food on the counter, tomatoes, onions, green peppers, spaghetti sauce, cheese, bread, then closed the fridge and examined the items as if he had never seen them before. Despite her agitation, the lost expression on his face as he looked at the pile was priceless. She laughed.

  “I’ve watched Cam cook for her family hundreds of times. You’d think I would have picked up something,” he said.

  Thalia directed him in the making of a grilled cheese sandwich. While he fried it, she turned the subject back to the discussion she’d overheard earlier. “Do you really think they mean well?”

  Spirit exchanged a look with Gideon that Thalia couldn’t read. I don’t know. From what I heard, Mina Shaw had a vision. And now a witch is dead. It will only inflame the situation.

  “And Mina didn’t think she could come to me.” Thalia couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

  Word is whatever is coming could destroy the world as we know it. Spirit seemed embarrassed by the overly dramatic statement, but he didn’t qualify it.

  Thalia groaned and shook her head. “Isn’t that always the word? I don’t think we’ve ever had a threat that didn’t endanger the world, including Jay Hefer’s boils.”