Boss Fight (Beyond the Aura Book 1)

by Helen Adams

  I stabbed the falchion point-first into the tarmac and used it to heave myself upright, glaring furiously at the severed hands. I kicked the nearest one, booting it with as much force as I could muster, and watched it crash against the tall metal fence.

  The stump of its arm hit me with the force of a sledgehammer.

  I was knocked off my feet and fell badly, landing on my injured arm. Blood smeared the tarmac. I wobbled, straining to support my weight. I half turned my head, panting and sweating, to keep the bone creature in sight. White-hot, crippling pain burned through my arm, my flank, my back.

  It lifted a clawed foot. I guessed its intention but I couldn’t get out of the way in time: - the monster kicked my arse. For a sweet, blissful second there was no pain at all, and then it came roaring in, radiating upward through my buttocks, spine and ribs.

  I flew. The world spun. I crashed against the fence, knocking my head hard on the metal. My vision blurred. I shook my head, groggy, dazed. Hurting.

  The golem snarled and charged.

  If I didn’t get up – if I didn’t move – I was going to die.

  Dragging energy from deep resources, I heaved upright and lurched out of the way. I ran for my sword, teeth barred in an agonised snarl, grabbing the falchion from where I’d left it embedded in the tarmac. I almost dropped it, skin slick with my own blood.

  The creature was turning. I had to put it down. Gripping the Sword With No Name in both hands I drew it back over my head. The world narrowed again, just my weapon and the monster’s spine.

  Howling with pain, fear and anger, I hacked my blade through two deformed vertebrae. The monster screamed – high-pitched, terrified, dying – and fell apart. Bones tumbled around me. I narrowly dodged that terrible skull as it thumped down.

  Panting, bleeding and racked with pain, I looked around. Raz, bruised and bloodied, had taken down one beast and almost dispatched the other. It was missing both hands and a leg and lurched around in drunken hops. I watched, swaying crazily, as Raz kicked it over. As it fell Raz slashed, beautiful shamshirs flashing as he severed the head.

  It was finished. Now, I decided as a wall of black filled my vision, would be an excellent time to pass out.

  When I came around I was stretched out on a narrow camp bed. From the lingering smell of motor oil and fumes, I knew we were in one of the garage’s numerous back rooms. Lorl clung to my arm, fur flushing the deep orange of terror. She always knew exactly to find me. I figured she had some kind of magic GPS.

  “It’s OK, sweetie,” I rasped, scooping her against my chest. “I’m not dead.”

  I hurt everywhere. My clothes were thick with half-dry blood. Nasty. Just… nasty.

  “Thought you were going to snooze all day,” a voice rumbled.

  I turned my head. Ow. Raz lounged on a stool, a mess of bandages and bruises. The sleeves of his shirt – now blood-streaked and ripped – were rolled above his elbows to reveal sinewy muscles. White cotton contrasted with the rich brown of his skin.

  Ques, his taufrkyn, perched on Raz’s shoulder. Male taufrkyn were larger than females, but I’d watched enough wild flocks to know that it was the ladies who ran the show.

  “You know us girls,” I rasped. My throat was scratchy. “Never happy unless we get our beauty sleep.”

  “You’re perfect just the way you are,” he replied with a teasing grin.

  “Please,” I drawled, hauling myself into a sitting position, “I got the crap kicked out of me. I look like shit. Are you alright?”

  Dark, exotic eyes studied me from beneath heavy brows. He kept his thick black hair tied back in a shoulder-length ponytail; there was never even a hint of grey. I didn’t dare ask if it was dyed. Normally smooth, it was now dishevelled from the fight.

  “You get beaten to within an inch of your life and you ask if I’m alright?” Raz’s eyes crinkled in a smile.

  I laughed; it hurt my ribs. Under the pungent aroma of cars I caught a delicate, exotic hint of ginger. Ah, right – that explained why a) I wasn’t dead, and b) I was able to move at all – leighis.

  Leighis was ginger-scented healing cream made by faeries, and it worked like Savlon on steroids. It ate bruises for breakfast and made short work of cuts, scrapes and burns. It left the skin smooth and unmarked, free of scars. The strongest cream could handle broken bones, though I hoped I’d never have to test it that way. We relied on it to patch us up just enough to get through the next fight… and the next… and the next. It could only be bartered or gifted, not bought. I saved it for wounds that would put me out of action.

  I had a lot of scars.

  “Had to break out the heavy duty healing kit, yeah?”

  “You nearly died.” Raz’s humour was gone.

  I shrugged off his concern and that hurt, too. Berserkers nearly died all the time.

  Raz went into another room to change clothes, then helped me stand. The effort sent pain screaming through my abdomen. I tried to ignore the black spots dancing in my vision, Lorl humming encouragement in my ear.

  I had to go home and change out of these manky clothes. The bleeding had stopped, more or less, but the damage was still severe; even with leighis I’d take hours to heal. Every muscle protested. I wanted to sleep for a week – or at least a good ten hours – but I didn’t have that luxury.

  And I’d wrecked my Meatloaf T-shirt. Wounds healed, but merchandise like that didn’t just grow on trees.

  Carrying our duffel bags, my mentor supported me as I hobbled out to his van. Raz had worked a quick clean-up while I was out cold and the golem bits were gone.

  “So now we know that my contact was right,” I said as we walked. Each step made my bones ache. I gritted my teeth. “I hate that.”

  “We should be thanking him.” He gave me a thoughtful look. “The only reason I wasn’t killed the second I stepped outside was because I was expecting an attack.”

  “Alright,” I grimaced. “So how do we find the right warlock without stirring up a hornet’s nest of elementals?”

  “We have to ask the right people.” His face was calm, but there was something in his eyes… something like excitement?

  “I don’t like the sound of that, Raz.”

  “We have to visit the mermaids.”

  “Fuck, no.” Golems were bad enough, but mermaids were a whole other species of wrong. “Pick another name out of the hat.”

  “We don’t have any more names! Short of a vaengrjarl, mermaids are our next best source of information!” The excitement was still in his eyes, but now it was tempered by anger. Surprise, surprise, the boss didn’t like it when I questioned his decisions.

  Shit. I was going to have to explain Lukas. Secrets were a second currency for his kind.

  “Funny you should mention vaengrjarl…”

  His eyes narrowed. “This is no time for jokes.”

  “No joke. I, uh, I know one.” I didn’t tell him that I meant know as in know.

  His eyes narrowed even further. “Is this your contact?”

  “Um… yeah. He’s… reliable.”

  “Your tame vaengrjarl isn’t here,” Raz snarled. He was pissed – usually he’d push and push for details, but he just ploughed straight ahead. “Mermaids always have information.”

  “Yeah, for a price!” I shrugged away from his supporting arm, trying to hide how much his barb stung. “They want you to give them a baby! You know they don’t have mermen, it’s how they breed,” I ground out. “Think about this. Don’t you have enough kids already?”

  “Mermaids care for their children, even if the father never gets to see them.” His expression was stony and there was a tremor of outrage in his voice. On his shoulder Ques chittered, reacting to his anger. “They love them. Which is more than can be said for a lot of human parents.”

  I ducked my face away, blinking back sudden, shocked tears. That was a low blow. But I’d had years in prison to learn how to play rough.

  “What would Saifa have said?”

 
; He drew a sharp breath. A glimmer of moisture made his eyes shine, there and then gone. I felt a brief flicker of guilt.

  “My wife would have supported me.” His voice was steady as a rock. “Saifa understood all too well about the consequences of our actions.”

  She’d known that he was a berserker. Of all his children, only one – a clairvoyant a few years younger than me – knew the truth. The rest of his kids just thought that their father had a side-line teaching martial arts out of the back of his garage.

  “Even if it meant fathering a child by another woman?” I persisted. “Fish-woman?”

  “Like I said. She understood. Don’t… just don’t push this, OK?”

  I glowered. For all the tension between us, that wet gleam of excitement was still in his eyes.

  “Mermaid sex is addictive, Raz.”

  “I said –”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and help me get in the van.”

  FOUR

  I dozed in the front seat. Lorl curled up in the crook of my arm, fast asleep and blue with contentment.

  Raz parked around the corner from my flat – there were no spaces any closer – and we walked into the block. I almost cried when I remembered that the lifts were out.

  “I’ll carry you,” Raz suggested.

  “I could carry your head in a basket.”

  “Be sensible, you’re white as a sheet! My leighis is good but you need rest. Let someone help you for once.”

  “Piggyback,” I growled, glowering. I hated to admit it, but he was right.

  “Fireman’s lift?”

  “Only if you want me to call you Caveman Raz for the rest of your life.”

  We got up the stairs. We passed a few people going down; my cracked, blood-splattered watch told me that it was after eight. Still early. I had my legs wrapped around Raz’s waist, hands gripping his shoulders, and we drew attention. Luckily none of them could see how much dried blood stained my clothes. I gave everyone a Death Glare and they looked away.

  In my flat, I left Raz in the living room and headed straight for the bedroom. I was going to get changed and grab some sleep – ten minutes, just a catnap – then we’d hit the road and visit the mer-whores. Raz would drop me back here and I’d get the restorative sleep that I really needed. We’d deal with the warlocks tomorrow.

  I was a mass of aches and pains. I stripped off my clothes and binned them, taking careful stock of my injuries.

  My arse was covered in bruises and my spine wasn’t much better. My ribs throbbed. Add to that a deep gash and bloody gouges, well… I was a mess. Raz’s triage had been neat and thorough; he’d had plenty of experience – on himself, the other berserkers he’d trained, and me. The tangy, spicy scent of leighis was still strong in my nose. My skin tingled. Not as potent as mine, but still good.

  When I peeked beneath the bandages the bleeding had already stopped. By tomorrow those injuries would no longer be a problem. I had a quick wash, pulled on clean knickers and a Judas Priest T-shirt, then crawled onto the bed. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes.

  “Two fights in two hours,” I mumbled. “Never a dull moment beyond the aura.”

  When I woke my muzzy head told me that I’d slept deeply, longer than the nap I’d allowed myself. Shit. Why hadn’t Raz woken me? We had work to do.

  I sat up, glanced at my watch. Ten forty-five. It was warm and quiet in the flat, the only sounds the faint tick tick tick of the central heating and the low, muted rumble of Raz’s snores from the living room. Lorl was tucked against my hip, peacock tail-feathers clutched in tiny paws. She was spark out.

  Laying the taufrkyn over my shoulder I stood, pleased that the bone-deep ache of muscles had lessened. It was still there – I’d need more sleep to get rid of that – but it was bearable. I stretched, careful not to disturb Lorl, and felt only a lingering stiffness along my spine.

  I checked the dressings. The deep wounds had sealed to angry red marks, tender to the touch. Not bleeding. I pulled the dressings off and binned them.

  My stomach reminded me that it hadn’t been fed in hours – dinner was a distant memory – and it would rather like to be fed again, thanks.

  I stepped into fresh jeans (faded, patched, but totally blood-free) and padded barefoot into the living room. Raz was on the sofa. He’d fallen asleep with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, Ques nestled in his lap.

  I prepared to wake him… and hesitated. He’d fought longer than I had, harder. He hadn’t been injured as badly, but he’d still expended a huge amount of energy. The kind thing to do, I thought, would be to let him rest a bit longer. And fix some food for when he woke.

  As I stood and thought Raz stirred, taking a huge breath as he yawned. His eyes opened.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Much. Want something to eat?”

  In my ‘kitchen’ – the area separated from the living room by a faded silk screen – Raz and I rustled up some grub. I plonked sandwiches on a plate, bunged crisps into a bowl and whacked the kettle on. Plenty of hot, steaming coffee, just the ticket.

  “You really think those skanks will have the information we need?” I asked as I worked.

  “Daphne, there’s nothing that a mermaid doesn’t know.”

  “There are things,” I said with a dark scowl. “Modesty, decorum, all sense of common decency…”

  “Not jealous, are you?”

  Jealous? No. Worried that he was going to impregnate a fish-lady? You bet.

  “They’re beautiful women,” he replied, interpreting my silence as assent. His teeth flashed in a wicked smile. “And I, well, I’m a handsome man…”

  I was glad that he could turn it into a joke. I didn’t want this conversation to become another argument. I wondered if I should try again to talk him out of this stupid plan, but I knew better – once Raz made up his mind about something, it was over.

  “I’m going to punch you,” I growled, my expression telling him that I wasn’t serious. “I will punch you right across this kitchen.”

  “Touched a nerve, did I? Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.”

  “Knock it off,” I said, cutting through a thick sandwich with more force than necessary. “That would just be weird.”

  “You’re killing me here.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  I came at him, knife in hand. I’d never stabbed anyone with a kitchen utensil before. Raz danced out of the way, light as air, laughing.

  “You’re too easy to tease!” he spluttered, face alight.

  “That’s funny, because you’ll be too easy to stab!”

  “Temper, temper.”

  “Don’t do that again.” I took a deep breath and calmed down.

  “Ahh, Daph, you have to learn to go with the flow.”

  “Go with the flow?” My aggravation was gone, replaced by a familiar cold pit of uncertainty. “Raz, I can’t. The last time I did that I went to prison.”

  He put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I didn’t shrug him off.

  “You must learn to accept the little things,” he said. “That way, when big things happen, you won’t be wound up so tight that you snap.”

  “I can’t let go,” I whispered, staring at him. “When my temper gets the better of me someone… someone gets hurt.”

  “I see you as a boiling saucepan,” he murmured, face twisting in sympathy. “Every now and again a surge of heat will make you vent, and you lose pressure. But not enough. When the temperature gets too hot you flip your lid.”

  “So… if I let off more steam, if I don’t keep myself so tightly controlled, I’ll be able to handle it when life gets too hot?”

  Raz nodded. I frowned, looking away. I’d never looked at my temper issues that way before.

  We ate in silence, too hungry to make further conversation. Raz fed Ques chunks of cheese while Lorl, awake now and looking for food, preferred to gorge on the crisps that I passed up to her.

  I’d become a berserker not long aft
er I’d got out of prison. My aura had ‘matured’, as Raz called it, and then boom – I could see beneath the surface of life. No one really understood what made an aura grow, or why, and the whole thing had scared me shitless. After taufrkyn, mermaids had been the first creatures I’d encountered who hadn’t frightened me. Just a bunch of pretty ladies, right?

  Wrong. Mermaids were hoarders. Specifically they hoarded knowledge, cooed and gushed over it like a vaengrjarl over his treasure. And they’d share that knowledge with you… for a price. There were no mermen, just women, and they bred more women. They relied on humans to reproduce.

  They kept all their treasures on full display, and that display screamed ‘yoo-hoo boys’. A few hours of passion and then bam, four months later a baby was born.

  Trouble was, mermaid sex was addictive. It had to be, to make you forget that you were doing a fish. Go down that road too many times and you’d forget that you ever had a question, forget everything except the need to lose yourself in a mermaid’s embrace.

  You wouldn’t be yourself anymore. She’d own you; heart, soul and child.

  Mermaids could live in fresh or salt water, though they preferred the sea because it was bigger. The nearest shoal of freshwater mermaids was only fifteen miles away. During daytime traffic it would take half an hour to get there. Raz put his foot down.

  Access to the park was restricted after hours. The car park was closed. Raz parked in a layby down the road and I held a torch as he climbed over the gate. His feet crunched on the gravel as he landed, and then I tossed him the torch. He lit my way as I climbed after him, orientating myself with the beam, and I jumped the last few feet.

  Our taufrkyn, noses twitching as they smelled the cold night air, took off for the trees. I had no idea what they got up to when they weren’t with us, but if I found another beetle in my bed I was going to have a fucking fit.

  We picked up a path and followed it around the enormous lake to the far side. Raz kept the torch trained on the ground so that we had a clear view of where to put our feet. I heard the call of night birds – owls or…bats or… OK, so I’m not up on night birds. The point is that there was plenty of noise from the wildlife despite the lack of daylight. I’d had to ditch the denim jacket – one too many bloodstains – but my second-hand parka was nice and warm.