by Olsen, Lisa
Instead of reaching for the tainted dagger, Ash brought his hand up to the reaper’s chest, counting on the concentration needed to perform the ritual to keep him from noticing the muzzle of the gun before it was too late. “Not… this… time,” he bit out, pulling the trigger.
The reaper’s gaze flashed down an instant before it was too late. Twisting to block the shot, the bullet hit him in the shoulder rather than the chest. His grip on Ash’s hand loosened, the words faltering as he was blown back by the force of it. It was opportunity enough for Ash to pull his hand free of the obsidian blade. Ash fired the gun again, wild and high, but it forced the reaper to dive for cover giving him enough time to pull the rusty dagger from his belly. Freed from the poisonous blade, Ash transferred the gun to his dominant hand, but his wounded hand wouldn’t grasp it properly. His shots ricocheted harmlessly against the huge metal dumpster the man crouched behind.
The bricks behind him exploded in a burst of rubble and Ash came to understand that the reaper was returning fire. He’d never done that before. It did him no good to kill the host body, he had to trap Asherik in order to bind him. Ash fired again, blindly, unprepared when the reaper appeared from the opposite corner in a flying tackle. They rolled over the dirty pavement until, by accident or design, Ash landed on top. The obsidian dagger appeared in the reaper’s hand again, and Ash plunged his finger into the bloody wound at his opponent’s shoulder. A howl of pain escaped the reaper’s lips, and his grip faltered.
Bringing his gun up to the man’s temple, Ash squeezed the trigger, only to be met with the disappointing click of metal. He pulled the trigger again and again, but the muffled sound of gunfire came not from the weapon in his hand, but from the gun pressed to his belly. Looking down, Ash saw the pool of blood staining his shirt with alarming speed, and he lurched away from the reaper, staggering to his feet.
He understood that the wound was serious, despite the lack of pain. Soon his body would weaken and the reaper would be upon him. Ash could use his remaining strength to reach her side, but there might be protective sigils barring him from her door as well. He could ignore the pain and attempt to finish the blonde man off. The reaper was wounded badly as well, his shoulder bleeding profusely. Or, he could flee like a rat abandoning a sinking ship to choose another host body.
Even as he debated those things, the reaper regained his feet, advancing with dagger in hand. With a last look up at the darkened window above, Asherik stole off into the shadows. His own tolerance for pain and blood loss gave him an edge over the reaper, and he soon lost his pursuer. The wound in his belly had already started to close around the offending lump of metal, but Ash needed to feed to replenish his energy. Deprived of her love, the urge to strike out returned with a vengeance.
Chapter Twenty
When the first shots fired, Cady didn’t think much of it. Random gunfire wasn’t that unusual, and most of the time it wasn’t accompanied by violent death or even injury. Enjoying the first deeply restful sleep in days, she was half inclined to think she’d dreamed it up anyway.
But when the next shots came, she bolted upright in bed. They sounded awfully close. Tiptoeing cautiously to the window, she peeked out in time to see the flash of gunfire as more shots came from the alley below her window, but she was too high up to see much more. Not without sticking her head out the window, at any rate, and there was no way she’d be stupid enough to try that.
Considering whether or not to report it to the cops, she decided it couldn’t hurt to call it in. It took several minutes for her to get through to a dispatcher who assured her that a patrol car would be dispatched, but without confirmation of a crime or an injury, it was anyone’s guess when it would arrive. No more shots came, and the alley fell silent as she strained to hear anything that might clue her in to what was going on below.
A brief glance at the time showed she hadn’t slept for as long as she’d thought, and Cady was about to climb back into bed when something pounded against the front door. The front door that wasn’t chained because Ian would be coming home in a couple of hours and she hadn’t wanted to wake to let him in. Sure, the deadbolt was fastened, but a good kick could make short work of that.
The knock sounded again -- boom… boom, boom -- and she tiptoed closer, not wanting to make a sound to let whoever was on the other side know she approached.
“Open the door, Cady.”
She heard Ethan’s voice through the door, and hurried to check through the peephole before opening it, just in case. He sagged against the doorframe as soon as the door swung open, sweat running down the side of his face. More alarming was the ruddy stain at his shoulder and the bloody cloth wrapped around his hand.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she gasped, pulling him inside.
Ethan ignored her question, eyes darting around the room, and she saw the gun held low to his side. “Are you alright?” he demanded, peeking into her room, the bathroom, Ian’s bedroom, even the closet.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m not the one who showed up all bloody and sweaty.” Cady locked the door up tight again, engaging not only the deadbolt, but the chain before she caught up to him in the living room. “Wait… that was you downstairs, wasn’t it? Have you been shot?”
He waved her away as she tried to get a look at it. “It’s not bad.”
“The hole in your jacket says otherwise,” she frowned, catching hold of his arm, flinching in sympathy when he winced in pain. “Hold still for a second, let me take a look at it.” Cady fixed him with a flat stare, waiting until she saw the capitulation in his eyes before she tugged at the sodden material. The t-shirt was stuck to the wound, and it took careful prodding to pull all the fibers out.
“I don’t have any tea to pour over it, but we could get some from your place, if you want,” she offered, remembering his fixation with the brew the last time.
“No, it shouldn’t need it.”
“If you say so,” Cady replied, dubious as she pressed a clean kitchen towel to the wound.
“It’s not a big deal, the bullet went straight through.”
“You mean there’s another hole?” she frowned, peeking around to his back. Sure enough, his flesh was mangled on that side as well. “I think your definition of not a big deal and mine are crazy different. You’d better come into the bathroom. If you get blood all over the floor, Ian will freak out.”
“I can just go back to my apartment.”
“Not before I bandage you up. Now, move it.” Honestly, it was just like wrangling a five year old. He let her drag him into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub so she could easily reach the injuries. The blood flow was already slowing with steady pressure, and she marveled at his ability to withstand such torturous injuries without a doctor’s care.
“I suppose you get shot up all the time?” she ventured, leaning close to press against the exit wound at the same time.
“Not so much,” he admitted, bearing the pressure without complaint. “They don’t usually carry guns.”
“Good thing for you. This looks awful.”
“I’m telling you, I’ll be fine.”
“Did you catch him?” Her question was met with a stony silence that spoke volumes, and Cady refrained from pressing him about it. “Do you ever think about getting into a different line of work?”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you basically kind of suck at this one. I’m sorry,” she offered quickly when his forehead deepened into a scowl. “But you keep ending up stabbed or shot and they’re still out there. Maybe it’s time to turn this over to an experienced investigator?”
“I’ve been doing this for more years than you’d think,” Ethan bristled, and she managed to keep her thoughts to herself. It was a miracle he was still alive by her reckoning.
Carefully peeking under the towels, she was surprised to see the blood flow slowed to a sluggish ooze. Cady grabbed for some gauze and tape from the middle drawer, cutting the tape with her teeth as she work
ed. She’d started to get the hang of playing nurse, and admired the neat bandages when she was finished. Her hands lingered on his shoulder longer than was strictly necessary, knowing he was liable to bolt the instant she finished and she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him yet.
“There, I think this is okay,” she said when it was clear there was nothing left to fuss over. “Wait… what you need is a sling.” Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed a clean pillow case from the hall closet, trying her best to get it to split along the seam. Ethan plucked it from her fingers and tore through the fabric like it was tissue paper.
“You’re not supposed to be using that arm,” she scowled, wondering how he managed to do it so easily.
“I told you, it’s fine.” With a long suffering sigh, he let her tie the sling around his arm, knotting it by his neck.
“There, all set,” she said finally, tugging it slightly to get the wrinkles out. “You know, you should really…”
“Go to the hospital, I know. No, thank you.”
“I was going to say come to me the next time you get shot or stabbed. I’m really getting the hang of this stuff, don’t you think?” she smiled impishly, and Ethan returned the smile, a half a beat later.
“Who says I’ll get shot again?”
“With your track record? Please.” A roll of the eyes was given as she turned to put the first aid supplies back in the drawer.
“You seemed to have missed one critical thing here.” His voice called her back, but she couldn’t readily see what he meant.
“What? You said the bullet passed through so we didn’t need to try and dig it out. It didn’t need stitches.” Not that she’d be any good at trying to sew him up, she’d never been good with a needle and thread.
“You don’t think maybe I should have put a shirt on first?” Ethan wiggled the fingers peeking out of the sling.
“Oh no, I think it’s much better this way,” Cady replied glibly, defending her lack of foresight as if it was a conscious choice. “It lets the wound breathe better, and you won’t get the gauze all sweaty.” Not because she wanted to ogle him with his shirt off… nope.
It was hard to keep from staring at his muscled chest though, and the first good look she’d gotten at his tattoos. Besides the one that ran from his hand up his arm, there was another one on the same shoulder that wrapped around to his back, one on his chest, two on his back that had narrowly missed the bullet through the shoulder and one just below the ribcage over the hard ridge of abdominal muscles. The tattooed symbols visible on the back of his neck ran the length of his spine, disappearing beneath the band of his jeans.
“How long have you had these?” she asked, fingers tracing lightly over the pattern on his shoulder.
“A long time,” he said softly, watching the path her fingers took.
“What do they mean?”
“They mean I’m actually good at what I do.” A half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “These five sort of commemorate my success in bringing down other… cults.”
“What about this one?” Her fingers continued down his arm, following the swirl of inked skin to the strip of cloth binding his hand. “What happened here?” she scowled at finding dried blood matting the inside of the cloth. “Tell me you didn’t stab yourself through the hand again.”
“It’s fine.” Ethan closed his hand, pulling it from her grasp.
“No, Ethan. Stabbing yourself through the hand to get at a guy isn’t fine, or normal, or very effective from the look of things. When are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
“I told you, it’s complicated.”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and Cady sank down onto the floor, insinuating herself between his knees. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”
“I should go.”
“Not so fast.” She caught him before he could get away. “Not before you tell me once and for all what this is about. I can take your ‘crazed cult’ story only so far. It doesn’t explain the weirdness you’re putting out there.”
“Cady… you should stay far away from all of this, from me especially, for your own good.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. I can protect you without pulling you in any deeper than you already are. Then, when this is over, I’ll move on and you never have to see me again.”
“What if I don’t want to let you go so easily?” Cady caught hold of his hand, and he finally met her gaze. Something passed through his blue eyes -- what, she couldn’t say for sure.
“It would be the safest thing you could do.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do the safest thing? Maybe I like a little risk?”
It was obviously the wrong thing to say, as his brows drew together angrily. “Well, I don’t, not when it’s your life I’m risking. I’ll stay long enough to make sure your brother gets home safely, and then…”
Cady didn’t let him finish the ridiculous statement. She didn’t give him a choice but to embrace the complicated as she kissed him. Not the brief press of lips she’d tried in the hallway the other day with surprising results, but a real kiss. Soft and lingering, daring him to deny what he felt for her at the intimate touch.
A low growl sounded from his throat, and Cady had no idea if it was a sound of frustration or desire at first. When his hand rose to cup the back of her neck, she smiled against his lips, tasting the desire he couldn’t deny whenever they touched. There was confidence in his kiss, no longer any trace of hesitation the instant her lips touched his. And skill -- it made her wonder what else he could do with that mouth.
The kiss drew to a tender end, his thumb brushing gently over her skin as he held her close. “Please tell me you felt that too,” she breathed, resting her forehead against his neck. There were invisible ties that bound them together, she was sure of it, and hopefully, Ethan was starting to feel them too.
“I’m not supposed to,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair that sent a flutter of relief through her belly.
But he did. “Why not?” she begged, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Please, tell me what’s going on. I think I deserve to know.” He stared back at her, the struggle written plainly on his face before he shook his head, and her shoulders slumped in defeat at the denial she fully expected to hear.
“You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Not your brother, your friends, no one.”
Cady’s jaw dropped, head bobbing as she nodded blankly before the power of speech returned. “I promise, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good. Because what I’m about to tell you might sound…”
“What?”
“Crazy.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Crazy,” she repeated. “Well, in that case, if you’re about to blow my mind, we might as well get comfortable. Let’s go sit on the couch. Unless what you’re about to tell me involves any more bloodshed?”
“Hopefully not,” he deadpanned, and it took her a moment to realize he was kidding. Instead of heading straight for the couch, she went to the fridge and got herself a diet soda, holding up a can of regular soda to him.
“I’ll just have some water, thanks.”
Drinks in hand and comfortably ensconced on the sofa, Cady tucked her foot under her knee and turned to face him expectantly. “Okay, go ahead, get as crazy as you want. I’m ready.”
Ethan drained half of his water, frowning into the glass. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Well… how about you start with why you keep stabbing yourself in the hand and go from there.”
“Just, jump right in, huh?”
“That’s the general idea, yes.” She waited patiently as he drank the rest of the water, his words tumbling out fast when he was done, as if he had to get them all out at once.
“Stabbing myself in the hand with the dague is part of the binding ritual.”
“The binding ritual?” she repeated, remember
ing the foreign chanting. “Is that some kind of witchcraft? To bind him from doing harm?” In the movies they always used a picture of the person to do something like that. She’d never heard of having to stab both the intended person and yourself in the hand before. Not that she knew much about the stuff.
“No, it’s not witchcraft, or I guess you could think of it that way.” His forehead puckered as he puzzled through it. “It’s more than binding him from doing harm, it’s binding the subject to me. That’s what I do. I hunt down those who are possessed and I bind the evil to me.”
“Why would you want to do that? Then you’d be walking around with an angry spirit inside you.”
“It’s not walking around, it’s bound to me. And it’s not an angry spirit like a ghost, these are demons. They’re summoned here from another plane, often killing whoever was stupid enough to call upon them and escaping into our world. I pull the demon out of the host body and draw him into me instead, then it’s neutralized. I can harness the demon’s power and strength, but I’m in control.”
He was right, it did sound crazy. “So, you’re saying the guy who attacked me, Claudio, he was a demon, not a member of a crazy cult.”
“That’s right.”
“And this other guy, the one from the Laundromat…”
“Same demon, different body.”
“Demons,” she repeated, still trying to wrap her head around it. A couple of weeks ago she would have laughed at him. “And would he really have killed me then, or was that bullshit too?”
“No, he would’ve most likely tortured and killed you. It’s part of his profile.”
