The dragon’s trail led to the hole it had made in the side of the building, and the glow from the dragon itself illuminated the rest of the way to the garden.
Haven hesitated for only a moment when he reached the outside, to assess the ground before him and the whereabouts of the monster. It hadn’t gone anywhere. Its wings were still unfolding. They were beautiful things, even still stunted and immature, made of fire and smoke. He wished now that he’d asked Valentine if she knew exactly how the mortal picked for the task slayed the dragon, but it was too late to check an instruction manual now. Watching the wings flutter and grow, he decided that maybe the spot between where they sprouted on the dragon’s spine was a vulnerable point. Might as well make that the point of attack.
Besides, a large piece of the fallen tower wall jutted up from the ground near the dragon’s back. Haven didn’t have time to see whether the rubble would hold his weight. He didn’t let himself think. He hefted the sword in his hands. He ran up the broken wall. He jumped on the dragon’s back.
He exhaled as he landed feet first on the dragon’s spine. The next breath he took burned his lungs. His clothes caught on fire as he landed on the creature’s back. Haven screamed as skin melted and sloughed off his face and his hands. The world went up in pain.
For a hellish moment, Jebel Haven lost his mind, and was glad of it. If he was maddened by the agony, he could get on with dying and not have to struggle though any action that would make him linger in this burning world. Then dragon skin rippled beneath the melting soles of his boots. Wings fluttered, stirring burning ash through the air. Ash that was dying bits of Jebel Haven.
The knowledge woke him up, and pissed him off. If he was going to die, he had to die fighting. He didn’t know any other way.
He didn’t know how he kept his grip on the sword. In fact, the sword was the only thing in the world that was cool. While everything around him was flame, the weapon was cold steel ice. Haven felt the power of it, thrumming through him, stronger than the pain.
He had magic in him, right? An inborn ability to manipulate it? All he had to do was lift the sword. His arms couldn’t do it, he already knew that.
Think.
He thought about lifting the sword. And the sword lifted his arms. The sword held him up. He thought about it some more, and the sword twisted, turned downward. The sword found the vulnerable spot. Jebel didn’t see the exact place to strike, but the sword knew it. The sword urged him on, to gather all the strength he had in him.
The dragon turned its head to look at Haven, its golden eyes full of malevolent intelligence.
If he’d had any spit left in him, Jebel Haven would have spit in those eyes. As it was, he managed to croak, “Screw you.”
And let the sword take the fall.
He plunged forward with it, tumbling into the spurting fountain of lava that was the wounded dragon’s blood. He prayed for the world to go dark then, but instead it went very, very bright.
Chapter 21
IT WAS THE cool blue light, a small spot shining bravely amid the overwhelming fiery red, that drew Valentine’s attention. She knew that the dragon didn’t notice Haven, not at first. It knew instinctively that mortals were no danger to it. It had some of the arrogance of the magician that had brought it to life. The dragon wanted to grow its wings and fly. To breathe flame and burn the world. It was impatient, but it had no fear.
She knew fear, fear for a mortal man’s life as she ignored the police cars and the fire trucks after making strong mental suggestions to direct their activity into an effort to save the hotel. She pretty much ignored the people that insisted on milling around. She’d gotten enough innocent bystanders to leave the area that she didn’t feel guilty. Anyone who was stupid enough to hang around when a dragon was about deserved what they got. Flame rained down. Toxic fumes swirled along with the smoke and ash. Amid all that, a man faced living hell for the sake of them all.
Haven did not deserve what was happening to him. She could hear him screaming. She could smell his flesh. She could taste it in the ashes drifting on the wind. His blood bubbled and cooked.
And he fought. He would not give up. She knew that when the cold blue light appeared around him. She didn’t think Haven knew what he was doing when he opened himself to the sacrifice and fed his soul into the sword. The sword, then, knew what to do. The cold light of the sword’s power surrounded Haven, but it could shield him only a little. And a great deal of damage had already been done.
Valentine did not know when she began creeping closer. She wanted to help, wanted to do something. It wasn’t fair that the rules of magic didn’t work that way. Here she was, an ancient being of power and great wisdom—give or take a few really major fuckups—and all that the laws of magic allowed was for her to give advice and stand around and wa—
The flash of light blew away thought, blew away everything but awareness of light. Knocked her backward, and flat on her back.
The temperature dropped like a rock.
Thank the Goddess, was her first thought as she lay on the broken ground, staring up at the full moon over Las Vegas.
“Well, hasn’t this been an interesting evening,” she murmured.
It was all so big—the night, the world . . .
Then Valentine remembered Haven, and moved with the speed of lightning. She had to sprint across a layer of hot coals, the disintegrating remains of the dragon. Mortals wouldn’t know it had existed, wouldn’t know someone had saved their sorry asses. That was so unfair.
Haven still had the sword grasped in what was left of his hand. A faint crackle of blue energy ran over the metal and around Haven’s burned and broken form. Valentine knelt in the warm ashes beside him. She ran her hand over him, sensing without touching.
She was a vampire; horror should not affect her. Making death was a craving. She was a Nighthawk, an eater of evil. She was thousands of years old, and had seen it all. This hurt. The death of a hero hurt.
Only he wasn’t dead yet. The poor darling.
Near dead, yes. But she sensed the fading life in him. She sensed his awareness. He was pain. He was the longing for the ending of pain.
Valentine touched him, a finger almost hovering on his forehead. “Soon, sweetheart. Soon.”
A word came back to her, communication filtered through the faint, gentle contact. Why?
The word took Valentine by surprise. And the sheer, stubborn cussedness that still made him cling to life despite the agony amazed her.
“Tenacious bastard,” she said, sitting back on her heels. From this position, she studied what was left of him, rather than concentrating on the hideous wounds. He had a mouth left. His throat was intact.
It occurred to her that there was something she could do.
Once she made up her mind, Valentine didn’t take time for gentleness. She grabbed Haven by the seared meat that had been his shoulders, and pulled his head into her lap. She extended mating fangs and bit deeply into her own wrist. Once blood was flowing freely, she pressed Haven’s mouth against the wound. Drink, she thought at him. Drink deep.
Char. Even in this extremis, a picture of the other vampire formed in his mind. Char—
Drink deep and live. Valentine’s command overrode any protest. Her blood was filling his mouth. Eventually, he swallowed. Once the taste of life was in him, he could not stop.
Valentine closed her eyes and whispered as she flowed into him, blending her life with another’s. There had been enough evil magic in this place tonight. The words of power she drew out of long memory were life-giving, lifesaving, an act of love.
Desire roiled in her, hot as dragon fire. Desire awakened her. She could not taste him. She could not take him. She could only give, but how she wanted. Hunger bound her to him, as it would bind him to her. At another time, but very soon, she would take him into her the way he took her now. Then they would be lovers for as long a little while as the needs of their kind allowed.
“What has she done?”<
br />
Char felt the mating energy all around her as she ran across the field of ashes. It had been a garden not so long before. There had been darker energy here not so long ago. She recognized the residue of stubborn anger, and that was her Jebel. She was full of wonder at the way he’d expended magic in this place. And knew he had expended himself in the process. She had run here in tears, expecting to find her Jebel dead.
“What has she done?” Char questioned again, expecting no answer from Geoff, who ran at her side. She already knew what the bitch had done. What was happening right now.
Char crushed burnt flowers beneath her feet, as well as broken glass and charred bits of what had been one of the many towers of the Silk Road. Firefighters roamed through the ruins of the tower, onlookers gathered beyond a cordoned-off area across the street, but there were no mortals in the garden. Not exactly. Not anymore.
Jebel, Char grieved. I should have been here to help him. It should be me.
“He’s mine!” she declared, coming upon where Valentine knelt with Jebel in her lap.
The old Nighthawk’s head was thrown back, a look of longing and ecstasy transforming her beautiful face into something far more stunning. How could she compete with that?
“Damn you!” Char screamed, throwing herself forward.
Geoff caught Char around the waist, held on tight as she twisted and began to transform. The fury that surged from her hit him like a hammer blow, but he would not let her go.
No! he shouted into her mind, loud and commanding. He threw up a mental wall around Char and himself, holding her to her human shape with an effort that sent pain singing through him. Do you want Haven dead? Do you want to die?
He’s mine!
Char McCairn was smart. She managed to fight down her instincts. “Let go of me,” she said. They looked at each other for a few moments before she added, “Please.” She was crying. It was the sign of a bereaved woman, not an angry vampire. Fury bubbled under the surface, but she had it together.
He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to hold her in his arms, maybe forever, but at least for a good, long now. But for the moment he stepped back, and kept his mouth shut. Haven’s fate was a matter between Char and Valentine.
Valentine still cradled Haven in her lap, but he was no longer suckling. His eyes were closed, and her fingers stroked over the mottled red new skin of his cheeks, and forehead and lips.
Char stepped up to them and looked down at Jebel for a long time. He was unconscious, she could not touch his thoughts, but life was strong in him. He was injured still, weak as a kitten, but he was not the dying man she’d run across the city to find. He was healing. Another vampire’s blood was doing that for him. Char hadn’t thought the companion ritual could be used to save a life. But she knew that the ritual had taken Jebel from her life.
After a while she looked at Valentine. The old vampire gazed up at her with a dazed expression. There was no guilt in Valentine. No shame over what she’d stolen.
“He’s mine,” Char told her. “He’s always been mine.” Valentine made the faintest gesture of negation. “He had no blood of yours in him. For which I thank you.”
“Thank me?” Char heard her voice rise in bitter indignation. Her claws bit into her balled fists. She hated when Sterling’s hands landed on her shoulders. He projected calm she didn’t want, but she ended up relying on it anyway. “Thank me for waiting for him to make a choice?” she questioned again. “So it would be easier for you to steal him away?”
Valentine gave a faint shake of her head again. She seemed very tired. “Thank you, because if he had not been pure mortal, he could not have done what he had to do. He accepted the sacrifice,” she went on. “Went willingly to certain death. He saved the city. That deserved a healing.”
“Is that what you call it?” Char shouted at the woman. “You gave him your blood. He’s mine!”
Behind her, Sterling whispered, “Not now.”
Before her, Valentine said, “He is alive.”
“Am I supposed to be comforted by that?” Was she supposed to be grateful? All Char felt was emptiness. Cheated. Betrayed. “You stole him.” She’d never had a companion before. She hadn’t wanted anyone but Jebel. They were partners, lovers, friends. “How could you—”
Valentine gently moved Jebel off her lap. She stood, very slowly. Her gaze was somewhere over Char’s head. Char realized that the old Nighthawk’s attention wasn’t on her. It wasn’t really on Jebel.
It was Sterling she spoke to when she said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Val, you don’t look so good. Do you need to go inside?” Sterling’s solicitousness toward this companion thief galled Char.
“I am going inside,” Valentine replied. She gestured, and Char couldn’t help but look around, and up. The Silk Road was constructed of many towers and domes. Only one tower had been damaged by the dragon. Lights were on in other parts of the building. There was a circle of lighted windows at the very tip of the tallest tower. Valentine had forgotten Jebel. Her attention was now on the tower windows.
“Where are you going?” Sterling demanded as Valentine walked away.
“Someone wants to see me.”
“Val—” Sterling began, sounding skeptical.
“Take him somewhere safe,” Valentine cut him off. “I’ll find you in a few minutes.”
“Wait—!” Char called, but Valentine simply drew shadows around herself, and was gone.
Char loathed that she’d been dismissed. That she wasn’t important. Valentine had taken the man she loved from her.
“Goddess damn it,” she snarled. She shook off Sterling’s hands and started toward Jebel. She snarled again when Sterling got to her injured lover first, and scooped Jebel up off the ground. “Leave him alone,” Char demanded.
Sterling gave her a steady, stern look. “She told me to look after him.”
“Do you always do what she tells you?”
Sterling didn’t answer this. “Come on,” he said. Cradling Jebel, he walked away.
Of course, she followed him. Geoff almost expected Char to attack him from behind. It took an effort to keep his muscles from tensing. He made himself calm, relaxed, neutral. He was not going to gloat over his good fortune, not while the hurt was so fresh for Char. She was still crying, bitter salt perfumed her skin. The tang of it burned in his nostrils and throat. Meanwhile, Haven slept in his arms, feverish, his body gaunt beneath Geoff’s hands. The man had been through literal hell, and was lucky to be alive. Geoff hoped he could make Char see it that way.
They covered themselves in shadows until they reached the front entrance of the hotel. Yellow tape roped off the lobby doors, but there was no one around. The whole building had been emptied of mortals, though the excitement had all been elsewhere. Geoff sensed the hidden presence of vampires inside. They were all neatly hidden away in secret places the firefighters would never find. They could stay hidden forever, for all he cared, as long as no one tried to interfere with his and Char’s presence here.
Geoff carried Haven into the lobby and settled him on a couch covered in red and gold silk, beneath a canopy of equally brightly colored cloth. There was a low gilded table and three deep chairs grouped with the couch.
Geoff settled into one of the chairs, realized he was weary, and wondered at the time. The approach of dawn was something his kind naturally sensed, but the events of this night had driven his time sense completely askew. He tensed as he checked his watch, and sighed in relief. It was not as late as he’d feared. He sat back against the thickly cushioned chair back.
“Hell of a night,” he said. Excitement still buzzed in him, and the thrill of the hunt.
“Hell of a night,” Char answered.
The sadness in her voice brought Geoff out of the brief sense of pleasure at jobs well done.
He sat up, and found that she’d taken a seat on the couch. Haven’s head was in her lap, her fingers stroking the salt and pepper stubble of hair le
ft on his head. Geoff’s first impulse was to point out that Valentine would not like this intimacy. But he managed to keep his mouth shut on the matter, even though Char gave him a look that dared him to make the comment.
He did say, “You have to accept the situation.”
“Why?” she shot back, spoiling for a fight.
“All right.” He tried again. “You don’t have to like it, but you have to live with it. Haven belongs to Valentine. She didn’t do it to hurt you. She did it to save his life.”
Char quivered with rage, but she gave a sharp nod. “I know that. It should have been me. She should have waited.”
“I doubt there was time to wait. She could have let him die,” he added. “But you wouldn’t want her to have done that.”
“I—” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t want him with anyone but me. But I don’t want him to die.”
“Then Valentine did the only thing that would save him. He’ll be one of us now, Char. But he won’t be your bloodchild,” he went on, as persuasive as he could be. “Think about that. If you don’t make him into a vampire, you won’t have to worry about incest. The pair of you can be together. Forever. As Nighthawks.” And you can be with me until then, he thought. It could be decades, even centuries. Depends on how long before Haven feels the need to change to Nighthawk.
She glared at him, still shocked by his believing that Nighthawks were different, were beyond the rules of regular vampire life. She didn’t want to believe, but now she had a reason to start thinking about the situation. It was an excuse to hold out hope that she and her beloved Jebel could still be together.
She continued to stare at him, her hands on the other man. “Think about new possibilities,” Geoff urged.
Heroes Page 19
