by Lori King
Sobbing, Charity pulled her hair aside, revealing dark bruises on her throat. Victoria murmured, a soft and nonsensical sound of comfort, and did something she'd never done before in her entire life. She wrapped her arms around the ghost and hugged her. Whatever magic sustained the spirit, giving her substance and solidness, also gave her warmth.
"I'm sorry, Charity."
"I am too. I was only twenty. It wasn't fair." Charity trembled like a leaf caught in a fierce wind. "Afterward, he staged it so it looked like I'd hung myself from this balcony. My mother died thinking I'd killed myself—her only child. It must've broken her heart."
"Let's hope that bastard is rotting in the worst part of hell." Victoria fumed, seething with anger. If she could've wrapped her hands around Sebastian Greer's throat, she would've killed the bastard for what he'd done. She suspected the hotel manager was also behind Joseph's disappearance. Perhaps killed over that stupid treasure map? With so much time passed, it might be impossible to prove. Unless... until... Victoria discovered where Greer had hidden the body. Once he was freed from the walls, maybe Joseph's spirit would confirm what had happened.
"Please be careful. Sebastian Greer is still here." Charity's fingers dug into Victoria's arms; the sudden chill of the grave biting deep to the bone. The spirit's face contorted in anger and anguish.
"What do you mean?" Dread coalesced in her gut. She fought the urge to look behind her—as if the long-dead apparition of the villain lurked right behind her.
"He watches me. He watches everyone who comes into the hotel. He doesn't like intruders." Charity's eyes rolled back in her skull—solid white although the force of her gaze remained a palpable thing.
"Charity—what's wrong?" Chills ran through her body.
"He's here now." The spirit caught fire, burned up, and winked out.
A man's shout emanated from within the room, followed by a whole-body thunk. Victoria whirled toward the sound. Thick black smoke poured through the sliding door. The alarm system split the air with its nerve-shattering shriek. Simultaneously, the ceiling-mounted sprinklers activated, releasing a deluge of water.
Panic jolted her into motion. She gathered herself and charged, shouting his name. "Daniel!"
7
Victoria measured the distance between the balcony and the room in the time she sprinted across the terrace. It took her seconds and centuries to reach the door. The throbbing of her heart. Each labored breath. Endless, awful scenarios in which Daniel died rushed through her mind. Gone before she'd even gotten the chance to know him—and the possibility terrified her.
Her wolf burst upon her with the eruption of snowy white fur upon the backs of her hands and arms. Bones broke, altered, and reformed. Each step she took—an agony. As she passed the threshold, deadly wolf fangs replaced her human teeth. The points of claws burst from the tips of her fingers and toes. Her beast howled for blood. She halted the transformation before it progressed past the midway point, throttling her most basic instincts until she had a chance to assess the situation. Dependent upon the circumstances, becoming a wolf wasn't necessarily the best choice.
For a desperate eternity, she scoured the area, searching for any trace of Daniel. Despite the intense spray from the sprinklers, swirling gray smoke obfuscated everything. It burned her eyes and clogged her airways. Her eyeballs itched and watered like crazy. The inflammation built in her lungs until a wracking cough rattled her chest.
Movement caught her attention. She charged across the room. The bedspread and the research material that'd been stacked on the mattress was scattered across the floor. The smoke got thicker in the center—too dense to see through—so she plunged headlong into the miasma.
Luck was on her side. She came upon Daniel's prone form with such suddenness that she stumbled to avoid trampling him. He twisted and writhed inside the smoldering cocoon that enswathed him—an insubstantial prison. To halt her charge, Victoria pulled up, digging in with the claws on her feet. Her nails pierced the carpeting and cut deep slashes.
A growl built in her chest, overpowering the awful cough that had plagued her since she'd entered the room. Smoke and heat surrounded her, unchecked by the ineffective sprinklers. A swarm of dancing embers filled the air—singing her face and arms. Her soaked fur provided some protection, but the stink of burnt hair was awful.
A pungent odor permeated the area, overpowering the sulfuric fumes. Magic—white-hot and itchy. It set Victoria's skin to crawling in a way wholly different from shifting, stinging and burning like a million ant bites. She snarled at the ambiguous threat, but all her bluster failed to make a difference. The enchantment couldn't be seen or heard—unquantifiable and elusive.
Her frustration built until she threatened to burst. Her primal instincts screamed for her to plunge straight in with bared fangs and brandished claws. She couldn't see or smell well enough to identify a target—and she feared harming Daniel on accident.
Precious seconds ticked past while she assessed the threat. At last, she discerned a shape within the smog—a smoldering spirit. Its hands grasped Daniel's head and covered his face. Fingers made of smoky tendrils pushed into the hunter's nose and mouth as it sought to gain possession of a living host.
Realization burst upon Victoria—it was a wight.
"Get off him!" Victoria plunged straight for the dense mass of the smoke that composed the wight's torso. She swung both arms underhanded, hands angled like five-point baling hooks. Her nails punctured its ribcage and embedded deep into flesh and bone and corrupted soul.
Wights—rare and powerful. The malignant spirits often appeared upon the demise of a truly wicked person. Their decayed souls continued on in the Shadowlands long after death. But unlike mundane spooks, they possessed the ability to manifest on the physical plane—to touch, and thus to attack, objects and living creatures.
Daniel clawed at the wight, shoving but failing to dislodge it. He thrashed, kicking out, but his attacks lacked direction and force. His short hair slicked against his skull and his clothing was also soaked. Unable to breathe, he weakened more with each passing second. He must be in agony; his distress compelled her to action.
The wight threw back its head and released a piercing shriek. A burst of embers exploded off it—cinders struck her face and arms. Searing pain, more burnt fur. The wight twisted and thrust, flailing within her grip.
Baring her teeth, Victoria snarled and hauled back with all her strength. The spirit fought her, but she gained ground—and dragged it off Daniel inch after steady inch. As soon as he got free, the hunter rolled over onto his side, where he remained for only a second while he recovered. Surging upright, he lunged for an object beyond the end of the bed and out of her field of view. She lost track of his location.
"Daniel! Are you gonna give me a hand?"
"Hold on! Don't let go."
"Yeah, easier said than done!" Retaining her grip on the wight demanded all her concentration. The sprinklers cast a steady rain upon them, but in proximity, its hazy aura of soot and heat got worse. The undead thing was strong and slippery—sliding right and left in her arms despite her claw hold. It reeked—rotted meat and maggots. She hung on with grim determination even though the cinders and smoke clogged her throat and lungs.
The wight's head twisted around to face Victoria. Eyes of burning coal stared at her from its ghoulish visage. Screaming, it struck at her face with its gnarled hands. She flinched and avoided having her eyes gouged out. Instead, the spirit racked deep gashes down both her cheeks. She howled in anguish and threw up her arms to defend against another attack, instinctively releasing the wight.
The wight coalesced, a conflagration at its center and billowing smoke about its periphery. It whipped about to face Daniel, spraying sparks which combined with constant water spray to create dirty rain.
The hunter returned like the incarnation of vengeance, the enchanted bone-handled knife brandished in position for an overhand swing. It threw a potent bright-green aura that cut th
rough the thick smoke. He thrust it straight at the wight's torso, aiming for whatever heart remained at the spirit's center.
The ghost slipped aside and the blow missed. The deadly silver knife sliced through empty air following an unimpeded arc. It passed within millimeters of Victoria's shoulder—so close the weapon's hunger brushed across her soul like the kiss of death.
"Watch where you aim that thing." She recoiled further, pulling her arms tight against her torso. In her haste to retreat, she stumbled over her own feet.
"Sorry!" He shouted the apology at the same time she spoke. The hunter struggled with a continuous cough that hampered his readiness. Assuming a defensive stance, he performed a tight turn, fighting the smog and shower in search of the wight.
Arms stretched wide, the smoking man stepped out of a billowing column behind Daniel. It reached for his head, no doubt intending to finish what it had started—to suffocate or possess Daniel.
"Look out—behind you!" Victoria took two steps toward him but hesitated. Conflict raged through her. As a protector, her first instinct was to rush to his aid. Self-preservation, however, screamed for caution. She refused to charge straight toward the cursed knife.
The wight leaped and knocked Daniel over. Entwined, man and spirit crashed to the floor. Daniel struggled against an enemy that flowed and fluctuated upon the air. Thick bands of smoke wrapped around the hunter. The tendrils coiled about his limbs and encased his torso. His struggles weakened as the wight deprived him of oxygen.
A continuous growl rumbled her chest. She circled closer, watching for an opening to the wight. It promised to be tricky—she had to evade the enchanted knife. Thanks to his distress, the hunter's movements were erratic—except for his sword arm.
Daniel aimed the wicked blade angled straight up toward the ceiling. He held steady—offering the knife. The exertion of maintaining the posture showed; the joints in his hand were white with strain, and the veins and sinew in his forearm bulged. Rivulets of water streamed along his hand and down his arm.
Profound respect overcame her, not only for the man's astonishing self-control but also for the amazing trust being demonstrated. While the wight sought to strangle him, Daniel chose to place his life in her hands. She must not fail him.
Victoria lunged headlong toward him, her fear forgotten. She seized Daniel's wrist with one hand, stabilizing the position of the knife. With a quick motion, she stroked her fingers across his knuckles, letting him know it was safe to release the weapon into her care. Touch facilitated an emotional connection that astonished her, although it lacked the complexity of the pack bond she shared with her fellow wolves. The empathy flared between them, conveying only the most fundamental emotions—his suffering and stubbornness, her determination and devotion.
Daniel's grip on the hilt slackened. Under different circumstances, she would have assumed he'd let go due to weakness; however, she experienced the exact moment he reached the decision and acted upon it. His fingers opened and the weapon passed into her hand.
The knife's inherent malice pounded on the door to her soul with an angry fist—a lightless void questing to consume her brightness. Victoria gulped and held fast to the bone hilt even while her soul recoiled. She performed a quick assessment, eyeballing the spectral figure of the wight, and took aim. A short, direct thrust drove the blade of the knife straight into the center mass.
The wight shrieked at a pitch that pierced Victoria's sensitive ear drums, adding to the auditory assault of the blaring alarms. Pain lanced through her head and she winced, regretting not having shifted enough to have the high-pointed ears of a wolf that could be flattened. The spirit thrashed in an agony. It cast smoldering pillars off its corpus—thousands of bright embers danced about her. In combination with the dagger's glowing halo, the room lit up like a spooky haunted hall.
An audible crack split the air. The wight imploded, sucked straight into the blade, consumed whole. All its smoke and cinder was also pulled into the cursed knife. A deep pop like a belch followed. Sated, the enchanted dagger lost its green halo and turned silver.
Victoria couldn't let go fast enough. She released it and toppled over. She landed beside Daniel, not too far from the swath of rug she'd rent with her claws. Not that it mattered. Thanks to the incendiary spirit and the zealous fire suppression system, the carpeting would have to be replaced. Never mind the damage to the furniture and walls... A glance around confirmed the fancy suite had been reduced to a disaster area. Oh, and all their papers and maps—soaked. It'd be a miracle if any of it could be salvaged.
She tried to speak, got out, "What a..." before a deep cough wracked her chest. She gave up talking in favor of hacking and wheezing. Beside her, Daniel suffered through a similar fit.
She sagged into her humanity, a sluggish change compared to her breakneck transformation when the fight began. Her claws retracted into her fingers and toes, the wounds healing over after the tips vanished. The plush fur across her body returned to smooth tanned skin. Thank the goddess, she still had her clothing—sopping wet but otherwise intact. She hadn't taken her change fully to the midway point. Her feet, however, were bare.
As soon as her regeneration kicked in enough that she could move, Victoria rolled over and knelt beside the hunter. She went over him with the professional concern of a registered nurse, fearing he'd sustained permanent damage to his lungs.
Panic surged through her. Reacting on impulse, Victoria seized the front of his shirt and ripped through the cotton, revealing his tanned chest which was free of visible burns or bruises. Two words were tattooed over his heart—Absit omen. The tattoo burned white hot, still flush with magic. She had no idea what it meant and was too concerned for him to care.
Her examination yielded alarming results. He was unconscious. Soot ringed his nostrils and his complexion had a bluish tinge indicating he wasn't getting enough oxygen. His breathing was alarmingly shallow, his heart rate weak and unsteady. He could still die and without the proper equipment, she couldn't do much for him.
Reluctantly, Victoria turned to magic. She was a competent nurse and she possessed a solid array of knowledge and skill. However, she'd always been a mediocre healer at best. She could heal minor wounds such as scrapes and bruises, and broken bones so long as the fracture was clean. Internal injuries defied her ability beyond the most rudimentary assessment.
"Freya, please, help me—help him." Offering up a heartfelt prayer, Victoria turned to her goddess. She pressed her hands flat against his sides, beneath his diaphragm, and gathered the energy necessary to weave a restoration spell. A soft glow emanated from her palms and—she knew from experience—her eyes and mouth also emitted the same light. The magic connected her life pattern to Daniel's, allowing her to extend her awareness so she perceived the damage to the lining of his respiratory tract—swelling and airway collapse.
Freya's answer came as a deluge of divinity that surged into Victoria. No words—only pure power. The mystical halo she mustered on her own increased a hundredfold and strobed with the brilliance of a nova. The goddess lifted her priestess on an exhilarating high, granting a tantalizing glimpse of wondrous things beyond mortal comprehension.
Thank you. Thank you. With profuse gratitude, Victoria grabbed hold of the primal essence as best she was able and channeled it into Daniel, infusing the hunter with the curative magic. Her effort bathed him in radiant light.
You are most welcome, My Priestess.
Uttering a soft cry, Victoria bent and covered Daniel's mouth with her own in a life-giving kiss. The firm press of their lips allowed her to better direct the healing spell to where it was most needed. With Freya's assistance, it required less than a minute to accomplish what would've taken her hours alone.
The kiss turned sensual, a caress rather than a curative. Abruptly, Victoria became aware of the press of Daniel's hands against the back of her head. She rested atop him with her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest. Her hands still gripped his sides but th
e magic had ceased.
Stunned, she lifted her face to stare into his sleepy gaze. Bedroom eyes. Daniel was aware and alert—and he would be okay. Thrilled and relieved all at once, she offered him a stupid smile.
Unfortunately, the fire alarm and the sprinkler spray continued unabated. She yelled to be heard over the din. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Daniel shouted in return. "Thanks to you."
Heat suffused her face. Overcome with inexplicable shyness, Victoria slithered off his chest and plunked down cross-legged on the sodden carpet beside him. He also sat up, glanced around, and scooted over to grab his scary-ass knife. As soon as he returned the dagger to its scabbard, the thing's terrifying presence was muted.
Victoria breathed a sigh. "It's really Freya you should thank."
Daniel hesitated and a quicksilver reaction swept over him, rendering his expression unreadable. She halfway expected him to refute Freya's involvement or existence. Few people believed in the old gods or even demonstrated the courtesy of polite tolerance. Of course, Daniel wasn't an ordinary man. For one, he fought monsters for a living.
"Thank you, Freya." He dipped his head in a show of respect.
Tell him he is welcome, Freya said. His appreciation pleased the goddess. More than that, she approved of his ready acknowledgment of her existence. So intimate was the bond between priestess and goddess that Victoria experienced Freya's pleasure as though the emotion was her own.
"She says you're welcome." Belatedly, it occurred to Victoria that she'd just broken one of her people's strictest rules against using their magic to help outsiders. Her healing was only meant for other wolf shifters and their human and wolf kinfolk. The realization rendered her stunned—she'd never before made a mistake this huge.
