by Keri Arthur
She smiled. “I doubt the hankering will stop, and it may well be that you could have a very happy sex-based relationship with him. But I would not expect much more than that.”
“I had sex-based with Tris. I want more, Mo.”
She squeezed my hand again. “We all do. And you will perhaps find that. You have in the past.”
Before I could question that particular statement, Luc opened the driver door and leaned into the car.
“There’s a minor boundary alarm around the windows and the doors, and at least two people inside, as far as I can ascertain. There’re two doors—one on the side and one at the rear—as well as the open dormer window.”
“Gwen, you take the latter,” Mo said. “I’ll hit the front and Luc can take the back.”
He nodded and disappeared once again. Once Mo and I had climbed out of the car, we shifted shape and flew across to the bungalow. I waited until Mo had retaken human form and then swooped around and arrowed in through the open dormer window. I landed in a half-crouch and quickly looked around. It was a bedroom, but not one that had been used recently. There were no spells protecting it, either, which was odd. I rose, strapped on Vita and Nex, and then padded toward the door. As I reached for the handle there was a crash followed by a quick curse from the back of the house. A heartbeat later Mo’s magic surged. I flung the door open and ran out, only to cannon into a half-shadowed figure racing toward the nearby stairs. We went down in a tangle of arms and legs, his weight landing across my body, pinning me. I bucked, trying to shift him, trying to get the arm twisted underneath me free. He snarled—a guttural, almost inhuman sound—and lashed out with a clawed fist. I jerked away; the blow aimed at my face smashed into the side of my head instead and left my ear ringing.
I raised my free leg and kneed him hard in the side, then flicked the stone knife down into my hand and thrust it deep into his body. He bellowed, another fierce sound that was more feline than human.
I stabbed him again, and then bucked, this time hard enough to dislodge him. I rolled sideways and climbed upright, but he somehow twisted around and kicked my legs out from underneath me. As my arse hit the carpet, he lunged at me, a catlike move that was frighteningly fast. I scrambled backward but hit a wall, swore, and threw myself sideways, twisting around and rolling underneath his leap. Claws lashed at me, slicing down into skin, drawing blood. A scream tore up my throat, but I gave it no voice. As the stranger bounced off the wall and came at me again, I dropped my stone knife and drew the other two. He hit me just as the blades crossed; lightning surged, encompassing the two of us, but ashing only one.
For several minutes, I didn’t move. I just sucked in air and tried to get my zooming heart rate back down to survivable levels.
“Gwen? You okay?” Mo asked from somewhere near the base of the stairs.
“Yeah.” I sheathed my daggers and rolled onto my hands and knees. The idiots with the drums had obviously decided to do an encore performance inside my head; the result had me blinking back tears. “There was a fucking halfling up here. I had to ash him, I’m afraid.”
“Just as well we got the other three, then. You coming down?”
“After I investigate his room.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
I pushed upright. Pain rippled down my left side and I hissed, clapping a hand to my ribs and feeling the wetness there. I spun and went into the nearby bathroom. The side of my sweater and the T-shirt underneath were both shredded; his claws had sliced me open from the top of my ribs down to my waist. While the cuts there were relatively shallow, the same couldn’t be said for the upper portion of the wound. Thankfully, he hadn’t punctured a lung or broken my ribs because, while the cuts hurt like blazes, I had no trouble breathing. I dribbled water down the three slashes to clean them and then grabbed a dressing to help stem the bleeding. It would have to do until Mo had a chance to heal the wound properly. I wrapped a bandage under my breast to help hold the dressing in place, then pulled my clothes back on and drew Nex. I picked up and sheathed my stone knife on the way through to the other bedroom.
Where I discovered a body.
A half-eaten, human body.
Thirteen
Bile rose and I swallowed heavily. This death was nowhere near as bad as the ones I’d seen in the hecatomb, but only because it was a whole lot fresher. He simply hadn’t had the time to completely flesh-strip her.
Blood still ran from the multiple wounds over her torso, and her right leg had been skinned, leaving muscle and fat exposed. Her left leg was missing—torn from her body from up near her hip.
It made me wish I’d taken the time to make the bastard suffer a whole lot more, rather than simply ashing him.
As I stepped into the room, something crunched under my foot. I looked down to see several small bones. They looked like the remnants of toes …
My stomach stirred anew, and I clapped my free hand to my mouth in an effort to stop the bile.
“Help,” a voice said. “Please, help.”
My gaze darted around, but there was no one else in the room. No one but me and the victim … and surely that soft plea couldn’t have come from her. Surely not …
Her fingers twitched. Dear god, she was still alive …
“Mo, Luc, you need to get up here—now!”
I darted forward and dropped onto my knees beside her. Blood soaked into my jeans and stung my skin; demon, she was part demon.
Fuck.
“Help,” she repeated, her voice a fading whisper. “I can’t—”
Despite the rise of wariness, I leaned a little closer. “Can’t what?”
“Reach you.”
Even as she replied, she lunged at me, her taloned fingers swiping at my throat. I lurched back instinctively and slashed up with Nex. The blade sliced through her hand with ease and her severed claws plopped onto my body even as her blood spurted across my face. The stumps of her fingers scoured across my neck, leaving a wet and stinging trail.
Movement, behind me. Not another demon; Luc.
“Drop completely to the floor,” he said.
I obeyed, my head smacking against the carpet hard enough to see stars. The air howled, then silver flashed over my head and thumped into the halfling’s body, knocking her down, pinning her to the floor. She screamed and writhed but couldn’t escape. Hecate was silver; she couldn’t touch it, let alone draw it from her flesh.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes against the ridiculous sting of tears. A heartbeat later, Luc was on the floor beside me, his hands gentle as he cupped my face. Fear vibrated through his fingertips; fear and a caring so deep it made my soul sing.
This connection had definitely spanned lifetimes—and it suddenly made me angry that he was only prepared to explore it on a physical level and, even then, only temporarily.
“Gwen? Talk to me.”
I took a deep, quivering breath and then opened my eyes. “You took your fucking time getting up here, Blackbird.”
He frowned, obviously catching the edge in my voice but not understanding it. “How bad is that wound on your side?”
“Bad enough.”
“Then go down and see Mo. I’ll question this bitch.”
“Sorry, but there’s no way in hell I’m about to miss that. Help me up.”
I held out a hand and, after a moment, he took it and carefully pulled me upright. A hiss of pain escaped and warmth trickled faster down my side. Obviously, the padding wasn’t doing a whole lot right now to stem the tide.
Luc frowned. “I think—”
“The sooner you question her, the sooner I can go downstairs and get healed.”
“May the gods save me from stubborn women,” he muttered, but turned and walked over to the halfling.
He stood above her for a second, examining her, then bent and tore a section of her shirt away from her shoulder, revealing a small sword tattoo.
This was the woman Tris had met.
Obvio
usly, she’d become a liability to her dark masters and, subsequently, lunch.
Luc gripped Hecate’s pommel and turned her blade fractionally. Light flickered down her edges, then split and flowed across the halfling’s body, enmeshing her. Her back arched and she screamed, a high-pitched sound of agony, but she made no move to attack. She couldn’t. Hecate’s fiery threads had her arms pinned.
“Tell me your name.” Luc’s voice was cold. Emotionless.
The woman spat. Luc swayed away from the globule and then turned Hecate’s blade a fraction more. The light lines pulsed and tightened; the woman’s eyes widened, and fear rather than hatred stirred across her features.
“Your blood pours from your body even as we speak, half-breed. We both know you will be dead soon enough. We also both know that if the silver remains in your flesh, your soul will not find its way back to the great cauldron.”
“I care not.”
“Good. I’ll leave the sword exactly where it is, then. In the meantime, you will answer. You have no choice.”
He turned the blade another notch. As the fiery threads tightened even further, her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.
“Orika,” she snapped. “I am Orika.”
So I’d been wrong earlier. The other halfling had given up her controller—though given how quickly Orika had left Nottingham, she’d obviously been warned of that fact straight away.
“And what is your connection to Tristan Chen?”
The halfling fought the urge to reply but in the end, she said, “I am his contact.”
“And his lover?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Her gaze flicked to mine and she snorted. “I could find a better lover in the pit of despair.”
A statement that had me briefly wondering just what half-demons considered essential attributes in a lover … and whether their lovemaking to each other resembled the scenes I’d seen depicted on the dark gate. I shivered and shoved the rather disturbing images from my mind.
Luc cast me a warning look. I raised an eyebrow, silently challenging it. He of all people should know I wouldn’t be silenced. He had, after all, commented on it often enough.
His attention returned to the halfling. “Who do you report to?”
The woman hissed but couldn’t deny Hecate’s magic. “Winter. That is all I know.”
“Description?”
“She was one of the gray ones. Had long white hair, blue eyes, neutral features.”
Which sounded a little like the woman—or man, given Henry hadn’t been entirely sure of gender—who’d attacked Gareth.
“And the name of the witch working with this Winter?”
Her teeth flashed, though I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a smile or a snarl. “Name is bound by magic. Not even your witch sword can force it.”
“Did this witch order the kill on Tristan Chen?”
“Yes.”
“And on me?” I asked.
Her gaze flickered to mine. The fierceness was leaving her eyes—death was only a few heartbeats away.
“No.”
“Then why am I being targeted?”
“Price.”
I frowned. “What sort of price?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. She was dead.
“Well, fuck,” I muttered. “Why do they always die just as it’s getting interesting?”
“It’s the gods’ way of making us work harder for our answers. Now, will you please go downstairs and get that wound tended to?”
“What are you doing to do?”
“Search the room—and I’d rather not have your blood dripping everywhere contaminating whatever evidence might be here.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad. Go. Please.”
“Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”
He didn’t look amused. I sighed and left, my footsteps echoing as I trundled down the uncarpeted stairs. Mo appeared in the doorway of the room to the right.
“In here.” Her gaze raked me and she frowned. “Seriously, my dear, you really need to stop injuring yourself. We’ve too much yet to do for you to be on the sidelines.”
“Hey, it’s not like I’m deliberately getting hurt.” I followed her into the small living room. There were two men and a woman stretched out on the floor, all of them bound with magic. None looked happy. “Have you got anything out of them?”
“They’re meniks, I’m afraid, so they really haven’t that much to tell.” She motioned me into the kitchen. “But they share the same controller as the menik we caught in the bookstore.”
“And she was being consumed by a catlike halfling upstairs. Both are now dead.” I pulled out a chair and sat down.
“I take it Luc managed to question her before she died?” She helped remove my sweater and T-shirt, and then began unwinding the bloody bandage.
“She gave us a name—Winter—and a description that sounds like the woman who attacked Gareth and Henry.”
The dressing fell away and she tsked. “Nasty, but at least it’s not as bad as the bleeding makes it—” She stopped, alarm in her expression. “What the hell did you do to your right side?”
I twisted around to look but the movement sent pain burning down my left side and had me hissing. “I don’t know—why? What’s there?”
“It looks as though something melted your flesh. Your whole side is a mess—it’s a wonder you’re not rolling around in agony.”
“I don’t know how that—” I stopped, remembering the halfling with tree trunks for limbs. “The fellow on the stairs had some sort of energy whip—it hit my backpack and skimmed my side.”
“Well, it’s going to leave scars, I’m afraid. You’re just lucky that it hasn’t gotten infected.”
“I did pour some holy water over it, but it didn’t look or feel that bad at the time.”
“The holy water has obviously taken care of any infection, but it hasn’t removed all the heat from the wound.” She knelt in front of me and placed her hands on either side of my body, just to the side of my breasts. As her power rose and her fingers warmed against my skin, she asked, “Did Orika say anything else?”
I repeated everything she’d said and then added, “I also asked why they were trying to kill me. She said it was the price. Any idea what she meant?”
“The dark ones tend to exact a blood price for their help.” The heated force of her healing energy swirled through my body and my skin rippled and twitched in response. “Perhaps you were Tris’s price. You were, after all, probably the only person he cared about almost as much as himself.”
I wrinkled my nose. “If that’s true, why was he wearing an oath ring? Why would he swear allegiance to either Darkside or another witch and yet pay a blood price?”
“Normally he wouldn’t, but these are not normal times.” She paused. “It’s also possible they’re trying to get to Max through you.”
“Killing me isn’t going to get them Max.”
“The dark elf destroying the throne didn’t mention killing you, did he?”
I frowned. “Well, no—”
“Then it’s possible.” Her magic reached a crescendo and the burning ache in my side and head disappeared. She sat back with a sigh and opened her eyes. “As I feared, I couldn’t repair the melting, but I did at least erase the embedded molecules that were causing all the damage. But next time you get hit by a dark whip, tell me immediately.”
“I will.” I pulled my sweater on but didn’t bother with the T-shirt. It was too damn wet with blood. “Is it possible that Tris swore an oath to Jules Okoro? Because no matter what you might think of him or how deeply he might have fallen into darkness recently, I really can’t imagine him swearing fealty to a demon.”
“Actually, neither can I.” Mo squeezed my arm and then rose. “Perhaps our next move should be to search Tris’s apartment.”
“We already have; there’s nothing there.” Luc came into the kitchen. His gaze scanned
me and came up concerned. “You’re still looking pale.”
“I’m fine. Stop fussing.”
He raised an eyebrow, expression unconvinced, but all he said was, “There’s nothing helpful upstairs. I’ve called Jason—he wants me to stick around until he can get someone here.”
The connection between us stirred, whispering his secrets to me. He’d been the one to suggest it, not the other way around. He’d wanted to place some space between us again in the vague hope it would somehow halt the gathering momentum of that connection.
Well, if he wanted distance, he could have it.
Mo nodded. “We’ll fly back home, then. We’ve some bugs to get rid of.”
“Bugs?”
She patted his arm. “We’ll fill you in later. I want to get my girl home before her stubbornness collapses under the weight of exhaustion.”
“Not going to happen.” I crossed my arms and frowned at her. “And since when have you ever cossetted?”
“Every now and again, the long-absent mothering gene does kick in. Come along.”
She turned and walked out. I studied her retreating back for a moment and then stepped close to Luc, rose on my toes, and kissed his cheek. He half raised a hand, as if to draw me close, and then hesitated.
“I will not break,” he murmured, letting one finger drift down my cheek and rest lightly on my lips. “I cannot.”
“Because of the woman in red. The one who died even as you tried to save her.”
He blinked and stepped back. His eyes were a cold and stormy green. “How do you know about her?”
“That connection you’re ignoring? It showed me. It’s why Mo said this is bigger than either of us.”
“Gwen, we need to get moving,” Mo said from somewhere out in the backyard.
“I have no control over what you choose to believe, Gwen, but I am a—”
“Blackbird and married to the job, et cetera,” I cut in. “Yeah, heard all that. You might want to look up the legend of the first witch king’s wife. It might provide some useful information.”
“A legend cannot and will not alter my life.”
I smiled, though it held very little humor. “A legend is already changing our lives, Luc.”
