They could throw fireballs. Jesus! I’d asked Nate—
Nate. He was waiting at home for me, waiting for info from this chick. Well, he was likely rambling crazily—same thing.
Sweat broke out on Juliette’s forehead, her dark brows pulled tight over her gray eyes. She fell to one knee, then the other, struggling to keep it up as Myra cheerfully burned her mini forest to the ground. I half expected Smoky the Bear to pop up with a warning. Toby crawled forward to Juliette’s side but she wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t acknowledge him, focusing instead on the witch. The roots were all black and smoking, unmoving, twig ends breaking off into ash. Juliette fell forward on her hands, sweat pouring down her bare arms and soaking a dark spot on her tank top between her breasts, down her back. Toby turned his angry gaze toward Myra, amber flecking brightly in the depths of his eyes. Hair poured out from his skin, fabric tore—
Jesus, Jules was tapped out, he was going to go full force and change—either tearing Myra’s throat out or getting his ass handed to him.
I sped forward, leaping over the roots, the odd one my boots caught powdering into ash under my soles. Toby had a whole lot of hair now, his shirt in shambles, the tattoo faded into a front leg, and his nearly-a-snout-mouth parted in an angry snarl. Myra was cooking something up, grinning like we were playing a game.
I pounced, knee striking her back and driving her down, belt snapping over her mouth. Her face hit the broken concrete with a crunch and I still didn’t have the use of my left hand, so I held her head down with my knee, and jerked the belt through the buckle and yanked it tight with my right. She thrashed beneath me and though she had a vampire’s strength, the laws of physics still applied; I had more weight and muscle mass on her, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
My gaze went to Toby. “Calm the fuck down.”
He stared at me, almost entirely in his beast form now. Cocked his head of dark brown fur—with some red dyed tips—to the side, and then sat. On his hind legs. Like a dog.
Jesus.
I looked at Jules next. “You good?”
She didn’t meet my gaze but she nodded, leaning forward instead into the child position from yoga, her forehead nearly touching the concrete and brown, sweat-damp hair slinking forward.
“Now for you,” I said, attention on Myra. I inched the scarf back up over her mouth, shifting it in place after I moved the belt. She muttered and thrashed but couldn’t get a spell word out. The belt I moved to lash her wrists behind her back and it would’ve been fucking great if someone had helped me but dog boy was still sitting there panting and Jules was all “boo hoo, my faery magic is so draining” or whatever.
Useless. Totally useless. What I needed to do was clone myself: then I could get some shit done.
I flipped Myra over and she glared up at me. Probably ’cause I had my knee in her sternum. Or because her nose was bloody and broken from me smashing her into cement. Or because I held a gun to her temple. “We’re gonna chat one way or another. In fact, I’ll have my quarter-demon friend out there sit with you out on my roof come sunrise and when you’ve baked for a couple of hours and are writhing in agony, we can have a conversation then. Or, we do it now. But I need information and I will cut it out of you if I have to. First, how long have you been alive? Blink your answer. Once for less than a century. Twice for less than two, et cetera.”
She blinked twice. Hard.
Step in the right direction. “Is the vampire who turned you still living?”
She shook her head.
I’d have to go for names once I had her in a more cooperative setting. “Did someone help you when you awoke?”
A nod.
Here came the big question, then. “I know you’re two DVDs short of a complete series boxset. I know you likely want to kill me. But I will not hurt you if you help me. Now, if I take this gag off and you throw any fucking shit at me, I’m going to put two bullet holes where your eyes currently are and then I’m going to take that chair leg behind me and drive it right through your heart. Are we motherfucking clear or do we still have problems?”
She mumbled around the gag something that sounded like “clear.”
My heart kicked up and my hand was a little shaky. Toby whined in the distance and my god why the hell hadn’t he changed back yet? Regardless, I shifted my hand and eased the gag off, and then returned the barrel of my gun back to her head. “Now. Talk.”
Myra licked her lips, little pink tongue darting out to wet them. “I killed my maker. He tried to help me. And maybe did. A bit. But I sliced open his head and took his brain out. The parasite latches on but can be removed. I sautéed it with butter and fed it to some orphans.”
Okay. Shouldn’t have asked. “Is your maker the only one who can do it? Fix you?”
“I’m not broken, dear.”
No comment.
“You have a vampire witch?” she guessed. “I’ve never met one.”
Useless. She had nothing. I set the gun down by her ear and yanked the gag back up, despite her protests, and glanced at the others. “Take her back. We’ll just have to find someone else. Maybe Peter will recognize her name. Or...something. Maybe it’ll lead to someone who can help Nate anyway.”
“Muaaaaeee?” she mumbled around the gag, eyes growing wide. Not threatening, not dangerous—genuinely curious, like a child.
I pulled the gag back down.
“Nate?” she repeated. “O’Connor?”
Cat was out of the bag anyway. “Yep.”
“Oh! I tried to turn him in for money.”
“Not endearing you to me, honey.”
“He bested me. And Felix. And the bladed twins.”
Quite a party. “Yeah, too bad about that.”
“Let me see him and I’ll help you. For money. Of course. I don’t suppose there’s still a bounty on him?”
“No, it’s been six years. And how do I know you won’t try to kill him?”
She blinked. “Because. Money. I’ve been saving up because I very much want to buy a theatre.”
My left hand and arm were numb and useless, I was bleeding, bruised, and had far too many fights today, plus I’d had angsty crazy sex with my boyfriend. I just wanted to spend an hour in a tub and then two hours on a massage table, but since that wasn’t an option, I shrugged. “Fine. But I’m putting the gag back on.”
Chapter Twelve
Bedroom Brawl
When we left the building, I found Peri leaning on the smashed in side of my Challenger, calm as can be. She asked if she missed anything and I would’ve clocked her one but I still couldn’t get much out of my left arm and my right hand had the gun trained on Myra.
The witchy vamp agreed to be bound and gagged for the car ride, with my promise I would remove both once we reached my apartment. It just seemed safer that way; I could deal in the apartment with magic but she could cause an accident on the way there.
Toby turned back into his normal self and I honestly missed the canine. He hobbled out, shirt gone and jeans hanging in shreds, barefoot—don’t ask me where his shoes went—and no longer hairy. Jules followed and climbed into the red sports car without a word, totally exhausted. Peri took my other vehicle and I stuffed Myra into my Challenger. The werewolf and faerwolf would follow us back and camp out in the garage because I didn’t want them peeing on my furniture or anything, and they’d take Myra home in the trunk later, along with payment from me.
Some of the feeling had come back in my arm by the time I was home, and I flexed my fingers uneasily during the elevator ride up. Peri stood on Myra’s other side and I at least was pretty sure she’d be quick to react if anything happened. Mostly ’cause Nic was waiting upstairs. I let Peri open the elevator door when we reached the top while I removed the witch’s bindings. I didn’t bother with another threat from me because I was pretty sure we understood each other by this point.
“So I have another vampire, a decorated member of Venatores Daemonum, and a powerful psychic here,” I s
aid as I coiled up my belt in my fist. “Don’t fuck with them.”
Myra nodded and took a cautious step forward, feet tapping lightly on the hardwood as she glanced around. Her hands worried at the button of her cardigan, again bringing to mind a rather perverse image of a child. Perhaps she was one, though. Granted, most vampires chose not to turn children—and while there were a few teens, such as myself, running around from centuries ago when people matured faster, no one did that anymore ’cause who would want to be a teen stuck in high school forever?—but occasionally some did. Perhaps she was only thirteen or fourteen. That might’ve added to her insanity.
We’d probably never know so I stopped wondering. And also because I don’t like thinking about things not about me.
I stepped forward and led her through the hall, toward the stairs. Nic, Ryann, and Ellie peered around the corner from the living room—right, real threatening to Myra just blinking, I was sure. They’d raised the blinds in the corner by the computer, allowing in moon and starlight and a breath of crisp harbour air through a slightly open window.
I was bleeding and my shirt was torn, and hair was messed, still dusty with ash from the warehouse, and I had a few scrapes, but thankfully no one asked, though Nic met my gaze pointedly. Just wait ’til you see my car, I thought, and winced at the memory. “Has he fed?” I called over my shoulder, hand on the railing and one foot on the stairs.
“Yes,” Nic said. “No problems.”
Well, that was something. “This is Myra.” No one spoke and thankfully I didn’t need to do any awkward introductions. “Ry, have that tranq ready in case we have trouble.” She didn’t move and I guessed she probably already had it on hand. Clever girl.
I eased open my bedroom door. Nic had left on the light on my large, square dresser and turned the overhead one off, giving him a bit of darkness but not enough for him to surprise one of us unaware if we came upstairs and he was free. I stepped to the side immediately and Myra walked forward, feet touching down carefully like a dancer’s, her head cocked to the side once more.
“You should let him loose,” she said softly.
“I’ll do that once I’m sure he won’t try to kill me.”
She gave me a reproachful look but said nothing more. Instead she glided straight for the bed and sat on the edge, hands coming out to touch the gag Nic must’ve put back on him. She pulled the gag down slowly and Nate tensed, staring at her. The chains rattled uneasily, bed creaked as he shifted and put pressure on the bars.
“She’s not going to turn you in,” I said quickly. Not like my assurances meant shit to him, but still. “She’s going to help. Maybe.” Probably not but please don’t let this turn into a magical smackdown in my bedroom.
“There are holes in your mind,” she said with a knowing little smile, her big doll head bobbing in a nod.
Nate just watched her.
“Get Ellie up here with Peter,” I whispered to Nic, who stood in the doorway watching. “And take notes.” She scurried off to do so and I returned my attention to the pair of crazies.
“And you can’t get around them,” Myra continued.
At last Nate nodded.
She reached out with her pale, dainty hands and ran a finger along his forehead, coming to rest at his temple. My fingers tightened on the gun, feet shifted, prepping to rip her pretty little arms off, but nothing happened.
“They’re very big.” And she glanced back at me. “The mind is chaos. Little connections everywhere, no reason for it. And if you take away one connection, you can’t make it to the others.”
Alrighty then...
“The vampire parasite in his brain,” her hand slid to the back of his skull, “changes the body and the mind. His body accepted the change but his mind isn’t. So there are holes now. And they can get bigger. Bugs eating away, chomping, turning chaos into nothing. And then there will be no mind left. It has to accept. You understand?”
I nodded. No, I didn’t have a fucking clue what she was going on about, but then I didn’t speak crazy. “Yeah. Sure. Anything else, Drusilla 2.0?”
She glanced back at Nate, her eyes growing wide and sparking. He shrank back and I eased forward immediately, trusting nothing else but the fact that he was freaked out by her. That was enough for me.
“If you give me a knife, I can cut it out. Put it in a jar. It’s been so long—”
He cried out as her fingers tightened, blood lacing the white pillow beneath his head. I darted forward, gun raised, firing at her. Bullets struck, gun popping. Blood flew, speckles dancing through the air.
Myra screamed as Nate roared something in Latin and she slammed into the wall opposite my bed, drywall puffing up. Chains rattled and groaned, and the hook bolted deep in my wall jerked out as Nate moved; his legs were still bound but it didn’t matter as he flew forward.
For me.
He hit my chest and we hammered into the floor. Others were in the room moving, shouting, but I heard none of it; he had the chain wrapped around my throat, squeezing, squeezing, my very bones creaking, him straddling my chest. My gun was gone—fallen somewhere in the distance—and my good hand clawed at his leg, digging in. I bucked but he held, leaning in, no magic in his eyes, just pure rage. The chains creaked, metal grinding, and I couldn’t suck in enough breath to speak.
“You’re. Not. Her.” He said in a low growl. “It’s a trap. I have to find her. She’s not dead.”
Motherfucker—I would be if he didn’t let up. My eyes watered, heart beat a jackhammer pace up in my throat.
In my peripheral, steel snapped into place, light glinting off of it.
Ryann’s stake. Shit.
I renewed my thrashing, trying to get out the word no, but he just tightened the chain, jerking his arms farther apart to squeeze my throat in the center.
No, no, no, please don’t—
But the stake didn’t strike him. It clattered on the floor, rolled toward me, cool metal bumping my elbow. Through my watering eyes, past my puffed up red face, I saw Ryann back there, reloading the tranq gun next. She met my gaze and nodded.
She wasn’t staking him but I had the option. Great.
My working hand touched the cool surface of the long, tapered stake, bumps in the metal where the pieces snapped into place. Fingers locked around it, arm rose. Prepared to strike. I couldn’t see past my blurry eyes, couldn’t think as blood flow to my brain was cutting off, but I caught his gaze as best as I could—irises a thick blue, determined. He never gave up on something. Not on believing in his wife, not on saving someone’s life. Not on finding me when everyone else insisted I was dead.
If he didn’t think this was me, he wouldn’t give up—not ever. He’d keep trying to kill me.
I raised the stake—
And beat him against the side of the head. Once. Twice. Three times. The chains loosened slightly and he shifted onto one knee, giving me enough room to brace against the floor and buck. He flew over my head, body slamming into the wall two feet away and the chain pulled on my throat again. I ducked, twisted, found enough give to slip the fucking thing off and immediately darted back, raising the stake in my right hand, heels stumbling on the floor and knees nearly giving out. My eyes still watered freely, face felt hot, throat ached with every movement and scratched as I tried to suck air in to maybe speak.
Peri had Myra pinned against the wall by the throat, the gag stuffed back in her mouth. Nic and Ellie hung in the doorway, watching in silence. Ryann had the tranq gun raised, settled between Nate and Myra, gaze on me for direction. Who did I want put out first? Good question.
Nate crouched low by the wall, head tipped down and eyes gazing up through locks of dark hair. A dart stuck out of his shoulder; so Ry had hit him once but apparently his system needed two. And she hadn’t staked him. No, she left that to me.
Getting staked hurts. It hurts in a way you’re not quite prepared for, not physical pain but something mental tearing, ripping—a hole in you even after the stake is removed. I
t’s terrifying because, while staked, you’re completely incapacitated and anything can happen. The parasite relies on the heart to pump blood, to keep it going, and when that stops, the parasite wiggles around. The handful of times I’d been staked in my life, and I still felt it, felt like I wasn’t quite myself for a while upon being revived.
Staking wouldn’t kill Nate right away—not until we cut his head off—but if we staked and then pulled it out again, he might not recover. Not with how damaged he already was.
He shifted, chains creaking. Then he moved, so damn fast it happened in an instant and he had the chain around Nic’s throat, her pinned against him. Her light eyes got wide, frightened, hands coming up in claws to try unsuccessfully to grip the chain.
Peri moved in my peripheral vision. She’d drop Myra if I didn’t do something, then Myra could remove the gag and we might all be fucked.
Shit.
Nic looked frail and tiny in his arms; she had a vampire’s strength but not the will, not the fierce anger fighting or even defending oneself required. Her face went red though she’d ceased struggling, and she hadn’t looked away from me.
Nate’s gaze was locked on mine. “Let me go.”
Oh yeah. That was gonna happen. I flexed my fingers on the stake. “Just release her. It’ll be—”
He shifted and I tensed. I could get a clear shot in, if I wanted to hit his heart.
“Let,” he said slowly, “me...go.” Rage gone, for a moment something lucid—something of him gazed back at me, and I all but heard it.
Maybe you should. I’m not me.
Let me go.
He knew he was a damn monster. Fuck. I squeezed the metal and acceptance flashed through the depths of his eyes, his expression softening, knowing.
I raised my arm.
Exhumed Page 9
