The Talon & the Blade

by Jasmine Silvera

  “How lucky for you,” she murmured. She’d leaned in, and he could smell lilacs, even surrounded by sea. The sound of the engine dropped away.

  The quirk of her mouth was an appealing wrinkle so close. His voice lowered, faltering a little. Her ear was just a breath away now. “We became friends.”

  Her face tightened, and the curious warmth in her eyes guttered out like a candle flame. She sat up a little straighter. “Feeling better?”

  “Much.” His free hand slid over hers on his wrist. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes, hawk bright, slid over his shoulder to take in the sweep of coastline off the starboard side. “Keep your eyes up, on the horizon. Should help.”

  Ana reclaimed her hands and stood, navigating the rocking vessel to return to the copilot’s chair. He’d said something wrong.

  The boat dropped speed well after dark. The creature was slowing. Maybe they’d scored a damaging hit after all.

  “We’ve got her,” the pilot said as the radio crackled. “She—it’s—stopped near Fort Warden. Just sitting there.”

  “What’s there?” Gregor asked.

  “The fort is at the northern end of Port Townsend,” she said. “There’s nothing…”

  “But what?” Gregor urged at her pause.

  “Are they still running a ferry to Whidbey Island?” she asked the pilot.

  He nodded. “Just restarted this year after the Snohomish finally signed the agreement to participate in federation governance.”

  “Go,” Ana barked as her eyes met Gregor’s. “Go!”

  They arrived as tentacles writhed out of the churning whitecaps and wrapped around the bow of the ferry.

  The boat might have been smaller than their earlier vessel, but there could be no mistaking that the creature had gotten larger since they’d seen it on the beach. It was as long as the boat, not counting the length of those two hand-like tentacles. Its engines screamed against the new mass. The ship let out a creaking groan. A deeper rending noise underlaid the screams of passengers and the cacophony of car alarms. As the ship tilted, vehicles slid across the wet deck, adding to the general chaos.

  Now this was the kind of target he’d expected. A packed boat in the middle of a highly traveled waterway. It wouldn’t be so easy to cover this up—Raymond would have his hands full with the mortal population when the news spread. Unless they stopped her here.

  Gregor lurched to his feet, shelving those loose threads as the ferry lights began to flicker. His irritation with this creature had already reached a new height, driven by hours on the small speedboat. He’d take it on solo, barehanded if it meant he could get out of this small, rocking craft. Not even the threat of dark open water and a sinking ferry could dissuade him.

  “Get us close,” Ana said to the captain, slinging her swords onto her back before leaping onto the bow before the windscreen. “Then get as many people out of the water as you can and get clear. We have to stop her here.”

  Gregor tapped the sheriff, pointing. “The stern.”

  The creature pulled the ferry apart, flinging people and cars and pieces of the boat into the dark, churning water. The stern rose under the weight, but the captain steered in closer than Gregor would have dared. Ana sprang, using her free hand to hook a slim ledge in the boat’s hull and sling herself onto the deck. Gregor landed beside her.

  “My turn to take point.” He grinned. “I’ll hold her, get the people clear, then we get to work.”

  Chapter Twenty

  He’s suicidal, Ana thought, watching him race down the deck, bounding across the hoods of sliding cars and leaping parts of the fractured deck toward the maw of the creature. That massive shape blotted out the once open end of the ferry’s car deck.

  The word maniac came thereafter at the glimpse of his grin. They might have had the same almost-immortality, but even she knew when to pace herself. She supposed when one healed as fast as he did—and seemed to not register pain—it unlocked a new layer of fearlessness. She envied it a little bit. Okay, more than a little.

  Smoke softened everything, turning the scene before her to gray and black shades of hell. She raced to the opposite end where the crew labored to free the emergency inflatables.

  She pushed them aside, moving faster and with greater strength.

  She got two boats off before the ferry began to sink. The creature roared in pain, so Gregor must be having some success. But there wasn’t going to be enough time.

  “Take as many as you can, then get clear,” she told the first mate.

  “What about you, miss?”

  She drew Imouto from the saya at her back. “I’ll figure something out.”

  She arrived as the creature flung Gregor into a crumpled pile of cars. He landed with a dulled crunch of plastic body panels and fracturing glass. A breath later, he leaped at the tentacle. She hacked, drawing the slimy ichor before severing the limb. She spun away from the response and went after another tentacle. For every one she severed, it seemed two more struck back.

  Across from her, Gregor yanked a broken pipe from the wall of the ferry. The next tentacle whipped toward him. In a smooth punch, he pinned it to the wall, kicking a VW Bus against the pipe to hold it there. The creature screamed and writhed, but attempting to free the tentacle only succeeded in wedging the bus against the boat railing.

  Ana sheathed her sword and broke off a nearby pipe. New plan.

  She drove the ragged end into the meaty tentacle and the deck beneath. She met Gregor’s eyes across the smoky distance. He saluted, and she leaped cars and wreckage, drawing the attack toward him.

  Gregor speared a tentacle with one hand. He tossed her a length of sheared-off metal railing with the other. She snatched it out of the air. When the second tentacle snapped toward her, she stabbed it backward and into the roof of a compact car before bending the exposed railing and trapping it. Another yanked the car from beneath her feet. Ana tucked her body in midair, preparing herself to land hard. She hated breaking ribs.

  Gregor hooked her elbow in one hand, sending her into the cushion of life vests. She bounded to her feet and back into the fray as the creature slapped Gregor to the deck by the throat, pinning him. His improvised spear clattered free. She snatched it up and sprang, driving the metal spike through the tentacle and into the deck six inches from Gregor’s neck.

  He rolled free with a laugh. A lunatic, she decided, and it brought out the madness in her. What else could they be, having taken this bargain from necromancers?

  The urge to laugh bubbled up in her chest. In spite of everything, or maybe because of it, she was having fun.

  The ferry gave up the battle to stay afloat and dragged the creature with it. The deck tilted away from their feet. Gregor caught her by the shoulder when she lost her footing, flinging her toward the rising stern of the boat. They scrambled back the way they had come.

  Gregor skidded to a stop before a trailer wedged into the portal between car decks and tore open a cage containing propane tanks. She paused just a moment to follow this new development before leaping past him to the fire station and yanking the hose from the wall.

  Not a bad idea—a good explosion took care of most everything. Even a sworn Aegis rarely survived being blown to bits. And it might be a big enough diversion to quell the rumors of a rogue grace blood.

  She tossed him the nozzle end and went rummaging through the emergency kit in the trailer. When she returned, clutching three white-capped red tubes, he tied off the last of the tanks.

  She lifted her hand. “Thought these might come in handy.”

  His teeth flashed red in the emergency lighting, a savage grin. “Quite.”

  The ferry went vertical, yanking the deck from beneath them. Ana caught herself on the trailer, but Gregor slipped, weighted down with the clanking pile of canisters. Ana let go of the flares to snag him by the back of his coat, feeling fabric tear as she gripped the trailer with her free hand.

  Gregor grunted with effort, managing to catch
two.

  “Got them.” He wedged the flares in the tank handles and sparked them, then let the tanks fall. He scaled the cage with inhuman agility, grabbing her by the waist on his way up and slinging her onto his chest like a rucksack. “How good of a shot are you?”

  “Good enough.” She hooked her legs around his waist as he clambered hand over foot up the walls through cars and wreckage.

  The lights from the ferry surrendered, casting them in intermittent darkness. The tanks bobbed in dark water beneath them, lit an eerie red by flares and surrounded by tentacles pinned to the boat like the petals of some bizarre flower. Her hand slid beneath his coat, along the muscular plane of a chest straining with the effort of the climb, and she drew the semiautomatic.

  “Did you just cop a feel?” he grunted.

  She took the gun in both hands around his back. Guns bored her, but it was hard to make an argument against efficiency in a pinch. “Ready.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she emptied the magazine into the propane tanks as Gregor launched them from the ship. He twisted in the air, and the heat and flames cut off as his body shielded her from the blast. The explosion boomed, echoing against the remains of the boat. An inhuman scream chased them into the water. When her grip slipped, his arms tightened around her.

  They surfaced, coughing, nose to nose.

  One dark brow arched upward. “Should we stick around for calamari?”

  “You are nuts, Sticks.” She chortled, disentangling their limbs and pushing off his chest. She started swimming for the boats holding a safe distance away.

  Gregor caught up in a few long strokes. The pilot spotted them in the sweep of light off his bow. Ana took the hand he offered, levering herself onto the deck before reaching back for Gregor.

  “Back on this fucking boat again,” Gregor groaned when the engine roared and the boat swung toward the distant shoreline. He extended his wrist in silent request. Ana took it.

  Beneath the thick layer of clouds, dawn crept in muted pastels before Gregor steered the Audi into the garage beneath her house. By the time they’d set into the dock, Raymond’s cover-up team had already begun to work. Auger was missing, perhaps transferring Rathki back to Raymond, but several of the undead could almost pass for mortals working their way among the media outlets as the necromancer’s spokespeople.

  The cover story—a freak engine malfunction—was as flimsy as it came. But the survivors had been sequestered in a secure area for “medical treatment” and relieved of all their devices. The tribal federation closed ranks, backing the official story and refusing outside investigative assistance. Again, Gregor considered that Raymond having some mortals on his side wasn’t a bad idea.

  Ana stepped into the role of the necromancer’s official liaison to the people who mattered—government and law enforcement. Even soaked and wearing only one boot, she made an impenetrable barrier to any who questioned the official story. The hand she kept resting on the hilt of her long sword helped. Human governments were a necessary evil—most necromancers had no interest in the day-to-day running of their territories—but damned if they didn’t decide once in a while to demand some answers. Usually once a camera had been pointed their direction. Watching Ana stare into the face of the blustering, red-faced police chief until the man clamped his mouth shut and backed down was a supremely satisfying moment. Still, it made for a long night, coupled with lingering seasickness and a growing hunger.

  Jamie delivered the Audi to the ferry terminal. Ignoring the condition of Gregor’s clothes and his expression, the younger man threw his arms around him, thanking Gregor for saving his grandmother with tears in his eyes. Blame it on his own bleary-eyed exhaustion, Gregor fished out a soggy handkerchief and sent him on his way.

  Now the car interior reeked of dried seaweed and burned squid. Gregor’s clothes couldn’t seem to decide if they were crusty with salt or slick with oily water. Everything itched.

  Ana scraped the stiff, tacky hair from her cheek to join the rest of the tangled mass and giggled. She’d started laughing in the water and amusement had spilled from her in intermittent bursts the entire ride. It had been strained at first, as if her body didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  Each fit of laughter grew rounder, longer, deeper. He smiled.

  In the apartment he slumped onto the little bench beside the door to shuck off his ruined shoes.

  Her jacket hit the floor with a soggy thump. Her remaining boot joined it. The hopping on one leg like a demented crane with her ichor-stained jeans dangling from her ankle got his attention. The cheeky layer of wet red satin clinging to her backside didn’t hurt either. After brief consideration, she tore the remains of her shirt free and dropped it too.

  His shoelace tangled as he struggled to free his foot without taking his eyes off her. He gave up. He sat back, resting his elbows on the railing behind him, and stared.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, shaking free of her jeans and plucking a tendril of kelp out of her hair.

  Ana Gozen wanted things on her own terms. But it was hard to focus on the appeal of a can-you-scrub-my-back-and-fuck-me-while-you’re-at-it rounds with his stomach preparing to gnaw holes in the surrounding organs. Had the last thing he’d eaten been that abysmal pretzel?

  She stared back, eyes narrowing. “Well?”

  He bent to resume removing his shoes. “Don’t take too long. Breakfast is in forty minutes.”

  She snorted. He focused on the knot. He waited until her footsteps retreated down the hall before he gave up resisting the urge. His gaze rose in time to catch the quick look she threw over her shoulder. She bit her lip.

  He slid into his own shower a moment after her door closed and finished cleaning himself up in record time. The robe was too short. When he finished collecting tattered clothes in a plastic bag and tossing them back in the elevator, he headed to the kitchen, pleased to see the groceries he’d ordered while waiting on the dock had been delivered. Time to get to work.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pink about the edges from a vigorous scrubbing and wearing her fluffiest bathrobe, Ana followed the scent of cooking meat to the kitchen.

  Her brain came to an abrupt, scrambling halt.

  She’d admired Gregor’s reach as they fought. His grace in spite of his height and the length of his limbs made him dangerous. This close to naked and moving expertly about her kitchen made him deadly. Loose limbs bound with lean, rigid muscles and dusted in fine dark hair, he was flawless except for a single scar on his chest. It stood out against the unblemished rest of him. His lean torso narrowed into the crisp white towel just below jutting hipbones. Bare feet slapped against the floor. She tugged her gaze north to find him offering a mug of coffee with a smug expression.

  It had been a hundred years since she’d gone all blushing, stammering innocent at the sight of a half-naked man. If he wanted to prance around the kitchen in a towel, she damn sure wasn’t going to miss out on the show.

  Damp hair slicked away from his face made his cheekbones and full mouth stand out, and he smelled divine. Which said a lot considering there must have been bacon in the oven.

  He took a sip from his own mug, gesturing to the table. “Good thing you’re on time. I’d hate to start without you.”

  “All out of clean clothes?”

  “The cleaners will be making a pickup later this morning,” he said. “The robe was too short.”

  “Don’t you have pajamas?” She ruminated over how little force it would take to undo the tight tuck of the towel.

  “I do not own… pajamas.”

  Her brain stuttered as that towel turned into messy sheets and the mental image of him sprawled in a bed after sex. She choked on her swallow of coffee and retreated to the table. His laugh followed in her wake.

  Point, Gregor.

  The coffee tasted like heaven. She picked the seat where she could watch him and also the city waking before the enormous windows. He’d ordered the paper. She�
��d left her tablet in her room after updating Raymond, and though she wasn’t interested in doing anything other than watching Gregor, it wouldn’t do his ego any good to know it. She thumbed through for the entertainment section.

  Bacon came out of the oven, and she winced at the sight of grease popping onto his arm as he drained the strips, but he didn’t even flinch. The mark had healed by the time brought the plate to the table.

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “I’d prefer you stay out of my way,” he said, arriving with a bowl of fruit and more coffee.

  She snorted. Trust Gregor to make it sound like a mild insult.

  He slipped a grape from the bowl with two long fingers and popped it into his mouth before returning to the kitchen. The parade of items appearing on her table was as intriguing as the deliverer. Creamy spreads and fruit jams, slices of cheese and cold meats, a basket of fresh-baked rolls. Eggs in their shells clustered in another basket, butter, pickles, tomatoes. And then the more familiar breakfast items appeared: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast.

  When he sat down, he looked thoroughly pleased with himself, if a little smug.

  She surveyed enough food for a small army. “What is all this?”

  “A real breakfast.”

  He snagged a roll, sliced it open, and dug into a spread loaded with herbs. She watched him stack meat and cheese and then bite into it, open faced. Strong white teeth, the flex of his jaw as he chewed, and the smile. All bare chested and relaxed.

  He lifted his gaze on his way to the second roll. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  She made her own plate with familiar items. Greasy fried meats, eggs prepared a hundred different ways, loads of carbs. She’d had a lot of time to consider, and American breakfasts were her favorite.

  She watched him crack the shell of a soft-boiled egg with the dull edge of his knife, pop the top, apply salt, then obliterate the soft material within. He must have eaten half a loaf of bread, never mind plowing through enough meat and cheese to fill a deli case.