by Cecy Robson
With a snarl and a hiss, the Alpha withdraws what remains of his hand. Something eats through his flesh, shriveling the muscle and charring the bone so brutally, the length of his arm disintegrates to ash.
Through my incredulity, I understand. I did this to him. I caused his pain. I have magic!
The realization snaps me from my shock and forces me into action. I dig my fingers into his face, piercing the meaty skin. Within me, something dormant rises, sizzling the tissue beneath my touch.
Cathasach lurches off me, the four scorched lines from my nails, eating their way through his flesh.
Chapter Six
Cathasach vanishes into a funnel of green smoke, transforming into his beast. He wobbles on three legs as my magic eats its way up his chest. The scratches I made expand, collapsing his right eye inward. A sprite pokes her head through the socket. She shimmies out, breaking free and leading two more with her.
Cathasach is bleeding out souls.
The escaping sprites entice another hound. She turns on Cathasach, biting his face. He retaliates with a snap of his jaws. Their bodies clash as they maul each other.
I ease away, whipping around when a dragon wails. He’s out of fire and two Cù-Sìth are on him. I sprint across the flaming dance floor, screaming with anger. With a leap, I soar onto a hound’s back when he rakes his claws across the other dragon’s stomach.
My nails push into his matted fur. It doesn’t take much for his shoulder blade to dissolve into crumbles and for my fingers to seep further in. Power surges through me. I can’t control it and don’t know how long it will last. But while it’s here, I’m using all I can.
The hound flings me from his back. I land near another wounded dragon, crying out when my right arm snaps in half. The dragon crawls to me in his human form. He still has his talisman and therefore his veil and is likely less conspicuous in his human form. But his talisman remained in place, veiling him.
He presses his hand to his side, covering the bloody fang marks. “What did you do?” he gasps.
“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice hoarse with pain.
I look to where souls spill from the hound I attacked and the feeding frenzy that occurs among the Cù-Sìth. It’s the distraction I think we need to escape, until I realize Cathasach’s body has already begun to mend. With each soul he reclaims, his wicked body heals him. The slices in his face knit tight and a new leg punches through the hole in his chest in a barrage of sickening crunches.
It won’t be long before the hounds finish feasting. I need to hurry.
I force myself to my feet, biting back a shriek when my arm snaps into place. The urgency my body uses heal me just about knocks me out. I shouldn’t move right now. I just don’t have a choice.
With my good hand, I snatch two talismans from the floor and toss them to a dragon. He’s gutted and his friend slumped beside him is unconscious and bleeding. The dragon releases his hold over his gaping wound and catches the talismans, welding the broken chains with a minute stream of flame. I drag my feet forward as the dragon places the talismans around himself and his friend. I don’t offer him much. I only hope it’s enough.
A mournful growl erupts from the corner of the room. Hot tears drip from my eyes. I know what’s happening long before I dare look.
Frankie curls around Dahlia’s mutilated form. What’s left of her lovely wings lay like the remains of a broken spider web.
Anger spurs through me. My sweet Dahlia. My beautiful friend. I dive on top of the closest hound, straddling his back and tangling my fingers into his fur to keep from being tossed.
Ribbons of multi-colored flames shoot from all directions. Frankie and the other dragons release the fire they have left, sparing me from the advancing Cù-Sìth. The Glen was built to withstand dragon flames, but its design is reaching its limits.
Thick black smoke billows toward the ceiling fans and sections of the ceiling break apart. I ignore it and the burning in my lungs, using the searing effect of my hands to pierce through fur and bone. My grief and anger release through my touch, my body and soul hell bent on hurting the writhing creature beneath me.
My hand reaches the hound’s beating heart as I lurch forward. My fingertips barely graze it when the large beast collapses beneath me. I don’t manage more than a breath when something solid strikes my side, sending me rolling across the dance floor and into the wall.
The wall feels cool against my cheek. A sharp contrast from my sweat-soaked back and the blistering heat rising around me. I don’t want to move. But they’re coming. They won’t stop coming.
I tip onto my back and turn my head. Through strands of my hair I see the pack closing in. They’re all here save Cathasach. Pain radiates down my spine as I crane to watch the greedy alpha devour the escaping souls from the hound I killed. My thighs seared large gashes into the creature’s flesh, burning through it like cheap fabric. There’s no smoke. No flame. Just crumbling specks of embers disintegrating the hound to ash.
The damage my skin inflicted came at the price of the rest of my body. I wheeze with every intake of air. My ribs are cracked and my knee throbs with every beat of my racing heart. Something is wrong with my hip and warm fluid is pouring from my shoulder. Blood seeps into my eyes, making it hard to keep them open. Still, I rise, staggering into a standing position and sobbing.
I swipe at my face with a trembling hand. Everything hurts. My body, so injured, struggles to heal me and is losing the fight. Each effort made to mend me is torture. Yet nothing compares to what Dahlia endured. She’s gone. No longer will she brighten my world with her smile.
“Olivia!” Frankie hollers. He’s bleeding from a deep gash across his human face. He remains standing, unlike his fallen friends.
His talisman dangles over his broad chest. I shake my head. He needs to be quiet and make an escape. My good hand will lash out and my legs will kick. I’ll fight to the end. But my stars, I’ve never felt so alone.
A breath, as warm as a summer, whispers tight against my ear. From one terrified thought to the next, I realize something else is here.
The sound of two blades clashing in battle halt the Cù-Sìth’s advancing steps. Cathasach’s blood red eyes fire with rage. The pack growls and fixes on a spot near my feet. There’s no warning. Everything happens at once.
With a snap like a wet sheet, a shadow of midnight blue appears. As quickly as it comes, it vanishes, unlike the decapitated head rolling toward me. I jolt, my mouth agape as souls burst through the neck of the dead Cù-Sìth like a dam. Another snap in the air. Another severed head. The translucent images of fleeing Fae whitening our burning surroundings.
The Cù-Sìth allow the souls to escape. Not one tries to eat or give chase. Their hackles rise, saliva dripping from their snarling gums.
My gaze darts in all directions. There’s another monster in our midst and it scares me more than the hounds.
The Cù-Sìth bark in frantic yips mixed with growls as another decapitated head falls with a wet splat. It scares them. If they fear it—if it can kill them . . . what’s it going to do to me?
Cathasach vanishes in a funnel of green, slithering around his kin. He reappears in his human form directly in front of me. I barely register his presence when he yanks me to him by the front of my dress.
Blood swirls his irises like liquid fire, his voice booming as he searches the air. “You want what’s mine?” he spits. “Show yourself and take her!”
His matted hair whips me across the face when he turns abruptly. He drags me with him, shoving his hounds aside. My fingers dig into his forearm as the creature he challenged appears.
In a blur of azure and black, I catch a long stream of silver. Flames eating a nearby speaker reflect against the curved blade as it comes down on Cathasach. Cathasach veers back, dropping me and clasping the long gash across his throat.
I fall on my side. In a churn of black and dark shades of blue, a cloaked figure rises, one hand gripping a dagger, the other raised ove
r his head, a giant scythe clenched tight in his fist.
A black hood hides his face and pliable black armor covers his imposing form. He swings his scythe at a charging hound and digs his dagger into a hound that follows. Both strikes are lethal. Neither Cù-Sìth rises.
A scream rips through my throat. The Grim Reaper has arrived. He’s fighting the Cù-Sìth for the right to claim my soul.
The Reaper charges the advancing hounds, twirling his scythe with lethal grace. I scramble away, my knees scraping along the beaten down floor.
Cathasach yanks me up by the hair. “He wants you,” he rasps in my ear. His long tongue flicks the blood streaming down my cheek. “Shall I tell him you’re mine?”
I smash him in the ribs with my elbow, clawing at his face when he hunches. The searing sensation in my fingertips surges. I scratch him deeper. He backhands me, sending me spinning into the wall.
Deep green blood drips from the fresh gashes on Cathasach’s face. The souls he devoured must have offered him some protection. But that protection is fading fast.
The Reaper races toward me, his heavy boots pounding against the dance floor, and his scythe lifting to strike. With a throaty growl, Cathasach leaves me, shooting in a green burst of smoke and colliding into the Reaper as a shaggy beast with hateful vile eyes.
The force knocks the scythe from the Reaper’s grip. They roll along the floor, the Reaper fisting Cathasach’s matted green fur while the death hound snapped his jaws at the Reaper’s throat.
With a grunt, the Reaper kicks Cathasach across the length of the room. The Reaper rolls toward his scythe, narrowly avoiding the jaws of another hound. He rises spinning with his weapon and uses the momentum to split his attacker’s neck.
A large shaggy skull rolls toward the incoming pack. More souls spill out, soaring toward the inferno the ceiling has become.
Four Cù-Sìth remain, including Cathasach. Through the crash and crumbling of the ceiling, their massive claws scrape against the floor. They circle the Reaper. Beneath his dark hood, the Reaper watches them. Slowly, he lifts his scythe. Instead of wielding it, he slams the point into the floor, tracing a line into the concrete. “Ardú!” he roars. Rise.
The line fires electric blue. From it, ghostly elves with kilts and swords emerge. They charge the closest hounds as the Reaper and Cathasach clash. With a swipe of his scythe, the Reaper guts Cathasach, sending Cathasach reeling back.
The faint image of a dead Fae reaches out from Cathasach’s gut. Not just any Fae. My mother . . . my . . . mother.
I knew she dwelled within Cathasach as his prisoner. But to see her gaunt face, her traumatized and weeping features―to witness her suffering? It incites my nightmares and stalls what remains of my courage. Her hands extend, stretching through the breaks in Cathasach’s skin, her dark eyes brimming with misery. Olivia, she mouths.
I barely feel Frankie’s pulls to my arm. “Livvie!” he yells. “We have to get out of here.”
I point in my mother’s direction. Frankie doesn’t understand.
Adrenaline fights through my shock and exhaustion. Now is my chance to set Mama free. I have to take it.
I break free from Frankie and fling myself on top of Cathasach. He disappears in a cloud of green smoke, laughing. “Find me if you can, little pixie.”
I chase Cathasach’s smoky essence as he jets into the wall. My body slams against the cinderblock, barely catching the last few wisps of his green haze as he disappears. I pound at the wall. “Come back here!”
Fangs dig into my hair, cutting off my cries and hauling me back. I flail wildly, kicking and screaming as the hound drags me away. The Reaper’s scythe flashes above my head. I scrunch my eyes closed as it comes down.
My head smacks against the floor as the harsh pull to my scalp eases. I push up on my arms, scuttling away from where the Reaper’s scythe is imbedded into the dance floor.
The Reaper is fighting two hounds. He catches one in the air when it leaps and stabs the hound through the heart. The other Cù-Sìth lunges at his back, ripping off the Grim Reaper’s hood.
I expect a nightmarish monster hidden beneath the cloak, something hungry to eat me and eager to hurt me. I don’t expect piercing blue eyes.
Nor do I expect Ryker.
Chapter Seven
The two ghostly elves Ryker commands to “rise” race to help him, their kilts fluttering with each pump of their brawny legs. They gut the hound who outed Ryker as the Grim Reaper, freeing a cluster of souls.
I laugh as Ryker struggles to his feet. He watches me, panting, sweat streaming from the crown of his cropped hair. He doesn’t bother hiding anymore. He doesn’t have to. I’ve seen what he really is.
He wrenches his scythe from the floor. I laugh again, briefly aware of my mounting hysteria as my crazed giggles morph into anguished sobs.
Ryker scrapes the point of the blade over what remains of the dance floor. Electric blue energy builds from the scratch.
“Codladh” he orders. Sleep.
The warriors bow. They march to the line and dissolve into the light.
A flaming rafter falls with a crash, igniting a booth. The building is close to crumbling like a fiery deck of cards. I no longer care.
Dead Fae surround me. I lay on floor where Dahlia had stood trembling. Tears well in my eyes. I ignore the pain radiating from my arm and into my skull and stroke a small piece of her wing. It’s soft, silky, but cold. So cold.
The dragons are gone. I can’t blame them. The Grim Reaper arrived to claim us.
The Cù-Sìth vanished into smoke. They feared the Reaper, too. Death can kill Death and send it to an insufferable hell. I glance at my palm and to my ash coated nails. If so, what does that make me?
Ryker sheaths two daggers. Skulls top their hilts. He keeps his scythe close as he walks to me, his heavy boots crumbling the glowing embers at his feet.
He extends his leather gloved hand. “Come, Olivia.”
My attention returns to the burning booth. Dahlia is dead. My dead mother pleaded with me to save her. And Ryker is the fucking Grim Reaper. You can say I’ve officially lost it.
Another rafter hurtles downward, followed by two more. The heat from flames dry my eyes faster than the tears can form.
Ryker lifts me, tucking me against him. Something in me snaps. I thrash and punch at his chest. “Don’t touch me!”
He shoves his face into mine, his rigid expression silencing me instantly. “I won’t leave you to die!”
The scythe vanishes when he slams the base against the floor. In one move, he envelopes me in his cloak, pressing me hard against his chest.
Cold night air chills my heated body. It takes me a moment to make out my surroundings. A large dumpster with a warped metal lid rests against the graffiti smeared wall. Clumps of dirty napkins roll along the soiled concrete. I’m in an alley with Ryker, his beating heart pounding between my breasts and his pronounced breathing causing my body to move with his.
Ryker slides me down his chest, releasing me. I hold my fractured arm, ready to bolt when the roar of multiple sirens scream past us.
Ryker surprises me by taking several steps back, giving me ample space. This man before me, with black armor and a cape that waves in the subtle breeze isn’t someone I know. Or thought I knew.
I stare at him. “You . . .” What? Lied to me about being a lawyer? Pretended not to be the Grim Reaper? “You’re one of them,” I say simply.
Ryker clenches his jaw. “I am not one of them, Olivia.”
Something in the way he speaks my name shatters what remains of my trodden emotions. I grip my dangling arm tighter, seeking warmth and comfort to spare what remains of my sanity. “This isn’t happening,” I whisper.
Ryker says nothing. He just stands there, taking me in.
I’m not certain how long we wait in silence. There’s a shift in the night and a hidden presence emerges.
It begins with one. The soul of a fairy flutters from her perch on the fire esc
ape. She circles Ryker cautiously, wringing her hands.
Ryker nods, his focus remaining trained on me. “Yes,” he tells her.
The fairy jerks from side to side, motioning others forward. Two elves materialize through the walls. They exchange anxious glances and advance slowly, joining the fairy. Dozens of gnomes pop out from the dumpster, hope glimmering beneath their bruised expressions.
“Jesus.” Frankie stands at the mouth of the alley, watching the growing number of souls gathering around Ryker. Fear and awe crease the deep lines ringing his eyes.
Frankie is scared, just as he was in the club. But he didn’t run, not as far as he could have. Gray sweatpants cover his long legs and a blanket drapes over his shoulders.
Ryker speaks in that familiar quiet rumble. “I’m leaving Olivia in your care and trust that you’ll see her safely home.”
Frankie offers a stiff nod and extends his hand. “Let’s go, Livvie.”
Ryker fixes Frankie with a cold stare. For a moment, I think he’ll kill him. “She’ll need another talisman,” Ryker tells him. “And she’ll need one soon. Do I make myself clear?”
Frankie drops his gaze, balling his hands into fists. “I understand, man.”
The entire alley is packed with wall to wall souls. I recognize a few who escaped from the Cù-Sìth’s mangled forms. “They’re going with you?” I ask.
Ryker bows his head. “I’m taking them to their resting place before Cathasach returns with more hounds or another form of Death latches onto their essences.”
The souls quiver at Cathasach’s name. Still, more appear. Two leprechaun children scurry forward and wrap their small arms around Ryker’s legs. The rest move closer, packing tighter around Ryker, their faces pleading with him to hurry.
Ryker is their savior.
“But you’re a lawyer,” I add numbly, and rather stupidly.
