by Gaja J. Kos
Somehow, I could feel Alin’s power irradiating every atom of who they were, leaving only me, Ilya, and those two werewolves loyal to Alin untouched.
I didn’t know how much time had passed as I walked that thin line between fear and admiration, but the screams had stopped, leaving the bar eerily quiet. And when Alin’s power subsided, all that was left were more dead bodies, joining the fallen on the ground.
For a long moment, no one said a thing. Even Ilya seemed shaken, his warm complexion pale and clashing oddly with the brilliant gold of his hair. Then footsteps sounded from the street, and several figures emerged from behind Alin, sympathetic curses leaving their lips as their gazes fell on the carnage.
The new arrivals seemed to break the spell on Ilya. He reached them in three carefully placed strides to avoid the piles of bodies—bodies the men were already starting to clear away like yesterday’s trash, without a second’s worth of hesitation.
My stomach tightened at the thought, and as my eyes fell on the cut-up corpse lying just a few feet away, something inside me snapped. Violent shivers gripped my limbs, a helpless groan that just might have been a cry tearing itself from my lips.
I’d killed a man.
I’d slashed someone’s throat, carved out his stomach, and pumped him full of magic that ate his flesh from the inside out.
I did that.
I closed my eyes, hoping I could drive away the image of the life I’d taken, but by retreating into myself, things only got worse.
Because there I felt the emptiness, the void gaping inside me from the staggering absence made by the destroyed zombies. My vision blurred and my throat felt as if someone had tied a rope around it.
I’d used them. I’d used the zombies in a way I swore I never would.
My lungs refused to cooperate, refused to accept the air I tried so hard to push into them. The only thing that stirred were the tears that started to stream down my cheeks, touching the caked blood that pulled at my skin in a ghastly, nauseating reminder of what I was. A killer.
Fuck, I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t live like this. Everything—everything was just wrong.
I huddled into a ball, choking on dry sobs and spiraling into darkness I knew would consume me if only I let it, when a pair of hands touched my shoulders. So lightly, as if even the softest of pressure could cause me to break.
Not all that far from the truth.
“Lana. Lana. It’s all right.”
It wasn’t all right, and the strangled sound that wrung itself from my throat was proof enough. But the voice wouldn’t give up.
“Just look at me, Lana. Please.”
The gentle demand pierced the shroud of darkness. I shivered, but opened my eyes.
Alin was looking at me, his hard features riddled with the same concern his gaze echoed. His hands cupped my face, both thumbs brushing lightly against my skin, over and over again.
“Breathe with me, Lana.”
Somehow, I found it impossible to resist.
It was as if his very energy touched mine, infusing it with strength and calmness I knew I didn’t possess. I gave myself over to Alin’s silent command, to the power that ebbed and flowed like the ocean, teaching me how to breathe again.
“Good. That’s good.”
His emerald eyes were a beacon guiding me from the darkness, and through them, I found my way back to shore.
“I’ll take you home now, okay?”
Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
Alin stood, the absence of his touch on my cheeks almost painful, but not even a second had passed before he lifted me off the ground, engulfing me in his warmth once more. One arm curved around my back and came to rest on my waist, while his free hand held me steady, fingers wrapping around my skin just a few inches above my elbow. I leaned into him for support, miraculously managing to move on my own two feet as he led me towards the door, without allowing me to catch even a glimpse of the carnage we were leaving behind.
Maribor was silent this late at night, and the combination of serenity and fresh, slightly cooler air helped wash away the final remnants of the panic. Alin, however, didn’t let go of me. And I didn’t press him.
I wasn’t all that certain I wouldn’t stumble, but even more so, being held in his embrace made me feel safe.
If I had any fight left in me, I would have laughed.
Safe in the embrace of a demon lord and gang leader. But it was what it was, and for once, I didn’t let rational thought rule over me. Maybe it died along with the thug I gutted.
We didn’t take particle form as we moved towards my apartment, but instead waited for the odd passerby to disappear from sight before continuing forward. Despite my dark clothes and the shadows reigning under the faint moonlight, the blood coating my body was still very much visible. As was my ragged state.
Now that the surge of panic had subsided, I could feel every cut, every bruise blossoming on my body. The simple mechanics of walking helped with the burn in my muscles, but did little to fix the rest. And—judging by the glance I caught Alin give me when he reacted just a fragment of a second too late—I must have shown every damned inch of the agony I was in.
Something my floor-length mirror sadly confirmed once we entered the apartment.
“Fuck,” I said softly, not even remembering that the beating I’d received had been this severe. It was only thanks to my magic that I wasn’t bleeding all over the floor. But even its healing properties were unable to do much more.
“Bathroom?” Alin asked as he closed the door and came to stand by my side.
I nudged my head to the right, and led the demon where he wanted to go. Once inside, his critical gaze fell on my body, a furrow resting between his russet brows.
“Let me see your wounds, Lana.”
I started to tug off my shirt, but there was a tightness to his voice I couldn’t quite place, something that was almost intimate—and managed to scare the shit out of me. I hesitated, a small voice inside me screaming that this was a bad idea.
But standing there with a bloodied T-shirt half lifted was even worse, so I pulled the damned thing off and let it fall onto the tiled floor. Alin’s gaze raked my skin, the blaze of violence returning to his emerald eyes.
With a long exhale, he leashed the emotion, then said far too quietly for my liking, “Jeans, too.”
Swallowing—a little because of the pain, a little because of the awareness of just how exposed I would be in my underwear—I peeled the jeans off nonetheless. He sucked in a breath, a low curse in some language I didn’t know ricocheting off the narrow walls. I looked down and instantly knew what had put him in a foul mood.
Bruises.
No wonder my body felt like such a wreck. The length of my legs was nothing but a pattern of bruises that matched the ugly, massive one on the side of my stomach. There were a few nasty red slashes thrown into the mix. Shit. I didn’t even remember getting cut up.
I looked down in mute shock, barely registering Alin’s cautious voice. “You’ll need to wash away the blood before I can patch you up. Do you need assistance or—”
“I’m fine.” I met his gaze, meaning every word. “Thank you, Alin.”
He didn’t say a thing. Simply inclined his head and left me alone in the bathroom with the daunting prospect of a shower booming in my mind.
It took me about twenty minutes to scrub away the last of the blood. I couldn’t recall a shower ever being as unpleasant yet vital at the same time. But despite the agony the process was causing, each cut burning furiously under the clear jets, it seemed imperative to scrub the oppressive traces of the fight off my skin. I just—I wanted to be me again, not the almost-victim of a gang war. A killer.
Since I didn’t want to get anything harmful in the still open wounds, I washed my hair with water only, then let it hang wet as I emerged from the bathroom in clean briefs and a loose, sleeveless T-shirt I liked to sleep in.
Alin was waiting for me in the living room, the fur
niture mixed around so that the setting oddly reminded me of my tattoo artist’s parlor. I took a seat in the empty chair he’d brought out from the kitchen, noting the rubbing alcohol and ointments set up on the club table by its side. The demon lord must have dropped by his lair while I was torturing myself under the shower, because none of those things belonged to me.
“Feeling better?” he asked once I met his gaze.
I nodded. I did feel better, even if ghosts of what happened tonight would haunt me for ages to come.
Alin stared at me for a couple of seconds longer, almost as if trying to see if I meant it or if I was simply deluding him—and myself. Whatever he saw must have been the correct answer, because the next moment he dropped his gaze to my battered legs, then lightly tapped his own lap.
I obliged.
His hands were gentle as he steadied my feet and arranged them so that my calves rested on his muscular thighs. A shadow crossed his face when he studied the busy pattern of bruises and cuts, but it was gone as soon as he reached for the rubbing alcohol and poured some on a cotton pad.
He worked in silence, cleaning the slashes with utter devotion to the task, while I tried my best not to wince or squirm too much. Nightwraith or not, I was far from immune when it came to pain, and disinfecting wounds was definitely one of the worst sensations I could think of at the moment. I tried focusing on the feel of his hands brushing against my skin with tenderness and care, but in a way, I wasn’t entirely sure whether that was any better than the thousands of blazing hot needles jabbing at me where the alcohol met my wounds.
Pleasant was far too weak a word for the crushing waves of desire the touch of his strong, callused hands was setting off inside me. Even my magic seemed restless, wanting to reach out to his own.
Shit, what was wrong with me? Lusting after the man who’d inadvertently thrust me in a position where I had no choice but to kill someone—just an hour ago, at that. Lena had always sworn that hunting was an excellent boost for her libido, and she’d made a habit out of hitting the supe clubs for a night of fun after each brawl. But I wasn’t like her.
At least I didn’t think I was.
I bit my lower lip and studied the demon working on my legs. His thick, russet hair fell across the chiseled line of his cheeks and jaw, its rich color gleaming as it reflected the overhead lights. He glanced up at me as he reached for the ointments, and my heart skipped a beat. Skipped two, actually.
Gods, how could anyone be this handsome?
“What?” he asked in a low whisper that made my toes curl.
“How do you do it?”
“How do I do what?”
“The blood, the deaths.” I shook my head. “I—I’m not cut out for that.”
He stopped applying the ointment, his thumb resting dangerously close to the apex of my thighs. “You’ve seen the Shadow World, Lana. You don’t survive without it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He leaned back, his fingers trailing down the length of my legs. “Being pureblooded makes violence a part of my genetic makeup. The rest is experience. You aren’t even thirty yet. Trust me, after a few centuries, what you once thought of as horrors lose their edge. They still touch you, of course, but not nearly as much as they probably should.”
I hoped my life would never turn out that way, but a part of me recognized his words for the truth they were. Near immortality had that effect even on those who didn’t give in to the darkness quite as willingly and eagerly as my mother had. At a loss for words, I only sighed and motioned Alin to carry on.
When every inch of my legs was covered in herbs, he pushed from his chair and came over to work on my stomach and ribs. Slowly, he lifted my shirt, his fingers dancing across my skin as he exposed my body right to the swell of my breasts, folding the fabric over. I blinked as the room swam in a cruel reminder that I needed to breathe unless I wanted to pass out.
Luckily, the heat of his touch disappeared that moment, offering me a brief repose.
Too brief.
Because the smell of rubbing alcohol permeated the air in a manner of seconds, subjecting me to his well-meaning torture once more. He paused each time I flinched, but otherwise didn’t give up until every wound was cleaned and I was drenched in ointment. My back came next, then my arms, and, finally, he knelt before me to heal my aching face.
Emerald eyes met mine, and for a moment, I was transported back into The Night Hag, back into that blaze of perfect, pure blue.
“What you did today—I’ve never seen anything like it. I knew you were powerful, but that… How is it even possible?”
He dropped down on his heels, a new tin of ointment already waiting in his hands. “Creating a blaze takes a toll on my strength. I tend not to use it unless absolutely necessary.” He shrugged. “But the power itself has always been there. It comes naturally to me, though I believe my parents’ ambition had a lot to do with that.” The smile that touched his face carried an edge of bitterness. “Then again, I trust you know all about ambitious parents.”
I snorted. “That is an understatement, and you know it.”
The corners of his lips twisted up, but the expression disappeared all too quickly. “They kept me locked in my place of power for well over the mandatory year after my birth, as well as used some ancient…techniques…to make sure I received every benefit.”
Something cold slithered through my stomach. I knew what those techniques were. I experienced a small part of them myself.
All demonic newborns needed to spend twelve months submerged in the power of their lair in order to survive. But those born of mixed couples, those who would become half demon, half whatever other race the other parent belonged to, could be infused with enough magic during that initial year to literally burn away that other half. But reshaping someone’s essence was never without consequences and usually produced the kind of demons that gave our race a bad name.
My parents, however, tailored some of those techniques to amp up both sides of my heritage, twisting my magic until it became something new. I was neither demon, nor Koldunya, but a unique blend of both. As were my sisters.
I looked at Alin, at those stunning green eyes, and couldn’t swat away the feeling of immense gratitude that his parents’ actions hadn’t broken him.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” I asked lightly.
Shadows danced across his features, but the tone of his voice was gentle, almost fragile as he said, “Heal. I can’t heal.”
His gaze trailed down my bruised body before his fingers brushed against my temples, my cheeks, the movements so careful, so light as he spread the ointment that a part of me wanted nothing more but to lean into his touch. To savor it.
“Why not?” I whispered instead.
“For the same reason I can take lives so easily.” For a moment, I thought he’d leave it at that, but as his fingers started working on the bruise spread across my jaw, he added, “You don’t become a lord without building walls. You block your morality, your emotions. Those things get you killed when you’re trying to make it on your own, establishing yourself as an undisputed leader to a horde of demons who thought to use your parents’ death to further their own agendas. Only I shielded myself too well.”
He hesitated, fingers hovering over my jaw. I leaned in, gently, prompting him to continue.
“The gift of healing comes from love, Lana. The energy can’t flow unless you let your guard down, unless you dismantle the emotional block that acts as a gateway for healing. For affection. Mine, it appears, is welded shut.”
He closed the tin of ointment, then pushed off the floor and extended his hand to me. With his help, I rose to my feet, feeling somewhat better than before.
Alin brushed away a strand of my hair, then tipped his head towards the door. “You should go to bed. I’ll bring you a tonic to help you sleep and replenish the energy you burned through tonight.”
Even as the chill of his confession still pooled in the pit of
my stomach, I smiled. “Do you pamper all your acquaintances like this?”
Something flashed in his eyes, and a light tug pulled at the corners of his lips. “Go to bed, Lana. I’ll join you in a minute.”
I knew he didn’t mean it like that, but still my cheeks flooded with heat, and I hobbled away before he could notice my treacherous reaction.
The silken embrace of the sheets welcomed me, and a satisfied groan rumbled in my throat as I stretched out my legs. An illusion. The sense of normalcy was an illusion. But I held on to it with both hands, trying to swat away the fear of what would happen once Alin left.
As if summoned, the demon in question strode into the room a heartbeat later. He placed a tall glass of clear liquid on my bedside table, then pulled up a chair, setting it so he could watch the door as well as the bedroom window at the same time.
“You’re staying?” I asked as I reached for the glass, my voice husky and disgustingly hopeful. “Don’t your men need you?”
“They know what to do,” he said without meeting my eyes, his unspoken words stretching between us. I felt your fear, Lana. I won’t leave you. Not tonight.
I nodded, grateful more than I could say even when a part of me was pissed for being so clingy. I drank every last mouthful of the tonic, and whatever he’d put in there must have been strong because I felt sleep weighing on my eyelids as soon as my head hit the pillow.
“Your power,” I mumbled. “It’s beautiful.”
The phantom caress of his voice touched my skin, but I couldn’t make out the words. Sleep dragged me under, and the only thing I remembered was seeing Alin’s image walk right onto the ghostly field of my dreams, making me wonder just why a demon lord unable to love seemed to care for me.
Chapter 15
I woke up to the familiar smells of my apartment—and the glaring hole that was Alin’s absence among them. For a second I panicked, but as I saw the blazing gold rays of sunlight filtering through the half-drawn shades, I realized he had probably left at daybreak, when it became clear no creep was planning to pay me a visit. His gang did receive a hit yesterday and undoubtedly needed their leader present and sorting everything out. I didn’t need a babysitter any longer.
