Defiance

by Lili St. Crow

  My brain trembled like a weary horse. If my thinker busted all the way now, we were dead in the water, Goth Boy and me.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  One problem at a time. “Come on, Graves.” I took an experimental step forward. He came with me, his chin dipping, dirty hair falling in his face. We looked like kids after a terrible catastrophe, which I suppose was true enough except for the shadow of age in Blaine’s dark gaze. He was the only one who felt a little older, and it was weird. But I guess Anna liked the younger ones.

  Easier to control.

  We set out down this hall, which looked industrial in an old-fashioned way. Concrete, and full of fluorescent glare that tore into my brain through my eyes. It was a warehouse, I figured out, and felt a jab of tired pride as the touch nestled down in my skull again. The old-timey beams and plaster and golden light was behind us, and I had the sudden uncomfortable thought that the whole hall down there had been like a stage set, somewhere for Sergej to play a little game.

  He seemed to like playing nasty games. So did Anna. But given the choice between them, Jesus.

  Guess you made that choice, didn’t you, Dru?

  The twins held Anna up, and the curly-headed one drifted behind Graves and me. I didn’t like that at all, and I kept the malaika out. Of course, he had a gun, and silver-grain ammo, and—

  The touch flared inside my head. “Wait,” I whispered, and pulled Graves to a halt. He leaned on me a little harder than before, his balance moving around like he was drunk or too tired to keep himself fully upright.

  That was a bad sign. But still . . . I heard something.

  “What?” Blaine had halted. Anna shivered uncontrollably, her hair running with copper highlights even under fluorescents.

  Go figure; that lighting makes everyone look sick, especially beaten-up djamphir. But it just made her hair look even more beautiful, even tangled and gunky as it was.

  “Something’s going on.” I closed my eyes against the stinging glare. My God, the world was just too bright. If this was blooming, leave me out of it. Except the vampires falling down and choking part. That was okay.

  “Dru.” A cough, and Anna tried to raise her head. “Have to. Talk to you.”

  “Shhh,” the twin on her right said softly. “We’ll have you safe in no time, Milady.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was lying. Maybe he knew.

  “Dru.” Anna let out a soft moan. “Come . . . here.”

  “We’ve got to move.” It was the same high, queer, breathless voice that was all I could use when the touch was telling me things. “They’re massing. We’re risking leaving a blood trail. And . . .” I struggled to concentrate. “Something else. Something . . .”

  “Dru.” Anna coughed again. It didn’t sound good. She spat, a gob of something bright red that splattered on the floor. “Damn. You. Come. Here.”

  “Milady—” Blaine eyed me like he was considering dragging me over to Anna.

  Graves stiffened. I solved the problem by taking a couple of steps forward, bringing him with me. At least it might get us moving again. I was beginning to catch my breath, and the itching under the heat of the aspect warned me.

  I realized I wasn’t tasting the danger candy just as Anna lifted her head. Thick red dribbled down her chin, and her blue eyes shone feverishly behind a raccoon mask of puffy bruising. The flat copper of her blood was full of carnation spice and terrible pain. I wasn’t sure how she was holding herself up, even with the help of the twins.

  She inhaled, deeply. More blood slid down her chin. I tried not to stare.

  “I won’t last long.” Another deep breath, and she winced as if the effort hurt down deep. The blood was goddamn distracting. “Neither will you. So . . . you have to do something.”

  When did this become my job? But I nodded. Made little fluttering motions with one fist full of malaika, trying to get the guys to move. We could talk just as well while escaping here, couldn’t we?

  “Drink.” Anna coughed again, and her head dropped. She raised it with an impatient, tired little shake. “You have to. Drink. From me.”

  What the . . . Then what she said hit home. “Oh, hell no. No.”

  “Milady!” Blaine sounded shocked. What was it with older djamphir sounding like prissy maiden aunties? “You can’t—”

  “Damn right she can’t, let’s just get out of here!” If I hadn’t been holding Graves up, I would’ve hopped from foot to foot impatiently.

  “No!” Anna actually jerked in their arms. “I am dead! He made certain . . . of that. Blaine. Kip. I consign you to her care. Obey . . . her.”

  What the hell? “Anna.” I put on my best no-nonsense tone, striving for just the right amount of Gran’s we’ll have no foolishness here and Dad’s I got other places to be so let’s move. “I am so not going to do this. Let’s go.”

  “Milady—” Blaine had gone chalk-cheesy. The curly-headed one pushed past me, and I would’ve rolled my eyes if I’d had the energy. “We cannot—”

  “Don’t. Argue.” Anna stared at me. “Save them, Dru. Please. They’re . . . good boys. They . . . deserve care. Now drink. I don’t . . . have much left. I’m trained . . . you’re not.” It was painful to hear her gasping for breath.

  Nobody deserved that. Not even her.

  The world stilled itself. My head jerked up. Noise, in the distance.

  Rapid popping gunfire. The walls trembled slightly, and Graves and I both flinched as the sound of a distant explosion reached us.

  And all of a sudden I knew who it was. “The Order. They’re coming to rescue us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  We dragged Anna into a small utility room off the hall. The argument now was whether to wait for the Order to find us, or get outside. I knew what I was voting for, but we had serious problems.

  Graves leaned against the wall. His eyes were half closed, darkening rapidly, and his breathing had taken on an asthmatic wheeze. He needed food and rest, bad. Bulking up and getting ready to tango with Sergej had depleted whatever reserves he had left. Accessing the Other is hard on the body’s energy factories; it’s why wulfen are so seriously about munchies all the time.

  Anna was still bleeding. It wouldn’t stop; she couldn’t heal. Something internal had been broken when Sergej hit her, and weakened as she was from his feeding on her . . . Jesus. Plus, the twins didn’t look so hot either. One of them was limping, and his right arm hung at a funny angle. Blaine was paper-pale, and Kip—the curly-headed ghost-quiet one—was breathing heavily, like even walking was an effort.

  I didn’t feel so great myself. The heat of the aspect was starting to fade, and the malaika were getting heavy. If another wave of vampires came at us, I wasn’t too optimistic about the whole thing.

  Especially if they didn’t choke and fall down when they got near me. Which all added up to a Very Bad Feeling About All This.

  Anna shoved the limping twin away. She drew herself up, her knees visibly shaking, and glared at me. “Come. Here.”

  I shook my head. Curls fell free, the blonde receding from them. My entire body ached sullenly under the aspect’s flaring and fading. “No dice, Anna. Don’t trust you.”

  Her eyes all but snapped sparks, and the blood running down her chin wasn’t just a trickle. “You didn’t . . . leave me . . . there.” Little crimson droplets sprayed. “Come. Here.”

  I glanced at the door. Kip had propped himself against the lintel, keeping watch on the hall. It was clear, but for how much longer?

  “Not leaving you to you-know-who is not the same thing as this, Anna.” The malaika were so heavy, dangling in my fists. “Not gonna come near you, and especially not going to—”

  She collapsed. The twin she still held on to cursed, going heavily to his knees. “Milady,” he whispered, and his face looked like a three-year-old’s for a single, wrenching moment. “Don’t leave us.”

  My stomach turned over, hard. I knew I was about to do something incr
edibly stupid, but it didn’t matter. The chances of the Order reaching us, or us making a usable break for the exit we were heading for, were pretty damn slim.

  And God only knew what would happen if Sergej somehow got that spear out of his chest.

  “Hey.” I half-turned. Blaine was staring at me. “Help me get my malaika up.”

  “Perhaps . . . ” He wet his lips. Even his tongue was too pale. He’d lost a lot of blood, too. “Milady, perhaps you could . . . share your strength, with Milady?”

  I shrugged. “What do you think I’m gonna do, suck her blood? No way. She can take a little from me, then Graves can get me out of here while you get her out. And for what it’s worth, I’d keep her away from the Order for a while too. They’re pretty pissed off.”

  Not like I thought Bruce and the rest would do anything to one of their precious svetocha, but Anna had played them like fiddles before. I’d be an idiot if I gave her the impression she could just waltz back in and start her little games again. Especially since I was looking at taking a powder in a big way; I didn’t want to end up with a bunch of her loyal djamphir chasing me, for Chrissakes.

  It made me feel dirty to think that way. Dirty and tired way down deep inside, the way I imagine adults must always feel.

  How do they stand it?

  Blaine’s shoulders sagged. He helped me snap the malaika back into the harness; I glanced up and found Graves had closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed hard. “Hey. Jesus, you all right?”

  Another explosion. It sounded closer. Just how big was this place we were trapped in? A complex of warehouses instead of just one? If we were in Jersey, it could be any of a hundred places. How had they found me?

  How many of the Order were here, and were they dying or getting hurt trying to get to me? Or to Anna? Was Christophe out there? Guilt hit me with a sick thump, right in the stomach.

  “Fine.” Graves coughed. The coat hung scarecrow on him, flapping a little as he moved. “Get whatever you’re gonna do over with, Dru. Then let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

  My smile felt traitorous and unnatural, but it helped. A little. “Watch out for me, okay?” There was no point in keeping it a secret.

  He half-opened his eyes, and instead of bright green they were mossy now. But he looked at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a silent snarl, and one of those instants of communication passed between us, a zing like biting on tinfoil.

  As long as I’m breathing, his look said, and I nodded. Let out a shaky breath, my eyes prickling with hot, useless tears. I shoved the urge to cry away. It wouldn’t do any goddamn good.

  It was hard to get close to her. I kept seeing her face, distorted as she screamed and fired an assault rifle at me. I kept hearing her last words to my mother.

  Don’t let the nosferatu bite.

  She scared the hell out of me. Even wounded, even bleeding, I was pretty sure she’d have something up her sleeve.

  The gunfire was getting nearer, echoing oddly. The touch kept trying to bolt free of my head and show me what was going down, but I was too tired. I needed all my energy for staying upright, and besides, I didn’t want to know. If I was going to die messily when Sergej and reinforcements busted in here, I’d kind of prefer it to be a surprise.

  I mean, ideal would be no dying at all. But that was looking less and less likely.

  Anna was gasping. Under the blood and the bruising she was a bad color, a sort of pale yellowy-gray. The faint ghost of her polished beauty still clung to her, and that made it even worse. She would struggle to get in enough air and let it out with a little hiss that tore right through my chest, because I remembered that sound from Gran in the hospital, the night her owl showed up and the one person who hadn’t ever left me behind slid away from life for good.

  Why are you doing this, Dru? There’s got to be a better way to prove you’re not like her.

  Except there wasn’t. And I even hated myself for thinking like that.

  Go figure.

  I lowered myself down to my knees, slowly. “Anna.” Swallowed, hard, hoping Graves hadn’t closed his eyes. Hoping he was watching. “You’re going to have to bite me. I, uh. There’s just no way—”

  Her hand shot out, grabbed a hank of my hair, and pulled. I let out a short scream, toppling over, and her fingers were slender steel visegrips. She had my head, and I didn’t know where she was finding the strength. My palms slammed onto the floor, but it was too late.

  Because my nose was buried in her blood-drenched neck. And the hunger woke with a snarling roar, dyeing everything around me red.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sweet. It was so sweet.

  I’d been pushing the hunger down, keeping it at bay, for a long time now. Christophe said I was stronger than it. But I wasn’t. Not right now, with the rich copper in a haze around me and my entire body aching and the aspect bursting over my skin in a wave of sizzling. My lips, smashed against Anna’s cold neck, opened, and the fangs slipped free.

  I tried to rip myself away. Her fingers closed on my nape, iron-hard. “God damn you,” she whispered. “Drink. Drink so you can save them.”

  I wasn’t listening. It was like someone holding a kitten’s nose in a dish of milk. A hungry kitten.

  No. Not hungry.

  A thirsty kitten.

  My fangs slid into her skin so easily, and a gush of hot perfume filled my mouth. Anna was saying something, whispering in some foreign language, and the touch turned it into words inside my head.

  “Hate you,” she was saying. “Hate you, Reynard, and you deserve it.”

  It made me sick. She even tasted bad. You know how you think perfume is going to taste good because it smells so good? But it doesn’t; it tastes like alcohol and acrylic.

  Don’t tell me you haven’t tried it.

  The worst part of it was the touch, lighting up the inside of my head like the Fourth of July. Whispering, hinting, showing me things.

  Anna watching as Christophe crouched easily, all his attention on the street below. Her heart hurt, a sweet sharp pain, and she studied his perfect profile again. He wasn’t paying attention, which meant she could look all she wanted. “Why are we up here again?”

  She just wanted to hear him talk. But he gave her an irritated glance, the rest of his face set and only his eyes sparking. “Pay attention, svetocha.” And the sting as the barbs behind the words hit home—she folded her arms, swallowing the sudden pressure in her throat.

  She smoothed the skirt. It was exactly the right red, complementing her skin, and she’d learned the patience necessary to do up all the tiny buttons. Just see him ignore her in this—she made certain her eyeliner was perfect, and admired the heavy ruby drops in her ears. They sparkled just like she did.

  But when she reached the Council chamber, there was a surprise.

  The other svetocha sat sobbing in Bruce’s chair, and Christophe knelt by her side, looking up into her face. The rest of the Council gathered around, identical worry on every face. The other girl was nothing special, a curly-headed mouse in torn blue jeans and a white shirt that seriously needed laundering. She stank of nosferat and fear, and flinched when Christophe moved to touch her shoulder.

  Anna stood in the doorway, her jaw suspiciously loose. He had never tried to touch her that way.

  “They just . . . kept screaming,” the girl said dully, and Christophe leaned forward to catch her words.

  “All’s well, ksiezniczko.” And Reynard was murmuring, not the curt monosyllables he affected with her, oh, no. He was trying to be soothing.

  Soothing. To this sobbing little bitch, whoever she was.

  Anna hunched in her bed, shoulders shaking. The racking would not stop; her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, tears slicking her fevered cheeks. She rocked back and forth, but quietly, so the djamphir on guard at the door wouldn’t hear.

  She would die before she let them hear. Christophe’s words, clear and hateful, tolled in her head like church bel
ls.

  You, Anna? I could never love you. You love yourself far too much to need my help.

  It isn’t true, she keened to herself, rocking, rocking. It isn’t true! I need, I NEED you . . .

  But he was gone, and she was crying, and there was no comfort in the silken bed or the clothes on their hangers or the expensive perfumes and lotions racked on her vanity. Even the admiring, jealous eyes of the other Kouroi were not enough.

  There was a hole in her, and it twisted . . .

  The next mouthful hit the back of my throat and went down in a long, rasping gulp. Her fingers slipped out of my hair, and I tore myself away. Scrabbled back, crab-walking on my palms and sneaker heels, the malaika tangling inside their sheaths and scraping the concrete floor.

  The malaika hilts hit the wall. I gasped, scrubbing at my mouth with the back of my hand, and Anna’s eyes were half-closed. Her head lolled on the slender stem of her white neck.

  I’d bitten right where Sergej had. Every inch of skin on me crawled with loathing. My stomach cramped hard, closing up like a fist. I understood a lot more about Anna now than I ever wanted to.

  “Milady?” The twin holding her felt for a pulse. “She’s . . . she’s alive. Barely.”

  Oh, thank God. Thank you, God. New strength surged through me. The aspect came back, smoothing away all the aching and spreading blonde through my hair like a fast-forward at a pricey salon. Bloodhunger scraped at the back of my throat, the walls between me here and now and the past suddenly paper-thin. The touch threatened to spill me into a whirlpool of Anna’s memories, time fracturing and splintering as the hall outside turned a dark wine red, filling up with danger.

  “Shit.” Kip chambered a round. “Incoming!”

  I heard them, tasted the hate flying like clouds of bees around them. The lights were too bright, but closing my eyes didn’t help because the touch showed me everything anyway, as if the walls were clear and I was a glass girl full of red liquid—an unholy mixture of perfumed blood and pure, deadly rage.