“Not until you let go of her.” If he relaxed his grip even a little, the hunter would be consumed, either by the female or the portal. “She’s already gone.”
“No, she’s not. It’s just what Lamere does, what the bastard takes.”
“Not what happened.” Even if she could understand, he didn’t have time to explain it now. Yes, something had been taken, but not by Lamere. The demon had taken something so much more vital than blood. Blood could replenish, transfuse. Souls couldn’t. Once they were gone, they were gone for good. Just like humans who got sucked through portals.
“He turned her, puppet.” Simplest explanation. “She isn’t human anymore.” Or sane.
Her shoulders jerked. Maybe it was the movement, the realization of truth, or the empty look on the female’s face as she bared her fangs in hunger that screwed up the hunter’s grip.
“If you save her, she’ll kill you.” He moved behind her, slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her back so hard her feet left the ground. “Damn it, hunter!”
“Wait!” She screamed as the vampire fell, rolled, and was sucked into hell. The hunter’s leg got between his as Davyn spun her, and he stumbled back a step. One step too far.
She caught him just before he went over the edge of the path, staggering under even a portion of his weight. “Hold on to me!” Her eyes were probably close to how wide open his were. He wasn’t used to getting or needing help, so reaching for her didn’t occur to him. As tiny as she was, her balance and body awareness were incredible. So as he scrambled to get his stupid feet under him, she adjusted her lean to compensate, and they ended up in an equally dangerous position. But one that was a lot more comfortable.
He stared down at her breathlessly, not knowing why she’d done what she’d done, not that she would probably have an answer if he asked. He sure as shit didn’t have an answer as to why he’d done what he had. She should’ve run or let go of him. Just like he should’ve.
“It’ll close soon.” Probably. That kind of portal didn’t stay open indefinitely. As soon as the air calmed, he knew it was over. But he made sure he was on solid, moderately safe ground before he let go of her, just in case.
“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” After tucking the stake into her belt, she wiped her hands off on her pants as she went to the unconscious woman.
“Wasn’t going to.” He weighed a couple hundred pounds more than she did, so it was probably his great karma that kept him from going over.
“I don’t know why I did that.” Okay, she’d obviously been wondering the same thing. She put her fingers to the woman’s neck to check for a pulse. “You could’ve just come back through another portal like he will, right?”
No. When Davyn went back, he’d have to begin the ordeals that would re-forge him, burn away all the human attributes, habits, and hang ups he’d collected over the last fifty years. Not something you want to do until it’s no longer an option. So he was grateful, but he didn’t thank her. He couldn’t.
“Well?” she asked impatiently. “That’s what demons do, right?”
“Drinod wasn’t first level—Lamere summoned him.” She didn’t notice how Davyn had avoided her actual question. “He won’t be coming back.” Ever. No one goes into hell with a soul—even half of one—and gets a chance to come back out. Even the Prime of the zone had to trade something of value to do it. The anchor Drinod had killed so many humans to get was down there with him and would stay there forever.
“Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to give a knife to the crazy vampire chick?” It was steel, but Davyn could still feel the damage. He healed much faster and easier while non-corporeal. Glancing around for witnesses—a habit everyone in the Heights shared—he saw the hunter trying to lift the human girl. “What are you doing?”
“She needs to go to a hospital.” The hunter hefted the girl to a half-standing position, using her entire puny body weight to do it, and she was obviously exhausted.
He sighed when she tottered to one side under the weight of the unconscious human. “Shit. Get something to protect her skin, a full-body oven-mitt. Then I’ll take her.”
Eighteen
Keira didn’t go inside. Hospitals were a reminder of everything she hated about herself. Instead, she waited outside, pacing like an expectant father, except there would be no new life to celebrate. There would be a life continuing. She should focus on that, not everything that had gone wrong—the one they’d been too late to save, or imagining everything both women had gone through before she and Davyn got there.
When Davyn came outside, he led her around the corner, far enough away so they could talk without worrying a human could overhear them. His arms were filled with vending machine snacks—candy bars, chips, and soggy sandwiches covering him from waist to chin.
“How is she?”
“Still unconscious.” He set the stuff down on a bench and ripped open a package. “I called someone who called someone else who’s a little better than I am at the whole helping thing. He’s in with her now.”
“Why didn’t you go after Lamere right away?” She wanted to sound angry because she was. But she was also a complete emotional mess, and that was how she sounded.
“Because I’m too human-ish.”
“So you showed the bastard mercy?”
“Have some chocolate,” he said, tossing her a candy bar. “Or at least take a breath. Your anxiety is really annoying.” He waited until she took a deep breath and let it out. “No, I didn’t show Lamere mercy. He gets no mercy. You, however, get way too much airtime in my head, so I’m thinking instead of reacting. And that has created a big fucking problem.”
She agreed. This thing between them, whatever it was and wherever it came from, needed to stop. “What do we do about it?”
“I wish I knew, hunter.” He stood and moved a few steps away, as if a small physical space could keep them apart. “I wish I knew.”
“Maybe we— Davyn!” She jumped off the bench and pulled his t-shirt up, exposing the deep gash running from his pec to his shoulder. Blood covered his side below it, all the way down to his belt and beyond. “Damn it, Davyn! It’s everywhere.”
He must have used his glamour to hide the blood from the hospital staff while he was inside, but the rate it soaked through the fabric of his shirt meant the wound was still bleeding.
“It’ll stop.” He flinched when she touched him.
Though she was motionless, she felt herself change, hating it but unable to stop it from happening—not now, not ever. Her hand shook as it moved down to his abs, coating her fingers and palm with his blood, drawn in by something she didn’t want to lust for. She could feel his increased heat through her fingertips, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was on fire, she’d still want it. She’d still want him.
As much as it sickened her, it also excited a part of her that hadn’t existed before Lamere. That’s why she tried to stay away from blood while it flowed. Until the being died and the life had drained out of them. Then it was okay.
But Davyn’s had so much life in it. She could sense it, feel it. As powerful as the being it belonged to, as magical, and as desirable.
Davyn didn’t move or back away. He just watched her. “I’d love to think your expression is because you’re so attracted to me, but your eyes haven’t left my chest. And I have lots of good parts besides that one.”
She blinked to break the trance and forced herself backwards. “Sorry.” She pulled his shirt down, but her hands were still covered with his blood. The second she looked at them, she’d go back to that horrible place. “I can’t...”
“Do you crave it?” he asked softly.
She nodded and raised her eyes to his. “But not to drink.”
“What then?”
“To spill, touch. Feel the life in it.”
He didn’t look disgusted or shocked. “You’re one complicated creature, hunter.”
“Fucked-up creature, you mean.” She k
new moisture filled her eyes, the most visible sign of her weakness, but not the only one.
“This is what you meant by drawbacks, right? This came along with the faster healing.”
She looked down, so he wouldn’t see her tear up like a wuss. Boy, did that backfire. All the tears she’d ever held back would never wash all the blood off her hands. His blood. The sight of it trapped her there, transfixed and vulnerable. Sick. She was so sick.
Out of squinted eyes, she saw him take off his t-shirt, rip off a clean section, and cover her hands with it. He wiped off her skin gently, front, back, and in between each finger. When he was done, he still held her, so she opened her eyes all the way.
“You need stitches,” she said without looking up, not wanting to see him without a shirt to cover his wound.
“Demon, remember. I’ll be fine.” His grip of her didn’t go away, didn’t weaken. He held her hands through the bloody shirt, protecting her from the sight, somehow understanding everything.
“It hurts though, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not too bad.”
She chuckled flatly. “Liar. I know you feel.”
“It’s not too bad,” he repeated.
“That’s why you’re eating so much. Healing uses a lot of power.” She took a deep breath. “You should stop using your glamour, so the wound will heal, stop bleeding.”
“Yeah.” When he didn’t move, she understood—he couldn’t carry anything once he was non-corporeal.
“To do that, you have to let go of the shirt.” She hadn’t felt this weak in years. “Okay. I…I can’t look at you while you’re...um…I’m going to go now.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. It’s my curse.” She turned around before raising her eyes, immediately looking for somewhere to wash her hands, somewhere he wouldn’t be. “I owe you a shirt.”
“Keira,” he called. But she kept walking.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Damn. Sure, vamps could impart portions of themselves into someone through their blood. But Lamere had gone above and beyond in terms of torture. Even though she’d escaped, the hunter would never be free. Not with a trigger like that. Not in their world.
Davyn called out her name again but didn’t follow. Seriously, there were limits to even his stupidity. Plus, the angel had just finished wiping the mind of the woman they’d found and was walking towards him.
Hope he didn’t want a ‘thank you’.
“Davyn.” The angel stopped about ten feet away and turned to face the direction the hunter had gone, just like the demon was.
“M.” He elongated the ‘m.’ “How the hell you been, angel?” He grimaced. “That didn’t sound right. It’s like a pet name, isn’t it? Angel. Why have I never noticed that before? Three tours topside, a hundred and fifty years and I never noticed? I'm gonna call you something else.” Insults were always more powerful after a pause. “Whitey, Birdman, Flyboy. What do you think of ‘Wingman’?”
“I think I would never answer to it.”
“Will you answer to ‘Sweetie,’ or ‘Honey,’ or ‘Sugar’? Because ‘Angel’ isn’t that much different.”
“True. And perhaps I should start calling you ‘Hottie.’ But only when your peers are nearby.”
“Hottie, huh? I like that, actually.” He stopped laughing when he realized M wasn’t. “Is it the whole being-perfect thing that stunts your sense of humor?”
“Of course not. It is the whole speaking-to-a-demon thing that stunts the use of the sense of humor we have.”
They still hadn’t looked at each other, sparing because that’s how it had always been. How it would always be. Because demons didn’t have friends, weren’t on teams, and didn’t care about anyone other than themselves.
“How’s the girl?” he asked after a moment.
“She won’t remember any of it. How is Keira?”
Davyn sighed. “She has issues.” Hers were more supernatural than most, but you got what you got. The more idiotic problem was him. He’d felt sorry for her, tried to—oh, hell. He’d tried to help, and if she hadn’t run off, he might have been willing to ‘talk about it.’ What the fuck was wrong with him? Demons don’t care about anyone other than themselves, remember? They didn’t ‘talk’ about feelings. Shit, they barely had feelings.
He should go back to hell right now, get all that emotional shit burned out of him. Then he’d take Lamere down with no problem. Without any distractions, it wouldn’t take too long.
Of course, if Davyn went back to hell now, he’d come back and take the hunter down with no problem as well. And that made for a bigger problem.
“You know how we work, right?” he asked his kind’s opposite. “What happens to our memories of our last tour?”
“I’ve heard stories.” M paused, maybe waiting for the demon to reply. But Davyn couldn’t share that kind of information about his race with anyone, let alone an angel.
“What kind of stories?” He glanced at M, hoping he already knew.
“When you return, you’ll be rid of all traces of humanity and will destroy any symbol of that humanity here on earth, any perceived weakness. Am I correct?”
“Any weakness.” Davyn nodded. The hunter was definitely a weakness. And deal or not, she would pay with her life.
While the feeling was obviously something he should ignore, he didn’t want her to die. Her line of work guaranteed an early trip to the grave, but he didn’t want to cause hers. “Can you protect her? Keep her away from me?”
“Not without starting a war between our races. I can try to guide her, if she’ll let me. She’s incredibly stubborn, isn’t she?”
“Yep.”
Before he was called back to hell, he needed both Lamere and the hunter gone. One turned into dust, and the other somewhere Davyn couldn’t find her. Unfortunately, he was really good at what he did. No matter where she went, he’d find her. So instead of spending the rest of her life as a hunter, she’d be prey. But at least she’d have a ‘rest of her life.’
He had two weeks to make it all happen. Plenty of time.
“Thanks, angel. I’m going to leave before I start to like you.”
“I don’t think there’s much danger of that.”
“Free will,” he said, finally looking at M. “Nobody knows how things are going to end.”
Then he remembered one more thing on his bucket list—collecting on his side of a deal.
Nineteen
Davyn leaned up against a streetlamp in front of the building the hunter was staying in, watching the humans walk by while he waited for her to come out. He wasn’t here to fight, so meeting her on the street during the day meant she’d be more relaxed. Not that she knew they were meeting, of course. Boy, was she going to be surprised.
Her steps didn’t even slow as she came out the rear entrance of the building next to hers and saw him. “What do you want?”
“World peace and good will toward—” He cursed. “I was hoping I could make it to the end of the cliché before I felt like vomiting. Maybe next time.”
All the emotional shit that had been in her eyes at the hospital was completely gone now. Very appreciated by his demonic side and his currently more human side—no amount of time above the crust could prepare him for female emotions.
He didn’t ask her if she felt better or any of that bullshit. First off, he didn’t care and, second, she was a warrior. Not a very good one, but asking any warrior how they felt was as insulting as asking a nun how she liked to be fucked. And Davyn knew that from personal experience. That Sister of Mercy’s grip had no mercy in it, and her aim was pretty damn good for a pacifist.
The hunter walked right by him, not even bothering to check the blind corner. A sign she didn’t think he was hiding anything or setting her up.
“You buying me breakfast to pay me back for my kindness?” He followed, enjoying the gentle sway of her hips.
“What kindness? Never mind. Even if you could come up with somet
hing, my answer would still be no.”
“You are the most ungrateful person I’ve ever met…today, at least. Where are you going?”
“Not going to tell you.” She wasn’t carrying her weapons. Good. She’d planned to stay around humans and not go looking for Lamere today.
“Are you holding? I bet you have a knife in your boot, am I right?” He smiled when she stopped and whipped her head towards him. “Salted or non?”
“Non,” she mumbled. “Obviously I now realize what a mistake that was.”
“And yet it’s taking you so much longer to realize that if I really wanted to do anything to you, nothing could stop me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t called me puppet in like three whole minutes. What’s going on?”
He should make something up quick, something snide with a pinch of complete fucking disrespect, so she’d buy it. Moments like these were when his brain failed him most. The spontaneous shit that rushed out of his mouth without any thought at all always rang truer. For a demon, he was a really bad liar. And worse than that, this time he didn’t even want to lie.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Yesterday you faced your metaphoric demon, helped a literal one out, and saved someone from what you went through. Puppet doesn’t fit anymore. Might sometime soon, but not now.”
She laughed. “Did you seriously think I’d believe that?”
“You calling me a liar?” he asked, smiling.
“Perpetually.” She nodded. “Are you stalking me for something specific today or…?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed her arm and pulled. “Come on.”
She dragged her feet, but evidently was also aware he could dislocate her shoulder if she didn’t follow. “Where are we going?”
“I’m collecting on what you owe me.”
“Wait, let me get my other weapons.”
“No, and you need to dump the knife along the way. We can’t take anything with us.”
“Why not?” After a long pause with no answer, she yelled, “Where are you taking me?”
Unearthed Page 17