Elven Blood (Imp Book 3)

by Dunbar, Debra

  She pulled back and looked down at her work, disgusted. “This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. We’d be better off using papier–mâché and wire hangers.”

  “A piñata hybrid?” I asked, always happy to find humor in the darkest of times. “Fill her with candy and cheap plastic toys?”

  Leethu tittered, her laughter like wind chimes in the breeze. “Or a bottle of wine. Those elves love their wine. Maybe they’ll get all drunk and forget how shitty this fake baby is.”

  I joined in. “Maybe if we drink the wine, the baby would be less shitty.”

  Dar came down to us bent over in a fit of giggles around the body laid out on my dining room table.

  “Is that dinner?” he asked.

  “Boomer hopes so.” I couldn’t help it. I’d probably be dead within twenty–four hours. Gallows humor was all I had left.

  Dar looked over the beautiful elf child. “This would be crudités to Boomer. Better get a bigger corpse.”

  I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Can you do anything with it?” I asked, gesturing to the body. “It’s shitty and Leethu and I are out of ideas.”

  He shooed Leethu out of the way and sent his energy into the baby. After a few disgusted noises, he glared up at me. “Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I told you it was shitty.”

  He grumbled. “… Better off using papier–mâché and some wire hangers.”

  “That’s what I said,” Leethu laughed.

  Dar glared up at me again. “Come take this out. Over here. Now. Come take this shit out and start over.”

  Fuck, he sounded like one of the teachers back when we were kids. I scurried over, just like I would have in school, and obediently removed the energy I’d placed in the baby.

  “Leethu, yours is almost as bad. Get over here and take it out.”

  The succubus complied, rubbing her hip against Dar as she worked. Dar viewed her with interest.

  “Oh no, you turn it off right now,” I scolded Leethu. “We’ve got work to do here. You both can fuck all you want while I’m in Hel meeting my end at Haagenti’s hands.”

  Dar looked guilty. He should. It was him that got me into this mess with Haagenti in the first place.

  Leethu stepped back and Dar once again checked the baby before pulling away and standing, resolute, with his hands on his hips.

  “Hybrids aren’t like whole demons. It’s not just the formation, it’s the path the demon portion takes once they mature. Yes, their formation has some impact on how much demon they have and what their skills are, but where it resides is remarkably similar from one to the other.”

  “So now you’re the expert on hybrids?” Sarcasm dripped from my every word. Dar was famous for going off on a convincing academic rant on subjects he knew absolutely nothing about. Many fools had died following his impressive–sounding advice. I wasn’t about to be one of those fools.

  Dar looked a bit embarrassed. “Well. I, uh … I have made some hybrids, for sale, and they brought a very good price.”

  The elf hybrid that Leethu had created was an anomaly. A forbidden, get–a–demon–killed kind of anomaly. Most hybrids were either human crosses, just for fun, or animals. Fucking animals wasn’t exactly something a demon wanted to put on their resume. Creating offspring with them was almost as bad. Still, there was a good market for hybrids, and a demon that didn’t mind the rather embarrassing reputation could make some serious cash. I wasn’t aware of Dar having that reputation though. So either he was lying or he’d been paying another demon to take the heat for siring his various animals.

  “So, let’s hear some names here,” I scoffed. “What hybrids have you bred and who owns them?”

  Dar squirmed. “What, are you going to check references? Do we really have time for that?”

  “You’re lying. You sack of shit.”

  Leethu was watching this back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match. “That goblin hybrid of Macariel’s is Dar’s. Andros supposedly sired it, but I could tell.”

  Dar gurgled something unintelligible.

  “A goblin? You fucked a goblin? ” Oh, this was far worse than an animal. This was serious blackmail material. I wondered how he’d gotten Andros to take the rap for that one? Of course, I’d give just about anything to have a goblin hybrid. That would be epic.

  “No. No.” Dar gurgled something else. It was an entertaining noise. This was turning into the highlight of my day.

  “Yes. Yes.” Leethu fixed him with a forbidding eye. “Do you think I can’t tell my own brother’s creation? Then there was the troll hybrid last century.”

  Dar choked and I squealed in delight. A troll? Dar? And a troll? I would have paid good money to see that. How does one even fuck a troll? Their skin is like a sheet of granite. He’d break his dick off in that thing.

  “We will never speak of this,” Dar pleaded. “I’ll help you with this baby, but we will never mention this again—among ourselves, or with anyone else. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” I lied. This was way too juicy to keep to myself, and Dar knew it.

  Leethu patted Dar on the arm then announced she was going to get us all beers before high–tailing it into the kitchen. Dar shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring down at the elf on the table.

  “Does this mean you won’t be accepting my breeding petition?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual.

  “I don’t know,” I teased. “I figured you’d withdraw it. I don’t think I can compete with goblins and trolls. That’s pretty exotic.”

  He looked up, a rather silly smirk on his face. “Mal, fucking you is far more exciting and dangerous than anything I’ve done to date. And having you sire an offspring I form is pretty high on my wish list.”

  That was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. “I like fucking you too, Dar. And if I ever decide to breed, I’ll definitely give you due consideration.”

  “Bitch,” he said affectionately. “I’ll use my energy to alter this elf body for you. Just so you can see how awesome I really am.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, taking a swig of the beer Leethu handed to me. “What happens if the elves identify your energy signature? They might think you sired the hybrid and come after you.”

  Dar snorted. “They’d never believe it. Besides I’m not afraid of the elves; you’re the only being alive I truly fear.”

  “And well you should.” I walked near him to watch over his shoulder. I really was very fond of Dar. Fond enough to die protecting him.

  “See? Here, just under the solar plexus. Then here at the lower part of the brain.”

  “One at the crown?” Leethu asked, also leaning over a shoulder.

  “No, leave that for the base form. As well as the tip of the frontal lobe, and heart areas. If the sire resides there, the hybrid is unstable.”

  Dar moved his energy down the body. “A small amount here, just under the left ribcage next to the stomach, then a large amount just inside the tailbone. Let the tailbone serve as a cradle, as a seat for the demon energy. If there is a tailbone, that is. If not, well, you just have to make due.”

  I was impressed. “Do you do all this when you form?” I asked.

  “No, the formation follows the standard procedure, the same as if you were doing a demon formation. With hybrids though, you need to consider whether the end result needs to pass as the maternal animal.”

  Leethu nodded. “I created the elf hybrid to seem to be one hundred percent elf.”

  “And that’s the way most hybrids are formed,” Dar confirmed. “Usually you want them to be discrete, to fit in visually and behaviorally with their non–demon family.”

  “Behaviorally is not really achievable,” I commented, thinking of Boomer and Diablo.

  “Yeah. And sometimes you really want more demon, just to create interest or added power.” Dar finished and sat back, a satisfied look on his face.

  I checked and discovered
a newfound respect for Dar. He may fuck goblins and trolls, but he was damned cool in my book. Leethu must have been thinking the same thing. Her gaze roamed down Dar’s form in admiration.

  “Nice job. Wanna sixty–nine?”

  Okay, maybe she wasn’t thinking the same thing I was. Dar was definitely up for that proposal, and he followed Leethu up the stairs with a spring in his step, leaving me alone with the corpse.

  “Come on, Sweetie,” I told her as I wrapped her in a towel and put her back in the duffle bag. “Your journey is almost over.”

  It was done. Reluctant to rush things, I walked around my house, committing it to memory. The fireplace, the huge sectional couches that had seen lovemaking, naps, and late–night movies complete with popcorn. The enormous French doors leading out to my patio and pool. Ah, my beloved pool! I remembered summers when I sunned on a deckchair, hoping desperately to attract Wyatt’s interest while he trimmed the grass. Boomer’s face peered in at me, and I looked past him to the stables—the stables with Vegas and Piper. All the beautiful horseback rides with Wyatt by my side. I wandered around front where my Corvette was parked in the driveway. The Corvette that Wyatt was always pestering me to drive.

  Wyatt. I hadn’t seen him since late morning. He knew the schedule. He knew I’d be leaving. Why hadn’t he returned to say goodbye? My heart shriveled. Maybe that was his goodbye. I had nothing more to wait for. I should have just left, but something held me back. I didn’t want to watch television. I didn’t want to get drunk. I didn’t want to have sex with Leethu and Dar. But I didn’t want to leave. Not just yet. I curled up on the sofa with an afghan and must have dozed off because suddenly I was on the floor hearing a crash.

  I sprang up and there was Wyatt, in my open doorway, holding a large box and a shotgun. He saw me, an expression of relief crossing his face.

  “I thought I’d missed you. Sorry. This all took longer than I thought.”

  I barely heard what he said. I raced to him and threw my arms around his neck, jabbing myself painfully with a corner of the huge box and the stock of the shotgun. He was here. He’d come. Come to see me off, to say goodbye.

  “Hey, whoa there.”

  He scooted over to the table, with me still clinging to him, and put down the shotgun. Pivoting around, he shoved the box on the table and wrapped his arms tightly around me. He’d come to see me one last time, and I wasn’t going to squander the opportunity by holding back my feelings.

  Wyatt held me for a long time, rocking slightly and smoothing my hair. Finally he pulled away and looked searchingly into my face.

  “I brought you a present.”

  “And you brought a shotgun. Is that for your own personal protection? Just in case I decide to Own one last human before I go to Hel?” I tried for a teasing tone, but I honestly didn’t know why he brought the shotgun.

  “I have an idea,” he said, ignoring my Own comment. “But first, the present.”

  He pulled away and handed me the huge box. I shook it. Something in tissue paper. Opening it, I pulled out a long, tan oilcloth duster.

  “See? It’s split up the back, for when you’re on Diablo. You can even button it around your legs if you want. The oilcloth repels rain and makes it easier to clean.”

  Cool, but why would Wyatt buy me a full length jacket? It was stinking hot in Hel, and my chances of getting Diablo back were pretty slim. I frowned in confusion.

  “It’s cowboy attire. A kind of duster, but without the shoulder cape. It’s sort of High Plains Drifter meets The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly—a more tough–guy choice than the poncho. I thought it would help with your mojo.”

  It was a sweet gesture, and one I didn’t expect. A little spark of hope lit up inside my chest. Maybe, just maybe I’d make it out of this alive. “Thank you.”

  “That’s not all.” He looked mischievous as he pulled the tissue paper from the box and revealed a large, leather belt–like contraption. He held it up in one hand and slid the shotgun into it with the other.

  “It has two loops here to fix to a saddle. Normally it goes on a Western saddle, but I’ll modify it to work with your English one. I have no idea what saddle the elves have, or if you’ll need to ride bareback, so this harness here is to convert it into a shoulder holster. The shotgun goes along your back, and you can pull it from the scabbard over your shoulder. Like this.” He demonstrated.

  I was confused again. “So this is for mojo too? Because you know how much I suck at shooting things with a gun. Especially this gun. I don’t think Remington and I see eye to eye on things.”

  “This is where my idea comes in.” Wyatt pulled his shotgun out of the scabbard and sat it on the table. “Take the barrette out of your hair.”

  “Huh?” Did he want my hair loose? Perhaps to run his hands through? But what did that have to do with his shotgun?

  “The Barrette of the Iblis. Take it out and sit it next to my shotgun.”

  I did as he said, looking quizzically at the gold, feather–shaped hair ornament, so tiny next to the huge Remington.

  “I can’t think it’s going to be any more useful to me as a gun rather than as a sword.”

  “Humor me,” he said, gesturing to the barrette.

  I concentrated, willing the sentient artifact to transform into a replica of the firearm beside it. With a flash, the barrette changed shape, and now two identical shotguns lay on the table. The only way I could tell the Shotgun of the Iblis from Wyatt’s Remington was that strange pull of attraction I’d felt for the object from the moment I’d seen it.

  “Well I guess I can club Haggenti with it,” I commented. I was a terrible shot, and now I had to worry about carrying bullets and reloading. It did look cool though. Maybe the mojo factor would work. It certainly had more mojo in its current form than it had as a barrette.

  Wyatt reached out tentatively and touched my firearm. Gently he picked it up and examined it.

  “No safety,” he said with a grimace. “Hopefully the sentient part will ensure you don’t shoot yourself or one of your friends. Just in case your gun doesn’t like me, let’s take it outside.” We walked out the front door, and Wyatt pointed the barrel toward the empty field while pulling back the action bar. “All clear,” he announced, handing the gun gingerly to me. “Please don’t point it at me. I’m a little nervous.”

  I was perplexed. “But you said it was clear? If there aren’t any shells in the gun, how could I possibly shoot you?”

  “I have a theory.” Wyatt took his hand and gently turned the barrel further away from him. “Try and shoot something.”

  Ignoring every lesson Wyatt had ever given me, because the gun was empty, I held it with my arm extended and pulled the trigger. There was a roar and I promptly flew ass backwards onto my driveway as the gun clattered to the pavement.

  “Sam!” Wyatt shouted, jumping out of the way. “You’re gonna kill someone. Keep a hold of your gun, for crying out loud.”

  I stared at the shotgun in amazement. It had been empty. Wyatt had checked, and I trusted him implicitly when it came to guns. What the hell had just happened? Slowly I reached out and picked up the weapon, happy to see no scratches or dents. Wyatt ran a shaky hand through his hair.

  “If that were a normal firearm, I’d insist on it being checked over before it was fired again, but I’m pretty sure since it’s some kind of magical weapon, it didn’t take any damage.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “So I don’t need bullets? I don’t need to re–load it or worry about running out of ammunition? What the fuck is this thing shooting?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No idea. I’m assuming that was just a regular slug, but with this thing, it might shoot different stuff depending on what you’re up against.”

  I ran my hands over the gun in amazement, while Wyatt moved nervously out of the way, trying to keep the barrel as far away from him as possible. This fucking rocked! Badass mojo, and a useful weapon. Maybe this piece of crap antique I’d been saddled with wasn
’t so stupid after all.

  “Let’s go see how you look with the whole package,” Wyatt said, his voice warm.

  I got up, being very careful where I pointed my Iblis Shotgun, and followed Wyatt back into my house. A few moments later I had my favorite torn jeans and white wife–beater on, with the oilskin coat open in the front. The shotgun holster was actually comfortable, and held the coat snug to the back and sides of my body. The shotgun stock stood up past my shoulder, just within my peripheral vision. It would be easy to grab and pull from the holster, as long as I had some maneuvering room.

  “How do I look?” I asked Wyatt, pivoting slowly around so he could see every angle. He smiled.

  “A no–named stranger, riding in from the west, unconventional, and seemingly unthreatening. Doom will fall unto those who oppose her, who underestimate her, because she fights dirty.”

  “Yeah,” I replied with a fist pump. “Haagenti is going down!”

  Wyatt helped me take off the holster and sit it with my shotgun on the table. I carefully laid the coat beside it.

  “Thank you.” I’d never been more sincere in my life. “Thank you for this, Wyatt. After everything that happened you didn’t have to do this. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I’m not sure I can ever repay you.”

  I was talking about far more than just the coat and the shotgun holster. He knew.

  Wyatt walked over and wrapped me up tight in his arms. “Come back to me, Sam. That’s how you can repay me.”

  I wasn’t sure what I was going to come back to. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite what we’d had before, but as long as Wyatt wanted any kind of relationship with me, it would all be good.

  “I will. I’ll be back,” I vowed, hoping I was telling the truth.

  I snuggled my face into his chest, breathing in the scent I’d come to love. If I could just freeze this moment in time, hold still in his arms forever, life would be perfect. But nothing is forever. He pulled away slightly and I felt the coolness hit my skin that had been so warm against his. Looking up, I felt that last thing I’d expected to feel this evening, his lips on mine.