by Cecy Robson
“Where are you taking it?” Gemini asks the weres.
A she-lion steps forward. Like the others, she’s naked, her body littered with cuts and bruises. “To the yard before more of our prey arrive. The alpha demands we clear the space for the injured and for our people to rest.”
She refers to the Nytes as our prey. It’s easier than the other way around. Except, I’m not positive it’s true.
“No,” he tells her. “Burn it and any enemy you find in the fireplaces. I don’t want these creatures feasting on their dead or reviving them.”
The weres exchange glances. A smaller male dragging one of the heads frowns. “They are able to revive their dead?”
“We don’t know what they’re capable of,” Gemini says. “But I won’t take any chances.”
“Yes, sir,” the weres reply.
“Sir?” a young were interrupts.
I remember her. She’s a honey badger, small but fierce, and just graduated last year at the top of her class. “Why are there so many?” she asks. “Fate is strong, but this seems too much, even for him.”
“We don’t know that either, young one,” he tells her.
She nods and lowers her gaze. I feel foolish just lying in Gemini’s arms as he continues to speak to his pack. “Please put me down, love,” I ask.
“Taran, you’re in no condition,” he mutters.
Probably not. “I need to walk and stretch my legs,” I say.
The tension along his features ease when he looks at me, setting me down carefully. I take my place beside him, attempting to appear stronger than I feel.
“Where’s Aric?” Gemini asks.
The female who spoke first glances at me. I must look even worse than I thought. “Clearing a suite for the Mate. He doesn’t want her among the dead.”
“He’s clearing a suite by himself?” Gemini asks.
Although he’s asking, he’s not entirely surprised.
A smaller were glances down. “The alpha has a lot of rage he needs to unleash.”
I’ll bet. “What are you doing with our dead?” I ask.
The she-lion adjusts her hold on the wolf, causing the Nyte’s broken ribs to rub together, making a disturbing sound I won’t easily forget. “We’re piling them in Genevieve’s office,” she replies.
“Excuse me?” I ask. “Whose genius idea was that?”
I have mentioned I speak my mind, haven’t I?
“Uri’s,” they all mumble.
“Uh-huh,” I say. Talk about a petty bitch. It’s his, “Fuck you,” to Genevieve for ruining his evening.
“I don’t like this,” Gemini growls.
“Neither do we, sir,” the she-lion states. “It had begun before our return, and we must—”
She swallows hard. Weres have their beasts to help them through the tough times, but this…this is more than simply hard. It’s devastating. She clears her throat when her beast gives her another boost of strength. “We must take care of our dead,” she finishes.
Gemini nods. “Yes,” he says. He looks up toward the devastated stairwell. “I’ll see to the alpha.”
His twin jets up the steps, taking four at a time and barely making a sound. “Sir,” the smallest were interrupts. “I… Perhaps you shouldn’t. The alpha is very angry right now.”
I recognize the drop in tone in my lover’s voice. It captures every bit of what we’re feeling. “So, am I,” he says.
The weres head in the direction of the fireplace as Gemini jogs up the stairs. “Wait here,” he tells me.
“Of course,” I reply.
He drops his head and sighs, knowing I won’t. I give him the best smile I can muster. It’s only then he continues up the stairs.
The grand foyer has transformed into a hospital ward circa World War One. I limp past the group of weres, their wounds mending slower than should be possible. Lesser witches, their pilgrim-style uniforms in tatters and covered with muck, carry pitchers of water and trays with food. Some of the food is cooked, most of it isn’t. The weres don’t care. Their beasts demand that the calories burned from stress and battle be replenished.
I pass a large polar bear scarfing down a carton of heavy cream. A Lesser witch waits with a tray stacked with bricks of butter. He’s famished, and the food is likely limited. I wonder briefly if Celia will be forced to munch on butter and suck down cream. For a moment, I contemplate making her something decent to eat, except I have other shit to do.
One of the witches I went to school with tends to a were. I’m not certain what kind he is. Both of his arms were chewed off, and Merry is doing her best to bandage the limbs.
She offers me a weak smile as I pass. “Ya made it,” she tells me.
“You did too,” I say.
The part about not all of us making it goes unsaid. I offer a gentle squeeze to her arm as I pass. The deeper I go into the foyer, the more the injuries worsen. It’s hard to look at all the suffering, yet watching the dead carried out is much worse. These were parents, siblings, and friends slaughtered by evil.
I shouldn’t expect less from Johnny. These Nytes of his weren’t engineered to leave survivors. They were meant to ravage and inflict punishment, and didn’t they manage their share? Still, there’s a part of me that’s surprised by it. Johnny isn’t evil. That’s not the first word I’d use to describe him. He’s a giant wimp, so selfish and obsessed with saving his ass that this is what’s he’s become.
Hundreds attended tonight’s event. Lethal creatures that have known bloodshed and pushed through it, emerging victorious. If we’re lucky, maybe a third of them will make it through this shitshow. And if we’re really lucky, Celia will be among them.
My lips purse as another stab of pain shoots up to my hip. I think I twisted my ankle, and my right knee took a pummeling. I lift my hands, my eyes widening when I realize I’m covered with nasty cuts. I’m more than a little beat-up. Still, I fared far better than the majority.
Shayna skips toward me, a giant bruise taking up the right side of her face. “Hey, T. Ceel is with Koda. She’s eating the food Aric found and seems okay, you know, considering.”
The spoils of battle stain Shayna’s clothes, and a deep gash on her shoulder pokes through her torn shirt, and here she is, still somewhat lively. I inspect her face carefully. “What happened?” I ask.
She shrugs. “There were a lot of baddies, T,” she reminds me, her jaw clicking as she speaks. “I jumped off Koda when we neared the door so he could get Ceel inside. Sometimes, the baddies are a lot stronger than me.”
And yet she fights them all the same. “Have Emme heal you,” I tell her.
“I will. Later. If she’s up for it.”
Her gaze cuts to the right. I almost jump. Several witches chant, holding down a pregnant were whose chest cavity is split open. The witches’ magic is the only thing keeping this female down, and alive. I can see the were’s beating heart, pounding weakly as it struggles to keep the young were and her baby alive. Her partner waits by her head, her long hair spilling in messy clumps as she weeps and speaks softly to the mother of her child.
The glow of Emme’s healing touch expands, casting excess light onto Bren, where he’s leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed, and he appears bored. I know better. Bren is taking everyone in and watching Emme closely. With tension as high as it is, the were’s partner can easily turn on Emme in her grief. Even as frustrated and injured as Bren is, he stands guard over Emme.
Emme’s shoulders tremble with fatigue. Tired and likely hurt herself, tending to the were is robbing the small bits of energy she clings to. But where there’s darkness, there’s Emme’s light.
Emme’s breathing is ragged, and she’s scrunching her face with how hard the intense healing demands her focus. Still, there she is, repairing the were’s ribs and knitting the skin closed. As she finishes, she meets the were’s partner and smiles softly, her face bright red and soaked with sweat from her magical efforts.
“Your partner
did an incredible job protecting your baby. Your little one is well,” Emme assures her. “I can feel it.”
The witches and the surrounding weres break down. We needed the baby to be okay. We needed hope, and that shining glimmer Emme offers is perfection.
Emme notices me with Shayna. She wipes her face on a towel a witch offers. “Let me heal you, Taran.”
I look at the abundance of supernaturals waiting to be seen, creatures and beings who should be in far better shape than they are. Some are being tended by healing witches. Emme’s line appears to be the longest. Damn it, Johnny, you could have used your power for so much better than this.
“I’m good,” I say. Comparatively, I am. There’s a were holding his severed limbs between his knees, and another older vamp with his head tucked under his arm.
“Are you certain?” she asks.
The glare the vamp’s head shoots me assures me there’s no cutting in line. “Oh, yeah. Besides, I need to see what’s up.”
Emme nods, brushing a strand of her dirty hair aside. She crinkles her nose at the smell. I don’t take a guess at what it might be. I’ll just bet that like everything else, it’s nasty.
With my head held semi-high and dress as pretty as Emme’s, I limp into the reception hall. Like the grand foyer, it’s partially destroyed and littered with wounded.
Uri stands close to the fireplace where that coal creature that bled lava forced its way through. He’s looking down at what appears to be a bare foot and not much else. The wretched smell of cooked flesh strikes my nostrils with a punch. I beat back a gag. Shayna isn’t so lucky.
She coughs into her hands, trying to muffle it. I can’t blame her reaction. The carnage around us suffocates our minds and spirits, embedding deep emotional scars we’ll never fully recover from, and with her heightened senses, she’s worse off than me.
Uri nudges the foot with the tip of his expensive shoes. The foot is stuck to the floor. He nudges it again, this time more forcibly. The skin strips away from the bone as the foot teeters and falls to the other side. Uri isn’t trying to be morbid, he’s visibly shaken, a side I never cared to see in this old vamp. His more overt emotion is frightening. Uri is angry, his rage simmering to a boil and warning everyone to mind their distance.
The foot belongs to what’s left of one of Uri’s dates. Oh, and look, there’s his other date, his skull crushed and the bowtie he wore bloody and lying a few feet away. The men were likely his favorites. They must have loved Uri. Humans don’t stand a chance against any preternatural. His adoring subjects knew it, and yet when the chaos broke, they likely wrapped their naked bodies around Uri and attempted to shield him.
It makes me sick that Uri allowed them to stay with him instead of ordering them to hide, to run, something. He obviously had feelings for them. Then again, Uri has always cared for Uri the most.
Uri’s lovers, those he most feeds from, usually come and go. He trades them away depending on his mood, his tastes, his pleasure. These two were something different. He’s not walking away from them, and he is furious.
A shuffle of fabric and a limp that rivals mine has everyone looking up. Genevieve has returned from battle. What’s left of her dress hangs in shreds, and blood trickles from the claw marks on her back and throat. The guard to her right is missing part of her hand. The one on her left is covered with burns that limits her movements. They’re in pain and working hard not to show it.
As Uri’s livid features fix on Genevieve, the guards tighten the holds on their staffs, ready to protect Genevieve. Genevieve doesn’t blink, meeting Uri with a rock-steady “fuck you and the bat you flew in on” expression.
“Uri,” she says.
Uri kicks the foot away. A Lesser witch shrinks away when it lands near her feet. She survived the attack physically, but emotionally, she’s not doing so hot. She shakes violently, gaping at the foot as it might somehow hurt her.
Uri storms forward, baring his fangs at Genevieve. “This is your doing,” he hisses.
I launch myself at him. Shayna clutches my waist and drags me back. Uri is milliseconds from tearing out Vieve’s throat. Despite our differences, Genevieve is not the enemy, and I’ll be damned if I let him harm her.
“Dude,” Shayna says. “This isn’t our fight. Not yet.”
Genevieve returns Uri’s anger, the magic building within her curling the tiny hairs on my neck inward. “I am not to blame.”
“This is your home, your wards, your invitation. You did this to me.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, let’s make this all about you, Uri.”
Growls erupt from every were present when Uri trains his sights on me. Everyone is taking a side and casting fault. This was not the goal of the night.
“Everyone had lost someone this evening,” I remind everyone. I ignore the group of vampires edging closer to Uri. “Enough of your bitchiness. We can’t leave, and this isn’t over.”
“You will not keep me here,” he hollers. His gaze travels around the room, making a point to stop on every alpha, head witch, and anyone else with an inkling of his power. “None of you will.”
“Trust me when I say I’d rather you leave, princess,” I bite out. Hisses mix with approving grunts. I dismiss the rather scathing death glare Uri throws my way and focus on Genevieve. “Does he know that the wards are being used against us?”
“What?” Uri demands.
Hmm. Guess not. “Oh, yeah, Uri. Instead of keeping things out, they’re keeping us in.”
Call me nuts, but I don’t think Genevieve appreciates the ever-so-gentle way I break the news to Uri. She regards me as if slapped. Uri screams at us, the anger he emits in his magic cracking the walls further. “This is impossible.” He sneers at Genevieve. “Only a pathetic and simpleton of a witch would allow this.”
“Okay. Now you’re just being mean,” I say over Genevieve’s furious, “How dare you?”
Genevieve’s magic clashes with Uri’s, the sheer power crumbling what remains of the hearth.
I edge in front of Genevieve when Uri takes a step forward, his irises freaking glowing red. I was never subjected to this side of him (thank Christ!). The tumult radiating in his features gives me serious pause and the urge to bolt.
“Knock it off, Uri,” I say, feigning a shit-ton more courage than I feel. “Yeah, I get it, wards of this caliber should be impossible to manipulate. But guess what? These creatures aren’t supposed to be possible either.”
“Then how are they so?” Uri asks through clenched fangs.
“It’s Fate,” I say.
Uri stiffens, his fangs and that of his family dissolving and resuming their human form. “Johnny Fate,” he says.
“Yes,” I tell him. “He’s invaded the premises and claimed the witch’s power.”
“He’s supposed to be with the shifters or dead by their hands,” Uri says.
Shapeshifters are the most frightening supernatural creatures on Earth and carry the power of hell within them. Born witches, they spend their human lives making blood sacrifices to their deity. Once their deity is satisfied and deems them worthy, they sacrifice their souls in exchange for the power to transform into any creature living or dead.
Celia killed one once, with a lot of damn help. I killed the half-form of another. Our actions, while upping our street cred, only made us larger targets.
“Johnny Fate,” Uri repeats. He scoffs, thumbing his nose.
Uri doesn’t respect weakness. No predator like him should. The way he speaks, he counted on Johnny’s lack of spine to work against him with the shifters. In a way, I did too.
I often pondered how Johnny’s initial meeting with these ghastly beings would go. They’re not nurturing or welcoming. They’re ruthless and cruel, and just as selfish as Johnny. More than once, I pictured them eating him and sucking down all his magic right to the marrow.
“Tell me what you know, second of the Wird sisters,” Uri orders me.
I did mention I’m not a fan of orders, ri
ght? And don’t get me started on the stupid title he bequeaths me with.
“Sure,” I mutter. “Only ’cause you asked so nicely.”
I spill everything I know. The god reference made by the winged vamp sends a wave of alarm and bitterness along the room.
My tone firms. “Destiny has promised to keep us safe here as long she can, and with each room we clear, we will help her and us.”
“No,” Uri replies.
Sometimes, I just want to zap the shit out of him. “Uri, am I speaking Japanese? Is there something you didn’t understand? Until we can figure something out, we’re stuck here.”
“Exactly,” he yells. “Stuck in a manor with bumbling catastrophic spells that disorient and maim while we’re tasked with killing malevolent and absurdly strong god-like creatures that hide in the shadows, watching our every move—waiting to strike us down—all due to inadequate peons and a laughable race.”
Collective gasps parrot around the room, and magic detonates like mini-bombs. I gather my fire, not to act, but to protect myself against the first magical blow that’s thrown at Uri.
Genevieve lifts her chin and shuffles forward. “You dare to insult me, my sisters, and our race?” she asks. She’s not yelling. She doesn’t have to. The destructive force that licks her words brand her with danger.
Uri smiles, his mounting anger and viciousness taking aim and firing a low blow. “I possess more than insults, you incompetent whore,” he tells her.
Genevieve doesn’t lose it often. I’ve only seen it once before when I accidentally blew up her ancestral home (these things happen). She loses it now, all over Uri.
Magic as bright as the sun engulfs her, and her voice reverberates around us. “In my home, you are nothing, vampire. In our world, even less. A tiresome, decrepit creature—a mere leach who deserves a good salting.” Her voice drops. “And I’m the so-called peon to stomp her foot on the rancid remains of your carcass.”
My jaw hits the floor. I knew Vieve had it in her to challenge a Grandmaster. I just never thought I’d ever see it. Shayna bolts, as in, now you see her, now you don’t. She was so quiet, I forgot she was right next to me.