Ronan made a sharp turn to his left and veered away from the van, luring the hungry demons along with him.
Justice was able to run now. At least he’d given her that much freedom.
***
Ronan was going to die and Justice had no idea how to stop it.
Reba was no match for these creatures, and there were two of them right on Ronan’s heels. Another was not far away, licking up its own spilled blood.
Her head was still spinning from her wild ride and the very abrupt end where she slammed into the side wall of the van. Not that she was complaining. She would far rather have a physics lesson than be eaten by demons.
Since her gun was of little use, the only weapon she could think of was the one that had so recently rattled her brains.
If you can’t shoot them, run them over.
She scrambled in behind the wheel and started the engine. The wheels spun on the frozen grass, but she managed to get the lumbering vehicle headed in the right direction.
As soon as the headlights hit Ronan, she knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough. Not even her beloved Ricardo could accelerate fast enough to keep those teeth and claws off Ronan’s back.
Still, with no other ideas, she gunned the engine and charged.
She was almost there when one wide paw raked across Ronan’s back.
Panic exploded through her system. She screamed an incoherent sound of denial. She’d just found him. He was her only hope. She couldn’t lose him now. Not like this.
Blue sparks flew up from his coat where the sharp claws hit but didn’t break through the leather.
He was still alive. Uninjured.
She didn’t understand how, but she knew his luck couldn’t last for long.
He was slowing down, running out of steam. There was so little space between him and the monsters she feared if she hit one, she’d hit him too.
It was almost too late to change course, but she angled the van slightly to the right and hoped she’d do no more than clip the back of his heels.
One of the demons hit the bumper hard and was sucked under the tire. The van lurched. The steering wheel was jerked from her hands.
She’d only hit one, and the other was lifting its huge paw for another swipe at Ronan’s back.
A thought landed in her mind, heavy, solid, and fully formed. It wasn’t her own. She didn’t know where it had come from, but the frantic feel surrounding it made her follow orders.
She bit her wrist and used her other hand to shove the van door open.
Cold wind swooped in and grabbed the scent of her blood, fresh on her lips and skin.
Instantly, the demon turned its head toward her.
Sickly green light erupted from its eyes and froze her in place with fear. Her foot went limp on the gas. The van slowed drastically over the uneven ground.
Beneath her, she could hear the enraged howl of the demon she’d hit, and its frantic clawing at the underside of the floorboards.
It was alive, and it wanted a taste of her too.
The creature on Ronan’s heels changed course and headed for the source of the blood it scented. As close as she was to it, she didn’t think she’d even have time to close the door before it reached her.
There was something wrong with her body. The longer she stared at the thing, the slower she became, the more fear sank into her skin and sucked away her heat.
She needed to close the van door. She needed to reload Reba. She needed to survive.
Still, her body ignored her pleas, barely moving as she commanded.
The demon lifted its paws and opened its jaws as it lunged.
Her head was just the right size to fit all the way inside those giant jaws. One big bite, and her neck would be severed. Fast. Not painless, but fast.
No more fates, no more compulsions, no more worries.
No more Ronan.
That was the thought that jerked her out of her stupor.
She lifted her booted feet and shoved hard just as the monster reached the threshold of the door.
Before it could make contact, its head fell off. Just toppled off sideways.
It took her a second to realize that it had been severed.
Ronan stood behind the creature, sword in both hands, face pale but feral.
He’d killed the thing. Chopped its head clean off. How the hell had he done that?
Thick streams of black blood shot from the furry neck, several feet into the air. She shoved it away with her feet.
“Move over,” Ronan ordered in a hard, cold voice.
Justice didn’t argue. There were still two more of those things left alive, and she had no intention of seeing just how much closer to death she and Ronan could come.
He got in behind the wheel. “I need wipes.”
He shut the door and drove off, taking care to drive over a low rock to scrape off the demon clinging to the van’s undercarriage.
Justice went in back and found the plastic container of wet wipes. She pulled out several and handed them to him.
He cleaned his hands while he drove, then scrubbed the wheel and door where he’d touched them. The oily black gunk went out the window, and she didn’t even feel the slightest pang over his littering.
“Give me your wrist,” he demanded. He was clearly angry, but as far as she was concerned, that was his problem, not hers.
She did as he asked and let him lick away her blood and heal the ragged wound closed.
After that, he seemed calmer, steadier, and far less pissed. Still pissed, though.
He gave her a quick glance—one filled with fire and fury. “The next time I tell you to run, you’d better fucking run.”
She wasn’t going to let him or anyone else push her around. She had enough of that from the fates. “I didn’t realize you had the right to tell me to do anything.”
“I was willing to die so you could live. That gives me the right.”
Was that how things worked in his world? She didn’t know. She hadn’t been part of it for long. Still, she needed to make one thing perfectly clear. “I don’t take orders from anyone but the fates, and them only because I have no choice. I hate them for pushing me around. If you keep pushing, I’ll come to hate you too.”
His jaw bunched. His cheekbones were more pronounced. He looked thinner, though not nearly as skinny as he’d been the night she’d met him.
He was hungry. He’d burned up a lot of magic saving her ass tonight, even if it had left her a little bruised on one side where she’d flown into the van. At least she was still breathing, rather than being digested in the gut of a monster.
He turned the wheel hard enough to slosh her around in her seat.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To see some people I know.”
“For what purpose?”
He cast her a glowing blue glance. “To feed.”
A rush of jealousy whipped through her, battering her insides until they were raw. “Feed on me.”
“No.”
“Why not? And don’t say because I’m healing. I’ve told you I’m fine.”
“You’re injured. And even if you weren’t, I still wouldn’t take your blood.”
“Why not?”
“Because I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you again, and as angry as I am, that’s exactly what I’d do.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He gripped the wheel tighter. Blue light spilled across the dashboard. “Then you have no idea just how furious with you I am.”
***
None of the Sanguinar took Nika’s blood. It was far too dangerous, no matter how much simpler it would have made examining her.
Logan knelt beside the chair where Nika sat, her belly full and round with her child. She was still too thin for his liking, but she’d gained enough weight that he wasn’t too worried. Besides, her husband Madoc was already in charge of nagging her to eat. He didn’t need Logan’s help in that department.
Than
ks to Nika’s nesting urge, their suite was as clean as an operating room. Every essential a newborn could need, and dozens of things they didn’t, were here, awaiting the child’s birth.
A girl. Nika and Madoc were going to have a baby girl any day now.
He laid a hand on her stomach and let his mind slip into her body to check on the health of mother and child.
“Is this going to take long?” Nika asked. “I want to rearrange the baby’s closet.”
“You’ve already done that three times,” Madoc growled in his rough voice. “Just sit the fuck down and rest already.”
Logan hid his grin. Madoc hovered over Nika, hardly letting her out of his sight. Since the day he learned he was going to be a father, he’d been a walking bundle of overprotective nerves.
This little girl was going to have her father wrapped around her finger almost as tightly as her mother did.
“I won’t be long,” Logan said.
His wife Hope stood behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Everything he did was so much easier with her in his life. Not only did her blood rid him of hunger and give him the kind of power he never dreamed he’d have again, she was also his rock. He couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than he loved her.
She was his everything.
Nika’s baby was healthy and growing. She’d turned so that she was head down now, kicking hard at her mother’s ribs. Her life force was so strong, it was almost hard to touch. Intense and bright, like a star.
She had no idea how much joy and hope she was bringing to so many. If they weren’t careful, she’d be spoiled beyond saving by her third birthday.
Logan retreated from Nika’s body and back into his own.
She cocked her head to the side. Her white hair was longer now, falling past her shoulders. Madoc absently slid his fingers through it, petting his wife’s head as if to calm her.
There was a time when Nika had needed that, but she was strong and steady now, thanks to him. His power had healed her splintered mind and made her whole again. It was a beautiful, amazing thing to behold.
“She’s almost ready to be born,” Nika said. “Just another day or two.”
Madoc’s heart rate jumped and his breathing sped. A fine sheen of nervous sweat covered his brow.
“How do you know?” Logan asked.
Nika blinked as if his question was a stupid one. “She told me.”
Logan didn’t understand the psychic link she and her daughter shared, but it intrigued him. He doubted that Madoc would ever let his daughter be the subject of study, but maybe when she was older….
“Let’s hope she decides to come at night,” Logan said. “I’d really like to be the one to welcome her into the world.”
“She likes you,” Nika said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “But she likes Hope better.”
Logan laughed. “So do I.”
Hope shook her head as she grinned. “If we’re done here, let’s leave these two alone. Sounds like they’re running out of nights where it’s just the two of them.”
Madoc paled and a look of fear rippled over his features.
Nika took his hand. “You’re going to be fine. Best daddy ever.”
He shook his head. “I’m not ready. I need more fucking time to prepare.”
“Sorry, my love,” Nika said, smiling, “but our daughter disagrees.”
***
Chester Gale didn’t mind working with demons. They paid well and always kept their promises. He did, however, dislike the visual raping he had to take whenever he gazed on the thing that called itself Vazel.
The demon was grotesque, with too much knobby skin and not nearly enough clothes to hide it all. His arms were overly long, and he was missing a couple of fingers on each hand.
Chester didn’t know if they’d been removed or he’d never had them, but either way, his hands were just as ugly.
Their meeting place suited the creature. It was a dark and drippy industrial cave just east of Kansas City, and stank of old meat and chicken litter. The space had once been used as storage for corporate documents, but since the digital revolution, no one ever came here anymore. All the boxes were damp and sagging, some covered with fungus. Chester wasn’t even sure the company that owned the storage space remembered it was here.
Fluorescent lights dangled from electrical conduit overhead. A few were lit, but most of the bulbs had died years ago, leaving their survivors buzzing and flickering in grief.
There were new tunnels in the back of the space where no light reached. All Chester could see was a creature with two burned out eye sockets staring at him as if daring him to come closer.
He didn’t.
“Did you bring it?” Vazel asked, spitting words through a mouth stuffed full of sharp teeth.
“I have the book. I lost the girl.”
The demon’s face was so fleshy and alien, Chester couldn’t tell if his expression shifted to anger, or if he always looked like that.
Vazel held out his hand with only two fingers and twice as many joints in each as necessary. “Give it to me.”
Chester handed over the book, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. He would have preferred one of his men do the job, but when it came to demons, they liked doing business face-to-face. He guessed it was so they could eat said face easier if they chose.
Vazel opened the paper and tossed it aside. The book he inspected, squinting his bulbous eyes as if trying to reach the intricate, swirling marks across the leather-bound surface.
“Is that writing?” Chester asked.
“To those who know how to read it.”
“Do you?”
“I can read entrails, too. Would you like to know what yours say?”
Chester tried to keep his expression from giving away his sudden spurt of fear. By the creepy grin on Vazel’s face, he’d failed.
He decided it was best to just stand there and let the creature finish whatever it needed to so he could get paid.
Finally, Vazel said, “It is the book I need. Would you like to know what it says?”
Instincts—the deep, animal kind that warned of impending danger—told him what to say. “No, thanks. I’m good. All I want is payment and a list of what else I can do for you.”
“I wanted the girl.”
“I truly am sorry about that. I’ve tried to find her, but my network of eyes and ears has no idea where she’s gone.”
“It’s okay,” Vazel said, waving that grotesque hand. “I know where she is. But I don’t know where the one who stole her is.”
“Justice, she calls herself,” Chester offered. “She killed several of my men. She was shot, but rumor says she’s popped up online, so she’s not dead.”
“I want you to find her. Bring her to me.”
Chester nodded. No way was he going to deny this creature anything he wanted—at least not while he was within reach of those long arms.
“And the little girl Justice stole?” Chester asked. “Do you want me to send my men to get her back? If you tell me where she is, I will.”
The demon grinned, as if anticipating a lavish dessert. “No need. I’ll fetch her myself.”
Chapter Nine
Ronan didn’t normally jump to anger as his go-to emotion. He was usually more in control than that, saving his rage for the creatures he fought, rather than his allies.
Tonight, he was going to make an exception.
He couldn’t believe that Justice had come back for him. What the hell had she been thinking?
Probably that he was going to die if she didn’t intervene.
Maybe he would have.
He wished he were stronger. If he’d allowed himself to take more of her blood, he would have been, but no matter what she thought, she wasn’t ready for that. If he let go of his control and drank his fill, he’d only end up hurting her, and that was something he couldn’t allow.
He’d promised.
The need to free her from her compulsions was a powerful
force beating at the back of his skull. She’d given him so much and yet he hadn’t even figured out what was causing her to suffer.
It was a presence. That much he knew, but no more.
Or did he?
Something tickled his mind.
He’d heard a voice telling him to stop drinking her blood. That hadn’t been his own internal warning system, much to his shame. And he didn’t believe it had been hers, either.
Maybe the presence within her had spoken to him.
If it had, he could communicate with it and find out more—what it was, what it wanted, and how he could banish it.
Ronan drove to the home of Mr. and Mrs. William Pennyfort and woke them from a sound sleep. Once he explained his presence, the elderly couple welcomed him and Justice inside and offered their blood freely. As he fed, from William, he reversed the enlargement of the man’s prostate so he could sleep soundly through the night without getting up to pee four times. His wife had a touch of sciatica, which Ronan also healed.
When all was said and done, the couple was in better health than he’d found them, and he was no longer starving. It was a fair, simple trade, and one he wished was more common.
Sadly, since one of his kind had turned traitor, many humans had begun guarding their blood jealously, as if the mere act of him feeding from them could make them turn against their own families and friends.
Justice watched the whole exchange but said nothing. When they were back in the van, she asked, “Do you feel better?”
“I do.”
“As good as you would have after taking my blood?”
“Not even close.”
A small, satisfied smile played around her mouth. “Good.”
She was certainly a jealous thing, which he found he liked. It meant she wasn’t planning on running off again—not if she wanted to be the only one he fed from.
He would use that to his advantage if the need arose.
She took the silver brooch from her pocket and turned it in her fingers.
“Any idea why you had to dig up an old woman’s grave for that?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Are your fates demanding anything of you now? Do we need to raid a kitchen store for a pasta machine? Or perhaps get out pictures taken with the world’s largest prairie dog?”
Blood Bond Page 14