‘I don’t care about that.’ He pointed to the dark stain. ‘Or that.’ His finger moved in the direction of her throat, where the flesh lay open like some kind of horrible flower.
She twisted, hiding that side of herself. ‘Don’t.’
‘Fi, it’s okay.’ Shoulda kept his mouth shut.
‘It’s not okay. I am not okay.’
She flickered again and he wondered if she’d rather disappear than deal with her reality. He couldn’t blame her. He’d wished that for himself once upon a time. Before her.
‘You’re going to be fine. You’ll see.’ He ached to hold her, to pull her against him and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though he was no closer to saving her than he had been a few hours ago. If anything, he was further from his goal.
‘You’re a bad liar.’ But her smile widened. ‘How did it go with Dominic?’
He dropped his head. He shouldn’t have told her about going to see Dominic, but he’d wanted to give her hope. What an idiot he was.
‘Not well, I guess.’ She laughed but the sound was almost a sob.
His head jerked up. ‘I’ll figure it out. I will. Don’t worry.’
She flickered, thinner than when she’d first shown up. ‘What did he say?’
Doc couldn’t bring himself to tell her. ‘I’ll talk to him again. Make him understand better.’ And he realized he meant those words. He would give Dominic one more shot. If he still didn’t offer up the required blood, Doc would find a way to get it. By whatever means necessary.
‘He won’t, though, will he?’ She started to cry, her image wavering and blinking in and out.
‘He will. He will. Don’t cry, baby.’ Doc had to get Fi back. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
She shook her head, her hair swinging free where it wasn’t clumped together with blood. ‘I don’t know what’s worse – remembering what my life was like before we went to Corvinestri, or not remembering. Too late now, I guess, since it’s all coming back.’
His mouth opened, but he kept quiet. She’d gone to Corvinestri because of him. He was to blame for this and he knew it. Sorry only went so far. ‘Maybe I should go. Give you some peace.’
‘No.’ She turned to face him full-on. ‘The only peace I have is with you.’ Tears shimmered on her lower lids and streaked her pale cheeks. ‘Don’t leave, please. Not yet. Not until the sun comes up.’
‘You got it, baby.’ Anything to keep more tears from falling or causing her any more pain. He leaned against one of the storage containers and nodded toward the deck beside him.
She crossed her legs and floated down beside him, the brush of her ethereal form cool against his body. ‘Tell me about the first time we met.’
He laughed. ‘Again?’
‘Yes. I love that story.’
‘I’m aware.’ He began the story just as he had the last two times. ‘It was the second full moon after I’d been cursed, and the first one since my pride had thrown me out. Mal found me in an alley.’
‘Saved you from a pack of wild dogs, you mean.’
‘Yeah, that. He brought me back here—’
‘That was right after I tried to leave him and realized I couldn’t.’ Her mouth twisted a little.
‘I guess he thought fixing me up and letting you keep me as a pet would make you feel better. Course, in my animal form, there was no way for him to tell I was varcolai—’
‘And hardly an acceptable pet for a young woman such as myself.’ She snickered, pursing her mouth when he shot her a look.
‘Or anyone,’ he added. Not that he minded being her pet now. ‘For the length of the full moon, three nights and three days, I was barely conscious, unable to shift into human form even if I’d wanted to.’
‘Until … ’ The glee wrapped her voice like a Christmas ribbon, and he felt a thousand times lighter.
‘Until one warm afternoon, you carried me out into the sunshine, holding me in your arms like a … like a … ’
‘Baby doll,’ she whispered, barely controlling the naughty trill that sent her words an octave higher and his spirit soaring. ‘Except, I wouldn’t normally scratch a baby doll’s belly.’
He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Which is what woke me up and freaked me out into shifting back to my human form.’
The giggling started right on cue. She always cracked up during this part of the story. ‘Right in my arms. You knocked me down.’ Her laughter faded until she could speak again. ‘It’s not every day you end up with a large black man lying on top of you.’
‘Thankfully,’ he added, chuckling at the remembered image of her sprawled beneath him and looking shocked out of her skin.
She sighed and silence settled peacefully between them for a few minutes. He glanced over. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back, a soft smile curving her mouth. He’d be thrilled, if she weren’t so see-through he could count the rivets in the storage container they leaned against. She wouldn’t last much longer. The thought stripped away his joy.
‘I’m glad you remember me,’ he said quietly, wanting to hold on to the moment for fear there wouldn’t be many more.
Her eyes opened. ‘Me too.’
His hands clenched as fresh anger surged through him. Didn’t Dominic understand this was more than just wanting to help a friend? This was the woman Doc loved. Wouldn’t Dominic have done the same for Maris? Of course he would have. He would have done anything for that woman.
A pinprick of an idea formed in Doc’s mind. As it grew, his sense of hopelessness shrank. He rested his head against the storage container and let his imagination take over until the plan evolved into something concrete. Why hadn’t he thought of this already? The way to control anyone was to find their weakness and exploit it. Aliza and Dominic were not that different, they both wanted the same result. Doc had just been too wrapped up in his own needs to see things clearly. He jumped to his feet, ready to put things in motion. ‘Fi, I have to go, I … ’
But she had already disappeared.
The twelfth Nothos loped out of the fading fog, and Mal cursed under his breath. Facing down two of them in Corvinestri had been a different story. He’d had Doc, Dominic, and Mortalis to help. Not that Chrysabelle hadn’t held her own – she had, but the Nothos she’d killed then had gotten his claws on her. Only her body armor had saved her from serious injury, and she wasn’t wearing it now.
As a pack, the Nothos began to lurch forward, elongated jaws hanging open, piercing yellow eyes fixated on Chrysabelle. Let them have her.
She whipped out her swords. Creek leveled his crossbow. Like that was going to be much help. Mal doubted those bolts would be enough to down a Nothos. Then let them both die.
‘We each get four,’ Chrysabelle said softly. ‘I’ll take the ones in the middle, you two take—’
‘No,’ Mal interrupted. ‘I’ll take them all. You’re going to get the hell out of here. You’re the one they’re after.’ He wouldn’t allow harm to come to her, no matter what the situation was between them. Besides, with this much blood in his system, he could control the beast, use it, then shackle it up again. Probably.
‘Save the great-protector act, Mal.’ She kept her eyes on the approaching Nothos. ‘We’re doing this together. Just like last time.’
‘Last time there were two of them and five of us.’ He eased his control off the beast within and glanced at the KM. ‘Creek, get her out of here now and I won’t kill you the next time I see you.’
The slayer looked at him like his brains were leaking out his ears. Or maybe it was the names shooting black tendrils past the collar of Mal’s jacket. ‘Big assumptions, vampire. But it’s your funeral. Saves me some work.’ He nodded at Chrysabelle. ‘C’mon, my bike isn’t far.’
She pulled away, just as Mal knew she would, just as he’d expected the scowl on her face. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
The beast snapped its chains and roared with predatory joy. ‘Chrysabelle, they will capture you and take you back
to Tatiana, who will torture you until you tell her where the ring is. We were too late to save Maris. I don’t want to be too late to save you.’
Her mouth thinned to a hard line. ‘I’m not happy about this.’
‘So noted.’ He shed his jacket to save it from the changes taking over his physical body.
‘If I go, you have to promise me not to kill Creek.’
Her desire to protect the slayer angered the beast. ‘Agreed.’
But she stayed rooted to the spot. The Nothos spread out into a semicircle, now less than a hundred feet away.
He could see by the look on Creek’s face that he hadn’t a clue about Mal’s curse. Already, the voices were expanding beyond his head, flowing into his muscles and bones. ‘Go,’ he commanded, his voice now layered with a multitude of others. ‘Let me do this.’
She nodded, her eyes soft with concern. ‘Be safe,’ she whispered.
His T-shirt tore across his broadening form. ‘I will. Now go.’
She sheathed her blades and backed into a staring Creek. ‘What’s happening to him?’
‘I’ll explain on the way.’ She tugged him along and he turned, glancing over his shoulder as they disappeared down the adjacent alley. The Nothos shifted in that direction, but Mal blocked their path. With Chrysabelle out of danger, Mal gave the beast its freedom. It stormed through him, scratching and clawing and leaving only a few fraying strands of control for Mal to cling to.
A couple yards away, the Nothos snarled as if they sensed their new opponent.
The beast snarled back with a mouth that held longer fangs and more teeth, then bent its head and plowed forward. It sliced out, claws shredding muscle and sinew.
Howls filled the beast’s ears and the stench of brimstone and blood bathed its nostrils like a sweet perfume.
The Nothos leaped onto the beast, raking its back with sickle-like talons, but it shook them off and shoved a fist into the maw of the closest one. Its fingers dug into the hellhound’s throat and tore out its spine. The Nothos crumbled, turning to ash as it fell.
Grabbing two more Nothos, the beast slammed their heads together. Brain matter splattered over its skin, hissing like acid. The beast laughed with a chorus of voices.
The Nothos hesitated. The beast did not. Dawn was coming and there was no time to waste. The host must be protected.
When the carnage was over and Mal had forced the beast back into its chains, he surveyed the ground around him, counting the piles of ash even as his body trembled from the beast’s exertion. Eight, nine, ten … where were eleven and twelve?
Hands dripping with the foul blood of the Nothos, Mal spun toward the alley Chrysabelle had escaped down. The cuts and gouges he’d endured in the fight stung now that he’d become himself again. His body craved the rest necessary to heal, and the pull of daysleep already weighed on him. Even the voices were exhausted. Dawn was minutes away. Going after Chrysabelle and the escaped Nothos was not an option unless he intended it to be his last option. There was no way he could find her and shelter before the sun came up.
Wounded, bleeding, and almost comatose with the need for sleep, he took off in the direction of Seven, the closest refuge he could think of, even though every fiber in his body and mind ached to go after Chrysabelle.
But that way lay death. And there was no way he was checking out and leaving Chrysabelle alone in the clutches of a man like Creek.
Chapter Sixteen
The scent of brimstone faded as Chrysabelle ran alongside Creek and away from Mal. She hated leaving him behind almost as much as she hated that he was right about what would happen to her if the Nothos captured her. The disappointment of not fighting side by side with Mal made her wish things were different, but it wasn’t safe for her to be near him when his beast took over. The voices hated her and the beast had already come close to killing her once before.
‘Explain.’
‘What?’ She looked over at Creek keeping pace beside her.
‘What the hell was happening to him?’
‘His beast was coming out. It’s part of his curse.’ She returned her gaze to the street ahead of them. Her sacre shifted slightly with the rhythm of her stride, tap-tap-tapping her back. ‘If you’re really KM, shouldn’t they have taught you about him in Kubai Mata school? I thought it was your job to kill vampires. I’d think he’d be pretty high on the list.’
‘You want me to kill him? ’Cause you’re making a pretty convincing case.’ Creek glanced back the way they’d come. ‘And, no, they didn’t teach me about every vampire. There’s only so much they could cram into my head in two weeks.’
‘He’s anathema. You know what that means?’
‘Yeah. Means dark is the only side he’s got.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Mal was so much more than even she’d guessed. ‘He saved my life.’
‘Of course he did. He wants your blood.’
She slowed her run to a walk. Let the Nothos come. Killing one might improve her mood. ‘You don’t have a clue.’
A few paces away, he slowed as well and turned to face her. ‘You sweet on him or something?’
She stopped so suddenly she almost fell over. ‘You’re barking mad.’
Creek took a few steps back in her direction. ‘You at least care for him. And he certainly digs you.’
Her jaw went south. ‘You are insane.’
He held up his hands. ‘Fine. You tell me that’s not the case and I’ll believe you until proven otherwise.’
‘Good, because we don’t have that kind of relationship.’ Maybe that was a lie, but she wasn’t about to take some sort of personal inventory to sort out whatever it was she did feel for Mal. Not for Creek’s sake anyway. She stalked past him, then realized she didn’t know where they were headed. ‘Where’s this bike of yours?’
‘Around the block.’
‘Great. How about we make the rest of the trip in silence?’ She looked back at him and went deadly still. ‘Two Nothos, coming up the street behind you.’ Holy mother, what did that mean for Mal? Had they escaped him? Or …
Creek had his crossbow out a moment after she drew her sacres. The handle warmed in her grasp. Her personal sacre had been tuned to her during its crafting when the hilt had been filled with her blood, marrying the blade to her as though it were an extension of her arm. Now it vibrated in her hand, ready to taste Nothos flesh once again.
The wind shifted, bringing the sour stench of brimstone and the more subtle spice of blood. She refused to think about whom that blood might belong to.
Instead of waiting for the Nothos to come to her, she attacked first, blades blurring in a figure eight before her body. The Nothos retreated out of reach, leaping onto a nearby building while the second Nothos took three of Creek’s bolts to his torso in rapid succession. They barely slowed the creature down.
‘You need a blade!’ she yelled back to Creek. Those bolts might down a vampire, but they were on the slim side for the demon spawn.
Creek was beside her a few seconds later, a long titanium quarterstaff in his hands. Her hands were too full to tell him that wasn’t going to work either. Her Nothos snapped its jaw, spraying burning saliva across her cheek.
She swiped the spittle away with the back of one hand. The Nothos grabbed for her. She ducked. It lunged, catching the edge of her tunic and shredding it. She shoved the creature as it went past, using its momentum to throw it to the ground. The scent of blood increased.
With a guttural growl, she drove her blades into the Nothos’s back before it could rise and anchored it to the pavement. The monstrosity planted its hands on the asphalt and pushed up. Its flesh slid along the blades, but the sacres remained fixed in the ground. Caught at the hilts, it stayed hunched over, unable to straighten further.
The Nothos screeched, swinging its double-jointed arms at her, reaching with its awful hands for the merest inch of skin. Threads of white silk hung from the claws that had almost sliced her belly open.
Behind her
, Creek still fought. More than that, she couldn’t say. She moved around the Nothos so it couldn’t see her and jumped, landing with a foot on either side of its spine. The move slammed it into the ground again. She flicked out her wrist blades and drove one into the spot where the creature’s heart should be. A gush of yellow blood and renewed yowling told her she’d aimed correctly. With both hands on the second dagger, she punched the blade downward and severed the Nothos’s spine. She worked the weapon back and forth until the head was nearly severed. Finally, the creature went to ash beneath her feet.
Breathing openmouthed and ready to take on the second abomination, she turned in time to watch Creek spear his Nothos through with the quarterstaff. He lifted the staff until the creature dangled off the end like a bit of refuse, then smashed it into the ground with such force the asphalt compressed beneath it.
The Nothos didn’t move when Creek yanked his quarterstaff free, but Chrysabelle had doubts it was truly dead. Creek apparently understood that. He slid a long knife from his boot, kneeled, and bisected the spine with greater ease than she’d done. Like he’d had practice.
Nothing remained in the pothole but ash.
On odd lightness filled her head, as if the slowly brightening sky was invading her brain. Creek leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, his chest rising and falling with the exertion. ‘Those things are hard to kill.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She fought the urge to sit. Or sleep. What was wrong with her? ‘That wasn’t my first.’
‘Kill or encounter?’ He straightened. His jeans were torn where the side of his leg had been slashed open from thigh to knee. Fresh blood from his movement ran out of the gash. Suddenly she felt queasy. Like she might pass out. What had he asked?
‘Uh, both. We … we ran into them when we tried to’ – she swallowed – ‘to rescue my aunt. I mean, my mother.’ She pointed to his thigh. Her hand shook. ‘You’re bleeding pretty badly.’
He glanced up. His brow furrowed with abrupt concern. ‘So are you.’
‘No, it didn’t touch me, just ripped my tunic.’ Swaying slightly, she looked down at the frayed edge of her shirt. The fabric was deep red. And wet. Three broad gashes scored her stomach. Beneath the open flesh, muscle peeked out. Blood saturated the right side of her trousers all the way down her leg. She wiggled her toes, listening to the squishing sound of her fluid-filled slipper.
Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Page 15