by Lu J Whitley
Greta looked down and focused her gaze on Mady, picking up the saturated towel, moving it to the side, and letting out a shivered exhale when the fabric stuck and pulled at the woman’s skin. A four-inch long gash split Mady’s delicate flesh, the sides puckered and glistening an angry red. It looked so much worse now that all the blood was cleaned away. How could anyone survive that?
Gently, Greta set her palms on either side of the wound, hoping not to hurt the little woman any more than necessary. Mady winced instinctively as Greta applied a soft pressure. The ragged skin pushed together, and a new line of uncoagulated blood rose to the surface, coating Greta’s already blood-soaked fingertips. She stared down into the yawning wound, focusing her energy into its core. The warm trail of power from her birthmark spread up her left arm, circling her neck and then flowing down her right side, until she was full of pulsing heat. She watched her fingers begin to shimmer and glow in the darkened chamber.
“Here goes,” she whispered to herself, psyching up for what she was about to do or, at least, what she hoped she was about to do. She took a bracing breath, telling her inner monologue of doubt to shut its big pie hole. Mady was on her last legs, so she couldn’t do much more damage, could she?
Do not worry, a disembodied voice floated across her mind, Be strong.
Be strong. She could do that. “Okay.” With a grunt of effort, she imagined all of that power flowing out of her, just as she’d done in the dining room. She envisioned it leaving her and rushing into Mady, healing her wounds. At first, it didn’t seem to be working. But then she saw them. Tiny twinkling lights of energy appeared at the raw edges of the slice across Mady’s chest, pulling the wound closed and knitting the torn tissue back together. She was so entranced that she lost her focus and a few of those lights winked out. “Focus, Greta.” She pushed forward, redoubling her efforts, and it didn’t take long before the gash had closed completely. Only a thin pink scar remained when Greta pulled back her shaking hands and rested them in her lap. Her shredded palms and wrists had healed as well. Wasn’t that handy? She let out a breathless chuckle.
The adrenaline and the surge of power were wearing off quickly. She felt like a toddler coming down off a sugar-high. Her insides were quivering with exhaustion, and she was fighting back the urge to vomit all over the woman she’d just healed. That’s not exactly what she wanted poor Mady to wake up to. When she woke up. If she woke up. Though the wound was healed, she’d still lost a lot of blood. Greta just prayed her magic hadn’t been too little too late.
★ ★ ★
Jami found himself at another dead end. “Shit,” he hissed under his breath. It hurt his heart to see how much of his father’s castle had fallen into disrepair. If the bastards were going to use it as home base, the least they could do was fix it up a bit.
He jogged back a few yards and took a left at a fork in the narrow hallway. The corridor he’d been following would have taken him directly to the dining room, where Greta had seen the highest concentration of guards. Now, he would have to take the long way around. More time wasted. He tried not to think about the seconds ticking by or about the progress Stein was making at the other end of the decaying labyrinth of passageways. If it was slow going for him, the troll must have been having a hell of a time. He sent up a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening that the other side of the castle had fared much better than this one over the centuries.
Willing himself to focus on the task at hand, he took a sharp right and climbed a narrow flight of stairs. Stopping. Dead. Still. When a hushed conversation activated his heightened hearing. The voices floated out from the lower servants’ quarters. He sidled up to the squat iron-strapped door and leaned against it carefully.
“… Bitch blew my knee out,” one voice grumbled, the nasal whine suggesting his nose was also injured. “Don’t know what you’re fucking complaining about. She didn’t even touch you.”
“Maybe I’m complaining about the fact that you’ve been whining about it non-stop for the last hour,” the other responded.
A third chimed in, clearly ignoring the last comment, “Well, she melted Hastings. Turned him into a pile of goop right in front of me. No bone. No teeth. No, nothing. Just goop.”
Shit. Greta’d taken out one of them? He was glad she’d done it. Was one hundred percent sure the nasty fucker had deserved it. But he didn’t like that she’d shown her hand this soon. She was more useful to Fraktion if the Takers didn’t really know how she worked, and the organization was fairly certain Brandt had never figured out how to weaponize her, even though he’d tried.
“She’s a hot piece of ass though.” #1 grunted through his plugged up nasal passages, bringing Jami out of his thoughts. “I’d love to grab a handful… or two.” He could tell the man was making gestures with his hands. Something about the way the bench he was sitting on creaked. The way the air puffed out of his lungs. His companions sniggered in response. “Maybe Brandt’ll let me have a turn when he’s done with her.”
#3 chortled with amusement. He gestured too. “Maybe he’ll let us all have a turn.” The man rose from his seat, chair legs squeaking against the stone floor. He started to make feminine whimpering noises. Moans and cries of “Oh, baby. More. More.” As if the slug could even imagine what a woman like Greta sounded like when she came.
Jami could imagine it. Had imagined it. Hadn’t thought of much else since he’d had her half-naked and wet in his hands in that cabin. But he’d be damned if he was going to let these low-lives - or anybody else for that matter - imagine it. He was going to be the only one. Ever.
He saw red, both literally and figuratively. His eyes lit up like a pair of brake lights in the fog, warning these fuckers to stop. Too bad they couldn’t see what was waiting for them on the other side of the door.
Kill, the beast said simply, piping up for the first time since he and Stein had made their way into the castle.
“Kill,” Jami agreed.
With a guttural roar, he kicked open the thick oak door. Arms outstretched, right hand full of cold steel and the left acting as a brace to compensate for the kickback. A loud Pop Pop Pop sounded in the room, ricocheting off the stone walls. Three Takers, frozen in their final obscene tableau, took their last breaths and then crumpled to the ground like deflated balloons. Each one with a third eye socket and a severe case of brain damage.
Jami was breathing hard. Adrenaline and dark power burned in his veins. Too fast. It was over too fast. He wanted them all to stand back up so he could kill them all again. He grunted in frustration, letting his fist fly into the nearest wall. Stone dust puffed between his fingers on impact. His knuckles split with a cleansing wave of pain, clearing his mind.
Feed, the beast said, Drink.
“What?” Jami bit back the disgusting taste of bile that blasted up his throat.
Drink, it repeated.
Eight centuries he’d been roaming this earth, killing Takers all the while. He could safely say he’d never been as much as tempted to drink Taker blood. Not even when he’d been injured to the point of unconsciousness had the thought drifted through his mind. Not until now.
The black and claret mixture swirled around his boots, flowing down into cracks between the ancient stones. “Drink?” His voice cracked with fear on the word. Was that safe? His brain tried to reason its way around it, but as he watched the thickening miasma of liquid, the compulsion grew. He tried to take a step back. Tried to turn and get out of the room, where the scent of blood was rising, filling his greedy lungs. He wanted to run and not look back. Instead, he found his body leaning down and dropping slowly to his knees on the rough stone.
He grabbed the shirt of the Taker closest to him. He was little, couldn’t have been much more than a teenager when he’d been turned. Didn’t stop you from shooting him, he thought to himself with a caustic tone. The fabric of the Taker’s soaked T-shirt stretched and tore as Jami pulled him across the floor. He angled the smaller man’s chin away from his ch
est as he lifted him from the ground, positioning his fangs over the Taker’s carotid. Last chance to back out, his brain warned. There’s no going back.
Drink, the beast commanded, taking the choice out of his hands. The thing was too strong to be denied. And maybe he didn’t want to deny it. Maybe he was just the smallest bit curious what it would be like…
Jami sunk his fangs deep, and all thought stopped. All denial stopped. His whole world crashed to a screeching halt. All that he was dissolved to a single sensation: the taste. He’d been right, there was no going back.
★ ★ ★
The sharp screech of the metal latch sliding open had Greta popping awake in the darkness. When had she fallen asleep? She was laid out on her side, the cold of the stone seeping up through her clothes, making her shiver. One arm was curled protectively around Mady, who for the moment seemed to be sleeping peacefully, a hint of color returning to her pale cheeks.
Greta’s eyes felt gritty, as if she’d been rolling around on a beach with her eyelids propped open. She reached up and scrubbed at them with the backs of her hands, trying to rub the sleep away. The thick wooden door scraped across the stone as it pushed open slightly, the neglected hinges groaning at the movement. She pressed her hands to the stone floor and popped onto her toes as agilely as possible with the fog of exhaustion still hanging around her. She rose into a crouch and waited, while the door pushed in another inch. She shook the last of the stuffing out of her head. Preparing to fight. She would protect Mady to the death if necessary. None of those bastards were going to lay a finger on the little blonde ever again.
She could only make out general shapes in the blackness, her eyes struggling to adjust. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows only gave her the vague impression of a shadow moving silently through the opening and pushing the door closed. Her heart leaped in her chest. None of the Takers moved so quietly, their stiff riot gear weighing them down. Even her father’s lithe footfalls seemed thunderous by comparison.
“Jami,” she breathed in a whisper, not even considering the danger the one word could cause if it wasn’t him. And as soon as the word slipped past her lips, she knew it wasn’t. He didn’t smell right. Which was an odd thing for her to pick out first, but Jami’s potent, seductive musk was absent. In its place was something… earthier. Not unpleasant. Almost calming even. But it wasn’t Jami.
The man towered over her crouching form, but he didn’t make an aggressive move forward. He just stood and waited. As if he was giving her time to acclimate. So she took the opportunity to study him further as her eyes began to adjust.
Jami was big. Huge. But the figure before her dwarfed him completely. Where Jami was trim - with the toned definition of a stalking predator - this guy was all brute force. He wore some kind of trench coat that swished around his ankles, but it didn’t hide the outline of his bulging muscles. His hair was light silver, a color she’d never seen. It was long and lush, sweeping past his shoulders. The strands of hair at his temples were twisted back in a series of slim braids, tipped in beads that winked in the moonlight like gemstones. He cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with being studied so intently.
“Greta,” he whispered, his gruff voice tempered for her benefit. “I’m not going to hurt you.” When she didn’t rise from her crouch, he gazed down and finally noticed the little woman at her feet. “Or whoever that is.” He put his hands in front of him in a show of peace. “Ragnarsson…. Jaromir sent me to get you.”
Greta rose from her position, less because she didn’t feel threatened than because her legs felt like they might give out on her if she stayed in a crouch much longer. Her thighs were quivering, her calves bunching painfully as she pressed to a stand. “I have no reason to believe you,” she said warily. One thing she did not want to do was piss this guy off.
“Will you let me turn on the lights?” He reached his hand slowly toward the light switch.
“Yes,” she conceded. She needed to see his eyes, and she couldn’t make them out in the dark. He flicked the toggle upward and retracted his arm just as slowly as before. He turned his face toward her and studied her with beautiful caramel colored eyes, set in a face that was ruggedly handsome. Square jaw and angled cheekbones covered in a day or two’s worth of stubble. His full bottom lip was pinched between his teeth under a broad nose. His bushy eyebrows raised slightly as she looked him over, and he looked her over in return. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The lack of the telltale yellow eyeballs meant he wasn’t a Taker. It didn’t mean he was who he said he was, but it was a point in his favor, at least.
“You have any proof?”
He reached into his trench, and she stiffened. “It’s okay,” he cooed, withdrawing a hand clutching three passports. “Proof.”
She held out her hand, and he slapped the documents against her palm. The paged open the one on top: Gretchen Bradley. Her own picture stared back at her. She recognized it as the passport Jami had used back at the last hotel. The one where they’d... She shook her head to clear the thought and moved on to the next one. Stanley Bergstrom’s whiskey eyes glared in her direction. “Stanley?” She chuckled. “Right. You don’t look like a Stanley.” The third passport slid out of her hand and dropped to the floor. She retrieved it, slipping her index finger between the pages. The feel of glossy plastic against her fingers the only thing keeping her tied to reality. “Ana Geisser?” It was an old picture, but there was no mistaking her mother’s signature scowl.
“Her maiden name was...”
“Geist,” the word came out as little more than a whisper, her vocal chords tight with emotion. She reached up and swiped a rogue tear from her eye. “So Jami sent you?” She crossed her arms over her ribs, trying to stop her heart from dropping out. “He told me he was coming.”
“He’s here,” the man’s lips quirked up at the corners as he said, “He’s busy though.”
“Busy,” she gritted. Call her selfish, but what could be more important than saving her? Wasn’t that why he was here in the first place? “And why are you grinning?”
“I’ve never heard anyone call him that before.”
“What? Jami? It’s his name.”
“No, his name is Jaromir or Ragnarsson.” He smiled again, the hard angles of his face softening with humor. “Or dickhead. Or asshole… But if I called him Jami, I’d be digging his boot out of my ass for weeks.”
“Oh.” She felt a little flush all of a sudden, the heat rising to her face. With no small amount of effort, she pushed the feeling away to be examined later, throwing a facade of humor over it like a blanket. “Dickhead? Hmm? I guess you do know him pretty well.”
He bent his head back and let out a hearty laugh. The sound rich and inviting, brushing off her last feelings of doubt. She smiled in spite of herself. “I like you,” he said genuinely and put a finger to his lips as he leaned in conspiratorially, “Don’t tell.”
“Secret’s safe with me.”
“Okay,” he reigned himself in, taking a turn toward the professional. “We need to get going.” He looked her up and down from the tips of her short hair to the soles of her bare feet. “What the hell are you wearing? Didn’t he tell you to be ready to run?” Greta flushed with embarrassment. She knew she looked ridiculous, but she hadn’t known she’d been seeing anyone but Jami. Once a guy’s seen you in a sports bra and granny panties, pretty much everything else is a step up.
“I can run.” She jutted out her chin and gripped her ribs tighter.
“You can run. Barefoot. Through a foot of snow. For twenty miles. In that?”
Oh. Well, she hadn’t really thought about it that way. She assumed she’d have to run through the castle, but she’d thought there would be a car, or a helicopter, or an invisible secret spy plane waiting for them at the gate. “This is all I had.”
The big man shook his head, grunted, and pulled the creaking door open. Before she’d had a chance to protest, he disappea
red out into the hallway. What the hell? She heard a short scuffle beyond the entryway and the sound of something being dragged across the stone floor. Seconds later, he reappeared with a Taker over one shoulder and one dragging behind him.
“What are you doing,” Greta huffed.
“Getting you some gear,” he grunted as he tossed the Taker from his shoulder onto the floor next to the other one. “Jaromir’s a big fan of your ass. I doubt he’d forgive me if I let you freeze it off.” He knelt down and started stripping the first one, unzipping its jacket and muscling it off the thing’s arms. “Little help might be nice.”
“Oh, right,” Greta said, that renegade flush flaring up in her face again. Had Jami been talking about her? Was he thinking about her like she’d been obsessing over him?
The big man whistled. “Earth to Greta.” He lifted his hands from his task, waving to get her attention, a wry smile quirking up the corners of his full lips. He pointed to the still body to his left, gesturing for her to get to it. She nodded and stepped over to the other Taker, dropping to her knees next to its ribs. This one was slightly smaller than the first, and if she wasn’t mistaken, it was female. The heavy black mask still covered the Taker’s features, but it was just too easy to imagine her mother’s face there. She shuddered a breath, her fingers fumbling with the jacket’s zipper.