Selene

by Lilith Saintcrow

  She was being dragged backward.

  Ohgod NO—

  Selene kicked back with her free foot, screaming. Exquisite glassy terror slammed into her belly, and the desire rose too, a tide of red, her thighs wet, her breath coming in short little gasps that changed the scream into a hilarious series of hiccups.

  The kick—mercifully, luckily—connected with something hard and cool and wet. Just like a dog’s nose, she thought in a fresh burst of amazed hilarity; there was a shocked snarling howl of pain. Her ankle was released and she scrambled away, bolted, trying to make it to her feet and almost overbalancing, her eyes fixed on the shoulder-holster attached to the dead werecain and the ridged dark butt of a gun closed inside the dark leather.

  Her fingers scrabbled at the release catch, and she freed the gun from the leather—It’s a Glock-Stryker, military model, Jack’s voice said, chill and calm inside her head. Fully loaded, there’s no safety on that mother, be careful, Lena. Rigel appeared, a gun in either hand. He glanced down at her. “Time to go, Selene.” The words, clear and crisp, cut through the noise. There was a streak of blood on Rigel’s chin, and his hair was wildly mussed, clotted with something that looked like guck and dried blood. His long black coat was torn as if razor-edged claws had ripped it.

  Selene got to her feet, stone cold underneath her. Rigel followed her, walking sideways, his guns ready. “Are you hit?” he asked, as if they weren’t surrounded by howling werecain and fighting Nichtvren. Chaos spilled through the House of Pain, Nichtvren setting upon Nichtvren, werecain changed into huntforms and blood filling the air. The swanhilds were gone, and the kobolding had barricaded themselves into a corner. She inhaled, the kick and tang of Power hitting the back of her palate like whiskey, going down to explode in her belly. Gooseflesh rippled her skin.

  Her curse awakened. The image of Nikolai’s face above hers, eyes closed, as he sighed and her body shuddered, spilled more desire through her veins, made her gasp.

  Don’t get distracted. The Power filled her; she wouldn’t need Nikolai for a week or two now. The curse grumbled, subsided as she fought it. “No.” She swallowed dryly. Her throat was a desert. “I think I’m ok—”

  A huge painless impact slammed into her back. Selene was thrown forward, falling, the gun almost skittering from her hand. Luckily, her fingers went numb and clutched at it, she ended face-down on the floor, her back on fire, a long hissing breath slipping out of her. What?

  “NO!” someone bellowed, and the ground shook. Crashing, rending noises. Screaming. All hell was breaking loose. What hit me? What happened?

  Rigel went to his knees beside her. Selene tried to roll onto her back, but nothing below her shoulders seemed to work. Darkness started creeping in from the corners of her peripheral vision.

  What the hell just happened?

  “Lie still,” Rigel said, and then the pain came, a great rolling breaker of it, and Selene cried out weakly. This pain didn’t mutate into a riptide of lust—no, it was true pain, deep pain she never felt unless something serious had happened. She tried to arch away from its teeth even as some part of her was glad she didn’t drown in it. “Lie still, Selene. God in Heaven.”

  “Wha—?” she started to ask, but a bubble of something warm burst on her lips and ran down her chin. Ugh, did I throw up? I don’t want to throw up, please, what hit me, oh it hurts it HURTS—

  The lights stopped swirling, and darkness slid over the cavernous interior. Someone’s cut the lights, she thought hazily, before red emergency light came up, lurid, painting the stone underneath her. Hot blood splattered from her lips, pattering on stone, and she tried to roll onto her back again.

  Then she smelled it. Blood, and death. Male, ancient, a smell like dried ratfur and musk. She knew that scent. It was her quarry, the thing she was hunting. Danny’s killer. It was here. Selene tried to move—she had a gun, and Danny’s killer was here.

  Cold. Cold seeping into her skin. Why can’t I move, it hurts me, my back hurts, owww Danny help me, help me.

  Rigel was saying something, but his voice was very far away. All she heard was a mumble, and her name.

  What happened? she wanted to ask, but her lips were cold and numb. Where’s Nikolai? He would help her, he had always helped her before.

  And one last thought in the swimming darkness made her try to stay awake. Danny? Danny, is that you? She failed, and fell into darkness, the pain retreating as night closed around her.

  Seven

  “—carefully,” the woman’s voice said. Scrape of metal. Smell of salt. “She’ll heal, but she must have absolute rest.”

  Darkness again, a slow gelid darkness. Selene struggled up through it, a swimmer in deep water. The roaring noise retreated a little, and she could think again, if only a little.

  But I was dead. I know I was. I was dead. Am I in hell now?

  “—blood,” someone else said. A dark voice, full of cold hurtful Power, a voice she would have struggled to get away from if she could. “How much more?”

  “As much as you can give her.” It was a woman’s voice. Scorching-hot fingers resting against her forehead. “I’ve never seen healing this quick, even with my help. I see the mark, she is Acolyte?”

  “Tantraiiken,” the cold male voice replied. It sounded familiar, even if she did want to hide until the owner of that hurtful voice went away. “And I. . . I. . .”

  “Yes, I see. So the rumors are true.” The woman sounded amused. Her voice was deep and restful, smooth as satin. Selene smelled violets and musk, an odd combination. The voice wrapped Selene in comfort, sent heat through her cold, leaden body. “She’s out of immediate danger. I’ll leave you to it for a while, she can’t take any more Power tonight. You must call me if she grows fevered. Now I’ll go see if Jorge has left me anything to eat.”

  “As you like.” Now a cool touch came and pressed against her cheek, stroking and tender. Was it the woman?

  What woman?

  There was a sound of silk moving. Then a silence. Selene opened her eyes. Everything swam in front of her, a blur of color and shadow. “Prince,” the woman said. “About Rigel.”

  Rigel? Selene thought, dimly. I hope he’s okay, what happened to me?

  “He is lucky.” The Power in the cold hurtful voice was enough to strip flesh from bone, Selene heard a shapeless whimper. It was her own. “Were it not for your intercession, sedayeenen, he would be dead.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” The woman sounded firm, but Selene detected something else—was it fear? Maybe. But maybe not, it could have been anger.

  The blurring in front of Selene’s eyes slowly started to coalesce into shapes. Velvet, hanging across something. Dark blue.

  There was a cold exhalation, and Selene’s skin prickled. It was a shock to discover she was still breathing. “Jesu,” she said, and blinked, her eyelids falling down. Then she opened her eyes again, and the shapes slowly started to settle into sharply-defined objects. “Am I dead?” It was a stupid thing to ask, but it was all she could think to say.

  “You may have Rigel if you wish, healer.” A snarl rose in the words. Selene’s skin prickled again, but thankfully no wash of desire or Power rose in her. Her arms and legs felt cold and heavy. “I give him to you. May he offer you better service than he offered me. Now get out.” Deadly, deathly Power rattled the air of the room. Was it Nikolai’s nest? It had to be.

  “Rigel. . .” Selene coughed weakly. “Is he. . . is he okay?” She looked up at the blue velvet hanging. At least it’s not red. She shuddered. Or she would have shuddered, if she hadn’t been so weak. Her entire body was weighted with lead.

  “Better than he has any right to be,” the chill voice told her. She couldn’t see him. Was it Nikolai? He sounded so. . .dangerous.

  “He saved. . . my life,” Selene said, softly. There was a rush and crackle, and the smell of smoke. A fire? In a Nichtvren’s nest? They feared open flame, it was one of the few things even a very old Master might not survive.
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br />   “You almost died, Selene.” There was something so familiar about that voice.

  Is that Nikolai? He sounds so scary.

  A door shut, and someone sat down on the bed next to her. Selene blinked again. Her vision was oddly blurry.

  Nikolai leaned over her, his face marked with dried blood across forehead and cheeks. It looked like a strange kind of warpaint, and Selene examined him for a long moment. His hair was dirty, hanging over the black holes of his eyes. He looked gaunt, his cheeks hollow, pale skin stretched over aristocratic bones. He was still wearing a white shirt, only now it was in bloody tattered rags, and Selene had to look twice to make sure it was the same one he’d been wearing before. His pale unmarked flesh showed through the tatters. Of course, he wouldn’t scar after he Turned, she thought, with a dozy sort of logic, and she felt the corners of her mouth tilt up.

  “You look awful,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, unusually rough.

  He smoothed his fingertips across her forehead. His skin was chill, and her forehead was clammy. “Thank you, dear one.” Something gentler passed over his face. The shadows over his eyes dispelled a little, though they were still black from lid to lid. “How do you feel?”

  “Rigel saved my life.” Selene took in a gasping breath. “Tell me you didn’t hurt him.”

  Nikolai’s mouth thinned. “He will live.” He kept touching her forehead, his fingers slowly warming. “Twelve centuries I have roamed this earth,” he said finally, quietly, “I have never feared immortality. I have never feared anything that walks in shadow or in sunlight. But you. . .” He trailed off, touched her cheek, with just his fingertips. His fangs slid out, pressing into his lower lip, and Selene began to feel a faint drowsy alarm. It wasn’t like him to show his fangs without provocation. “I fear losing you, Selene.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. His skin was cold again, cold and perfect.

  You can’t just pick up another tantraiiken off the street, after all. Selene shivered, tried to stop herself, couldn’t. “I smelled it. What killed Danny. It was there.”

  Nikolai stilled, looking at her. “And how do you know this?” His fingertips brushed a stray strand of her hair.

  “The wards,” she answered, her eyelids drooping and heavy again. “The wards. . . I did them, they’re mine. I took them. Looked at them the day after. . . yesterday? When was it?” She tried to remember, but it was so hard with the languid exhaustion weighing down every muscle, every inch of her skin. She had never felt so exquisitely, completely tired.

  A muscle jumped in Nikolai’s pale, blood-marked cheek. “I am beginning to think I should chain you in my sanctum.” He sounded serious. “What did the wards tell you, Selene?”

  “Showed me. . .what killed Danny. . .” She was falling asleep again. Why wouldn’t her arms move, and her legs?

  “And what did you see?” Nikolai stroked her cheek. His fingers traced her jaw, dipped down to touch her throat. There was a faint, pulsing warmth—the mark. Why wasn’t it burning?

  “Tired.” Selene’s eyes drifted closed. “I smelled it. Something old, so old. . . and teeth. . . and. . .”

  “And it smells of blood, doesn’t it?” he asked, his breath against her cheek now. “Sleep, Selene. I will watch over you.”

  “Beads,” Selene whispered. “In his hair. . . Give my regards. . . to Nikolai. . . he said. . . to Danny. Before. . . it killed. . . him.”

  Nikolai hissed a phrase that made the air quake. Wood groaned and glass shattered. She knew she should be frightened, but she couldn’t work up the energy through the choking drowsiness.

  Selene fell into darkness again, but before she lost consciousness entirely, she felt Nikolai’s lips against her cheek, her chin, and finally her slack mouth. He was murmuring something between kisses, phrases she couldn’t quite hear.

  She slept.

  ***

  “—werecain.” Another familiar voice. It was Jorge, he sounded like himself again. “What do you think?”

  “I’m not paid to think about it.” The woman’s voice again, satiny and restful. A warm touch brushed Selene’s forehead. “It’s bad enough dealing with him as it is. If there’s any intimation she might not survive he’ll tear the house apart. He almost killed Rigel.”

  “Rigel’s a thrall. It’s a risk,” Jorge sighed. “I can’t believe he let you have him.”

  “Rigel is a person, Jorge. Not an object, though it matters little enough. But for the record, I’m thankful.” The woman sounded thoughtful. Her voice was so beautiful, restful and clear. “She’s waking up. Hello, Selene.”

  Selene opened her eyes to find a woman sitting on the bed where Nikolai had been. For a moment she felt oddly. . . bereft, as if she’d expected to see him instead.

  As if she’d anticipated seeing him.

  The woman had long dark hair, slightly curling, and she smelled like musk and violets. Her face was triangular, catlike, with large dark-blue eyes. The smell of her was strong and fragrant the way an ordinary person’s never was—paranormal, Selene thought, staring at her. She’s a paranormal. Only not like me. Something else.

  “I’m Marina.” That smile was like music, like dawn breaking over soft green hills. “I’m sedayeenen. A healer.”

  That explained it. A pacifist healer, capable of mending shattered bones and broken bodies, but incapable of using violence against anyone, even to defend herself. No wonder she was here in the nest. “Oh,” Selene said.

  Jorge’s face swam into view over the woman’s slim shoulder. The healer wore dark-blue velvet, an empire-waisted dress that suited her pale skin and pretty eyes. She held her hand to Selene’s forehead, and a warm tide of Power flushed down Selene’s injured body.

  The Power folded around her like a warm cloak. Thankfully, it didn’t trigger the tantraiiken curse—it only filled her veins with new strength. The medallion lay cool and quiescent against her skin. “It’s daylight.” The healer’s pretty mouth shaped the words quietly. “Nikolai is sleeping, but he will wake if you call. He’s given you quite a bit of his blood.”

  Selene’s head dropped back against the pillows. “He. . .gave me—” She was wrapped in cotton wool. None of it mattered.

  “You shouldn’t have told her,” Jorge said mildly. His bald head gleamed.

  “She has a right to know,” Marina replied, unaffected. It didn’t look like much affected her calm amusement at all. “Why don’t you run along and fetch breakfast, cutie-pie, and tell Rigel to step on in.”

  “Nikolai won’t like that either. He’s mad at Rigel.” But he stepped back from the bed; it seemed impossible to argue with the healer’s cool, beautiful voice. Jorge dropped his gaze from Selene’s. He wore the same gray suit he always did, his dark eyes sharp and alert.

  “Nikolai has abdicated all right to like or dislike what Rigel does. I’m responsible. Now do as I say, or I’ll tell His Highness you disobeyed the healer. And since I’ve dragged his paramour back from the dead, my stock is particularly high with Nikolai right now.” Marina’s face didn’t change, but her voice held just the faintest hint of contempt.

  I wish I could sound that sarcastic without even raising my voice.

  Marina looked back down at her. Jorge backed away, then stalked for the door.

  The room was pretty, blue velvet and cream-colored silk. A black-and-white Japanese print of cranes flying over the moon hung on one wall. Four graceful torchieres gave an even light. There were three chairs and a loveseat, a huge pre-War rolltop desk made of pale blond wood, and bookcases ranged on the walls between long falls of blue velvet drapery. A restrained blue-and-white vase on an endtable—must be a Ming, Selene thought, with a sort of weary wonder. This is the most tasteful I’ve ever seen a Nichtvren get. I’ll bet Nikolai didn’t do the decorating in here.

  “You were shot in the back,” Marina said. “You lost quite a bit of blood and might have been paralyzed, I can’t tell. Nikolai had to give you his blood, even your ability to heal would have been. .
. well, severely strained.” The warmth flowing into Selene’s body didn’t stop. Marina’s eyes were infinitely kind. “Besides, he’d already made up his mind to Turn you. You could do worse, you know.”

  The door closed, and Marina glanced away from Selene. “Here comes Rigel.” The smile in her voice was just as calm as the rest of her.

  “Did Nikolai hurt him?” I’m super-infected now. A shocked calm descended on her. Gave me his blood. Am I his thrall? Oh, Jesu. Her hands and feet seemed very far away, floating at the end of long strings.

  “Not very much,” Marina said. “I was able to stop him, but it was difficult. He values you, Selene. Nikolai has never had an Acolyte before. He’s never even made a grave-head. He thought Rigel had let you be harmed, and he was furious.”

  “Jesu.” It cost her precious energy to talk. The Power the healer was pushing into her crept through every nerve. Sedayeenen were almost as rare as tantraiiken, and had their own curse, their inability to fight back. Selene hadn’t even known that there was a healer in Saint City. Most of them ended up attached to stronger paranormals, not quite slaves but definitely not free. There were superstitions about harming a healer, but Selene sometimes wondered just how useful a protection those superstitions were.

  There’s a whole hell of a lot I didn’t know. The fire creeping through her fingers and toes spread, tingling, up her arms.

  Rigel’s lean dark face appeared over Marina’s shoulder. He had a black eye and a split lip, and moved very slowly. “Hallo, Selene.” His accent made the words crisp. “My apologies. I should have acted more quickly.”

  “Oh, Christos,” Selene whispered. “Did Nikolai beat you up?” It was getting difficult to talk, something seemed to be stuck in her mouth. Her tongue was thick and clumsy, too.