Selene

by Lilith Saintcrow

  I hope it’s not locked. She gave herself a sharp mental slap for being a fool. Of course it’s locked, she’d be out here on deck if it wasn’t Selene drew her left-hand gun. “Get back from the door!”

  “Get me out of here!” Marina yelled.

  Selene squeezed the trigger.

  Her first shot ricocheted off the iron surface, digging a furrow in the red paint. Goddammit, that always works for everyone else! Selene swore viciously, and there was an incredible tearing sound from the other end of the ship.

  A holocaust of light seared Selene’s night-adapted eyes. The shock of the explosion knocked her sideways, skidding along the corner of the huge metal box. Her body twisted, hooking her claws into metal with a screech that would have ground her teeth down to shards if she’d been human. Oh, Christos, I’ve lost the other gun, some hero I am. She landed hard against the narrow strip of deck along the box, breath leaving her in a whoosh.

  Her claws had torn the metal in six long jagged slices. Selene rolled to her feet, shaking her head, something warm dripping in her right eye. Goddamn it. Am I going to lose all my hair in this mess?

  Smoke belched across the deck.

  Selene made it back to the side of the box. “Marina!” she yelled, hooking her claws in the top slice. The rust-flecked metal was strangely warm. She inhaled—why am I still breathing?—and yanked down with one convulsive effort, a long huuugh! tearing its way out of her.

  Metal groaned.

  “I’m here.” The healer’s face appeared, pale in the lurid orange light exploding up from the ship. Crackling heat swept across Selene’s cheek. “Selene? Oh, my God, you’ve Turned!”

  Well, you get fifteen points for stating the fucking obvious. “Come on!” Selene snarled, and lunged in through the rough rectangular hole she’d torn. She grabbed the healer under the arms—just like picking up a little kid, she thought—and pulled.

  Marina cried out hoarsely. Something clattered. “Rigel?” she gasped, as Selene hauled her bodily out of the box. “Rigel, is he—”

  “He’s back at the nest!” Selene had to yell over the incredible din. The noise was so huge it speared both eardrums, a painful weight. “Come on!”

  A hell of a time to have no weapons, Danny’s voice said snidely.

  “If you can’t say anything useful shut up!” Selene yelled. It was the crowning absurdity.

  The entire ship shuddered. Thick black smoke belched up from the burning end. The bursts of gunfire were sporadic now, but something was snarling close by.

  Werecain. She gave Marina a quick once-over, pulling her along the side of the ship. Something whined overhead and she pushed the healer down. Marina’s long hair was tangled and she was dirty, smelling like werecain, her clothes torn and a stripe of blood on one hand. But she moved okay, and seemed to be otherwise unwounded.

  Great. Now I just have to get her off of here—where’s Nikolai? He said to stay close, but he ran right for the front of the ship, goddammit. Where is he, is he okay?

  They ended up crouching behind a stack of huge metal pipes. Bullets clanged and whined. “Are you okay?” Her throat burned from screaming over the smoke-laden noise.

  “I’ve had better days,” Marina called back. “You look awful.” Her blue eyes glowed, and her pretty mouth turned down at the corners under its mask of dirt.

  I screwed a Nichtvren this morning and got yanked out of a burning car tonight, and now I’m being shot at, again. No wonder I look like shit. “Come on!” She grabbed Marina’s arm, careful not to squeeze too hard. “We’ve got to get you out of here!” I don’t want to disappoint Rigel, honey. You’re so fucking lucky it makes my heart hurt.

  Marina nodded, tangled hair swinging down over her dirty face. Selene inhaled, shoved herself to her feet and began to run, carrying the other woman’s slight weight with her.

  They reached the gangplank. Two of Nikolai’s guard—the Indigenous man and a skinny Italian guy, both firing over the top of a hasty barricade of scrap metal—were holding the ship end of it. Four werecain were darting from the other side, their fur painted luridly by the fire, which sent up another quake of noise and massive fireball.

  Selene fell flat. Marina recovered more quickly than she did, hauled her to her feet, and they made it to the shelter of the barricade.

  Marina’s ribs flared with deep gasping breaths.

  Smoke in the air. Shit. Hope she doesn’t get poisoned. “Is it safe?” Selene yelled, pointing down the gangplank. Got to get her out of here.

  “They’re firing from there!” the Indigenous man yelled back, pointing at a vicious firefight going on further down the deck.

  Selene shoved the healer down. “Take care of her.” She pivoted on the balls of her feet.

  What are you doing? Danny’s voice screeched at her.

  Something stupid, Selene thought. Nikolai went that way, and that’s where I’m going, goddammit. Have to do it fast before I lost my nerve. Her claws sprang free, and her heart gave another frantic burst. The heat was incredible, lying against her skin like oil. Those werecain are between him and escaping from this hulk of metal, so I’m going to get rid of them.

  Oh, no. Danny sounded horrified. I was afraid you were going to say that.

  Selene leapt.

  ***

  The body armor saved her again. The last werecain slammed into her, a furry hulk of rib-snapping force. She went down, claws skritching across her abdomen. Prickling cold hit her and she screamed, her claws fully extended, fangs glittering. She tore at the huge furred thing blindly, instinct tucking her chin down so its teeth couldn’t find her throat.

  Blood exploded, hot salt spraying up and drenching her face. Selene scrambled, twisting, her boots scraping across metal deck, the heat of the fire popping across her face. The werecain slumped, and she heard a victory yell from the other side of the barricade.

  I hope that’s our side. She didn’t stop, her feet pounding the deck, up, up, she had to find Nikolai, where the hell was he?

  Smoke billowed. The sound of clanging metal.

  What the—Something seemed to punch her in the stomach, she lost most of her air. Swords. Jesu.

  There was a sort of wheelhouse—at least, she guessed that’s what it was, her maritime experience being nil—between her and the main fire. Maybe the explosion was the engine. If this thing has a hold full of heavy petroleo we’ll all be hashing this out in hell.

  The clanging was coming from the top. Selene spotted a ladder and leapt for it, unprepared for the speed and fluidity of her new body. She almost splatted face first into the ladder and saved herself only by a lunging effort, hitting her forehead on a metal rung that was dangerously warm. Stars flashed across her vision. She scrambled up, muscles beginning to burn, the thirst throbbing. I’m going to need to feed, she thought, and the resultant shiver through her entire body almost tossed her from the ladder.

  Stop thinking with your groin and get up there! she shrieked at herself. Nikolai needs you!

  “Nikolai!” The cry escaped her. She vaulted the top of the ladder and landed, amazingly, on her feet.

  The fire’s carnivorous heat, radiating directly now and not blocked by debris stacked on deck, smacked into her. She dropped to her knees, her eyes watering, and saw.

  Nikolai paced back and forth, the sword balanced in his hands, his entire body focused on the other Nichtvren. His hair was scorched and half his face was terribly bruised, almost black, and shiny. That’s not a bruise, it’s a burn. Power pulsed out from them both.

  Nikolai’s shirt was in tatters. So was Grigori’s.

  Grigori, the beads in his hair clacking as he moved, circled as Nikolai did. His left arm flopped uselessly. He snarled, fangs extended and dripping with glittering saliva. He held a broadsword, handling the massive length with ease even though it looked dull and clumsy compared to Nikolai’s slim shining blade.

  Oh, Christos. I don’t have a gun.

  Nikolai moved forward, his burned face expressio
nless. Metal rang and flexed. The fire belched again, the deck heaved. Grigori closed with Nikolai—the older Nichtvren was bulkier, a few inches taller, and had the fire behind him. Nikolai gave ground, his blade ringing, slashing and feinting.

  “Nikolai,” Selene whispered. She drove her claws into the roof of the wheelhouse. Her wrists ached. Nikolai, oh God, be careful. You’ve got to kill him. You’ve just GOT to.

  Grigori stumbled, his sword slipping aside, and Nikolai darted in with spooky, graceful speed.

  The taller Nichtvren half-whirled, a flurry of movement—and Nikolai’s sword flashed away in a high impossible arc. It landed on the wheelhouse roof, chiming, and skittered past Selene, who grabbed for it with unthinking reflexive speed. She had to wrench her claws out of the roofing, and her fingers closed only on air.

  The ship heaved again, a fresh explosion rocking the entire massive structure of steel. The high tinkle of glass shattering only added to the booming tearing noise. Oh, no, please, no—

  Grigori, his face a mask of utter rage, drove his sword into Nikolai’s chest.

  Nikolai fell backward.

  Selene screamed. Some ceaseless spinning pulse inside her that she had never known existed. . .stopped.

  Nikolai hit the roof of the wheelhouse and slid back, his limp body fetching up against an air-conditioning vent with a sickening crack. It knocked the housing sideways, the density of his body and the massive force he’d been flung with conspiring like thieves. Selene flinched, her jaw dropping. The medallion gave one scorching burst of heat against her chest.

  Grigori tipped his head back and roared. The sound—and the wave of sheer Power—would have flung Selene off the roof if her left-hand claws hadn’t still been driven in.

  She tore them free and leapt. “Nikolai!” she screamed, something ugly and hard pressing up behind her heart. It clawed free, this dark and horrible thing, and her palm slapped on the hilt of the broadsword. One twist and a yank, and it was in her hand, its tip black with Nikolai’s blood.

  “SELENE!” Danny’s voice, not whispering in the middle of her skull but slicing through the confusion of oily black smoke and crawling flame.

  The world slowed to a series of shutter-clicks.

  Click. “You—” Selene, running, her entire body arched forward, her eyes bulging, her charred hair streaming.

  Click. “Son—” Her breath jagged in after the word. Grigori’s head snapped down. Power snaked for her, a missile of something dead and murderous.

  Click. “Of a—” Selene leapt. Her chest cracked, her eyes split, her throat tore itself open. A blinding flash of blue-white light. The sharp sudden smell of ozone.

  Click. “Bitch!” The sword curved down, an arc of solid silver.

  Grigori flung up his arm. His claws raked for Selene’s eyes—

  And somehow, incredibly, missed as the deck heaved again.

  The broadsword made a cracking sound as it clove through his arm and buried itself in Grigori’s neck. Selene landed, her boots skidding, and the firecrack of her rage hit like thunder after lightning. Hit with Power and physical force, she thought dreamily. Everything was slow, caught in a bubble of stasis. Anything else is useless.

  Like the glass globe of quiet closing around her when Danny died. A killing calm.

  The sword drove down cleanly, splintering ribs. Selene heard a noise like the world grinding to a stop. A sheet of orange, oily flame billowed up, and she tossed the hilt away from her in a reflex action that saved her from being dragged into the inferno. She threw herself back, fighting momentum, the world slowing down, moving through syrup, her body struggling again without thought, claws digging into roofing with a rending sound lost under the bucking explosion of more heavy petroleo going up in flames. The blast actually helped, pushing her back, she rolled, her head smacking something metallic hard enough that her fangs clipped together and she lost a chunk of her lower lip.

  —where am I—

  “GET UP YOU DUMB BITCH GET UP!” Danny screamed, a delirium of terror.

  No wonder he’s still talking. Maybe he was out of his body when he died.

  That broke her trance. She hauled herself half-upright, saw Nikolai’s body, ten feet away. Shook her head, blood flying from her lip, the heat of the fire making her skin feel tight and shiny. Her hair was smoking, she could smell it, feel it crisping.

  Fire is every Nichtvren’s enemy, she heard her own voice in a lecture hall, long ago, in another life. Open flame is the best defense against a Nichtvren gone bad—if any of them can be said to be good, that is.

  The whole class had laughed, and she’d felt gratified. Leave him. Let him lie there.

  She finally reached him. Nikolai lay still, his burned face tilted back, eyes closed, strangely peaceful, his mouth slack.

  Selene’s claws dug into his shoulders. She pulled him up, hysterical strength nearly overbalancing both of them. “Don’t you goddamn dare die on me!” she heard herself shout, a thin reedy sound, as the boat shuddered again and settled in the water.

  Selene hefted Nikolai’s limp body and looked around, wildly.

  “To your left!” Danny’s voice, reedy as a cricket’s, almost physical amid the chaos. And the only voice that could have gotten through to her.

  She immediately jagged to her left, dragging Nikolai, but her legs were limp noodles and he was so heavy, so heavy. The gunfire had stopped. Sirens were drawing closer. The cavalry always comes late, she thought, with a kind of mad clarity. There’s a lesson in that, Selene.

  She was still running when the wheelhouse roof gave way underneath her. The speed she’d built up took her in a soaring leap, Nikolai dragged with her, his entire body limp and boneless. When they hit the water, she lost consciousness for a moment.

  Blackness closed over her head. She surfaced, thrashing desperately in the water, great foaming chunks of it jetting up and splashing back down. Am I doing that? she wondered, and found she was arching for shore. The pier was burning too.

  There was another massive ripping sound behind her, and the water steamed. Chunks of metal rained down, flaming bits of wreckage. Selene’s arm locked around Nikolai’s neck, dragging him.

  There is no comfort in alone, Nikolai’s voice whispered, faint and fading.

  “Nikolai—” She got a mouthful of seawater with a thick chaser of oil from the burning ship, choked, her lip stinging terribly. Her eyes smarted. Her entire body trembled, a thin fine shuddering made out of wire. “Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard.” She choked again, spat to clear her mouth. He was utterly limp. She swam for shore, churning at the water, Power bleeding out through her heavy arms and legs. If I keep this up my heart will stop.

  She kept going.

  The waves helped, and once she reached the side of another pier she found a ladder. She clung to it, wondering if she could carry him up.

  “Selene!” Marina’s voice. A rope—two—three ropes coiled down. One of them struck Selene’s head, and she shook it away. “Tie him on!”

  Selene nodded. Her fingers were cold and terribly numb. Still, she managed to get one rope tied around Nikolai’s chest, under his arms. She almost lost him twice, his head falling limply back and his body slipping through her grasp.

  When she had it knotted securely, she found herself treading water. “Haul him up,” she said, harshly, and heard Nikolai’s snap of command in her own voice. Do I really sound like him? She looked at the thin shingle ladder nailed together, and a sigh shook her heavy body in the water’s cold arms. The medallion was a circle of ice against her chest, its life gone.

  Sucking at her wounded lip, her eyes streaming tears, Selene began to climb.

  Nineteen

  They laid him on the red-velvet bed, folding his hands on his chest. His face was charred up the left side, burned almost down to the bone, half his hair gone. The wound on his chest was still open and smoking, the ragged edges of muscle exposed, white broken spears of his ribs peeking out under peeled-back skin. All that was l
eft of his clothes were a few scraps of the coat and his boots, and maybe a quarter of his jeans.

  Selene coughed into her hand, engine oil coating the back of her throat. The smell of smoke twisted her stomach again. She dropped the pile of Kevlar by the door.

  Jorge looked up from the bedside. “Selene?”

  The red lace lamp glowed dimly. Selene shook her head, damp tendrils of her hair falling forward. Bradley, his dreadlocks wet with blood on one side, looked at her too. There were two others, she hadn’t asked their names.

  She didn’t care.

  They looked at her like she should know what to do.

  “Get out.” Her voice was an awful choked rasp.

  She stood aside from the door as they passed. Then she swung the door closed, and dropped the iron bar from her side into the brackets.

  With that done, she waited.

  There was a whispered argument right outside the door. Jorge saying something about her being the Mistress now. Bradley hissing that Nikolai had to be alive, that he would rise, why else had she brought him back here?

  Selene waited until they had gone away. Her arms and legs shook, waves of trembling spilling through liquid flesh. There was no desire in the shaking now. It was cold ash and exhaustion, nothing more.

  Dawn wasn’t far off.

  She slid down the inside of the door, ending up sitting with her hands loose and limp to either side. “Nikolai,” she whispered. “Nik?”

  The ride back from the docks had been grimly silent, Selene cradling Nikolai’s head in the back of the black van, Bradley stealing glances at them. Marina had been taken in a different car. The city howled with sirens, fires in different corners, chaos spilling out onto the streets.

  If Nikolai didn’t wake up, it would all be for nothing. The City would become a free territory, and Nichtvren would spill in to take it. The strong would fight, the weak would die, and a new Prime Power would eventually rise.

  And Selene. . .what would happen to her? What would she do?

  Free. I’m free now.

  “Nikolai?” she whispered again.