Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2)

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  Out on the porch of the Keys’ old home, I looked over at Tamara. “Did you get that info I asked you about?”

  “Yeah.” She handed me her phone, and I swiped through some notes with a grin. It was good stuff, exactly what I needed. “Ashes…”

  “What?” I tried to grin, like I wasn’t worried at all, but Tamara was still a Moroi. She saw right through me.

  “Are you sure about this?” She looked me over, the missing clothes, the lacerations, the dark blood and fractured bones. Her eyes turned soft. “You could be killed.”

  “But I’m already dead,” I protested flippantly. “And I’ve got this.” I had to. If I didn’t, a whole lot of important things—like people’s lives—were going to go to hell in a handcart. “I’ll get her back, Tam. I promise. I’m not even worried.”

  Tamara smiled sadly, her brow furrowing with concern. “Alright,” she said finally. “I believe you.” I was a horrible liar. If Tamara believed me now…

  It was only because she wanted to.

  The Moroi threw her arms around me, giving me a tight squeeze and resting her head on my dirty shoulder for a moment. “Anything more I can do?”

  I shrugged. “Play Eye of the Tiger for me.”

  Charles, leaning against the porch railing, took a drink and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his heavy coat. “You know, this is the single dumbest thing you've ever done. And that's from a list that gets longer every day.” Charles sighed heavily and straightened. “Do I need to come with you?”

  I couldn’t hide a grin. “Nah. I’m the only asshole here durable enough for this.”

  He sighed again, this time with relief. “Thank God. But remember, you're not actually immortal. He knows how to kill you.”

  I nodded absently. Charles’ commentary had sparked a thought, and I looked the tall wizard over. Ignoring his sputtered protests, I pulled his coat open and started tugging at it, while rummaging around in its insides. “Well, maybe you can be with me in spirit.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  No one taller than the last vampire standing

  My final trip to the junkyard and through the blood pool didn’t bring me back to Monument Valley. It might still linger just Next Door, and I figured that someday it and I would cross paths again. But for now, its little mistress had moved on, once more allowing the enigmatic locale to drift freely among the nebulous Neighboring realms. Instead, I dropped through the bottom of the pool of blood, crossing the boundary between realities, and stepped out into Salvatore’s privately-owned hell.

  A hoodie, a doll, and a heavy bag from Charles’ supplies hung around my waist, while the wizard’s oversized coat shrouded my smaller frame like a leather coffin. I had a double-thick layer of borrowed sweatshirts swallowing my battered torso, replacing the clothes Maggie had demolished earlier. What few surprises I had left were prepared. I’d let Salvatore throw the best he had at me all night, and I was still standing—while none of them were.

  I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

  Let’s get this over with. I had a date to keep.

  I took my first, hesitant steps into a realm of pure blood, each footfall sending off endless ripples into the distance. Salvatore’s stolen world had a liquid ocean “floor,” decorated with “rocks” that looked suspiciously like bones or teeth, ropes of meaty gristle binding them to the softly rippling, bloody terrain. Above my head hung a single, unmoving, post-apocalyptic orb in a bloodshot sky. Luckily for me, it didn’t mimic the lethal effects of a real sun, but it did make my dead skin crawl—I was pretty certain the blazing sphere was watching me of its own accord, following my actions from high in its lofty, distant perch like the Eye of fucking Sauron.

  There was no way to avoid knowing where Salvatore was. Even if I couldn’t have seen the megalomaniac’s sprawling bone-and-blood throne all the way from here, I could hear his heartbeat leading me on. Strong and vital, like a force of nature, the rhythmic THUMP, THUMP, THUMP drowned out any other background noise that might have existed, swallowing it whole before fading ominously into the background itself.

  He wasn’t trying to hide, and neither was I. Salvatore watched as I marched right up to his throne, a dais and tall-backed chair of bleached ivory bone and stretched sinew, weeping blood that turned my stomach with its unwholesome odor. At least he wasn’t dressed like a king, but his sleek black slacks and perfectly tailored ebony dress shirt contrasted with his crimson vest, and stood out among the sanguine landscape of sculpted gore like a bruise—or a cancer.

  My eyes fell on the desperate little figure at the base of the throne, a little Moroi girl bound in chains of pure liquid blood. Daniella fit Tamara’s description exactly, save for the bloodstains and distress. Her silky black hair clung to her cheeks in tired, damp little ringlets, and her radiant emerald eyes watched me nervously, warily as I approached. Her ivory skin shone through the rips and tears in her once-splendid silver dress and white tights, Moroi flesh far paler than the now-dirty cloth. Despite her obvious peril and the fear that glimmered in the depths of those deep emerald irises, she managed to hold her composure together like a true Moroi Princess.

  Salvatore spoke first, his voice emanating lazily from where he lounged upon his throne of bone.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t give up, Strigoi,” he drawled, the urbane, arrogant Spanish accent grating on my nerves. I didn’t miss Daniella perking up at the mention of my race, suddenly sizing me up with astonished emerald eyes. “You’ve interfered with my plans over and over, killed my servants at every turn.” He sat up slowly, pointedly showing off his lack of fear. “A lesser man would be angry. But I’m actually pleased. You’re my savior, after all.”

  “Savior?” I rasped the query, staring up at the Sanguinarian. Oh, I was pretty certain I knew where he was going with this, but the longer I could keep him talking, the better.

  “Of course,” the egomaniac replied. “With your death, I will have all the proof I need to convince the Sanguinarian elders that your kind still exist. Not only will I be elevated even beyond my previous heights of influence, but we will finally be able to finish what we started hundreds of years ago.” He grinned down at me, wearing a malicious sneer like a fancy mask. “And after your kind are gone, then go the Moroi and the so-called ‘Grand’ Magisterium.”

  I’d have loved to dismiss his words as power-mad ramblings. But from what Charles and Tamara had hinted at, perhaps the Sanguinarians really were preparing to do just that. I shoved those concerns aside for now. “Sure. Funny thing is, though, I’m not really that afraid of a failure, much less a Sanguinarian failure.”

  I watched as my words got to him, riling him just a little, his dark brown eyes slowly shifting to a bubbling crimson.

  “Oh yeah,” I continued. “I know who you are. You’re not the only asshole who can trace a freaking phone number and dig up the history of its owner. You did it to me, but Tamara was only too happy to return the favor. Took like five minutes.” He leaned forward, gripping the arms of his throne. “You’re Salvatore De Avila, a three-and-a-half century old Sanguinarian whose only claim to fame is the ability to make the wrong friends, the wrong choices, and the wrong damn bets over and over again. Now your own kind avoid you like a fucking STD, and the only prayer you’ve got of being a respectable asshole again is is to pull off something so crazy it’s indistinguishable from stupidity, right under the noses of the Moroi.”

  At the base of his throne, where he could never see it, Daniella hid a tired, thin little smile.

  Meeting Salvatore’s eyes, I cocked a hip and cracked a shit-eating grin. “Tell me, assface. How far off the mark am I?”

  For a moment, I thought I had him, that Salvatore was going to flip his shit right then and there. I knew if I had any sort of natural talent, it likely lay in utterly enraging people. But the Sanguinarian above me kept his cool for the moment, if only barely.

  “I had hoped that kidnapping Lillith’s youngest and forcing the Moroi out of the region wo
uld buy my way back into power,” he replied, his tone frosty. Slowly, he stood, looking down on me with utter contempt. “But when you showed up, I knew my time had come. And when you fell for my ruse and allowed me to capture your foolishly heroic actions on the hospital’s security cameras, I saw my fortunes had truly turned.”

  I froze. I was a moron.

  “Admittedly, it wasn't the best footage and not quite what I'd hoped for.” Step by step, Salvatore worked his way down to me. “But you foolishly insist on falling into my clutches, granting me the undeniable proof of a ‘live’ specimen instead.” He stopped, unconcerned, just out of my reach, still using the higher ground to look down his nose at me. “So who here is the fool? Who is the failure?”

  I chewed my lip for a second, thinking it through. If he’d held onto the footage this long, waiting for further, indisputable proof, then he hadn’t circulated it yet. And there was no way he could entrust it to another Sanguinarian; they’d simply take credit for it in his stead. I gave him a ferocious grin of my own, making certain to show all four fangs. “Wow, I’m glad we took this opportunity to monologue. Now I know that if I kill you, all of that proof just—poof—goes away, am I right?”

  His bloody eyes glittered with anger. “Even if you could slay me—which I assure you cannot happen—you can hardly stop the whole of my people.” He leaned toward me, seething.

  “Well, how about I start with you, and we'll see how far I get.” I leaned right back toward him.

  Salvatore’s eyes flared bright and bloody. Around us, his realm trembled, shuddering soundlessly at the edges. “Do you not realize I can kill you? As my people slew your families and heroes for centuries? Your weaknesses are the same as theirs. I know you, Strigoi.”

  I ached to punch that arrogant grin right off his face, but I held back. Every second counted. “Then tell me, Sanguinarian. Does that knowledge make you piss yourself at night?” I grinned up into his face. “After all, you had to get the whole damn world to gang up on us just so your kind could feel safe enough to take a piss without holding someone’s hand.”

  He roared with rage—finally—his voice tearing at my ears as it shook the world. “Your kind are like cockroaches: filthy, pathetic, and in need of being cleansed.” Daniella wisely hid as a gigantic blood blade formed above Salvatore’s head between his raised hands, a sanguine weapon as big as a bus. “You always return, just when we think we’ve exterminated you!” The blade descended at Salvatore’s command, aimed at cleaving me in two. “Never again!”

  Salvatore’s massive executioner’s blade was a swiftly falling death sentence, but he’d run his damn mouth too long for me not to be ready for him. As his weapon swept down, mine swept up: the heavy gray bag full of Charles’ simple table salt.

  A ripple flexed its way through Salvatore’s world as the crimson conjuration shattered, a few sharp shards sliding off of Charles’ heavily enchanted coat. As Salvatore reeled, momentarily stunned, I reached out and grabbed his ankle.

  Like a struggling, pretentious club, I swung the blood mage into the nearest tooth-rock. I heard a vulgar squelching sound as his shoulder pulverized on impact, and the sharp crack of his spine snapping. I didn’t stop there; grinning gleefully and viciously, I spun the asshole two quick full revolutions before launching him into his own throne, leveling it with a thunderous clatter of bouncing bones.

  While bone and blood globules still rained from the crimson sky, I quickly knelt by the captive little Moroi. She jerked away from me as my long, savage claws ripped free of my fingers, there was nowhere she could go, nowhere to hide. At least, not until a couple of quick, rending slashes shattered the blood bonds binding her to Salvatore’s shattered throne.

  “I’m Ashley,” I hissed quickly, quietly, putting my claws away. “And I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

  Her eyes went wide with surprise, and the young Moroi immediately relaxed. “You’re Ashley?” A faint, hopeful smile peeked through the dark curtain of her blood-dampened hair.

  Did I know her? Had Tamara told her about me or something? A mass rattling of fallen bones told me in no uncertain terms that there was no time to wonder. “Quick! Hide!”

  As Tamara’s sister sprinted for the nearest cover, I turned to confront Salvatore, stepping between them, keeping his attention on me. Blood, bone, and sinew skittered away of its own accord, following Salvatore’s whim and allowing him to rise unimpeded. As I’d expected—and hoped—the blood vampire was already completely healed, even from the grievous injuries I’d dealt him. I waded through bone toward him, and he caught my eyes, taking an unconscious step back.

  “So if we’re cockroaches,” I strode forward, “why are you the one scurrying away?”

  “Power isn’t sheer might, Strigoi.” With a defiant snarl, he thrust a hand toward me, and I stopped moving, held in his sorcerous grip, my toes leaving what passed for ground here. “True power is command. Manipulation. Bending others to your will.” He made a fist, and I could feel him calling to my blood, manipulating it without even the need for a focus.

  I focused my own will, and his meager control over me snapped like a fragile thread—no doubt assisted by the truly massive amount of salt I’d eaten before I stepped foot in here, those magic-disrupting crystals still floating idly through my sluggish bloodstream.

  Salvatore didn’t seem to comprehend his failure until I was already in his face. I drove my fist into his gut as hard as I could, blasting the breath from the vampire. My other fist connected squarely with his face, shattering his nose and cheekbone. While his pain-rattled mind tried to catch up to the amount of punishment he was taking, I tucked him into an old-fashioned piledriver—a move I’d learned from late nights with my dad watching Rowdy Roddy Piper—and planted his head into the rippling, bloody ground. By the time I could flip myself back to my feet, he was already fully healed again—Salvatore was regenerating at an astounding rate.

  “How would a failure like you know anything about power?” I taunted anyway, flashing him a flicker of fangs. I reared back and kicked him in the collar bone, obliterating it as I drew carefully on the deathly energy ambiently invigorating his realm. I’d have to be careful to use enough to stay alive, but not so much as to burn it all up.

  The blood sky darkened a little more at the edges as Salvatore shrugged off my blow and surged to his feet, landing a full-power uppercut alongside my jaw. I staggered backward as my jawbone dislocated, but I pushed it back in place and flung myself at him again; if I didn’t stick close to him, he’d saw me apart with his blood magic. I didn’t have infinite salt, after all—in fact, there wasn’t much left. I swiped across at the Sanguinarian, cursing the fact that I couldn’t dare use my claws yet, and watched an agile Salvatore lean back just out of reach.

  I overbalanced, and he slammed his knee into my side, lifting me off the ground; my ribs creaked audibly as they compressed in response. He tried to kick my legs out from under me as I settled back on my heels, but I steadied my footing and held firm. I managed to snap out a quick hand and palmed his head, then threw him headlong to the ground instead of crushing his skull like a ripe melon.

  “Fool Strigoi!” Salvatore caught my follow-up kick easily, yanking my feet out from under me as he drew on more power to match my superior supernatural strength. “This whole world is my blood!” He slammed me down on my back, squashing any reply except a grunt of impact. “With every breath, I fill myself with it! I am endless here. A god!” He snapped off a powerful kick into my stomach, doubling me over and sending me sliding across the blood-ground, scattering the bones from his throne like a thousand ivory bowling pins.

  I dug my fingers in the the softly undulating plane of blood underneath me, slowing my momentum. I threw myself back at him hastily, sliding across the ground and kicking him sharply in the shin, snapping it in two like a twig.

  He grimaced from the flash of pain but didn’t even lose his balance; the injury healed before what passed for gravity here could ev
en begin to take effect. Salvatore aimed a kick at my head, but I managed to duck out of the way just in time and roll to my feet. I threw a wild punch at him in response, but he caught it too easily.

  I grabbed his other hand in response. We clinched and strained against each other for a moment, wrestling as the edges of the sky pulsed and dimmed, bit by agonizingly slow bit. The whole world shivered subtly around us as he drank in its power and as I drew slowly on death energy to match him.

  I managed to slip his grasp with one hand, breaking the stalemate by wrapping that hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him into a devastating headbutt that broke one of his long, vicious dripping fangs. I flinched and blinked as he spat the sharp, serpentine tooth at my face, and by the time I opened my eyes again, he was already grinning at me with a replacement.

  Salvatore’s eyes, now twin droplets of gleaming, dancing blood, flickered like crimson lightning as he surged forward and grabbed me by the throat. I smothered a small surge of panic I didn’t have time for as I dangled from one extended hand. His grasp slowly tightened, and I gripped his fingers in mine to slow the crushing grip. Meanwhile, he rifled uncontested blows into my torso with his free hand, sending me swaying back and forth. But when my body refused to yield to his punishment, Salvatore simply snarled and slung me aside.

  I struck a jutting tooth, chipping a chunk of the enamel as I bounced off it. As I struggled to rise, I caught Daniella’s eyes, deep and green with concern, reminding me of Tamara’s. I offered her the best smile I could manage and pushed myself to my feet.

  This whole fight was a bluff on my part. A gigantic gamble. There was no way I could keep up with Salvatore here, no way in hell I could match him. Not in the long run. Despite the death that still lingered in the air, this realm was far more his than it was mine, and once he realized that, crushing me would be simplicity itself.

  I was betting everything on the assumption that he wouldn’t realize that, not yet, and that I could keep him too busy to figure it out.