by Erin Hayes
“In here.” His voice wasn’t right, but she had no choice, other than follow him into the apartment. He was through the foyer, past rooms she barely registered, other than as a blur of color, and then pushed into a bedroom.
Everything came to a screeching halt, every detail of the scene before her, hyper-real, like someone turned up the contrast, sharpened the edges of everything. And what she saw, made her blood run cold.
Hudson was on the bed, on his back, shirtless, and wearing gray sweats. The sheets under his torso were covered in blood, so much blood that she thought they were too late, and he was dead. For a minute, Jessica was captivated by the blood, by the way it pooled and moved on the sheets, the patterns it made, the deep color of it. It drew her, called to her, and told her secrets in a language she didn’t know, but understood immediately in her heart, in her soul. She took a step forward, reaching for Hudson, for his blood.
There was a blinding flash of light, so intense she had to close her eyes. It sent a sharp needle of pain through her head. She shook herself, trying to open her eyes, wanting to see, needing to see more of the blood.
The slap across her face stung, the force of it whipping her head to the side. Something cracked in her neck, a shiver of pain ran down her arms. She brought a hand up, either to examine her face, or to strike out herself, she wasn’t sure. But then Euros was in front of her, fingers wrapped around her wrist. His face inches from hers, he pushed her backward.
“Don’t look. Do not…look at me.”
She didn’t listen. Instead, she forced her gaze to his, and found his eyes burning with intensity.
“You can’t be here, Jessica. You must…”
“I’m not leaving. Do something, anything. Use your magic!” She looked past Euros, and for the first time, she realized there was a woman – or something that resembled a woman, though she was clearly made of dark magic. She was dressed all in black, her hair tousled in waves, and the look on her face screamed murder. She was on the bed, straddling Hudson’s hips, a knife raised over her head.
“Euros! What the hell…”
“She’s suspended…frozen. But not for long.”
In amazement, Jessica saw that he was right. The woman was like a statue, a beautiful, terrible woman, frozen at the peak of her rage. There was a strangely sensual, almost erotic, quality to her that was as compelling as the blood that pooled on the bed. With tremendous effort, Jessica looked away.
“Jesus…”
“She’s very strong. The magic here is powerful…dark. Her shifter side could never take me on its own, but her fae magic is stronger than I could have imagined.”
“What can you do? How can I help you?”
As she spoke, the fae started to move. It was clear she was fighting for control, her body thrumming, as she fought against Euros’s magic. And it was clear to Jessica that she was regaining control way too fast.
“This isn’t going to work, not this time.” Fuck magic. It was time for plain, old mortal physical force.
Jessica pushed past Euros, his protests drowned out by the hammering of her heart and the harsh rush of air as she tried to breathe. The bed seemed so far away, but she ran toward the blood-soaked mattress and the fae straddling Hudson.
Setting her hands on the edge of the bed, Jessica vaulted onto the mattress. The woman was bringing the knife down—her arms corded with muscle and veins, the knife trembling, on the verge of breaking free of Euros’s magical grip. Jessica hit the bed hard, landing on her knees, momentum at least on her side. She lunged, hitting the woman’s hip, wrapping her arms around Anastasia. It was liking hitting a brick wall, albeit a wall that hummed and sizzled with magic, and rage, and power. And suddenly, all of that was directed at Jessica.
That momentum carried them both off the other side of the bed. Anastasia made a sound, a high-pitched scream, that set Jessica’s teeth on edge. But she held on, tucking her head into her shoulders, bearing the woman down onto the carpet.
They landed with a bone-shattering thud, sliding on the carpet, until they crashed into the wall. The sudden stop forced Jessica to roll over the top of Anastasia, and her head hit the wall hard. Stars blossomed across her vision, and her death grip on Anastasia loosened.
Anastasia’s body suddenly felt like a wiggling bag of snakes, as she fought to get out from under Jessica. She kicked at Jessica’s stomach, but her aim was off, and the blow hit Jessica’s thigh. It hurt like hell, but somehow Jessica struggled to hang on to the woman.
“Let go of me, you fucking mortal.”
It was the words that shocked Jessica more than the tone. For a minute, the image of the petite smiling woman standing beside Hudson in the photo from Lansing’s house rose up in memory. The coarse words were such a direct contrast to that image that Jessica gasped.
“I’m not letting you get away with this. Not again.”
Anastasia still held the knife, and as she twisted her torso, she brought the blade around, slashing at Jessica. There was a flash of metal, warm drops of blood from the knife, splashing across her face. Panic surged through her, and she threw up her right hand to protect her face. The knife slashed her palm, and she screamed in pain.
“Euros…” Where the hell was he? Why wasn’t he helping her?
The only place that seemed safe was under the bed. Banging her head on the frame, she crawled across the carpet. There was movement behind her, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get away from Anastasia, and find Euros.
Something grabbed her foot. She kicked, losing her boot in the process. Then she came out the other side, wiggling out from under the bed, pulling herself with one hand while cradling the other against her chest. Euros wasn’t there. Scrambling awkwardly to her feet, she drew her gun with her left hand, whirling around, ready to fire at Anastasia.
But Euros was in her way. He was on the bed, kneeling beside Hudson. For a horrible moment, she thought he was trying to kill the man.
“Euros! Stop, or I’ll shoot. Please! Stop!”
“Jessica, don’t...” He glanced at her, and she saw in his eyes that he was himself, as much as that was possible. “He’s alive, and I’m trying to keep him that way.”
His hands were a blur, as he moved them over Hudson’s body. The blood no longer enthralled her, and she watched in amazement, as the rivers of blood running over the sheets, slowed to a trickle.
“Is he…”
“She didn’t deliver the killing blow, but she used magic on him first and he’s in a type of coma. That must be what she does—to prevent them from fighting, but allow them to still feel the pain. What a cruel bitch.”
“Where the hell is she?” Anastasia seemed to have vanished. But she’d no more than said the words, than the woman rose like a specter on the other side of the bed.
“Euros, watch out.”
Anastasia screamed, thrusting the knife at Euros. Jessica had no shot, and even if she did, holding the gun in her left hand was awkward. But Euros turned, calmly holding up one hand. Anastasia’s arm came down hard, burying the knife in the mattress. With a snarl, she pulled it out.
“Jessica, get out. You can’t stay…”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You can’t fight her.”
“Mortals…you are all so weak.” Anastasia’s face was contorted with rage, but she still smiled. It distorted her face in a grotesque caricature of mirth. “Do you really think you have a chance against a fae?”
Jessica managed to cock the gun, and held it steady with her bloody hand. Something was wrong. Her fingers refused to work, and the blood made the grip slippery. But she held her stance, and took aim at Anastasia.
“Try, bitch. Just do it.”
Jessica pulled the trigger. The gun sounded louder than possible in the small space. Anastasia staggered back, a look of surprise erasing the hateful smile. For a moment, she was the pretty woman in the photo—eyes wide, mouth open in a little O, features softened.
The force of the sho
t threw Anastasia back against the wall. A blossom of red appeared on her chest, and for a minute, relief flooded through Jessica. Mixt was wrong—the fae-shifter hybrid was vulnerable to mortal weapons.
But the relief turned to horror, as Anastasia straightened and looked down at the blood on her blouse. The horror only deepened, as Anastasia began to laugh.
“Silly mortal…you can’t possibly expect a bullet to stop me.”
“No, but I can stop you.”
Euros rose up on the bed, towering over both of them. He pointed at Anastasia, and for a minute nothing happened. Then the air around him crackled, static making Jessica’s hair stand on end.
Anastasia snarled, a sound that set Jessica’s teeth on edge. The woman lunged for Euros—clawing the air between them—as the knife slashed the air. Jessica fired again, hitting Anastasia in the shoulder, but the round barely made an impact. The woman was possessed. In seconds, she was on the bed, reaching for Euros, the knife poised to strike.
But then he was gone, and Anastasia was falling onto the bed, the knife slashing through the mattress. Jessica blinked. It was the mattress, not Hudson. He was gone, or invisible, or something.
Anastasia shrieked, jerking the knife out of the bed. She turned, glaring at Jessica. Feeling like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming freight train, she willed herself to move. But it was if her feet were glued to the floor. With horror, she realized Anastasia was doing it, keeping her rooted to the carpet. She had the urge to look down and see if the carpet was growing over her lone boot and bare foot, holding her in place. But she resisted, not wanting to take her eyes off Anastasia.
She blinked, and then was on the other side of the room, her insides racing to catch up with her skin and bones. A wave of nausea swept through her, and she wobbled, before sliding down to the floor.
“I’m here, Jess.” That was Euros, his voice coming to her from very, far away. She focused on him, and saw he’d taken a stance in the middle of room. Startled, she saw his feet were off the floor, that he was levitating inches above the carpet. A sort of a bluish green aura surrounded him, creating shimmering waves that blurred his edges and made him look like a deathly angel in black. But he was her angel, deathly or not.
If anything was deadly in the room though, it was Anastasia. She crouched a few feet away from Euros, teeth bared. Her face looked different, more pointed, and Jessica could see the feral fox in her features.
Jessica tried to stand, but she couldn’t. Then she realized that it was no longer Anastasia restraining her, but Euros—the feeling that wrapped itself around her body was the very same as when he transported them from one world to the other. She was furious at him for holding her back, but beneath the anger she knew what he was trying to do.
He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe.
Bullshit. I could hold my own.
But could she? Her hand throbbed, blood soaking through her sweater. Her fingers were numb, and she knew something vital had been cut. Everything in her body was out of alignment, her spine felt as if she’d been twisted into knots.
Magic was a bitch.
She wondered where Hudson was. What had Euros had done with him? But it was a passing thought. All her attention was focused on Euros and the feral creature that the woman was becoming.
But Euros’s expression was eerily calm, as he hovered over the floor. Jessica watched, in awe, as he raised his arms to the side, then brought them together. The air crackled and the room filled with the smell of sulfur. Between his hands, the air grew dense and solid, a growing, glowing green ball.
Anastasia flung herself at Euros. Jessica watched, mesmerized, as the woman became something else, something less than human, but not quite animal. Whatever she was, it was terrifying. An amazingly swift, a blur of red fur and hair, and what could only be fangs.
Euros’s response was swift, hands pushing the ball toward Anastasia. It struck the woman in the chest. For a moment, everything around Jessica froze—Euros, his black coat floating around his body, his face calm, his gray eyes locked on Anastasia. And the woman—or shifter—with her teeth bared, her fingers curled into claws, her rage distorting her fine features, stopped in mid-leap, as the ball of energy crashed into her body.
Then the world exploded in a firestorm. Jessica threw up her injured hand, covering her eyes, wincing from the pain. Heat and light surrounded her, and for a split second she thought she would burst into flames. But then it was gone, the light and heat disappearing. She looked over her fingers, and gasped.
Euros was no longer levitating. He was hunched on the floor, head down, breathing hard. Anastasia lay curled in a heap on the floor, her face covered by a mass of tangled red hair. Jessica tried to stand, and when she found she could, she moved toward Euros. Before she’d taken a full step, Anastasia’s head shot up and fixed her eyes on Jessica. With a snarl, she flung out on hand, sending a bolt of white light streaking toward Jessica. Frozen, she watched it cross the few feet between them. In that space of time, Jessica knew she was going to die. She closed her eyes.
Within seconds, she found herself on the other side of the room, thrown against a dresser. Behind her, things crashed, and the sound of breaking glass pierced her ears. The scent of citrus and sandalwood filled the room, likely from broken bottles of cologne or perfume. The wall where she had been standing, was now gone, and she found herself looking into the room beyond. The edges of the wall were charred, smoking faintly.
Anastasia made a sound, a sound so full of fury that Jessica was convinced that cry could kill. Euros materialized behind Anastasia, and threw his arms around the woman. He was several inches taller, and many pounds heavier, but Anastasia managed to move away from him. She spun around, and they stood face to face.
“You’re not going to kill me, if that’s what you think. I’m far too powerful for you, Gatekeeper. You’re weak. You, and the others…you’re all weak in mind, and in magic. Gatekeeper,” She spat out the last word. “Weakened by your contact with the mortal world. Not pure, like me…not truly magical.”
“You’re not pure, Anastasia. You’re pure evil. There’s no place for you, or your dark magic, in either the mortal world or mine.”
“That’s not for you to decide, Euros… not anymore. You are nothing more than a guardian of the portals, but once we have destroyed the portals, we will be free to do whatever we wish in this world, and in ours.” She glared at Euros, her eyes burning with anger. “What I will be able to do once the power of the grimoire is in my hands… no one will ever stop us again. Those of us who were long forgotten, who were banished from our world by those who thought themselves better than us… our birthright will finally be restored.”
Anastasia laughed, a sickening sound, and raised her hand to her shoulder. The strange knife she’d held over Hudson suddenly appeared, the jagged blade glinting through streaks of blood.
“You were given the choice Anastasia, whether to remain in the world of magic, or live amongst the mortals that you hate so much. You decided your own fate.”
“Is that what you were told? That we chose to live in this world? A world that will never accept us?” Anastasia cackled again, her voice a piercing wail that shook the room. “You can’t really believe that we would choose such a thing? No…” She shook her head violently, a crimson wave of rage washed across her features. “We didn’t have a choice. Your world—and this one—rejected all hybrids. We were banished, ripped from our home… but that’s all about to change.”
Jessica could see that Euros had something in his hand, held within the folds of his coat, but he kept it hidden.
“I’ve come this far, and I’m not going to be stopped by some silly Mage, and his human lover. It’s done…you’re too late. I’ve reconstructed the grimoire, and with it, I can blow the portals wide open once again, and take back the world.”
“That’s not going to happen, Anastasia. If you were banished from my world, it was because of your desire for the dark magic. It was un
wanted then, and it’s unwanted now.”
Why wasn’t he blowing her out of this world with some magical thunderbolt? What the hell was he waiting for?
Anastasia howled, and then lunged toward him. Euros brought his hand out of the folds of his coat, revealing what it was that he had hidden. Jessica tensed, waiting for the fire, for the blue-green light, for the magic to explode from his fingers. But she saw he held only a book in his hand. Then she saw the silver buckle and the cracked and worn cover, and she knew. It was the grimoire.
When Anastasia saw what he held in his hand, she screamed in what sounded like agony. The momentum of her swing brought her forward, and the blade of the knife sliced though the book. Panic filled the hybrid’s eyes, and she stumbled forward, before catching herself. With both hands, she desperately tried to pull the knife out of the book, but it was stuck, refusing to budge.
The book began to glow, a deep, ruby red, tinged with orange and yellow. It looked like a branding iron heating up over a raging flame, ready to leave its mark. Suddenly, the cover burst into flames, tendrils of fire racing down the blade toward Anastasia. She screamed and tried to pull away from the knife, but it was clear she couldn’t let go. Through the growing roar of the fire, she heard Anastasia’s words.
“You will pay for this, Gatekeeper. This isn’t over.”
The flames reached her hand, and her words were lost in a scream of agony, and the dull roar of the fire. Jessica suddenly felt herself drawn to the light. Magic no longer restrained her, and she moved closer. There was no heat from the fire, but she saw the skin on Anastasia’s hands crackle and split, blackening, as the fire raced up her arms. The flames leapt from her hands to her hair, and instantly the room was filled with the reek of burning hair. Through the flames, Anastasia’s eyes found Jessica’s. There was no regret, no humility, no humanity. Just rage and anger and hate. Jessica turned away.
Suddenly, the room was silent. Jessica turned around slowly, expecting the worst, expecting a charred body, or a pile of ashes. Or nothing.
But Anastasia wasn’t gone, or dead. She lay in a crumpled heap on the carpet, a carpet untouched by flames. Her clothes were clean, her hair, tangled and matted, but not a singed mess.