by Allison Pang
She took a deep breath. “Three. Two. One.”
The knife blade slid out and my body burned in agony.
Water rushed to fill the empty space left behind by the blade, warmth pouring from me in a flurry of red. Instinctively, I clamped my hand across my belly, my life leaking between my fingers.
“Swim!”
Phin’s voice pulled me out of my stupor. Dimly I thought of the story of The Little Mermaid. The original one, where every step was like stepping on knives. Little girl currently had nothing on me at the moment. I would gladly have traded fins for feet as opposed to the exquisite gut wound I was now sporting.
I pushed myself through the water, each movement stretching across broken muscle and fiery skin. I wondered if the asshole had stabbed anything really vital. Stupid thing to wonder, given the situation, but calculating how long it was going to take me to get to the surface was at least somewhat safer to think about than . . . them.
The shadows still swarmed above me, but they looked larger and sated. And why wouldn’t they be, really? Hadn’t they nearly devoured me before? The darkness stretched out, an eternal road of black. I was definitely swimming slower now, but my veins were thrumming, my blood pulsing in an easy cadence. Brystion was above me—he had come for me, was waiting for me.
I let the rest of the memories, the pain, and the nightmares go. All of it washed away like mud down a river, eddying and pooling in places, but loosening the tension, setting me free. I pressed onward. The sharks parted for me, fins lazy, eyes dull and dead. One of them still had a mouthful of flesh hanging from its teeth.
It snapped toward me and then away. I cleared my mind of everything but him. My body was sluggish, despite the way the cool chill of the water dulled my pain.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. The words drummed again and again until at last I saw it—moonlight through waves, white light filtering down.
The current had taken on a stronger pull than before, the last twenty feet or so in particular. I could feel the swells pushing by me in deep pulses. The waves would be awful up above and for a moment I hovered on uncertainty.
Hurry, hurry, hurry . . .
The ship was heaving wildly, the sky purple and dark. There, wavering on the prow, skin shone in the moonlight, a hand outstretched.
Sonja had said he would look different, but his face was masked in darkness, the wind whipping his image into a frenzy of salt spray. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be wrapped up in his arms again, out of the water, out of the shadows. I wanted to be in my own bed with a hot toddy after a warm shower, wrapped in sheets and sex. My mouth trembled with desire, tasting it, longing for it.
I burst through the waves, calling out, a strange warble vibrating from my throat—the delicate song of the siren. Brystion’s golden eyes sparked from the shadows; they were brighter than I remembered, vivid and glowing. Another wave swept me up, slamming me into the side of the ship. I clung to the barnacled wood, my fingers slicing open on shellfish and crustaceans. “Traitors,” I muttered. So much for the romantic image of the mermaid arising to the edge of the ship on a graceful wave.
“Throw me a goddamned rope!” I wasn’t sure if he could hear me, given the howl of the wind, but he signaled my words with a shrug.
“I tried to bring one, but it couldn’t come through the mirror.” His voice was husky, a midnight fury laced with the metallic edge of bullets. He paused. “Hold on! I’ve got something here, but it won’t be quite long enough, so you’re going to have to time it with the waves.”
“You’d better not be talking about your dick. I mean, you’re well hung and all, but it’s a Shadow Realm, not Fantasyland,” I snorted, trying not to laugh. The painful burble in my lungs spoke of something worse happening.
“Just take it,” he snapped, “and don’t ask questions.” He turned away, his back showing broad and black. There was the glitter of something white and pointed sweeping up from his head. Horns? Antlers?
“Whatever,” I muttered. I’d figure it out once I was safe. Daemonic or not, he could have been farting fire at that point and I wouldn’t have cared. Something long and narrow curled over the rail, a frayed handle at the end. I clung to the ship, my head turning to see when the next wave would hit, feeling the ocean gather beneath me, the hull start to descend. I ducked down a bit, releasing the wood. I was going to need a little more oomph.
Nervously, I sank a few feet below, gathering my strength. The sharks were nowhere to be seen and inwardly I relaxed. One last hurdle, then. If my nightmares hadn’t completely subsided, maybe that last act had put them to rest for a while. I could only hope.
The surge crested and I shot upward, ignoring the pain. The last rush of blood flew from my belly, my tail pumping—quick, quick, quick—matching the beat of my heart. I rode the crest for as long as I dared, airborne as I reached the peak, water falling like rain over my back. Arms outstretched, my fingers brushed the end of the line, clawed at it, yanked on it.
Above, I heard Brystion cry out, felt the rope twist and twitch in my hands. “Oh damn—it’s your tail.” It was soft and slick with the wet, the furry tuft at the end as black as ebony. “Sorry!”
He grunted something I couldn’t quite hear, a strained growl echoing past me. He shifted, and slowly I dragged up the last few feet. My fingers curled over the ship’s edge, the last of my strength giving way in a rush of relief and pain. Clawed hands grasped my wrist, nails pricking my already lacerated skin, but I hardly felt it. My vision blurred and I blinked against it, trying to focus on his face. “Brystion.”
“Shhhh,” he murmured, pulling me forward so my upper half was resting on the deck. “I’ve got you, Abby.”
“I hope so,” I croaked. “I’d really like to get out of here, if you don’t min—”
“Oh, shit!” I caught a flash of hooves and fur, and then there was a horrible shriek, high-pitched and ugly. Was the boat cracking beneath us? No, it was me. I was the one screaming. The boat wasn’t pitching, I was sliding down the side, some enormous weight pulling me down. Dimly, I craned my neck, dully noting the massive shark tearing into my tail.
“Help me,” I whispered, the last of my voice dying as I sank into the darkness of the sea, into the waiting gullet of the Great White. There was a flash of gold above me, ebony skin and hair falling, arms entwined around my shoulders, and then I was gone.
. . . he was pressing me down into the dirt, sharp hooves cutting into my flesh as he kneed my thighs apart. One clawed hand clenched around my neck, the other trailed over my ass, slicing delicately at my tender flesh. He bent down, teeth long and pointed. “You’re filthy. A filthy whore, Abby Sinclair.” His breath was grass, soft and tender, and all the more wretched for the pain.
I squirmed, my legs kicking feebly. “None of that, now,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you come, you know. You’re going to come and come and come, and when I’m finished with you, you’ll never come again. How does that sound? And then, I’ll eat your soul.” He paused, nipping at my ear. “You taste so delicious, Abby.”
“Why are you doing this?” My voice was a whimper, pathetic and sad.
“Isn’t this what you expected all along?” He chuckled. “Begging me for it? Just dying to see my true form? Well, here it is, Abby. I do hope you aren’t disappointed.” Thick hair rubbed over my ass, his erection sliding obscenely over the curved ridge of my spine. “Everything you hoped it would be, hmmmm?” He lipped my cheek, curving down to lick my neck.
Dirt caked on my mouth, spit and snot and blood from where I was biting my lips. He laced the other hand through my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my throat. He caressed it gently, and then paused. “Mine,” he snarled, my head snapping back farther as he pulled.
“No!” I screamed.
There was a howling cry of anguish beside me. I recoiled, looking back at the daemonic golden eyes, scratching my hands across the black skin as the nightmare dissolved. “Let me go, let me go!”
His fingers we
re like iron around my wrist, fury dancing over his face. I blinked and realized we were alone. The sharks were gone. The water was gone. The tail was gone. Just the two of us, naked and alone in the darkness. There was nothing left of his daemonic body—the fur, the hooves—everything was familiar, all pale skin, aching beauty, and haunted eyes.
“No.” His muscles quivered beneath my fingers. I couldn’t see him in the blackness, but his arms shook. “I will not be party to this,” he snarled. “Is that how you see me? An animal? A rapist?” His voice lowered, raspy and hurt. “I have never given you a reason to think of me that way.”
He shoved me away and we stood there, his eyes dark and ice cold. Sobbing, I wrapped my arms over my chest in a useless measure of modesty. “You used me,” I whispered, my stomach burning. I pressed one hand over the wound. “You lied to me. You were going to—”
“Is that what you think?” His face bunched in contempt. “You’re a Dreamer, Abby. Your nightmares—your dreams—are your own doing.” He gestured at the darkness. “Even now, I guard you from them.”
“I hardly think that constitutes guarding,” I said, my voice strangled. I rubbed my neck, touching the swollen marks.
“Why do you think the sharks didn’t attack you when you swam to me?” His eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck do you call what just pulled me off the ship?” I sank to my knees, my legs giving out at last. He looked at me dispassionately, not even a twitch to show any concern.
“That one—that last one—didn’t get created until you saw me, touched me.” His words were full of scorn, his voice one of contempt. “And you wonder why I wasn’t eager to show you what I am.” He shook his head, a ring of finality to his words. “So be it.” His nostrils flared. “I gave it all for you, Abby. I let that fucker Maurice take all of it, to save your life. I let him use me, and still I came for you.”
Shame flooded my heart. I peered up at him through dirty fingers, flinching beneath the ice. A gleam of silver flared behind him. “Ion,” I whimpered, one hand reaching out for him. My fingertips nearly brushed the fine hairs dusting his pale muscles, but he sidestepped me at the last moment.
“If you ever touch me again, I’ll kill you.”
He gestured at the newly formed Door with a graceful hand. “Melanie has made us a way out. I suggest you take it before you bleed to death.”
I glanced down and saw that I was still oozing. I staggered to my feet, my calves shaking. “I’d carry you, of course, but I’m rather through with that.” He gestured at the door again. “Go on. I’ll see myself out.”
My hands rose over my mouth, my vision a hazy blur of tears as I did what he’d always accused me of doing. I fled through the Door without looking back.
I was warm, wonderfully warm wrapped in sheets and comfort. There was a purring sound beside me, coaxing me forward.
“There now, that’s better.” The purring stopped, and I felt something soft tickling my chin and nuzzling my cheek. “Ah, damn . . . she’s crying again. Wake up, Abby.”
I blinked, realizing the unicorn was right. Tears were rolling from beneath my lashes. I gave a shuddering sob, my fingers wiping gently at my temples. With effort, I opened my eyes.
I was in a bed—my bed. I went to sit up, grunting at the sudden spike of pain. “Don’t move, Abby. You’re still wounded.” My hand traced down my breastbone, as I numbly pulled back the sheets, noted the stiff bandages around my abdomen.
I slumped, propping my head on the pillow with a hollow sigh. “How long?” My voice was hoarse with disuse. There was an uncomfortable silence. “How long?”
“Two weeks,” he murmured. “Melanie wanted to take you to the hospital, but the blade that injured you was magical and needed an elvish Healer to mend you.” He snorted dubiously. “Good thing you’re so stubborn.”
“I feel like shit,” I said. The inside of my mouth was gummy, cotton and crap all rolled into one.
“You’ve slept for a while,” he admitted. “They’ve been keeping you in some sort of stasis to let you heal, but Roweena removed it this morning. She said you would probably wake up in a bit.”
I nodded, my hands tapping idly over the bandage. I hissed at the pinch of pain, but it didn’t feel as bad as I thought it should. “Must have been a hell of a healing spell.” Part of me wasn’t sure I liked the concept of Faery magic done to me while I was unconscious. On the other hand, I wasn’t dead, so that was a plus right there.
“How’s Brystion?” I said it casually, ignoring the twisted feeling of my heart. The unicorn gave me an odd look, shifting his legs underneath him and taking a sudden interest in his tail.
“Ah, well. Ahem. That is to say”—he shook his head, mane splaying like fine dandelion fluff—“he’s gone. Completely and utterly gone. Truth be told, we sort of hoped you’d be able to tell us.”
I turned away, my eyes staring unfocused at the blinds. “How would I? I’m not his TouchStone anymore.” I rubbed my eyes, resolving not to cry. “I don’t remember anything past that—just going through the Door.”
Phineas nodded. “Complete chaos, honestly. You spilled out of a massive hole in the painting a damned bloody mess. I thought Roweena was going to have an apoplexy at the sight. Brystion stepped through after you and asked Melanie to make him another Door.” He nuzzled my hand. “She’s been here too, you know. They all have.”
I bit my lip. “Except for him.” Damn. So much for not crying. The salted dampness ran to the edges of my mouth. Idiot. In the end I really didn’t have anyone to blame but myself, though how I was supposed to have controlled my own nightmares from manifesting, I had no idea. Still, if it really had been my subconscious forcing him into such a thing . . . I shuddered.
“Except for him,” the unicorn agreed.
The ache of misery filled my face and stretched it taut. “You can leave too, you know. You don’t need to be stuck here anymore.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I could have broken our bond whenever I wanted to. But the truth is, I don’t want to. It’s interesting here. Of course, you are a pretty shitty cook.”
I smiled despite myself. “I’ll learn,” I promised, “but stay out of my underwear. It’s kind of nasty.”
“Fair enough,” he snorted, his ears flattening as someone tapped lightly at the bedroom door. He cleared his throat. “Enter,” he said imperiously, winking at me.
Robert poked his head around the door frame, his face brightening when he saw me. “I thought I heard voices. Good to see you’re awake.” He gracefully slipped into the room, crouching down beside the bed. “How are you feeling? Up to having visitors maybe?”
I frowned at him. “For a little bit,” I nodded, wondering at his demeanor. “But I’m not sure you’re someone I want to see right now, no offense.”
“Robert’s been guarding your apartment,” Phineas admonished as the angel’s face darkened. “It’s a rather high form of flattery to get the Protectorate’s own bodyguard watching over you.”
I snorted. “Or maybe it’s a punishment, eh? Let your guard down around Moira and they dumped me on you? Replaced you with something better?”
Robert’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps.” He inclined his head as though acknowledging the point. “But I can’t say I didn’t deserve it, Sparky. I was . . . wrong.”
“How’s Charlie?” I ignored him.
“She is . . .” His mouth twitched and he pulled hard on his lower lip. “She’s doing okay. She wasn’t badly injured, but she is having a lot of issues sleeping.” He bent down, his forehead touching the back of my knuckles. “I was wrong about you, Abby. I know that now.” He kissed the tips of my fingers, but it was less an erotic gesture and more a promise of sorts. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You have brought my heart back to me—both of them.”
A polite cough drew our attention back to the door, and a sunbeam of a smile lit up Robert’s face as he saw Moira framed just inside the doorway. The elvish woman was still slight, even given her re
cent pregnancy, but her dark blond hair was perfectly smooth and gleaming. The rest of her was just as flawless, from the honeyed skin to the arched cheekbones with her succulent lips and delicately pointed ears. Her eyes were slanted and a brilliant green. I was surprised to see her like that, but I tried not to let it show. Moira had rarely displayed herself to me without some form of Glamour.
A delicate spring-green dress clung to her hips, ribbons at her arms and her ankles. It should have looked ridiculous, but on her it was as though she would simply float away on the breeze with each gliding step. She placed one hand on her protector’s head, caressing the dark locks fondly.
“I’d like a moment or two alone with Abby, Robert. If you don’t mind, that is.” It was phrased as a request, but there was nothing particularly questioning about it. Robert gave her a rueful smile, quite assured of his place. He nodded politely at me and left, the door clicking closed behind him. Moira gave the unicorn a pointed look, but he simply bleated.
Her smile turned up, exposing feral teeth. “Now.”
I nudged Phineas with a tired hand. “Go on,” I said, my eyes flicking toward the Protectorate. “Girl talk. I’m sure you understand.”
He snorted but hopped off the bed. Trotting over to the door, he pawed it gently with a hoof, sighing as it opened and then closed again, his tail swaying gently behind him.
“Strange little thing,” Moira muttered, sitting down on the bed beside me. She reached out with her hand, brushing the hair from my brow. Her touch was soothing, and I let myself lean into it. We sat there like that for a few moments, and I became vaguely aware that I probably hadn’t bathed in a while. Bad enough to be in the company of mere mortals, but she didn’t appear to notice.