by Laken Cane
He was fighting with everything he had not to go to the witch.
Even Rune could feel her call. And if she could feel it, what must that pull be like for Nick Llodra?
Marta stood quietly, her raw gaze eating up the master’s face.
She loves him.
That made her think of Amy, which was good. She needed pain, she needed guilt. She needed black.
It would make her strong enough to handle what was to come.
She and Llodra stared at each other.
He was a ghost of the Llodra she’d known before his madness, before his capture. His face was all sharp angles and hollows filled with shadows. Pale, dry skin stretched tightly over the prominent bones beneath it.
His black eyes were so bright with pain she found it difficult to look at them. He was thin and scarred, bruised and broken.
But she could not care. He’d killed Amy. He’d tortured the little bite junkie who had loved him. He’d taken her Ellis.
He’d fucked with her.
Llodra was mad, and he was evil.
And now he stood before her, shattered and damaged.
But he would heal. He was a vampire.
He was covered with blood. “You fed.”
“Oh, yes. I fed.”
“You’re a messy eater, Llodra.” She could only imagine how horrific had been his damage before he’d fed. He looked like death.
He is death.
“Why are you here? If you’re so terrified of Damascus, aren’t you afraid she’s going to come out and get you?”
He shivered harder. “If I did not give in to the call, just for an instant, my heart would have exploded.” He glanced down at his bloody shirt. “Some of this is from me.”
“Tell me what to do.”
He smiled, a little. “I do not know. I know only that you are as strong as she is. There is magic inside you. Send her away, Rune. Save me.”
“I am not doing this for you.” She was suddenly furious. Furious that he could believe she cared about him after everything he’d done. “You are not worth saving.”
“Then do it to stop the monsters.”
“I’m not sure…”
“You do not have to be sure. You just have to fight, because fighting is what you do.” His silky voice slid over her skin like melting ice. “It is not the time to talk. Now, you must do what you were born to do. Destroy the evil.
“For that,” he whispered, “is why you exist.”
She shivered and without warning, her fangs dropped. Tremors of electric power still shook her body.
That moment was all that mattered.
Nothing came before, and nothing would come after.
There was only that moment.
And the witch was calling her.
Fie was calling her.
Llodra shuddered harder. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, a high-pitched wheeze wafting past his lips.
She turned to go.
“Wait,” Marta said.
She stopped. “What?”
“Nicolas,” Marta said. “Do it.”
“Do what?” Rune asked.
Nicolas didn’t move.
“Protect yourself,” Marta cried, and shoved him toward Rune. “You must.”
Before she could react, Nicolas was upon her, his fangs buried deep in the side of her throat.
She stood frozen with disbelief beneath his bite.
As he drank from her, he pushed the jagged edge of his torn wrist to her mouth. She had no idea how or when he’d opened his own vein, but the blood exchange was happening and there was not one fucking thing she could do to stop it.
Flashing images bombarded her damaged mind. The berserker, his lips at her breast. Denim, lost and alone. Levi and Z.
Z…
The only parents she’d known. Drinking down their blood, the joy almost too much to contain. The first time she could remember realizing she was different.
Different. Special.
She was strong, and fucking Llodra would not control her.
Her monster wouldn’t let him.
She screamed and shoved him away, shoved him so hard he flew into the air, hit the fence, and then bounced off it to land face down upon the ground.
But it was too late. His blood was inside her, and her blood was inside him.
“Why?” she cried, digging her nails into the small wounds left by his teeth. “Why?”
Marta stared at Rune with careful, terrified eyes, and grasping Llodra’s ankles, began to pull him through the break in the fence.
“Why?” Rune screamed. She was suddenly full of rage and desire—the desire to kill. One second she was standing fifteen feet from the downed vampire, and the next she had Llodra by the throat, tearing him from Marta’s grip.
She ripped out his throat almost before she realized she was going to.
“No,” Marta screamed. “Your blood is his protection. He had to!”
Rune didn’t care. She slung bloody bits of him away and shot the claws of her free hand out. She was going to take his heart, eat the fucking thing, and then tear his head off. God, the rage.
The madness.
That thought saved Llodra’s life.
She paused, and as she did, Marta slashed her eyes, blinding her.
She dropped Llodra.
The last thing she heard as she stumbled away, her fists to her eyes, was Marta’s voice, echoing inside her mind.
“The blood he gave you will help you defeat Damascus. It is the blood of your father!”
Your father.
Your father.
And then Nicolas Llodra and Marta were gone, and there was only Rune.
She fell to the ground, scrubbing at her sightless, agonized eyes, and began to giggle.
Her father was there?
And Llodra knew. Of course he did. Her gut had told her all along that Llodra knew more about her than he’d pretended.
Her father was there.
Where was her mother?
Why did they hide from her? Why did they reject her?
Because she was a monster?
They were monsters.
She had parents. And they’d left her to strangers—strangers she’d killed.
Her eyes burned, burned as though fire ants bored into them as they carried bits of food into her brain.
She howled with laughter, thin blood and gore mixing with the earth to make a bloody soup in which she writhed, full of agony and madness.
Chapter Nineteen
It was the captive Others who roused her.
Specifically, Darius Elliot and his wolves.
He knelt beside her and pulled her back to reality. “Rune. Rune Alexander.” His voice was almost chiding.
She opened her watery eyes, surprised when she could see. They stung, and felt as though a few dozen stray eyelashes were clinging to them. But she could see.
Darius had been through his own hell. His body was thinner and his face was cut and bruised. He touched his swollen lip a little self-consciously. “The witch’s magic keeps us from shifting while we’re this close to her.” He stood then, and offered her a hand up.
But when she stood, shaky and somewhat numb, he stared over her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I should kill you,” she said tonelessly.
“We were afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew the truth.”
“You’re idiots.” But she could think again. “Go, before the witch comes to stop you.”
“She can’t leave the tower,” he told her. “She spawned there and she can’t leave that spot.”
Rune frowned. “Then how the fuck does she cause so much damage? The zombies, you?” She rubbed her eyes. “How did she get the kid?”
He shook his head. “She can’t leave. Someone brought her the child. The rest she does because she’s just that powerful. Her magic…I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Llodra and Marta had lied to her. The witch couldn’t destroy RISC. She couldn’t hav
e gone to get Llodra. True, her call might have ripped him apart as the RISC bars held him captive, but he and Marta had known Rune would have him released. They’d seized the chance to give him his freedom.
And Rune had fallen for it.
When she found them…
Then she closed her eyes, thankful her spirit had not been broken, after all. Was she mad? Perhaps a little. Perhaps a lot.
But she was still the person she’d always been, and she had a reason to live.
Someone had to help save the fucking world.
“Why are you smiling?” Darius asked.
She shook her head, then glanced around the area at the Others gathering there. Large eyes stared back at her from thin faces. “The military is coming. There is an opening in the fence.” She pointed. “Get out of here.” She met the wolf alpha’s gaze. “Run.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Darius,” she called, as he was about to climb through the fence. “The Others can be infected. I saw some of your wolves. They’re zombies now.”
He nodded, and then he was gone.
They were all gone.
And she was alone with the witch.
Every light in the yard went out.
“Bring it, bitch,” she muttered. She dropped her fangs and lifted her hands, ready to shoot out her claws.
But her claws wouldn’t come.
“The hell?” she said. She could feel them in there. She tried again. “Now that can’t be good.”
It was almost like they’d been sealed inside by—
The fence.
The hot melted metal and silver had covered her skin. Had sunk into her pores, coating her bones, her claws…
She would just have to try a little harder. She’d break the bastards loose.
Grinding her teeth against the pain, she concentrated on nothing but the claws and pushed with everything inside her.
They burst free with a sound like a sword being ripped from its sheath, but still it took her a few seconds to understand what the gleam of her claws meant.
The moonlight bounced off a metallic glare so bright she had to squint against it, but even as she watched, the brightness slowly dimmed.
Until she waved them through the air, then once more they brightened…waking up.
“Son of a bitch,” she murmured.
She had silver claws. And they responded to movement…to thought.
It was like Christmas.
Magic. She was full of magic. What was it Llodra had once told her?
“You do not fully realize your power, do you? There is a chance you would pull out the secrets inside you and give me what I so deserve.”
Yes, Llodra knew things.
And she was still learning. Growing.
She had a father.
But she couldn’t let that distract her. Not yet.
She looked up at the tall building. The witch watched and waited there. She could feel her the same way she felt impending storms—heavy pressure in her chest and a tickle of unease in her throat.
At a sound behind her she whirled around, and saw a zombie pushing its way through the gap in the fence.
But she couldn’t be bothered with the zombies. The humans would take care of them. Or she would, if she…
When she got rid of the witch.
Ignoring the zombies now piling into the Camp, she jogged to the tall building—the witch’s tower—retracted her claws, and slipped inside.
There was an elevator in the lobby, but she wasn’t getting on it. She found the stairwell and began climbing the steps, slowly at first, then running up them.
It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to meet the monster waiting for her. She was reluctant. She wasn’t eager to meet the new threat. Thoughts of the witch scared the hell out of her.
And that was why she ran.
She’d never hidden from a monster—other than her own. She wasn’t going to start now.
She reached the top floor and stopped to listen. There were no sounds. No whispers, no cries.
The air was thick and heavy with expectation, making it hard to breathe.
Funny, considering how innocuous the hallway was. Carpets and small pictures, the occasional plastic plant.
At the end of the hall she saw a set of double doors, and realized suddenly where the witch waited. She was on the roof. Witches didn’t like closed in, airless places. They liked nature. The outdoors, storms, air…
Beneath the sky was where the witch would caw her spells, would chant her words, would spew her curses.
Where she would use everything she had to destroy Rune.
Rune swallowed hard and sent out her claws, flinching at the sound of them filling the silence. But the witch would be aware of Rune’s location.
Maybe they really were alike. Kindred spirits, as Marta had said.
Whatever, Rune felt a certain familiarity she didn’t question. It just was.
And then the door to the roof was before her and though she silently lamented her hesitation, she paused. Just for a second, but she paused.
The door opened on its own, eagerly.
Rune walked out.
It was time to meet the witch.
Chapter Twenty
The witch stood at the edge of the roof, her hands on her hips, bouncing gently on her toes.
Rune battled a bit with claustrophobia, but she had no fear of heights. Still, the sight made her stomach clench just a little.
At the witch’s feet, Fie sat hunched and silent, her chin on her chest. She didn’t look up at Rune’s entrance. She didn’t so much as twitch.
Damascus didn’t resemble the stereotypical witch.
She had her straight, white-blonde hair in a ponytail. She’d dressed her slightly plump body in a too short black skirt, a blood-red blouse, and a pair of black heels. Jewelry glittered at her throat, her ears, and her fingers.
Her lips, thick with red lipstick, were black in the moonlight. She smiled. “How do I look?”
“You don’t look evil,” Rune said, surprised that her voice was calm. “But I can feel it coming from you.”
Damascus tilted her head. “What does it feel like?”
“Like a hazy, green bog full of troll shit and bubbling poison.” Rune returned the smile, hoping no fear showed. “Something like that.”
“That’s not very nice,” Damascus murmured. She leaned over slightly to caress Fie’s head. “Is it, Stefanie?”
Rune kept her stare on the witch. She couldn’t let her know she was terrified for the kid. As if she doesn’t already know that. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I’m sure the deceptive little Marta told you exactly what I came for.” Again, she tilted her head. “But I have failed. I must settle for getting this tiny necromancer and you, instead.”
“You—” Rune swallowed. “You don’t get us.”
“Oh, but I do.” She put a finger to her chin. “And I get your power as well.” She clapped her hands, laughing. “You will be a wonderful addition to the others.”
Others…
Damascus sniffed the air. “From whom did you feed?”
“I was force fed by Llodra, your little runaway.”
At Llodra’s name, Damascus sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and to Rune’s horror, began chewing through it like a juicy piece of meat. “He was almost mine again.” The mangled, bloody lip flapped as she spoke. “I was so happy. He was right here, in my hands. I could feel him. I called with everything I had but he got away. Because of you.”
She tilted her head, her gaze distant. “Why would my Nicolas feed you?” She held up a hand as though Rune was about to interrupt her. Then she once again speared Rune with her bottomless stare. “Bloody protection. Such bloody protection. Bloody, bloody, bloody—”
“Fie,” Rune said. “I need you to move away from the lady.”
The witch covered her mouth and giggled. “That’s precious.”
Rune shot out her claws and dropped her
fangs. “I like a lot of space when I kill.”
Damascus lifted her eyebrows. “Oh. I can certainly accommodate you there.” She buried her fingers into Fie’s hair, jerked the child into the air, and slung her over the edge of the building. Fie never made a sound. “You’re welcome.”
“No,” Rune screamed, and didn’t even realize she’d moved until her claws sliced empty air where the witch had stood a second before.
Damascus laughed, the underlay of malevolence so strong it pierced Rune’s eardrums, filling her head with pain.
“She gone,” Damascus cried. “She dead!” But then she closed her mouth, held a hand to her head, and frowned. “That’s different. She’s a strong little thing.”
Rune threw herself to her knees at the roof’s edge. Roaming zombies moaned and lurched over the dark ground, converging, Rune was sure, upon Fie’s broken little body.
She couldn’t see the child, could only silently acknowledge her regret and horror as she turned once more to face the witch. Llodra’s maker.
It was his fault. Fie was dead because of Nicolas Llodra and his fucking girlfriend.
There was little time for anything else—not even self-recrimination. That would come later.
If she survived the witch.
“That’s a disappointment,” Damascus said. “I could have trained her. Used her.”
Rune lifted her stare from the floor and looked at the witch.
“Oh,” Damascus said. “There it is. Death in your pretty blue eyes.” Her own eyes flashed red, then went black. “But it’s your death I see there.”
“You talk too damn much.” Rune forced her silver claws to elongate even more. They lengthened until finally she had to rein them in. They were becoming too unwieldy.
“Hideous,” Damascus said, and dropped the blonde façade.
The blonde’s body seemed to implode, then peeled in layers to fall upon the roof before turning to a foul smelling gray ash.
Rune stood frozen as she beheld the witch. The true witch.
“I stole that body from a whore on the second floor,” Damascus said. “She came up for a smoke and I fancied her. But I much prefer my body.”
Rune heard distant cawing, and crying, and the long dead echoes of tortured screams. Hot, putrid wind stirred the growing tufts of her hair. She shivered as gooseflesh erupted on her skin and she started to touch her groaning belly before she remembered her claws were out.