Cursed by Darkness (An Urban Fantasy Novel) (Befallen Tides)

by Anna Sanders

  If anyone went down, they were trampled from the surge of people searching for an exit. Nobody was stopping to help anyone.

  Except for the bouncers. They brought out tasers to shoot at the killers. Though one or two were affected, they just kept coming. Nothing short of death stopped savages. Soon, the pretty blond from the front desk was overrun by the dead, and all Keaton saw left of a hand dangling midair before she was devoured.

  A few of the dancers tried to be heroes. They kicked and punched at the fiends, but they were soon brought down with nothing more than a bite to the leg or a slash at the face.

  The bouncers were floundering. A few of them ran away. The others brought out batons and attempted to beat the savages out of the club. Smacking one or two of the savages over the head kept some of the attackers at bay, but after five or six strikes, the guards started to go down as well.

  The savages made a steady line toward any and all things moving beyond the entryway. The bass line of the seedy music continued to thunder over the loudspeakers as blood spread across the floors.

  Keaton had been focused on getting people out. When he noticed that so many of the employees had been actually fought the losing battle, he sped over to the threshold with a deep growl. “Get back!” he shouted at anyone who was still alive. “There’s too many! Just run!”

  One Bandit fighting against the thirty savages prowling into the club was not going to be easy. But the bodies of guards and dancers littered the floor, and no one else alive stuck around to see what he would do to the savages still pouring into the room. Keaton had no choice.

  The Bandit’s features twisted. Fangs grew long in his mouth, his eyes turned a feral red and his hands presented long, vicious claws. With all of the strength and speed he possessed, he flung himself into the fray.

  Keaton definitely had the speed to tear through the onslaught, but every time he came out the other side, he sustained more injuries. Despite that, he continued to go with the one tactic he had on his side: physical assault. But tearing throats with his claws and tearing off limbs with his fangs wasn’t killing them. He needed to slow down in order to dig a claw into the back of a savage’s head and damage the brain. But slowing down meant more crowding, more injuries to his person, more chances of failure.

  If he wanted to win, he had to be methodical.

  Keaton grabbed the arm of a nearby savage and pulled him away from the rest. He stuck a lethal claw into the base of its skull, watched it go limp, then got out of the way before the group could amass in his corner. He repeated the action, easily taking down eight savages, but it became highly apparent that the numbers were far too great. The savages that weren’t preoccupied with the dead bodies on the floor were distracted by the cryptid’s presence among them. Soon, he was being bitten and scratched in multiple places, barely making it away from their ferocity before they could further weaken him.

  Keaton pulled back to one of the stages. The savages were many, but they were still slow, sluggish, decaying things. Checking his wounds was a ghastly chore. His clothing was going to tatters. Bites released blood all along his arms, scrapes and scratches colored on his legs, and the loss of blood was fatiguing him. Looking around, he searched for a weapon that could work in his favor.

  There were restraints on each platform, but not enough for each savage.

  Paddles weren’t going to do much of anything. Neither would whips or flails. But what he did find was the set up for the fire play: a blowtorch, some cloths, and a large bottle of isopropyl alcohol.

  Keaton threw the cloths all over the floor. He sped about the club and back into the dressing room, throwing the racks of lingerie and costumes absolutely everywhere.

  After things were covered, he attacked the bar. He smashed bottles of alcohol, taking considerable pleasure in smacking savages with the heavy glass. Soon, the place was dripping with vodka, whiskey, silk, and leather.

  Keaton had another problem once he was done: starting the fire without burning himself in the process. And judging by the increasing difficulty of evading the savages following him, he was running out of time.

  He quickly took off his sweater and torched it. The fabric blazed instantly. Keaton tossed it onto the floor.

  Soon, Skinned was an inferno of a different kind. Keaton stood by the back door long enough to be sure that the entire dance floor would burn. It became very apparent that it would, and Keaton’s last job was merely making sure no savages would make it out of the exits. Last thing anyone needed to see was a group of men and women groaning and stalking the streets, all while on fire.

  When Keaton was finally able to desert the club, the sound of an explosion blasted the air, momentarily deafening his hearing. He raced away as the fire licked the night sky with hellish flames.

  CHAPTER 7

  KEATON GOT A GOOD DISTANCE before stopping for air in the shadow of an abandoned gas station. He winced as he sat down. His wounds were not as severe as they could be, but that didn’t stop them from taking a massive toll on his strength. Running at top speed was almost impossible.

  It wasn’t just the physical wearing him down. It was the emotional as well. Seeing those things attack those poor people. Those women and men who had died in horror.

  Where had that come from? A group of thirty or more savages attacking a strip joint? Who had even heard of that?

  Keaton leaned his head against the concrete wall and pointed his nose skyward. He took a deep, slow inhale of the air. There were so many different smells everywhere, and to stay focused on one strand, he needed to concentrate. But soon he was thinking of Winx and only Winx, knowing in desperation that if he didn’t find her everything would be lost.

  Keaton pushed everything but the memory of Winx’s smell from his mind. He thought of her shining eyes and her grim-set mouth. He pictured her leaning close to him as she told him flat out that she would never help him. He singled out the brand of her lip gloss, the perfume of her body, the loveliness of her earthy scent.

  Then he found it. And once he got it into his senses, it could not escape. He inhaled long and hard, keeping it with him. It was Winx, entangled with the image in his mind.

  Somehow, he managed to struggle to his feet. All he had to do was get to her. That was the ticket. And he wouldn’t be exposed any longer.

  Keaton took another deep breath. Then he ran. Not thinking, only following.

  His feet were a blur. As was the rest of him. At this speed, his body ached even more from the savage attack. For the purposes of keeping the scent, he ignored the discomfort.

  Winx’s smell took him a good distance away from the once-upon-a-time Skinned and the city lights, yet he made it to the neighborhood ten minutes later. It was an upscale and remote area, making it easier for him to pinpoint his quarry.

  Keaton began to walk since he was so far close to his destination. The streets were empty, and the only noises came muffled from the inside of houses. Keaton’s hair was wild and loose from its once tidy braid, and his remaining clothing did nothing to cover up his lacerated body.

  Sooner rather than later, luckily, Keaton came up on a rather fancy apartment building. He spotted her car easily and saw that it was filled with neatly packed tote bags.

  Keaton sighed. She was planning on leaving town. The tricky little minx. He wondered how quick it took her to quit her job. Maybe right after she’d talked with him? But why would she feel the need to run in the first place? Was she that afraid of him, or of what trouble he might bring her way? Either way, it wasn’t like he could blame her. After what he’d just witnessed, he had every intention of running with her.

  Most of the lights were on in the building, which meant it was hard to tell by sight which one was hers. However, his nose was still aiding him. Walking up to her mailbox, he eyed her stairwell.

  What should he do? Go up to her front door? Or wait by her car?

  Or better yet, he could kneel before her feet the moment he saw her, kissing them in reverence, and beg he
r to hear him out one more time.

  He was still contemplating what to do when he heard a shift of sound behind him. Footsteps. And then the sound of something heavy being swung into his direction.

  Keaton turned on his heel quickly and blocked the object easily, then snatched it from the adversary’s grip.

  Once he stepped back, he realized what he was holding was a shovel. And the assailant turned out to be Winx herself. Should he have expected any less?

  She looked beyond angry; she was pissed. Her eyes were flares, and her arms were poised to snatch the shovel back from him.

  “What. Are you. Doing. Here.” Every word was braced with fury.

  “Yeah, I expected this reaction.”

  “What are you doing here?” The second time the question was asked, it carried about the empty street.

  “All right, Winx. I understand that you’re upset. But when you didn’t show up for work tonight, I had to find you—”

  “You were at my job? Again?”

  “Please, calm down!”

  “You promised. You said you wouldn’t follow me again. Stay away from me!” She started to walk around him so, stupidly, he grabbed her upper arm.

  If looks could kill, Winx was definitely attempting to shoot daggers into his brain. Her eyes widened in shock for a moment before they went even darker with ferocity.

  “So that’s how it is? Do you realize I could break your arm in three places—” Her voice trailed off. She actually looked at him. Then her eyes widened. “Holy shit! What happened to you?”

  “Maybe we can talk in private? And, you know, sit down?” He slunk a little, dropping her shovel.

  Winx nodded once, not wasting time in picking up her shovel. Her anger was momentarily replaced by concern. She in turn took his arm and led him toward her awaiting abode. They climbed her stairs without talking, and she hurriedly swung the door open.

  He preceded her into the mostly empty space. The apartment was nice. Wooden floors, a glossy stone fireplace, and a state-of-the-art kitchen. A large television and comfortable leather furniture accented the high-caliber space.

  “Wow. This is a very nice home.”

  “Yes. It was, anyway.” Winx carelessly placed the shovel onto the foyer floor. “But I have to leave it now. And if your current condition is any indication, I should have left this morning. Savage attack?”

  Keaton eyed her. “You can tell?”

  “What else would be able to do that to you? Unless you went to the zoo and wrestled with a couple of tigers.” Winx led him to one of the chairs and sat him down. He bounced slightly from the force. “I’m sure there’s a first aid kit around here somewhere. Let me see what I can find.”

  He let himself sink into the comfortable furniture, releasing a breath. Even the hotel room he’d stayed in didn’t have anything as soft as this throne. Relaxation overtook him, and his eyes were halfway closed when Winx returned with a small, locked box.

  She sat down on the floor beside him and started with the injuries on his legs. A deep bite on his thigh made her click her tongue. She cleaned it with some Bactine through the hole in his pants, then covered it with a bandage.

  “It may not seem like much, but clean wounds heal faster,” she muttered. “Where did this happen?”

  “At your job. I was waiting for you, when out of the blue…chaos.”

  Winx’s movements were slow, and she didn’t take her eyes off of his face. “How many?”

  “I lost count around twenty-six. I was a little too preoccupied to do a proper head count.”

  “No, I mean…how many…did they…?” She didn’t want to ask. It was very apparent.

  Keaton sighed. “A lot of people got out. But they got most of the bouncers. And at least six of the girls.”

  Winx shuddered. “Oh my God.”

  “I took care of it. I had to burn the place down, but I took care of it.”

  She continued with her ministrations to his arms. “They really got you.”

  “I got them worse.”

  Keaton noticed that she looked as pretty tonight as she had last night. Her clothing was formfitting: a yellow camisole t-shirt and simple brown linen drawstring pants. In place of the stage makeup, her eyes were shaded with a light purple brush. Her lips were juicy with a honey-colored gloss. Her eyes remained hard, yet in this light he could see the dark depths went on for miles.

  “Why would they attack your club?” he asked.

  “You think I know? There have been multiple savage attacks in the area lately.” Winx started to clean the blood from his face, her motions becoming rougher with her renewed irritation. “The beasts have a pattern, and it’s easy to spot. You watch the news, you read the paper, you see missing persons alerts, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure it all out.”

  “So you see all of this happening and you say nothing about it?”

  “I’m just trying to keep my nose clean, all right?”

  “People are dying, Winx. People you know died tonight.”

  “How do I even know that you’re telling the truth?” she shot at him. “What if you made this all up so that you could convince me to help your pack?”

  Keaton gave her an exasperated glare. “I don’t have to pretend the savages are murderous zombies. I never have.” He pointed at the television. “If you don’t believe me, put the TV box on. I’m sure something about the fire will be on there.”

  Winx sighed, but she flipped the television on. She went through the channels twice before coming to the conclusion that there was no breaking news about a fire in town. “There’s nothing,” she said, going through the guide again once for good measure.

  “That’s impossible! The entire club was in flames! Why wouldn’t that be breaking news?”

  Winx frowned at him. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Maybe an hour ago. No more.”

  They were silent for another moment as Winx turned the television off. They were both thinking. She knew that he couldn’t be lying about the bites on his person. But why wouldn’t there be any alerts about a fire ?

  The answer was a flash into their minds, almost instantaneous.

  “The lixyns,” Winx said. “The Order. They are here.”

  SO. THE LIXYNS HAD ARRIVED. Tired of sitting on it all, Winx got up and began to pace. Her head was whirling.

  Keaton held a hand out to her. “Are you—”

  “Please, do not talk right now. I need to process all of this, and it would be easier without conversation.”

  He obliged. For about five minutes, anyway. He was getting a crook in his neck from watching her wear a streak into the wooden floors, and he just had to speak.

  “I would feel better if I knew what you were thinking.”

  “Honestly? Because I’m thinking that you are drawing me closer to the Order. And that it would be stupendously easy on me if I were to knock you unconscious, get into my car, and drive however far my gas tank would get me.”

  Keaton scoffed. “That would probably work for the duration of my being passed out. But as soon as I woke up, I would find you. Do you realize that you would be saving both of our asses if you just cooperated? The lixyns have the resources to find you no matter where you go. Unless you are planning on procuring a space shuttle and circling Mars for a while, I think it’s safe to say that your goose is cooked.”

  “I have plenty of options here. And all of them work in my favor. So keep your lectures to yourself, animal!”

  “Can’t you even think about the possibility of doing the right thing?”

  “The right thing?” Winx shook her head slowly. “There is no right or wrong in this situation.”

  “There most definitely is. And you aren’t choosing the noble path.”

  “How is it right to choose death in the line of fire for the lixyns? Or for your pack?”

  Keaton was tired of trying to talk an unwilling fighter to his aid. He was wasting time, getting his ass kicked and dealing with a chore
of a woman. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I did not expect to find a coward when I came into the city. I came looking for a demon. And I found a daevor.”

  Instead of rearing up, as he’d expected, Winx sort of seemed to deflate. “What did you call me?”

  “I don’t need to repeat it.” He backed down at her show of vulnerability. “I… said that out of anger. Even now, I could be losing parts of my family. If you do not want to help me—”

  Winx cut him off. “I don’t. I don’t want to help you. I don’t want to fight savages. I don’t want to put myself into danger. But…” She paused to take a breath, steering her words. “But I want to see my family again. And I want to get the lixyns and the Order and everything having to do with the Three out of my life. And… I want to help you.”

  “You just said—”

  “I know what I said. I don’t want to help you. But… I do want to help you.”

  “That makes perfect sense.” He laughed. “So what does this mean? Does this mean that you will come back with me?”

  Winx didn’t answer for a moment. She stared down at the floor. Then the ceiling. “I need to see for myself first.”

  “What?” Keaton stared at her until he got her meaning. “You want to go—”

  “Just to make sure.” She fished through her pockets for her keys.

  Keaton sighed. “We can’t go back there.”

  “Look, either you show me that your story is true, or I leave like I planned. And following me won’t help your pack.” She said the last with ferocity that made his insides clench.

  “Fine,” Keaton said, sighing. “If you have to see it.”

  Winx left the apartment without looking to see if Keaton was following. She didn’t even bother locking her door; she just walked down the stairs and to the street. Keaton had barely opened the passenger-side door and sat down before she fired up the Mazda.

  The drive was quiet. Keaton looked out the window, searching for any signs of another hoard in the city. From what he could tell, the rest of L.A. was untouched and none the wiser of his near-death experience.