Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels)

by Gillian Philip

  My hand tightened on Rory’s arm as the Wolf flicked his sword tip across Seth’s cheekbone, drawing another bloody line in the network of cuts.

  ‘Shut up, Murlainn,’ he murmured. In the silence a look of puzzled anger had dawned on his face, but Seth only smiled a mirthless, hating smile.

  Then Rory’s laughter drifted on the clear air. ‘Nice one, Dad. I love you too.’

  Seth snarled. ‘That makes one of us, you little water rat. You’re nothing to me. Not any more.’

  ‘Ah, shut up. Give it a rest, Dad.’

  Seth glared, breathing hard through his nose. Turning his face away, he uttered his first believable obscenity in five minutes, and my heart skittered and thudded with unbelievable relief.

  ‘Aw, sweet!’ The Wolf grinned, his equilibrium restored. ‘That was great, Murlainn! Now,’ he turned and looked up to the cave mouth again. ‘Back to business. Come here, Laochan!’

  Seth smiled up at Rory, the light back in his eyes. ‘Don’t you dare. Love you or not, lad, I’ll skelp your backside.’

  The Wolf sheathed his sword. ‘Don’t you worry, Laochan. Remember your rights! Your father won’t be skelping you again. Think of me as your social worker!’ He punched Seth hard on the side of his head. Seth reeled, but kept his feet, and the Wolf moved sleekly behind him.

  Rory swore, high and furious. ‘Dad.’

  Seth shook his head. ‘Don’t you move, Ro–’

  The Wolf struck him viciously in the face and when Seth looked up, blood running from his nose and mouth, his eyes blazed silver with impotent rage.

  ‘I can make this very slow, Laochan!’ yelled the Wolf. ‘Don’t think I won’t enjoy it!’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Rory. Listen to me. Stay where you…’

  The Wolf lashed out with his forearm and this time Seth stumbled to the side and fell. ‘Laochan, you’ve been the bane of my life, leading me this dance. I haven’t been amused. Don’t make it worse for your father now.’

  Blinking blood and grit out of his eyes, Seth spat and tried to get up. ‘Do. Not. Move.’ Again he spat blood, and a tooth, and the Wolf kicked him hard in the ribs. He collapsed again.

  The gun shook in Rory’s hand as he swore; he clearly didn’t dare fire the gun again. Seth’s eyelight was so bright it almost crackled. He lay on his side, alarmingly close to the edge again, and the Wolf’s foot was on his manacled arm, pressing it down hard against his ribcage.

  ‘Fine, save your rounds, ’cause when I’m dead you must kill him.’ Seth grunted as the Wolf’s foot lashed hard into his kidneys, and for a moment he was speechless. He sucked in another breath. ‘Wait till he’s close and SHOOT HIM.’

  ‘You know, the first thing I ought to cut off is your tongue.’ Furiously the Wolf unsheathed his dirk. ‘The first, mind you.’

  Seth craned his neck to catch his son’s eyes again. ‘Rory.’ The Wolf snatched a handful of his hair and jerked his head viciously back, tugging him away from the edge the better to get at him. ‘Rory! Don’t give him what he–’

  He gasped as the Wolf kicked him savagely in the belly and rolled him over with his foot. Kneeling on Seth’s chest, the Wolf started to lever his jaw open.

  ‘Last chance, Laochan!’ screamed the Wolf as he scored the dirk blade down Seth’s face from temple to jaw. The flesh split like a ripe tomato skin and I looked away, pressing my face into Rory’s arm but keeping my hard grip on him. I had no idea how I would stand this. I couldn’t watch. Couldn’t. I wondered if Seth would scream and if I could bear to hear it. The Wolf forced open Seth’s jaw and poised his blade.

  And smiled up at Rory.

  THE CLIFF

  Seth’s eyes locked on the Wolf, his rigid jaw aching. A disabling panic was turning his guts to jelly, and he tried to press his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but that was futile. The Wolf fumbled for a good strong grip and his fingertips caught Seth’s tongue as tight as forceps.

  Seth gagged as the Wolf dragged his tongue clear of his mouth. Christ, he couldn’t afford to be sick, couldn’t afford to choke. His terror might have frozen him, except that he was more scared of Rory. Rory wasn’t going to take this and do nothing; he knew the boy better than that. Rory was already screaming his hate and Seth knew he was going to come out of the cave.

  No. No.

  ‘Watch this, Laochan!’ The Wolf was still grinning upwards. ‘Are you sick of your father giving you a tongue-lashing? I can help!’

  Seth’s swollen tongue slipped from his grasp and the Wolf fumbled for it once more, slapping the knife impatiently to the ground. His fingers were right inside Seth’s mouth now and his thumb was in the corner of his jaw. Seth danced his tongue frantically out of his way, nearly swallowing the bloody thing.

  He tried to breathe, tried to twist his head away. The Wolf was loving this. He was spinning out the performance, playing to his audience; now how was that professional?

  And Seth’s tongue was still in his mouth. And so were the Wolf’s fingers. It was a lousy gamble and he knew it, but it wasn’t as if he was going to get another chance.

  Not ever.

  Everything Seth had left, he put in his jaw muscles. His mouth snapped shut like a trap; sheer surprise broke the Wolf’s hold and Seth crushed his teeth into the Wolf’s hand, cutting and gripping. He bit hard. He went on biting.

  Seth’s teeth sawed through skin and flesh, severed nerves and ground into bone. He tasted blood and the gods knew what else – the man’s black soul, maybe – and held on, biting, chewing, grinding. Someone was screaming horribly, but Seth didn’t care. Whoever that was screaming, he knew in a dreamy way that it was that one’s turn to scream. It was his turn. Let him scream.

  Bite. A knife flailed at his face, but it only hacked his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose; then the Wolf dropped it again in panic and pain. Bite. Keep biting. He sawed savagely till the man at last stopped his animal screaming and recovered himself. The Wolf ripped his hand free of Seth’s teeth, leaving long ribbons of flesh behind, and flung him off.

  Seth lunged up, easing the pressure on his own hands and spitting out his enemy’s. That was funny. He staggered, barely keeping his feet. There was blood all over his face, he could feel it and taste it, but it was cheering to know it wasn’t all his own.

  The Wolf looked down in disbelief at his blood-drenched hand. The skin of his thumb and his first two fingers hung in ragged tatters, inches of white bone showing, and his forefinger was sawed almost through, the bone dangling by a flap of skin. Blood dribbled to the earth. As if impervious to the pain, he lifted his dirk defiantly in his mauled hand and ran his good thumb over its edge. He lifted his head to gaze at Seth with ice-bright eyes.

  ‘Are you. The one.’ The Wolf was breathing hard, his voice high-pitched. ‘Who was worried. About me. Scratching your CDs?’

  Seth shrugged and grinned, and the Wolf gave a wild snarl of fury. For the first time, he realised, the Wolf had lost control: he’d flung Seth away with his mind.

  Seth risked dropping his own block, just for a moment, and lashed his hate at the Wolf, who stumbled two more steps back with it, teetering on the brink. Not hard enough; but Seth blocked again before the man could retaliate.

  The Wolf’s shield was back up, too, but it had been long enough. The bronze alloy pin was out of Seth’s belt stitching and between his fingers. For a hideous moment he thought it had slipped from his blood-slick grasp, but then he felt it cool and hard between his fingertips once more.

  Seth twisted his wrists as the Wolf stalked towards him, slow murder in his eyes. The pin’s point found the lock and he worked it frantically. Bend. Back. Bend, twist. A few metres away the Wolf casually moved the dirk from his wounded hand to his good right one, and drew it back for a killing blow.

  The lock gave abruptly and Seth lashed out. The racking cramp in his muscles made him scream but the handcuffs cracked into the Wolf’s cheek. Oh, it felt good to draw that blood; and the shock on the Wolf’s face was better even t
han split flesh.

  The Wolf shifted his dirk to his left hand again, and put his good hand to his cheekbone. When he drew it away it too was wet with blood, and he stared up at Seth, who drew the still-handcuffed wrist back for another strike.

  ‘How did you do that?’ The Wolf fumbled in his pocket and drew out the key. He frowned in bewilderment, shook his head. Then his face set hard again, and he smiled.

  ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I’m just going to have to gut you.’

  In the cave Hannah stared at Rory, at the pistol trembling in his hands.

  ‘Give me that. What are you waiting for?’ He couldn’t be having moral scruples now. Not now. ‘Give it to me!’

  Rory turned, terror and helplessness in his face. ‘Can you clear a jam?’

  Swearing, she grabbed the pistol, aimed and squeezed the trigger. Nothing, not even a click. ‘No! I’ve no idea.’

  She snatched at Rory, panic-stricken, but he’d snaked out of her grip. He was already sliding down the slope towards Seth, who was edging warily round the Wolf. Raising her eyes to the sky with a curse, Hannah bolted after Rory.

  Seth put up his free hand in an unmistakeable gesture. Rory stopped, but his teeth were bared.

  There was caution in the Wolf’s expression as he drew his sword, but he was smiling. ‘I could beat you if you had a sword, Murlainn, let alone a poxy pair of handcuffs.’

  ‘Poxy indeed!’ Seth snorted. ‘I think they’ve served you very well.’

  ‘But they’ve stopped being useful, now. Like you.’ The Wolf chuckled. ‘Tell me, Murlainn, how stupid did you feel when I caught you in your own house?’

  Seth drew his lips back from his teeth, but it wasn’t what Hannah would call a smile.

  ‘I knew where you were. You think I didn’t feel you there at Tornashee? It’s my house, you big gobshite. You think I didn’t feel you barge in without an invitation?’

  The Wolf growled softly.

  ‘I wanted to be with you,’ said Seth coldly. ‘How could I find Rory before you, when you wouldn’t let me See him? How else could I find him?’ His yell was rank with fury. ‘I knew you would get to my son, Kilrevin. You were always going to find him, so I had to be with you when you did. Didn’t I?’

  Rory had gone entirely white. His eyes caught Hannah’s.

  ~ On purpose. He did this on purpose. Everything.

  But, ‘You’re lying.’ The Wolf breathed hard.

  ‘Nah. You’re so predictable. Where would the fun be in killing me? When I could still watch my son die, and you could take a bit longer over me?’

  The Wolf’s eyes were wide with rage. ‘I could have killed you on the spot!’

  ‘Could have.’ Seth shrugged. ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘Silly me!’ said the Wolf after a long moment. ‘Let’s put that right.’

  ‘Not just now.’ Seth swung the handcuffs warningly.

  ‘Of course just now.’ The Wolf chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t have killed your son, you twat, not right away. Kate needs him! And you forgot about the handcuffs!’

  ‘Okay, that’s true. Silly me, this time. And I know you wouldn’t have killed Rory,’ said Seth, ‘not right away. But you’d have killed Conal’s girl on the spot. And I wasn’t having that.’

  Hannah’s turn to pale, Hannah’s turn to whimper softly. He hadn’t delivered himself into the Wolf’s hands for Rory, she realised. He’d done it for her. She wanted to cry, or jump off the cliff.

  ‘Kilrevin, man, you taste the way you are.’ Seth wiped his mouth and spat. ‘Foul.’

  Drawing his sword, the Wolf leaped for Seth. Ducking, Seth charged forward, but it was a hopeless contest, and Seth had never really had a cat’s chance. Reacting fast, the Wolf checked and dodged and thrust again, and the sword plunged deep into Seth’s side.

  Rory yelled in horror as his father sucked in a stunned breath. The Wolf withdrew the sword for another strike, Seth making a high sound in his throat as the blade came out of him.

  Rory flung himself down the last few feet of slope, then sprang into the air, twisting and kicking. His foot caught the Wolf’s shoulder and spun him aside so that the second lunge, aimed at Seth’s heart, missed him altogether. Rory was in the air a moment longer, turning, but the Wolf was fast, and out of his reach. He dropped to the earth in a cat-crouch.

  Roaring, the Wolf drew his sword back for a lethal swing. Rory eyed him, nerves screaming, waiting to sense which way to jump. He’d find out too late and he knew it. Fifty-fifty.

  Somewhere inside the Wolf’s rage, his orders from Kate must have lodged deep in his brain. Instead of slicing Rory’s head from his shoulders, the sword stayed drawn back in the air for a fraction of an instant, and that was all Seth needed. He leaped onto the Wolf’s back, wrapped his legs round the man’s barrel chest and locked his left arm round his neck, handcuffs swinging. His free hand snatched the raised sword arm and hung on desperately.

  Purple-faced, struggling for air, the Wolf clutched wildly at Seth with his mangled hand, somehow finding a handful of hair and dragging him inexorably down. Seth slid sideways but he clung on with his legs, and he didn’t let go of the Wolf’s sword arm.

  Rory rolled out of reach and sprang up, but he hesitated. There was still no mental connection with his father, and without it he didn’t know where to aim an attack. The wrong move would be a fatal move, and yet he could see Seth weakening, could see blood throbbing out of his side.

  Seth was hanging almost upside down by now. All that was holding him on was one ankle hooked round the Wolf’s neck, together with his loosening left arm. In seconds he was going to slip, and his grip would fail, and then the sword would arc down and cut him in half.

  ‘Dad!’ barked Rory.

  Seth twisted his dangling head, making fleeting eye contact. His teeth were clenched but he was almost laughing at the ridiculousness of his position. Sod this for a game of soldiers, thought Rory. He isn’t going to die.

  Seth held his gaze for a second more; then he closed his eyes with an aching sigh and let go his grip on the Wolf’s sword arm. The Wolf flung him off with a yell and the sword lashed down, but Rory leaped to intercept it. The Wolf hadn’t expected him, didn’t see him till he was locked on his arm like a yowling cat.

  The Wolf gave a snarl that was all exasperation as his maimed left hand went round Rory’s throat. There was raw flesh, slippery blood and exposed bone in that grip; Rory could feel the loose forefinger flapping against his skin. His vision darkened as he struggled for breath but he held grimly onto the Wolf’s arm.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ snarled the Wolf, ‘while I throttle your son.’

  ‘No.’ Staggering to his feet, Seth slammed his fist into Kilrevin’s face.

  The man dropped Rory like a hot coal. As Seth collapsed to his knees, his gasp of pain was drowned by the Wolf’s scream of agony.

  Seth grabbed his wounded side, blood pumping out over his splayed fingers. The Wolf dropped his sword and reeled back, both hands clutched over his left eye.

  Rory scrambled to his feet as the Wolf stumbled blindly, tottering on the edge. Suil, he thought. Teallach. The poor priggish guide whose name he’d never known. Finn MacAngus, whose violent death must have broken his father’s heart. But the Wolf was screaming, helpless with pain, his centre of gravity lost, and the faces of the dead would not form in Rory’s mind.

  So Hannah walked calmly past him, and punched the Wolf hard in the nose.

  As he reeled back, silenced by shock, the Wolf’s hands came away from his face, flailing and windmilling in the air. Blood and vitreous fluid streamed from his left eye around the stump of a bronze pin. The Wolf careered backwards over the cliff edge, vanishing from sight. Distantly, there was a muffled thump; then a splash that was lost in a crash of waves.

  Seth staggered to his feet, his t-shirt soaked with blood, and clutched his son into his arms. He moaned with pain but he wouldn’t let Rory go.

  ‘Dad! Dad!’ Rory hugged him hard, tugging him back from
the edge. ‘Sit down!’

  Seth slumped down, shocked. Hannah ran to him, pulling his t-shirt gingerly away from his side.

  ‘Give me your shirt!’ she yelled.

  Rory stripped off his t-shirt and Hannah thrust it hard against Seth’s side. She sobbed, shoving it hard into the wound and ignoring his yell of agonised protest.

  ‘Leave it!’ screamed Seth.

  ‘No!’ she screamed back.

  ‘LEAVE IT!’ he howled, trying to writhe away from her.

  ‘But you’re bleeding!’

  Seth seized her arm. ‘I’m bleeding to death, Hannah,’ he hissed furiously. ‘I can feel it. Get a grip, and get my son out of here.’

  ‘He won’t leave you!’ she yelled at him. She took a gulp of air. ‘I won’t leave you!’

  Swearing violently, Seth yanked her hand and the t-shirt away, and blood jetted thickly out of the hole. ‘Rory, call Finn’s horse and go!’ Again he cursed. ‘And take Florence bloody Nightingale with you!’

  Hannah snarled, and hollered an insult at him. As his lip curled and he took a deep breath, entirely up for a profane screaming match, she lunged forward madly and shoved her bare hand into the wound.

  Seth screamed, really screamed.

  Rory snatched at Hannah’s wrist, trying to drag her hand out of the hole, but her skin was slippery with blood and her strength was amazing. He cursed her, tore at her arm, but as they struggled, as she forced her hand inside his father’s wound with vicious determination, he became gradually aware that Seth had stopped fighting.

  He was still cursing wildly, but he wasn’t fighting any more and his hand was tight round Hannah’s bloody wrist, holding it steady inside his torso. Then, only a little more gently, she pushed in the fingers of her other hand too. His face contorted, Seth fell silent.

  She bit her lip hard and her hands tightened inside him. Seth opened his mouth and howled with pain one last time; then Hannah snarled in his face, and yanked her hands out of the wound.