There was no sign of the redheaded witch.
Alexander blinked, feeling his healing spells kicking into high gear. He hurt, but it was nothing he could not handle. He limped to where Gregory, Nami, and Oak were trying to detach one woman from her cross. She was badly burned. She whimpered with every touch and movement.
“Fuckers drilled straight through her shin bones. They glued the nut on the bolt with Loctite and sawed off the excess,” Oak said. “Can’t get a grip to break it off.”
Gregory made an animal sound, and his green magic sliced through the back of the bolt like it was made of butter. The nut fell off, and Oak pulled the long metal shaft out from the front.
As he did so, the woman screamed. “Stop, please please please! I’ll do anything you want. Anything! Oh, God, don’t do this to me, please!”
Gregory touched his fingers to her forehead, and she slumped. “Should have done that first,” he muttered.
They proceeded to remove the bolts from her hands and the wires holding her shoulders and torso to the wood. The wires had cut her to the bone. Blood spurted and ran. The witch stopped it with his magic, then stood.
“Watch her,” he told Oak. “Holler if she has trouble. I’m going to stabilize the others.”
It was too late for the girl and the other woman. Both had died from burns and smoke inhalation. Giselle was looking after the man, and Kyle and Tyler were working on the boy. Gregory went to help them.
Kyle’s fingers shook, and he looked as if he might faint. Still, he was pumping healing into the boy as Tyler wrestled to free him. Gregory cut away the bolts and wire, and a moment later, the boy was lying on the ground. Blood bubbled from his lips, and his skin was black and melted. He was barely breathing.
“Get the vehicles,” Max ordered, and a few minutes later, the truck and the Suburban pulled up.
“Load them up,” Giselle said. “Careful, now.”
In two minutes, it was done. Steel and Flint took the wheels of the vehicles and drove away with the three witches and the surviving victims. Tyler went, too, a silent shadow clinging to the boy’s side.
“Are you okay?” Max asked.
Alexander looked at her. Like him, she was bruised, blistered, burned, and bloody. All in a day’s work. “I could use a shower,” he said. He itched to reach for her, to pull her tight and taste her breath, but she would only pull away. He was not up to dealing with the rejection just now.
She nodded, her expression visibly relaxing. She reached out and brushed the tips of her fingers down his cheek. She closed her eyes and nodded again before turning around. “Let’s get these bodies in the ground. Simon, go fetch the backhoe.”
As the others obeyed, she and Alexander wandered around, accompanied by Beyul and Spike. They came to the spot where the red-haired preacher had suddenly appeared. Max stared at the broad circle of red dust on the dirt road. She squatted and touched it, rubbing it between her fingers. Where it touched, it didn’t come off.
Beyul sniffed it and padded through it. None of it clung to him. Spike sneezed and edged carefully around the circle.
Max slowly stood and looked up at Alexander. Her expression was troubled. “This is the stuff that’s all over Horngate. It’s all over us. Somehow that crazy preacher got inside the mountain. Before the wards broke. He got in without tripping any alarms.”
“How is that possible?” Alexander asked, unease prickling along his neck.
Max shook her head. “That’s just it, Slick. It isn’t possible.” She looked back down at her fingers. “What the fuck are we dealing with?”
THAT NIGHT, MAX WOKE SUDDENLY FROM A DEEP sleep. Her body was clammy with sweat, and her breathing was ragged. She’d been dreaming. A nightmare.
Filled with a primal need, she slid on top of Alexander, kissing him with a desperation born less from lust than from a need to disappear, to vanish. Alexander’s hands rose and pressed hard and hot against her back. They glided down over her hips, butt, and thighs and then back up. She squirmed, grinding herself against him. He groaned and clutched her, his hips bucking, his cock hard between her legs.
She purred with the power she had over him and raked her fingernails along his ribs, thrusting her hips back and forth. He sucked in a breath, his hands tightening painfully. Suddenly, he lifted her, then drove himself up inside her. She gasped and clamped his hips between her knees, lifting herself up and down, riding him in a hard, fast rhythm. He cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples, making her moan and ride him harder.
Her body was awash in glorious sensation. Alexander sat up, holding her hips still as he sucked on first one breast and then the other. Max whimpered and tried to move, but he held her fast and thrust up in short, staccato motions.
She bent and kissed him, her tongue delving inside his mouth. His lips seared hers. His hands rose to fasten on the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. Their teeth ground together as they devoured each other.
With her hips freed, Max began to move on him again. Sensation spiraled tight in her belly and sent sparks racing down every nerve. She flung her head back as she gripped the headboard for leverage, driving herself onto Alexander. He went back to teasing her breasts, licking and biting.
She whimpered more as the tension in her body wound to a single aching point at her core.
Her world exploded. Pleasure washed through her. Her muscles spasmed with the bliss. She fell against Alexander, letting the waves of pleasure wash over her again and again. She sat there for a long minute as she caught her breath, her arms around his neck. He rubbed her back, soothing away the storm of her passion. She was caught up in the feeling of rightness, of happiness.
Then she remembered.
The feelings she’d chased away came flooding back. Loss, fear, hurt, worry. They gnawed at her, and she had to move.
Wordlessly, she pushed herself away and climbed off the bed. She went into the bathroom, skirting the tub carved into the stone of the floor and heading straight to the shower. She turned it on to its hottest and let the spray pound her. The bite of the water did nothing to alleviate the knots of tension in her shoulders and the throbbing headache that threatened to split her skull. She braced her arms against the wall and let her head dangle, the water sluicing over her.
She glanced at the door, half expecting Alexander to join her. He didn’t. She grimaced. This wasn’t the first time she’d woken him that way, and it wasn’t the first time she’d abandoned him without a word. She sighed. What is my problem?
She couldn’t help but keep a wall up between them. She was doing her best to tear it down, but it was hard. She kept thinking of the what-ifs. What if he died like Niko? What if he quit wanting her? What if she couldn’t keep this up? What if she got someone killed because she was too attached to Alexander?
The what-ifs were endless. Then stir in the awkwardness of actually being in a relationship with someone day to day. Public displays of affection or no? How was she supposed to fit him into a life where she was his boss and his lover?
Max rubbed her forehead. It really wasn’t that complicated. But she felt like everyone was watching her, and it made her crazy. But the worst was knowing that she could get him killed. And not just him—everyone. If she chose the wrong strategy, if she didn’t train them well enough, if she sent them off on a mission when they weren’t ready, if she led them into a trap . . .
It was just dumb luck that no one had been killed the night before. Steel and Jody had both taken bullets, but luckily, their healing spells had been able to fix them.
“You didn’t used to worry like a fucking mother hen,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her scrubby and soaping herself up. She washed away the stink of her sweat and fear and dried herself.
Back in the bedroom, Alexander was asleep. Or pretending to be. Whichever it was, she let him. She didn’t know what to say.
She dressed quickly and slipped out into the other room. Beyul watched her from the couch, his head on his forepaws. Spik
e rested her head on his back, her ears pricked up. Neither moved. She grinned at them both and left.
All thirteen of the Shadowblade apartments opened onto this passage, deep in the mountain fortress and well away from the deadly sunlight.
Max started toward the stairs. She wanted to check on the torture victims and see if there was any information about who the mysterious preacher had been. She found herself hesitating outside a door, knowing there was no one on the other side of it. Niko was dead.
Pain seized her, and she gasped. She caught herself against the jamb. Jagged sobs lodged in her throat, and she clamped her lips shut to keep them from escaping. Her Prime rose swift and hard, spurred to ferocity by the depth of her grief. Power exploded from her. Instantly, several doors slammed open, and her Blades launched into the hallway.
Not Alexander. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
Each had tumbled from bed ready to fight. They homed in on Max with a pack instinct. Tyler wasn’t among them. She was pretty sure he was in the infirmary with the injured boy.
She held up a hand. “It’s okay,” she said, straightening up. But she could not so easily rein in her grief. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks.
Thor pushed through the others. He wore a pair of low-slung fleece pants and nothing else. His blond hair was long and loose, and his pale body was cut like crystal, a blond arrow of hair darkening as it disappeared inside his waistband. He eyed her from head to toe. His gaze flicked to Niko’s door and then up the corridor behind her as if he were looking for Alexander.
“You all right?” he asked in his slow Texas drawl.
Max stiffened and lifted her head, swallowing down her emotions until she felt herself turn calm. It was no more than a thin shell of calm, but it would do.
“I’m fan-fucking-tastic,” she said. “I always have public emotional breakdowns before breakfast.” She drew a deep breath and blew it out in a gust. “Clears the sinuses. Gets the day off to a hell of a start. You should all try it. But first, why don’t you all go back to bed before I’m any more humiliated?”
She didn’t wait for them to disperse but hurried up the steps.
She went to the infirmary first. Judith, another Triangle-level witch, was sitting in a chair beside the man, who lay pale and still. The woman was in a bed on the other side and looked none the worse for wear. At least, her body did. Tyler sat beside the boy, staring at him like tiger stalking his prey. His face was stony, and his Blade filled the air with stifling power. His nostrils flared, but he didn’t look up as Max entered.
“What’s the word?” she asked Judith.
“They’ll all live,” the witch said with a tired smile. She’d cut her brown hair short recently, and it curled unexpectedly, making her look about twenty-five. But her eyes were old. She’d seen a lot of betrayal, a lot of death, and it had tempered her. Just like Gregory. Both preferred to heal, but out of recent necessity, they had grown adept at killing.
“When will they wake up?” Max asked.
“Maybe by tomorrow. Depends. They suffered a great deal.” She glanced at Tyler and the boy and frowned. “Their bodies are healed, but their spirits are in shock. It may take them a while to decide it’s safe to come back to the world.”
Or they might not. Max could almost hear the unspoken words.
Judith reached over and smoothed the sheet over the man, then stood and went to do the same for the woman. “Some people just need killing,” she said softly, then looked up at Max. Silver magic swirled in the hollows of her eyes. “And soon,” she added.
Max saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
With that, she went to find Giselle. It took her a while. She wasn’t anywhere Max expected her to be, and no one seemed to know where she was. Finally, she thought of the angel vault. It was the only place she hadn’t looked.
THE ANGEL VAULT WAS A SMALL ROOM DEEP DOWN AMONG the roots of the mountain. The space had started as a small cave, and by using magic, Giselle had enlarged it.
As Max approached the entrance, she heard voices within. Giselle’s was one, and the other—Kyle? What was he doing in there? With Giselle?
Anger coiled in Max’s chest. She drew closer. She could be wrong. She’d damned well better be wrong about what they were up to.
She wasn’t.
“There’s every possibility,” Kyle said enthusiastically. “We’ll have to experiment and see, but just look at what one of Tutresiel’s tiniest feathers has done for Max. What a witch could do with the same feather I can’t even begin to imagine.”
Except that judging by the tone of his voice, he was imagining, and by the sound of it, he thought it was the holy grail.
Max gritted her teeth, her jaw muscles knotting. She rubbed her thumb absently over the palm of her hand. The feather Tutresiel had given her allowed her to jump huge distances. If she caught a breeze, she could glide a long way. It had been a gift, but Kyle was talking about mining the angels’ comatose bodies for magical gold.
Her hand clenched.
“It’s risky,” Giselle said. “I don’t know that we should take the chance. There could be recoil issues and dangerous complications. We can’t afford to lose any more witches. We’re too depleted already.”
“But isn’t that the point?” Kyle argued. “You said it yourself. That preacher wielded impossible power. He pierced the wards without any of us knowing about it. You need to use every weapon you have. You can’t be squeamish about taking advantage of them. They wouldn’t want to see Horngate destroyed.”
They wouldn’t want to be used like groceries in the pantry, either, Max thought. She waited for Giselle’s reply.
“Horngate isn’t so far in trouble,” she replied dryly. “I have the Fury Seed.”
The Fury Seed had been created when a Fury was born recently in Horngate. Sacrificed by her father, an enemy witch, a teenage girl had been reborn with a Fury’s insane rage and thirst for vengeance. In order to keep the explosive power of her birth from destroying Horngate altogether, the coven had created a matrix to collect the magic. The matrix was like a pit at the center of a magical fruit. The Fury Seed, as it had come to be called, was an extraordinarily powerful reservoir of magic.
After the Fury’s birth, the seed had been sunk deep under the fortress. It now fueled the day-to-day needs of the covenstead, the greenhouse heat, the phones, and some of Horngate’s other necessities, although Giselle liked to keep its power in reserve against future problems. Maybe the future was now.
“Of course,” Kyle said. “But that’s raw and unformed. Angel magic could enhance specific abilities and allow you to do spells you never could before. You need both to protect this covenstead.”
Max had heard enough. The angels were in these bizarre comas because they’d been defending Horngate against the rage of the Fury. They deserved better than to become ingredients in Giselle’s spells. Or Kyle’s.
She strode to the door and leaned against the jamb. “You two can stop arguing now,” she said quietly, her jaws aching with the effort to keep herself from screaming at them. Her Prime was wild. She didn’t bother restraining it.
Choking power flooded the room. Kyle staggered back toward the wall, his mouth falling open. Giselle stood between the stone slab tables that held the two angels, her arms crossed. She had the grace to look guilty, no doubt for getting caught, not for her plans to harvest angel parts.
The thought spurred Max’s fury. In a minute, she was going to rip Giselle’s arms off. “Let me make something very clear. Neither one of you is going to touch so much as a single hair on their heads. Not now, not ever. Understand?” She didn’t wait for the answer but sauntered inside. “I suggest that if you’re interested in surviving to your next birthday, you both ought to get the hell out of here. Now.”
Kyle practically ran out. Max could smell his fear.
Giselle lowered her arms. “Feel better?”
“I’ll feel better when you go get yourself run over by a truck. Feel fre
e to have at it right now.”
Giselle’s head tipped to the side, her lips curved, and then the smile faded. “Like it or not, your brother is right,” she said. “We have to use whatever weapons we have, no matter how distasteful it might be. Using the angels might become necessary.”
“Might be distasteful?” Max lunged close, hands closing on Giselle’s biceps hard enough to leave bruises. “You coldhearted bitch. They are my friends. My family. You. Will. Not. Touch. Them. Ever.”
Giselle stared at her a moment, then wordlessly shook Max off and stepped away. She stopped at the door and turned back. “You know better, Max. I’ll do anything to protect Horngate. Anything. So don’t be surprised when I do just that.”
With that, she left. Just in time. She wasn’t going to survive if she stayed much longer.
Max took several breaths and then went to look over Tutresiel and Xaphan.
The two angels lay parallel to each other on two basalt tables. In between, a tiny waterfall trickled through the roof and dropped down into a basin on the floor. On the left lay Tutresiel. He was pale as ice, with long jet-black hair pooling around his head. His eyes were closed, his chiseled face looking as if Michelangelo had carved it. His expression was savage in its beauty. Silver wings folded beneath his back, the edges of each feather sharp as a scythe. They were tarnished a dull gray now.
A sheet covered him from the chest down. Beneath it, his body was beautiful and perfect—the epitome of pure masculinity. Too bad he wasn’t breathing.
On the other slab lay Xaphan. He was equally beautiful, with white-blond hair and iridescent black wings. The flames that usually flickered along the edges of his feathers were doused now. Like Tutresiel, he wore nothing but a sheet and looked like a corpse. And, also like Tutresiel, he was in some sort of angel coma, and nobody had any idea of how to wake him. The pair would remain in the vault until either they rotted away or someone found a cure for them.
Blood Winter Page 4