But that calm was being tested, and when Swords and Stone met an impenetrable barrier, fuck it all, but she’d be using her years of focus to make sure Gimp had what his name implied twice over. One new injury to compliment the already subtle gimp he had from his time serving in the Civil War. Yeah, Gimp was old. But old blood was still blood, and if he didn’t stop pushing, her Other instincts were going to kick in, and gods be damned, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions. She could already taste his blood on the tip of her tongue, and she imagined how it would feel coursing down her throat, filling her up, making her even stronger than she was now. That would satisfy one of her Other gifts at least.
His Irish accent was strong even though he’d been in the states for over a century. “Look, Eirey kid—”
Aw, fuck no. No one used her old nickname anymore. Only her brothers had ever called her ‘Eirey’. And no one, absolutely no one, called her ‘kid’. Hell, but she was testy tonight.
Her claws had already been unsheathed, and they raked across his chest resulting in a swift spray of blood that covered the brick and the concrete of the buildings around her. He’d heal. The fucking Trow were one of the only creatures who could survive her poison. Six feet, two inches of badass motherfucking powerhouse beast with shoulders that spanned an unnatural width, weighing in at over twice what the average human the same size would weigh, and he’d not once defended himself against her knives.
She was a cold, hard bitch. She smiled at the thought. Cold. Hard. Bitch. Yeah, she was. Her smile died quickly at the realization that Gimp wasn’t healing at his normal pace. He was on his knees, blood spraying around him, and she’d gone too far. The wounds were too deep.
A part of her thought, fuck it, he should have known better than to bring up her brothers or her father. And still, another part of her, the part she clung to, whispered for her to help him.
And she could. She’d just have to reach deep.
She knelt beside the behemoth next to her, his strong jaw and handsome face pale from blood loss. He might be Other, but a slice from her kind was dangerous to anyone. Deadly, in fact. The poison she had in her claws was instant death to humans and most Others, but even the Clan couldn’t heal the lacerations from her natural weapons.
Sword and Stone.
It was her Stone side she called on to heal her friend now.
She saw the colors in her center and she raced toward them, feeling the urgency of the moment. She wouldn’t touch them completely. No, there was too much darkness in her to touch that light and those colors entirely. The Clan called it grounding, but she wasn’t Clan. Eire was Other.
Her colors swirled along her skin as the earth calmed around her and blanketed Eire in its embrace. She held fast to that feeling, to the Mother’s embrace, and she warmed from the inside out. This felt like home, like surety, like the thing she had missed since her own mother’s death seventeen years earlier. A death she had taken on alone because she’d chosen to. A death she had grieved alone because she’d been forced to. She grabbed onto her gift of Stone and she pulled out the colors, letting a little of that light seep into her hands, which she laid over her friend, asshole that he was.
She could feel the glow in her green eyes, and she knew they were bright, like grass that had been in the shade and then suddenly exposed to the spring sun. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to heal Gimp, and it wouldn’t be the last. He was used to her anger, her knives, her stone, and even the little bit of ice she’d taken on to become who she was.
In the tattered portions of his shirt, she could see the rips to his naturally darker epidermis healing as the rifts mended together. And more than just his skin was being healed. She knew this, because Gimp always said that, afterward, he felt her light like shards of happiness to his Other soul. She almost wondered if he was always such a pain in the ass just so he could get a taste of her Stone.
His breath came in pants and a smile lit up his face like those she saw on a human’s face when the sun came out of hiding after a long winter. He lifted his head as if searching for that light, and she smacked him upside the head.
“Fuck, Ice–”
“Don’t, ‘fuck, Ice’ me, douchebag. I could have killed you, and you’re lying there happy as a clam, like you’d been waitin’ on that fix.” A dark thought crossed her mind. “Fucking bastard. You did not just bring up the sperm donor and my lousy, asshole brothers just to get high,” Eire asked, hell commanded, and her ice shell that surrounded her core of Sword and Stone was back in full force.
“Shit, Eire,” Gimp said, getting to his feet and assessing their surroundings. He was always good as backup, but not if he was using her. She wouldn’t stand for that shit. “Jesus, kid—” And then he held up his hands, pausing like an antelope who knew it was in the lioness’ sights.
She wasn’t a kid. Gimp was three-hundred-and-seventy-eight, and she got it, but she wouldn’t stand for it. At twenty-nine, she’d been through more shit than most had been through in a thousand years. She felt every one of those thousand years despite her actual age.
His stance relaxed and his look said he was sorry and safe and she could rely on him. She trusted Gimp because he was her partner, because he’d had her back at the worst of times, because he supported her and put up with her shit and was loyal to a fault. What she didn’t trust was his possible need for a high, his emotions. Hell, she didn’t trust her own emotions, which was why she kept them tucked away. That, and she’d been trained by the best. Her emotions were her weakness, her undoing, and she wouldn’t be her mother.
“You really think I’d partner with you and protect you just to get high off that little bit of light you let out?” The hurt she heard meant nothing to her. She’d been lied to before. Emotion was the lie.
And she wouldn’t feel guilty for the questioning. No, she’d learned long ago that trust needed to be earned and even though Gimp had earned it over the years, trust was something that could easily be lost. No one could be fully trusted.
“I brought up your brothers because it’s time, Eire—”
“It’s not time for anything, Gimp,” she almost whispered. “I don’t need them, and they sure as fuck don’t need me. They’ve got each other, and I’ve got shit. So, excuse the fuck out of this conversation, but unless you want my claws again, we’re finished.”
“We are not finished.” Eire felt the power in Gimp’s voice. A Trow. He wasn’t just some whiny, pain in the ass sidekick with a penchant for pushing her buttons. No, he might have been all those things and she could still kick his ass into the next century, but she listened when he got that tone. Everyone did.
“Now, I know you’ve got a shitty past, but despite your avoidance, those brothers have done more right by you than you care to admit.” He held up his hand when Eire haughtily lifted her chin, ready to slice him with words this time around. “Don’t interrupt.” She was going to kill him. She was going to make mincemeat out of him, and eat it up, and then play around in his blood. And with her ancestry, those things were all fucking. Spot. On.
He gave her an exasperated look. “Eire, you may be all icy, aggravating bitch, but your face is playing the dance with the devil tune right now. Calm down, and let me fucking tell you what’s being whispered about in the Enforcer circles.”
She tilted her head to the side and considered him for a moment. What had he heard?
“Fuck…fine…go,” she said and left it at that.
“Fae.” The wind howled through the dark alley and she shivered in fear. No. No. No. Absolutely not.
“No,” she said, but it came out as a whisper and she cursed herself for her vulnerability.
“Your oldest brother and some Other Enforcers have been tracking their—” He stopped as if searching for the right word. “Presents,” he finished, saying the word with disgust and rancor.
She could imagine why. The Fae were a disgusting lot, and she wasn’t surprised Damon had stuck his nose in whatever the hell this c
ase was. Hell, Damon stuck his nose in most cases. The eldest of her three brothers seemed to always know what was going on in the Clan or Other worlds. Bugged the shit out of her.
“Body count was upped to eight just a few hours ago at midnight, according to the call I just got from your brother,” Gimp continued. “Syracuse, Auburn, Waterloo, Naples, Almond, Wellsville, Colchester, and we both know your oldest brother’s sources are solid, so that would make Montville number eight. Eight so far from Syracuse, all the way West to Montville. The Others have been keeping every detail low to the ground. No cops. No humans. But things just got dicey. And the Council will most likely be joining the fight.”
“Why the fuck for?” Fucking Clan Council didn’t get involved with Others unless it was to police them. And even then, they never came near unless their precious Clan was touched.
“Yeah, they don’t usually pony up to help us little folks, but your brother was the first to see the body a couple hours ago, and he says the newest kill was found near the woods of not one, but two Clan land plots.” Gimp blew out a breath. “The Fae who committed these crimes want the bodies found,” he added angrily.
“You’re not sharing something.” She could smell the heightened fear. Her sense of smell wasn’t top notch like the Others and Clan members who transformed, but fear… Fear was a rich smell that predators just knew.
“The bodies…” Gimp’s voice trailed off, and she knew he was trying to be sensitive. Why the hell he’d try being that way with her, she had no fucking clue. Eire had never needed sensitivity. Caution if he didn’t want to get maimed, but not sensitivity.
“Yeah, what about them?” she asked, her voice measured to show him she could handle whatever he had to say.
“They weren’t bodies.”
Eire waited for more information. What the fuck did he mean by, “they weren’t bodies?” “You’re gonna have to give me more than that,” she said dryly.
He shuffled from foot to foot, his gaze holding fast to the stretch of stars and sky up above before he took a steadying breath and looked her dead in the eyes, his brown ones full of compassion and pain.
“The Others who were killed had exploded, Eire.”
It was her turn to drop to her knees.
No. No. No. No. No. No.
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. She’d checked. She’d made sure.
No. No. No. No. No. No.
Her ice was melting.
She was closing in on herself.
Her Darkness was rising to the surface, and she couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air and felt the weight of a friendly hand on her shoulder. The hand steadied her nerves and her breath. But it also brought her back to her true self.
Eire Donovan did not fall apart.
Eire Donovan was not soft.
Eire Donovan was not water, flowing freely, moving with the whims of emotion.
No. Eire Fucking Donovan was calm.
She was Stone.
She was Sword.
Cold. Hard. Bitch.
She clung to that feeling of power, and she let herself become ice once more.
She brushed Gimp’s hand away and ignored the hurt on his face. He knew her. And he was still loyal to her as a partner and almost friend should be. He understand her need for the cold hard shell she loved so dearly. That was another side effect of those goddamned colors and light. The light didn’t just affect the healed. It affected the healer. And she’d be damned if that light would ruin her. Fuck that shit. She’d become something powerful despite her past, and now that power was needed.
Fucking Fae. Thought they were the be all, end all. She’d show them.
It looked like they would be taking a little trip, she thought, pushing aside her feelings of trepidation. Feelings were weakness.
They were going to Montville. She would work the case. And then, she’d come home to her trailer, drink some Jack, kill a new bad, and move the fuck on.
Her only thought as they headed to their trailers to grab their travel bags was that she was seriously going to need to sleep off that last healing she’d done for Gimp. The use of her Stone had hit her hard this time.
So, fuck it. Big brother Damon had better have a goddamned couch for her and Gimp to crash on.
The evening stars were just fading from the sky, and Nicky breathed in the fresh air, not letting the anticipation of the case overwhelm him. Calm solved cases; not going in half-cocked like a grunt who didn’t know their shit.
He showered and threw his phone in his back pocket, ignoring the messages from his parents as he grabbed the keys to his Harley.
Yeah, Nicky knew Devon had one of those fancy motorcycles, but he loved a good old Harley. Nothing rode like the purr of his monster, and he was secure enough to admit that something that strong between his thighs… Well, shit, but it was nice. He liked strong. He liked determined. In his women. In his motorcycles. Didn’t matter.
He took his motorcycle up the winding roads of the mountainside and then back up a few miles to the entrance of what was now Alexia and Devon’s land. He could still smell Cam everywhere. Poor bastard. No wonder Danny hated coming out here. He might not have the nose of a shifting Clan member, but the now dragon’s essence was all over the land.
Alexia and Devon had started refurbishing their own double-wide at the edge of the non-wooded area, far enough away from the Lodge that was just being finished, but it was almost like they didn’t want to leave the place where Devon’s brother and Alexia’s best friend had spent so much of their time.
Alexia and Devon walked groggily out of the front of the double-wide, but Nicky didn’t miss the bags under Alexia’s eyes as he put the kickstand up and waited by his bike. She’d been looking sick these past months, and he was worried, but it wasn’t his place to ask, right? He cursed to himself realizing it was only 4:30 am, but it couldn’t be helped. Every second counted, and they needed to know what kind of creature they were dealing with.
“Aw, hell!” Devon said when he saw Nicky’s face. “What is it now?”
Alexia put her hand against the bear’s chest to soothe him, and for a moment, Nicky recalled those hands. Recalled how they’d made him feel once upon a time. A time when he’d been innocent and quick to laugh and full of hope and possibility.
No, Alexia wasn’t his. And he’d come to see her as a friend, but every once in a while, he felt the stirrings of nostalgia, and a part of him wanted to have her back. Or at least to have back that innocence and that happiness he’d felt with her all those years ago.
He bottled up the feelings for now. He’d deal with them later. He had no intention of falling apart in front of anyone. That’s why he lived away in the mountains.
“Body. Explosion. In between our two properties.”
“Fuck,” Alexia said succinctly. “Clan, human, or Other?”
“Other,” Nicky said, but he examined her. The way she’d said ‘Other’…hell, the fact that she’d even asked, worried him. He knew she’d spent time learning the ropes with the Vuković and Skröm families recently. Was she becoming so ingrained in the Clan politics that she wouldn’t care if an Other was dead? Others were different, sure. But justice was justice, no matter if they were of the Light or the Darkness.
“Don’t give me that look, Nicky.”
“You mean the look that says I’m worried you don’t care?” Her eyes flashed a brighter shade of red and he held up his hands. “Listen, Lex. I’m not trying to rile the beast. I’m just trying to tell you that we have a dead body. A person. They might not be Clan, but they deserve our investigation. They deserve justice. And I won’t apologize for recruiting you to help me in that.”
“Goddamnit, Nicky,” Alexia shouted, but he could see in her eyes the indecision. She walked a fine line in their world. She couldn’t help but love everyone. That was her nature. But she also knew their Histories, and the Clan Histories were very clear about who was worthy of saving and who was not. Of course, as a Skröm, she struggled eve
n more so, because in all honesty, she was a total anomaly.
“She’s been warned by Roman not to get involved.” The big bear’s face said he didn’t agree with the old Skröm, and Nicky had learned that what the bear didn’t like was usually the best way to go. Man was wiser than his brawny bear exterior suggested.
“What do you mean she’s been warned by Roman not to get involved? The murder is new.” Nicky waited a beat and then turned to Alexia, his anger rising. “What the fuck do you know, Lex?” She held her head high, unyielding. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with her when she felt it was her duty to hide information. But he’d thought they’d gotten past that. That she’d started to trust him again. That she thought of him as a friend. Nicky looked to Devon and then back to the future leader of the Vuković Clan, and he watched as the old Alexia entered her eyes.
“There’ve been eight murders between Syracuse and here,” she finally admitted on a sigh. “The last was over in Colchester just over a week ago. And although we didn’t know it until just this moment, it’s apparently finally touched in Montville.”
“Shit, Lex. Devon.” Nicky ran a hand through his hair, which he’d started growing out the past year. “And you guys didn’t think that Danny and Ginny and I should know?”
“Roman said—”
“Fuck what Roman said,” Nicky yelled, and he started pacing. He watched as the Luna Clan member, Matthew Garrett, and his mate, Gemini Harrington, walked out of the woods. Ben Oliver wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t walk forward. The Taryn Clan member who was all six feet, five inches of beast mode, instead prowled from the edge of the clearing, his blue eyes showing the silence he held inside, the secrets he kept, but also a wariness. Matt gave Ben a questioning look, but his only reply was a nod to move on ahead and a glance toward his sister’s cabin. Having a twin who was so damaged she barely left her cabin probably hadn’t helped Ben’s demeanor. Nicky looked in the direction of Carrie’s home, but he knew she wouldn’t be coming out to join the ragtag team of “protection” Lex had unknowingly surrounded herself with. Cooking or hiding. That’s what Carrie did.
Rage Against the Devil (Wild Beasts Series Book 2) Page 3