My hand connected with his cheek, and he didn’t so much as blink upon impact. With all my mustered strength, I’d barely manage to give him what amounted to a light pat. Someone snorted behind him. The blonde just scowled, taking better care this time as he pulled me up against his body and lifted me clear off the ground in his arms. I writhed and flailed like a dying fish in his hold, spotting the spectator lingering in the doorway. The same asshole who had stuck me with the syringe.
Blaine? I kept repeating his name in my head, waiting for a response. Where was he?
I couldn’t ignore the metallic tang. It wasn’t a scent though. It…it was in my mouth. I looked at my arm. All my runes were still intact, but not a single one was alit.
Something was wrong.
Whether I cared to admit it or not, there was a part of my mind these past couple of months that had been carved out and constructed to instate Blaine’s presence inside. It was like an invisible bridge, a conduit linking him to me. As much as I dug through my mind though, I couldn’t find so much as a scrap of it anywhere. That tug—the essence snaked around my bones—was unnervingly still.
“W-what did y-you do?” I croaked out, choking on my raw vocal chords.
The stranger didn’t answer.
An upsurge of wintry air crashed into my sweat-drenched frame as he carried me outside, the impact stealing the breath right out of me. He just held me closer, letting the heat of his body melt into mine. It did little good. My body only grew colder with every passing second. Not just on the outside, but in my very core. I could feel the energy draining from my body.
Find me.
Find me.
I couldn’t ignite my runes. I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t even stand on my own two feet.
I needed him.
The tears in my eyes burned, freezing on my cheeks as they tumbled off my lashes. Blaine was going to find me. He had to.
My pleas to him merely echoed in the bottomless crevasse of my mind. I didn’t dare make a sound, but tears continued pouring down my face as my entire body shuddered.
My head rolled to the side, revealing exactly what I had expected. I’d been trapped in a mausoleum—in the middle of a cemetery. The metallic taste coating my tongue only grew stronger, and as hard as I tried to keep my eyes open, they sank shut once more.
A blur of burgundy and gold stirred before my vision as I came to once more.
With the coldness that had seeped into my limbs, my body had instinctively pulled itself into the fetal position in an attempt to cling to any warmth it could gather. To my surprise, I found an old wool blanket draped over me. I continued to blink away the drug-induced haze, realizing the floral patterns in front of me were part of the backing to a sofa.
“Hey, stranger.”
If I had an ounce of strength in me, I would’ve jumped at the sound. Instead, I pathetically groaned as I rolled over, seeing the same dirty blonde-haired guy from the tomb seated across from me in a matching seat. It was the only other piece of furniture in the expansive room that wasn’t covered with a white sheet, and remnants of stirred dust coated the splintered hardwood floors. Even the windows were boarded up. We were evidently in an abandoned house, the smell of built-up soot choking the air from the burning fireplace.
I attempted to pull myself up, cursing at the pain tearing through my stomach.
The stranger grimaced, his nostrils flaring in disgust. Only… the sentiment didn’t seem to be directed to me. “You okay?”
There was a peculiar drawl to his words, evidence that he clearly wasn’t from the area. It sounded like a western twang or maybe a faded Texas accent. If it weren’t for my current predicament, I would have been inclined to find it cute.
Peeling up the hem of my shirt, I cringed at the large black and blue splotch staining my abdomen. Either I was healing incredibly slowly, or that kick to the stomach I’d taken back in my bedroom had done more damage than initially thought.
“Sorry about my colleagues,” the young man huffed. “They have about as much tact as they do brains.”
Even sitting down, it was clear that the stranger was tall. Lean muscles made up his body, poorly concealed beneath worn jeans and a fitted thermal. His jaw and cheekbones were cut at hard angles, and his mildly cultivated five o’clock shadow had me estimating him to probably be in his earlier twenties.
Despite my swirling emotions, not a single rune on my arm so much as tingled, and that bottomless pit in my stomach returned as I once again found myself unable to tap into the mental bond to Blaine.
Distant footsteps sounded from a backroom, and he could see the rising panic in my eyes, giving me a sympathetic half-smile. It could all very well have been an act…but there was consideration in his voice, in his eyes.
“I’m Nick,” he said, extending his hand out to me. When I only cowered back at the gesture, he sighed softly. “I promise I don’t bite.”
“Yeah, well, last time a guy said that, things didn’t go so well for me,” I muttered, rubbing the scarred fang marks on my neck.
The stranger’s expression softened all the more as he studied me, seemingly fixated by my eyes. “Do you know the name of your birthparents?”
I was about to shake my head when heavy boots galloped into the entryway.
“Don’t waste your breath,” scoffed one of my captives, donned in red flannel—the same guy I’d hit in the balls earlier. He came closer, but still kept a healthy distance, as if I would crush his manhood again. Oh, if only I could… “The bitch is as good as gone.” He leaned in, casting me a mocking smile. “Isn’t that right, Blood Whore?”
What the hell was with this whole ‘Blood Whore’ thing, anyway?
I only had two (albeit horrifying) close encounters, but to this day, I’d still never bitten anyone, let alone sucked their blood. I didn’t bother masking my hatred as he drew nearer.
“Just wait till Reynolds gets here,” he seethed in wicked delight. “You should’ve seen what he did to the last Underworlder he interrogated. Peeled the flesh right off the bastard’s bones.”
After witnessing the horrors Mr. Reynolds and his men implemented on Blaine, I didn’t doubt it for a second.
“Maybe we could get an early start on proceedings,” my attacker further prodded, stealing a glance at his watch. “Nathan’s flight shouldn’t be coming in for another few hours. Wouldn’t hurt to take a little peak at what your insides look like.”
The blonde—Nick—just shot him a warning look as his companion plucked out a massive dagger and admired the blade before me. “Neither of you is to touch her.”
The third guy in the room, the one who’d stabbed me with the syringe earlier continued lingering in the entranceway, merely rolling his eyes.
“I mean it,” Nick growled.
“So what do you expect to do in the meantime? Keep making puppy dog eyes at her?” challenged Mr. Flannel.
The blonde didn’t appear the least bit fazed by the remark. “No,” he drawled, “the Sagax will be here within the hour.”
Syringe and Flannel both blanched.
Ooookay, definitely not reassuring.
“Why the hell would you summon that… that thing?” Mr. Syringe demanded.
“Because you morons shot our guest here up with Syrifian before we even had a chance to speak with her, meaning we can’t use it again for another twelve hours without killing her. And we can only dose her up with so much Devil’s Pod at a time to neutralize her magic,” declared Nick. “We can’t afford to idly sit around till Reynolds shows up.”
“Let us take care of it,” insisted Mr. Flannel, gesturing all a bit too eagerly at himself and his friend. “Give us a half hour with her—”
“No,” Nick snapped. “We wait for the Sagax.”
It seemed like both an eternity and mere minutes passed when the raging embers of the fireplace suddenly petered down to almost nothing. Billowing black smoke formed in the far corner, urging Syringe and Flannel to the other side of the
room. Nick, however, only rose up from his seat and headed toward me, kneeling down to wrap the worn wool blanket around me tighter.
“Just be honest,” he whispered, nearly inaudible over the other Reapers’ curses.
Nick stepped away, revealing what had caused such a commotion from his companions. Strolling out of the swirling black cloud appeared a woman, her long, bell-sleeved white gown dancing about the ground on a phantom wind. Her skin was ghostly pale, nearly indistinguishable from the pallid shade of her very dress, as bone-straight onyx hair draped over her shoulders, her back, all the way down past her waist. I couldn’t see her feet beneath the flowing skirts of her gown, and the fabric never extended or pulled to suggest she was even walking. Her tall, slender frame seemed to glide across the floor, as if hovering above it without so much as a step.
I couldn’t ignore the hair prickling up on my arm. I was already cold, but the goose bumps that formed were from something else entirely. This woman was fifty shades of wrong! Even her lips and eyes were leeched of color, the green swirling in her irises so faint that in the flickering firelight they too appeared nearly white.
“Relieve yourself of your weapons, or relieve yourself from the premises,” she cooed, her voice a delicate, soothing caress.
I hadn’t realized there were other men lingering in the hallway until several more pairs of footsteps hastened out what I suspected to be the front door. Syringe and Flannel seemed eager to follow suit, but decided against it, easing down to their knees to discard the blades and various weapons decorating their persons. Upon sliding the hidden arsenals to the other corner of the room, they slowly rose to their feet, receiving an agreeable nod from the fair maiden.
She came to stand before me, and every instinct told me to run. If the heaviness in my legs didn’t make me feel like I had cement laced in with my bones, I would have attempted it. Hell, everyone was now apparently unarmed. Maybe I could at least try…
The thought vanished the instant the woman’s fingers stroked the underside of my chin. Cold shot through me, locking every last muscle into place. I could barely muster the power to drag in a breath as ice seeped into my limbs, my mind, my heart.
Amid her fluid gestures, the Sagax’s head suddenly twitched at a crooked angle as she studied me. The movement was unnatural—animalistic, like a vulture inspecting its prey, though her face remained unnervingly neutral. With her flawless features and bland expression, she reminded me of a doll. A creepy-as-fuck doll, but a doll no less. “What a pretty little thing,” she mused, peering down at me. “A truth for a truth, my dear. Which one of my brother’s younglings marked you?”
Her brother’s younglings? I didn’t know how to answer, not the least bit sure what the hell she meant, opting to just shake my head in response.
“You don’t know which young prince marked you?”
I attempted to swallow down the massive lump in my throat. “Blaine.”
Her head shifted in the other direction as she continued to peer down at me, the gesture holy aberrant. It was the only hint she provided, prompting me to further elaborate.
“Sitri,” I muttered.
“Ahhh.” The sound was so cool, her vocals vibrating softly like that of a dove as she finally released her hold on me. Her hand fell away, allowing what little heat I had to replenish me. “Astaroth’s son. How fetching.”
The Sagax strolled around the back of the sofa, coming up behind me. That same ice shot through me once more as she peeled the wool blanket away from my neck, gifting me with a fresh wave of nausea and revulsion in its wake at the contact.
Not there.
Not there.
Not there.
Anywhere else but there.
“The Prince bit you.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nevertheless managed to nod, praying the answer would suffice her curiosity enough that she’d get her hands off me. I silently thanked the Lord she did as she rounded back around the couch. If I bared my fangs here, I’d be dead before I hit the floor.
“Tell me, child, do you love him?”
“Blaine?” I actually barked out a breathy laugh at the absurdity. “No.”
The woman craned her neck again, her brows furrowing ever so slightly, as if waiting for something—waiting for me to retract…I didn’t know. I stole a look over towards the others. Syringe and Flannel were only eyeing me bitterly. Clearly, I wasn’t convincing them, but Nick…
Nick was gawking at me as if I’d stripped naked and started dancing on the sofa cushions. “You ran away with him though, after you were bitten…”
“No, I ran away from him—as well as everyone of the Reaper variety,” I gnashed, glaring at Syringe and Flannel. Nick just continued to gawk, as if unable to process what he was hearing. “Reynolds already tried killing me when I was just a Changeling. The moment he suspected I may have been bitten...”
“He didn’t know?”
“No, he was only aware that Blaine wanted me. Not that I’d been bitten. And even after the fact, I did everything I could to get away.”
The blonde’s eyes shifted between me and the Sagax in disbelief. The woman simply nodded.
“Bullshit,” Flannel sneered. Nick opened his mouth in protest, but his companion beat him to it. “You can’t seriously be buying this. Come on, Holloway. You of all people know better than anyone what their kind can do. Even if she thinks she’s telling us the truth, it’s probably only because that bastard brainwashed her. She’s nothing more than a puppet by now—”
“Shut up!”
The fury in Nick’s voice…it brought the room to a standstill.
Flannel grimaced.
Whatever he had just said, it clearly wasn’t about me anymore. I could see it in Nick’s eyes. I’d seen that look before—right after I nearly bit Reese, when he watched me drive away. The loss, the desperation.
The blonde ran his hands over his face, trying to collect any sense of composure. “Where is he?”
The Sagax looked to me, but I just shook my head.
“Your mate,” Nick gritted. “Where is he?”
“I… I don’t know.” He said to be honest, and I guess in a way, it was the truth. I knew Blaine wasn’t home, and I had no idea where he was before I lost communication with him.
“Who killed Russell Hurst?”
Tears pricked my eyes at the very thought. I wanted to forget everything about the night of my Great Rite, but that moment…it would never go away. I still woke up sometimes, feeling that silver chain lynched around my throat as Russell tried strangling me, feeling the warmth of his blood drenching my body as Blaine slit his throat. “He did,” I choked.
“Do you know what happened to his blade?”
I shook my head again. “Blaine may have taken it, but I’m not sure.”
I nearly screamed as that hoarfrost bristled up through my arm as the Sagax took claim of my hand. She wrenched it out from beneath the blanket, scoping the entirety of my runes.
“Quite curious,” she cooed.
A scream tore through the distant air, making the Sagax’s head snap up. Everyone went silent as Flannel inched his way to the front window, peering through a small gap between the nailed boards. More footsteps tiptoed through the foyer hall, and another group of armed men passed by the entranceway. Nick exchanged a series of tactical hand gestures with them before the faction headed outside.
Indistinguishable mumbles came through the walkie-talkie strapped to Syringe’s belt. Somehow, he seemed to understand the mumble, because he cursed. “Sullivan’s not picking up.”
“Is it her mate?” asked Flannel, looking to the Sagax.
“That… I cannot say.” The pale woman sniffed the air. “Though I should tell you, you’re outnumbered, young man. Your visitor comes with friends.”
An enraged howl bellowed, and by the booming echoes, it was close. I knew that sound, and so did everyone else in the room.
“A truth for a truth, my dear. I would very much like to me
et your mate, when you have the time,” the Sagax cooed, tapping the rune on my ring finger. “Praesidio tuus cor, regia puella.”
Before I could ask what that meant, the Sagax’s form was already melding into the inky black cloud stirring in the far corner.
“Protect your heart, royal girl,” she cooed softly.
Just like that, she was gone.
“Real helpful,” Syringe spat, reclaiming his discarded weaponry from the floor.
Nick ducked into the hall, returning with a double-gun shoulder holster he threw on over his thermal before concealing it beneath a beaten leather jacket. Loaded with fresh ammo and accompanied by several silver blades, there was no doubt about it; Nick was ready for a blood battle, as were his compatriots.
The walls shook as a deafening blow struck the front of the house just beside the bay windows. Snarls and furious roars accompanied the volley of gunfire as screams filled the air.
The front door ripped open and slammed shut just as swiftly. Three blood spattered men staggered into the entranceway, their arms and legs and torso slashed with vicious claw marks.
“We have to move! Now!” one of them demanded.
“What are we looking at out there?” asked Syringe.
“Hellhounds. At least half a dozen.”
Something cold pressed into the side of my head, and I turned to find the barrel of a gun aimed between my eyes. “Get moving, Blood Whore,” growled Flannel.
Nick protested, but Flannel wasn’t hearing any of it. He slammed the butt of the revolver into my temple, and my heavy limbs sent me toppling onto the floor. I was instantly pried up to my feet and dragged through the house to the garage. There were two SUVs already parked inside, and I was immediately tossed into the backseat. Nick was shoved in beside me, and another Reaper climbed in through the opposing door, effectively pinning me between the two. The bloodied Reaper snatched hold of my wrists, snapping cuffs into place. I gasped, feeling my flesh burning inside the manacles.
Silver.
Given that the house was abandoned and that the only illumination came from the vehicles’ interior lights, I safely assumed there wasn’t any electricity to draw the garage door up. All but one of the men loaded up into the SUVs as the engines turned over. The lone Reaper pulled the emergency cord and flung the door up, allowing the vehicles to tear out of the garage. We lurched forward, only to crash to a halt as a mammoth wolf cut into our path. Shots rang out from every direction, and the beast snarled as multiple rounds clipped into its black mass of fur.
Covetous: An Urban Fantasy Romance (The Marked Mage Chronicles, Book 2) Page 17