Boss Fight (Beyond the Aura Book 1)

by Helen Adams

  He slid his hand inside my dressing gown and underneath the pyjama top, fingertips gliding over my back. He pushed the bottoms down an inch, just enough to touch the bare skin at my hips. The movement sent ripples through my torso. I bit his lip and wriggled closer, deliberately grinding against his crotch. He let out a strangled sound and picked me up, hands grabbing my arse.

  I laughed and wrapped my legs around his waist, still kissing him for all I was worth, hands clutching his face. He staggered back. The end of the bed caught him behind the knees – accident or design, it didn’t matter – and he toppled over.

  The mattress cushioned his landing and he bounced. The kinetic energy pushed me up. I controlled it and eased myself down, straddling him. The delicious bulge of his erection pressed against me.

  Now we were both giggling and breathless. Lee stripped off his jacket and T-shirt as I shrugged out of the dressing gown and tried to get out of the pyjama top; the buttons were tiny, way too fiddly, so I just yanked the damned thing over my head.

  I wasn’t giggling now as his rough lips latched onto my nipple. The only sound coming out of my mouth was a rasping exhalation. My hands stroked his shaved head, feeling the stubble on his scalp, sliding down his neck to his shoulders.

  He bit my skin. I gasped and dug my nails into his shoulders. He liked that and bit harder. I threw my head back and moaned.

  In one swift, controlled movement he’d flipped me onto my back. I loved to let him think that he was in control; my place was on top, and I’d get back there soon, but I’d let him have this – for a while.

  He pulled my pyjama bottoms down, taking my knickers with them, and made his jeans disappear. Naked, I sat up and feasted on the sight of that rock-hard body, the way muscles played over his chest. And the way his cock twitched as I touched him.

  His jaw clenched. I stroked him, watching his face, watching the way his eyes closed – before snapping open to meet mine. Slowly, breaking our gaze at the last second, I took him into my mouth. I liked the taste of him. All salt and tang. I let my tongue get to work.

  He buried his hands in my short hair, controlling my movements. I picked up the tempo until he pulled away with a throaty chuckle.

  “Too much of that and it’ll spoil the main course,” he growled, kissing me.

  He talked too much. I closed my hand around his length again and lay back, easing him down with me. He caught on quick and a second later pushed inside me. I drew a sharp breath.

  His thrusts were slow, steady, building pace. I didn’t want that, I wanted more. Harder. Faster. I wanted it all. I gripped him with my legs and rolled so that I was on top again.

  He grabbed my breasts and squeezed – not too hard, just right. I rode him fast, sweat trickling down my body to mingle with his.

  He seized my hips and arched his back, cords in his throat straining as he came. I chased his orgasm and then I was there, too, yelling a wordless cry of conquest.

  I lifted myself off, collapsing flat on my back, drawing in breath after breath.

  “That beats running around the block,” I gasped, pressing a hand to my ribs. “That was perfect. You’re perfect.”

  He ran a possessive hand over my sweat-slick arm.

  “Plenty of juice left in the batteries, babe.”

  He wasn’t the only one with energy to spare. A wicked smile on my face, I reached for him again.

  He left at lunchtime. I tried to get him to stay longer – using various inventive and creative techniques that left us both stiff and a little sore – but he was adamant. He had an appointment that he couldn’t miss.

  I didn’t press for details. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  When he was gone I put the roses in water, then hopped into the shower. The phone rang as I was reaching for the shampoo. I grabbed a towel and lurched out of the bathroom, trying not to slip.

  “You’re late.”

  Whoops… I should be in Raz’s back-shop dojo right now.

  “Lee stopped by,” I said. “He, uh, we got distracted.”

  “Tell me you haven’t been in bed all morning.”

  “I haven’t been in bed all morning.” We’d spent some time on the sofa.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” He said a word I didn’t understand. “Don’t answer that. Think you can drag yourself over here this afternoon?”

  The guy was an excellent swordsman, but man! He was a slave driver.

  “I’ll be over in a bit,” I said, feeling drops of water trickle down my nose. “Just going to grab some food and jog across.”

  “Alright. How’s Lee?”

  “Sated, I should think –”

  “Ugh, I did not mean it that way!”

  “He’s fine,” I laughed, but my humour faded. “Um…”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  I told him about Thursday morning’s attempted mugging, then moved on to the bull troll.

  “And Lee walked away from that?” He couldn’t hide his astonishment.

  “He’s fine. A few bruises. He learned some martial arts moves for his job, and he kept up.” I’d seen every bruise, licked my tongue over each one.

  “For his job. Right.”

  “Don’t… don’t say it like that.”

  “He’s lying to you.”

  I swallowed hard. “I know that. But I’m lying to him.”

  “Oh, Daphne.” His voice was compassionate. “Take my advice. You can’t build a relationship on a foundation of lies. When it crumbles you’ll have nothing.”

  I expected my cereal to be a congealed mess in the bowl. Instead it had mysteriously disappeared, and now Lorl – fast asleep on my pillow – had a similarly mysterious bulge in her belly.

  I got dressed and dragged a brush through my hair, then made another bowl of cereal with the last of the milk. This time I got to eat uninterrupted. I pushed Lee, the troll and our lies to the back of my mind. If I wished hard enough, they’d stay there… right?

  Ten minutes later I left the flat. It was a cool, crisp day, sunny but not bright. Raz’s garage was at the far end of the estate, up on the Autoplaza. The mile and a half journey would have taken a few minutes by car; running, it would take me nine, maybe ten minutes, tops. Four-minute mile? That was for dewdrops. When our lives depended on it we could hit it in three and a half.

  I never took the falchion when I put rubber to the pavement. Carrying the duffel was just too awkward. But I’d been attacked in broad daylight before, so I strapped a runner’s pack around my waist and eased the Knife With No Name inside, along with my keys and a ten-pound note. Lorl chose to stay behind. I left the window open a crack in case she wanted to go out.

  I hiked down the Million Steps, taking a deep lungful of autumn air. This was Goldilocks weather: - not too hot, not too cold; not raining, not snowing. I settled into a light jog, muscles warm and moving well, then veered into a field to take a familiar shortcut.

  Cold awareness prickled along my spine. I slowed to a stop and looked around, wary, chest rising and falling as my breathing returned to normal. This was a big field, surrounded on three sides by hedges, the fourth opening out onto a kiddies’ park.

  So where were the kiddies? Nice day, weekend afternoon, the place should be crawling with rugrats. I didn’t see a single pushchair, toddler, infant or parent. The place was deserted. The lingering feeling of disquiet had driven them away, as it was trying to drive me away.

  This was a trap. A big flag waving in the air that said ‘come look at the weird shit’. I wasn’t put off. Berserkers were the people who broke traps.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Tempting fate? I’d always preferred the direct approach.

  I sensed movement behind me and dived, air bursting across my back as I rolled. I kept rolling and bounced up on my trainers, Bowie knife in hand, spinning to face – what the hell –?

  The monster took advantage of my hesitation by opening a deep gash on my dominant arm. The flare of pain was less worr
ying than the way my fingers went numb. I switched to my off-hand and stepped back, putting more distance between us.

  It was another fucking golem, humanoid like the others but wafting and billowing as it paced across the grass. Bright winter sun glinted off a shimmering purple body. It was a silk golem – an elite assassin – and I was so screwed. Hubris? I’m your bitch.

  For a second I panicked. Another golem now meant that Kristjan couldn’t have been behind the attacks; the mermaids were wrong or lying, and I was about to take on an assassin by myself –

  It came at me again. Instinct and training made me step aside, giving my body control over my emotions as I whirled and attacked. The golem moved to block my blade with a tulwar – a sword forged, so Harpy’s Bestiary said, from silk, honed and tempered by magic into a gleaming substance that was sharper than steel.

  The golem lashed out. I spun away, light on my feet, dodging as it followed through with a series of swift chops. I dived in low and kicked out, landing a solid blow to its right knee. The assassin shivered, silent, as it stumbled back; I pressed my advantage and slashed at its sword hand.

  I heard silk rip as my knife sheared through its wrist. Hand and tulwar tumbled. The golem reared back, arms flailing, body shaking with violent, jerking motions. A flap of movement caught my eye: - the stump of the creature’s wrist was unravelling, bleeding ribbons.

  I seized the flapping end and pulled. Ribbons flew and the arm disappeared, the magic that bound it together fracturing as I weakened the stability of the outer shell. The monster shivered again, a movement I interpreted as pain, and I kept pulling.

  The assassin snatched up the tulwar with its other hand and slashed, a rough, over-hand blow that I was too slow to avoid. Agony seared through my side and the world went grey. Had I screamed? I dropped the ribbon and stumbled away, hunched against the pain, hand clamped to the wound. Blood seeped between my fingers, soaking my Metallica T-shirt and Lycra shorts.

  I had to get inside the reach of that fucking sword. Teeth barred I snatched up the loose end of ribbon. The golem ran at me – as expected – trying to increase the slack and get close enough to attack again. I ducked another blow and dived.

  The next attack flicked across my wrist. Blood splattered the grass and I skidded, somehow still moving, winding the ribbon around the golem as I went, binding it with its own skin.

  The assassin lashed out and kicked me; I dodged the first kick, but hadn’t counted on the second. A foot cracked against my knee and something crunched. I grunted, stumbling as pain seared up and down my leg. Lumps like muscles bulged in the golem’s arms. It was breaking free.

  I lowered a shoulder and barrelled into that rippling silk body, taking us both down. The impact knocked the knife from my hand and opened my wounds further.

  The golem’s legs kicked out again as it continued to strain against its bonds. I leaned away and avoided a kick in the chops, but the other got me square in the shoulder. The joint went numb.

  I scrabbled in the bloodied grass for my knife. My fingers curled around the hilt; I lunged, stabbing the monster’s foot, hauling back so that I could drag the blade through the ribbons. I pulled it free and planted it in the golem’s remaining hand, sinking it deep into the blood-soaked earth. Not a moment too soon – a long, final riiiiip and the binding tore, releasing its arms.

  Leaving the knife embedded I snatched the tulwar and rolled away, struggling to my feet, knee howling with pain. The silk sword was lighter than any weapon I’d ever handled, the hilt smooth and warm. It was alive and it wanted blood.

  The golem stared up at me – in as much as a thing without eyes could stare –from across a swathe of bloody grass. A smile pulled my lips tight. I pushed my pain down deep and focussed on my crippled opponent.

  I pulled my arm back and swung. The blade whistled through the air, making a sweet sound that was pure music to my ears, and sliced through the golem’s neck.

  Within seconds the body, head and tulwar had disintegrated to nothing more than ribbons that would soon turn to mush. I let the ruined sword drop and stooped to retrieve my Bowie knife –

  A prickle at my back. The familiar in-and-out of a blade. Searing agony exploding through my body. I’d forgotten the basic rule of silk golems – they always travelled in pairs.

  I dropped to my knees and pressed a shaky hand to the wound, skin tingling under the hot pulse of fresh blood spurting through my fingers. Not fair. Not fucking fair.

  A backhanded blow to the face sent me sprawling across the grass. It was cold and wet with my own blood. The world – already grey – started fading to black; I couldn’t see the silk golem anymore or even my own hands. I didn’t have the strength to lift my arms, drowning in my own pain.

  I needed to sleep. I needed the pain to stop. My eyelids dropped.

  Was this what it felt like to die?

  EIGHT

  As a kid I’d had religion. Not much – gramps had always dragged me to Sunday school when he’d gone to church – but enough to learn the concepts of Heaven and Hell.

  When consciousness trickled back I thought I was in Hell. I was dead. The silk golem assassins had killed me and I was dead. A sword in the back? Yeah, right, totally kaput. That blade had been a couple of inches wide, plenty big enough to damage all kinds of organs as it travelled through my flesh. Maybe my spine as well.

  There was no way I was going to Heaven, not after prison, and nothing but Hell could hurt this much. My shoulder, knee, both arms, torso… everything.

  I was flat on my back, but it felt as if I was moving. I blinked, trying to see, yet at the same time knowing that I shouldn’t. The world was a white blur. I was cold.

  Wasn’t Hell like, you know, red and toasty?

  I struggled to remember those old Sunday school lessons. The teacher… I couldn’t think of her name, but her face was clear in my memory, young and soft. I’d liked her. She’d been nice to all the kids. Actually, the face I was looking at now looked like her. Big brown eyes, brow furrowed in concern. Frizzy blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. Except this woman was wearing a Hi-Viz jacket and a green jumpsuit.

  “Can you hear me?” she asked.

  Of course I could hear her, she was loud enough to wake the dead.

  I wanted to giggle. Wake the dead. That was funny. I was dead and she’d woken me up.

  “BP’s low.”

  A man’s voice this time. I couldn’t see him, but it sounded as if he was behind me.

  “Pulse is irregular.”

  “Hang on there,” Hi-Viz Woman said. “We’re taking you to hospital.”

  She was so funny that I did giggle this time, just a tiny sound that slipped past my lips. Hospital, indeed. There were no hospitals in Hell.

  I closed my eyes. If Hi-Viz and the Invisible Man were my new tormenters, I didn’t want to see them.

  When I woke again I knew I wasn’t dead. Worse. I was in hospital.

  Memories played in my head, un-spooling like a grainy, flickering home movie – the park, the silk golem, the fight… the second assassin.

  What if someone else had been hurt? What if a dewdrop had been killed? I should have paid more attention, should have remembered my Bestiary. I should have stopped the thing. That was my job. I was lying here because of my own fucking arrogance.

  It could still be out there. I had to do something… except when I tried to sit up, pain hit me so hard that I sank right back down again. A uniformed nurse hurried over.

  Experience had taught me what that uniform meant. I wasn’t just in hospital, I was in fucking Intensive Care. I looked around, wild-eyed, breathing hard as I took in the tubes spiralling out of my arm. I yanked them out.

  “Daphne, you have to lie down…”

  How did she know who I was? I hadn’t been carrying any ID.

  Fingerprints, your fingerprints are on file…

  I couldn’t stay here, I couldn’t be in hospital. Not when the past was already cramming its way back into my head. I
was woozy. There were big puncture marks in my arm where I’d pulled the tubes out. They looked like a vampire’s bite and I let out a rusty laugh; the day a vamp got close enough to bite me was the day I died, because it meant I’d lost my edge as a fighter.

  But the second silk golem had come close enough to run a sword through my back. Did that mean I’d lost my edge?

  No. I laughed again. It meant I’d gained another – a blade’s edge…

  “You need to rest now, just let the sedative do its work…”

  Ah, right. Sedative. That was probably a good idea. Being here had unlocked the door to the past, a place I didn’t want to visit again. Far better to sleep.

  When I woke again I felt like crap. But I was alive and in my right mind… more or less.

  I was in a ward now rather than Intensive Care. That was an improvement. I vaguely remembered that a nurse had called me by my name, so they knew who I was. A convicted criminal taken to hospital because of a violent assault? Yeah, the police were totally coming to see me.

  As if the thought had summoned them, two plain-clothed detectives entered the ward, accompanied by a nurse. I thought about feigning sleep but it was too late – even from the other end of the ward they could see that I was awake.

  I didn’t need an introduction to know that they were coppers. It was in the way they walked, the way they looked at the other patients – all women of varying ages – with suspicious eyes. As if they were just waiting for them to commit a crime.

  I watched them approach. Everyone else had flowers, but there were none beside my bed. Did anyone know that I was here?

  How long had I been here?

  The men stopped beside my bed. One was tall and attractive with thick brown hair. The other was older, heavier, with no hair at all.

  “Daphne, these gentlemen would like to ask you a few questions,” the nurse said. “Do you feel up to speaking with them?”

  “Yeah. I’ll talk to the detectives.”

  They shared a glance, surprised that I’d made them before they’d even introduced themselves.