He cackled. “It bleeds just as any bitch would,” he said.
While he was distracted, I wrenched his wrist around, hard, and stabbed toward his neck.
The dagger hit home, and he howled. I pulled it out, grabbed the back of his neck, and whipped him face-down onto the floor. I plunged it between his shoulder blades and left it there as he screamed in agony.
“Burns, doesn’t it?” I asked, my voice calm. “It always does, for those who have much to answer for in the afterlife.” He continued screaming, weak enough now with my blade leeching his strength that his thrashing had no effect at all. I pulled the threadlike chain from the pocket of my jacket and wrapped it around both of his wrists, behind his back, shackling him to bring to the Furies. I shook my hair out of my eyes, watched drops of blood from the cut on my face splatter onto the floor.
It would heal. Mostly. It was a good thing I have never been vain.
I stood up, hauled him up with me. It felt like nothing, like lifting a hollow shell. He’d lost any strength he had gained in the mortal world.
I grimaced. He’d had much more strength than he should have had, given what I knew of the way souls regained strength and eventually, solid forms. They retained some strength right after death, so some of them, like this one, fought back when the Guardians came to claim them. That strength, that energy, usually faded fairly quickly. Time in this realm, if a soul was free for quite a long time, would result in them being better able to manipulate objects. This was different. He should not have been as strong as he was. He should not have been able to fight me so easily.
“How did you get strong?” I asked him, and he cackled. I knew how it happened, of course, no matter how badly I wanted to believe otherwise. It just didn’t make sense — how had this particular soul come so far, so fast? He continued screaming. “Who helped you? Tell me and I will remove the dagger.”
He shook his head wildly, his screams echoing off of the walls of the cooler. I was the only one who could hear them, of course. And I was more than ready to be rid of him.
I focused, and we rematerialized moments later in the Netherwoods. I handed him off to Megaera, who looked me over but said nothing. “Please try to find out how he gained so much strength. This one was much stronger than he should have been,” I said to her.
“I will. I am sorry about earlier,” she said.
“It is fine. You can make it up to me by making sure that one doesn’t get out again.”
Megaera took his arm and laughed. “I promise.” She pulled him into the large building the Furies used as a holding facility for souls awaiting punishment and I was more than happy to see both of them go.
Moments later, I was standing in the parking garage below the loft. An imp stood near the elevator, silently guarding is post.
“What time is it here?” I asked him.
“Nearly dawn,” he answered. “Looking worse for wear, Guardian,” he said, nodding to my face.
“Are they awake up there?”
“One of the small ones was awake a while ago. Sleeps now, I think.”
I nodded my thanks, headed onto the elevator, and went up. I was exhausted. My injury was healing, which took energy. My own blade had been used against me, and it seemed it had nearly the same effect on me that it did on souls; I felt much more tired than I should have. The thought of pulling it together to rematerialize again just made me feel even more tired. So I took the elevator up and let myself into the loft.
When I walked in, I felt the shifter nearby, as well as his son. Both were in the living room. The only light was the television. Brennan got up, wrapped a blanket around his son, then came toward me.
“Do you never sleep, shifter?” I asked, turning away from him before he could fuss over my appearance.
“Not really,” he said, a light tone to his voice. He followed me into the kitchen. I grabbed some paper towel and wetted it under the faucet. I could at least wipe the worst of the blood away.
“Well, you should. What is the little tornado doing up?” I asked, washing the side of my face. I glanced at the paper towel, grimaced when I saw that it was fully red. I wet another paper towel, went back to work.
“He had a nightmare. What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up. Which I meant to do in private, but there are always people awake.”
“You could have rematerialized,” he said.
“Too tired. This soul was not a fun one to bring in,” I said, wiping down my neck.
Brennan took my arm gently in his hand, turned me around to face him.
“Do not overreact. It is fine,” I said immediately. I watched as he forced himself to suppress whatever it was he was going to say. He was looking at the side of my face.
“Pretty bruised and cut up. It looks like Tinkerbell got into a brawl or something.”
“Tinkerbell is blond, you idiot,” I said though I couldn’t keep the laugh from bubbling up. “And I am not a fairy. Are you trying to insult me?”
“You’d be like a nightmare fairy, maybe, with the bat wings and all that. Dark Tinkerbell.”
“Can you stop now?” I said rolling my eyes.
He ran his fingertips down the side of my face. “It’s not bleeding anymore, anyway. Why is it still there at all? When Molly and Tisiphone heal, it just kind of disappears as soon as it’s closed up.”
It was like a fog settled itself over my mind, and all I could feel were his fingertips first at the side of my face, then down over my jaw, then onto the side of my neck, tracing the path my blade had taken.
“I…” I shook my head a little, pushed his hand away. “We are different from the Furies in many ways,” I said. “Is there still a lot of blood on me?”
He shook his head. “It’ll heal all the way eventually though?”
“I will have a scar. It is not my first.”
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why won’t it heal the way Molly’s injuries heal? She doesn’t scar.”
I shrugged. “For whatever reason, Nyx decided that we do not have the same level of healing as the rest of the immortals. Maybe so we would have some sense of what the mortals go through. Maybe to keep us humble. Maybe she just didn’t care about much beyond ensuring we could survive an attack. Our appearance hardly matters.”
He was watching me. “But you’re the one out there actually collecting souls. Apparently it’s dangerous work. The rest of them aren’t exactly doing work like that.”
“Who can guess Nyx’s mind? As I said, how we look doesn’t matter, which was why, I guess, she gave us and only us the ability to change things about our appearance permanently. Growing taller, changing our features, things like that.”
“If you change again, will the scar be gone?”
I smiled and shook my head. “I will have it forever. And I will wear it as a mark of pride. I faced an adversary and prevailed. There is no shame in it.”
“There isn’t. It just seems unfair,” he said.
“The immortals can be cruel,” I said with a shrug. “Surely you have noticed.”
He didn’t answer. It bothered him. Injustices bothered him, great and small. He practically internalized them, wanted to find ways to fix every single one. This one was beneath worrying about, and I wanted him to see that.
I pulled off my jacket, set it on the island in the kitchen. “Look at this, shifter.” I pointed to a long pink scar on the backside of my left arm, from my elbow to the base of my hand. “This, I received apprehending the soul of Jack the Ripper.”
“Bastard.”
“Bitch, actually. She was horrible.”
He stared at me, and I smiled.
“And this one,” I said, pushing my hair back and pointing to a puckered scar just under my left ear. “This one, your American gangster called Al Capone gave me. He was very much not ready to go when his time came.”
He gaped at it.
“This,” I said, pulling the neck of my t-shirt down so I
could show him my right shoulder. There was a round wound there, with a matching one at the back of my shoulder. “This was from Genghis Khan.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well I got this from a wolf shifter in Alaska.” He pointed to a jagged mark on his forearm.
“Very impressive, shifter,” I said, laughing.
“Genghis Khan? Really?”
“Really.”
“How are you even real?”
I laughed. “You have not even seen my best ones yet.”
He crossed his arms. His face became serious again. “How many of you were there?”
I sat on one of the stools. “There were thirteen Guardians.”
“And you’re the last.”
I nodded. “From what Tisiphone and Megaera have said, most were killed that day in the Nether.” I did not need to tell him which day. He knew as well as I did. “And the rest perished during Mollis’ time trapped in the Nether.”
“Did Molly kill them?”
“That is what I hear.”
“Do you miss them?” he asked, taking the stool beside mine.
“They were traitors.”
“Do you miss them?” he repeated.
I smiled. “You assume I have the same ability to feel that you do. I do not.”
“Bullshit. You love Molly. You care about Shanti. You and Hephaestus clearly have a warm relationship. You can feel.”
“Those are exceptions to the rule, and I do not understand them. Perhaps it is a defect on my part. None of my sisters ever developed emotional attachments to anyone.”
“Why did they betray Hades?”
I shrugged. “My guess is that, like Hermes and the rest of them, they believed Mollis would destroy our world, and they joined the side that aligned with their interests. It wasn’t out of loyalty for Hermes, or spite toward Hades.”
“Cold logic then?”
I nodded.
“Maybe I should call you Spock instead of Tinkerbell,” he said.
“You assume I know what that means. I do not.”
The trace of a smile turned the corner of his mouth up, just a bit. “Yet you knew Tinkerbell. Ask Heph about Spock.”
“The Furies enjoy Disney movies,” I said with a shrug. “Is this ‘Spock’ thing something Hephaestus enjoys?”
Brennan nodded. “It is.”
“Are you setting me up to have him yammering on for hours on end at me?”
He laughed, and I shook my head. He stood up, went to the refrigerator, and brought back a pie. “Nain ate most of this already. Freaking bottomless pit.”
“I have seen you eat, shifter. What’s the phrase? ‘Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?’”
He handed me a fork, took one for himself, and we both dug into the remaining slice of pie left in the pan.
“Ada’s pumpkin pie is maybe the best thing I have ever tasted,” I said, taking another bite and sighing in contentment. It was flavorful, rich, the perfect blend of flaky crust and silky filling.
“That’s the truth,” he agreed. We ate in silence, and when we were finished, he pushed the pan aside. “Which one was this?” he asked, glancing at my new scar.
“The Frenchman. Edouard Biset.”
He grimaced. “I read up on him. He was something else.”
“He was.”
I looked down at my hands, folded on the dark granite countertop. He was studying me again, and I found it unnerving.
“Wouldn’t it be better to have someone with you? I know, no one else can actually do anything to help you catch the souls,” he rushed to say before I interrupted. “But just to be there, in case you need to be protected or taken care of or… I don’t know,” he finished. “It just seems stupid that you’re doing this alone.”
“There is not a single thing any of you can do that would help me. None of you can touch a soul. None of you can fight one. And if one went after me, it would walk right through you as if you weren’t even there, shifter.” I rubbed my arms, remembering the feel of Biset’s icy grip. “Anyone who came with me would only distract me. Megaera showed up today, and I was grateful she left before I actually came upon Biset.”
“What was she doing there?”
“Checking up on me. And she is growing restless, I think.”
We sat in silence a while longer. “Even if no one can help you… aren’t you lonely?”
“I don’t have much need of others.”
“Yet you sit here and talk to me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
I traced the squiggly pattern in the granite of the countertop with my fingertip. “Only because you never stop asking questions, and it’s easier for me to simply answer them than try to distract you.”
He laughed. “Just admit you like me.”
“You are growing on me, maybe.”
“Who are you hunting next?”
“I think I am heading to Ireland. Boyd O’Connor,” I added. “I think there is another there as well. I need to check the list again.”
He was thinking. “He was the doctor who killed a bunch of his patients, right?”
I nodded.
“Dublin?”
“He died near Cork. I will head there first.”
“His file said he spent a lot of time in Kilkenny, too. He had a girlfriend there or something.”
“That may end up being helpful. Thank you,” I said, genuinely meaning it.
“I hope so. I hope this one is easier on you,” he said, his gaze going to the cut along the side of my face again.
“One can hope. One of my sisters led the operation to bring him in, and I don’t remember him being much trouble.”
Brennan nodded. “When are you taking off?”
“Early tomorrow, most likely,” I answered, glancing toward the large windows that looked out over Detroit’s Cultural Center. The sky was dark, the air crisp… I needed to get out for a while.
“Shanti has been bugging me about going out with the vampires. When you get back, maybe you can come with me and do that?” He looked hopeful.
“Why?”
And then he looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
“Rayna is going to be there.”
“And?”
“She was pretty forward last time about being interested in…uh…” He threw his hands up in the air in irritation. “You know.”
I raised my eyebrow at him. “I think the vampire queen enjoys seeing you flustered, maybe.”
“Maybe.”
“She’s a beautiful woman. You should take her up on that,” I said, sitting back down, finding myself more than happy to be amused at the shifter’s discomfort.
“I’m not intersted.”
“Why not?”
“Vampire,” he said, deliberately pronouncing each syllable of the word, as if it was obvious. “Immortal blood in my veins. Biting…ugh.”
“Biting is not always such a bad thing,” I said, trying not to laugh at his discomfiture.
“Have you had a vampire bite you?” he challenged.
“No. But I hear that if it is done correctly, it can be quite pleasurable.”
He stared at me in disbelief, and I shook my head.
“Ronan would kill me.”
I crossed my arms. “He would not.”
“Oh, he would. He told me so.”
I nodded. I did not know the brawny vampire well, but what I knew was that he was utterly devoted to Rayna. “He is quite protective of his sister.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Brennan agreed.
“If it was not for that…” I asked, urging him on.
He shook his head.
“You are not the least bit curious?”
He sighed. “No. I’m really not. I went through the being with a badass leader type before. Let’s see what else. Spelled by a witch to get her pregnant so my own son could be used against this team. A bunch of meaningless crap before Molly. My track r
ecord isn’t exactly impressive, you know?”
We sat in silence for a few moments. Then he continued. “So I guess what I’m saying is, I either want to be alone, or I want a nice, normal, sweet, warm woman to come home to at night. I’m done with superheroes and other badasses.”
“Shifter…”
“What?”
“Are you honestly telling me you would be happy going home to some sweet little thing who will ‘yes, Brennan’ and ‘no, Brennan’ you all the time? Someone who can’t protect herself? Seriously?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said.
“Do you like me?” I asked him. He looked up at me in surprise.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Why?”
“You’re loyal and you have that kind of awesome dry humor thing going. And you’re scary and… ugh. Shut up, Tinkerbell.”
I laughed. “I am merely suggesting that you have maybe begun to fantasize about something that, if you had it, would likely drive you up the wall. So why not give Rayna a chance?”
He studied me, then a slow smile spread across his lips. “Not interested.”
“Well, you should maybe find someone? Right? You are a male. A shifter male, for gods’ sake. I know Artemis, and knew Apollo, well enough to know what that means.”
A teasing glint came to his eyes. “Are you volunteering, Eunomia?”
My jaw dropped, and I felt a ridiculous flush creep to my face. “N-no! I am not volunteering.”
“Why not?”
“I— you— because!” I finally managed, and stood up again, as I should have several minutes ago. He was openly grinning now, his arms crossed over his chest. “I meant someone else. Rayna, or one of the shifter females, or Athena or Hestia…”
“Athena would behead me before she’d even let me touch her,” he said, laughing. “Why not you?”
“Why are you fixating on me?”
“Because I just realized you’re my type.”
“And what type is that?” I demanded, though I was not entirely sure I wanted to know.
“Feisty, cute as hell, and unwilling to let bullshit pass.”
I scrunched my face, and he laughed. “Yes, I am all those things. Thank you for noticing. I am also the aforementioned deadly badass type. And I am much too old for you, cub.”
Guardian (Hidden Book 6) Page 6