City of Dragons: Of Flesh and Blood

by Wilder, Adrienne

  Haley said, “Farley and I want you.”

  “And you would become pariah. It would be a death sentence for Farley. He’d be killed first time out in the Dens. That is, if you could even mark me. I’ve heard without the Nevus it isn’t possible.”

  The silence that fell was as absolute as the words he spoke. Haley wanted to be shocked, even abhorred, but she wasn’t.

  That’s because you knew. All along you knew. That’s why you held his hand when he went to that clinic. You knew he was signing over his life and like a good friend you held him on his death bed. Deshi had been scared then, determined but still frightened. And after it was over Haley had comforted him because Emily wouldn’t.

  It took him weeks to come to terms with what he’d done to himself, and eventually he accepted it, but Haley couldn’t help but feel like an important part of him had been lost forever that day.

  And now sitting beside her, the Prince was full of quiet resolve and total acceptance.

  “You knew she was going to do this, didn’t you?”

  The Prince nodded. “Yeah.”

  Haley bit her lip and willed herself not to cry. “How long? How long did you know?”

  “Back in September, after…you know, after…” He took a breath. “I thought doing what she wanted might change things. Considering nothing I’ve ever done has changed anything, I guess that was pretty stupid of me.”

  “Deshi…”

  He shook his head. “No, no…there is no ‘I’m sorry.’ No, ‘let me make this right.’ Because, it can’t be made right. This can’t be made right, Haley. This can never be made right. Let me do this one thing for you.”

  “Deshi…please…”

  Anger flashed deep red in the silver of his eyes. “Please, you can’t save me. I died months ago. When I cut out my Nevus, I died. Just let me go. For Christ’s sake, let me go. I’m so tired…so incredibly tired.” Deshi laid his head back against the seat.

  Haley knew she would hate herself later, but Orin needed help and Deshi was right, she couldn’t save him. She couldn’t give him back what he’d willingly cut away. Nodding while all her Human-instilled ethics screamed for Haley to not allow this, she said, “Okay, Deshi. Okay.”

  The Jersey City Prince sighed and sounded completely at peace when he said, “Thank you.”

  Chapter 56

  Darco moved while the world around him stood still and coated in static. A mind-numbing constant buzz and burn which refused to stop. It played his nerves raw, beating into his skull like a toothache. A pain becoming sharp and focused when people spoke. Worse when directly to him.

  There were only a few things that cleared out the veil so he could see and hear without feeling the need to rip out his own throat. The easiest was the scent of fear, but eventually he killed whatever he drew it from.

  The second was more reliable. His Little Brother. Looking at him, touching him, feeding from him, drove it all back, clearing the fog to a remarkable clarity, and then Darco would remember what this was all about. This, being the constant sucking of air into those sacks between his ribs and the monotonous thump of hearts in his chest.

  Living was such a bore.

  But eventually the knowing drove Darco back into the static because knowledge could be just as painful. Seeing the future was definitely not as predictable as the agony. At least the static never changed.

  Darco slipped in between the bodies, some Human, some Kin, frozen in a split second, held on a single note of music. The scent of sex and feeding suspended in the air and he wondered if killing them would bring some relief. He’d tried it many times but it never changed anything. But the compulsion to keep doing it was always there. Like a scratch-off ticket, the next one would be the big winner.

  And that’s the way Darco felt. He just hadn’t found the right one to kill yet. When he did, the infernal static and its constant buzz of pain would be gone.

  Darco melted into a bar stool and he rapped his knuckles on the counter top. He held up two fingers and waited for his drinks to appear. Eventually, at the end of time, they’d emerge from the static and he drank to lower the monotonous hum and dull the pain.

  Which, at the moment, happened to be a shard behind his eyes, twisting and grinding against the bone, because some motherfucker was talking to him.

  Darco blinked and concentrated on pushing back the veil. It was harder than usual tonight. Sometimes it was like that when Little Brother was far away. The closer, the better. A kind of proximity of relief.

  The Male on the other side of the bar counter said, “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No, Miiko. I do my best to ignore the shit coming out of your mouth.” Darco picked up the beer delivered by one of Miiko’s beefy fists.

  Miiko said, “There’s a rumor going ‘round.”

  That was Miiko, always running his flap. Any juicy tidbit, real or imagined, and he was all over it. Fucker couldn’t keep a secret if it was stapled to his ass. His penchant for running his mouth was almost as obsessive as his craving for eye candy. While Darco didn’t mind an audience, you never touched what was his. And Little Brother was his.

  Miiko had only made the mistake once. Lucky for him he could grow his limbs back.

  The lesson didn’t seem to have dampened the asshole’s itch to tell Darco anything and everything that might win him some favor or a show.

  “I thought you might want to hear it.” The Male smiled, flashing fang.

  “That’s your mistake. Now fuck off.” Darco pulled on the beer and the cold liquid slid down his throat. Normally the pain would ease but tonight it seemed relentless. Maybe something harder. A few Dead Nazis might do the trick.

  Miiko said, “It’s about Farley.”

  Darco put the beer down. Miiko’s dark eyes were way too bright and he stank of Human sex and blood. But then he was always the type to want to fuck his food before he ate it.

  “What about my Brother?”

  Miiko grinned. “See, I knew you’d be interested.”

  Ripping Miiko’s words out of him would have been a pleasure, but with the way Darco felt tonight, if he got started he wasn’t likely to quit until there was nothing left but bloody pieces on the floor.

  It was tempting though. Very tempting.

  Darco growled. “Don’t piss me off, Miiko. That is an alley you do not want to visit.” And lucky for the bartender, he actually had two brain cells holding hands. His nostrils flared and his eyes went wide.

  He said, “The chatter on the streets is Farley’s got himself into trouble.”

  Darco smiled. Trouble was good. It always made Little Brother taste better.

  “Apparently he got picked up by a flesh dealer and sold.”

  Miiko made a strangled sound and it took a second for Darco to realize all the gurgle-gurgle was due to the fact his hand was crushing the Male’s windpipe. Darco growled. “And who said this?”

  Miiko opened and closed his mouth like a fish. The fear coming off him tasted good though. Eased the static and pain. Darco hated slacking up on his grip, but the shit for brains couldn’t form words without air.

  Pity.

  Coughing, Miiko said, “Lots of different people. Traders mostly. They work over there in the GLG building and come in here trolling for Submissives.”

  Darco forced himself to let him go and the large Male stumbled back out of range. He picked up his beer and drained it. Mid-Town was a good ten miles away. Made sense why the pain was so bad.

  So it was all coming to pass. Just like Darco had seen.

  The Chetrah Little Brother worked for did this. They were the only ones witless enough to push him that far into the static and risk his life on stupid shit. What they didn’t seem to understand was Little Brother’s life was not theirs to risk. Darco had full claim. He’d been the one to let him live. He’d been the one to kill and protect. And he’d been the one to take on the constant hum, insistent pain, for…

  This far in it was always hard to remember. Da
rco saw it though, through the blood ties with his Brother, when he fed. Then he saw it as clear as the goddamned sun, and yet sitting here surrounded by faceless bodies Darco just couldn’t remember. Confusion or not, one thing Darco did know was the veil had been pulled into place by artificial means, through magic.

  But none of that really mattered now, did it? Because some motherfucker was going to try and take what was his.

  And no one took what was his. Ever.

  Chapter 57

  In spite of everything, Orin felt sated. It was the first time in….

  God of Man, he couldn’t remember.

  But even having his need fed didn’t change the fact he was back in a small corner of hell he did not want to be in. Eventually, Orin would have to open his eyes, but for right now he laid among the furs and swells of bodies, willing his hearts to quit. Of course they didn’t listen.

  Mary had been afraid of dying because she had been raised to believe all Kin, or those mixed with their blood, were destined for eternal damnation. A one-way guaranteed ticket to a lake of fire, because God of Man did not give entrance to the wyrms. Some faiths just put them in the category of animals, while Mary’s stated Kin were stamped on the ass with a free one-way pass to Hell.

  If only she could see just how wrong her religion was. Kin didn’t go to Hell when they died, they lived it. Tied to Queens or held captive in their Dens, made to belong. Used.

  Dying was just an escape.

  So if Orin really believed that, why didn’t he just rip out his own throat? He couldn’t explain it. As much as he hated the here and now, death was something he couldn’t understand and didn’t want to face, and didn’t have to face as long as he kept breathing. So he lived. Only because dying wasn’t an option.

  But living meant breathing, and breathing meant smelling himself…God of Man, he’d give his right hand just to have a freaking shower. Orin couldn’t stand the honey sweet taste of Rehbek’ah. It was all over him. Along with the smell of sex. The smell of other Males. The smell of his own sated need.

  Most Males would have been all over Rehbek’ah as soon as they were awake. Orin, however, couldn’t stand the thought of even touching her. But moving required opening his eyes and ending his fantasy of being dead.

  Besides, as long as he was still, the others slept. No one moved. And therefore nothing happened.

  But even this momentary bit of peace ended when a second Female presence rippled through the belly of the Hive. The presence of a Queen came down on Orin, as real as flesh and bone pinning him in place.

  “Where is the RHage, Orin?” The thick seductive voice was nothing like Rehbek’ah’s.

  The other Males raised their heads, fear spiking their scents, but nothing held them in place so they fled. Like rats from a sinking ship, they abandoned Rehbek’ah and ran.

  Beside him Rehbek’ah stirred, making angry sounds.

  From the shadows formed by weak candlelight, something magnificent and terrible emerged from the inkwell of darkness hanging between one corridor to the next. Even though it had been almost eight hundred years since Orin had seen her, he recognized the bronze and black scaled hide and the head of massive spikes. God of Man, Nidia was now bigger than Medan.

  The force of her RHage squeezed Orin’s throat as a single silver eye turned in his direction.

  “Let him go, Nidia!” Rehbek’ah flashed fang, but for all the attention Nidia gave her, she might as well have been a gnat or something equally dangerous.

  Nidia purred. “Tell me, Orin. Is it hidden within? Do I need to crack your chest and drink it out?”

  Rehbek’ah screeched. “You’re killing him!”

  Black spots burst in front of Orin’s eyes as he struggled for air. Then the pressure popped free and Orin sucked in air, coughed, and sucked in more. His lungs threatened to collapse under the double load. Rehbek’ah petted him and he slapped her hands away. Nidia’s massive skull came forward. The left side of her wedge-shaped head was flawless and beautiful, but when she turned, the right side was a mass of scars stretched over sharp bones. Without scales and muscle to cover her serrated teeth they were left exposed in a gruesome grin. Her other eye was almost buried under a mar of burnt skin, and what did show was a useless milky white.

  Wounds like that were only caused by magic, and it was damage that would never heal. He had no idea how it happened to her. The last time Orin saw the Queen of North Carolina she’d been flawless.

  Orin rolled out of the bed furs and tried to crawl across the floor. But Nidia called to his flesh. Her RHage washed over him and he collapsed, clawing at his throat. This close to her, she could just will his body to kill him.

  “Tell me, Orin! Where is the RHage?” Nidia moved closer and Orin could see the extent of the damage, which included one front leg and part of a wing. Christ, whatever had hurt her had been powerful.

  A freaking atom bomb.

  Air returned and he stayed down. Orin said, “I don’t have it.”

  Nidia’s hot breath rolled over his skin and he thoroughly expected his epidermal layer to peel itself off and crawl away. A blistering wet heat rode up the length of his body as she stroked him with her tongue, tasting him.

  She said, “Tell me.” So not a request.

  Orin stared at Nidia. Her one good eye hovered above his body and he could see himself in the silvery depths, looking terrified.

  Hell, he was terrified.

  Nidia said, “I will not ask you again.” All her RHage fell on Orin, crushing the life from his body, and he screamed. Misery, anguish, torment and agony. The name he didn’t really want to give was ripped from his throat on the throes of torture.

  Urine soaked Orin’s legs and vomit coated his chest. Then everything went black for a moment. Holy shit, when he could see again he was clinging to Rehbek’ah with his face in her neck. The deep rumble in his ears was a growl rolling from her chest.

  Rehbek’ah said, “This isn’t what we agreed on, Nidia. He is mine, the RHage is yours. If it’s gone, just too fucking bad.”

  Nidia made a strange sound, something between a laugh and a hiss. Orin wasn’t sure. His body was too busy throwing off shakes and shudders as it burned to heal the damage she’d done.

  “Rehbek’ah…” Nidia rolled her silver eye over the young Queen. “You are Queen only because your Mother is dead by my claw.”

  The Female’s arms tightened around Orin’s body. He wasn’t going to complain. Hell no. He’d take disgusted and nauseous over being mindfucked any day of the week.

  Nidia’s massive head, filled with jagged fangs, turned toward him. The flesh and thin muscle on the right pulled tight. Bone gleamed just below the surface, revealing a grisly mask of death. Her one good eye flared bleeding red.

  “Give him to me, Rehbek’ah. If I cannot have the RHage, I want his body. I can use him as Serena did. A vessel. A path to power.”

  God of Man, no. Orin clung to the Athens Queen. As long as she didn’t surrender him, the seclusion remained in place and Nidia could not touch him under threat of Medan’s wrath. But then maybe she wouldn’t give a flying flip. Not much scared Queens like her.

  Orin felt the heat roll from Rehbek’ah’s skin. Her arms tightened. “You can’t have him. Orin is mine. He’s always been mine.”

  Thank you, insanity!

  Orin shivered as Nidia’s RHage beat its way across the cave. Rehbek’ah’s metaphysical force responded, flaring a defense, keeping the North Carolina Queen’s telekinetic ties to his flesh at bay. But it wasn’t going to last for long. Orin could feel it. One way or another Nidia was going to have what she wanted.

  It happened so quick he wasn’t even sure if he had been thrown or slapped. Since nothing had been ripped from where it belonged, he was left to assume Rehbek’ah had tossed him clear.

  Orin tumbled head over heels into the furs as Rehbek’ah’s true form ripped from her Human skin. She was a beautiful creature, long flowing lines, wide rounded wings, a lean and deadly head full
of needle teeth. But Nidia outsized her easily fivefold.

  Like a bad car wreck, all the carnage drew Orin’s eyes like glue, and no matter how much he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.

  The Queens collided and teeth flashed like pearlized swords. Chelae struck flesh, and the tearing sounded like rain-soaked flags undulating in the wind. Nidia moved in the way that was only gifted to the really old. In spite of her withered right front leg and the loss of scale and muscle along her face and neck, she blocked Rehhek’ah’s attack. The metaphysical forces of the Queens slammed together, bending light like heat on a black top. The backlash of the preternatural collided, rippled through the air, pushing the bits of silk and tapestry hanging from the ceiling and walls.

  Logic dictated the younger Queen didn’t stand a chance, but if Orin had been given the choice on the winner, he would have voted for Rehbek’ah hands down. Petty, childish, and crazy was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than evil any day.

  The fight ended abruptly in a wash of blood which soaked the floor, walls, and covered Orin in a sheet of green.

  Nidia’s jaws looked impossibly large over the smaller Queen’s shredded throat. She shook the corpse, once, twice, then tore out a mouthful of flesh and swallowed it down.

  “Now…” Nidia slid forward, even more marred, crippled and maimed. Orin felt his brain short like a bad connection as the North Carolina Queen’s Rhage filled him up and over. “Let me take that Mark from you, make you my own.”

  “Wait!” The familiar voice jerked Orin back into the here and now. He blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. ‘Cause it had to be a trick of the mind.

  Near the center of the room the Jersey City Prince was on his knees. Deshi’s blond head tipped forward and his shoulders came down. He said something in Olde Tongue, really Olde Tongue, the dialect reserved for pledges and arguments involving rank.