You reek of death.
The Wild Hunt fed on life. Len lifted his eyes from Rans and Zorah’s bodies, feeling like his head weighed a hundred pounds. His vision was blurry with tears, but he could still make out Albigard and the cat-sidhe. They were slowly losing the battle to push the edges of the gap closed. The surviving cu-sidhe stood in front of Albigard, providing cover that would crumple immediately if the Hunt struck in that direction.
Keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the roiling central mass that was trying to force its way through the veil, Len stumbled to his feet and took one step toward it... then another... and another. Left... right... left... right... he walked toward the maelstrom of darkness without the benefit of any kind of sensory feedback from his body.
The death that surrounded Len day in and day out brushed against the edges of the swirling fog—protective armor he’d never asked for, made up of lost opportunities, good and bad and indifferent. Gone, but not gone. Not while it clung to Len.
Len’s family had abandoned him when he became inconvenient to their worldview... just like Albigard’s father had abandoned his son to his punishment, and the Unseelie emissaries had abandoned the fight to contain the Hunt, mere moments ago. Just like Nigellus had apparently abandoned Rans and Zorah to the Void.
But Len’s ghosts had not abandoned him. They were still here. And he would not abandon those who were still struggling to save the world. His world. He took another step forward.
The Hunt gave way, sucking back to make space for him.
Len walked forward.
The Hunt fell back.
Nigellus staggered coughing from its grasp, catching himself on a hand and a knee, the sword still clutched in his other hand. It hissed and sputtered, steam rising from the flames.
“Close the edges!” the demon croaked, his voice a terrible rasp. “Do it now!”
Len kept walking. The Hunt quailed, slithering backward like some kind of horrible sea creature squirming into its burrow among the rocks. Slimy smoke tickled at the edges of his awareness. Without having realized how close he’d gotten, Len found himself right up against the shimmering veil, its edges sliding shut as he watched.
Dazed, he lifted a hand toward the narrowing gap. The last few wisps of the Hunt darted away from his fingertips, disappearing inside. The gap closed, brushing his skin as it did, and an invisible force slammed him backward. For the second time in as many weeks, the pavement rose up to meet him with unforgiving force.
He lay on his side where he’d been thrown, ears ringing, flashbulbs exploding in his vision. Through it all, he could just about make out the silhouette of Nigellus, raising his blazing sword to press it against the seam.
Everything went black.
TWENTY-ONE
WHEN IT FINALLY occurred to Len that he had a body, and eyes, and that he should probably try opening those eyes to see where he was, the whorls and bumps of a white-painted ceiling confronted him. It wasn’t a familiar ceiling, exactly... but it wasn’t completely unfamiliar, either.
His head hurt. It wasn’t a tension headache, or a hangover headache. The pain radiated from a very specific place on his left parietal bone. Come to think of it, his left shoulder and hip didn’t seem to be too happy with him, either. He blinked a few times, trying to remember if there had been drugs involved with whatever he’d been up to before he ended up in Albigard’s guest bedroom.
It was daytime, judging by the glare of sunlight coming through the window. He appeared to be completely dressed, right down to his shoes. The fact that he was in Chicago didn’t feel right. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in St. Louis. With... the others.
The others.
He sat bolt upright, his body protesting the sudden movement in no uncertain terms. Wincing, he clapped a hand to the back of his head and encountered a tender bruise the size of a goose egg. He’d gone to St. Louis with the others to try and fix the hole between realms. The Hunt had come before they could finish the job. And then...
Len’s hands began to shake.
Something in his peripheral vision shifted, light from the window glinting against pale platinum. He turned, keeping the movement slow this time to minimize the resulting pain. Albigard sat slumped on the floor with his back resting against the wall, resembling nothing so much as a marionette with its strings cut. As Len watched, the Fae’s gaze refocused from the middle distance, rising to meet his.
It had been on the tip of Len’s tongue to ask what had happened after he’d lost consciousness—specifically, whether Nigellus had brought Rans and Zorah back to life by channeling power through the soul-bond he held over them. The question died on his lips, its answer written clear as day in the brittle edges of Albigard’s expression. It was an answer Len wasn’t ready to hear.
He swallowed against the lump rising in his throat—and swallowed again when the first time didn’t seem to help. He would think about Zorah and Rans later. He couldn’t face thoughts of them right now.
“The Hunt?” he asked instead, since the only thing that could be worse than what he remembered happening was if all of it had ended up being for nothing.
Albigard’s gaze went distant again, sliding away from Len’s. “No longer on Earth. The cu-sidhe that survived the battle has returned to Dhuinne to check on it.”
Silence settled over the room like a shroud. Much as he didn’t want to, Len made himself sort through the other parts of the day that he could remember. Albigard was here, but he’d promised not to resist arrest by the Unseelie once the gap between worlds was safely closed. So how...?
Oh.
Right.
He hadn’t said that. Not exactly. He’d promised not to resist the Unseelie leader once the gap was closed. But the Unseelie leader was dead... and his underlings fled to safety through a portal right before it happened. Fuck. He didn’t even know the dead Fae leader’s name. Not that he was particularly well inclined toward the guy—but he’d at least seen to the safety of his men before worrying about his own safety. That was... commendable in its way, Len supposed.
Try as he might to think logically, his mind kept sliding away from the rest of the memories, like water drops on an orange peel. He knew that was bad; a red flag, warning that he was in danger of driving off a mental cliff once everything started to sink in properly. Not knowing exactly where the impulse came from, he cautiously swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up, limping the few steps across the room to the wall where Albigard was huddled. Without a word, he slid down to sit next to the Fae, leaving a few careful inches between them.
Everything ached, but Len didn’t seem to be seriously hurt—nothing beyond bruises. That thought was enough to jog something else loose in his memory, however. He reached for the Fae’s arm, lifting it by the elbow and wrist. Albigard was still wearing the dark leather gauntlets and mangled forearm guard, along with the rest of his armor. His pale blond hair hung in unkempt tangles, escaping from the intricate braid that had held it away from his face earlier.
Somewhat surprisingly, he didn’t jerk his arm away from the gentle hold. Len felt around, but couldn’t find any buckles or other fastenings on the damaged brace. “How do I get this off? I need to look at your wound.”
The fact that Albigard hadn’t immediately bristled at the personal contact would probably have been worrying—if only Len had the spare emotional capacity to devote to the Fae’s unexpected lack of reaction. Unfortunately, he didn’t.
Rather than reply to the question, Albigard closed his eyes, his battle armor melting back into loose linen and buckskin. He didn’t open them again immediately, his head dipping until it hung loosely, chin tucked against chest.
Len slid Albigard’s sleeve up to his elbow, revealing dried blood covering the pink puckers of half-healed wounds. He should have known... he’d seen the bastard shake off impalement by giant thorns in a matter of hours, not to mention blasts of magic intended to be fatal.
Fae are tough. Rans�
�� precise English accent echoed in his ears. Not much can kill them permanently except iron through the heart. Or, well, beheading.
Shit. Shit. He was supposed to be avoiding thoughts of Rans. Thoughts about Rans would inevitably lead to thoughts about Zorah. And he couldn’t—
He swallowed hard, a graceless gulp that sounded too close to a whimper for comfort. Trying to cover the lapse, he rasped, “Looks like it’s healing up okay,” and settled the arm he was supporting back onto the Fae’s lap.
“The vampires are both dead,” Albigard said, not looking up. “It should not be possible for them to die unless Nigellus wills it, but he attempted to revive them and failed.”
The panicky, out-of-control feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface began to unfurl in Len’s chest. He tried to tamp it down, but he couldn’t seem to get any words past the tightness in his throat.
“Ransley Thorpe spent centuries in search of death’s oblivion,” Albigard went on, lifting his head to stare once more into a past that only he could see. “After the war that killed all the other vampires, he believed he had nothing left to live for. How ironic that mere months after he found the demonkin and decided to embrace the future with her at his side, his previous wish was finally granted.”
Len’s breath caught as he tried not to let Albigard’s words penetrate and reach his precarious emotions. Unbidden, he remembered Zorah’s teasing about homoerotic subtext, and Rans’ bewildered protestations.
“Were you in love with him?” he asked, the question escaping without any kind of forethought.
That was enough to startle Albigard out of his fugue state, at least. He frowned. “In... love with him?” He made the word sound like a completely foreign concept. Piercing eyes fell on Len. “Tell me, human—do you frequently find yourself experiencing amorous feelings for orangutans at the zoo?”
Len stared back at him, grasping irritation like a lifeline. “Not generally, no. Though I’m not really seeing the connection with my previous question.”
“He was a vampire,” Albigard said in a surprisingly patient tone. “I am Fae. Your question is nonsensical.”
This situation was actually easier to navigate when Albigard was acting like an asshole, Len realized with a faint sense of relief. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Okay. So unrequited love is off the table, apparently. But you’re at least cool when it comes to being friends with the orangutans, I take it? That’s good to know, I guess.”
Albigard looked away. “We were not friends.”
Bullshit, Len thought, even as Rans’ ghost whispered, you keep using that word... I don’t think it means what you think it means...
His hands started shaking again, despite his best efforts to control them. Abruptly, painfully, a craving hit him for something to make all of this go away for a while. Something a lot more potent than a handful of pot brownies. He scrubbed a hand over his face, purposely pulling at his piercings to distract himself from the thought.
“Jesus.” Now his voice was shaking, too. “This kind of shit is why I was high as a kite on cocaine the first time you met me, you know. I’m so ridiculously tired of losing the people who matter.”
Albigard didn’t comment. Stillness fell over the room once more as Len fought the urge to get up and pace... to hitch a ride into the city and buy drugs he shouldn’t use with money he couldn’t afford to spend. Minutes passed, and the need grew into a physical ache—a sharp pain stabbing the bottom of his lungs and making his stomach cramp.
“I can’t... do this anymore,” he said, pathetic desperation creeping into his tone despite his best efforts. “Fuck. Why did I ever think I could deal with this kind of psychotic Twilight Zone shit? I should have let Rans mesmerize me into forgetting all of it after the first time we met. Hell, I should have run for the hills the moment Zorah said the word vampire.”
Albigard’s reply emerged hoarsely. “If you had done so, it seems rather likely that the Hunt would currently be ravaging a city of three million people unopposed.”
“Don’t put that on me,” Len whispered, unwilling to think about what he’d done in a moment of insanity.
“It is not on you,” said the Fae. “None of this is on you, except for the successful resolution of the issue. I am the one the Hunt was originally after.”
Len drew his knees up and covered his face with both hands, his entire body trembling now as waves of hot and cold washed over him.
“Jesus fuck! You call this a successful resolution? Christ, Albigard!” he snapped. A choking noise wrenched free of his throat, stifled behind his palms. “I told myself I was done watching people I care about die. I thought if I just got away from my job with emergency services, my life would be normal again.” He started to rock in place as the need to move became too much. Forward and backward... forward and backward—anything to keep from jumping to his feet and going in search of drugs. An ugly noise that might have been a laugh escaped him. “And—hey! Look how well that worked out.”
A callused hand grasped Len’s wrist, pulling one of his hands away from his face and stilling his jerky movements. Albigard’s fingers cupped his jaw, turning him until their eyes met. The Fae’s expression was brittle with despair... with grief, despite all of his protestations. Len swallowed convulsively and let himself tumble into that despondent, forest-colored gaze with something like relief.
“All is not well right now,” Albigard said heavily. “But I am still with you. You...” He paused. “We... are not totally alone in the darkness. Not yet.”
The shuddering ache of chemical need that had been twisted up in Len’s chest drained away, replaced by blessed, warm relief. “Thank you,” he whispered, an exhalation that barely formed the shape of words. His muscles unclenched one by one, tension unspooling from his body in a slow cascade.
“It would please me if you rested for a while, without dreams or worries for the future,” said the Fae. “You will do that for me, yes?”
Far from wanting to punch him this time, Len nodded in Albigard’s light grip—barely aware of the hot tears that overflowed, trickling down his cheeks in the wake of the movement. Those tears were somehow less important than the sudden wave of exhaustion that pulled his eyelids shut, promising sweet oblivion for a little while, at least. His body slumped forward, boneless.
Len slept, and did not dream... and when he woke some time later, sprawled alone on the floor, an angry demon in Armani stood on the other side of the room, pinning Albigard against the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat.
TWENTY-TWO
“HOW AM I TO explain this unbridled fiasco to the Council?” Nigellus snarled, looking nothing like the suave and urbane figure Len had seen previously. The wings and horns weren’t there, but for the first time, Len could imagine them without the resulting mental picture seeming remotely unbelievable.
Albigard eyed the demon up and down with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, unresisting. “Which part?” he asked blandly. “The one where two of your three pet vampires are dead, or the one where you very openly and publicly interfered in human affairs, in blatant defiance of the peace treaty?”
“There is no treaty now!” Nigellus shouted.
Whatever sleep Len had gotten after Albigard mind-whammied him hadn’t done a damned thing to heal the knot on his head or the bruises on his body. He clambered to his feet anyway, feeling uncomfortably like a rabbit trapped inside a glass enclosure with a grizzly bear and a wolf.
“Um... hey, you two,” he said, half-suspecting that drawing attention to himself would end up being the worst idea he’d had yet—and given recent events, that was truly saying something. He cleared his throat and forged on. “Could we maybe try not killing each other right after we barely managed to save the world?”
Nigellus whipped his head around, his gaze pinning Len’s. The demon’s eyes blazed with the orange-red color of an uncontrolled wildfire. Something about them affected Len in a way that glowing vampire eyes had never managed to do
, making him want to cringe back until he disappeared into the wall. Fortunately, his shoulders were already pressed against the aforementioned wall for balance. Otherwise, he would have stumbled against it in his body’s instinctive rush to get away.
“Seconded,” Albigard said in a dry tone, sounding faintly breathless.
After a moment’s pause, Nigellus jerked his hand away from the Fae’s throat and whirled to pace across the room, putting his back to both of them. Albigard stretched his neck carefully in one direction and then the other, as though to make sure everything was still properly connected.
Dhuinne had won the last great war against the demons, as Len had ample cause to know. It was clear, however, that the Fae victory hadn’t rested on physical or even magical superiority in battle—which he supposed was kind of a given, since their enemies literally could not be killed.
But even so, he’d seen the way every Fae in the vicinity had flinched in poorly hidden fear when Nigellus had called his flaming sword into existence in St. Louis. And he’d also seen the look of resignation on Albigard’s face just now, even as he’d continued to verbally bait the demon.
If Nigellus had wanted Albigard dead, he could have twisted his head off and tossed it away like a football, and there wasn’t a damned thing the Fae could have done to stop him. Len... really wasn’t sure he could cope with seeing something like that right now. Not even given his long established dislike for Albigard.
The demon gripped the doorframe with one hand, his shoulders rising and falling in the slow, universal rhythm of someone trying to keep their shit together.
“How ironic,” Albigard said in a poisonous tone, “that the bloodsuckers’ last words to you were hurled in bitter anger. Even for hellspawn such as yourself, that must rankle.”
The wood of the doorframe splintered beneath Nigellus’ grip.
“Jesus!” Len cursed. “Albigard! You’re not fucking helping!”
Albigard whirled on him. “He was supposed to keep them alive!” His green eyes flashed with rage... and something deeper. Something raw and grieving that Len had only seen the barest edges of, before.
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 16