Authors: Nerine Dorman
“Can you stand?” Etienne rose to his feet.
“I can try.” His limbs felt rubbery, his veins drawn tight with hunger now that he’d whet his appetite. Despite the human stink, Etienne’s blood sang to Trystan, the pulse swift, promising a quick fix staunch his hunger.
No. Helen would never forgive him if he acted out on his impulse. “Let’s find Helen,” Trystan said.
“And Arwen.”
“Sure, and Arwen.”
They didn’t have to go far before they heard voices–two women–belonging to Arwen and, yes, Mantis. Trystan froze.
He did not want this.
“What?” asked Etienne.
“I-I can’t.” His limbs would not obey him, and instinct warned him against another confrontation so soon–one he had no hope of winning. “It’s her, the one who... I don’t have enough... I-I’m not strong enough.”
Etienne’s eyes widened. “But what about Arwen?”
“We can’t help her. It’s hopeless.”
“But–”
“Don’t be stupid. The bitch almost killed me before you came to the rescue. What makes you think I can do anything now?”
“You know what? You’re a bloody useless coward. I’ve just wasted my time and possibly Arwen’s life, on you, for nothing!” The boy gave an inarticulate grunt then turned to run off, his stumpy legs giving him a comical gait.
Stupid, bloody dwarf.
Mantis would finish the lot of them off for certain. He could turn around and walk away, go hide
Rose
in an underground car park for the day before driving off at the next sunset. Then, he’d always wonder what the final outcome of this night would have been. He might hear snippets of second- or third-hand information. He’d wonder if anything might have turned out differently if he’d changed his mind at any of the crucial moments laid out before him.
“It’s no bloody use. Stupid humans,” he whispered before following Etienne.
The world slipped out of kilter while he ran, trees and bushes looming out of the shadows to snatch at him, biting with thorny branches. Ahead, shimmering between the beefwoods, the dam’s water shone silver, faint tendrils of a low mist still dissipating but clinging to the surface.
What good could he do? He was barely stronger than a human in his present state.
He should be glad those gashes had closed.
Trystan rounded a bend and stumbled upon a scene as dismal as he’d expected. Two bodies lay discarded–he was in too much of a rush to examine the too-still forms–and Etienne had somehow managed to attach himself to Mantis’s shoulder–a lucky grip having enabled him to shove his fingers into the vampire’s eye sockets, where blood now oozed from between his digits.
Mantis shrieked, her voice high and shrill while she raked at the boy, her nails leaving furrows in Etienne’s skin. He roared at her, his voice breaking.
Trystan sprang forward, but recalled the vampire’s boot-blades.
He had to immobilize her feet, bring her to the ground then pray Etienne thought to find a large rock to bash in her skull.
Mantis turned to face him when he approached, flailing needle-sharp talons that grazed the air as he tackled her. She wouldn’t know it was him, not without her sight or by
reaching
, but when they fell together in a confusion of biting, kicking and clawing, she smiled.
A blow to the head–from where, he knew not–left him dazed. He clung to Mantis, seeking with his fingers to tear at her throat.
Etienne’s shouts became verbal. “Bitch! Bitch! You fucking bitch! You killed her!”
Beneath him, Mantis lurched then the world blew apart in a bright flash, and Trystan soared through the air, turning head over heels. He puzzled at the sky tumbling beneath him before he connected with water, the taste of mud filling his mouth. He swallowed some without meaning to, only to vomit it back up again.
A skinny black woman was doubled over where they’d been fighting only seconds earlier. She dry-heaved, her arms pressed to her belly. Of Mantis there was no sign.
He felt it then, a tingling sensation crawling over his skin. His skin was raw and red on the back of his hand, as if he’d been exposed to too much sunlight.
The girl looked up and their eyes locked. This seemed to give her impetus to stand and he felt rather than heard a low crackling–a buzz that dragged at his Essence. She pulled back her right arm as if she was about to punch him. What on earth was she doing that for?
“No!” Etienne cried out, stumbling between them, arms upraised.
The girl staggered back. “
Putain
! I could have... I could have killed you, you foolish dwarf! Get out of my way so that–”
“He’s a friend!” Etienne shouted.
“No vampire is my friend. Now get out of my way so I can–”
Etienne looked ridiculous standing in front of the girl, who towered above him. “At least let him alone long enough to tell his side of the story.”
The young woman eyed Trystan, clearly unconvinced by Etienne’s assurances. Etienne did not wait to find out whether she’d unleash her Essence–or he didn’t seem to care–for he ran to where Arwen lay crumpled in a flattened bush. Judging by how still her limbs were, splayed at such awkward positions, she was either unconscious, or worse.
His would-be assailant flicked a glance toward Etienne, who crouched over Arwen’s prone form then glared at him. She huffed like an angry cat but relaxed somewhat, and took a step back.
“No trouble, vampire, or I’ll take care of you proper, like your friend, or the other two I incinerated back there.” She gestured over her shoulder, with an air of not being concerned, but she was unable to conceal the tremors that passed through her frame whenever she breathed or moved.
“No trouble, I promise.”
Sweet Jesus, she’d taken out two
jagters
and maybe Mantis in the bargain. A mage.
Mantis must have taken the full brunt of the attack somehow.
“If you’re as good as you say you are, girl then I’m no fool to test you.”
His last statement seemed to satisfy her, for she turned to limp toward Etienne and Arwen. Only then did he see the slick sheen of blood soaking her back, a stray tendril of breeze carrying its rich aroma to him.
His canines extended but he willed away the desire to attack.
Now was the time for damage control, not eating potential allies.
As if from far away, Etienne’s voice carried, as he repeated Arwen’s name over and over again.
Trystan waded out of the water, his hands limp and shaking, his arms slack.
“It’s no use,
mon cherie
,” the black girl said. “Her wounds are too grievous and I’m no healer.”
“But you–”
Arwen had fallen somehow so that she’d been pierced through the abdomen by a metal stave. The thing protruded obscenely from her belly. She still breathed but the movement was shallow, easy to miss. Her throat had been torn, though the wound no longer seeped much blood and he suspected that to be Mantis’s handiwork, for he remembered that she liked them petite and pretty, when she could take them in their entirety. Her hand clasped a small object–a beadwork sun–now caked with blood and earth. Something of Helen’s...
He reached to take the trinket but the mage sprang before he could complete the action. She had a wiry strength that caught him off balance, so that he fell onto his rump, the suddenness of the impact causing him to bite his lip. Something wet dribbled down his chin.
In an absent fashion, he wiped at it with the back of his hand. The dirt and smeared blood encrusting his skin surprised him, as did the fresh splash of blood from where he’d injured himself.
“I wasn’t–”
“Hands off, vampire.”
“Here.” Etienne’s voice was tired. He took the small beadwork sun from Arwen and pressed it into Trystan’s fingers. “I’m sure Helen would have wanted you to have it.”
“Where is she?” Trystan asked. “What happened?”
“Noga took her,” the black girl said. She turned her face to spit.
“What?” Etienne asked.
“Noga. Water spirit.”
Arwen coughed.
A tender expression took some of the harshness from the black girl’s face. She stroked back Arwen’s fringe from her brow. “Rest now,
ma cherie
.”
“No!” Etienne cried out. “You gotta–”
She slapped the boy, who lurched back, hands flown up to protect his face.
“She’s done, little man. Ain’t no magic o’ mine’s gonna save ’er.”
“
You can
,” Eleanor’s voice spoke in Trystan’s mind. Nephilim.
“
How?
”
“
If the mage gives her agreement and co-operation, she can lend you enough Essence...
”
“No!” Trystan pushed himself away. “I won’t!”
“Damn right you won’t!” the black girl cried. “You ain’t gonna touch her!”
Trystan shook his head in an effort to dislodge the dry laughter echoing where only he could hear it.
“It’s not that,” he croaked. “Nephilim. Talking to me.”
“What?”
“Old one. Interfering.”
“What in heaven’s...” The black girl looked to Etienne for validation.
He nodded dumbly.
“What are you mixed up in? A vampire, a witch and a little dwarf with two souls?”
“We’re just trying to save Helen, you see–” Trystan started.
“You can tell me the rest of the story later. So, vampire, what did this fallen soul have to tell you?”
“We can save Arwen.”
“I don’t believe you. Your kind brings only death. Why would you suddenly receive knowledge of how to save life?”
“I don’t know.” Trystan shook his head.
Arwen’s cough was a weak, liquid sound.
“Don’t waste time! Do something!” Etienne cried out.
Arwen coughed again, and a thin trickle of blood dribbled down her cheek from her ashen lips.
Trystan thought he’d crush the small beadwork bauble in his hand.
Chapter 44
Blood is Thicker Than Water
To Arwen it seemed as if she viewed the world through a haze, the conversation of her companions arbitrary, like information she read in a book. She no longer felt pain. In fact, she felt very little. She was tired yet something–Etienne, perhaps–tethered her to a state of consciousness.
At least the vampires didn’t get Helen.
She’d read about the Noga, had thought them a mere legend but then she could curse herself for a fool, for weren’t vampires, Nephilim and the goddess knew what else stalking the land?
What a waste. Helen would have been fine without their intervention. Too bad she wouldn’t be around when Helen came back, for she would, some day. Changed, but alive.
A spasm of coughing tightened her chest and concerned faces peered down at her while their owners argued, their words losing meaning but their intent clear enough.
They worried about her. They shouldn’t. There was nothing to be done about it.
They wouldn’t let her be. A black girl–Goddess only knew where she had come from–spat angry words at Trystan, who kept biting his lip, his extended canines apparent for all to see.
He smelled her blood.
Arwen closed her eyes and welcomed the darkness nibbling at the edge of her awareness. To let go now would be bliss, to sink into unconsciousness, away from the bewildering and bothering presences of those who still numbered their lives in years; not minutes.
Brightness flared and her eyes opened, and she was pulled against someone’s–Etienne’s–knees as he lifted her so that her head rested against his belly. Etienne’s skin burned her and she swallowed, her throat dry.
“Can I have some water, please?” Arwen asked as she tried to moisten her lips with her tongue.
“Get her some water,” someone said.
“No, she’ll just bring it up or it’ll choke her.”