Poison Kissed (23 page)

25

I stared, breathless, my heart plugging my throat like a hot slug.

Joey coughed, bright blood coating his lips. A round scarlet stain blossomed on his chest, soaking the salt. Only a nine-millimeter, not a high-velocity weapon.

But enough to kill.

He staggered, doubling over as his body contorted, human and serpent fighting like snarling beasts under his skin. Glossy black snakeskin erupted on his shoulder, and his bones lurched and shifted, dragging his collarbone long and angular.

The salt didn’t burn. It didn’t rot or froth like acid. It just clung there, to every slide and crunch and shiny black ripple his flesh made. He swatted it off, but too late. He couldn’t shift back. The salt-drenched bullet lodged in his misshapen chest—his lung, the way his breath splashed crimson—and not a damn thing he could do about it.

And now Diamond could polish him off at will.

All I had to do was nothing, and Joey would die.

I’d thought that was what I wanted. My only reservation would have been that I wanted to pull the trigger.

Diamond clinked to the ground in a glassy pink breeze and leveled his weapon at Joey with a crystalline snicker. “Didn’t think so. Sorry. Fun while it lastified, and all that.” And he curled his sparkling claw lovingly around the trigger.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t think. I just launched myself at Diamond and clawed for his eyes.

I thudded into him, my nails bared, and we crunched against the wall. He snarled and fended me off with a translucent forearm, but he didn’t drop the pistol. I kicked wildly at his shins.

He gripped my wrist, that brittle strength I remembered, and held me away. His lips shone like pink sparklegloss, his heightened color shining berrybright. “Stop pretending, bluebell. Let’s finish what we startified.”

I wrenched away and leapt backwards to land between Joey and Diamond. My thighs tensed to jump, and I cracked a parched laugh. “We never started. Don’t fucking flatter yourself. Get away from him.”

Diamond sighed, ruffled his hair, and leveled his pistol again. Aiming right through me, steady as steel. “I never held anything against you, Mina. Hell, I like you. But I’ll shoot through you if I mustify.” His eyes shone hard and brittle, cold gemstones, all soft remnants erased. If there’d ever really been any.

Behind me, Joey spluttered, “Move, Mina. It’s too late.”

“Shut the fuck up, Joey!” Tension shook my body rigid, and my heart clenched tight.

Diamond didn’t budge. Wings flared for balance, pistol steady as steel. “Last chance, bluebell. Him or us.”

My thoughts raced. Either way, Joey was screwed. I could still save myself.

Yeah. I could live, as the traitor who’d torn the heart from the only man who gave a damn about me.

Live, when I knew he’d died despising me.

Live without him.

I’d rather die.

I heaved in a breath to answer, and glass clinked in my bodice.

My fingers tingled. I’d forgotten Ivy’s spells. My teeth clicked shut, and hope flickered warm over my heart.

My pulse quickened, sour. It savaged my conscience to use stolen magic. What if the poor creatures were alive, and searching, like me?

But I wasn’t the only one who needed saving, and I’d be damned if I let Joey go out this way.

I let my fingers drift to my throat like I was nervous. Better hope something here can smash faeglass. My fingertips brushed my torn zipper and slipped inside, searching for bodywarm glass.

I’d no time to choose. I just grabbed the lot and flung them to the dirty concrete at Diamond’s feet.

Glass shattered, and fragments speared, a glittering shrapnel starburst. The backs of my hands stung. Green steam puffed weakly, melting away, and I smelled bitter fairy heartache.

Diamond jerked backwards. “Whatthef—”

Brutal force rammed me sideways into the wall, and my ears split like a rotten orange under an iron hammer of thunder.

Sonic boom.

My skull vibrated like a hellstruck bell, dizzying. The ozone tang of some creature’s blinding rage stung my nose. Joey tumbled into the juddering bricks, vibration flattening him onto me like an oyster on a rock. His fevered blood slicked my skin, his painful breath crushing. Air ripped from my lungs, and my vision darkened as blood rushed away from my head.

As abruptly as it had conjured, the boom dissipated.

I shook my head, blinking. Joey stirred against me, a living sigh of pain and stiff misshapen muscles. My vision cleared. Discarded litter eddied in the dying breeze. Broken brick scattered the concrete, and opposite, a jagged crack two hands wide now split the wall in two.

Dust swirled, clearing, and streetlight twinkled on rosy faeglass shards.

Diamond curled against the wall, clawing the bricks under a jagged rainbow of broken wings. Ragged holes gaped in his beautiful glasspanes, sharp edges stained green and blue like hellish church windows, and glittering fairy blood ran, flushed golden with pain. He howled, broken, and his cracklined claws snapped off as he tried to haul himself up.

In no shape to chase us anywhere.

No time to gloat. Or think.

I wobbled up on unsteady ankles, heaving Joey with me. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

His bloody hand slid sticky in my grip. Too much blood. I could smell it, rich and warm. It coated his chest, smeared his arm, stained the ends of his hair, and still more bubbled from that ragged salt-drenched hole.

He sucked in a tight breath, his misshapen body still writhing in a futile effort to shift, and his voice choked wet with blood and sarcasm. “Change your mind? Or lose your nerve?”

I glared, my mouth dry and my face burning. He knew. He always knew when he had me cold. “Don’t argue, or I swear I’ll fucking leave you to bleed.”

Unsettlingly, that brilliant smile shadowed his crimsonwet lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

And together we stumbled down the alley, the traitor and the murderer, hand in bloodstreaked hand.

26

Deep in the glowdark cavern, Ivy rolls and moans, water pouring from her swollen eye. Venom still stings her half-blind, and her torn cheek burns like a cruel lick of demonfire, but it’s cold compared to the scorching black hate in her heart.

The serpent’s scarred her again. Her beautiful face a ruin. Her wings torn and bruised. And all for his useless blue shygirl who wouldn’t give up her spells.

Ivy almost had it. Almost wrapped her fingers around the elusive songbird essence, that golden melody that sparked the girl alive. Still in there, though the girl’s voice had long faded. But now it will never be hers. And pretty Kane will never love her.

Ivy howls, her heart bleeding, and her anger flares the candle into blinding light that hurts her one good eye. Broken glass glares malevolent rainbows, the spilled sparkle garish and unforgiving. Around her, creatures still caper and flit, screeching and moaning and spending their energy. She knows she should rise, clean up, think of a plan, but unwieldy emotion smothers her in loss and sadness, and she curls tighter, hiding her slashed face with trembling wings.

Eventually, the voices muffle and fail, silence broken only by wet fae breathing.

Ivy sobs, and the candles burn lower. Maybe she’s meant for this. Hunger, sorrow, aching loneliness. Maybe she deserves it, for all the horrid things she’s done.

Dream images flit, beautiful and grotesque, hell’s harsh red landscape, her lover’s golden skin. A leering shadow looms over her in a nightmare, malice wrapping scarlet around its reaching fingers.
You wrecked it, Ivy. They’re gone.

Ivy whimpers and scrapes her ruined cheek on the coarse floor. “They got away! The snake and the pretty blue song. They got awaaayyy!”

You let them get away.
Shadow-Ivy lurches forward, swelling into a misshapen monster.
You’re weak, Ivy. Useless. No wonder he doesn’t love us.

“Wasn’t my fault,” Ivy mutters, fingering her mouth.

It is your fault.
Shadow-Ivy pokes her swollen eye with a sharp black claw, and Ivy howls and grabs her face.
Stand up for yourself, if you ever want him to look at us again. You do want his love, don’t you?

Ivy nods, frightened, golden images of her lover slipping from her grasp. “Yes yes yes. Lovely golden boy. Mine . . . that is, ours. Yes. Ours.”

Shadow-Ivy wraps Ivy’s hair around her fist, threatening.
And you’re not gonna let that slimy snake get the better of us, are you?

“No!” Ivy wails and flaps her wings, but to no avail. “Not my fault! Stupid blue girl wouldn’t sing. Nasty snake, nasty black slimy nasty slippery nasty . . .”

Then you know what to do.
Shadow-Ivy releases her and flickers away, lurching on the wall like a lunatic, and her gloating fingers slide lovingly over Ivy’s sparklecrusted glassware.

Dusty cogs whir in Ivy’s brain, and she smiles, crafty. Tasties, yes. Magickings, sweet or evil, stolen from fairies and distilled to dazzling power by her meddlings. A firefairy’s flame, a hungry vampire’s rage. Just an added splash of enchantment to make her stronger.

Mmm. Swallow them all, lickety snap, and the spells will be hers, at least for a while.

Yes. She’ll hunt them down again, Joey and his sweet siren. Use her souped-up powers to trap them, rip out the skygirl’s singsong properly this time. Then Kane will be hers, and she can torture the snake man all she wants later.

Clever girl.
Shadow-Ivy grins, deathblack teeth glittering.

Ivy grins back. And then she digs a handful of colored spell-crusted vials from the rubble and tips them down her throat, trick by sparkling fairy trick.

27

Broken windowglass glinted on the black pavement, staring at me like accusing eyes as we stumbled along. It must have been 5
A.M
., dawn not yet fading the sky, and black heat still clawed the air dry. Blood clotted on my skin, Joey’s and my own, and sweat trickled sticky and rank inside my clothes.

He staggered. I propped him up awkwardly against my hip. His body chilled my skin through my torn leather. God, he was cold. Clammy. Shaking. His breath rasped, hyperventilating. Shock. Hypoxia. Wet exothermic death. If I didn’t find him someplace to mend soon, he’d . . .

No, he couldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

I knew the truth about my mother, but I still didn’t know the why. Why Joey had held this back from me all these years. Why he let me dig for the truth when he knew it all along.

We rounded the corner into the street, where tiny terrace houses cuddled behind iron fences, brick-edged flower beds, painted lacework verandas. North Melbourne, maybe, blocks away from the station. Who knew how far we’d come underground, or in which direction?

Soft streetlights shone on the leafy shoulder, and lamps popped on in front windows, all those happysleeping people blinking, wondering what all that blasted noise was about.

I hauled him one more step, another, farther. Here, this one, painted ivory with green trimmings. No lights here. I peered over the fence and through the uncovered window. Bedroom empty, bed made, rich white quilt smooth under a pale silken canopy. Lamps off. No activity. No one home.

I creaked the tall iron gate open and dragged Joey up the steps. Blood spattered in our trail, fat spots gleaming black in the dim light. I rattled the brassy handle. Locked. I rang the doorbell. No answer. No lights sprang on. I checked for wires. No alarm. Perfect.

I slammed my elbow into the doorglass. Smash. Sting. Ouch. Sharp edges scraped my wrist as I twisted my hand around, fumbling for the button. The lock sprang open, and I extricated myself and dragged us in, pulling the door shut behind me.

Cool still air greeted us. I flipped the switch, and soft downlights welled on overpolished floorboards. I fumbled the chain into the slot on the door, so at least we’d hear them coming.

White stairs curved upward, and underneath, a corridor led to a sparkling steel kitchen. To the left, a pale lounge lay shadowed, golden-tasseled cushions, shag rug, brass-edged mirror above a tiled fireplace, the works.

I dragged him across the plush bedroom carpet into the bathroom. White tiles sparkled like a fake smile when I flicked on the light. The mirror showed us dusty, bleeding, pale like ghosts. An ivory bathtub sat polished and smug in the corner, spotless like no one had ever used it.

Pity it was all about to get plastered in dirt and snakeblood.

I yanked open the glass shower door, dragged him in with me, and spun the taps on. Warm water sprayed, soft and clean, the rushing droplets so welcoming. My body ached. My heart ached harder. I yearned for a long hot shower, a soft fluffy towel, a warm bed. But this wasn’t for me.

I yanked Joey under the spray. His legs buckled. I hauled him up, glassy flecks still stinging in the backs of my hands. Bloody water splashed my face as I struggled to wash that ugly salt away, let his skin breathe and shift. I pinned him against the wall with my thigh and tried to peel the sticky coat away. “Stand up. I can’t do this without you.”

He struggled to stand, breaking out in chilly luminescent sweat. His breath gurgled wet. Blond hair plastered to his face, stained tawny by blood and water. His eyes glittered, feverish.

I couldn’t get the coat off his contorted shoulder, so I ripped it apart with a few savage tugs. It plopped in the corner, bloody water swirling down the drain.

The sight of him shocked me cold. His human skin gleamed deadly pale, blood like a stark crimson aberration on a corpse. Even the snake’s skin was dull, that vital shine lost. The wound was neat and round, crusted with clotted salt and soot and rosy flecks of broken Diamond.

Drenched hair dripped in my eyes. I wiped it back with my forearm, and pulled his naked body under the spray. Water splashed in crimson rivers, and I scrubbed the crusted gunk off with my fingers, trying not to look at his chest’s strange curves, the long black twist of serpent muscle along his stretched collarbone.

The way he was, well, totally naked. And wet. And in the shower, with me.

I fumbled. He bit back a grunt of agony and swatted me away, his touch frighteningly weak. “I can—”

“No, you can’t. Shut up and let me help you.”

Finally, the corruption was gone. The bleeding slowed to a sticky seep, on the outside at least. But the clotted hole already flamed with infection. I reached over his shoulder, dreading what I’d find. But his curving mottled flesh was clean. No exit wound ripping his rib cage apart. The mess was all inside.

He pressed my hand to his chest, murmuring.

Under my palm, something rippled, serpentine, and my nerves jerked tight. “What?”

He whispered again, his hair sticking to my cheek. “Make it . . . make it bleed. I still can’t . . .”

I swallowed, and pressed harder.

Blood gushed scarlet, washing the salt away, and this time he hissed, his fangs popping, eyes glassy with pain. He hunched over, a growling shriek tearing from his broken lung. Blood spattered the floor, the glass, my legs. Sinew stretched and popped across his chest. His mutated shoulder crunched like grating bone, and with an agonizing wrench of muscles, he pulled the joints into place.

Shiny black skin erupted on his chest. Spines crackled. Bones crunched, muscles writhing and stretching, and the ruined flesh paled, reshaped, healed. Ragged scarlet edges seeped away, and his skin reformed, smooth and white.

He cracked his vertebrae, one after the other, and rolled his shoulder with one final vicious crunch. He sucked in a ragged breath and spat out a dirty mouthful.

A tiny flattened blob of steel clinked onto the tiles.

I stared.

He straightened, panting. Water streamed over his shoulders, down his chest, his legs, washing the dirt and blood away. Perfect. Flawless. Human. Just his corpsewhite skin and the pain crimping tight around his mouth to show he’d been shot.

He fixed those slanted green eyes on mine, and his gaze stripped me bare. “Thanks.”

I flushed. Distantly, I recalled I was showering fully dressed. Drenched, my hair glued to my shoulders and matting my face. My boots filled with water, blistering my feet.

My tight leather swelled even tighter, constricting my chest. My pulse raced. I didn’t know what to do. Run. Kiss him. Cry.

He slicked a wet blue curl from my shoulder with one finger, and sensation shivered hot in my bones. I felt it along my skin, deep in my breasts, between my legs. Nerves jerked me stiff, and I swiped fingerprints on the clouded glass door, trying to push it open and get away from him.

He yanked it shut with a resounding clang. “Not so quick. You’re bleeding.”

“S’okay.” I scrabbled at the glass, fright clawing in my stomach.

“It’s not fucking okay. You’ve got glass in your face, and god knows what else. Come here.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close.

Blood squelched between us, and this time it was mine. His fingertips whispered over my cheek. My cheekbone stung, and he held up a wickedly sharp twist of pinkstained faeglass.

Shocked, I touched my face. Blood slicked, but I couldn’t find a wound. Must be a fine cut. I hadn’t felt a thing.

He dropped the splinter and turned my face up to the spray. So gentle. Unwilling, I closed my eyes, sighing, letting the warm flow cleanse me. Water caressed my lashes, my cheek, my mouth, washing off blood and dirt and painful memory.

He slicked his fingers through my hair, stroking it back, and tension eased across my temples. My head still ached. My body still complained, my muscles stressed and overtired. My pulse still jumbled with mixed emotions and distant panic, but somehow the sweet tenderness of his touch made it bearable.

I stretched my neck, letting the water soak me again. Bumps shivered my skin, warm comfort welling up from deep inside. God, I wanted to stay and let him care for me. It made me sick. It made me melt. It made me quiver with all the starbright longing I’d ever kept inside, all the times I’d avoided his gaze or halted an inch from reaching for him. Every night I’d spent cold and alone, wishing that for one dazzling moment, he’d see me for what I am.

His caress slid to my shoulders, and distantly I tried to focus, think, reason, but my tired mind just sank further into this warm, comforting mist of oblivion.

Shoulda run while I had the chance.

Hypnotic, shivery bliss washed over me, so beautiful, I sighed. Stupid to think it’d happen any other way. He’d always owned me. He just hadn’t claimed me yet.

I swallowed, my mouth sticky. “Feeling better?”

He let his touch linger, that unspoken arrogance that maddened me. His finger traced my collarbone, teasing, and my nipples sprang tight, rubbing painfully against my waterlogged leather, longing for his touch. Fresh moisture soaked between my legs, and I ached.

His gaze followed his fingertip. Idly, he drifted his touch lower. “Much.”

“Good.” I stepped closer, and at last our bodies touched. He felt lithe and warm, his strange minty scent tempting me. His heartbeat echoed in my chest, perfect counterpoint to my own. I reached around him, and the delicious fresh texture of his skin tempted me to pull him into my arms and get this over with.

Instead, I grabbed the taps and twisted them off.

He’d shot my mother out of compassion, not malice. That didn’t make it okay that I’d lost her. It didn’t make it right that he’d lied to me about it for five years.

It certainly didn’t make it okay that I’d fallen for him like a stupid little girl. That he’d toyed with my affection all these years. Given me just enough to keep me waiting for him, and then pushed me away, time after time.

He never gave me a chance to get over him, or to find someone else. Always just keeping alive a flicker of hope that, one day, he’d love me like I loved him.

And now he never would. I’d helped him heal tonight, but it didn’t matter. I’d betrayed him, and Joey never forgot. Never forgave.

Self-loathing boiled like hellbrew in my heart, and I swallowed angry tears. He might not be a vicious murderer. But he’d still ruined my life. And I wasn’t about to let him keep doing it.

My chin trembled, my throat stinging raw with all the things I’d never had the courage to say until now. I folded my arms acoss my wet chest and planted my back against the dripping glass door so he couldn’t get away, and my ruined voice crisped sharp like a blade. “You wanna play with me? Fine. Let’s play. You killed my mother, you lying son of a worm.”