Blood and Silver - 04 (26 page)
Read Blood and Silver - 04 Online
Authors: James R. Tuck
36
Oh dear God, please . . .
My knees were swollen as I knelt beside her. Puffy against the concrete, they felt like they were full of liquid, sloshing inside if I moved too much. Tiff lay like a broken doll, arms askew and legs akimbo. The soft cotton shirt was torn open, skin scraped raw in streaks of burn from the cloth being twisted and yanked.
Don’t . . .
Her jeans were undone, pulled down over one hip, revealing the pink unicorn tattoo on her hipbone. She had gotten that tattoo on her eighteenth birthday. I had given it to her seven years ago, a lifetime ago when I was a tattoo artist. Before my family was gone and I was this. It had been one of those crazy coincidences of life that I don’t believe in anymore, a connection we shared that I did believe in.
Her chest wasn’t moving.
Don’t do this ...
Blood soaked black and pink hair, plastering it over her left eye. I reached out to brush it away, fingers staining crimson with her blood. The hair moved in a clump to reveal four razor crisp slashes across her eye. Deep. To the bone of her eyebrow and cheek. Her lovely blue eye had been stolen. Ruined.
Her chest still wasn’t moving.
Please . . .
A tiny breath washed across my hand as I touched her face.
My heart jerked. Chest tight, I touched her throat, fingers feeling for a pulse. Her skin was still warm. I pushed the hollow under her jaw. Searching. Seeking. Desperate.
Please, God . . .
I found it. Fluttering like a moth against my finger. Barely, but there still.
Thank you. Thank you.
I screamed out Charlotte’s name.
She scurried in, dropping beside me. Tears ran from red eyes, all eight of them stacked along each side of her forehead. Her hands shook as she reached out for me. “Deacon, I am so sorry. I froze. I saw the shark. I was terrified . . .”
“Shut up.”
Her mouth slapped shut.
As gently as I could, I picked up Tiff, holding her close to my chest. Against my skin I could feel her breathing, so shallow and light, like a tiny bird. I turned to Charlotte.
I stared the Were-spider in the eye. “I don’t give a fuck about any of that.” I passed Tiff over. “Take her.” Charlotte cradled her gently. “Your only job now is to get her the fuck out of here. There has to be a response team here by now after all the shit that has blown up. Get her medical care and do it as fast as you can.”
Charlotte stood up, shifting Tiff so she would be more stable. “I will—”
My hand shot up. “Shut up. Go.” I focused on her main set of eyes. Blank space filled my head, emotions shutting down. The indifference that lets me kill people poured out in my voice. “Do
NOT
fail me this time.”
NOT
fail me this time.”
Four spider legs picked her up and began crawling away. Marcus stepped into the door frame.
Blocking Charlotte’s path.
My gun was out and in my hand, the laser dancing on his chest. My voice tore out of me in a roar. “Get the fuck out of her way!” He jumped, stumbling aside to clear the path. Charlotte moved like quicksilver through the doorway, carried aloft on her spider legs. They rose above her, pulling her up where the stairs used to be, making her disappear.
Ragnar limped into the room. He stopped next to me, swaying. His tail was broken, bent at a sharp, painful angle. The skin on his shoulder and neck ruff was a bloody mess of flesh and fur. One ear was torn off, leaving his ear canal open to the world, gory and eviscerated. The side of his wolf face was distorted, the bone caved in along his snout and eye. There were gaps where teeth were before. I was surprised to see him alive. He was one tough old bastard.
“They still have Sophia. You got a little more fight in you, old man?”
His snort came out with a whistle. Something in his face broken just enough to block the airway to his nostrils. He staggered over to the steel door, looking over his shoulder at me, his meaning was clear.
You coming?
I stood slowly, walking to join him. Marcus spoke from the doorway.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t give a damn about his reaction.
“To kill your fucking brother.”
37
The tunnels were claustrophobic. Red clay pressed close, packed hard into low arches. I had to run hunched over, struggling to breathe. My rib shot pain under my arm, deep into my chest with each labored draw of my lungs. Ache radiated from my hip and knees, the strain of moving with my body bent over screaming at me. The skin across my calf pulled tight, ripping with every step. Hot fluid ran down my calf to fill my boot.
A string of lights ran down the side of the tunnel. They made pools of 100-watt incandescence that seared my eyes as I passed. Between the pools of light were gaps of pitch-black, made even blacker by the contrast of the lights. Every little bit we came to where another tunnel would cross ours and it would open up into a small area tall enough for me to straighten up. Marcus would spill into the opening with me, clawed hands on his knees as he drew in deep breaths.
Fire still burned deep inside me from the attack by the metaphysical shark. I knew what it would feel like to have a gut filled with glass shards. The old Werewolf would sniff the ground, tracking the scent we were following. He would take off down another tunnel and I would follow, hunched over, my head and shoulders brushing the tunnel ceiling, raining small rocks and dirt down my back.
We ran through those damned tunnels for what felt like miles.
I struggled to keep my gun in front of me. Each step it got heavier, weighing a hundred pounds. The smell of earth became cloying. Filling my mouth, it parched my throat. I started tripping on the uneven floor of the tunnel, dragging along the wall to stay up on my feet. I was moving on hate alone.
We came to another crossing. Ragnar trotted out, nose to the ground, scenting the path. I stepped out, straightening up, my back twinged.
With a flash of claws, Leonidas tore Ragnar’s head off.
Blood arced out, spattering across my chest and face. The Werewolf’s body stumbled for a step or two and then crumpled to the ground. Leonidas stood with his chest out, a wild grin splitting his face. Behind him, near a tunnel, Shani held a rope that was tied around Sophia’s neck. Sophia’s eyes were wide, staring at me. With a yank and a snarl, Shani dragged her off down the tunnel.
The laser from my gun tracked up to Leonidas’s chest. I squeezed the trigger, popping off bullets. Like quicksilver the Were-lion twisted out of the way. Four bullets shot past him. One struck him in the arm, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground. He crouched, roaring in pain. Taking a step, I pointed the laser at his skull. My finger itched to finish the job.
Marcus grabbed my arm, jerking it off target. He stood close to me, so close that I noticed his dreads were full of dirt. Red clay smudged under yellow predator eyes. His voice was pleading and quiet, but his clawed hand was closed hard on my arm.
“He is my brother. Please let me try to reason with him.”
My mind sparked, flashing with everything that had happened since Marcus and his brother crashed into my life. People were dead. Charlotte had almost died, so close to the brink that it had taken a miracle to save her. Tiff still could die; I didn’t know how badly she was injured. The image of her ruined eye sparked in my mind lighting a forest fire of rage. Inside my head became a theater of pictures. Boothe’s charred body, possibly too damaged for his lycanthropy to overcome. Larson unconscious. Kat dangling from Leonidas’s hand. George sobbing over Lucy’s body. Sophia was still a hostage. She could still die. So could her babies and Boothe. Blood had been shed by Leonidas and because of Marcus.
I remembered what Sophia had told us at the table just earlier that day.
I remembered what I had told him when he wanted to follow after his brother.
My calf throbbed in my boot, fire cutting deep in the muscle.
I twisted my forearm and jerked it against the weakest part of his grip. My arm came free. Raising the Colt, I fired my last two bullets into Marcus’s face. Silver jacketed death exploded into his head from inches away. Gore blew back, spitting across my face and chest. The slide locked back on a clip as empty as his skull.
I slid the pistol back in its holster under my arm as the body slumped sideways and fell to the ground with a thud.
Wiping the blowback from my face with a grimy hand, I watched as Leonidas got to his feet. He stared at his brother’s corpse. His arm was a mess of blasted muscle and tendon, the bone jutting out sharp and jagged.
My nerves were like his arm—open, frayed, and ragged. Even from across the dirt room I could feel his lycanthropy working to heal that mess. Blood had already stopped dripping from it. He looked up at me.
“That was some cold-blooded shit.”
I didn’t say anything.
“If I didn’t have to kill you I would recruit you for my unit. You would make one hell of a shape-shifter.” He took a step forward. “I bet the lab boys would use you to make another fucking Godzilla. They’re already going to have a blast with my brother’s crossbred bastards.”
“No thanks, I’m immune and I would make a shitty soldier.” We were both buying time, recuperating. Pulling our shit together in a race to see who would be first. I began to circle to my right. He matched me, moving to stay even. “What branch of military do you work for?”
“None of them. All of them. Contract work, going where the money is. Going wherever they let us do what we were made for.”
I stopped moving. “What were you made for?”
“Killing.”
With a roar, he sprang, claws out for blood.
38
My hand whipped up, closing on the handle of the katana. A lightning strike of homicidal rage cracked through me. The demon in the sword screamed through me, dark voice calling for blood. I was ready for it this time, riding the connection, letting it wash through me. Savage bloodthirst roiled down, crashing into the deep well of rage I always carry. It boiled over, filling me with murderous strength. I drew sword from scabbard, ringing steel slicing through the Were-lion’s roar.
Time compressed. Stretching, distilling into a thick syrup as I watched Leonidas come at me. The cursed blade swept back in my hand, taking forever to reach its apex. A sharp pull and it begin to swing forward again, driven by the muscles in my arm. All the while Leonidas inched his way toward me, hanging in the air. Silence rang in my ears as I felt every contraction of my arm, every synapse firing in my spine to drive the edge of that blade toward my enemy.
Toward a feast of hot lycanthrope blood.
The sword bit into the Were-lion, slicing deep across his furred chest. Blood sizzled along the blade’s edge, absorbing as quickly as it could be shed.
Time snapped back into place like the crack of a whip.
The lion-man moved past me in a plume of blood. My foot dug in, turning, leading with my hip, cutting back with the sword. He ducked, twisting under the blade as it sliced air with a flash. He came up close, snarling carrion breath in my face, claws tearing into my side. Burning pain flared as I shoved myself away.
Blood runneled down my ribcage in four slashes. My mind flashed to Tiff’s eye, the four lines razored into her face. The sword called, thirsting for more blood, urging me to kill. My hand tingled around the handle, cramping to lock on with a death grip. I answered from a primitive place. A place of tooth and claw. Kill or be killed. A place of tearing flesh and blood for blood. I didn’t fight the homicidal compulsion of the sword. I embraced it, bloodthirst washing away the pain of my injuries. Twisting, I turned to face my enemy.
Leonidas had torn off his shirt and was looking at the gash on his chest. It yawned open like an obscene grin, flesh pink under fur-covered skin. His right arm was still a mess but was less mangled. The bones pulled back in. Healing. He was growling to himself, a deep thrum that filled the room. Yellow eyes flashed up to me, his own murderous intentions banked deep inside.
Velvet lycanthropy washed over me. Scorching hot like the sun-blasted savannah, slamming into me so hard it drove me back a step. Piss rank musk filled my nose, choking me. Leonidas crackled as his skin swelled to hold more mass. Shifting, his body became heavier, thicker, as his beast tore out of him. He stepped out of the ruin of his clothes and shook off the last of his humanity.
Leonidas was a lion the size of a luxury sedan.
He stood titanic and enormous. Majestic. Lord of the jungle. His fur was dark liquid honey over a mountain of muscle. Four-inch talons flexed from paws the size of hubcaps. Teeth made for tearing carcasses apart gleamed in the glaring light of the naked bulbs around us. I watched his chest flex and expand, drawing in air. He unleashed a roar that tore my hearing away, so loud I felt it vibrating my bones instead of hearing it with my ears. That great mouth yawned open, full of death. Cold, predator eyes closed as it thundered out of him.
I struck, slashing the katana down across his lion face.
The edge bit into that heavy skull, skin splitting as I yanked on the handle to drag the blade down across his eye. It burst, adding a clear, gelatinous liquid to the gush of blood soaking his fur. The roar turned into a scream, high pitched and human sounding, but loud, so fucking loud it was like shoving icepicks into my eardrums. A giant paw flashed up, smashing into me and driving me into the rock-hard clay wall.
I bounced off the wall, sword still locked in my grip. It screamed in my mind for more blood, pushing me to get to my feet. I came up. Leonidas was shaking blood out of his ruined eye. A surge of dark thrill ran through me as I watched, thinking about what he had done to Tiff.
Serves you right, you son of a bitch.
Pushing off with my foot, I jumped, swinging the sword in a deadly arc. The black blade flashed in the incandescent light. Leonidas twisted away and leaped at me. His chest rammed into me, smashing me against the hard-packed clay floor. The air raced from my lungs and my rib shot pain across my body, drawing my left arm up in a rictus. The muscles locked and twisted in on themselves. I was being crushed by his weight. I couldn’t draw a breath.
My vision began to squeeze down into a tunnel, the lights growing dim. The sword was still mine, but it was trapped uselessly against the floor with my arm. Those massive jaws snapped the air above my head, trying to reach me. One giant paw slammed the ground by my head as he lifted up so he could get at me with his teeth. Bloody clumps of mane slapped across my face as the pressure let up. I sucked air into my lungs, clearing my vision. Kicking and scrambling, I got out from under the lion.
I wish I had a fucking gun.
The cursed blade screamed at me to give it more blood. Leonidas was back on his feet, turning slowly, looking for me.
I was on his blind side.
Pulling from deep inside, fueling my movement with every ounce of rage I held and lacing it with the murder locked in the katana, I slashed the sword down. The edge cleaved across the back of his neck.
The demon’s scream climbed into a keening that filled my mind. The blade poured strength into my arms as it drank deep. Bloodthirst exploded in a crescendo as the sword sheared through muscle and tendon to the spine. It bit into bone, locking there. The monstrous lion stumbled to its knees dragging the sword from my hand. That shaggy head lolled forward, kissing the red clay floor. His life drank down by the katana.
The connection to the sword was torn from me. The cursed power ripping out by the roots from somewhere deep inside and dragging up through me like a hook through the guts of a fish. My legs went out from under me and I crashed to my hands and knees, the world swirling in a lazy circle.
My lungs constricted as my busted rib twisted pain across the inside of my torso. The burn on my calf flared with hot agony in a vicious slap. All my injuries returned with a vengeance. My stomach dumped its contents on the clay floor in one great heave, sick splashing into the ever-widening puddle of blood around Leonidas’s shrinking form. Acid burned along my throat. Exhaustion pressed on me, crushing my bones. I almost lay down in my own vomit.
I could lie there until someone found me or I moved on to be with my family.
I was empty.
Spent.
A cry for help echoed out of a tunnel. Sophia’s cry for help.
Reaching down, I found the strength to slowly get to my feet.
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