Crowned by Fire (13 page)

“
Go on,” he said. “Attack me, if you dare. Pit your stake against my silver.”

Catherine had two options: she could fight, or she could run. And she knew without a doubt that if she ran, the vampire would catch her and kill her instantly.

So Catherine lunged. She lunged, and she brought down her hand in a swift, downward arc. The sound of the stake plunging into his cold, hard flesh reached her ears as the wood splintered on impact. She—had missed. She had missed his heart.

“
Shit.” Her stomach heaved from panic.
“Shit.”

Alec grabbed her wrist and bit down—hard. There was a clatter. It was the stake hitting the floor. She hissed through her teeth, even as tears stabbed at her eyes.

“I love the taste of adrenaline in the blood,” he said. “It's such a
rush
.”

“
You're an abomination.”

“
Some would say the same thing about you, babe. Besides—” every animal inside her cried out when she felt his breath against her neck “—you'd be amazed how easy it is.”

“
How easy what is?”

“
Breaking the Fourth.” His mouth pressed lightly against her neck and she strained in his grip, resisting. “If you tense up like that,” he said against her skin, “it will only hurt more.”

“
You said it would be painless.”

Alec laughed. “I lied.”

Which made her struggle harder, but it was like fighting against a concrete wall. His arms were crushing her; she could not breathe; she could not resist. Prey took over her consciousness and made her go limp and submissive. Pain lit up and down her throat like a fuse, exploding in agony, only to be chased away by the drug-infused void.

“
There was some tearing,” he murmured. “You shouldn't have struggled.”

The blackness was settling in. She grasped at her throat, and her groping fingers closed around a delicate chain, soaked with blood. Her fingers were so wet with it they came back red. The creature had ripped open her neck and put the silver necklace on her.

She wouldn't heal.

He's going to kill me.

She could feel her life ebbing away, the animals in side of her swallowed up by the shadows. “I'll just be taking that book of yours,” he added.

He was picking up her messenger bag.
No
, she thought weakly.
No!

The air in front of the vampire shimmered, before growing hot. Much too hot. Suddenly, a small, but raging inferno erupted, and the vampire was pushed back by the flames.

Catherine hit the floor, kicking backwards with her feet to put more distance between herself and the fire. She grabbed her bag and strapped it over her body, looking around to see what had caused the blast, although she regretted it when she felt the wound throb in warning, and more blood oozed down her throat.

The witch was standing slightly behind her, upside-down from her current perspective. He was breathing quickly, burning so brightly with magic that it almost hurt to look at him. Blood dripped from his side, splashing on the floor in glittering droplets.

“That is Council property,” he said, straining with the effort. “Stand aside.”

Alec studied him through the wavering shield. “Don't you know how rude it is to interrupt someone
when they're having dinner?”

Then she heard Graymalkin say, very quietly in her ear, “Shifter…grab the chair leg. And the fire extinguisher. To your left.”

Catherine turned her head—which felt as heavy as a slab of granite—and saw one bolted against the wall. Across the plaza. So near, yet so far.

“
Yes,” Graymalkin said, following Catherine's gaze. “That one.”

“
I can't. The vampire took too much blood.” She clapped her hand against the wound, and blood oozed through her fingers. “I can…barely move.”

Pain jagged through her arm, slicing through the fog like a diamond-edged blade. Catherine made a sort of backwards-sounding scream and stared down at her arm, at the four trails oozing blood. Graymalkin glared at her, claws extended and ready for another swipe. “Now. Or you'll both die.”

Slowly, so as not to attract the vampire's attention, Catherine scooted in that direction. It took effort—she felt woozy and with every move her vision blurred and tilted.

Her fingers closed around the stake.
One down
, she thought blearily.
One to go
.

“—
think I might take her with me,” Alec was saying. “Something for the road.”

The witch growled. “She's mine.”

“Is she?” Alec said. “And what does your father think about that?”

The witch said nothing. Catherine could hear the sound of blood falling in the silence.
Plink
.

“
I was a water-caster myself.”

“
Once. I remember,” the witch said coldly, “but not anymore.”

Plink-plink.

“No,” Alec agreed. “Not anymore.”

Almost there.

“There aren't many truly powerful fire-casters anymore. The only son of the royal family, I believe, is one of the few remaining masters. I was lucky enough to see one of his performances in my past life.” His crimson eyes bored into the witch. “One vial of his blood would fetch an unimaginably high price, wouldn't it…Prince Riordan?”

So it
was
true, then.

His father was Royce Riordan. The same Royce Riordan who currently presided over the Council in its entirety; who had mastered all four elements; Who had almost single-handedly supervised the
construction of the Keep. Who had executed countless members of her kind for treason.

“
Your highness.” The vampire bent from the waist, dropping into a bow. Then, in a voice laced with amusement, “I always did wonder if the rumors were true.”

Some unspoken conversation seemed to pass between them. The witch's eyes grew colder, icier, until Catherine could feel the chill radiating from his pale skin.

“You look just like your mother,” Alec added.

Plink.

How very original.

She dragged herself to her feet, swaying dangerously. Her vision tunneled. She was going to faint. Or die. Same end result, either way. If she passed out, the vampire would finish her off. “Shifter!” Graymalkin cried out. “Don't fall!”

The witch whirled around to look at her, making the most fatal but elemental mistake of battle. Catherine saw what was going to happen, even before it did.
Fool.

“
Behind you!” someone screamed. It could have been her, or Graymalkin. Or maybe it was both of them, at the same time. Everything was swimming, even the air. Reality no longer held any sort of cohesion.

Alec pounced through the murk, knocking the witch to the ground. He clapped a hand over the witch's mouth, cutting him off mid-curse. “I don't think so,” he said pleasantly, as if they were having a debate instead of a fight. He flicked out an iron dagger—the only kind of blade that could spill a witch's blood without absorbing some of the magic. “Time to bleed.”

The witch kicked and struggled but it was useless. Without his magic, he was as weak as a human. Weaker, even. He was gravely injured. The vampire would have no difficult bleeding him. And this time, Catherine suspected it wasn't going to be his wrist—this time, it'd be his throat.

Catherine tugged on the fire extinguisher. It didn't budge, and left her even weaker, to the point where she had to hold on to the case to keep upright. She took a determined step forward and slipped on something wet on the floor. “Oh gods,” she gasped. The plinking sound wasn't him—it was her. She was literally skating on her own blood.

She braced herself for the pain and gave a savage tug on the extinguisher that nearly bowled her over. But it had worked—she had the red canister in her arms. The warning label met her eye. “Contents under pressure.”

The stake—that was why Graymalkin wanted her to get the stake. She wanted her to jam the stake into it, to use it as a missile. It was brilliant.

But will it work?

“
The necklace, shifter.”

Wincing, Catherine reached up and unclasped it with her good hand. Almost immediately, she felt her body whir with activity, like a factory restarting. Her strength returned, and the bleeding wounds on her neck and wrist finally started to heal. But she had already lost so much blood….

“You only have one shot at this.” Graymalkin's voice floated through her ears. “Don't miss.” Then she threw herself at the vampire's arm, more of a nuisance than a real threat. Alec flung her aside, dropping the iron dagger he'd been about to use. She immediately released him, picking up the dagger in her jaws, and raced away with it.

Alec cursed. Saw her shadow. Looked up.

“A fire extinguisher?” he laughed. “Whose side are you on, babe?”

“
Not yours,” she said—and then she pulled the trigger.

The stake shot out, along with the white froth of carbon dioxide. Alec screamed, clutching at his chest, the stake sticking through his fingers. His ruby eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Catherine by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Her feet kicked at the air. She gasped, choking.

Shift
, the animals screamed.
Shiftshiftshift
.

But she couldn't. Something would happen. Something bad.

Worse than death? It's your only chance. Fly.

So she began to shift to hawk, but Alec must have had some other kind of silver charm because her feathers were sucked back into her body almost as quickly as they had begun to form.

His fingers tightened. “You're not limited to one form? Impossible. You should have settled by now. How could you—” and then understanding dawned in his eyes. “Beast of shadows,” he whispered.

She clawed at his hand, and he shook her.

“I've changed my mind,” he said. “You die, too.”

And then Alec's head and face becoming a glowing wreath of flame. It swept quickly through his body, and surely he should have died, but somehow he kept screaming. Catherine thought the image of the burning vampire would haunt her until she died,
which didn't seem very far away, suddenly.

Darkness consumed her, then, and she saw nothing more.

She was so still.

As still as death.

Finn constructed a glamor around them, and called for a taxi. He didn't lower the barrier until they were inside the lobby of the hotel. This particular establishment was owned and run by the Council. They knew him well here, and he was received with the reverence that was his due.

“Your Highness,” the scraping concierge said. “What are you doing with that vermin?”

“
This is a shape-shifter,” he said coldly. “Never seen one before? Then take a long, hard look. And when you are quite finished, find me a room before the next Great War.”

The concierge nearly fell over himself in his haste to leave. Finn looked after him with disgust. Not even a low-level witch: he had been greeted by a human. Humans were terrible gossips. Of course, the concierge would be asking himself whether the rumors were true—like Alec, he thought grimly—and word would get out that he had—

No. Word wouldn't get out. He would make sure of it.

“
Give me the key.”

The concierge had returned. With a trembling hand, he gave it to Finn.

“You will tell no one what you have seen here,” Finn told him in a low voice, injecting a bit of a compulsion glamor into it. His lips parted into a savage smile. “The Fourth Rule may prevent me from hunting down these creatures—” he lifted Catherine—“but it will not protect you.”

The concierge paled.

“Do you understand?” Finn asked, lazily.

“
Y-yes, Your Highness,” said the concierge. “I will inform the staff.”

“
I don't want to see you in my sights again,” Finn said. “Nor any other human.”

“
No, you won't. Your Highness,” he added quickly. “We'll be invisible.”

“
Get out.”

He went.

Finn took the elevator up to the top floor and found the room that matched the key. He had been given one of the suites, apparently, if the needless opulence was any indication. It was wasted effort; he had grown up in the midst of far greater splendor, and its value was wasted on him.

He went straight to the bed and set the shifter down with care that betrayed his mask of indifference. He cut open her dress and began dressing her wounds with a careful detachment that bordered on clinical. Graymalkin watched him from the floor. “Is she going to be all right?”

Finn traced the gash the vampire had torn into her throat, letting his fingers fall to the red marks the silver necklace had seared into her skin. Her body was starting to heal, but very slowly. She was breathing, but very shallowly, and beneath her dark complexion was the pallor of shock.