Deadly Desire (36 page)

“My daughter was
human,”
she spat. “And she
died
human.”

Even though I'd suspected that outcome, her words still made me sick. How could any mother, no matter how desperate, ever kill her own child? There were always other options.
Always.
You just had to reach out and talk to someone.

Though I guess that someone whose grip on sanity had to be fractional at best, having her daughter turn into one of the “monsters” must have seemed the ultimate betrayal.

“So you killed your own flesh and blood?” I continued to yank at my wrist, the rough metal edges digging deeper and deeper into my flesh. It hurt like hell but I
didn't care, because whatever this madwoman was planning to do with the goop in the bowl and that fucking long knife would surely hurt me more.

“I didn't kill her,” she refuted, stalking back over to the shelving unit. “I saved her. Or rather, I saved her soul.”

“How did you stop her from rising?” I gave a final pull on my wrist and it finally slipped free. The chains rattled like an alarm, and I grabbed wildly at the cuff to stop it from slipping to the floor.

With one wrist free, I could at least defend myself. But actually getting off this table and away from Hanna remained a problem. The numbness from the silver bullet still lodged in my shoulder prevented me from moving my other arm, and tugging on my ankle chains would not only create a whole lot more noise, it would be more visible.

“I bound her to the grave,” Hanna said. “It cost me a lot, that binding, but at least I can sleep knowing my daughter is safe.”

She selected a canister from the shelving unit and walked back over to the table. She raised the knife, sliced her scarred palm, and let the wound bleed into the smaller bowl. The sweet forest scent changed, suddenly becoming something deeper and darker, and yet still not totally unpleasant.

“Did you stake her?” I asked. “Chop off her head?”

She gave me a shocked sort of look. “Of course not! What do you think I am? A monster, like them?”

“Oh, I think you're something far, far worse, lady.”

The words were out before I could stop them, but
she merely laughed. It wasn't a sane sound, but that was no surprise.

“Because of the way I kill them? Believe me, I'm only doing to them what they did to my husband, to Jessica, and to my daughter.”

“I don't care how you kill the vampires.” Which was a lie, because no person, whether human or nonhuman, deserved to die the way those vampires had died—even if they
had
been the most brutal vampires ever to walk this earth. Which none of these had been.

Of course, I don't deny sometimes wishing a more brutal death on some of the bastards we hunted, but wishing and doing were two extremes that were never going to meet. And the guardian who
did
sink to the “eye for an eye” mode of thinking soon found himself out the door and on the most-wanted list.

“Then why do you think me a monster?” She picked up the canister and added several pinches of white powder to her mix. There was a flash, like a small explosion, and suddenly the dark, foresty scent was gone. In its place was a fouler, stronger scent that reminded me of the muck the zombie had thrown at me.

But why would she try and freeze me again if she already knew it didn't work? Or was this stuff stronger than the last mix?

God, I hoped not. I might only be half free, but at least I could defend myself if worse came to worst. If that stuff actually worked, I'd be in real trouble.

Like I wasn't already.

“You're a monster because of what you did to your
daughter. Because you
didn't
kill her but instead
bound
her.”

She frowned at me. “She was dead already. I bound her before the change, so what is the problem?”

She didn't get it. She really didn't. What a stupid,
stupid
bitch. “Binding a body doesn't stop said body from taking the change and rising as one of the un-dead. It just stops them moving out of the grave or communicating with their maker for help. What you've done is ensure your daughter a living hell of
un
life in a coffin, with no hope of escape.” I shook my head in contempt. “How could you not know that?”

And I guess it was yet another mess the Directorate would have to clean up. Although whether the daughter would actually be sane enough to rescue after years of being locked underground was another matter entirely—and not one that I'd have to decide. Thank fully.

There was a shocked silence, followed by a vehement, “No!”

“Yes,”
I spat back. “You would have been better off to stake her from the start.”

She stared at me for several long minutes, then shook her head. “I don't believe you.”

“Then go to her grave, Hanna. See for yourself.”

“I have no need to, wolf.” Her voice was flat. She refused to believe she could be wrong, that she could have doomed her daughter to a fate far worse than vampirism. “I know you're only lying to try and save yourself.”

I didn't know how lying about her daughter's fate
would actually do anything to save myself, but she obviously wasn't thinking clearly, so there was no point in saying anything else.

She walked over to the shelving and picked up a more ornate knife and another larger container, then walked back to the table. She exchanged the knife for the smaller bowl then walked across to where I lay. Luckily for me, she chose the right side rather than the left, and didn't notice I had one hand free.

Not that it would do me any good at the moment, because she simply wasn't close enough.

She placed the larger bowl on the floor, shifting it several times until she was satisfied, then rose and looked at me. “Don't you wonder how I'm about to kill you?”

I snorted softly. “Lady, dead is dead, no matter which way it comes at you.”

Besides, she'd already told me she was going to bleed me. It said a lot about her state of mind that she couldn't actually remember that.

“That, I'm sorry to say, is very true.”

She didn't look sorry. She looked positively ecstatic. She raised the smaller bowl and scooped her fingers inside, gathering a handful of the powder before throwing it down the length of my body. It took every ounce of control I had not to react, not to show my hand just yet. Truth was, she still wasn't close enough. I just had to hope the dust didn't do its stuff as well as it was supposed to.

The thick cloud settled around me, clogging my eyes and making my nose twitch. And it smelled even
fouler than before. My body began tingling even as my muscles seemed to relax and feel oddly weak. Like before, only worse. I twitched my fingers, wriggled my toes. Response was slow, but it was there, at least for the moment. I had to hope it remained that way.

She grabbed another handful and threw it over me again. The tingling increased, and deep down, the wolf bared her teeth and roared to life. Her strength infused me, battling the sleepiness creeping over my body, keeping it at bay if not away altogether.

“If you have any questions, you'd better ask them quickly. It's a much stronger formula this time.” Her voice was conversational—like we were best friends rather than mad sorceress and intended victim. “You taught me that this powder doesn't work as well on humans and other nonhumans as it does on vampires, so I guess it's better to be safe than sorry.”

I could only hope she was wrong about the strength of the formula. But I asked my questions quickly, just in case she wasn't. “Did Jessica tell you she sent one of her creatures after the street kid?”

“She was in the room when that blackmailing little bastard rang. Personally, I would rather have taken care of him myself.”

I bet. “Then the business cards you gave the teenagers
were
infused with some form of tracking magic?”

“Of course. How else would I have known exactly where to transport myself?”

She gave me a serene sort of smile, then turned away and walked back to the table. I twitched my extremities
again, and was relieved to discover that everything that should wriggle did. The mix might be stronger, it might make the tingling fiercer, but it still wasn't completely freezing me. Which made me wonder if the mix was wrong, or whether the fact that I was a half-breed was fouling the reaction.

She returned carrying the knife. I didn't move, just watched her. To have any sort of chance against the woman, I needed her to get closer. Needed to grab that knife and use it against
her
flesh rather than mine.

She grabbed my right arm and pulled it away from my body. The arm was numb, so it flopped around like so much dead flesh, and she made a satisfied sound in the back of her throat. I held my tongue and didn't say anything, hopefully giving her the impression the powder had done its work and stolen the power of speech.

With my arm positioned on its side and presumably over the bowl, she clasped the ornate silver knife with both hands and raised it above her head.

Fear slithered through me. The mad bitch was going to cut off my arm. Why else would she need that much leverage to cut flesh? A quick slice along the forearm from the wrist was all it took to get a decent bleed—and yeah, werewolves were tough, but we still had skin like a regular human, not a rhinoceros.

She began to murmur, the words incomprehensible. Maybe it was sorcerer talk, maybe it was a prayer in some old language. I didn't really care, because my attention was on the gleaming knife being held above my body. I'd get only one chance at stopping that knife. Once she realized I was partially free, she'd no doubt
either knock me out or kill me, and I wasn't overly thrilled with either option.

She continued to murmur and tension wound through me, tightening my muscles and making my stomach ache. The pain in my shoulder seemed to have retreated, but not the numbness. It was now creeping outward, reaching toward my neck. If I didn't remove the bullet soon, I'd be in real trouble.

The words stopped. For a moment that knife didn't move, just stayed high above me, glittering brightly in the semilight of the room.

Then it came down.

Fast.

I barely caught it. Whether it was the dust she'd sprinkled over me or the weakness washing through my body thanks to the silver, the fact was, the blade was inches from my flesh when I stopped it.

And I didn't stop it by the hilt, but by the blade itself, and the metal sliced into my flesh as easily as butter. Blood seeped past my clenched fingers and began to run into the bowl under my right hand. I didn't care. I ripped the weapon from her fingers, flipped the blade, and stabbed her.

But again I was too slow. She moved at the last moment, and the blow meant to pierce her heart got her in the side instead. A nasty wound, but not a deadly one.

She grunted and staggered backward, once again out of my reach. She slapped one hand against the wound, but it didn't stop the bleeding

“For that,” she hissed, “you will die horribly.”

She raised her free hand and blue sparks began to
dance across her fingertips. I drew back the knife, taking aim, knowing it was a risk to lose my one weapon but having little choice.

But before I could release the blade, something hit the door—hard—and the whole frame shuddered. Hanna spun as the door took another blow, and this time the wood splintered. She lunged for the table, her fingers grasping for the second knife as another blow hit the door, and this time it gave way.

Revealing the man I'd thought dead.

Kye.

He didn't even come into the room, just raised his gun and fired in one smooth motion. The bullet hit Hanna in the forehead and went straight through, splattering the back of her head against the wall behind her.

As her body slumped to the floor, I closed my eyes and sighed in relief. I'd been saved. Maybe not in the manner I'd expected—or by whom I'd expected—but life was life and I wasn't about to grumble.

“Any other problems I should know about?” he said, still standing, gun at the ready, in the doorway.

“Not that I know of. But you're the one sensitive to magic. For all I know, this room could have zombies hidden in the walls as well.”

“I can't feel
that
sort of dark magic, and there's no pentagram on the floor.” He lowered the weapon and his gaze met mine. “You look like shit.”

I laughed softly and dropped the knife onto the metal tabletop. The clang rang out like a bell as I squeezed my hand shut, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Says the man who's covered in blood and missing a chunk of hair and flesh from the side of his head.”

He holstered the weapon and walked toward me. Despite the scent of blood and sweat that lingered on him—or maybe even because of them—he smelled good.

“Silver cuffs?” he said, eyeing the chains intently.

“And a silver bullet in my shoulder. You need to get that out first.”

He looked at me, his expression all cool efficiency. “There's only one easy way to do that, I'm afraid.”

“There's no easy way to do it, and we both know it.”

He gave me a cold smile. “And once again, you're wrong.”

“Oh, will you just cut the crap and get on with it?”

“As you wish,” he said, as he raised a fist and hit me hard. I was out before I could even swear at the bastard.

hen I finally came to, I was in wolf form, which meant the bullet and the cuffs were both gone. The hard metal surface of the tabletop had been replaced by an even harder, colder tiled floor. My fur might have protected me from the chill of it a little better than my human skin, but the ache in my bones suggested I had been lying there for a while.