Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (38 page)

*    *    *

I opened my eyes in the spare bedroom in Joshua house.  Vivian was shaking me.  Osamu stood by a window, talking on his phone, probably to Old Man back in L.A.  Joshua jutted like a mountain at the foot of the bed, his face carved into an image of concern.  Vivian’s hands gripped me tight, one on my hip, the other on my chest.

I said, “That hurts, you know?”

She stopped, staring down at me with glistening eyes.  My right arm hurt a lot and so did my shoulders.  Matter of fact, everything hurt.  I had knife cuts bleeding all over me.  Bruises were forming.  I tried to sit up a little and look myself over.  The room swam.  A severe pain exploded inside my skull.  What had happened to me in my dream had come out of the dream.  I was mangled badly and losing blood everywhere.

“He’s awake.  He’s awake,” Osamu shouted into the phone.

I managed to get my left hand around the red pearl chained around my throat.  I poured my desperate need into the pearl. 

It warmed in response.  A red mist wrapped my hand and flowed down my body.  Strength came—the Red Lady’s gift.  I poured it into
my healing tattoos.  I used them sparingly because they required so much power, leaving me as weak as my Vampire Speed tattoo usually did.  Fortunately, this time, the Red Lady was making the payment for the magic I needed.  That had its down side too.  She’d expect me to be nice to her now, spend time with her in her crimson dimension.  The problem with that is that once I went there, there’d be no guarantee she’d ever let me out.

The sound of bones springing back into place made Vivian’s hands jerked off me.  It would take a few minutes for me to finish healing, but the job was underway.  Muscles burned, melding various rips and tears.  My knife wounds visibly closed.  I closed my eyes and let the red mist do its thing.  I felt like I still needed about twenty hours of sleep.

Do I dare ever sleep again?

And of course, people wanted to talk to me.  “What the hell happened to you” Joshua asked.

“Ran into a door,” I said.  “Hey, I’m going to be ravenously hungry soon.  Somebody want to fix me something?  New sheets would be good too.  These are covered in blood.”

Vivian shouted at me, “I want to know what stupid thing you did without us, and I want to know now!”

“Frozen pizza all right?” Josh asked.

I pried my eyes open to stare at him.  “I’d rather have it cooked.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

“When out of lube, there’s always blood.”

                                
             —
Caine Deathwalker.

Osamu helped me to a recliner while the bedding was stripped and fresh sheets were put on.  I ate the pizza when it came, and demanded several more.  Josh moved the bed and took colored duct tape and—under my supervision—roughed out an Atlantean-style summoning circle on the hard wood floor.  Old Man sent us a phone picture of the necessary symbols for the interior pattern of a seven-pointed star inside the larger circle.  I sent pictures back of what we’d done. 

Old Man studied the images and responded with a text:
adequate.  If you’d studied your dead languages properly, I wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder this way.

While Josh put the bed back, I sent Old Man a picture of me flipping him the bird, and hung up.  I returned to the bed to finish off a small bottle of Scotch Osamu slipped me.  With any luck, the protective charm would keep the power of the dream stone from finding me while I got some badly needed rest.  Due to the severe damage I’d taken, bouncing back fully would need hours more. 

“Josh, while I’m out of things, the dhampyr might decide to attack.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ve got backup on the way.  I’ve also called in all the toms and tabbies in our small clan.  We’ll be ready for trouble.”

Easier said than done.

Leaving, Josh opened the door to the hall and stepped out.  Kat was there, an Indian dreamcatcher in her hand.  She used a thumbtack to hang it on the outside of the door.  Seeing me watching, she shrugged.  “Can’t hurt.”  She closed the door. 

I closed my eyes, trying to settle my whirling thoughts. So I could go back to sleep. 

I needed to go after Mason.  If I could trust any part of my dream, he had the dream stone and had just used it to try and kill me.  The longer I waited, the more prepared he’d be for me.  Even now, he’d be telling the dhampyr I was behind all the recent killings in town, that I was the one trying to take over the city, and that I had a good shot at succeeding with the liger on my side.  Still, worse than going in late was going in weak and unprepared.

I drowsed in and out of consciousness.  At one point, I realized that I was much warmer than before, but it was okay.  An oscillating fan had been brought in to ease the heat of day.  I looked at the clock on the night stand.  3:00 PM.  I needed at least two more hours.

The door opened and closed.  I didn’t bother to see who it was.  My heightened sense of smell picked up the lovely scent of freshly bathed female flesh, dhampyr.  Vivian.  She slid onto the bed and snuggled up behind me.  Her arm came over my hip.  Her hand slid up my chest and stopped over my slowly beating heart, as if seeking reassurance.  Her forehead pressed into my bare back.  Her breath stirred the fine hairs along my spine.

“Caine?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“If you ever die on me, I’m going to very pissed.”

“Understandable,” I murmured.

“Very pissed.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’ll probably piss on your grave.”

“Don’t get caught,” I said.  “They put you in jail for that.  Trust me, I know.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Fluttering in and out of consciousness, I began to ask myself if I had the energy to roll over and take what was so available.  It was a testament to my tiredness that I fell into a deep sleep with the question unresolved.

The roar brought me awake with a surge of adrenaline hitting my system.  I was surprised the windows didn’t explode inward, that hurricane force winds didn’t rip open the building.  The sound embodied rage, a promise of death coming swiftly.  My brain registered all this as I burst off the bed, searching for my clothes—especially by shoulder rig with the PPKs.

It belatedly registered that Vivian was gone.  I was alone.

Never shaped by a human throat, the scream came again, bestial, hungry.  We had a bigger problem than attacking dhampyr.  I knew that roar.  The Spirit Bear had tracked me down.  I heard the sound of wood splintering, bursting apart. 

That’s the living room door getting bitch-smacked out of the way.

A second roar, louder, exploded through the house, a different timbre from the first one. 

And that’ll be Josh going all liger.

I spotted fresh clothes laid out on the recliner.  My harness and guns were there as well.  I crossed over and dressed hurriedly in tan slacks, a black tee, boots, and finished by arming myself.  I checked the loads in the clips.  One was filled with explosive rounds.  The other gun had a wolf-n-bat clip: laser-carved Brazilian Rosewood bullets that had been soaked in holy water, blessed by a priest, and had little silver crosses on the tips.  No werewolf or vamp was going to easily heal a wound made by these, but the rounds were totally useless for a Spirit Bear.

I pocketed that clip, found my bag by the chair, and rummaged for a couple more explosive clips.  There was only one more of those, and a few clips with iron-cored slugs for fey.  I took them all, making a mental note to restock ASAP.

With the second gun loaded like the first, I ran to the door and flung it open.  The sounds of battle rose from below: Kat squalling in fury as her inner cat came out, breakables breaking, heavy furniture screeching across the floor, thumping into walls, snarls galore.  I ran down the a short hall to the upper landing of the stairs.  In a hurry, I slid down the rail, bailing just before the end where an ornate knob—a wooden acorn actually—topped the end post.  I landed beside a book case that had fallen on its side, with both my guns in hand, muzzles locked on the liger and the green, flaming bear, as I waited for a clean shot.

The werekitties were down, looking bad.  I didn’t want them to die.  They were destined for my harem.  The unknown toms, male cat shape-shifters, laying here and there didn’t mean much to me at all.

The liger was smaller and should have been overwhelmed, but he’d gone all jungle cat, losing his humanity in a complete transformation, none of this halfway stuff.  He was fighting for his home, his pregnant wife.  A flying piece of debris had already clipped her head, starting it bleeding.  Her pointy cat ears and tail were out, but she otherwise retained human form.  I wondered why.  She was more vulnerable this way.

The baby.  Now that she knows she’s pregnant, she won’t do a major shift.  It might cost her the child.  No wonder Josh has gone ape-shit.