Labyrinth of Stars (A Hunter Kiss Novel) (31 page)

I heard nothing but my heartbeat in that roaring silence—and my heart pounded and my blood roared, and I sensed a great weight bear down upon my soul, as though I were the door holding back a heavy storm that railed against me, howling in my ear.

“Wolf,” whispered the monster again. “How I’ve waited for you. I have such pleasures planned. A just gift for the one you gave me.”

Jack didn’t seem to be listening. He looked across the distance at me, holding my gaze, pouring into it grief and love.

“My dear girl,” he whispered. “Follow me.”

And on those words, he raised the crystal skull, and light poured from it, cutting through the other Aetar. I heard no cries of pain, but I imagined a cutting sound, like a saw. Light, slicing through the shell.

I tried to stand and almost blacked out.

Grant began dragging himself toward Jack, half on his hands and knees, pulling his bad leg behind him. I tried again to stand, half shut my eyes against the blinding pain, and breathed through my mouth. I stumbled toward my grandfather.

A tentacle batted at my grandfather, sending him flying. The crystal skull tumbled from his grip. The creature struck at it.

Raw reached the skull first, wrapping his body around it and rolling. The beast hit him, so hard his little body cracked the earth. I heard him cry out.

I started running. I forgot my wounds. I didn’t feel them. All I could see was Raw and his body—so small, like a child.

My child. My boys.

The fire towered and smashed toward Raw, fighting for the skull. Zee and the others dove through flames, protecting their brother. I was right behind them. I forgot that my right arm was gone, but it didn’t matter. Shadows gathered where it had been; a darkening pulse throbbed through my absent limb: a ghost.

Black light flickered in my eyes. The wyrm uncoiled in my chest, but when it began to rise through my throat, I stopped it.

Not like that,
I said, and wrapped my heart around the presence, opened my heart, opened it so wide that I swallowed the darkness into my soul. Accepting it, taking it, possessing it in every way it had tried to possess me over the long years. I overwhelmed it with my embrace, and the darkness yielded.

I am yours,
part of me whispered.
You are mine.

We have waited so long,
it replied, softly.
Only light can hold the darkness. And we have been hungry for a home.

My heart was big enough. My heart, with room for demons and daughters, and old men who were crafty and silly—and even younger men who loved me—and my mother, and my father, and all who were yet to come. My heart was big enough for them all.

And ready to kill for them as well.

We will devastate stars for what is ours,
said the darkness.

Yes,
I replied.
But let’s start with fire.

I walked into the blaze and swallowed the heat into my skin. It was as natural as breathing. I dissolved the architecture of the flame, and this time, the Aetar could not escape.

Not until the last moment, when all that was left was a frail wisp of flesh, barely recognizable as human—the core of the flame, where the monster had stored its soul.

“Grant,” I said. “He’s weak now. Take what you need. Pull the cure from his mind.”

And my husband cleared his throat and did just that.

Afterward, I killed the beast.

I ate his light.

I
was no longer human.

I’d never been human, not really, but at least I could pass. No more of that. My skin had burned black as obsidian, from head to toe. My eyes were dark as night, and so was my tongue.

I still had no arm, but sometimes a shadow gathered in its place. I could pretend. I could pretend that my body did not swallow light, or that I no longer hungered for food—only the sun, only stars, only everything that lived.

At least I had the boys. I had my daughter growing inside me. I could learn the rest as I went along.

But there was still a price.

GRANT
was good with formulations of light. All the monster told him, he applied. The disease was a living thing, as much an extension of its creator as it was just a virus. By the time we arrived home, some of the demons had already begun to recover on their own—and for those who were still too sick, too close to death, the configuration of light, the pattern that could rearrange those cells to health—it worked.

But I didn’t go home.

“I
have new sympathy for you,” said Jack, less than a week after we returned to earth. It was the right time, right place—our world had not changed too much. As far as everyone was concerned, we’d been gone less than a day.

“Your life, always being taken out of your hands. Terrible secrets inhabiting your past. Those who think they know better, keeping you in the dark.” A weak smile touched his mouth. “I’m very sorry, my dear. For everything.”

“Don’t be,” I said, which was sort of a lie, but I didn’t know in what way. Just that a part of me still felt hurt, lost, though there was no point in dwelling on the matter. I had bigger problems. “Are you well? It didn’t occur to me until afterward that killing
him
might take your life, too.”

“It would have been a just sacrifice.” Jack looked away, picking at the grass. We were back in Mongolia, where I’d found him; the sun was bright and shining, and the boys were sleeping. Fitful dreams. Nightmares, maybe. We had so much to explore together, to understand what we had become. I could still see them, even though my skin had turned black. Their scales were silver on me, gleaming in the sun.

“Perhaps it would be easier to be dead,” he went on.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? But I suppose I must honor those I harmed in another life by bearing the truth as best I can.” He started to reach for my hand but caught himself before he could clasp nothing but air. Pain lanced his features, remorse. “I did betray you.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, giving him a faint smile to take away the sting. “Go get reincarnated for a thousand years. It’ll make you feel better.”

He almost smiled, for real. “And you? You’re immortal now, I suspect.”

“Yes,” I said, touching my stomach. “Great.”

Jack’s smile faded. “That is the problem, isn’t it? The boys are yours, my dear. They cannot be hers unless you die. And no matter what you are now, she might be just as mortal as any human.”

You are the last.
Wasn’t that what I’d always been told? But I refused to believe that. Maybe I was the last of something. But not everything.

I stood. “Good-bye, Grandfather.”

He gave me a startled, vulnerable look. “Ah.”

“Yes.” I bent and kissed the top of his head—but even that felt dangerous. I didn’t trust myself, even with him.

A shudder passed through him—maybe he felt the danger.

“My dear girl,” he whispered. “Remember your heart.”

“It’s here,” I said, pressing my left hand above my breast, memorizing his face, his spirit. I could see
him
now. I’d never been able to, before. But my eyes were different now, and he was a storm of northern nights: dark green fighting with shimmers of blue, and around it all a white halo, a tremendous fire.

My grandfather. Made of light.

I turned my vision inward and focused on my husband. Our bond burned through the darkness. I clung to it.

And went to him.

WE
stood on the hill overlooking the farmhouse, beside my mother’s grave. Shurik surrounded us, grazing through the grass. The Yorana were still bonded to Grant, but in the Labyrinth he had allowed them to go their own way, without his interference. Live or die, it was up to them. Good luck with that. Maybe we’d cross paths one day, but I sure as hell didn’t miss them.

Grant, on the other hand, looked healthy, strong. Tearing down the walls between him and the demons had not destroyed his spirit. Just made him stronger. Perhaps even immortal. Just like me. Just like the other demon lords.

We held hands. Sunset had already come and gone, but the last light was beautiful. Zee and the boys huddled close to us. Dek and Mal were stretched across both our shoulders, binding us close.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked him, watching as the Mahati climbed the hill. All that was left of a demon army, marching toward us, carrying their few belongings. Another exodus. I didn’t give a shit if any human saw. We were past that. The Osul were with them, their cubs pouncing through the grass. The adults were more solemn. I saw Mary amongst them, and the Messenger.

“Yes,” he said, and the look in his eye was not entirely human, either. “I made arrangements with Rex and Byron, and some of our other friends. The ones we can trust. Blood Mama, even. You know
she’s
not leaving. They’ll take care of everything. And they’ll be here when we get back.”

The funny thing was, they
would
be here. All of them, immortal in their own way.

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to help myself.

Grant studied me. “I still love you. No matter what.”

“I know.” I kissed his mouth, gently. “But I don’t know what I am anymore. Maybe I’m a monster, maybe I’m . . . something more . . . but the answers won’t be here. There’s no truth in standing still, and the demons can’t stay here, either. They need a new home.” Where that might lead us, I could not begin to imagine. Who I might become, out there, as much a mystery.

I hesitated. “You don’t have to come.”

“Oh, be quiet, wretch.” He flashed me his old smile, and it took my breath away, even while making me laugh. “Remember when we first met?”

“I loved you from the moment I saw you,” I said, close to tears. “And I’ve loved you more every day since then. You are my light, Grant.”

He was still smiling, unguarded and strong. “Both of us together. We can make anything happen.”

“I hope so.” I was afraid that was a lie; but then I touched my stomach, and hope swelled inside me, and determination. “For her, yes. We’ll figure it out.”

He took my hand. I drew in a deep breath and looked at the demons gathering around us. I felt Oturu close by. Tracker was nowhere in sight. Perhaps, in his prison. I would take care of that later.

“Young Queen,” said Lord Ha’an, bowing his head. Dek and Mal let out a sad trill, while Raw and Aaz drank their last beers for a long time to come. Zee leaned against my legs, sighing.

I looked at my husband and placed his hand on my stomach. I drank in his face, bathed in the last glow of light; then looked from him to my mother’s grave. For a moment I thought I heard my name called, and turned. Far away, so far from us it seemed to be another world—and maybe it was—I saw a figure standing alone, waving.

Her hand stilled. A greeting, or good-bye.

I blinked, and she was gone.