The Mortal Bone (16 page)

I believed that, with all my heart. I had faith in them.

Unless it was the bond keeping them that way,
I wondered now.
The boys have always been guided by the spirit of a Hunter’s intent and desire. Led by the strength of the Hunter’s heart. What she is, they become.

And now? How strong were
their
hearts?

Zee had warned me they might change, but I hadn’t wanted to think about what that meant. Now, though, I’d had the barest, faintest glimpse.

I only wished my grandfather were here. Jack. Old Wolf. He would have some answers, assuming I could pry them out of him.

If he knew the boys were free . . .

“How did you know I was in trouble?” I asked Zee, who sat close, rubbing his claws and watching his brothers with particular sadness.

“Felt it,” he murmured. “Like thunder in the heart. Like the edge of a howl, on dying.”

I extended my hand to him, and he laid his rough cheek upon my palm.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“Maxine,” he rasped, with a sigh. “We change.”

I could still see Raw digging out that possessed man’s heart. “I know.”

“No.” Zee shook his head, spiked hair swaying. “Only strong survive. So we must be strong. Strongest. Make others fear. Fear, and obey.”

“You have to be the baddest bad?” I stared at the window, thinking of what I had seen inside the prison veil: another world, another dimension with cities and totems, and demon children playing—and starving. “So what if you
are
? You rule the army, then what? You know what they’ll want—what they’ll
need
—once they’re free.”

“Humans,” he whispered, softly. “To feed.”

I closed my eyes. “By the time you’re . . . bad enough . . . to lead them, will you want the same thing?”

He fell silent. Dek and Mal stopped purring.

“Do not know,” he whispered. “Do not know our hearts. Not like you, an arrow straight. We, our hearts, curve and twist, full of night.”

“Night is sweet. Night has stars.”

“We have seen the other side of light,” he whispered, chilling me. “But light will not lead the Lords of Bone.”

The apartment door banged open. Grant limped inside, so grim, pale. Not a word when he saw the blood covering me—just a glint in his eyes that was hard and resolved.

I tried to sit up. He snapped, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Eh,” I muttered, wincing. “Be gentle.”

Grant growled, lowering himself to the floor and giving Zee and the boys a critical look. “Where were the five of you when she got hurt?”

Dek and Mal began singing a vigorous rendition of “Night on Bald Mountain,” which, after a few strains, was surprisingly creepy.

Grant grunted at them. “Zee. Cut away her sweater.”

The little demon extended his claw and cut through cashmere like it was nothing but air. I dug my fingers into my palms, gritting my teeth as the soaked sweater was peeled slowly off the wounds in my shoulder and breast. The scent of blood was overwhelming.

All the boys hissed. So did Grant.

“She takes a lickin’, but keeps on tickin’,” I murmured.

He placed his large, warm hand on my brow. “This will take a couple minutes, sweetheart. It might feel uncomfortable.”

It was more than uncomfortable. Grant began humming, and almost instantly the inside of my breast, around the wound, felt as if it was crawling with ants. A lot of ants. Big ants. Ants that were biting me.

“Whoa,” I muttered.
“Whoa.”

Zee caught my hand. Raw took my other, holding me so gently. I tried pulling free, but their grips tightened, making me squirm as the biting sensation intensified. Skin hot, skin twitching, skin growing beneath Grant’s voice, which rumbled from his throat in a deep, multitonal bass. Primal. Sinking through me, twisting through my body like lightning in my veins. All he was doing was healing me, but my soul felt as though it rode the crest of a tsunami: out of control, hurtling toward a fall.

And I fell, and fell—control lost—helpless to do anything but endure as Grant forced my body to heal. My flesh protested. I wanted to protest, too, but I kept my mouth shut because I needed this, fast.

Made me uneasy, though. I couldn’t help it.

Grant’s voice faltered, and fell silent. My breast ached and burned, skin twitching like an electrical current was running through me. I looked down, and saw a pink line of mostly healed flesh beneath all that drying blood.

“If you’re careful, there won’t be a scar.” Grant spoke so quietly. I searched his eyes, and found them grim, and resigned. This was his worst nightmare: me, uneasy with him. Me, unable to trust him. We had talked about it, late at night when neither of us could sleep. Poured out our worst fears, our smallest hurts. Blankets and legs tangled, staring into the shadows, listening to hearts beat, and rain pound, and our voices mingle. Taking reassurance in each other and small truths that we thought we could depend on.

That we loved each other. That the boys would never leave me. That I would always be immune to his power.

Small comforts against terrible odds.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that you feel . . .”

He could not finish. I tugged my hand free of Raw’s grip and brushed my fingertips against Grant’s chin. In my heart, I poured my love. My love. Melting down, pretending it spread through, and around me.

“See what else I feel,” I said to him. “That will never change.”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a sad smile, and he kissed my palm. “I used to be a stronger man, you know. No one ever tore me up like you do.”

“Whiner.”

His smile twitched with warmth. Zee sighed and leaned back on his haunches. “Our fault you hurt.”

“Horace, not you,” I told him. “The demon’s dead, by the way. Grant,
all
your demons . . . your converts . . .”

“I know,” he said in a heavy voice. “I know. Rex is the only one who’s left. Everyone else made their choice.”

“Should have killed them,” Zee rasped.

Grant gave him a dirty look. “Easy for you, right? I talked to the police. They said it was a massacre in the warehouse where Andrew was found.”

“Cutters going to blast Maxine. Punishment fit crime.”

“No, it did
not
,” I told him—at the same time Grant said, “What?”

I sighed, weary. “Some of your demons came with guns to kill me. I don’t know their names.”

Grant sat back, staring with anger and betrayal in his eyes. I shared that sting, more so than I would have imagined possible. I should have known better. Both of us should have. I had warned him this might happen—that one of the demonic converts would turn as Horace had, and try to hurt someone.

But I’d also begun to buy into Grant’s optimism. I believed now in shades of gray. I believed in the possibility of redemption.

“Cannot rule by free will,” Zee rasped, with a hint of anger. “Hunt is made of iron. So must be the fist.”

Grant closed his eyes. “Controlling others against their will? Playing God? Committing murder? I’d be no better than the Aetar if I did that.”

“Maybe
need
to be no better. Maybe, to survive, need to cleave your heart with night.”

“Zee—” Grant began, but stopped as behind him, the apartment door opened.

Rex walked in, demonic aura yo-yoing around him like tethered fireworks. When he saw the boys, I thought the demon might explode out of his stolen body. His face was hollow, sunken, a gray undertone beneath his dark skin.

Rex kept his gaze down. “My . . . Kings.”

Zee stared with narrowed eyes. Grant tugged the blanket over my naked breasts, put the bottle of ginger ale in my hands, and then tried to stand. Rex began to help him. Raw and Aaz stepped in his path.

The possessed man exhaled, lowering his head. His aura trembled. So did the rest of him.

“Boys,” I said. “Don’t hurt him.”

“If loyal, no need,” Zee replied, in a dangerous voice. “You loyal, cutter?”

Rex hesitated. “Yes.”

Raw hissed. Aaz snarled. Concerned, I struggled to sit up. Grant was doing the same. Mal pushed his head under his hand, helping him. Dek coiled around my wrist.

“What is it?” I asked them sharply.

“He lies.” Zee dragged a claw through the air in a menacing gesture. “Not loyal.”

Rex’s head shot up, and finally he looked at them. Bold, unblinking, full of defiance—and fear.

“You’re right,” he said in a hard voice. “You little fuckers. You’re
damn
right. I’m
not
loyal to you. I’m loyal to
him
.” He pointed at Grant, then me. “And I’m loyal to
her
.”

Each word was clipped, fast, snapped out like rocks and bullets. I felt hit with his words. I wasn’t even certain I’d heard him right. Rex and I had been at odds since we’d first met—coming to blows, treating each other like shit. We said “fuck you” to each other more often than we said “hello.” Maybe that
was
our hello.

I stared, numb, as Rex stepped closer to Zee—trembling, but holding the little demon’s gaze with the same defiance and disdain he’d always shown me.

“Reaper Kings,” he whispered. “I was born after your imprisonment, but I know the stories. All you created was war and suffering. All you built with your power was an army that devoured and tortured everything in its path. And
my
kind? We were nothing but
slaves
. Whores for the warriors, used to feed them
pain
.”

None of the boys moved a muscle or made a sound. Silence because they were listening—or silence before a kill. I could not tell which, but it made me nervous. Grant was equally tense, watching them so carefully—one hand edging toward mine. Not for comfort, I thought—but to pull me out of the way. Just in case.

Rex took a breath, but it was shaky, and his defiance was suddenly mixed with fear.

“Now you’re loose,” he said quietly, “and it’ll start again. First, this world . . . then when you’re done, back into the Labyrinth, hunting, hunting for more bodies, more ways to destroy. So no . . . let me repeat . . . I’m
not
loyal to you, or any demon. I’m loyal to them. The
people
. At least they create something. At least they know what compassion is.”

Perfect, horrible silence fell. I held my breath. So did Grant.

Zee, however, relaxed. All the boys did, though if I hadn’t known them so well, I might not have noticed the easing of tension in their spikes—and the shift of light in their eyes.

“Good,” whispered Zee. “That was truth.”

Rex stared at him. Then, he swallowed hard and looked at Grant. It took Rex a moment to speak, and he wet his lips. “The police are still here. They want to speak with you. If you don’t go to them, they’ll come to you.”

“Okay,” said my husband, knuckles white around his cane. “But you and I need to talk first.”

“We all need to talk,” I muttered, holding the blanket closer to my breasts.

Without a word, Rex strode toward the stairs that led to the rooftop garden. His aura strained from his flesh like smoke contained in a man-sized jar. Dull, red daggers of lightning pierced the shadows.

Grant gave me a brief glance and followed. Mal rode on his shoulders. Zee, still watching Rex, hissed to himself and scratched his belly. Behind him, Raw and Aaz picked their teeth with long claws. Strands of meat came free, which they licked back into their mouths.

I took a slow, steadying breath. Dek chirped at me, and I scooped him up to my shoulder.

“Toothpaste,” I said, as the little demon coiled around my throat. “Go, eat some. Along with bleach.”

Raw and Aaz gave me confused looks and continued picking their teeth.

I shook my head at them and followed Grant, who was already limping up the stairs. I stayed behind him, hooking my fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. His shoulders relaxed, and he tilted his head toward me. I gave him a crooked smile.

He stopped on the stairs, pulling me up beside him. No words. Just a hard kiss, long, deep, and warm. His fingers slid through my hair, tightening, holding me close. My heart bathed in his light. My body soaked in his heat. I felt less naked and empty, less vulnerable, with him touching me. Dek and Mal twined together, humming.

Rex appeared at the top of the stairs. “You both make me sick.”

“Forget it,” Grant replied, voice muffled against my cheek. “We’re onto you, now. You
like
us.”

“You really,
really
, like us,” I added.

Rex made a disgusted sound. “Whatever. Just . . . hurry up, will you?”

I hitched the blanket higher. Grant kissed me again and gestured for me to precede him. This time one of his hands stayed in my back pocket.

The garden hadn’t changed. Barrels of roses were scattered around, along with low planters filled with limp flowers and ferns. Everything looked brown, dull, or disinterested. I didn’t know if it was the Seattle clouds, or just the fact that no one in this odd little family had a green thumb worth spitting on.

The sky was overcast, but Dek and Mal wriggled in that dim daylight with little sighs. Rex waited for us in the center of the garden. I wondered if it was a deliberate decision not to stand near the roof’s edge. He gave the demons on our shoulders unhappy looks.

“I was hoping this would be private,” he said.

“Someone tried to shoot Maxine,” Grant replied. “Forget it.”

Rex grunted, still eyeing Dek—who began humming Eric Carmen’s “Hungry Eyes.”

I scratched his head. “Can I expect every demon to start trying to kill me?”

Once upon a time, Rex would have answered that question with bitterness, sarcasm—and heaps of insults. He would have cursed at me, accused me of every imaginable crime against his kind—and
only
then, said what I already knew: that, yes, every demon would try to kill me. Because I was fair game. Because it was just plain fair, after all the demon lives I’d taken.