Wrath and Bones (60 page)

“Are you attempting to seduce the DaySitter of your bloodkin, Spanky?” I asked him, daring him to continue with a little smile. “How do you think that will end?”

His gaze dropped to my carotid artery helplessly and he let out a little husky sound, like a young lion in the savanna.

“Check that walk, honey,” I advised. “You’re adorable, but I’m not offering you a willing feed, I’m not down to fuck, and you're not made of brownies, so you should probably fuck off before you get swatted.”

Jane hovered by the door uncertainly. She dropped off her tray of food and coffee, sliding it onto the long dresser. I’d never heard her voice before. It was soft and high, that of a small child. “Lord Dreppenstedt insists that you should eat all your carrots, ma’am.”

Junior shot her a look that said she was being a giant cockblock, and Jane fled the room. Declan remained sitting; he was confident that I could handle Junior and I appreciated that. I also knew that if I had a moment’s trouble, the
dhampir
would be off that bed like a shot. My assistant had my back.

Instead of launching at me, Junior moved to the dresser and poured me a coffee. He offered me a cup in his right hand, supporting his forearm with his left hand. It seemed significant in the solemn way he did it, so I nodded in thanks and took it.

“Is this your way of saying ‘welcome home'? It needs some work,” I told him.

“You smell terrible,” Junior told me.

“You look terrible,” I lied. He smelled my fib and smiled.

“You smell like wet dog.”

“It’s probably just my flea shampoo.” I shrugged. “Gives me a glossy coat.”

Junior said quietly, “I heard a rumor. They say you staked Jeremiah Prost. They say you left his ashes in Egypt, where the sand will swallow them.”

I picked up a thread of Junior’s disgust and shame, and felt my eyes widen. “I’m… sorry?”

Declan spoke up. “It was self defense, and a legal staking. Our Second had an international warrant.”

Junior ignored him. He was looking at me as though choosing his words carefully. Finally, he offered, “You have done a good thing. I thank you for it.” He showed himself out.

I blinked rapidly at Declan. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“One for the books,” he agreed, and tipped his head at his go-bag. I wondered if he was still writing; he’d once left a rough draft of his autobiography
Life in Limbo: The Story of the Dhampir
at my cabin after he’d taken off with Malas. He wanted us to read it, to know him. He kept his own story, but also the stories of many other revenants. It was a truly fascinating read, though, to be honest, his style was text-book dry. The undead apparently had time for a shitload of footnotes. “So, the Overlord expects us tomorrow with our — your — rescue-artifacts. What do we do tonight?”

“Can we just… not?” I gazed longingly at the bed and wished I had zero plans beyond feeding my Cold Company, drinking a few boozed-up espressos, and having a solid snooze. I knew that was foolish. It would be wiser to fetch Remy from her Darkest Corner now, before too many people knew we were here, in case they were still plotting ambushes and mounting countermeasures to our victory. I didn't trust that Sayomi had decided to let up, and wasn’t sure that saving Georgina Harris from a feral revenant had bought me a reprieve. I was hoping so, but I wouldn’t like to get out to the coastline and find a bunch of DaySitters and their Seconds conspiring to block me. I also didn’t want to show up at the coast and find the troll scout’s ship already rolling out of the fog. We needed Remy freed, the sooner the better.

Even without sharing my brand of Talents, Declan read what was crossing my face and gave a resigned nod. “Maybe if we hurry, we can all be tucked in bed for a few hours before facing the Overlord with my mother?” 

We shuffled through our go-bags for dry gloves and to make sure our goodies were intact. Turning in unison, we slammed like the worst synchronized swimmers ever into Harry’s immovable form. I hadn’t heard or felt him enter the room.

“Harry! We can’t wait. We’re going to…” My words left me with my breath as the look on his face hit me.

He had the Bond closed off tightly, but even Harry, with his masterful control, could not manage to keep the hurt off his face. It was brewing a miasma of thunderous fury that rippled warningly across his brow. I opened my mouth but all that came out was a questioning squeak.

Declan spoke for me. “Something happened.” His hand went to my elbow, something I would not notice in the moment but would appreciate looking back, a small sign of concern. I’m not sure he even knew he was doing it. The look on Harry’s face was affecting him, too, and his voice came out husky. “Something big.”

Harry could not speak for his rage. His eyelids sank, fluttered, and when they opened again, his chrome eyes had gone murderous platinum. If Batten had been here, he would have said…

It was Batten.

It was Mark.

That knowledge hit me like a one-two punch. Everything I’d tried to see past, stuff down, shove aside, or bottle up boiled over in my veins and I started to tremble, trying to cling to the comfort of denial. But I knew. Harry didn’t have to say it, which was good, because the first time since I’d met him, my Cold Company was completely without the benefit of his dulciloquent tongue. There would be no comforting encouragements, no soothing words, not even a good ol’ chiding. Beneath the hurt and anger, Harry was lost.

The protective measures of the Bond rose in me like a back-up generator kicking in, and washed away all my personal considerations. Just like turning off a tap, I slammed all my needs shut and focused only on Harry, on the house, on the future.

My lips tightened. “Don’t say it, Harry,” I snapped. “Don’t. We don’t need Batten.”

Declan started, “Dr. B.?”

“We don’t.”
I do. I do! Oh, Dark Lady, what has that fucking jackass done
? “Harry, do you need me to stay, or can I go save the fucking planet now?”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and his face paled immediately. “Who are you, miss, and whatever have you done with my DaySitter?”

“Did he leave his holy water cologne?”

“No.” Harry made this significant with his eyes.

“His guns?”

Harry lowered his chin in a single nod.

“Confiscate everything he left behind; it belongs to House Dreppenstedt now, and since he was my Second, I want first dibs. If it hasn't already, lift the banner on him. Tell Gary that Batten’s life is legally forfeit on Svikheimslending. I'll make a full report when I return to the States.”

Declan and Harry did a collective wide-eye at me that might have been comical, if I hadn’t just sentenced Mark Batten to death. I asked tightly, “Has he betrayed the house?”

Harry dipped his chin again. “He has.”

“Hey, where’s my ‘ducky?’ You usually soften your statements with cutesy nicknames. Don’t stop that now,” I wheezed as the panic stampeded in unexpectedly, tightening my throat. “I need the goddamn nicknames, dead man!”

“Yes, ducky, of course. My fawn, my night’s embrace, my sweetest thing, my very life. Whatever you might require of me, I will of course—“

“Okay, that’s enough!” I felt like a raw nerve, a downed power line, flipping and flopping and sizzling. “I have to go use this pile of junk to convince a really pissed off and possibly deranged dead bitch to scare off some trolls! And now I have to make it through all this without Kill-Notch, because he’s… he’s…”

“Breathe, Dr. B.” Declan’s tone was warm comfort. “You’re doing fine. We’ll get past this. Just breathe.”

“I don’t wanna breathe!” I shouted at no one in particular, heard how ridiculous it was, and backtracked to sanity. “What the fuck did he do?” I demanded, pointing hard in Harry’s face. I changed my mind immediately. “No! Don’t say it! He knew the rules. He knew what he was here for. If he fucked up, that’s on him. Now he’s let me down.”
He chose a staking over me. That’s what he’s done. That’s what it was. He’d planned this from the start.
“Fuck him.
Fuck him!”
I kicked my luggage, but it didn’t move, and pain screamed through my big toe. I bellowed and then grabbed Declan. He ducked his head close to me politely to hear my growl. “When we get back, remind me to feed Mark Batten to the manticore.”

“I…” Declan stammered around an answer and didn’t find one.

Harry pulled himself straight up to full height. His fury flared anew. “Now see here, young lady.
You
will do no such thing.
My
honor, and the honor of House Dreppenstedt, has been smeared. One demands satisfaction.”

I felt the Bond open in a rush and flood my veins with the comfort of familiarity. My old Harry was back in control, if only for a moment. “Tell me you’re not talking about a duel. I’m not listening to you yammer on about duels again! You’re not going to slap Batten with your glove and go back-to-back ten paces at dawn, Harry!”

“Do try not to be ridiculous, my dearest one,” he huffed. “I wouldn’t dirty my glove on the sweaty visage of your two-bit gigolo. But mark my words: Mr. Batten is
at least
dismissed from my employ, and I should be very unlikely to consider him for a position in my household again.”

My mouth worked around a reply, and though my eyes threatened tears from the shock of everything that had happened in the last five minutes, a laugh erupted from my quivering gut.

“So, you're not going to tear him into Asshole McNuggets, you're only going to
fire
him?” I was incredulous. I thought I might vomit. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through pursed lips. This threatened to empty me completely, ruin me, kick me down into a well of terror and heartbreak, and I would not allow it. My stubborn dark humor reared its inappropriate head and I welcomed it.
Come on, Marnie. We’ve got this. Keep moving forward. This must not stop us.
“Can we return to this conversation when I get back from, you know, wyrms and lichlady and Trollpocalypse and stuff?”

Harry made an affirmative noise and dismissed me with a wave, having have made his point. Harry’s insult trumped mine, apparently, and he intended to have his vengeance. I still had only a vague suspicion about what Batten had actually done, but I knew this: the chance of him leaving Svikheimslending alive was close to zero. If he had ruffled enough feathers above Harry in the ranks, Batten was going to find himself torn apart by a beautiful creature with black-feathered wings and features sharp as a raven. I had to try to put that out of my mind, though I didn’t know how.

I tugged on Declan’s elbow. “Ready to save the world?”

“Whenever you are,” he affirmed.

Keep moving forward. This must not stop us
, I repeated to myself, willing my hands to stop shaking.
We’ve got this.

Harry let me get halfway down the hall before saying quietly, “Our Mark may not be alive when you return, my love. I cannot, in faith, promise this, and I can do
quite literally
nothing to protect him, now. If I could shield you from any of it, my pet, any of it…” His audiomancy pushed every word to me, and it felt like the cold finality of death at my back.

 I kept walking and didn't look back at him. I knew he was right. I was leaving Felstein knowing I might never see Batten again. I couldn't stay. I couldn’t even take a minute to find him, to face him, to ask him what the fuck he was thinking, how he could do this to me, to Harry, to himself? Was it worth it? Batten was going to die.

Harry, for once in our relationship, did not remind me of the many times he’d warned me. There was no dead guy “told ya so” today. He had, of course, told me so, but I’d only seen what I wanted to see, what I wanted to believe: that Kill-Notch Batten had a soft side reserved for me. One that would stay his hand in moments of temptation.

How ridiculous that looked, faced in the dawn of his actions. How absolutely stupid. There was the undeniable possibility that Mark Batten had only ever pretended attraction to me to get to this exact place, that he had seduced and lied and cajoled, and I had ignored it and allowed it and swallowed it whole. My ego had convinced me that I was more important than his vengeance, that his feelings for me would win any struggle he had with himself when faced with the creatures he’d hunted his whole life…the things that killed his family and taunted him afterward. I'd thought his promises were true. And I had been more than just wrong. I’d been a silly girl, smitten with a hunk of muscle with a single focus, and the focus sure as hell wasn’t on me. If he wasn't dead when I got back, I was going to kill him.

I felt Declan’s hand in mine. It was small for a man’s hand, and warm for an immortal, warm right through my glove, and not at all comforting. My stride did not falter. I couldn’t even imagine where Batten was right now. How could he have thought he’d get away with it?

How could I go home without Batten?

What would my sister Carrie say? She’d be horrible about it, lamenting the loss of a hot piece of ass and completely ignoring my feelings about the
person
who had reached through my prickly defenses to touch my heart.

How could I face Gary Chapel? I knew what I’d see on his face. Nothing. Gary would mourn in private. He would show quiet, professional concern, and ask non-threatening questions until he understood what had happened.

What would I tell Golden? “I hope you enjoyed the spa and the bar, Batten is dead, let’s truck it”?

What would Wes say when he plucked this out of my mind? Would Rob Hood up my long distance running to help me sweat away the agony? Would he let me punch him a lot?

Would there even be enough left of Kill-Notch to have a funeral? My morbid brain flashed pictures obsessively of his corpse, and how the skin would pale beneath the hash mark tattoos on his chest. That perfectly warm, reassuringly thudding chest that I used to put my cheek against and…

No! Nope.
This was taking too long. I had to hurry. I had to talk. “Declan?”

“Yes, Dr. B.?”

I looked at him. “How am I going to scare the troll if he shows up before you can release Remy?”