Bitter Night (16 page)

With nothing left to do, he fumbled at the door until the lock snicked. He groped for the handle and pulled it open, letting his body fall against the door, his arm dangling on the outside. Slowly it swung open. He followed, his rubber legs sagging. He gripped the door under his arm to keep himself from collapsing to the ground. The pain of his wounds was terrible, but he pushed it away. There was no time for it.

Clumsily he reached for the gun on the floorboards. He popped the clip. He was down to three bullets. They would do little against a mob of Shadowblades. He needed more. He knelt excruciatingly on his seat and reached into the back of the car for Max’s backpack. He moved carefully so as not to bump her and loosen the knife. He unzipped the pack and pawed inside, finding what he was looking for in the bottom. He snapped a full clip into the .45 and pushed three more into his front pocket before sitting back down on the seat, his back to Max. He watched their backtrail, straining for any signs of enemies coming through the veil.

Blood continued to run down his neck, shoulder, and arm. His hands had begun to shake and his eyes were fogging again. Not good. He could hear car sounds from the city and the twittering of birds and crickets. In the east, the sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was still another hour away, but with Max’s extreme response to moonlight, Alexander was sure the twilight of dawn would be dangerous for her, probably fatal in her current state. If she lasted that long.

Not more than five minutes later, he heard them coming. He found his feet, slewing drunkenly sideways as he stood up. He shook his head, thankful for the shooting agony that cleared his vision again.

Engines roared as two’no, three’vehicles approached. They came from ...the west. Slowly Alexander turned to face them. He lifted his arm, bracing it along the top of the open door. The cars bounced over the golf course at high speed. The first was a vintage El Camino. It was well ahead of the others. It was followed by a yellow Mustang and a red Chevy crew cab.

The El Camino plowed to a halt, skidding sideways on the wet grass and tearing dark scars into the turf. The door was open and the blocky, dark-haired driver was sprinting toward the Tahoe before Alexander could blink. The driver bent low, guns in both hands.

Alexander wasn’t so far gone that he could not aim. He shot at the other man’s feet. “Stop.”

The other two vehicles caught up to the first and three more bodies boiled out of them’Max’s witch among them’even as the first Shadowblade dropped to a crouch, both guns trained on Alexander.

Before he could shoot, Giselle interrupted, “Drop your gun before Niko drops you.”

Relief warred with his instincts that told him that these people were his enemies. Slowly Alexander released the hammer of Max’s gun and raised the nose. Instantly Niko was moving again. He glared at Alexander, but made no move to disarm him, and instead went to Max’s door.

“Careful!” Alexander cried. “She’s got a knife in her leg. Move it and she’ll bleed out.”

To his surprise, Niko listened. He leaned in the window, assessing the unconscious Max. When he pulled back, his face was grim.

“How is she?” Giselle’s face was pale and strained. She ignored Alexander entirely.

“He’s right. She’s lost a lot of blood,” Niko said. “Cuts and scrapes on her head. I can’t see what else.” He slammed a fist on the roof, leaving a fist-shaped dent.

“We will have company soon,” Alexander said, all too aware of the compact Asian woman standing silently behind him, her gun leveled at his back. “Selange will not let me go so easily.”

“Don’t look like it was easy,” the slender, blond Shadowblade said. He stood behind Giselle holding a shotgun across his forearm, the muzzle aimed at Alexander. He did not blink. “What do you want to do?” he asked the witch.

“We have to move her,” Giselle said. “We need to get her to the hospital truck and quick, or she’ll die.”

“Might die anyhow, the way she’s cut,” the blond said in a soft, deadly voice.

“No. I won’t let her get away from me that easily,” Giselle said fiercely. Alexander was shocked to see tears running down her cheeks. “Quickly. Tyler and Niko, lift her into the truck. Hurry.”

“What about him?” the Asian woman asked.

Giselle’s hot stare fastened on Alexander. He looked back patiently, resigned to his death sentence.

“You could have killed her,” the witch said in a stone voice. “Instead you guarded her.”

“She’s my Prime.” The words came out before he knew he was going to say them. They felt right.

Giselle jerked back, her mouth falling open.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Niko urged. “She’s hardly breathing.”

The witch nodded, still staring at Alexander. “Get yourself into a vehicle if you can. We won’t wait on you.”

Shock ran through Alexander. He did not understand this witch, her Prime, or the game that they played. In the same situation, Selange would have cut her losses and put a bullet in his head and probably in Max’s, too.

Giselle was no longer paying any attention to him. She opened the driver’s-side door. Niko squeezed through and caught Max, gently pulling her out. Tyler slung his shotgun around so it hung from his back and slid his arms beneath her thighs. Giselle stripped off her own shirt and pressed it around the knife, holding it in place and putting pressure on the wound. Blood dripped across the ground as the three carried Max off toward the truck in a tight knot. The Asian woman climbed inside the backseat to help ease Max across.

It happened so fast that Alexander forgot to move. Tyler stepped away from the truck, his arms, chest, and thighs wet with blood. Niko followed after, and Alexander realized he was going to be left behind if he did not hurry.

Without thinking, he snatched up Max’s backpack and pushed himself away from the Tahoe, clutching the .45 against his stomach. He staggered across the smooth, green grass toward the El Camino. He was startled when an iron arm wrapped his waist and nearly lifted him off his feet as Niko propelled him to the car, shoving him inside and slamming the door. A half second later Niko was in the driver’s seat, twisting the key.

The engine roared and Niko spun the wheel and stomped on the gas. The El Camino fishtailed and lunged in a tight circle, sending chunks of dirt and grass flying. A few moments later they had overtaken the Chevy truck. It was going slowly.

“She’s going to die if we don’t get a move on,” Niko gritted through his teeth.

“She is tough,” Alexander said, though he did not know if Max was nearly tough enough, even with magic enhancements. “And Giselle is helping her.”

“She’s’” Niko broke off and punched the dash. His hand went through the thin metal. “Fuck.”

Behind them, an explosion rocked the early morning. Alexander looked over his shoulder, hissing at the pain. Behind them, orange and yellow tongues of flame leaped into the sky. So much for the Tahoe.

“He’d better have cleaned it out,” Niko muttered. “She’ll kill him if he blew up her stuff.” He paused. “If she lives.”

His worry was palpable. And personal. He truly cared about her. Alexander was not immune. He found himself silently urging the red truck to go faster.

“Who are you?” Niko asked as they jolted across a low ditch and up onto Twenty-sixth Street, turning right.

“My name is Alexander. I am’I was,” he corrected, “the witch Selange’s Prime. This is her territory.” Forming the words was difficult. He was still bleeding and the pain in his stomach had not lessened any. He held the gun loosely, unable to firm his grip. His head bobbed and jerked. He could hardly hold it up any longer.

“Max beat you in the challenge tonight.”

“Yes.”

“So you did that to her?”

Despite Niko’s quiet tone, Alexander could hear his rage. He was looking for someone to blame, and someone to hurt in revenge.

“No. The challenge was endurance. The witches tested themselves on us.”

“What happened to you?” Niko demanded belligerently.

He was really asking why Alexander was not the one lying in a pool of his own blood, a half step from death. And the truth was, the reason was Max.

“Selange sent her Shadowblades after us.”

“You mean your Shadowblades.”

“Not mine, not anymore,” Alexander said firmly. How fast they had turned on him. One moment he was their Prime, the next their prey. It said something about him, and nothing good.

The silence was thick. Alexander knew what Niko was thinking. Had he fought hard against his former brethren? Had he let them do this to Max? But Alexander bore the wounds and Niko could not refute them. And he had kept watch over Max until help arrived. He grimaced. He had done little but watch while her blood leaked out onto the floorboards.

“It should have been me,” he said quietly. “It was my fault they came after us.”

“You’re damned right,” Niko said harshly. “If she dies, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I know.”

They drove on through San Diego. Alexander slipped in and out of unconsciousness. Fever rose in him. He began to shiver and sweat. He was hardly aware when they pulled to a stop and Niko leaped from the El Camino. Alexander sat in a stupor, unable to do anything else. The sun was coming. He shuddered from head to foot. He needed to get under cover.

Suddenly the door opened. Hands grabbed him roughly, yanking him upright. The gun was twisted from his hand. They hauled him over the ground and up a ribbed-metal ramp. Walls closed around him and a blessed roof. There was a clanking as doors slammed and a bolt shot home.

Alexander was carried to a metal operating table. He blinked in the bright overhead light and struggled to sit up. An implacable hand on his shoulder held him still.

“Stay put,” Niko ordered.

Alexander stopped fighting and twisted onto his side instead. They were in a semitruck trailer. Four stainless-steel hospital beds were lined up in a diagonal row down the middle, and the sides and front were lined with medical equipment and storage lockers. Max was laid out two tables down. Giselle and three others in blue scrubs crowded about her, all of them speaking quickly and urgently as they cut away her clothing and jammed needles into both arms. They hung two IV bags on each of the poles poking up from the top of the table. On the left the bags were full of clear liquid; on the right they were red. Machines were attached to Max and began to beep alarms. The witch and the medical team worked furiously on Max, hunching over her limp body so that Alexander could only glimpse what was happening.

A curly-headed, dark-haired nurse fetched supplies as the doctor ratcheted out orders. Hanging back out of the way of the frantically working medical team were the Asian woman and a grim-faced Tyler. The stench of blood began to overwhelm the antiseptic smell of the trailer, and Alexander swallowed, queasiness making him dizzy.

“Dammit!”

“Pressure’hurry!”

Brynna’s knife clanked to the floor, casting a crimson arc of blood into the air.

“Gotta be fast now.”

“Suction it. There’s too fucking much blood.”

“It isn’t closing ...why the hell isn’t it closing?”

“She’s resisting me. Half-dead and still too damned stubborn,” Giselle said with a harsh laugh that sounded like it tore her throat. She bent down close to Max’s ear. “Max! I know you can hear me. Let me help you. You’re going to die, do you hear? Let me help!” She straightened, twisting to look around. Her hair was matted and stained red as if she had pushed bloody fingers through it. More blood smeared her cheeks and forehead. “Tyler, Niko, and Akemi, talk to her. Tell her to come back.”

The three Shadowblades stared a split second in surprise, then surged forward.

“Tell her you’re here,” Giselle urged. “Put your hands on her. Talk to her. She won’t be able to leave you; don’t let her go.”

Alexander watched as the three Shadowblades stretched out hands to touch her. Their voices hammered against each other, fervent and demanding.

Tense minutes ticked past. The cacophony surrounding Max rose in a crescendo. Wads of red-drenched surgical gauze fell to the floor. Giselle held Max’s head between her palms, her fingers curving like talons beneath the unconscious woman’s jaw. She chanted, her eyes closed, her lips tight as wire. Alexander gasped, realizing he had been holding his breath. His stomach spasmed, sending tremors through his body. Chills ran over his skin and sank down deep inside. He shivered, his teeth chattering. His body clenched.

“Don’t stop’it’s working!”

It was the last thing he remembered.

HE CAME AWAKE INSTANTLY, SITTING UP IN THE SAME MOment. Someone had a hold on his shoulders. Alexander did not think. He flipped over into a crouch, gripping the hands and twisting in the same instant. He yanked his attacker up onto the table and ground a knee into her back, thrusting an arm around her neck, his other hand on her jaw. At that moment, his mind caught up with feral instinct.

He looked down, fear curling like burnt paper in his stomach. He held Giselle pinned. All around him he felt predatory silence. His glance flitted from side to side. Niko, Tyler, and Akemi stood ready, bodies taut, faces snarling. They did not dare move in case he broke her neck. But if he did, he would not get out in one piece, or even twenty.

Slowly he released his fingers and pushed himself off her, holding his hands up. Instantly he was grabbed and slammed to the floor, his arms bent up behind his back.

“Let him go.”

Her voice was raspy and weak, but it was Max. She was alive.

The others got off him. Alexander started to push himself off the floor when he was grabbed under each arm and hauled erect. They held him like a wishbone they dearly wanted to snap in half.

Giselle had gained her feet again. She rubbed her lower back with a wince. She had changed into scrubs, and blood still matted her hair in places, though the rest of her was clean. “I hope you don’t wake up that way with your girlfriends.”

Alexander could only stare bemusedly at her, waiting for the punch line. Bruises were already rising on her neck where his arm had pressed, and no doubt more would appear on her back and jaw. She ought to be punishing him. Severely. Max had said the witch was a good torturer, and he knew firsthand how very true that was. So why was she not disciplining him as he deserved? Alexander’s eyes narrowed. Maybe she was simply waiting until she had more energy.