Bittersweet Blood (31 page)

“Why would she wish to do that?” He searched Christian’s face. “Let me ask you one question, Christian Roth. You claim to love my daughter. Does she love you?”

“Oh, yes.” Christian smiled. “She’s going to be really pissed that you killed me.”

Asmodai pursed his lips. “Well, perhaps I should wait until I know her a little better, and perhaps, until she knows you a little better, by then I’m sure my killing you will be far more understandable.”

“No doubt. So what now?”

“I’m coming with you. I need your help to exit the Abyss.”

“One of the reasons I came here tonight is to prevent a full-scale war breaking out.”

“There will be no war. I will find my daughter, prevent her death, and bring her back where she will be safe from the fae.”

“You plan to bring her back here?”

“Of course. She’s my daughter.”

“She was brought up believing herself to be human.”

“Thanks to you, I know nothing of her.” He sounded bitter. For the first time Christian saw things from the demon’s point of view. To be dragged from the woman you love and to be able to do nothing to save her.

“Did you know Lillian was carrying a child?”

Asmodai nodded. “She was excited. When I knew we would be separated, I wanted her to return to her people, but she refused. She said they would take her back but only at the price of our child. It was a price she was unwilling to pay. I thought they had both perished. Once the portals opened again, I sent whoever could go to search for them, but I found no trace. Until a few months ago when I sensed her.”

“She took off the talisman, a spell her mother had made for her, that hid her true nature.”

“Lillian is dead?”

Christian nodded. “She died giving birth, all her strength was gone.”

“I felt it. I knew she was dead. So will you assist me, open the portal so I may enter your world?”

Christian nodded. “If you swear to return here afterward.”

“I swear.” Asmodai picked up his sword. “Now, let’s go.”

…

Tara kicked the shards of broken crystal littering the ground at her feet then glanced back up at the faces surrounding her. They were all examining her as though she were some sort of peculiar laboratory specimen. She scowled.

“It’s quite amazing. So obvious really, it seems like we should have been able to see it all along.” Carl studied her face closely. “You don’t look any different, but you are different.”

“What?” she snapped. “Never seen a half-demon, half-fae before?”

“Demon-fae, they used to call them,” Piers spoke softly.

Tara’s eyes widened. There was actually a name for what she was. Perhaps she wasn’t such a freak after all. “There are others like me?”

“There were, long ago. It was inevitable—demons have always had a hankering for fae women.” His eyes drifted down over her body. “Not that I blame them.” He licked his lips and leered.

“If they’re immortal, are they still around?” She could hear the eagerness in her own voice.

Piers shook his head. “Not anymore. The fae hunted them down and slaughtered them as part of the Accords. They claimed that as long as the demon-fae existed, the Faelands would never be safe from attack. The fae have always hated to mix their blood.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “I’m beginning to dislike the fae.”

“Join the club.”

They fell silent. Up here, high above the streets, all was quiet. Far below, she could hear the faint hum of traffic. She rubbed her hands up her arms. Her body was rigid with tension and a tight knot of nausea burned in her belly. She wanted something to happen. Anything was better than this waiting. Though most of all, she wanted Christian to magically appear, and everything to be all right.

She raised her head. There was a change in the air.

Piers stepped closer. “Do you feel it?”

She nodded. “What is it?”

“Our first visitors, and I’m guessing it’s not your dad.”

“Don’t call him that. He’ll never be anything to me.”

Piers pointed. “Over there.”

At first, Tara saw nothing different. Then the air thickened until it was a tangible thing, like smoke and mist. She stared as the figures formed within the mist.

Tara’s hand dropped to the gun at her waist, she fingered the grip. “Can’t we just shoot them now?”

Carl laughed softly behind her. “I think I might have mentioned it before, but you’re a bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?”

Tara glowered at the “little.” “You’re not the one they’re here to kill. I don’t see anyone referring to you as an abomination.”

“Not and living. And no, unfortunately, we can’t shoot them yet. Bullets would go right through.”

The figures solidified.

“Now, we can shoot them,” Piers said. “Though it’s hardly a permanent solution—kill them here and they just re-manifest in the Faelands. I think we’ll see what they have to say first.”

“Is one of them the Walker?” Tara asked.

“The tall one in the middle. He has a bit of the look of you, don’t you think?”

Tara studied the man. This was her uncle, and he was one of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen. Tall and willowy, pale blond hair pulled back from his face to show high cheekbones and slanted grass green eyes. Her eyes.

He was dressed in tight black pants, long leather boots, and a loose white shirt. A long sword hung buckled from his waist. At each side stood another armed man.

All three were expressionless.

“Stay here,” Piers said and stepped forward. “Walker.”

The Walker’s eyes locked with Tara’s. They widened as he took in her appearance, and she saw recognition flare in his face. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out, or draw her gun and shoot him, but she let the hatred show clear in her eyes. She wasn’t going to cower, or beg for her life. This was the man ultimately responsible for her mother’s death. If it hadn’t been for him, and beings like him, her mother would have gone home and been safe and cared for. How different would Tara’s life have been?

“If looks could kill,” Carl whispered in her ear.

Tara forced her gaze away. “I don’t like him,” she said.

“I think the feeling is mutual.”

“Yes but the difference is I’ve got a good reason to hate him, whereas he’s just a narrow-minded, bigoted bastard.”

He laughed softly. “Shh,” he said. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

“Where is Christian Roth?” The Walker asked.

Piers looked around the rooftop with exaggerated care. “Not here.”

“It’s only hours since he gave his oath and it is already broken.”

“He had a little demon problem to sort out, and your niece refused to cooperate with the plan. I guess being a pain in the ass must run in the family.”

“My niece?” His gaze ran over Tara, coming to rest on her face. “It’s curious, but obviously fae blood is stronger than that of demons. She could pass as fae.”

“No, thanks,” Tara muttered.

His brows drew together in a frown, and his eyes narrowed. The Walker turned back to Piers. “Hand the abomination over to us and we will forget this. You and your people can go.”

“Thanks,” Piers said dryly. “But they’re not ‘my people,’ and I’m curious. What do you plan to do with ‘the abomination’?” He glanced at Tara as he spoke and winked.

“Destroy her, of course.” He gave Piers a considering look. “Unless you prefer to kill her yourself. Her blood should be…” He studied Tara for a moment. “Interesting. I remember you had a fondness for the demon-fae.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Walker, you know that?”

His eyes cold, the Walker stared back. “So you refuse to give her to us?”

“Yup.”

“You have a duty as head of the Order, to follow the Accords.”

Piers shrugged. “I was bored with the job anyway.”

“Is she worth risking another war for?”

“Probably not, but I promised Christian I would keep her safe and I’m going to do that. If it means killing you three and hiding the bodies, well…” He shrugged. “I can live with that.”

The Walker smiled. “You really don’t think it will be that easy, do you?”

The air thickened behind them, white haze forming. Dense patches of mist formed all around them, and groups of fae materialized from the mist. Hundreds of them drew their swords in unison.

“Oh, shit,” Carl said. He raised the gun onto his hip. “Better hope your dad comes soon.”

“Don’t call him that,” Tara snarled, but her heart pounded as her gaze darted around her small group. Her hand slipped to the pistol at her waist, her fingers tightening on the grip to stop their trembling.

Panic clawed at her—she had led them into this. They were all likely to die, and it was her fault. A hand clasped hers. It was Jamie, her friend all her life, and she might just as well be murdering him. She squeezed his fingers. He pulled away. A moment later, he vanished, and the hellhound stood in his place.

She wished she could tell him to run, save himself, but knew he wouldn’t go.

“Looks like we’re on,” Piers muttered, stepping back and pushing her behind him. “Stay there, don’t—” He broke off as one of the fae leapt toward them. The roar of gunfire filled the night, and the fae collapsed to the ground. Tara stared in horror, but the body faded into mist and was gone.

The whole seething mass of bodies shifted toward them as one. The fae moved faster than she could follow, their blades gleaming in the dim light, only to be mown down by gunfire. But, however many crashed to the ground, more replaced the ones who vanished into the fog.

Everything slowed, until Tara could see the fierce expressions on their hauntingly beautiful faces as they lunged, the bullets as they cut through the bodies. The noise faded until she was cocooned at the center of a world gone to chaos. Legs braced, Piers and Carl stood in front of her, their guns spraying a continuous burst.

Tara crouched behind them, her pistol out, but couldn’t find a target. To her right, Jamie leapt for an incoming fae, knocking the sword from his hand and sending them both sprawling to the ground. He clamped the fae’s throat between his wicked jaws and shook his head, so the blood sprayed, hitting her in the face, warm and wet. On her other side, Graham stood with his eyes closed, gun held in his outstretched hand. One of the fae leapt toward him. Tara squeezed her trigger, and he went down.

Still more came.

They couldn’t win, and despair threatened to swamp her.

Christian wasn’t going to make it, and if he did, it would be too late. The fae kept coming, their swords drawn. She searched the sea of faces and found the Walker standing off to the side, watching through narrowed eyes.

And she knew what she had to do.

She straightened and took a step forward.

“Stop.” She spoke quietly, but Piers swung in her direction, his lips curled back, his expression savage.

The Walker’s gaze locked with hers and some unspoken agreement passed between them. He raised his hand…and everything stopped.

Piers swung to face her, his eyes accusing.

She swallowed. “I’m sorry. But I have to stop this. I never expected you all to die for me. I thought—”

What had she thought? That Christian would come along and save her? That her uncle would realize he didn’t want to murder her after all? That her father—well, what could she hope for from her father? Absolutely nothing.

She looked around at her friends. Carl bled from a wound in his arm; Jamie stood, head hanging down, his muzzle smeared with crimson. The others were untouched, but that wouldn’t last. She’d already lost Christian. She couldn’t lose more.

“It doesn’t matter what I thought, but it’s over.” She put a hand on Piers’s arm. “Stop this. I’ll go with him.” She heard a low growl from the hellhound. “Jamie, I can’t die knowing that I’ve caused your deaths as well.”

He whimpered, and Carl put a hand on the huge head. “I’ll look after him.”

“He’ll kill you,” Piers said.

Tara’s gaze took in the fae surrounding their small group. “Can you honestly say there’s any chance that I’ll live, anyway?”

Piers followed her gaze. “Maybe not, but it’s better to go down fighting.”

“Keep your fighting for when it can do some good. Tonight, save my friends instead.”

Fury raged across his face. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t agree, but then he nodded, once. “We’ll stay with you. Don’t worry, they’ll let us go once—”

“Once I’m dead,” she finished for him. “If Christian comes back, tell him… It doesn’t matter, he knows.”

She stepped past Piers and stood in front of the Walker. “So Uncle, how do we do this?”

He held out a long, slender hand. Tara took it and he drew her close, turning her so she faced her friends once more. She closed her eyes, as she couldn’t bear to see the pain in their faces. A fist grasped her hair and dragged her head back. She tried to think of Christian, tried to be brave, but she didn’t want to die and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She heard the rasp of a blade as it was drawn from its scabbard.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“You can find her?” Christian stood in the courtyard of the fortress, Asmodai beside him, and all around them milled a hoard of lesser demons.

Asmodai nodded. “She has my blood.”

Christian drew his gun and gripped it in his right hand as he held his left out to Asmodai. “Hold on to my arm. I’m going to open the portal. Concentrate on where we need to be, and get us as close as you can.”

The Abyss faded as the portal opened. The temperature dropped as they left the Abyss behind and rematerialized in London. He recognized where they were–the rooftop of the Order’s building. His heart stopped once he made sense of the scene in front of him. Asmodai had indeed brought them close to Tara.

He swung up his gun and placed the barrel at the base of the Walker’s skull.

“That knife moves and I blow your head off,” Christian growled.

The Walker tensed, but his arm remained motionless and the knife in his hand rested against Tara’s throat. The Walker held her immobile, one hand clamped in her hair. Her head was pulled back, baring the long line of her throat, and her blood pulsed in the veins beneath the blade. Her eyes were closed, but her lids fluttered open as he spoke. She tried to turn to him but the knife cut into the tender flesh of her neck, leaving a crimson line. She gave a slight intake of breath then stilled.