Come to Me (13 page)

Wet, mud
, and
slimy
had all been words she understood intellectually, but never had she understood them as the physical reality presently assaulting her body.
Cold
was proving to be even worse than that eerie force that had thrown her around Nyx's palace.
That
cold had nothing on
this
one—a horrific mix of wet water and bare skin.

She landed on the bank like a caught fish, flopping helplessly as she sought purchase on the slick mud. Her wings were doing nothing to lift her. In frustration, she gave them a strong flap.

No flap occurred.

An "eep" of surprise escaped her throat, and she froze where she was, on hands and knees in the muck. She tried to stretch out her wings, to check for damage.

Nothing stretched.

A flush of panic washed through her body, the cold/hot liquid feel of it a dozen times more intense than anything she had felt before. She reached over her shoulder with one hand, slapping at her bare skin, and with the other reached around her waist, trying to feel for her wings. Her reaching upset her balance, and she plopped belly first into the mud and rolled back down the bank into the water.

She lay in the shallows for a long, stunned moment, staring up at the night sky. The expanse stared back, blacker and more coldly distant than she had ever known it.

She was in a human body; a solid, weighty, vulnerable human body. Nyx had thrown her down to Earth as a mortal! A shudder ran through her, but before she could fully indulge in self-pitying horror, the shudder turned into a shiver. Her whole body trembled, and then her teeth started to chatter with the cold.

If she rolled a little deeper into the water, she could drown or freeze herself, and the ordeal would be over before it half began. The idea held a certain perverse appeal, especially as the water was inexplicably beginning to feel warmer to her. Nyx would know, though, and whatever death she came up with would likely be even worse. Samira knew she'd gotten off lightly: She was, after all, still alive.

After a fashion.

Something slithered against her in the water. She shrieked and splashed and scrambled back up onto her feet, fear propelling her up the bank of the lake and away from the unseen slithering thing.

She stood panting and cold, her hair full of muddy water, and looked around her. It took only a moment to recognize where she was: Lac Strigoi. The walkway to the fortified monastery was a ways down the bank, and she could just make out a faint tint of orange window light over the island, which must mark Nicolae's tower. Farther inland, on shore, she could make out a shadowed bulk that might be the village. She could smell wood-smoke on the air; she recognized it from the sense memories in the dreams of men she had visited. Succubi had no native sense of smell.

She lifted her arm to her nose and sniffed. Her lips curled down, her whole face straining with disgust at the odor of mud, stagnant water, and rotting lake weeds.

She looked down at her body, and her human-dull eyes made out something dark plastered against her thigh. She shrieked, animal instinct making her slap her hands wildly against her flesh, knocking the thing from her leg. It fell to the ground and she danced away from it. She stared hard at the dark mud, trying to detect movement. When there was none, she tiptoed closer, bending down to squint at the creature.

It looked like a leaf. Before she could be certain of that, a breeze picked up, blowing its cold breath across her chilled body and stirring living shapes upon the ground. Rationality fled and she screamed, her human body fearing snakes and snails and creepy, crawly creatures that she could not see. She took wingless flight, her feet barely touching the ground as she dashed in shrieking hysteria along the bank of the lake, toward the walkway that led out to the island.

She grabbed the wobbly rail at the end of the walkway, pulling herself around the end and up onto the rickety structure. Her body felt slow and heavy, and she was gasping for breath. Her lungs ached and the muscles in her legs burned. She wasn't half so cold now, her body warmed by exertion.

Damn Nyx
! Samira cursed on a sobbing breath, as she tried to force her awkward human body to greater speed. The Queen of the Night had given her a faulty body, with no stamina and too many aches and pains.

Slowed now to more of a labored jog than a run, Samira plodded down the walkway.
Nicolae
. She had to get to Nicolae. No one else on this sun-blasted solid earth knew her or could help her.

Her foot went through a rotten board and she crashed to her knees, catching herself on her palms. She yelped as a burning, stinging pain went up her shin. A moment later she heard male shouts from the fortifications on the island.

With great care she extricated herself from the broken board and gingerly examined her shin. She felt something thick and wet on her fingertips, and a rough stinging streak where there should have been smooth skin. She whimpered, not knowing what to do with the wound. How long did damage like this take to go away? An hour? A year? Was she going to bleed to death before it healed?

This body Nyx had given her was not only slow and weak but more fragile than a wisp of cloud. Surely most humans were more sturdy, else they would never survive a day.

A man was shouting at her from the island at the end of the walkway. "Who goes there?"

"Help me!" she cried. "My leg is torn open. I'm bleeding!"

"Who goes there?" the man repeated, his voice tense and alarmed, as if it were a shock to him that anyone should cross the walkway.

"Help me!" She got carefully to her feet, favoring the wounded leg. To her surprise, it did not give way beneath her. She hobbled forward, toward the dim shadow of the guard at the end of the walkway.

A second man carrying a torch came and joined the first. Samira caught the orange glint of flame reflected in the metal of breastplates and swords. "What's going on?" the second man asked in low, confident tones that carried easily across the empty space between them.

"Don't know," the first said, his voice creaking. "Some woman screeching."

"Help?" Samira said plaintively. "I'm hurt."

"Could be a trap," the first man said, warningly.

The second snorted. "Out here? Why?"

"Why not? What's she doing here, otherwise?"

"Help?" Samira repeated.

"Good God Almighty," the second man said, and reached the torch forward. "Petru, would you look at that!"

As Samira inched forward into the light, Petru's long, narrow jaw went slack, and he stared, his round eyes nearly bulging from his thin head.

"Is my leg so very bad?" Samira asked weakly. She couldn't bear to look at it again herself; couldn't bear to see the damage. Maybe that roughness she'd felt was bone sticking out; maybe it was shreds of muscle. She didn't want to know.

"Kill me now, Constantin, for I have seen heaven," Petru said reverently.

"A muddy heaven that would be," the second man, Constantin, said. He was broad and beefy, with a ruddy face and graying hair. "Can't say that I would mind a rooting around that sty, though."

"My leg…" Samira repeated, a trickle of annoyance interrupting her fear for her health. Why were they gaping at her body when she could be bleeding to death, for Night's sake! She limped a little closer and extended her leg in front of her, pointing accusingly to the bloody streak. "I am close to death! Will you
please
help me?"

"I'll help you, my ripe, plump little plum," Petru said, swaying toward her. "Two ripe little plums," he corrected, ogling her breasts. "Make that big plums. Two big juicy plums! And a third plum that I'd be glad to split with my—"

"Shut your mouth, nitwit," Constantin said, and slapped his arm across Petru's chest to stop him from stepping forward toward his
plum
, tongue lolling, saliva dripping off, his mussed light brown hair making him look like a confused terrier. "What happened to you?" Constantin asked Samira sternly.

"I fell through the wood."

Constantin shook his head. His gray brows drew down in a frown. "No. What happened before that? How came you to lose your clothes and be wet?"

Samira chewed her upper lip and tried to think of an explanation that would win their sympathy and their help, and permit her past to see Nicolae. "My grandmother was angry with me and threw me naked in the lake."

One of Constantin's brows went up, the opposite eye narrowing as if it had been poked with the lie. He made shooing motions with his hand. "Go on, then. Go back home."

"I can't! She won't let me."

"Say you're sorry and I'm sure she will. Doubtless you deserved it."

"I did deserve it, but she won't let me back, no matter what I say!"

"We should help the strumpet," Petru said to Constantin, although his eyes were again on her breasts. "No need for you to run home, little plum," he said to Samira, his hands clenching reflexively, as if squeezing fruit. "You can stay right here with Papa Petru."

Constantin backhanded him on the arm.

"Hey! Why did you—"

Constantin made a short whistling sound, widened his eyes at Petru, and tapped the side of his head.

It took Petru a moment, but then his mouth pursed. "You think so? You think she's missing a wheel off her cabbage cart?" He looked disappointed, as if a fine meal had just been taken from him and fed to the dogs.

Constantin nodded.

Petru's lips flapped like a fish blowing bubbles. "But, but, but…" His eyes goggled once more over Samira's body. "But then she probably wouldn't be upset if we—"

"No, Petru."

"Just a little squeeze here and there? A little touch, a little—"

"No."

"Just a—"

"No."

Petru heaved a sigh and gazed longingly at Samira's breasts.

Stars and moon
, Samira silently swore; how long had it been since a succubus had visited the boy? He was obviously in need. She wasn't going to be the one to do the services for him, though.

Again, Constantin shooed her away. "Go along now, miss. Go back home."

They were trying to send her away? They weren't going to tend to her leg? They weren't going to let her in? No, no, no!

Samira put her hands on her hips, taking a defiant stance and forgetting for the moment that she was bleeding to death. "Take me to Nicolae!"

Constantin's brows shot up. "That's
Prince
Nicolae to you, miss, and no I won't be taking you to him. He's got more important things on his mind than troublesome wenches."

"He
knows
me! Tell him Samira is here." She nodded her head firmly. Ha! She'd like to see their reaction when Nicolae told them to let her through!

But Petru was shaking his long bony head, looking pityingly at her now out of his pale eyes. Constantin tightened his lips. "Go home, child. You won't be bothering the prince. You don't know him, and he doesn't know you, of that I am certain."

"Then little do you know! I was with him all of last night. Go—go tell him I'm here. He'll be very angry if you don't."

Constantin inclined his head slightly toward Petru, and Petru flashed Samira a look of apology. Then he drew his sword, and he pointed it at her.

Samira gaped at the weapon aimed at her belly.

"Go on, then," Petru said, and feinted at her with the blade. "Go on home."

Samira hopped back, then looked up at the tower, the top of which was just visible from this close to the outside wall. "Nicolae!" she yelled. "Nicolae! It's Samira! Nicolae! I've come back, as you wished!"

Petru feinted again, and she hopped another step back. "It's Samira! Nicolae! It's Samira! I'm here!"

"Quiet, girl!" Constantin said, drawing his own sword and joining Petru in forcing her down the walkway. "You won't be disturbing him, I say!"

Their jabs came more quickly, and Samira was forced to turn her back to them, to keep her footing and ahead of the sharp points as she jogged down the walkway.

"Eh!" Petru said, as soon as she turned away. "What's that on her back?"

She felt the heat of the torch as it was brought near, and danced away from it, fearing a burn. "There's nothing on my back!" she said, turning again to face them.

"Yes, there is," Petru said.

Thoughts of spiders and leeches and unnamed creepy crawlies slimed through Samira's mind, and she started slapping frantically at the bits of her back she could reach. "Get it off me, then!" she howled, presenting her back to them.

She felt a fingertip touch her, rub hard against her skin in one spot, and then retreat. She looked over her shoulder. "Is it gone? Did you get it?"

Constantin was frowning at his thumb. "It didn't come off."

"What is it?" Petru asked the older man, peering back and forth from Constantin's thumb to Samira.

"Don't know."

"
What
?" Samira wailed, slapping again at her back.

Both Constantin and Petru were looking at her warily now. They slowly started to back up.

"What? What?" Samira pursued them.

Petru made the sign of the cross in the air, turned, and dashed for the fortress. Constantin showed himself made of sterner stuff and maintained his slow, steady retreat. His sword trembled as he held it out in front of him. "You stay back. I don't know what you are, but we don't want you here. Go back to the Devil, where you came from."

"I'm not a devil! I'm a demon."

Constantin's eyes widened in horror, and he raised his sword. His face turned red, and he let out a roar. "I'll send you back to—"

"Halt!" a voice shouted.

Samira leapt back as the sword came down, narrowly missing her hand.

"Halt, I say! Constantin, cease!" It was Nicolae, voice raised with thunderous authority.

"It's a she-beast from Hell, my lord, come to steal our souls!" Constantin looked ready to swing again, his face fiery red in the light of the torch he still grasped in one hand.

"Nicolae!" Samira called. "Tell him! I don't steal souls!"

She heard him cursing softly under his breath as he forced his weakened body to carry him. "Stay a safe distance from her, Constantin! But don't hurt her."