Dance of the Gods (12 page)

His eyelids fluttered. “Why are women always nagging a man?”

“Guess that's just what it takes,” she managed.

“Here we are now, here.” Moira moved around the couch to lift his head, to hold the glass to it.

He drank like a camel, then managed to smile at her. “There's my sweetheart. Look at this, what a picture. Three beautiful faces. I'd give you all my worldly goods and a lifetime of devotion if you'd get me something to eat.”

It was Cian who stepped in, holding a small plate with two pieces of dry toast. “You'll need to start slow.” He exchanged a look with Blair. She met it, then squeezed her eyes shut. Nodded.

“Don't bolt it down,” she warned.

“Just bread. Can't I have meat? I swear I could eat a whole side of venison. Or that lovely dish you make, Glenna, with the balls of meat and the noodles.”

“I'll make it tonight.”

“You need to have just enough to take the edge off,” Blair began, “to get a little strength back. You eat a full meal, you'll just boot it—vomit,” she explained, “when we're taking care of the bite.”

“It was the little one, her boy. Little bastard. I was a wolf at the time, so it didn't go as deep as it might have.”

“Glenna has balm. She used it on me when I was bitten.” Moira stroked Larkin's hair. “It's a terrible burn, I know, but the balm cools it.”

“You weren't bitten,” Cian said flatly. “A scrape, not a puncture.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Quite a bit.” Blair straightened. “There's infection, and there's also considerable risk of the one who bit you having some control over you.”

“Aye.” Larkin frowned, closed his eyes. “I felt something working in me. But—”

“We'll take care of it. It needs to be purified with holy water.”

“That's fine. Then if I could have the lovely balm Moira spoke of, and a meal, I'd be good as new—but for the fact every bone of my body feels as if it's been hit with a hammer.”

Straight truth, Blair thought. Straight, hard truth. “Do you know the burn you felt when it sank into you? The burn you're feeling now?”

“I do.”

“This will be a lot worse. I'm sorry.” She walked out, hurried up the steps. And Moira rushed out behind her.

“There must be another way. How can we hurt him again? He's still so weak, and already in pain. I can see the pain in his eyes.”

“You think I can't?” She swung into her room. “There is no other way.”

“I know it says there isn't in the books. I've read them. But with Glenna and Hoyt—”

Blair pulled a bottle of holy water from her kit, and her face was set when she whirled around. “There
is
no other way. He's infected. That puts him and all of us at risk.” She shot out her arm, turned up her wrist to show the scar. “I know what it's like. If there was another way, don't you think I'd try it?”

Moira shuddered out a breath. “What can I do?”

“You can help hold him down.”

She took down towels, bandages. She made herself walk to Larkin, look straight into his eyes. “This is going to hurt.”

“It's going to hurt,” Cian added, “like a motherfucker.”

“Oh well.” Larkin licked his lips. “That's heartening.”

“I might be able to block some of the pain,” Glenna began.

“I don't think you can, or should.” Blair shook her head.
“It's part of it. It's the way it's done. Here, we need to get him on the floor, facedown. Get those towels under him. Cian, you'd better take his feet. Wouldn't want any to splash on you.”

Larkin winced as they shifted him. “What would he need to take my feet for?”

“We're going to hold you down,” Blair told Larkin.

“I don't need—”

“Yes, you will.”

He met her eyes again, saw what was in them. “You do it then. I trust you to see it through.”

With Cian at his feet, Hoyt on one side and both women on the other, Blair opened the bottle. She brushed his hair clear, exposed the raw bite.

“Under these circumstances, it's not considered unmanly to scream. Brace yourself,” she warned him, and poured the blessed water on the wound.

He did scream. And his body arched up, bucked. The wound itself seemed to boil, and she let the viscous liquid that bubbled out run as she continued, ruthlessly, to douse it with water.

She flashed back to the night she'd had to go to her aunt, less than a week after her father had left her. And how her aunt's tears had run down her face as she poured the water over the bite on Blair's wrist.

How it had felt as if the flesh, the bones were being seared with a burning knife.

When the wound ran clear and he was gasping for breath, she used towels to wipe it clean, to dry it. “The balm would probably help now.”

White as a sheet, Glenna fumbled for the jar. Now her tears fell on him. “I'm sorry, Larkin. I'm so sorry. Can I help him sleep now? Even for an hour?”

Blair swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Sure, it's done. He could use a little sleep.”

Again, she rushed upstairs. She dashed into her room, slamming the door behind her. Then she dropped down on
the floor at the foot of her bed, wrapped her arms around her head and sobbed.

She cringed away when an arm came around her, but it only wrapped tighter. “You were so brave,” Moira crooned, like a mother lulling a child. “So strong and so brave. I try to be, and it's so very hard. I want to believe I could have done what you did, for I love him so much.”

“I'm sick, I feel sick.”

“I know, so do I. Can we hold on to each other for a bit, do you think?”

“I can't feel like this. It doesn't help.”

“I think it does. To care, even to hurt. Cian fixed him juice and toasted bread. I couldn't have imagined it. But he cares. It's impossible not to care for Larkin. And if you love him—”

Blair lifted her head, brushed at tears. “I don't want to go there again.”

“Well, if you were to love him, you'd have a happy and unusual life. Would you show me how to make the French toast? He'd be pleased to have it when he wakes up.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'll just go splash some water on my face, and be right down.” They got up. “Moira? I can't be good for him. I'm not good for anyone.”

Moira paused at the door. “That would be up to him, wouldn't it, as much as you?”

 

H
e was still pale when he woke, but his eyes were
clear. He insisted on eating at the table, within easy reach, he said, of food.

He plowed through French toast, eggs, and bacon with a slow and studied pace. As he ate, he told them what he'd done and seen and heard.

“So many changes, Larkin. You know you shouldn't—”

“Now, don't scold me, Moira. It's all come out all right, hasn't it? Could I have more of the Coke?” He sent a sweet, charming smile with the request.

“It wasn't a rescue mission.” Since she was closer, Blair yanked open the refrigerator, grabbed another bottle of Coke. “We specifically talked about that.”

“You'd have done the same. Oh, don't shake your head and glower at me.” He snagged the bottle. “I had to try, and any of us would have done the same. You didn't see, you didn't hear. It couldn't be walked away from, not without some attempt to help. And the truth of it is, I've been wanting to light a blaze in there for some time.”

He looked at Cian now. “Since King.”

“He'd have appreciated the gesture.”

“It nearly killed you,” Blair pointed out.

“War's meant to kill, isn't it? I should have left the boy be—what looked like a boy. But what it was doing…I lost the sense of it then, no denying that, and only wanted to end him. That was useless and stupid.” He reached around to touch his fingers to the bandage at the back of his neck. “And I won't forget what it cost me.”

Then he shrugged, scooped up more eggs. “So…She wasn't happy with this wizard, this Midir.”

“I know the name,” Hoyt put in. “He was infamous—before my time,” he added. “Black magicks, raising demons to do his bidding.”

Larkin guzzled Coke from the bottle. “He's doing her bidding now.”

“It was said he was devoured by his own power. In a way, I suppose he was.”

“I think she intended to punish him, or to let the other one—Lora—have a go at him. But when he gave her the mirror, the magic one—she went all soft and dazzled. She and the other one, mesmerized they were by their own faces.”

“There's considerable vanity there,” Cian told him. “It would be a great thrill to see their reflections after so long.”

“It wasn't what I was expecting, their—well, human reaction, or so it seemed. And the, ah, affection between the women seemed genuine.”

“He's being delicate,” Cian said. “Lilith and Lora are lovers. They both take others, of course, often at the same time, but they're mates, and sincerely devoted to each other. The relationship isn't without its dysfunction, but has held for four hundred years.”

“How do you know?” Blair asked him.

“Lora and I had—what should we call it? A fling? This would have been, hmm, in the early 1800s, in Prague, if memory serves. She and Lilith were having one of their spats. Lora and I enjoyed ourselves for a few nights. Then she tried to kill me, and I threw her out the window.”

“Tough breakup,” Blair murmured.

“Ah, well, she's Lilith's creature, whoever else she might play with from time to time. I knew it before she tried to stake me. As for the boy, I don't know about him. A more recent addition to her cadre, I'd say.”

“Family,” Larkin corrected. “I know there's something deviant between them, but in some way, she thinks of him as a son, and he of her as his mother.”

“That makes them weaknesses.” Hoyt nodded. “The boy and the French woman.”

“Davey. It's what she called him,” Larkin added.

Hoyt nodded. A name was always useful. “If we could capture or destroy either of them, it would be a blow to her.”

“She's not leaving for Geall as soon as we are,” Blair mused. “Maybe we can set up some traps. We can't know where they'll come out on the other side, not exactly, but we may be able to do something. Anyway, we've got a few days to think about it.”

“And we will. Now we're all tired. We all need some sleep.” Glenna laid her hands on Larkin's shoulders. “You need to get your strength back, handsome.”

“I'm feeling more myself. Thank you. But it's the pure truth I could use a bed.” He got to his feet. “There, it seems my legs will hold me now. Would you come up with me, Blair? I'd like to have a word.”

“Yeah, all right.” She went up the back way with him.
She wanted to keep her hands in her pockets, but he seemed a little unsteady on the stairs. So she took his arm, pulled it around her shoulder. “Here, lean on me.”

“I wouldn't mind. I wanted to thank you for taking care of me.”

“Don't.” It made her stomach clench. “Don't thank me for that.”

“You tended to me, and I will thank you. I heard your voice. When I was flying home, and I wasn't sure I could make it, I heard your voice. And I knew I could.”

“I thought she had you. I imagined you in a cage, and that was worse than thinking you might be dead. I don't want to be that scared, I don't want to feel that helpless.”

“I don't know how to keep that from happening.” He was out of breath when they reached his room, grateful for the help to his bed. “Would you lie with me?”

She managed to get him down, then gaped at him. “What?”

“Oh, not that way.” With a laugh, he took her hand. “I don't think I've got that in me just yet, but it's a lovely thought for another time. Wouldn't you lie here with me,
a stór
, sleep with me for a while?”

After the pain she'd given him, she'd assumed she'd be the last person he'd want to be with. But here he was, holding out a hand for hers.

“Just sleep.” She laid down beside him, turned in so she could see his face. “No fooling around.”

“Is having my arm around you fooling around?”

“No.”

“And one kiss?”

“One.” She touched her lips to his. “Close your eyes.”

He did, on a sigh. “It's good to be home again.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“Not really. A bit sore is all.”

“You're lucky.”

He opened his eyes again. “Couldn't you say I was skilled and courageous?”

“Maybe that, too. And I can add smart. Unicorn horn versus Goodyear. I really like that one.”

She laid her hand on his heart, closed her eyes. And slept.

I
t was the stiffness in his own bones that woke him.
Larkin lay there a few minutes wondering if this was how he'd feel every blessed morning when he was an old man. Sort of whifty in the head and heavy in the body. Maybe it was such a gradual thing that the mind adjusted so you forgot what it was to feel young and spry.

He swore he creaked when he rolled over.

Of course she was gone. He probably couldn't have managed to make love with her if she'd stayed—if he'd been able to talk her into it. She was a puzzler, Blair was. So strong, all but steely, and a goddess in battle. But there were all these layers inside, soft ones, bruised ones.

A man just wanted to peel off that hard edge and get to the heart of the matter.

And she was so interesting to look at. The hair like a soft cap, so dark against her white skin. Those deep eyes of magic blue that looked right at you. No coyness at all. Sometimes he just liked to watch her mouth move whatever words were coming out of it, to see all the shapes it could make.

Then there was her form, all lean and tight. Sleek, really. He couldn't say he minded overmuch her trouncing him in hand-to-hand, not when he had that body bumping up against his. Long legs and arms, those strong shoulders that were often bare during training. Those lovely firm breasts.

He'd thought quite a bit about her breasts.

And now he was stirring himself up with no place to go with it.

He got up, wincing. He supposed, all things considered, he was lucky to have gotten off just sore and bruised. He had Glenna to thank for that, and maybe he'd seek her out, see if she could do a bit more now that he was rested.

He took a shower, giving into the luxury of running the water hot as he could stand. He would miss this, that was the sheer truth. He wondered if Moira, who was clever with figuring how things worked, could build one in Geall.

Once he was dressed, he wandered out. The house was quiet enough he wondered if the others were still sleeping, and considered going down to the kitchen. He was hungry again, and no surprise there.

But he doubted he'd find Blair in the kitchen. He thought he knew well enough where she'd be.

He heard her music before he reached the training room. It wasn't the same music as she'd been playing in the kitchen the other day. There was a woman singing now, in a rough, fascinating voice about wanting a little respect when she came home.

Well, it didn't seem too much to be asking, in Larkin's opinion.

And there was Blair, stripped down to the little white shirt and the black pants that sat low on her hips—a personal favorite of his, truth be known.

She was tumbling, he noted. And using most of the big room to do it. Handsprings, kicks and flips. At one point, she rolled to a sword that lay on the floor and began to fight what must have been a multitude of invisible opponents.

He waited until she gave a last thrust, her body posed in a deep warrior position.

“Well, you slaughtered the lot of them.”

Only her head moved first, turning until her eyes met his. Then she brought her feet together, lowered the sword. “Nothing but dust.”

She walked over to set down the sword, turned the music down, then picked up a bottle of water. Drinking, she took a good long look at him. His face was bruised, scraped along the temple—which for some reason didn't make him less of a looker, she decided.

In any case, his color was good.

“How're you doing?”

“Well enough, though I'd've been better if you'd been beside me when I woke.”

“Didn't know how long you'd need to sleep. How's the bite?”

“Barely know it's there.” He moved to her, took her hand, turned up her wrist. “We'll both have our scars now.”

“Your hair's wet.”

“I got in the shower. My bones were aching, and I think I smelled fairly ripe after my night of it.”

“You'll have soaked the bandage.” She frowned as she nudged him around. “Let me have a look.”

“Itches mostly,” he said, enjoying having her fingers in his hair, on his skin.

“It's healing fast. Glenna's magic balm. Boy, I wish I'd had some of that after my round. Guess you'll do.”

“Will I?” He turned, gripped her waist, then boosted her up so she sat on the table.

“Careful there, Bunky, you're not off the disabled list.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Doesn't matter so much. I was thinking before how I like watching your mouth move.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “It's got such energy.”

“Didn't you wake up all frisky? I think you'd better—”

It was as far as she got before her mouth was very busy.

He didn't just taste this time but feasted. Didn't just sample, but possessed. This was more hunger, more demand than she'd been prepared for, the sort that swamped mind and body and left her floundering with need.

She hadn't put her defenses up, not in time. Now it was too late to do anything but meet the assault.

She'd yielded, just a little, just enough, then the heat flooded back into her. He could feel it, pouring out and up, and through him, a glorious scorching. He ran his hands over her, touching, finally touching, up the lean torso, over firm breasts, along strong shoulders and back again.

He felt her shudder of response, heard the moan of it catch in her throat, and knew she'd belong to him.

But she pressed her hands to his chest. “Wait. Wait. Let's step back a minute.”

Her voice was thick and breathy, and made him want to lap her up like cream. “Why?”

“I don't know, but I'll think of a reason in a minute, as soon as my IQ goes back up above the level of a turnip.”

“I don't know what your eye queue might be, but the rest of you is perfect.”

She managed a laugh but kept her hands firm so his mouth wouldn't take hers again and fry her brain a second time. “I'm not. Not nearly perfect. And it's not that I don't think diving into this would feel really good.
Really
good. More than likely we're going to end up doing just that eventually. But it's complicated, Larkin.”

“Things are as simple or as complicated as you make them.”

“No. Sometimes things just are. You don't even know me.”

“Blair Murphy, demon hunter. That's what you'd think of first—that's what you've been taught to think of first. But it's not nearly the whole of you. Strong, for certain, and full of courage.”

She started to interrupt, but he laid a finger on her lips. “But there's more in you than valor and duty. You've soft
places in your heart. I saw them when Glenna and Hoyt handfasted. You fussed with the flowers and the candles because you wanted them to have their moment. You knew they loved, and that it's important. There was sweetness in that.”

“Larkin—”

“And you've been hurt. The bruises are all inside, all wrapped up where no one should see them. Hurting makes you think you're alone, that you need to be. But you're not. I know you've fought your whole life against something horrible, and you've never turned away from it. And even so, you can smile, and laugh, and get dewy-eyed when two people in love make promises to each other. I don't know your favorite color or what book you last read when you had a moment of leisure, but I know you.”

“I don't know what to do about you,” she said when she could speak again. “I really don't. That's not the way it's supposed to be for me. I'm always supposed to know.”

“And no surprises? I'm happy to change that for you. Well, since I don't think I'm going to be getting the clothes off you right at the moment, why don't we have a walk.”

“Ah…Hoyt and I did a sweep through the woods this morning. Took out three.”

“I didn't say a hunt. A walk. Just a walk. There's plenty of light left in the day.”

“Oh. Ah—”

“You'll need a shirt, or a jacket. We'll go down through the kitchen, grab one for you. That way we can get ourselves a box of biscuits.”

 

J
ust how strange was it, she wondered, to go walking
over fields with a man in the late-afternoon sun? With no real purpose but to walk—no mission, no scouting, no hunt. Armed with sword and stake, and sugar cookies.

“Did you know, Hoyt will be staying here with Glenna after this is all done?”

She bit into a cookie, frowned at him. “Here, in Ireland? How do you know?”

“We talk of things, Hoyt and I, when we tend the horse. Here in Ireland, yes. In this place. Cian made them a gift of the house and land.”

“Cian gave them the house?” She ate more cookie. “I can't figure him either. I know some vampires—or I've heard—go off the juice. Human juice. There are rumors, legends mostly, of some living among us, passing for human, going off the kill. I never really believed any of it.”

“Passing as human doesn't make them so. And yet, Cian's one I'd trust more than most men. I wonder if living so long a life has something to do with it.”

“Tell that to Lilith. She's got twice his years.”

“Demons would have choices, wouldn't they? Go this way or that. I don't know the answers there. And when this is done, you'll go back to your Chicago?”

“I don't know.” There was an itch between her shoulder blades at the thought of it. “Somewhere else, I think. Maybe New York for a while.”

“Where Glenna lived. She showed me pictures of it. It's a marvel. Maybe you'll stay in Geall for a while. Like a holiday.”

“Holiday in Geall.” She shook her head. “Talk about marvels. Maybe. A few days anyway.” It wasn't like she had anyone waiting for her to get back.

They walked to the cemetery, and the ruined chapel. Flowers still bloomed here, and the breeze whispered in the high grass.

“These are my people. It's so weird to know that. If it had been traced back this far, no one ever told me.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“I don't know. A little I guess. Hoyt brought me here to show me where I came from. That's Nola's grave.” She gestured to a stone where the flowers she'd laid days before were faded and dying. “She was the beginning of the family legacy. The start of it. One of her children would
have been the first hunter. I don't know which one, and guess I'll never know. But at least one of them.”

“Would you change it, if you could?”

“No.” She looked over at him when he draped his arm over her shoulder. “Would you give up what you can do?”

“Not for all the gold in the Green Mountains. Especially now. Because it makes a difference now. When you have your holiday in Geall,” he said as they walked on, “I'll take you to the Faerie Falls. We'll have a picnic.”

“And back to food.” She dug out a cookie, stuffed it in his mouth.

“We'll swim in the pool—the water's clear as blue crystal, and warm as well. After I'll make love to you on the soft grass while the water tumbles down beside us.”

“And on to sex.”

“Food and sex. What could be more pleasant to think about?”

She had to admit, he had a point. And couldn't deny that the simplicity of an afternoon walk had been an unexpected gift, more precious than she would have imagined.

“It's blue,” she said. “My favorite color's blue.”

He shot her a grin, took her hand so they walked linked over the hill, and down. “Look there. That's a pretty sight.”

She saw Glenna and Hoyt in the herb garden, caught in an embrace. The garden thrived around them; the sun showered down. Glenna held a basket of herbs she'd harvested, and her free hand lay on Hoyt's cheek.

“Hear the mockingbird call?” Larkin asked, and she did, the happy little trill of it.

There was a quiet intimacy to the moment, something that couldn't be captured and preserved yet was enduring and universal. A miracle to find this, she thought, this normality, this heart against heart in all the horror.

She realized until she'd come here, she hadn't believed in miracles.

“This is why we'll win,” Larkin said quietly.

“What?”

“This is why they can't beat us. We're stronger than they are.”

“Not to spoil the moment, but physically they've got it all over the average human.”

“Physically. But it's not all about brute strength, is it? It never is. They look to destroy, and we to survive. Survival's always stronger. And we have this.” He nodded toward Hoyt and Glenna. “Love and kindness, compassion. Hope. Why else would two people make promises to each other at such a time, and mean to keep them? We won't give all this up, you see. We won't have it taken from us. We'll band together for this, and we'll never stop.”

He heard Glenna laugh, and the sound of it reached into him, into that hope as she and Hoyt walked toward the house.

“You're thinking neither will they. Neither will they stop, but that doesn't change it, Blair. In the caves, I saw them in the cages. Some were beaten down, too tired, too frightened to do more than wait to die. But others rattled those cages and they cursed those bastards. And when I let them out, I saw more than fear, even more than hope in some of the faces. I saw bloody vengeance.”

When he turned to look at her, Blair saw all of that in his face.

“I saw the stronger helping the weaker,” he continued, “because that's what humans do. Terrible times do one of two things to us, they bring out the worst or the best.”

“You're counting on the best.”

“We've already started on that, haven't we? We're six of us.”

She let that play through her mind as they walked on. “The way I was trained,” she began, “was to depend on one thing. Yourself. No one else. You're in the battle alone, beginning to end—and it never ends.”