Dance of the Gods (21 page)

“Sure you think I can't manage a bit of an accent.” She slathered on the brogue, and gave him a wide-eyed helpless look. “And give every appearance of being a defenseless female?”

“That's not altogether bad.” He lowered his lips to hers. “But for myself, I'd never believe the defenseless part of it.”

A
n hour passed, then another. Then a third. There
was little for her to do but eat some of the bread and cheese Moira had provided for them, wash it down with the water in her bag.

At least Larkin and Cian had each other for company, while all she had was her own head. She frowned when that thought passed through. She was used to hunting alone, to waiting alone in dark, quiet places.

Strange, it had only taken a matter of weeks for her to break that lifetime habit.

In any case, the waiting was taking longer than she'd hoped, and Blair hadn't factored in the boredom. It made her think of her first night in Ireland this time around, and the luck—fate—of getting a flat on a dark, lonely road.

There'd been three vampires that time, and the element of surprise had added to her advantage. Mostly, vamps didn't expect to get clocked with a tire iron, especially by a woman who was a hell of a lot stronger than they'd calculated.

They sure as hell hadn't expected her to pull out a stake and dust them.

These two—if they ever got back—wouldn't be expecting it either. Only she had to remember dusting them wasn't the mission. A tough one to swallow for a bred in the blood demon hunter.

Her father wouldn't approve of this little adventure, she mused. In his book you ended them, period. Quickly, efficiently. No flourishes, no conversation.

Of course, he'd have done his best to end Cian by now, she decided. Family connection and will of the gods be damned. He would never have worked with Cian or fought beside him, trained with him.

And one of them, possibly both of them, would be dead now.

Maybe that was why she'd been brought here instead of her father. Why she could admit now, as she waited on the rutted forest path, she hadn't told him about Cian. Not that her father bothered to actually read her e-mails, but still she hadn't brought up an allegiance to the undead in the ones she'd sent him.

There simply were no allegiances in demon hunting, not to her father's mind. It was you and the enemy. Black and white, live and die.

Only another reason she'd never earned his approval, she realized. It wasn't only because she wasn't his son, but because she'd seen the gray, and had questioned.

Because like Larkin she had felt, more than once, a pity and regret for the things she ended. She knew what her father would say. That an instant of pity or regret could mean an instant of hesitation. And an instant's hesitation could kill you.

He'd be right, she thought. But not completely, no, not absolutely, as there were shades of gray there, too. She could feel that pity and still do her job. She
had
.

Wasn't she standing here now, alive? And she damn well intended to stay alive.

She only wondered, for the first time since Jeremy, if it was possible to have a life along with a heartbeat. She'd stopped letting herself wish or want or ask if she could have someone to love her. Now there was Larkin, and she believed he did. Or close enough to love to care for and want.

In time maybe it could be love. The kind she'd never had before, the kind that crossed all the lines and accepted.

It was brutal, she thought, just brutal that there couldn't be enough time. There just wasn't enough of the commodity to span entire worlds.

But when she went back to her own, she would know there was someone who had looked at her, had seen who and what she was, and still had cared.

If she did make it back, if they won this thing and the worlds kept spinning, she would tell him what he'd given her. Tell him that he'd changed something inside her, so much for the better.

But she wouldn't tell him she loved him. Words like that would only hurt them both. She wouldn't tell him what she was finally able to admit to herself.

That she would always love him.

She
felt
the movement rather than saw it, and turned toward it, braced for attack. But it was Cian, the shape and scent of him, off the path and in the shadows.

“Heads up,” he murmured. “Two riders starting into the woods. They're dragging a body behind them. Alive yet.”

She nodded and thought: Curtain up.

She began to walk the horse slowly, in the direction of the wagon so they'd come up behind her. So it would seem, she thought, that she'd ridden into the woods before her horse had come up lame.

She felt them first, something that was beyond scent. It was more a knowledge, which covered all the senses. But she waited until she heard the hoofbeats.

She'd taken off her coat. She didn't think Geallian women walked around in black leather. Against the chill she wore one of Larkin's tunics, belted snugly enough to
show she had breasts. Her crosses were tucked under the cloth, out of sight.

She looked like an unarmed woman, hoping for some help.

She even called out as the sound of the horses grew closer, making sure her voice was blurred with brogue and a little fear.

“Hello, the riders! I'm having a bit of trouble here—ahead on the path.”

The hoofbeats stopped. Oh yeah, Blair thought, talk it over for a minute, figure it out. She called out again, increasing the quaver in her voice.

“Are you there? My horse picked up a stone, I'm afraid. I'm on my way to Cillard.”

They were coming again, slowly, and she fixed what she hoped was a mixture of relief and concern on her face. “Well, thank the gods,” she said when the horses came into view. “I thought I'd end up walking the rest of the way to my sister's, and alone in the dark for all that. Which serves me right, doesn't it, for starting out so much later than I should.”

One dismounted. He looked strong, Blair judged, solidly built. When he pushed back the hood of his cloak she saw a tangle of white blond hair and a deep, V-shaped scar above his left eyebrow.

There was no sign of anyone being dragged behind the horses, so she assumed they'd dropped their prey off for the moment.

“You're traveling alone?”

Slavic, she thought. Just the faintest of accents. Russian, Ukrainian maybe.

“I am. It's not so very far, and I meant to leave earlier in the day. But one thing and another, and now this…” She gestured to her horse. “I'm Beal, of the o Dubhuir family. Would you be heading toward Cillard by chance?”

The second dismounted to hold the reins of both their horses.

“It's dangerous to be out in the woods, alone in the dark.”

“I know them well enough. But you, you don't sound like you come from this part of Geall.” She backed up a step as a frightened woman might. “Are you a stranger to the area then?”

“You could say that.” And when he smiled, his fangs glimmered.

She gave a little shriek, decided such things couldn't be overplayed. He laughed when he grabbed for her. She brought her knee up hard between his legs, then topped it off with a solid roundhouse. When he went down to his knees, she kicked him full in the face, then planted her feet to meet the second attack.

The second wasn't as toughly built as the first, but he was faster. And he'd drawn his sword. Blair flipped back, landing on her hands to kick out at his sword arm. It gave her time and a little distance. When the first gained its feet, Larkin burst out of the woods.

“Let's see how you do against a man.”

Blair took the fast running steps she needed to give the flying kick momentum. She hit the first mid-body as Larkin clashed swords with the other. She grabbed her sword from its sheath on her saddle as all three of the horses shied. Instinct had her whirling, bringing the blade up two-handed to block the down sweep of her enemy's sword.

She'd been right about his strength, she discovered, as the force of the blow rippled straight down to her toes. Because he had her in reach, she went in close. His advantage was she didn't want to kill him—but he didn't know that. She stomped hard on his instep, brought the hilt of her sword up in a vicious blow to his chin.

The hit knocked him back, into her mount. All three horses whinnied in alarm as they scattered.

He just kept coming, hacking and swinging until sweat rolled into her eyes. She heard someone—something—
scream, but couldn't risk a look. Instead, she feinted, drawing his sword to the left, then plowed her foot into his belly. It took him down long enough for her to leap on him, hold her sword across his throat.

“Move and you're dust. Larkin?”

“Aye.”

“If you're done playing around with that one, I could use a little help over here.”

He stepped over. Then kicked the vampire in the head, in the face—several times.

“Yeah, that ought to do it.” Breathless, she sat back on her haunches to look up at Larkin. Blood was spattered over his shirt, his face. “Is much of that yours?”

“Not a great deal of it. It would be his, for the most part.” He stepped back, gestured so she could see the vampire he'd skewered into the ground with a sword.

“Ouch.” She got to her feet. “We need to round up those horses, get these two in chains and…” She trailed off as Cian walked toward them, leading the horses.

He glanced at the vampires bleeding on the path. “Untidy,” he decided. “But effective. This one's not in the best of shape.” He nodded toward the bleeding man slung over one of the horses. “But he's alive.”

“Nice work.” She wondered, not for the first time, how hard it was for him to resist the smell of fresh human blood. But it didn't seem like the time to ask. “We'd better get these two contained. This one wakes up, he's trouble.” Blair circled her aching shoulder. “That one's like a goddamn bull.”

While the men chained the prisoners, she examined the unconscious man. He was bloodied and battered, but unbitten. Going to take him back to the wagon, she thought. Share him with the female. Have a little party.

“We need to bury the dead,” Larkin said to her.

“We can't take the time now.”

“We're not just leaving them.”

“Listen, just listen.” She gripped his hands before he
could turn away. “That man's hurt, and hurt bad. He needs help as soon as we can get it for him, or he might not make it. Then we'd be digging another grave. Added to it, we need to get Cian back and inside before sunrise. We're going to be cutting it close as it is.”

“I'll stay behind, deal with it myself.”

“Larkin, we need you. If we don't make good time, Cian's going to have to go ahead, or go to ground, and that leaves me with two vampires and one wounded human. I could handle it alone if I had to, but I don't. We'll send someone back to bury them. I'll come back with you, and we'll do it ourselves if you'd rather. But we have to leave them for now. We have to go.”

He said nothing, only nodded then strode to his horse.

“He's taking the female he ended to heart,” Cian murmured.

“Some are harder than others. You have that cloak thing, right? In case.”

“I do, but I'll be frank and tell you I'd rather not risk my skin on it.”

“Can't blame you. If and when you have to ride ahead, you ride.” She looked over where the two vampires were shackled, gagged and tied across one of their horses. “We can handle them.”

“You could handle them on your own, we both know that.”

“Larkin shouldn't have to deal with what's back there in that wagon by himself.” She swung onto her horse. “Let's get this done.”

They rode in silence through the dark of the woods, across the fields dappled with pale moonlight. Once, just ahead, a white owl swooped over a gentle rise with only the whisper of wings. Blair thought, for an instant, she saw the glitter of its eyes, green as jewels. Then there was only the murmur of the wind through the high grass and the hushed silence of predawn.

She saw the vampire she fought lift its head. When its
eyes met hers she saw the blood lust, and the fury. But over them both she saw the fear. He struggled against his chains, eyes wheeling toward the east. The one beside him lay weakly, and Blair thought the sounds he made behind his gag were sobs.

“They feel dawn coming,” Cian said from beside her. “The burn of it.”

“Go. Larkin and I can handle it.”

“Oh, there's time yet, a bit of time yet.”

“We should only be a couple miles out.”

“Less,” Larkin told her. “A bit less. The wounded man's coming around some. I wish he wouldn't.”

The ride couldn't be doing him any good, Blair thought, but they couldn't afford to keep it slow and smooth any longer. The stars had faded out.

“Let's pick up the pace.” She kicked her horse into a gallop, and hoped the man slumped over the horse she led would live another mile.

She saw the lights first, the flicker of them—candle and torch—through the rising mists. And there, the silhouette of the castle, high on the rise with its white flags waving against a sky that was no longer black, but a deep, dense blue.

“Go!”

The vampires bucked and jerked, making sounds far from human as the first streaks of red bled over the horizon behind the castle.

But Cian rode straight in the saddle, hair flying. “I so rarely see it from out of doors.”

There was pain, the rip and the burn of it. And there was wonder, and a faint regret as he galloped through the gates and into the shadow of the keep.

Moira was there, her face tight and pale. “Go inside, please. Your horse will be tended. Please,” she repeated, the strain cutting through the word as Cian slowly dismounted. “Be quick.”

She gestured for the men with her to take the prisoners.

“Got a handy dungeon?” Blair asked her.

“We don't, no.”

Riddock watched the men drag the chained prisoners away. “Arrangements have been made, as Moira requested. They'll be held in the cellars, and guarded.”

“Leave the chains on them,” Larkin ordered.