Dark Desires After Dusk (32 page)

She was about to kill a defenseless being, but there was no help for it. He was already beginning to heal, had ignited the tiniest flame in his lacerated palm.

She quickened her pace. Now she could see why Cadeon had taught her to finish an adversary without mercy. Within moments, this mangled being could be a threat again.

Once she stood over him, she raised the sword above his neck.
Don't hesitate!
With a yell, she swung it down, sending up a shower of sparks against the pavement as she severed the head.

Done, then. That's behind me.

Forcing herself not to look back, she ran for the demon's truck, praying that it might be drivable. Through the smoke from the collision, she saw that it was still running! The engine had been protected by a weighty winch attached to the front bumper—the winch that had cleaved the Veyron nearly in two.

But now it was locking the vehicles together in a tangle of jagged metal. She set down the sword, then grasped the contraption to see if she might budge it.

She pulled up on it with all her might, bewildered to see that she was raising the freaking truck—

The winch tore free in a rush. Pain lashed across her arm as she dropped it. “Damn!” Her gaze shot down. The serrated metal had sliced her arm to the bone.

She tore off the hem of her sweater, knotting it over the wound. She'd definitely need stitches, but couldn't worry about that now . . . .

When she returned for Cadeon, he was unconscious. Her heart lurched, even when she knew he couldn't die like this.

Or could he?

Had some immortal out there actually tested poisoned fey arrows for a contraindication with limb-melting burns?

After she'd gotten him and their things into the truck, she climbed in. Putting it in reverse, she eased back, extricating them from the frame of the million-dollar-plus car.

Without the prop of the truck, the Veyron folded in on itself like one of Cade's Red Bull cans . . . .

T
aking the demon brew away from the demon when he was burned, poisoned, and laid out naked in a bathtub was clearly ill-advised.

“Give me back my goddamned flask!”
he bellowed, his words echoing in the motel room's tiny bathroom.

Wringing another wet cloth over him, she said, “You don't have any fingers to hold it with anyway.”

Like a little boy, he shoved the two wrinkly fingers he'd managed to regenerate in front of her face.

“Fine,” she sighed. When she handed the flask over, he snatched it to his chest. “You had better be careful,” Holly began in a serene tone, “I've heard that stuff takes a while to hit.”

“Bugger—off.”

She let that slide, knowing it had to be killing a proud male like Cadeon to be vulnerable like this.

“You should've left me . . . in the goddamned truck.”

“You are officially the surliest male I've ever met.”

“And you're treating me like I'm really hurt,” he said, an inane statement, considering that half of the flesh from his waist up was still gone.

On the way to find a nondescript motel where she could hide the stolen truck, Holly had noticed that his skin would seem to be on the path to regeneration, but then he
would sweat out more poison. His waxy flesh would well up again.

Once she'd secured a room, she'd ignored his grumbling as she'd removed what was left of his burned clothing, then led him to the bathtub.

After filling the room's ice bucket with both ice and water to dip a cloth in, she knelt beside him, gently wringing the chill water over his skin. She kept her eyes averted from his privates—almost without fail.

The poison had a bluish tint to it that rinsed away easily enough. If only it didn't keep coming back.

The pain must be agonizing.

“Why're you being . . . so nice to me?” he asked gruffly, raising the flask, drinking deep.

“Because you
are
hurt, and you need help.”

“Not 'cause of what I told you?” he said.

Well, there was that. His admission had thrown her. It brought a whole new layer to whatever they had between them, an aspect of permanence to a flirtation.

All his advances hadn't been merely because the job had put her in his path. He'd sought her out, then had volunteered to protect her.

“Not only because of what you said.” She dipped the cloth again, wringing it over his chest.

By the time the flask was empty, his skin was finally free of any blue tint and had begun regenerating before her eyes. By morning he should be completely healed.

Reminded of her own injury, she unraveled the makeshift bandage over her arm. Then stared in astonishment. The skin was already mending.

If I chose to stay a Valkyrie, I could keep this healing ability . . . .

She frowned.
Or I could be burned alive by demons because I'm the Vessel.

“I think you're all clear,” she said. “Let's get you to bed.” She helped him stand, then held his swaying form steady as she wrapped a towel around his waist—not that he was modest. The only thing he seemed discomfited about was being injured.

“Can you sit upright?” she asked when they reached the bed.

“One of the first things . . . I learned as a pup.”

“Okay, I'm going to get a compress for your forehead.” Yet, as soon as she released him, he collapsed back on his burns, hissing in a breath. “Cadeon! Here . . . ,” she said, helping him stretch out over the length of the mattress, then drawing a sheet to his waist.

When she returned with her ice water and cloth, he was mumbling in Demonish, seeming out of his head.

Was it the delirium from his injuries making him this way, or the demon brew taking effect? Or both? “Cadeon, are you drunk?”

“Blot—to.”

She wondered how he'd feel if she took advantage of
his
drunkenness. Her eyes widened.
I should!
She had so many questions about this male. The more she thought about it, the more she realized he'd divulged very little about himself.

And he had done this to her first.
Turnabout's fair play.

She sat beside him. “Cadeon, can you hear me?”

He didn't open his eyes. “Nothing wrong . . . with my ears.”

“Of course, not.” She laid the cloth on his forehead. “So . . . you and Tera seemed close.”

“Been through a lot.”

“Was she your girlfriend?”

He gave a laugh that sounded more like a grunt. “Not at all.”

“And you really didn't sleep with Imatra?”

“Bloody hell, noooo, I didn't . . . She's a slag.”

“Then why did you kiss her?” Holly asked.

“Directions . . . and to see.”

“To see what?”

“That it wouldn't be all that bad without you.”

This was interesting. “Did you make a determination?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “It'll be all that bad.”

Oh, Cadeon
. “You've known I was your female for a year?” He nodded. “Why would I be chosen for you?”

“Fate decides . . . who I can be most satisfied with.”

Nibbling her lip, she asked, “Have you slept with anyone else since you knew it was me?”

“Gave a halfhearted try for a witch . . . she wanted a werewolf instead.”

There was no getting around it—Holly was jealous of the witch.

But then Cadeon said, “And I wanted you.”

She dipped the cloth, then gently returned it to his head. “Why did you never approach me, or tell me even days ago?”

“Can't have a human for my own . . . forbidden. They never survive the claiming.”

“Claiming? You mean the first time for sex?” He nodded. “What happens that's so dangerous?”

“I'd go all the way demonic. I'd bite you . . . stun you. Keep you steady while I come in you.”

“Oh.” She didn't know if she was horrified or titillated
by this information. Again, she was reminded that he was a demon, a different
species
from her. “Then wouldn't you want me to stay Valkyrie? So I could survive it?” Why would he be helping her reverse the change?

He grew quiet. “Not going to claim you anyway. Know this.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Only in my mind.”

Seeing he wouldn't reveal more on the subject, she asked, “Were you jealous of my relationship with Tim?”

“Wanted to kill the prick . . . not good enough for you.”

“But you are?”

“Nah . . . wish I was,” he said. “You can do better than a mercenary.”

“But aren't you also a prince?”

He went motionless. “Of a lost crown . . .” In a derisive tone, he said, “I can put any king on a throne, 'cept for the one I lost.”

“What throne did you lose?”

He exhaled a long breath. “Rydstrom's.”

Her eyes went wide. “How?”

His voice grew hoarse and even his accent changed when he murmured, “My fault. Mine own doing.”

“How could it be your fault?”

“Mistake.
The one who controls the castle . . .
”

“What does that mean?”

“They all
died
.”

“Who, Cadeon?” No response. “Does Rydstrom blame you for losing his throne?”

“He does . . . always has. He should.”

Anger flared within her. Had his older brother—the king—been making Cadeon's life miserable for nine hundred
years? “Why do you still talk to him? Why live on his property? Why be half of the Woede?”

“Guard the king.”

“Yes, yes, but you don't have to forever!”

“ . . . be easier if I just could hate him.”

Her previous ire gave way under the weight of sympathy she felt for this male. “You want to hate him?”

“Can't manage to.”

“Why?”

“He's m'brother. If he gets hit . . . I feel it, too. Weird.” He tried to give a shrug, then gritted his teeth in pain as his new skin pulled tight. “Holly?”

“I'm right here.”

“Proud tonight . . . my female's brave,” he murmured, his breathing deepening.

Holly had been brave—she'd proven her mettle, getting Cadeon and herself to safety.

That didn't mean she
ever
wanted to have to prove herself like that again. There had been so many close calls. At any given point in that battle, her life could have ended . . . .

He slept now, his broad chest rising and falling steadily. She bit her lip, her gaze falling on his horns.

The temptation proved too great to resist, and she tentatively felt one. It was smooth, and her fingers glided over its length.

When had her wariness over this part of him turned to fascination? She felt a clenching in her stomach when she gazed at him.
Want . . .

No! No
want
. She didn't trust her emotions or even her thoughts.

She finally dragged herself away to take a shower, but
once she was clean and dressed for bed, she was still wide awake. So she straightened the room, then fired up her laptop to map the next checkpoint.

When she was online, she saw Tim was connected as well, though it was midnight in California. She was surprised by how much she longed to talk to him, to have a taste of the normal.
I need a fix of normal
.

Should she call him this late at conference? As she debated, she thought to herself how lucky she was to have him. Never would she have to worry about hearing another woman in the background or Tim's voice slurring from drunkenness.

That certainty was comforting.

Holly liked certainty. She liked living her life in predictable, regimented hours, backed up by the campus class times. Just thinking about her old life soothed her now.

So far, in the Lore, the only thing certain was that nothing was ever certain. Why would someone like her ever want to join this chaotic, violent world? Much less having to worry about what her child might be like, or if she'd be attacked by demons . . . .