Elven Blood (Imp Book 3) (32 page)

Wyatt. I hadn’t seen him since late morning. He knew the schedule. He knew I’d be leaving. Why hadn’t he returned to say goodbye? My heart shriveled. Maybe that was his goodbye. I had nothing more to wait for. I should have just left, but something held me back. I didn’t want to watch television. I didn’t want to get drunk. I didn’t want to have sex with Leethu and Dar. But I didn’t want to leave. Not just yet. I curled up on the sofa with an afghan and must have dozed off because suddenly I was on the floor hearing a crash.

I sprang up and there was Wyatt, in my open doorway, holding a large box and a shotgun. He saw me, an expression of relief crossing his face.

“I thought I’d missed you. Sorry. This all took longer than I thought.”

I barely heard what he said. I raced to him and threw my arms around his neck, jabbing myself painfully with a corner of the huge box and the stock of the shotgun. He was here. He’d come. Come to see me off, to say goodbye.

“Hey, whoa there.”

He scooted over to the table, with me still clinging to him, and put down the shotgun. Pivoting around, he shoved the box on the table and wrapped his arms tightly around me. He’d come to see me one last time, and I wasn’t going to squander the opportunity by holding back my feelings.

Wyatt held me for a long time, rocking slightly and smoothing my hair. Finally he pulled away and looked searchingly into my face.

“I brought you a present.”

“And you brought a shotgun. Is that for your own personal protection? Just in case I decide to Own one last human before I go to Hel?” I tried for a teasing tone, but I honestly didn’t know why he brought the shotgun.

“I have an idea,” he said, ignoring my Own comment. “But first, the present.”

He pulled away and handed me the huge box. I shook it. Something in tissue paper. Opening it, I pulled out a long, tan oilcloth duster.

“See? It’s split up the back, for when you’re on Diablo. You can even button it around your legs if you want. The oilcloth repels rain and makes it easier to clean.”

Cool, but why would Wyatt buy me a full length jacket? It was stinking hot in Hel, and my chances of getting Diablo back were pretty slim. I frowned in confusion.

“It’s cowboy attire. A kind of duster, but without the shoulder cape. It’s sort of
High Plains Drifter
meets
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
—a more tough–guy choice than the poncho. I thought it would help with your mojo.”

It was a sweet gesture, and one I didn’t expect. A little spark of hope lit up inside my chest. Maybe, just maybe I’d make it out of this alive. “Thank you.”

“That’s not all.” He looked mischievous as he pulled the tissue paper from the box and revealed a large, leather belt–like contraption. He held it up in one hand and slid the shotgun into it with the other.

“It has two loops here to fix to a saddle. Normally it goes on a Western saddle, but I’ll modify it to work with your English one. I have no idea what saddle the elves have, or if you’ll need to ride bareback, so this harness here is to convert it into a shoulder holster. The shotgun goes along your back, and you can pull it from the scabbard over your shoulder. Like this.” He demonstrated.

I was confused again. “So this is for mojo too? Because you know how much I suck at shooting things with a gun. Especially this gun. I don’t think Remington and I see eye to eye on things.”

“This is where my idea comes in.” Wyatt pulled his shotgun out of the scabbard and sat it on the table. “Take the barrette out of your hair.”

“Huh?” Did he want my hair loose? Perhaps to run his hands through? But what did that have to do with his shotgun?

“The Barrette of the Iblis. Take it out and sit it next to my shotgun.”

I did as he said, looking quizzically at the gold, feather–shaped hair ornament, so tiny next to the huge Remington.

“I can’t think it’s going to be any more useful to me as a gun rather than as a sword.”

“Humor me,” he said, gesturing to the barrette.

I concentrated, willing the sentient artifact to transform into a replica of the firearm beside it. With a flash, the barrette changed shape, and now two identical shotguns lay on the table. The only way I could tell the Shotgun of the Iblis from Wyatt’s Remington was that strange pull of attraction I’d felt for the object from the moment I’d seen it.

“Well I guess I can club Haggenti with it,” I commented. I was a terrible shot, and now I had to worry about carrying bullets and reloading. It did look cool though. Maybe the mojo factor would work. It certainly had more mojo in its current form than it had as a barrette.

Wyatt reached out tentatively and touched my firearm. Gently he picked it up and examined it.

“No safety,” he said with a grimace. “Hopefully the sentient part will ensure you don’t shoot yourself or one of your friends. Just in case your gun doesn’t like me, let’s take it outside.” We walked out the front door, and Wyatt pointed the barrel toward the empty field while pulling back the action bar. “All clear,” he announced, handing the gun gingerly to me. “Please don’t point it at me. I’m a little nervous.”

I was perplexed. “But you said it was clear? If there aren’t any shells in the gun, how could I possibly shoot you?”

“I have a theory.” Wyatt took his hand and gently turned the barrel further away from him. “Try and shoot something.”

Ignoring every lesson Wyatt had ever given me, because the gun was
empty
, I held it with my arm extended and pulled the trigger. There was a roar and I promptly flew ass backwards onto my driveway as the gun clattered to the pavement.

“Sam!” Wyatt shouted, jumping out of the way. “You’re gonna kill someone. Keep a hold of your gun, for crying out loud.”

I stared at the shotgun in amazement. It had been empty. Wyatt had checked, and I trusted him implicitly when it came to guns. What the hell had just happened? Slowly I reached out and picked up the weapon, happy to see no scratches or dents. Wyatt ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“If that were a normal firearm, I’d insist on it being checked over before it was fired again, but I’m pretty sure since it’s some kind of magical weapon, it didn’t take any damage.”

I looked at him in surprise. “So I don’t need bullets? I don’t need to re–load it or worry about running out of ammunition? What the fuck is this thing shooting?”

Wyatt shook his head. “No idea. I’m assuming that was just a regular slug, but with this thing, it might shoot different stuff depending on what you’re up against.”

I ran my hands over the gun in amazement, while Wyatt moved nervously out of the way, trying to keep the barrel as far away from him as possible. This fucking rocked! Badass mojo, and a useful weapon. Maybe this piece of crap antique I’d been saddled with wasn’t so stupid after all.

“Let’s go see how you look with the whole package,” Wyatt said, his voice warm.

I got up, being very careful where I pointed my Iblis Shotgun, and followed Wyatt back into my house. A few moments later I had my favorite torn jeans and white wife–beater on, with the oilskin coat open in the front. The shotgun holster was actually comfortable, and held the coat snug to the back and sides of my body. The shotgun stock stood up past my shoulder, just within my peripheral vision. It would be easy to grab and pull from the holster, as long as I had some maneuvering room.

“How do I look?” I asked Wyatt, pivoting slowly around so he could see every angle. He smiled.

“A no–named stranger, riding in from the west, unconventional, and seemingly unthreatening. Doom will fall unto those who oppose her, who underestimate her, because she fights dirty.”

“Yeah,” I replied with a fist pump. “Haagenti is going down!”

Wyatt helped me take off the holster and sit it with my shotgun on the table. I carefully laid the coat beside it.

“Thank you.” I’d never been more sincere in my life. “Thank you for this, Wyatt. After everything that happened you didn’t have to do this. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I’m not sure I can ever repay you.”

I was talking about far more than just the coat and the shotgun holster. He knew.

Wyatt walked over and wrapped me up tight in his arms. “Come back to me, Sam. That’s how you can repay me.”

I wasn’t sure what I was going to come back to. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite what we’d had before, but as long as Wyatt wanted any kind of relationship with me, it would all be good.

“I will. I’ll be back,” I vowed, hoping I was telling the truth.

I snuggled my face into his chest, breathing in the scent I’d come to love. If I could just freeze this moment in time, hold still in his arms forever, life would be perfect. But nothing is forever. He pulled away slightly and I felt the coolness hit my skin that had been so warm against his. Looking up, I felt that last thing I’d expected to feel this evening, his lips on mine.

His kiss was gentle, poignant, and full of the sorrow of goodbye. I think he’d meant it to give closure, but something happened between us during that kiss. His lips grew more demanding, and I responded, digging my fingers in his hair and holding on as if I’d never let go. Hands traveled down my back to cup my ass and push me tight against his growing erection.

“Let me stay here tonight,” he said, breaking free to whisper against my mouth.

“Is it Leethu?” I asked. I didn’t want him doing something he’d regret later under the influence of Leethu’s persuading scent.

“No. I need you.” His voice was raw, as if he couldn’t help himself. I know I should have pulled back, should have let him go, but I needed him too. Both of us feared deep in our hearts that we’d never see each other again, and that was enough to push away all the difficult logistics of our relationship and concentrate only on what we felt for each other.

So I gave him my answer, dipping my head to run my tongue from his chin up to his lower lip, teasing my way into his mouth as I dug my nails into the back of his neck. He shivered, returning my kiss and lifting me up by my rear. I obligingly wrapped my legs around his hips as he climbed the stairs, somehow managing to keep his mouth firmly attached to mine.

We were slow, meticulous, committing every inch of each other to memory with hands and mouths. Each time our bodies hovered over the edge, we held back, wanting this night to last as long as possible. I sent strands of my spirit self into him as he sank deep within me, timing our orgasms to coincide in perfect union. For a brief second, we were one, and all the doubts, anger, and fears faded away, unimportant in the firestorm of our love. No matter what the future held, we had this moment, and that was enough. It gave me a reason to live, gave me the strength to fight. I’d do this for him, because of all he’d given me during our time together.

I spent the night in that twilight space between sleep and awake, immobile in the straitjacket of Wyatt’s arms and legs with his gentle snoring stirring my hair. There was nowhere I’d rather be.

27

M
orning came too fast. Wyatt and I were subdued and somewhat distant as we had coffee and made small talk, avoiding the topic of my looming departure. The magic of our last night had faded away, fear and a strange awkwardness taking its place. I put on my mojo outfit. Leethu and Dar came downstairs for a last minute check on the body then discretely vanished upstairs. I knew they’d been deliberately giving Wyatt and me time alone, and I appreciated it. For demons, they were both pretty cool.

“Well, I guess this is it,” I told Wyatt, adjusting my shotgun harness and picking up the duffle bag that held the carefully wrapped body.

“I’ll be waiting,” Wyatt said, clutching me tight and inhaling deeply against my hair. I knew what he meant. No matter what happened, he’d watch for me. As he grew old, ill, he’d watch for me. Even if he married and had kids, grandkids, he’d watch for me: because no matter what, some bonds last forever.

“I’ll be back,” I promised, knowing it wasn’t likely I’d be keeping that vow.

Then we pulled apart, slowly, reluctantly, afraid to meet each other’s eyes. I stepped back, fingering the elf button in one hand and hefting the duffle bag over my shoulder. Forcing myself to be brave, I looked into his blue gaze, at the human within, the human who loved his hybrid sister, who cared little for material things, who was loyal, caring, generous; the human who loved a demon, who loved an imp, who loved the Iblis, who loved me.

“Glah ham, shoceacan.”

I stood in the Cyelle kingdom, deep in the Western Red Forest outside the Elven city. Tossing the used elf button into the sticker bush to my left, I adjusted the duffle bag on my shoulder.

Five, four, three, two, one.

“Welcome, Iblis. We are preparing a room for you right now. Please follow us to your accommodations.”

Three elves. I’m always amazed at how fast these guys are. I remembered Amber, darting all over the barn, leaping on and off the stable stall dividers and smiled a small, private smile. Yes, she was very elf. Leethu had done a good job.

The elves led me through the stretch of meadow surrounding the Cyelle capital and through the main gates. Citizens politely ignored my presence, but snuck quick, curious glances at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. I wondered how many demons were escorted into the city on their own power as opposed to strung up and incapacitated.
Or on a runaway horse,
I thought, remembering my last visit.

We walked for quite a while through cobblestone streets. None of the guards offered to carry my bag. They clearly knew what it contained through, from all the nervous looks they darted at it. I wondered what they thought about the odd item attached to my back. There were no firearms this side of the gates. I doubted any of them had ever heard of a shotgun before, let alone knew how one operated. I was tempted to blow something up just to demonstrate, but I figured I was going to have a hard enough time getting out of here alive.

The second set of gates opened before us, and we marched to the left down a path of fragrant pine needles, flanked on either side by twisted yew, and willow trees. This wasn’t the main entrance used by dignitaries and persons of importance. No, I was being led around to the back door. And I’m sure this shameful entrance was all due to what I held in my blue duffle bag. A little side door opened in the wall, and I ascended, elves before and behind me. The narrow stairs rose several flights before a slim door hidden in the wall slid open, opening into a vacant hallway. It was a maze of twists, turns, and stairs to reach my “accommodations”. I wasn’t sure if the circuitous route was to delay me in time to prepare my room, or to avoid encountering other elves. Probably both.