Midnight (35 page)

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Authors: Ellen Connor

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy

BOOK: Midnight
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His brain felt full but stuffed with nothing more substantial than steam. A hot-air balloon. Each mooring burst free, one at a time, until he was floating, pulling away from solid ground. And still the pain lit fire to every nerve ending.
Surely he should hear his bones breaking. Because they
were
breaking. He looked down at his body as if from two stories up. His consciousness was a lookout with no power to intervene. He could only watch in horrified fascination as his limbs twitched and twisted, as his torso writhed. Staggering backward, heedless of the dead that crunched beneath his boot heels, his spine jackknifed. He collapsed onto the porch.
Chris’s last conscious thought was one of confusion.
Panthera pardus pardus.
An African leopard.
Strange. I’ve never seen one wild in North America . . .
A fire in his mind obliterated every sense. He spiraled up on wave after wave of burning needles, jabbing under his skin and into his eyes.
Then he slammed earthward.
Meat.
He sniffed at the body beneath him. Two bodies. Fresh kills. His own odor marked both as his, but it was not time to eat. He had killed them for a reason. No reason came.
The fur along his back stood on end at the scent of fire. He should go. But he
had
killed for a reason. Sounds scratched in his ears. He pricked them back, swiveling, scanning.
Voices.
Humans.
He was drawn to them. Survival meant leaving humans be. Too dangerous. No pattern. But he turned and padded past the sprawled meat.
A cry. A
female’s
cry.
Again his fur prickled, this time with recognition. He nudged forward, into the humans’ shelter. That recognition bloomed and built as he assessed the vast room with a clear, steady gaze.
A human female knelt on the ground. A big male loomed over her, his posture declaring a victory he had not yet earned. The sharp musk of fear and the tang of blood obscured almost every other scent. But one came through. One that triggered a killing reflex.
Rosa.
The animal in him charged. He covered the distance in two powerful leaps. The big man fell beneath his paws. Teeth met throat. Teeth sank deep. Gurgles and screams meant nothing. There was no mercy here, only ending the danger to the woman named Rosa.
But a hard, uncaring part of him dictated these new terms. Saving her wasn’t enough. He wanted this opponent, this man, this victim, to suffer. And suffer he did.
Only when the body no longer spasmed and the blood began to cool and thicken did the animal relent. He turned to the woman named Rosa. She no longer knelt. She had retreated to the far wall, her eyes never leaving his. The face he knew—it was different somehow, twisted and distant. Nothing about her posture said relief. Nothing said welcome.
She was terrified.
With the taste of blood in his mouth, the animal walked forward. He wanted to nuzzle her hand. He wanted her scent to clear the death stink from his nostrils. Again she retreated. She picked up a jagged piece of wood, held it across her body. Sounds came from her mouth. He remembered that—language. But it no longer made sense.
She stepped forward, then charged him with the club.
THIRTY-FIVE
 
The whole world had assumed the air of a nightmare.
Rosa watched, disbelieving, as a leopard mauled the big raider. It was a beautiful cat, as graceful as it was deadly, covered in dark rosettes with golden centers. The fur beneath was as pale as cream. This, surely, had to be one of the skinwalkers she’d driven out of town. Maybe they had joined the battle, only to find themselves unable to discern friend from foe. It wouldn’t be the first time, which was why she’d sent them away.
Though she feared these monsters more than just about anything on the changed earth, she grabbed a makeshift weapon. Viv’s body was lying only a meter away, as tempting to an animal as any hunk of fresh meat. Rosa didn’t think she was fit enough to kill the beast, but maybe she could drive it off.
Though the cat dove away from her wild swings, it didn’t pounce as it had with the raider. Instead it circled her slowly. Probably playing with its food. Her stomach roiled. If Rosa succeeded in killing it, the thing might shift back into one of those children. Her swings became halfhearted at the thought.
Dios
, there had been enough death.
To her astonishment the cat stopped and rolled over. It didn’t remain on its back, but the roll was unquestionably relaxed. She could detect no hostility. A contented rumble came from its throat. That fucked with her head. Her grip on the wood faltered, the club drooping a little. She hesitated. Before Rosa could decide whether to kill it, the leopard’s skin began to roil.
Backing away, she was horrified by what she saw. It was like being in the arroyo with José all over again. There she had seen people become monsters; now she would see the opposite. Only, she knew that this person would still carry the beast inside, even while wearing human skin.
The reality was so much worse. When the spasms ceased, Chris lay naked on the blood-splattered floor, his honey-green eyes dazed.
Dios, no.
For endless moments she forgot Peltz’s pirates, forgot the stolen women, forgot the dead bravos and the fate of Valle as it burned. This was a crippling blow, the worst she’d ever known. Rosa staggered back against the far wall. There were no words, no tears. She could not process the depth and breadth of this betrayal.
No wonder he’d laughed at their tests and called them primitive.
All this time, Cristián, you made me believe in you, knowing you were my enemy.
Chris pushed up on his strong forearms, as if he hadn’t made this transition a hundred times before, as if his words weren’t all deceit. She cringed further back, mentally scrubbing away the touch of his hands on her body. Dread spiked through her as she put a hand on her belly.
He could’ve given me his demon child.
That knocked every thought out of her head. Babies were rare and precious, but this one? A monster
thing
?
Dios
have mercy.
“Are you all right?” he finally rasped out.
Ridiculous question. No, she was heartbroken. She had safeguarded her emotions so well, until he came along with his promises and his lies. He must have known there could be no future for them, given his nature. The cruelty was more personal than any perpetrated by Peltz.
Rosa could hardly bear to look at him, with blood caked beneath his nails and rimming his mouth. She gazed up and over his head while he pulled to his feet. Naked. Smeared with red. She’d never seen such a savage creature up close. Her heart thumped like a wild stallion in her chest, equal parts fear and revulsion.
“No,” she whispered. “Not even a little bit. How
could
you?”
“It just . . . happened. I saw him threatening you and—”
“Liar
.
You expect me to believe that’s the first time?” She laughed, sharp and cynical. “Now I guess I understand why you were so passionate defending the skinwalkers. You belong with them.”
You don’t belong with me, much as I thought, maybe, finally ...
She cut the thought. The quiet plans she’d made in her head would go no further. Now was the time to draw back and rebuild the walls that had made her strong. Nobody would get in a second time.
Chris still pretended to be the man she knew, his expression rich with confusion. “No. Even while I was . . . shifted”—he stumbled over the word as if it was strange to him—“I knew you were important to me. I recognized you. I was still
me
.”
“I can’t put your word ahead of other people’s lives. The rules haven’t changed.”
“Fuck your rules.” He took a step toward her and she flinched. His hands were still stained with the blood of the man he’d mauled—the man who had been ready to kill her.
She hated this world, where there were no longer simple guidelines to distinguish good from evil. Now everything was washed in shades of gray. Nothing could be trusted, not even her own heart. Stupid, traitorous thing. Of all the men who had wanted her, this one had proven every bit as disastrous as she’d dreaded.
“I need you to collect your things and go. Before the others see you. I would rather they not know how wrong I was.”
“Even now, you’re concerned about your power? Your community, while it burns around us? And you’d send me away?” He stooped and grabbed a blanket one of the stolen women had used. “You’re ashamed of me now, ashamed of what we shared. Aren’t you?”
Memories of pleasure flashed in her head, chased by the image of him in leopard form, sleek and lethal. That was what she’d welcomed to her bed, what she’d kissed and caressed in the night. Rosa didn’t answer; she couldn’t.
“God, Rosita, you break my heart.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered. “Not now.”
“This doesn’t change anything. Not for me.” His shoulders slumped as he covered his nakedness. He looked so much as he had only a few hours earlier, standing in front of her bookshelves and reading Shakespeare. “But if you can’t trust me after what we’ve shared, then there’s no convincing you.”
The idea of a future without him—the human,
trustworthy
Cristián—nearly drove her to her knees. But somehow she kept on her feet until he stepped out into the gathering day.
Rosa let herself fall, sliding down the wall slowly, and wrapped her arms about her head. She sat and rocked for endless moments, agony blazing in her chest in a white-hot ball, too fierce for tears. Instead it came in a scream that tore from her depths in ululating waves, a primal song of mourning. Lost to despair, she beat her fists on the floor, sticky with blood, until her palms split on the shards of wood. Viv remained where she’d fallen, beyond all caring. Nothing but wreckage remained.
Nobody came to check on her. Valle lay in ruins. Rosa had to collect herself, put aside the pain. If she didn’t round up the bravos and assess the damage, no one would. She was still
la jefa
, and it didn’t matter if her heart had been torn from her chest. She would abide. The town was all she had left.
Pain surprised her when she pushed to standing. Funny her body should be wounded while her soul bled to death. She raised her shirt and found a shallow wound. Vaguely she remembered a knife skating across her side, just beneath her ribs. A better angle would have meant a puncture, which was harder to treat and could bring a slow death from infection. She’d been lucky, but she didn’t feel that way. She felt almost as though Viv had gotten the better death, surcease from all pain.
She regretted the thought almost instantly. Her heart seized. What was Valle without Viv?
It was still her home. Her responsibility. She would not let anyone else down.
Rosa left the town hall with one hand pressed to her side, determined to assess the damage. She found Jameson in the town plaza, stacking bodies for a pyre. They would burn them together, too many dead for ceremony. But he’d separated the dust pirates from the townsfolk, as much proper respect as he could offer. His face showed blood and exhaustion, dirt smudges and various scratches. The knives in his belt hadn’t been cleaned yet, evidence of his lethal work.
“Tilly and
la bebé
?” she asked.
“Safe. I guarded them with my life.”
And that was why Tilly had chosen him, long before anything like love grew between them. Odd how such a practical decision could bring beautiful results.
“Casualties?”
“We lost five bravos,” he answered, heavy with grief. “Ingrid among them.”
“Falco?”
“He’s already trying to assemble a strike team to hit back.”
Yeah, he would be. There was a reason he’d aspired to be her man. He had determination and leadership qualities, no question.
“Ex and Rio?” Maybe it was not fair of her to care more about their fates, but they were her favorites. Her friends, more like. Or as close as she had.
“They’re around. But Ex isn’t . . .” He paused, apparently seeking the right word. “He isn’t rational. They took Allison. He wasn’t able to keep up on foot.”
In his way, Ex kept himself apart from people like Rosa did. But she had seen genuine caring between him and Allison. For a man like Ex, such a bond was momentous, and he would become a force of nature until he had her safe again. Rosa almost felt sorry for the scum who’d roused his wrath.
“Have you seen Singer?”
Jameson shook his head. “I thought she was with you.”
She
had
been, until everything went to hell. Cold fingers dug into her spine. Mentally she replayed Singer’s cry and recognized it for what it was—the sound of a woman being taken against her will. Rosa squeezed her eyes shut.
“They get her?”

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