Moon Child (31 page)
He got off three shots before the vampire was on him. He screamed out his pain when Genoveva grabbed his hand around the gun and squeezed until bones broke. His trigger finger was so mangled that he couldn’t even let go of the gun when she finally freed his hand.
Laughing, the vampire popped him in the nose with an elbow. He groaned from the impact and didn’t even try to keep his feet under him when he lost his balance. At least the overturned dirt from the hole made a semi-soft landing. Tristan had enough presence of mind, not to mention sharp instinct, to roll away before Genoveva hit him again. He was still blind with pain, but he could feel exactly where she was, could almost see a luminescent figure of a person shining on the inside of his eyelids. That was just his imagination, right?
Tristan came to a stop when he rolled into someone and smiled when he had a pretty good idea of who by the feel of cold metal under his one good hand. Breath held, he ripped the sword free of its sheath and blindly swung out. He knew he wouldn’t hit the crazy shit, but it gave him some breathing room. Ash called out to him and he felt her moving towards them. He was disorientated for a moment after opening his eyes as they tried to focus again.
“Damn,” he breathed, stumbling to his feet. His mangled hand was made of fire and his cheek throbbed where he’d been cracked in the face. He was sure his cheekbone was broken. He pointed the heavy two-handed sword awkwardly in Genoveva’s general direction with his one good hand. “Let her go.”
Genoveva laughed, cursing at him in rapid Arabic for his idiocy. Ash hung over Genoveva’s shoulder like a kitchen towel, deadly still. “Why would I do that? I came here for her. I realized that all this is just a waste of time. I can always kill you later. But Asta? No, I think I’ll take her now. Especially now that I know Master has been meddling.”
Wish he’d meddle a little right now…
Hell, maybe he’d get lucky and Genoveva would forget what she was doing in the next minute.
The vampire put her back to Tristan and started to walk away. With a roar, he charged the ancient vampire. She actually let him reach her, even stab her with the sword before turning into him, slugging him in the gut. He doubled over, face slamming into the vampire’s shoulder. That’s when he felt her breath on his neck, the scrape of fangs.
“No!” he screamed and pushed against the vampire but was yanked backwards so hard that he lost his breath.
Sitting on his ass in the cold, damp earth he blinked up at the vampire whose legs he was leaning against, the one who just saved his sorry Uruwashi ass. “Desmond,” he breathed. “You’re alive.”
“Aye. Had a wee bit of help on that front.” He shifted on his feet and Tristan moved away to keep from the big vampire from dripping salty water on him, clutching his broken hand to his chest. “Oi! Yew,” he called out, pointing a fat finger at Genoveva. “The wee lass stays wit us. I’ll thank you tae put her down now.”
“I’m crazy, not stupid.”
“Aye, that be true. Right then, didnae want it tae come tae this.”
Tristan’d just gotten to his feet when a surge of ardor sent him down on one knee and gasping to maintain control. At least his hand didn’t hurt under the rush of endorphins. “What are you doing?” he had to gasp out, unable to catch his breath.
Desmond roared and after a few disoriented seconds, Tristan recognized the summon. “Umibozu!”
THE shouts of surprise and distress reached them even from two blocks away. When a great column of blue tinted water rose up over the buildings, Tristan remembered exactly what Umibozu was, the House of Water kōmajutsu.
“Oh my god,” he whispered and then gasped as the great serpent made of water plunged down between the buildings. He was sure he was a goner, drowned for a second time, but then when he opened his eyes, he knew he owed Desmond more than a thanks.
“Fooking right, boy. We can call us even then, if you come back wit us tae Japan.”
Tristan sighed and stood with Desmond’s help, eyes taking in the huge bubble they were standing in as water continued to swirl and rush around them. The elf and witch, just coming to finally, were in the bubble with them, as well as the few who survived being buried alive. Sadly it wasn’t many.
“Go’n then,” Desmond said in a low voice with a nod, “help them. We’s take care of the wee lass.”
Tristan hated being sidelined, but with his dominant hand broken so badly, there wasn’t much he could do. And those people needed help. Not bothering to say anything to Desmond, he darted over to the group of unconscious people, snagging Chrysanthe by the arm as she wobbled to her feet. “You. Heal them. Make sure they live.”
Chrysanthe immediately went about rummaging in her skirts for supplies. Tristan started to turn away but she grabbed his wrist and nodded at his hand. “Here. It won’t fix it, but you’ll be able to use your hand without pain.”
He considered her for a moment and then decided he was going to trust her, one last time, and pray it didn’t get him killed. He hated the thought of taking it at all, trusted source or not. But his hand was in that much pain. He recognized the taste immediately as he drank down the large vial. It was more robust than the last one he’d had and realized why when he felt a sense of euphoria wash over him. Damn, that was a strong one.
“Thanks,” he said as he turned away and grabbed Silas with his good hand. The dominant right didn’t hurt now, but two fingers were so mangled they didn’t respond and the rest didn’t close all the way without the structure to make them. “Get up. We’ve got work to do.”
The elf blinked at Tristan, looking alarmed. And it wasn’t for the cascade of water over their heads finally settling down or Desmond standing to the side, staring off into the distance, but for what he was missing—besides his shirt. “My sword.”
The water was sloshing only a foot up the sides of their bubble now and with a soft pop, it released. Behind the men, Chrysanthe cursed when the group of people she was trying to treat were submerged under water for a few seconds. Someone coughed and her soft voice was like a song, comforting the frightened humans who not only were buried alive, but nearly drowned as well.
Tristan pointed and Silas gave a start when he looked. Genoveva was draped over the top of a tree, tangled in its dead limbs. Silas’s sword stuck out of her chest like a grave marker.
“I want that back,” the elf growled, sounding wrong with his delicate voice.
“Then go get it,” Tristan challenged with a dark sneer.
Both men tensed when Desmond moved closer. From the corner of his eye, Tristan could see Silas blush. He was ashamed for doing whatever he did to Desmond to get away.
“Micht get yur chance then.”
They looked up again and saw Genoveva moving. But another movement caught Tristan’s eye and he ran off. Silas hissed at him to stay back, but he wasn’t going to listen to that fucking elf.
“Are you okay?” he breathed as he stopped over Ash.
“Ow…,” she mumbled as she stood, clutching her neck and side.
“Holy Jesus, Ash,” Tristan gasped, stepping back in revulsion.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I will heal.”
“I know, but… Christ.” He had a hard time making himself look. Having been tangled up with Genoveva when Umibozu hit, Ash took a lot of damage. When she was knocked off the other vampire’s shoulder, Ash caught the sword on the way down and sliced open her whole left side, skinned her chest and neck to expose tendons and muscle. In the quick glance he could stand, Tristan could actually see her body fixing the damage, but it was too hard to look directly at.
“Look out!”
Ash reacted faster than Tristan and pulled them both to the ground, just narrowly missing the tip of finely honed elf steel. An Arabic curse was screamed and then the couple was rolling away from the mad vampire advancing on them.
From the far distance, Silas and Desmond both cried out but their words were lost in the rush of adrenaline and panic. The fact that Tristan was able to stay ahead of the vampire’s faster than quick swings scared him a little. Ash, realizing the crazy vampire had nearly forgotten about her, took the opportunity to gain her feet and plowed into Genoveva. A second later, the elf joined on her.
Again, Tristan was dragged away, and he cringed as he shook Desmond off. “I’m fine. Just kill that crazy fuck so we can all sleep with both eyes closed tonight, yeah?”
The Scotsman let out a hardy laugh that got an annoyed look from the elf and pythia and slapped Tristan on the back. “We micht be mates yet.”
“Wh—what?” Tristan fumbled and then sighed when he was left alone, sitting on the ground. “Dammit,” he cursed, knowing he was useless in a fight with his hand mangled.
Deciding to not feel sorry for himself, he got up and ran for Chrysanthe. “What can I do?”
She didn’t look up from her examination of a young boy. “Get these people away from here.”
Jaw set hard, he glanced back at the others. All fighting Genoveva. In a way, he was relieved. His conscious, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, was having a hard time with the people he killed. Sure, Malik deserved it. Lucien too. But that kid in France, Theron, he didn’t. Or Shannon, even if he wasn’t the one who actually ripped the kid’s heart out. And Sebastian? He was just a misguided fae, doing what he thought was right without owning all the facts. Despite not being a vampire though, the faerie did brutally murdered another of his kind. Was that in Tristan’s purview? Were
all
shinwa and heikō his responsibility?
On the other side of Tristan’s relief of getting left out was a hunger. If he focused on that need in him too hard, he’d realize it was the vampire in him, the sociopath in him that wanted to kill those people, those vampire. His need to kill Genoveva was fueled by his hatred of her for what she’d done to Ash and his sense of duty to the human race. But the base desire was built on fulfilling a deep hunger he was remise to think on too closely.
Tristan was just dragging his third person back towards the block of building that’d previously been on fire when a familiar voice called out to him. He gently lowered the woman to sit upright against the building and spun. “Where the hell have you—”
Mamoru was standing ten feet away as if he were afraid to get too close. His hair was matted on one side, wet with blood that dribbled down into his eye, forcing him to shut it. His sleeves were pulled back and his arms were streaked red. The knife in his hand was coated in it. He could barely catch his breath, his whole body shaking with overexertion and lack of oxygen. “That vial, where is it?”
“What—Oh!” He’d forgotten about the little vial Mamoru shoved at him earlier, telling him to throw it at Genoveva if he saw her. He pulled it from his pocket, an awkward left handed reach and held it out. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“There’s no time. We have to stop Genoveva and get out of here. You need to leave, now!”
“What, why? Hey!”
Mamoru was already running off towards the others.
“Wait!”
“Was that Mamoru?” the pythia asked as she laid the last person down and knelt to cheek the man’s pupils. “Looked like bloody hell.”
With a groan, reluctant but knowing he had to, he ran off.
“Tristan, don’t!” she called out after him.
There was true fear in her voice, almost enough to stop him dead in his tracks. But he had to help the others. Silas looked stunned, his sword back in his hands, but almost useless as the elf struggled to stay upright. Ash too looked tired, moving slower than she had minutes before. And Desmond, he was laid out flat under the broken tree, motionless and bleeding.
“Shit,” Tristan muttered under his breath and fumbled for his gun. He knew how to shoot with his off-hand but was still really bad at it. Sure, he’d hit his mark over eighty-percent of the time but not necessarily where he meant to. He stopped nearly eight meters back and raised the gun to hit Genoveva in the head only to have to lower it again when Mamoru crossed his line of fire.
Ash screamed an angry cry as she dove for the vampire. The moment Mamoru’d crossed out of Tristan’s line of fire, he raised the gun again. The same moment he pulled the trigger, Genoveva jerked away, reaching for the Japanese man charging her and the bullet found another target. Ash screamed, her forward momentum coming to a shocking halt.
Tristan ran to her, cursing the entire way. “I’m sorry!” he screamed when he reached her. “You okay?”
“Mamoru!” Ash yelled at him, pointing, eyes fixed over Tristan’s shoulder.
“No,” Tristan whispered, unbelieving when he turned around to see what he’d missed in a few precious and life changing seconds. Genoveva was on the bottom of the pile, eyes as pale as death, held open widely, mouth gaping in frozen shock. Mamoru was on top of her, pressed chest to chest, his hand resting on the vampire’s forehead where he’d smacked his palm to her when they met. A milky honey-colored substance spread out from under his hand, coating Genoveva’s pale skin. At the top of the precarious pile was the elf. Silas looked equally as shocked as the others where he stood, straddling the other two, leaning his full weight on that large ornate sword. He almost looked as if he didn’t mean to stab Mamoru right through the middle of the back.
It took Tristan all of two seconds to process what had just happened and then he let out a roar. “You fucking elf!” He ran and flung himself at Silas, ramming the elf with a shoulder and knocking the man off his feet. Two big strides had him face to face with the asshole and despite his better judgment, he slugged the elf hard, right between the eyes. His hand was already mangled to shit, and thanks to the jerk’s girlfriend, he could use it without pain. The only way he was making it any worse at this point, the way he saw it, was to have it cut off.
Behind Tristan, Ash was already to the others. Genoveva was screaming and kicking like a toddler lost to the throes of a tantrum. Mamoru, pinned like a specimen butterfly could only ride it out with the bucking creature, gasping against the pain. “Sorry for this,” Ash whispered before she yanked the sword out of Mamoru’s back.
The man screamed and rolled off the mad vampire. Lament to do so, but knowing she only had this one chance, Ash focused her attention on Genoveva. The other vampire was still rolling around on the ground, having forgotten any language but the one of pain as she screamed over and over again, scratching at her eyes.
“Don’t touch her…” Mamoru had to stop to swallow back the blood welling up his esophagus. “You’ll be spelled too.”
Ash jerked her hand back. “What is it?”
“Just…” He swallowed again and raised a shaking finger. “Head… take her head.”
Ash looked down at the elf steel in her hands. Was it really that easy? Could a single thrust end the rule of a tyrant as much a part of one’s being as one’s own identity? It was a terrifying possibility. Was she really ready for this? Was she ready to destroy the last of her despair, the thing that made her who she was today?
The smile that filled Ash’s face made Mamoru recoil. Genoveva too, having felt an air of malice and fortitude from Ash, stopped scratching at her eyes long enough let them heal. When she could see again, she bristled and started to scramble away from Ash.
“No—no,” the woman gasped.
“Something the matter?” Ash asked, moving to stand over the downed vampire. “Why not use your seikonō?”
“B—but—”
Ash tilted her chin up to look down her nose at her former keeper, her personal Jesus. She could feel it now, what Mamoru had done to Genoveva. If it wasn’t for Innokentiy she’d never have known, but as it was, she knew too much now and could distinguish the vampire’s level of seikonō. Whatever Mamoru’d slapped her with sapped all but the last drop of it out of her. She was practically a vanilla vampire now. Interesting little spell, she didn’t know that one. Perhaps Mamoru did know more than he’d let on. It was almost too late to know for sure now.
“I am happy to say we will not be seeing each other again.”
Genoveva blinked at her, eyes full of bewilderment, still red from being scratched at. “I… die now?”
“Now and forever. That is my only promise to you.”
Genoveva coughed out a bitter laugh. “You really are different, aren’t you?”
Before she could refute the claim, once again, the vampire’s expression shifted and Ash stiffened, understanding exactly what’d happened.
“
Aturar
! Meu estrella—Asta,
si us plau
!”
