Renegade (3 page)

Stefan’s grim look said the subject wasn’t closed, but he set his beer down and slid off the stool. “At least the blood samples I took from her may help with the antivenom.”

“How’s that going?” A vaccine that could render mages immune to venom would undercut the ghouls’ numerical superiority. Maybe it would even cleanse Griff’s blood, however unlikely that was.

“I have a crude formula I’m not ready to test.” Probing Griff’s face, Stefan’s eyes narrowed. “Watch yourself with her. That pretty face hides a will as determined as yours.”

Griff shrugged.
Pretty
didn’t begin to describe her. Now that he’d met her again, seen her courage and jousted verbally with her,
intriguing
also felt like an understatement.

“Be careful going back,” he said. “As you leave, take that pot on the stove to the downstairs crew. Dumpster diving hasn’t paid off lately.”

“They could get an actual meal at the shelter in town.”

“They want to be independent, I guess. They won’t take much from me if they can avoid it.” The eighteen or so homeless people living on the ground floor had created a community of sorts. He had to give them credit for trying to help each other.

Looking resigned, Stefan hoisted the pot. Griff walked him to the door and locked it behind him. The protective ward sparkled faint green for a heartbeat as Griff sealed it again.

A whisper of power, the barest hint, brushed his mind, and he smiled. She was testing the wards, as they suspected. Subtly but methodically testing. Valeria Banning had intelligence, skill, and integrity along with a lot of raw power. Even wearing only bandages and his shirt, she remained coolly self-possessed.

As for what the shirt concealed…

No. Not going there, even though the memory heated his blood. He had more important goals, and they depended on his convincing her of the truth about the traitor in the Collegium.

If he couldn’t, his best hope of security lay in wiping his info from her memory, a risky process that could leave her worse than dead if his control slipped at all.

She didn’t deserve that, and doing it would go against everything he believed. But if he couldn’t stomach that, telling her the truth would put his life and the lives of his friends directly in the Collegium’s sights.

Only an idiot, or maybe a Pollyanna, would trust her safety to the word of someone who was very likely a murderer. Sitting behind the door with one hand on the wall, attuned to the ward, Val waited for his return. She could break the window, escape through it, but she hadn’t been able to sense the ground. She might be too far up to jump, and in her weakened state, unable to translocate, she couldn’t outrun pursuit.

So her best chance to escape, maybe even capture the man, lay in ambushing him. Even though she still needed a few days to reach full fighting power. Magical healing could only speed recovery by so much, but she couldn’t risk waiting.

The more she thought about him, the more she believed he was Griffin Dare, no matter what name he gave her. The smart play was to proceed on that assumption until she knew otherwise.

His evasion about why he kept her here could only mean he had a purpose she wouldn’t like. Besides, if he was Dare, she had a duty to bring him in for execution. Even though he’d been condemned in his absence, without a trial. That went against her grain, but so did letting a man who’d killed mages roam free.

At least she had surprise on her side. One failure was enough for this week.

A failure he’d saved her from.

Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t hurt him if she could avoid it.

Which was a crazy thought about a man holding her prisoner, a man already sentenced to death. Even if he had rescued her.

Dare had killed too many mages to deserve mercy, no matter what else he had or hadn’t done. Five had died at his hand, including the chief councilor, as he’d fled the Collegium, and he’d killed at least two more, maybe three, since.

She rolled her tight shoulders. As a cadet, she’d met him a couple of times, and he’d treated her, as he did all the cadets, with interest and tact, even when pointing out errors. She’d admired him, maybe even had a crush on him.

She hadn’t been the only one. With his clean-cut good looks, eyes the blue of a sunlit ocean, and tall, muscular body, he’d been a walking chick magnet. And the way he moved…Even then, his skill with a quarterstaff and his tactical abilities were legend.

Then they’d become notorious. Reviled.

Val shook her head. What a waste. But maybe this man wasn’t Dare. Maybe Griffin Dare was long dead, his shredded honor mere dust on a distant wind.

Yeah, and maybe she’d win the Nobel Peace Prize this year.

Once she had him secured, she could find his phone and call for backup.

A faint ripple in the warding warned of its creator approaching. She stood and hoisted the chair, grimacing at the pain in her injured arms and shoulders.

“You’ve been busy, if not smart,” he said through the door.

Did he know she was there, or was he guessing? Or scrying? The chair’s weight dragged at her sore arms.

“I know you’re standing by the door, beside the hinges.” Amusement warmed his voice. “Where I would.”

He was laughing at her? She would kill him.

“Holding that chair has to hurt your wounded arms.” He paused. “I can stand here until your strength fails. Or I walk in, you whack me, and I drop dinner to clock you with a knockout punch.”

He’d be the one knocked out.

He sighed. “I can outwait you, and I’m not blind or hurt. Give it up and eat.”

Her arms shook. The blasted chair felt as though it were made of granite. She couldn’t hold it much longer.

Now the crazy bastard was whistling! Furious, she smashed the chair against the door. It made a satisfying crash but no cracking sound, no hint of breaking.

She was weaker than she’d known.
Hell, blast, and damnation!
Her one chance, gone. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, stinging like new venom, and she gasped.

“What’s wrong? Valeria, what is it?”

Stumbling away from the door, she choked on a sob. Hell with that. She would not let him hear her cry.

The salty liquid seared her injured eyes, and a whimper escaped. Her foot caught on the rug and she pitched forward. When her hands struck the braided fabric, it skidded. Val crashed onto her face.

Black agony rolled over her, obliterating the world. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Hands closed gently on her shoulders. Power rolled into her, dialing back the agony. Strengthening her.

“Breathe,” he urged, gently turning her onto her back. “C’mon, honey, breathe.” His arm slid under her legs, warm, bare skin to her bare skin, and he cradled her against his solid, cotton-covered chest.

“I’m not—your—honey,” she choked. Yet she couldn’t help turning toward him, resting against his strength, until the pain ebbed.

“Glad to see your grit survived the fall.” He rose, lifting her easily.

She clutched his shoulders for balance and caught scents of bay leaf and sweat. His shoulders felt wide and solid—reliable, she might’ve said if he were any other man.

“Let’s put you to bed. You’ve had enough exercise for one day. Then you can eat, and we’ll put fresh salve on your eyes.”

He wasn’t even angry. What kind of weird game was he playing, being so kind?

Worse, she felt safe in his arms, as though he were the kind of man Griffin Dare once had been, the man who’d led the mage squad who’d avenged her parents.

But that was dangerous thinking. She mustn’t let him confuse her. If he hadn’t kept her here, she wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.

If she felt safe with him, it was only because he’d rescued her, then taken care of her. Like patient-doctor dependence, a weird head game. Like Stockholm syndrome, captive attraction to captor. She had to shake it off.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I tripped.”
Duh.

He eased her onto the bed. “Before that. When you gasped and stumbled.”

“I had a flash of eye pain.” She wasn’t about to admit she’d teared up in frustration.

He drew his arms away, straightening. For an instant, she wanted them back.
Stupid, stupid.

He propped pillows behind her. When he drew the covers over her bare legs, the bay scent teased her nose again.

“This is your bed.” Val tensed. Sleeping in his bed felt far too intimate. Too trusting.

“It’s the only bed I’ve got. Sorry I didn’t have a chance to change the linens. They’ve had only a couple of nights’ use.” After a moment, he added, “I’m taking the couch. I told you, you’re safe here.”

Her heart beat faster with nerves, but she had to push him, had to know if he meant her harm. “Safe? Like a prisoner on death row?”

His frustration spiked in the magic between them, a punch that echoed in her own chest. It must be intense, or she wouldn’t have felt it with her power so low and no physical contact.

“More like a witness in a safe house,” he said.

“Then give me your hand so I can probe.”

“No. I carry secrets other than my own.” Before she could argue, he said, “Straighten out your legs. I have a bed tray to set over them.”

The aromas of baked chicken and warm bread made her mouth water. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Chicken. Meat.
A knife to cut it.
She could work wonders with a knife.

“Napkin and spoon on the left,” he said lightly. “You have chicken at nine o’clock, broccoli at noon, and a buttered roll at three. Lemonade at one o’clock beside the plate.”

“It smells good.” A little courtesy couldn’t hurt, so she added, “Thank you.” The way he’d described the food on her plate—that was a clue.

“I hope you like it. I cut everything up already, and I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make do with a spoon. I’m not giving anything sharp to someone who fights with a blade.”

Damn.
She groped for the spoon. Could she transmute it into a blade? Rubbing her finger along the spoon as she heard him walk away, she summoned power. A bit came. Not nearly enough for a transmutation.

She sipped lemonade, and the answer hit her, the reason his description of the food mattered. Carefully she set the glass down.

The sound of his footsteps approached. A thump, then a creak, as though he’d put the chair down and sat in it. “All right?”

“Fine.” Better to know what he intended than to let him toy with her any longer. “Your sister served me lemonade when I interviewed her, not long after I became reeve three years ago.”

For a beat, a telltale moment, he hesitated. “I don’t have a sister.” His voice sounded a hair too controlled.

“You described the food locations for me easily. As though you’d dealt with someone blind before, like Caroline Dare.”

“Just common sense.”

“Common sense says if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck…Few mages train with quarterstaves anymore, but you wield one as though you’d been born using it. You’ve expert knowledge of mage lore but don’t trust the Collegium. And you know how to describe a plate of food to a blind person. Those three factors add up to only one man.

“Cut the bullshit, Dare, and tell me what you want.”

T
he silence stretched between them until fear churned in Val’s gut. Had she made a mistake, pushed him too far?

“Assuming I’m this person,” he said in a flat, hard voice, “what does that make me to you? I already have an idea, but give me the whole picture.”

She raised her chin a notch, bracing herself for an outburst. “You’re a rogue mage, a murderer several times over, and possibly a ghoul ally.”

A creak alerted her as he shifted toward her, leaning so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. Her mouth went dry, but she held her position. She couldn’t let him intimidate her.

“If I’m such a bastard, why the hell aren’t you dead?”

“I asked you first.” Thank God, her voice held steady. She swallowed to ease her tight throat.

“If you believed everything in your precious annals, you wouldn’t risk challenging me. Yes, I’m Griffin Rhys Dare.”

Val’s heart thudded in her throat. He’d just confirmed her guess. Yet she was, for whatever reason, still alive.

“What do you want with me?”

“I want you to listen. To consider evidence you haven’t seen before.”

“So you’re going to tell me you’re innocent? I’d expected better of you.”

He let out a weary sigh. “I’m not in league with the ghouls, and I never killed anyone I didn’t have to.”

The first part, she’d believe. But the second…“You’ll never convince me the mages who tried to apprehend you were ghoul allies.”

“Of course not.” He sounded sad.

If only she could believe he really was.

“They were trying to capture me. I was defending myself—and those who rely on me for protection.”

“Such as?” Impatient, Val shook her head. “Regardless, you should’ve come in, made your case, not slaughtered—”

“We’re not going there. Not tonight.” His cold, hard voice warned her not to press. “I brought you here to talk to you. To show you things you can’t see well enough now to read.”

“So you do have a jailhouse alibi.” That seemed beneath him, and his thinking her fool enough to buy it stung.

“I have the truth. If you’re willing to see it.”

“Right. What do you really want?”

A slight sound, not quite a sigh, came from him, as if he were hurt. Like he cared what she thought. Oh, he knew just how to play her.

“I want safety for our people,” he said, “and for the Mundanes, whether you believe me or not. Listening won’t cost you anything but a couple of days for your eyes to heal. What if I’m telling the truth, Valeria? What if there’s something rotten in the Collegium’s heart? Can you shrug off that possibility so easily?”

What was or wasn’t happening in the Collegium was her business, not his, but listening might help her better understand his angle. “I’ll hear you out, but you’ll have to explain right now.”

Fifteen minutes later, Griff set out the files on the kitchen bar. As soon as the salve had time to melt into Valeria’s eyes, he’d show her what he had. She seemed even less likely to believe him than he’d feared. Damn, but he was tired of running. Tired of fighting while innocents died anyway. Tired of winning little victories that changed nothing.

Convincing her could help unmask the traitor, give him his life back. It might even win Collegium help against whatever dark rite the ghouls planned. He’d told his team to take and interrogate a ghoul prisoner. But the Collegium mages, with their numbers, could work a lot faster.

“Dare?” She stood hesitantly in the bedroom doorway.

His shirt hung down to her midthigh, covering the bandages there but hiding little of her long, trim legs. His blood stirred, and his denim cutoffs did nothing to hide his reaction. At least she couldn’t see it.

“Bar straight ahead,” he said. “About ten or twelve feet, but let me help you.” He’d best remember the formidable power she was recovering by the minute, and not let the sex-kitten look distract him. He could find sex in any bar. What he needed from her was belief and support.

He needed them deeply, he realized.

With one hand outstretched, she took a careful step.

“Wait.” He hurried to her right side. “Give me your hand.”

She bit her lip but held out her right hand. When he tucked it into the crook of his elbow, his heartbeat kicked up a notch. He hadn’t had a woman’s hand in his arm in years.

The trust in the gesture, however reluctant, jabbed his soul with guilt. She didn’t deserve a memory blank, but if she wouldn’t believe him, he’d have no choice. He carried too many people’s secrets to let her go with the knowledge she was about to gain.

He led Valeria to the bar and seated her in front of the folders. “Wait while I fix the lights.”

Twilight had turned to night. With indirect light, her eyes might tolerate the air and the brightness enough for her to read. He snapped on the light in the stove hood. It cast a faint glow over the papers. It would have to do.

The slight tilt of her head implied she followed his barefooted progress around the room. When he stood beside her, she reached up to the bandages. “Now?” she asked.

“Don’t open your eyes right away.” He helped her remove the linen strips and cloth pads and set them on the bar within easy reach. “The stove light is on, to your left across the bar. Don’t look directly at it.”

“Understood.” She turned right, toward him, and slowly opened her eyes. Something he couldn’t read flickered in them and vanished. Bloodshot but now discernibly hazel, they regarded him intently.

His mouth went desert dry. Having her this close, looking at him so directly…if he leaned in, he could taste that ripe mouth, trace the long line of her neck, test the weight of her breasts. His body hardened, and he wrenched his gaze away.

The judgment behind those hazel eyes mattered far more than her looks. Her choice here could help their people, maybe even give him a future.

“Do you know why I left the Collegium?”

“You claimed Chief Councilor Milt Alden was in league with ghouls.” She squinted, as though protecting her eyes from the air, but her gaze took on probing intensity. “But there was no proof.”

“There was circumstantial evidence. As well as my word, for all the good that did.” Was that doubt in her eyes? “Damn it, I’d earned some credibility.”

“I’ll grant you that, but—”

Power blasted through his perimeter wards with the sick wrench inside his head that signaled ghoul magic.
Fuck.

“Shield,” he snapped, but he flung his own barrier around her in case she hadn’t recovered enough. Dropping the ward around his staff, he summoned it. It struck his palm with a reassuring smack, its end caps and runes glowing.

Valeria slid from the stool. “Dare—”

One impact on his wards, one breach. Two. Three. Four. Five—

A roar shook the building. As he and Valeria fell, he snatched her close with his free arm, twisting to take the brunt of the fall. Then he rolled her under him for extra protection. Dust and fragments of brick showered down on his personal shields. At least she had the good sense not to struggle.

The building stopped shaking, but screams came from below. Terrified cries.
Shit.
He had to go.

Valeria had grabbed his shoulders. Releasing them, she said, “Thanks. What was that?”

“Ghouls.” He pushed himself to his feet and gave her a hand up. “I’ve made a lot of trouble for them. This isn’t the first time they’ve hunted me.” Bringing her here, though, might’ve left a magic trail for them to follow.

She tensed, rubbing her eyes carefully. “How many?”

“Too many.”

He’d lost count but knew more had come in. A wave of his hand released the extra wards around the loft, the ones that kept her in. She could escape, and others could enter, but he couldn’t sustain those wards and fight, too.

The terrified shrieks from below continued. Something crashed.

“I have to help the people downstairs, but you should be safe up here.” If he could keep the ghouls away from the stairs.

She squinted against the light. “There are Mundanes here?” At his nod, she added, “I can help you. Give me my sword.”

“No way.” She might run. Or, once the ghouls were beaten, turn on him. He didn’t want to have to fight her.

“I promised you a hearing.” She grabbed his hand, opening to his magic. “If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me.”

Honesty flowed in the touch, and his breath caught at the hope it offered. He dropped the concealment on her weapon. Light shimmered in the corner, revealing the sword.

“For self-defense,” he said. “I’m trusting you, and I need you safe. So wait here.” He wheeled toward the door.

“Be careful,” she called after him.

Surprised, he nodded and banged the door behind him. A jump took him to the stairwell landing. Below lay the corridor between the old manufacturing and storage areas.

As he leaped for the ground floor, a brown-gold blast of pure power sliced through the air. He tucked as he landed, and rolled under the sizzling beam. On his feet again, he swung his staff like an ax through the shields of the blond, voluptuous ghoul who’d launched the bolt, smashing his weapon into her gut. The woman staggered backward. Her shields dissolved.

Behind him, masonry bits and dust blew from the brick wall where the blast struck. Debris rained down on his shield and disintegrated with faint
pffft
noises. He rammed one silver-shod end of the staff into the ghoul’s forehead. “
Morere
,” he snapped to make sure.

Dead, she fell. Leaping over her, he drew energy from the swamp outside. Screams came from the old manufacturing area. The coppery stench of blood.

Shit.
He had to get his people out. He careened around the corner, into the former workroom, then tripped over someone’s leg. Old Maureen lay by the door, neck at a sick angle, sightless eyes staring upward, and his heart twisted.

A big male ghoul with a blond Mohawk charged toward him. Griff ducked, slammed the staff into the ghoul’s chest and fed in power. “
Morere
.”

Two down, about a dozen to go. Way too many. He channeled magic through the staff, blasted one ghoul. A widespread burst would hit a lot of them but not all, and would lower his power dangerously. He couldn’t recharge fast enough to make that a good bet.

Against the far wall, the two young runaways, Hector and Rosa, lay still, bleeding from throat wounds. Dying. The other men and women struggled to get themselves and their children to a gaping hole in the wall. They dodged ghouls, stumbled over broken furniture and dishes. He had to reach them, cover their retreat—

Behind him a ghoul approached. He pivoted to meet the threat, too late. Talons punched through his shield and raked across his back.

The floor vibrated. Screams and crashes rang in the air. Val reeled against the bar, her sword dragging on her arm like a battleship’s anchor. No way could she fight with it.

She laid the weapon down. She hadn’t even felt its presence earlier, a sign Dare was better than she’d realized. But nobody was good enough to take on a large group of ghouls alone, especially with Mundanes to protect.

He’d looked surprised, even wary, when she asked for his trust. That reaction had stung, but he’d probably be dead by now if he were less careful.

Fear for him knotted her gut. Traitor or not, he’d braved dangerous odds to save her. He was braving worse ones for those Mundanes now. She had to help him, give the Mundanes the best chance she could.

She drew energy from the swamp. New power coursed through her body, but more like a summer-dry creek than the torrent it should’ve been. It would just have to do.

The air burned her eyes, made them tear. She rubbed them carefully. Her vision was a little blurry, but she could see well enough to fight.

Magic roared through the building, a widespread burst. Dare wouldn’t risk that unless he was desperately outnumbered.

The fading magic of his blast skated across her skin, and she opened to it, drinking it in to quicken her own power and strengthen her. She couldn’t fully recharge until her wounds healed, but every bit helped. Val grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen and sped down the stairs.

They ended in a corridor. A big, male ghoul staggered against a door frame to her right. The muddy whites of his eyes were filled with rage. He was huge, and she was so weak.

Fear gave her a jolt of adrenaline. Val charged. The ghoul swiped his talons at her face. She ducked and stabbed under his arm, punching power into the blade. “
Morere.
”

With a gurgled cry, he slumped, dying.

She yanked the blade free. Val jumped over a female ghoul’s stinking corpse, then a Mundane woman’s body, and ran into a wide room with high, narrow windows.

The air reeked of ammonia from dead ghouls. About a dozen bodies lay scattered amid jumbled furniture, broken crockery, and cardboard boxes. Eight were ghouls, their skin already turned faint green in death.

On the far side of the room, three big males stalked Dare. Bleeding gouges on his chest and arms had his blue T-shirt in shreds. Sweat poured down his face. He stumbled backward, haggard and too pale, shielding a little brown-haired girl. Sobbing, she scrambled behind him.

His strain to keep up his shield thrummed in his magic and felt like a drain in Val’s chest. Her heart plummeted. Translocating someone else you weren’t touching took far more power than shifting yourself. She was too weak to shift the child clear. So was Dare, or he would’ve already done it.

In seconds, the ghouls would corner him, but she could even the odds. Buy time for the girl to run.

Dare’s eyes met hers, and he gave her a slight shake of his head. Val ignored it.

Intent on him, the ghouls hadn’t noticed her. She crept up behind the nearest one, feeding power to the blade, and stabbed at his kidney. His shield deflected most of the blow. He spun around to face her.

Dare whipped his staff toward the male on the far end. The ghoul’s shielding blunted the hit, another sign of Dare’s fading power.

The ghoul facing Val had a shock of inky hair and a face that looked as though it’d been mashed together. With lightning speed, he whipped his bludgeon at her head. Only a leap backward carried her out of its crushing path.