Cold Blood, page 19
It screams, so I fire again only for a foot to smash down on my back, claws digging in.
The talons are sharp. One sinks into my arm, and the nerves explode in pain, then suddenly go silent. I’m not sure if my arm is gone or simply dead, but the crushing weight on my spine and the talon digging into my shoulder distract too much to probe for an answer.
The weight diminishes.
Or maybe my spine is broken, and that changes how things feel? It’s one of the only bones I’ve never broken.
I try to roll, but the foot is still on me. That means I can still feel it at least. I press against the ground with the hand I can still use and push as hard as I can until I manage to shove the foot off me and roll onto my back. My feet seem okay, so I jump to them. My right arm dangles uselessly, but it’s still attached, though my machete is at my feet. I guess I couldn’t hold on to it.
I look around to see Dorenia panting, holding her claymore and coated with a thick layer of green blood.
I stare at her. She managed to cut it. To kill it?
A basso roar sounds above me, and I look up to find the three still-attached feet as the irate dragon coats the ceiling in flames. He seems to have wedged his head into the second floor and must be panic burning. The smell of smoke is already growing overwhelming.
“How did you manage it?” I ask, trying to move my arm and failing. Great, so I should count it out for the fight.
“Speed,” she says simply. “I ran around it and used all of that momentum to slice right through the leg on you. I should’ve gone for the neck.”
“Getting sentimental in your old age?” I smirk.
She shakes her head and stares at the creature above us. “I’m not sure it’s going to come back down.”
“Well, we have to do something before the whole place goes up in flames. We can’t find him if we’re on fire.” I shoot into its belly, steadying my shots, trying to make sure that I hit the same point each time. The first shot ricochets, but the second buries itself deep, as demonstrated by the green blood trickling down and the flaming roar above us. The third must’ve gone wide though, as I don’t get any more blood, only a lot more screaming as smoke grays out the room around us.
“It’s a trapped animal,” Dorenia says. “I think all we can do is put it out of its misery.”
“I’m trying,” I snap back.
She yanks the blood bags free from her skirt and holds them out to me. I stare at them in confusion before holstering my gun and taking them as best I can. “I’m going to need one of these. Maybe most of them,” she says.
“What are you doing?”
“Did you see a shower when we were searching? That’d help.”
“This is stupid. You’re not running through the fire to kill it. You’ll die. I can just keep shooting it.”
It screams, more blood pouring down as the roar of fire above us grows deafening. “I’m not letting it suffer like that. So, bathroom?”
I point to the side. “I think it was over there. But wait.” I drop the blood on the floor, careful not to let them burst, and shrug out of my jacket, then have to peel it off my bloody arm and wrap it around her. “It might help.”
She grins at me, leans in, and gently presses her lips to my cheek. “I hope this works. I’d rather not die trying to prevent a murderous madman’s house from burning down. Even if it is also to keep something from suffering unnecessarily.”
“I can—”
“You can’t even swing your machete right now. You need to heal. And we’re wasting time.”
She takes off at full speed, and I hear a shower running a second later as she must be drenching herself and my nice jacket. I drop to my ass and bite into one of the bags, drinking the best I can. I don’t want to waste any more than I have to. She’s going to need a lot. We might have to use that suspicious shit in the fridge.
Maybe I should go down and try to find Reynolds while she does this, since it’s not like the fire will be out, but I can’t leave her to have to heal on her own. So I wait.
It should only be a few seconds, and I need to know that she’s okay. Great, I really do care about this fucking vampire.
The creature shakes, not even managing a whine, and more blood pools on the floor.
Then a charred woman drops to the floor right in the middle of the green puddle. She’s not in as bad a shape as I’d expected, but she’s definitely burnt. I rip off my shirt and use it to smother the flames, then pick her up and carry her outside. Once I’ve managed to dump the rest of the open pack of blood down her throat, she manages to speak.
“I’m fine.” She coughs, sounding not at all fine.
I hand her another bag.
She nods, her lips curling into a pained smile. God, I love her smile. “Go kill the bastard.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The building is on fire, and a dead dragon is dangling from the second story, threatening to drop to the floor beneath it and crush it. I should probably hurry.
I pick up my machete and check the doors until I find a set of stairs leading down and leap over nearly the whole flight, reaching the bottom a second later. The smell of smoke and flames is so strong, I can barely detect anything else, but I know he’s here. The stink of the undead hangs in the air, taunting me.
“Come out, you bastard!” I shout.
No answer comes. I run down the halls. There’s a storage room; some dungeon full of sex toys and whips; a vault of weapons, jewelry, and solid gold bars; and finally, tucked away in a room near the back, there’s a solid metal slab of a door.
It reeks of him.
“Reynolds,” I call. “I’m here.”
The door looks to be even sturdier than the dragon. I knock and get a solid thud. Then knock twice more for good measure. There’s no answer from the other side. Maybe he killed himself in fear. I’d hardly blame him. It would be a far nicer death than I’ll give him.
I grip the door and pull, feeling it strain. My muscles ache at the effort, and I have to dig my feet into the ground and grit my teeth, but I keep pulling.
The door doesn’t want to give.
It’s keeping me from my revenge while fire rages through the building, already licking at my back. If I stay here, I’ll burn alive, and that won’t get me my vengeance either.
But how can I just leave? He’s right here. I can’t let him get away again. He was right in front of me, I took his fucking hand, and he still got away because of his stupid fucking trick. The bastard killed Lakia. He killed my baby boy. And he’s mere feet from me.
I dig my feet into the ground, the leather of my boots melting into my skin as I pull, my nails tearing in the door.
And it still won’t move.
I can turn around. I can go back to Dorenia, and we can fight him another day. If we can find him. I could live a normal life. There’s something there between us, and I can find out what it is rather than dying in this fire in a futile attempt to get my revenge. He’d leave me alone. He’s not hunting me down like her enemy was. I could forget it and leave with her.
But how can I go back to her like this? I don’t know if these feelings are real, but I can’t explore them until I’ve avenged my wife. I need to know that Lakia can rest easy. That this monster can’t destroy another family, can’t create another monster.
I look around to see if there’s anything I can use to pry it open, but there’s nothing; it’s all already burning up, except what I brought. I take a deep breath and grip the door with one hand, trying to pull it just the slightest bit loose, then shove my machete in the barest opening. I pull, trying to lever it open only for the hilt to snap off in my hand, leaving the blade in place.
I grip the door again, prying with both hands. It’s still more open than it had been, and the flames are near-overwhelming, melting hinges as surely as they’re roasting me. They must have done their part, as with one last heave, it finally comes open.
I can barely even feel my flesh searing. Bloodlust will do wonders for a person. Or a monster.
And I find a monster waiting for me.
Still looking exactly the same, that pathetic excuse for a soldier is shivering in his recliner, his eyes bulging at the sight of me. A gunshot echoes in the tiny metal box, and something bites into my belly, but I cross to him and crush the gun in my hand, leaning in until my eyes are level with his. “It’s over, Reynolds.”
He tries to punch me, and his arm flies off, fresh blood coating the wall.
I grip the hand holding the crushed gun and yank off that arm too. He screams.
I stare down at him, pathetic bloody mess that he is.
He leaps up from the chair as if running into the fire will spare him any pain. He’s actually trying to run. This keeps getting better and better. I grab him by his shoulder, blood spraying against my hand as my nails dig in.
Reynolds kicks back at me, his movement flailing and desperate, but I toss him back into the chair, towering over him. I finally get to see it in his eyes. This is it. This is how I felt. Terrified and powerless.
“You’re still nothing,” he snaps, but the words seem hollow, so coated in fear that they’re not even an insult. “You’re nothing but that scared girl, desperate to escape me. And that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Maybe killing him is too quick. I grip his leg and rip it off, relishing his pained scream. “No, Reynolds. I’m not powerless anymore. I’m sure you remember. You gave this to me. You turned me into the very monster that will end you.”
His eyes dart around the room. I’m not sure if he’s looking for something to use against me with his only remaining limb or if he’s hoping he can buy time until the fire consumes us both. “You turned me into this. You took everything from me. I only wish there was enough that mattered to you that I could return the favor.”
“You killed my son!” he shouts.
He’s buying time. It’s the only explanation. But what the hell is he talking about? I stare at him. “No, you killed mine.”
He snarls, tears falling from his eyes. “Jacobs. My squadmate. I made him. Decades ago. And you killed Rogers. My whole squad.” He almost sounds like he cared about them. “I’d been going to turn him, but then—”
“Oh.” I grin. “Good.”
He gapes at me. “Good?”
My smile only grows. “Yes. I was worried there was nothing I could take from you. But look, I killed your family, your dragon, ripped you apart, and burnt your house down. Finally, you can know what it’s like, what you put me through. Maybe now you’ll understand why every waking moment of the last eighteen years has been spent hunting you down and why you’re going to die.”
He shakes, baring his fangs. “You’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of it. You won’t—”
He never finishes that threat. I want him to suffer more, but I can’t wait. He needs to die. I try to leave his headless body behind, but fire has completely filled the basement, licking at the stone walls, and I can barely ignore the pain as it eats at me. There aren’t any windows down here that I can see through the smoke. I might be trapped.
I toss his head out of the panic room and close the metal door. It swings right back open. “Shit,” I mutter. There’s only one thing I can do. It’s going to hurt. I grab the handle of the door, slam it shut again, and hold it in place. It’s solid metal. The whole room is. I can take the pain, but it’s going to be like being in an oven.
I might not make it out of this. I’m honestly not sure.
But I know that Dorenia will never forgive me if I die here, so, I suppose I’ll have to hold on.
I stay there, clutching the handle, holding the door closed as the flames fill the basement. The heat washes over me. I close my eyes and grip tighter, my skin blistering and going numb, but I keep holding on.
I never wanted to walk away from this. I would’ve been fine going out in a literal blaze of glory with my revenge. But she just had to have that smile.
So I take the pain and stand there, feeling everything burn up around me, enduring the agony of it because I have to live. I have to see that smile again.
Chapter Twenty-four
Dorenia
As the sirens grow closer, I can see the lights flashing through the trees. That is way faster than expected. Normally, I’d go out to meet them, but I’m currently still covered in blood and down to only a charred and bloody shirt.
I suppose I could actually use my vampiric abilities. I don’t like doing it. It’s violating a human’s free will, and it bothers me, but assuming we’re able to rescue that idiot before she burns to death, I’d rather she not be arrested for murder, and it’s probably a good idea to not have a bunch of firemen discover a dragon corpse.
I hope I can do it. Shit, I’ve only intentionally enthralled people a couple times in my entire life.
I groan. I hate doing this.
I shake my head. No. It’s the only option. Anything else will alert a lot of people to fiends being real, let people see me half-naked, and completely screw over Kalila. I can do this.
Plastering a smile on my face, I stride to the front of the manor where the fire engines are already parking, along with a few cop cars. This better work. At least they’re not likely to arrest me for public indecency outside of a housefire, but I’d still rather not take my chances.
“Is this your house, ma’am?” one of them asks as he steps out, politely averting his gaze.
Should I do this one at a time? Can I even do a whole group? Probably easier this way, even though she doesn’t have time to waste. “Yes, it is, and there’s no one in it.” I put the compulsion into my voice, hoping desperately that I’m doing it right. I haven’t done it since the forties when someone tried to arrest me. “Quickly, please, put out the fire. You don’t need to worry about finding anyone.”
He nods and doesn’t react to how weird that must’ve sounded. It probably worked, then. I go around, telling the rest of them the same. One of the cops comes to talk to me. “We have some clothes in the trunk,” she says.
“Sure, give those to me, and then leave.”
She stares at me for a moment but slowly nods. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
I hope she doesn’t have a partner. I don’t see one. I throw on the sweats and baggy Toronto PD T-shirt and watch as she drives away, the firemen already spraying the house. I can’t make it to her yet. I hate this. I ran through fire mere minutes ago. I should be willing to do it for her. But I don’t have another way to heal, and if I can’t bring her blood, then I need to be able to get her out. I can’t sacrifice my life if it won’t save hers. That’s not brave, it’s stupid.
So I wait. And I watch. Knowing that every minute she could be burning up until there’s nothing left of her. She may already be long gone, and I could be waiting for nothing.
But it’s all I can do. I have to hope that she’s still in there, and knowing her, likely not in one piece, but she has to be save-able.
I can’t stomach the idea that she isn’t. That miserable, murderous, vampire hating asshole has really grown on me. If she’s dead, I can’t try to take her out for dinner.
The second the fire has died down enough, I run inside. Smoke and steam still billow out, filling the room. I’d be roasting if I was human, but temperature doesn’t hit like it used to. As long as it’s not enough to cook my skin off, the discomfort doesn’t matter.
None of them follow me. I suspect that my insistence that there is no one inside must count for me as well.
The second floor is gone, with only a slight skeleton of a structure to suggest it was ever there. The dragon’s corpse, however, is untouched, beyond the missing foot and head. The fire didn’t do a thing to it. I suppose I should’ve expected that.
The kitchen is in surprisingly solid shape. The fridge is scorched, and nothing likely works anymore, but it’s still mostly where it was, although if it’s now charred to a crisp. I open the fridge only for the door to fall apart in my hand. The blood is still there. It’s boiling to the touch, but I can stomach that.
I clutch one of the containers and run, trying to find the stairs down. I know they’re here somewhere. She didn’t just run into the fire and die.
The door is gone, and half the steps are burnt away, but there’s still something. It turns halfway down, so I can’t skip the whole thing, but I leap to the landing. It gives way under my feet, but I kick off it and land at the bottom of the steps.
The basement floor is in better condition. It’s cement, and the walls seem to only be scorched. I touch one, and it doesn’t fall apart.
A door crumbles as I pass it, and fire still smolders inside, but there’s nothing suggesting a person there. Most of the doors have seen better days, and I can feel the heat of the fire through the hallway. It’s not quite like being in an oven, but it’s certainly an unpleasant sauna. The doors don’t all fall apart, but none of them fit neatly into the frame, and they’re all thoroughly blackened.
I check each one. She has to be behind one of them. The damage isn’t as bad down here. Surely, she’s still alive. She has to be.
Near the last door, I find something. There’s another door past it, massive and metal and red from the flames still licking at it.
I should’ve brought water as well as the blood. “Kalila!” I shout. “I’m here.”
No sound comes from the other side.
This is going to hurt. I set the blood down and step through waist-high flames, having to step over some brittle bones that must’ve been Reynolds’s. I grab the door and yank it open with all my strength.
There’s a sickening stench, and I find exactly what I hoped for. She’s there. Not exactly alive but solid enough that I can fix her. She never could stay in one piece. Her arm came with the door.
