A Draught of Ash and Wine, page 25
That would be one less problem hanging over them. The rest they would figure out, together. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll see to it no one bursts through the door.” Johnathan didn’t trust a single gift from their former treacherous host.
Lack of blood and the exertion of the fight left Vic more than ready for rest. He collapsed on the bed in a cloud of dust, too tired to care about the state of his clothes. Johnathan watched him sleep, his senses tuned for the slightest change in the air. The hours stretched long through the night.
During the late hours, long before dawn, Johnathan straightened, catching a scent of honey and sex, gone before he could get a lock on it. He opened the door, searching for the succubus’s outline in the shadows, but her scent had vanished. Convinced he’d imagined it, he settled back into Vic’s vacated chair, watching the candle wick burn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The pacing began before the sun rose. Vic tossed often in his sleep. Eyelids darting, his body tensed in the grip of some nightmare or another. Once he woke with a start, gasping while his frantic gaze sought out Johnathan.
He’d joined Vic in the bed shortly after, soothing the worst of whatever plagued his partner’s dreams by holding him close. There was an acrid touch to Vic’s scent that worried Johnathan, a sour note in normally delectable citrus and musk. It was something he’d belatedly registered when they left the Estate, Vic lost in the troubling spiral of his thoughts. Though Johnathan didn’t know how to help Vic through this morass of twisted emotions, he could hold him while he slept, safe and secure in Johnathan’s arms.
Those moments, in the quiet pauses between his sleeping partner’s breaths, Johnathan allowed himself to accept the depth of feeling he had for Vic. How deeply he’d come to love him. It wasn’t an epiphany, but it still shook him. Their recent brush with death made Johnathan wish he could rewind time to the moment on the train, laughing and teasing one another. Before Sister Wilhem invaded their lives.
Vic woke close to dawn, unable to stay still in Johnathan’s hold. He rolled from the bed, pacing the narrow space, twitching at small noises. Johnathan recognized those signs, having seen them often in with the vampire who raised him, and the ones he later hunted.
“Maybe I should retrieve your parcel alone,” said Johnathan. He’d meant to lead with a suggestion, but tact was never his strong point. The skin around Vic’s eyes pinched tight. He glanced about their humble lodgings, gaze never settling. If he’d been seated, his legs would be jogging in place. He could tell the vampire wanted to deny the wisdom of such a statement, but Vic knew himself better than that.
His shoulders slumped in resignation. “If it’s spoiled, I may need you to accompany me later until I locate a donor,” he admitted.
“I could distract you,” Johnathan offered, with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. He managed to elicit a smile from Vic, but the man shook his head.
“Delightful as that offer is, I’m afraid I must decline, my love,” he said, though he wouldn’t explain why. Johnathan worried he’d done something to cause a rift between them but when Vic finally sat in the chair, he could see the lines of strain etched on his face.
“You’re worse off than I expected,” said Johnathan. “What did I miss?”
Vic hesitated. “I didn’t stop resisting after Katherine knocked you out.” He cleared his throat. “To my detriment.”
He’d been injured worse than what Vic witnessed, badly if his reluctance to talk about it was anything to go by.
Johnathan didn’t want to leave Vic at all, but the post would open soon, and the sooner he grabbed the kit the better. “I won’t be long.”
In the light of day, the warehouses they’d passed bustled with activity, the packing, storing, and shipping of goods to their new destinations. This was an in-between town, the stop over to larger grander destination, but the streets were neatly lined. Many of the new buildings still possessed the sap rich scent of cut lumber. The aroma of food made Johnathan’s stomach growl, realizing he hadn’t eaten more than a scant heel of stale bread before he left his cell. They both needed to attain nourishment today, shore themselves up for whatever trials lay ahead.
A stroke of good fortune meant a quiet morning at the post. Johnathan gave Vic’s name to the clerk, tucking the brown parcel under his arm. The errand took him less than half an hour. He headed back toward their lodgings at a steady jog.
Rosewater and smoke caressed his senses. Johnathan skidded to a halt in the middle of the packing houses. It couldn’t be. Why would Merry follow them here? He thought he might have imagined it if not for the hooded figure darting away at the edge of his vision. Johnathan gave chase before his sense of logic caught up to him.
Merry’s presence meant nothing good. His steps slowed, the scent leading him to the ominous darkened entrance of a warehouse. Since his experiences with similar establishments were less than stellar, he decided to avoid prancing into an obvious trap. He began to back away until Merry’s familiar voice snared him.
“You truly are too intelligent for your own good,” said Merry. Their voice did not come from the interior of the doorway. Johnathan turned, startled to find them directly behind him. Merry held up their hand, blowing a silvery powder into his face.
Johnathan staggered back, his lungs seizing. The parcel fell to the ground. He clutched at his throat, choking as if he’d swallowed a thousand tiny blades. Blood bubbled to his lips in a pinkish foam. He collapsed to his knees on the ground, unable to pull air into his lungs. The smoldering core in his chest flickered, unable to form a spark. Merry watched his struggle with a detached gaze.
When it was clear he was incapable of retaliating, Merry withdrew a length of silver chain from the folds of their dress. It hurt to look at it, the metal overly bright to his gaze. Johnathan wanted to flee, to scream, or give voice to a thousand curses, choking on blood and spittle as Merry wrapped the chain around his wrists. The silver seared his exposed flesh, burning through his clothes.
“Your kind don’t have many weaknesses,” said Merry, their tone conversational as they circled Johnathan, looping the chain around his bare neck. He gagged, his bound hands pulling the chain taut when he tried to scrabble at the horrid collar. “You’ll eject the silver powder from your lungs eventually, but to fulfill my part of the arrangement, I need to incapacitate you as long as possible.”
Panic drove him up to his knees. He retched a mouthful of silver-specked blood, hatred boiling in his gaze. Merry’s gaze flickered, a flash of regret and pain, but they scooped up the broken parcel from the ground, wagging it in Johnathan’s face. “I will ensure Vic receives this.”
Johnathan couldn’t respond, jerking against his restraints. Merry bit their lip, their resolve wavering.
“You aren’t the only one who loves Victor,” they whispered, clutching their fist to their chest. “I gave him years of my life. My affections, my time, my blood, but it wasn’t enough to keep him by my side. I wasn’t enough.” Tears welled in their eyes. “We are never enough for them. No matter how unique, how blessed.” They spat the word. “No matter how much we give. No matter how much we sacrifice. I am nothing but a tool they use to power their sanctuary. To read their futures. But the Benign are worse than any callous immortal.”
A frantic energy entered their gaze. “The Society will take one of us. I cannot endure their torture, John, I won’t. I won’t become their vessel.” They crouched down in front of him, slipping a vial into their bloodied fingers. “But they can’t have Vic either.” They pressed a kiss to Johnathan’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” Merry sobbed, a broken sound lost on unsympathetic ears.
Johnathan was alone, drowning in silver, bound in burning chains. In the distance, he heard the high-pitched chiming of the Herald.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Johnathan thrashed on the ground. Though the buildings around him crawled with humans at work, Merry managed to lure him to a remote corner. No one came at the sound of his struggles. He lay on his side, a steady stream of blood pouring from his mouth as the silver powder expelled itself from his lungs. The Society was coming for Vic.
Resolve weakened by hunger, he feared what Vic would do to stop himself from tipping over that ledge. Would the sight of blood make him freeze up again? His struggles renewed, a helpless anger welling inside him. The vial slid through his numb fingers, rolling away. The silver branded his skin, a poisonous unending slice across his raw nerves.
Time trickled to a standstill. Seeped in agony, he didn’t know if he lay there for minutes or hours, aside from the shift of daylight overhead. The scent of honey and sex teased his ravaged nose. Relief surged through him. Hesper had found him.
Her brown feet padded across the dirt as she approached him. They paused at the puddle of silver-laced blood. That honeyed scent wafted over him as she ruffled her skirts, bending over him.
Hesper hissed. The silver burned her fingers, but she kept picking at the chain until she dislodged it from around his neck. Johnathan groaned when she unwound it from his wrists, cut deep from his struggles. The last piece peeled away from his ruined flesh. She tossed the chain away, her somber red gaze peering down at him.
“Come on, Johnathan, push it out of your system.”
She kept vigil over him during those perilous long moments it took for his body to start healing.
Johnathan swallowed painfully; his throat still shredded by the silver powder. “You came for me,” he rasped.
Hesper nibbled on her lip. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was enjoying the company of a very robust gentleman,” she confessed.
Johnathan rolled to his side, searching the area for any trace of his betrayer. “Did you see Merry?”
“I missed them,” she said, her demeanor contrite. “What will you do, Hound? The Scarlet Sister has taken your vampire.”
He closed his eyes. His mind screamed at him for action but his body needed a few minutes to recover. “You saw?”
Hesper shivered. “There were so many of them, Johnathan. The Scarlet Sister possessed the Herald. It rang through the streets, the chime of victory.”
Frowning, he gingerly rubbed his throat. “How do you know what a Herald is? Isn’t it one of the Society’s machines?” He only knew the term from Merry’s Sight-spun visions.
The succubus shook her head, hugging her knees. “It’s not a machine, it’s a Favor, bestowed by the Benign to their chosen followers. If the Benign are exerting that much influence over this realm, nowhere and no one is safe.” Her eyes were haunted. “They dragged him into the streets in a golden net, burning his beautiful skin. They will use the Herald to break him.”
The implications swept through him. Johnathan snatched the cursed vial off the ground and stumbled to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Hesper hiked up her skirts, trotting after him.
“I have to stop them,” said Johnathan, his tone curt. He paused, unable to ignore good manners. “Thank you for your aid.” There were dozens of questions he wanted to ask her, but panic sang in his veins. He needed to get to Vic.
Hesper grabbed his wrists, slowing him down a step. “Whoa, what do you mean you have to stop them? You’re a single demon. Not even a Hound can withstand an embodied Benign. We need to run.”
“I won’t run.” Johnathan gently extricated himself from her grip. “I love him.”
Pain filled her gaze. “Then you’ll die,” she said. “Is this worth dying forth?”
“Madam, I assure you it is,” said Johnathan, resuming his run to the apartment.
“But he’s your anchor,” she sputtered, keeping pace at his side.
Was this a taboo among demons he wasn’t aware of? Johnathan didn’t care. His pulse tripped when he saw the broken door. He knew what he would find, and it still filled him with rage. He burst into the empty apartment, Vic’s scent tangled with a multitude of others, faded enough to indicate Johnathan had been out of commission for hours. He needed to pick up their trail, but the rigors of the last few days had taken their toll.
The vial was still clenched in his fist. Merry’s final bittersweet gift. He put his anger for the treacherous seer aside, popping the cork with his thumb.
Hesper’s nose wrinkled. “Tell me that is not the poison draught,” she hissed.
“My senses are better as a Hound. I need to transform,” he said.
She seized his shoulders, giving him a shake. “Are you mad? You can’t shade walk in broad daylight! A Hellhound racing through the streets will have every hunter on the eastern seaboard breathing down your neck.”
Not that it mattered since there was a strong possibility he wouldn’t survive this encounter. “Take care, Hesper.” He lifted the vial to his mouth, when her hand closed over the top.
“I can’t let you do this alone,” she said, her voice soft. Her nostrils flared. “I think…I think between the two of us, we can shade walk until we’re close. But I’m not a fighter.”
The succubus was already shaking in fear, but still willing to put herself on the line to help him. “Whatever aid you can give, I am grateful,” said Johnathan, and meant it. She was the last person he’d expected to see at the ninth hour, but he wouldn’t turn her help away. He downed the contents of the vial, bitter ash and wine blooming on his tongue.
The change wasn’t any less painful, but somehow smoother, easier. Maybe his body had become more practiced in reshaping itself each time he became the Hound. Using the draught left him with the usual woozy sensation. Slightly unsteady, Johnathan shook himself, looking at the succubus expectantly.
Hesper appeared somewhat horrified by the means of his transformation, sniffing at the empty vial. “You’ve got to stop using this shit, Hound.” She shook her head and slid onto his back.
Johnathan barely registered her weight, though he was surprised by her comfort with his form. She lay down along the length of his spine, careful of his healing wounds when she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Shade walking during the day is different from night. You might find it disorienting,” she said. “When I pull, follow me.”
A tugging sensation throbbed through his bones. He heard her exhale and the world shifted. If was as if they’d entered another plane. Sounds were distorted, wavering nonsensical echoes impossible to decipher. The world around them shared a similar dissonance, as if he viewed everything through warped glass. There weren’t enough shadows to hide them so Hesper had created her own null space.
His sense of smell, however, functioned perfectly. Johnathan locked onto Vic’s fading scent. He would find his lover. With the succubus clinging to his back, he took off, running full tilt to whatever fate awaited him.
The scent trail led him out of the town proper, the denser clusters of buildings giving way to farmland, notable structures more isolated among the fields and fallow. The coppery taint of blood threaded Vic’s scent, punctuated by sweet floral notes that made Johnathan’s lips curl in a silent snarl.
If they’d used the golden net, his wounds wouldn’t heal quickly without help. Johnathan poured on more speed. Fire flickered through his muscles, a welcome flame, fed by the molten center inside him. His claws tore into the ground, leaving sizzling grooves that would no doubt bewilder any passerby. Hesper hummed against his neck, an unrecognizable song though the chord sank into his bones, seeming to soothe the lingering ache of his transformation. There was a familiarity to her song, though he couldn’t fathom where he’d heard it before.
Vic’s scent thickened, tangled with half a dozen others, sweat, gunpowder, leather, coupled by the burnt air odor of lightning and an oddly potent metal. The only structure for miles was single farm, a low humble house accompanied by a handful of sheds, coops, and a large barn, easily big enough to hide a small contingent of Society Agents. The doors were firmly closed but this was the unmistakable end of the trail.
Johnathan’s steps slowed as he drew close, debating how he would enter the building when the succubus gave his neck a pat. Hesper slid off him, snapping the world into sharp focus. The sun was still high in the sky, the air a chill lick against his steaming coat. Hesper grasped the large barn doors, her face scrunched in concentration to avoid setting off any squealing hinges. She eased them open wide enough for a Hellhound to enter.
“Try not to die,” she whispered. Hesper gave Johnathan a final nod and sank into the natural shadows within the barn. Nudging the width of his shoulders through the open down, Johnathan braced himself.
It was not enough. Blood tinged the air, it pressed against his senses, a whisper of retribution. A half a dozen Agents circled a central trio, a much smaller number than Johnathan anticipated fighting, but when he focused on the center of the room, his control frayed to nothing against a wave of blind rage.
The Scarlet Sister held the Herald aloft, the soft chiming a mocking accompaniment to the grim tableau. Vic hung from a chain draped over one of the ceiling rafters, clothes soaked in blood despite the lack of open wounds on his stark white skin. The insidious Luthor stood nearby, a bloodied gold chain wrapped around his gloved knuckles.
“One word, and this stops,” Sister Wilhem crooned, “The Divine Kushiel waits for you beyond the veil. Let him in and your pain will end.”
The name sent a shot of dread through Johnathan. It held a faint ring of familiarity, as if engrained in his mind.
Vic raised his head to glare at her, his face white from blood loss. “Why do you want this? They will kill all of you.”
Wilhem sighed. “Do you not see the destructive path of humanity, fiend? Wars? Famine? Disease? Even now, conflict stirs in the belly of this country. It draws the Nether and the Benign ever closer.” The Herald pulsed in her grip. “A convergence is coming, a joining of the realms. And we’ve helped it along.”
