Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (27 page)

“Time to go, baby,” Dean growled, shoving me in front of him.

I stumbled but followed Saeran on wobbly legs.

“Milagra!” Dean shouted with hurried authority.

“We need a way out,” Patrick hissed and glared at Milagra as she fell into line beside me.

“Konstantin,” she gasped.

“Lead the way,” Dean snapped.

She took off, running through the halls at a fevered pace, weaving in and out until I was completely lost. Before long, we stood in the bedchamber where Konstantin shivered and shook beneath the covers.

The Cossack lay in the bed, unconscious, and sweating. I glanced at Patrick, knowing he’d fed from the Cossack and that time was running out. If we couldn’t
fix
Konstantin, then there was a good possibility we would die in this godforsaken castle. I was not dying in the Outer Realm. I refused.

“You’re up,” I said.

“Excuse me?” Patrick scoffed.

“We promised to help him,” I explained.

“What would you like me to do about it?”

“We don’t have a lot of time here,” I hissed, listening to the castle crumble around us. “Turn him.”

“Dahlia, siring someone is an eternal commitment,” Patrick snapped.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Guess you shouldn’t’ve eaten him then.”

“Some things were much easier while you were gone,” he mumbled.

Smiling, I batted my eyes at him. “Yeah, but I bet they weren’t as much fun,” I said sweetly.

Dean snorted but Patrick’s lips were a thin line of distaste.

Patrick drew the knife from the sheath strapped against my thigh and strode over to the bed. Ripping the furs back, Patrick revealed the Cossack’s long, lean, and naked torso. The man’s skin was sallow and clammy and his heart beat a slowing rhythm, pounding the last sounds of death in his chest. It was almost inaudible as he tried to keep breathing, drawing in one ragged breath after another as he clung to life.

Patrick extended his arm and sliced a long line up the length of his forearm. Blood bubbled and streamed down his smooth alabaster skin, staining his perfect flesh. Leaning over the bed, he placed his open wound over the Cossack’s parted lips as he mumbled something inaudible. A few drops of Patrick’s blood dripped slowly into the Cossack’s mouth, coating the man’s tongue with the sweet metallic taste of Patrick. Konstantin licked his lips hungrily, drinking down Patrick’s power.

“I’ll give you the same choice I was given. You can perish here,” Patrick said, his voice calm and steady as Konstantin’s eyes fluttered open with newfound strength, “or you can come with me.”

Patrick’s words rang in my ears like an omen. His own sire had spoken those same words to him before she’d turned him in a war zone 60 years earlier. My heart sank just a little. Patrick was condemning the man to the same fate that Patrick has suffered. I wondered, knowing what he knew today, if Patrick would make the same choice.

As the Cossack latched onto Patrick’s arm, making the choice that would send him into darkness forever, Patrick glanced back over his shoulder at me. His dark eyes locked on mine, and I knew he didn’t regret his choice. I didn’t regret his choice either.

Smiling at him, I released the empathic shield I’d grown so used to wearing to shield us both, letting him feel everything percolating in me. I especially wanted him to feel my confidence in him, in me, and in us. He nodded, yanking his arm from Konstantin’s greedy mouth.

Konstantin convulsed and thrashed as the vampire blood raged through him, converting live cells to undead flesh. His body had to die before the magic and Patrick’s call could revive him. Without Patrick’s power, Konstantin would never rise from the depths of darkness and cheat death.

“What’s happening?” Milagra cried as Konstantin’s body twisted and turned on the bed.

“The transformation will take some time but he’ll wake in the next day or so,” Patrick answered.

“He’s ours now,” Dean growled.

“He’ll be passed out until his soul recovers enough to wake him. We’ll have to carry him.”

“I’ll do it,” Saeran offered. The large fae king stepped up beside the bed and plucked the heavy, scarred Cossack up in his arms. He turned and the unblemished side of Konstantin’s face fell into view, his profile sending shivers down my spine.

My breath caught in my throat and my heart thumped in my chest like a sledgehammer.

“What is it?” Patrick asked.

“He looks like my father,” I whispered in horror.

“How is that possible?” Dean growled low in my ear.

I shook my head. It wasn’t possible.

“We’ll figure it out later,” Patrick chastised, grazing his fingers lightly across my cheek. “We have to get moving and I’m eager to be home.”

I couldn’t agree more.

“This way,” Milagra uttered.

Saeran tossed the larger man over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and ran. We dodged falling stones, walls collapsing, and the floors falling out from under us, determined to be free of this fucking castle of horrors. We turned the corner and were faced with the same crumbling dark stairway where the pixies had attacked and now fluttered about, chasing the shadows for concealment.

“Is this the only way out?” I asked. The walls shook, waving in and out as if they were constructed of fabric and stones crumbled before my eyes. I was afraid the whole thing would come down on our heads.

“It’s the quickest way,” Milagra answered.

“Then let’s go. We’re running out of time.” I nudged her forward, knowing the castle was collapsing in on itself as the magic Likho had used to sustain it leaked from the structure. I felt the absence of his magic in the stones and in my bones. As the air grew lighter and the sense of desperation that had filled the halls on our way in fell away, the wild magic of the Outer Realm flooded in.

Racing down the stairs, I slowed behind Patrick and Milagra, and our steps became more cautious than hurried. The stairs at the second landing spiraled off into an oppressive, pitch-black darkness, and with a deep breath for courage, we descended.

Unable to see an inch in front of me, I grabbed Patrick’s shoulder to steady myself. My night vision was good but it wasn’t good enough to see in the complete absence of light. Patrick reached up and laid his cool, elegant hand on mine, squeezing my fingers. A band tightened around my heart at the tenderness in his touch. I had been afraid I would never feel it again.

Dean reached his warm, strong hand down on my other shoulder from behind and rubbed his thumb gently up and down the back of my neck. I leaned my cheek against his fingers and closed my eyes. Linked, the three of us made our way through the darkness.

We’d get out and we’d all get out alive. We had to. I wasn’t about to lose them when I’d just managed to fix things between us.

Pixie wings flapped above us but they seemed to be scrambling to find their own exit, thankfully they didn’t bother us. I guess it was every man, woman, or pixie for themselves.

Dust circulated, and the sound of falling stones echoed down the narrow passageway. From overhead, a stone fell and slammed into my shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain through me. The force of the blow knocked me into the opposite wall. The bones in my good shoulder ground from the impact and the Ewen blade still gripped in my hand slammed into my thigh, cutting my pants and slicing the skin beneath.

“You all right?” Dean grumbled.

“Can we go faster?” I growled down the stairs to Milagra and Saeran. I rolled my shoulder through the pain and gritted my teeth to keep from crying out.

“We’re almost there,” Milagra called. After another tortuous minute, the soft blue light of the moon filled the passage. Milagra burst through the door with Saeran and Konstantin hot on her heels. Patrick grabbed my hand and yanked, thrusting us out into the cold night air and beyond the castle’s reach. Dean followed, throwing himself forward and clear of the crumbling stone. In a breath we were out, into the open air of winter and the light of the full moon. Dean scrambled to his feet, helping me up in the process.

“We’re not done yet, baby,” Dean growled.

“The castle’s coming down,” Patrick shouted.

My leg was throbbing with each beat of my heart. I’d heal . . . eventually, but I needed to staunch the bleeding. Limping from the castle as quickly as my feet would carry me, I tore a section of fabric from my already torn shirt and wrapped it around my leg. I tied off the knot and swallowed a curse as pain shot down my thigh. Patrick grabbed my right arm and Dean grabbed my left, forcing me forward.

“Where are we going?” Patrick’s voice was strained as he glanced back over his shoulder at the crumbling castle.

“Milagra, I made a bridge on the forest side,” Saeran shouted to his foster daughter.

“Then it should be at the next corner,” she called and we ran.

The castle rumbled, crunched, and fell in upon itself. Masonry dust and magic filled the air with a sparkling mist that twinkled in the moonlight. Over the sound of the crumbling turrets, screams echoed between the mountain and the trees.

“Shit!” I hissed and slowed.

“Don’t stop!” Patrick hissed.

Dean growled, shoving me forward, not letting me go back for those forgotten in Likho’s castle. We rounded the corner and the vegetation bridge Saeran had built was still there, still standing, and we ran for it, even me. Running as fast as my legs would carry me as I limped to keep my weight off the leg now throbbing, I followed, hiding my need for help.

We darted over the arched bridge and sprinted into the trees. The remaining structure of the castle disappeared into the ground in a roar of stone and earth forging together. The Outer Realm shook and opened to swallow the castle up and its remaining bits, leaving nothing but a perfect patch of grass behind where the pristine white castle had been. The only sign anything had ever been amiss was the murky moat surrounding the meadow that had once been Likho’s castle.

Half the night was gone and worry tightened my gut. I glanced over at Patrick, knowing that it had taken us most of the day to cross the linden forest. There wasn’t enough time before sun up to get back to the portal.

Patrick was clustered with Dean away from us and hidden amongst the trees. Plotting our escape, no doubt, but Dean knew as well as I did how long it had taken us to get to the castle. Unless we could cross somewhere else, we wouldn’t make it.

“How far’s the nearest portal?” I asked, ripping a tattered strip from Patrick’s shirt then tying it tight around my leg over the drenched piece of fabric I’d already secured. The tourniquet hurt like a bitch but the bleeding had slowed so that was something. Patrick watched me with a scowl that furrowed his lovely brow, his dark eyes narrowing at the blood soaking my pants.

“The other side of the forest,” Milagra said, stepping up beside me. She peered over at the void and I could swear I saw sorrow in her gaze. “No matter what happened there, it was my home for longer than any other place I’d ever been,” she whispered.

Releasing the tension in my shoulders and ignoring the pain in my leg and shoulder, I relaxed. I could almost understand her sorrow. I still loved my parents, no matter that they’d caused me more pain, both emotional and physical, than anyone else.

“We’ll never make it,” I whispered, glancing up at the full moon. It was already high, too high. There just wasn’t enough night left. “It took us most of the day to cross this forest,” I said, catching Milagra’s gaze and then turning back to Patrick. “We’ll never make it to the portal before sun up.”

“We won’t have to,” Saeran said, hefting Konstantin farther onto his shoulder, securing him against his body.

“We’ll walk as far as we can,” Patrick said, a reassuring smirk cresting his full lips.

“Then I’ll thicken the foliage to keep the sun from us,” Saeran said.

“Thank you,” I almost cried. It was the first thing to go our way since crossing over.

“Let’s get moving,” Dean said, taking Ewan’s blade from me, slugging the elegant sword over his shoulder and lightening my load. “Can you make it?”

“Yeah. Just hurts like a sonovabitch.”

“Why isn’t she healing?” Patrick hissed.

“It was a necessary cost,” I said, defeat making my words sound tired.

Dean waited for me to start off into the forest and then filed in behind me.

“What?”

“I could have sacrificed my healing abilities for payment or paid a much higher price to Baba Yaga. This was acceptable to me,” I offered, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible.

Patrick stopped me, then brushed his fingers lightly across my cheek, gazing down at me with confusion and fear in his expression.

“It’s okay.” My voice hitched. “It’ll be okay,” I said, trying to soothe both him and myself. “We gotta go.”

Glancing back at Milagra behind us, I saw that her head was down, hiding those dark, expressive eyes. As long as we had Konstantin, she would do what we wanted. After that, I wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 30

The sun streamed through the canopy of linden trees as the foliage thinned. Patrick dodged the sunlight with each light step but soon he wouldn’t be able to. The cracks between branches were getting wider and wider as the trees spread further apart on the path through the forest.

“Saeran?” I questioned, a warning clear in my tone.

Stopping, he glanced up through the trees.

“Perhaps you are correct,” he conceded. Dropping Konstantin on the ground, Saeran stepped away.

Milagra flinched, as if she wanted to run to the man lying, dying on the ground. She held firm and remained where she stood, not letting us see her eagerness.

“Go ahead,” Dean muttered, and Milagra took off like a shot, sliding on her knees next to Konstantin and far away from us.

She rested his head in her lap, stroking his hair back from his ashen face. The scar on his cheek seemed softer as she brushed her lips against his. They both seemed softer, less like the villains I’d imagined them to be, and more like kids struggling to survive.

Saeran spread his arms wide, unaware of the tender moment happening behind him. Above us, the leaves thickened and reached out, stretching across the canopy to shade the ground below. The sun’s rays weakened and finally disappeared, casting us into an odd twilight.

I collapsed, suddenly very, very tired. My muscles ached, and I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the constant throb of my heart beating in all the wounds I’d suffered in so short a time. I couldn’t walk another step, let alone a mile or more.

“We should start a fire,” Patrick said, glancing over at me.

“That’s not a good idea,” Milagra said, raising her eyes up to us. “Dangerous things lurk in these woods that are drawn by the light and heat of a fire.”

“Not nearly as treacherous as you, my dear, I’m sure,” Patrick snarled.

The image of Baba Yaga filled my mind, and a shiver ran up my spine. I definitely didn’t want her to find us again. I wanted out, cleanly, and more easily than we’d gotten in.

“Perhaps,” she growled, “But you have something I want. You have nothing they want.”

“Regardless, Dahlia will need to keep warm,” Patrick hissed in frustration.

“It’s time,” Dean grumbled, and I knew exactly what he meant.

I nodded my understanding. We couldn’t light a fire and I needed to keep warm. It was definitely time to tell Patrick about my new ability. Cold and still bleeding, I hobbled back behind a copse of trees. I stripped off my clothes and shivered as the sharp bite of wind skimmed across my skin and seeped into my flesh.

“Shit, it’s cold,” I hissed.

“Then hurry up,” Dean grunted with a light chuckle, teasing. It was good to hear him laugh. It made me feel like we were finally out of the woods. All right, bad joke.

“Shut up,” I snapped, shivering in the snow.

It took longer than I wanted to focus and feel the energy of Dean and the Pack. Gooseflesh rippled across my skin as the winter wind whipped about. I forced the thought and feeling of the cold from my mind and called to the growling voice inside my head. Wrapping the warmth of the Pack around me, I let their magic overtake me. My bones shifted and realigned quick enough that I barely felt it. Fur spilled out over my skin, covering me in the warmth of the thick coat designed for winter. I stamped my paws in the snow and shook out my body from head to tail, readjusting to my new form. I wasn’t cold anymore but my nerves fluttered in the pit of my stomach in anticipation. Peeking my snout around the tree truck, I hesitated.

Milagra had also shifted and was huddled around Konstantin. The Cossack lay on his back. Unconscious and on his way to the undead, he didn’t need to keep warm. Saeran sat several feet away, rolling his shoulders out. He watched his adoptive daughter and her companion with sorrow and what I thought might be relief.

Dean and Patrick stood off to the side, talking . . . whispering. With his arms crossed over his chest and his head down, Dean listened. Patrick slammed his hand down on his open palm, whispering in aggressive tones as he tried not to shout. I huffed a breath through my jowls and sucked up my nerves. There was no time like the present, so I stepped out from behind the trees. My paws crunched through the firm crust of the first layer of snow and then sank into the cold fluffy flakes below. Everyone turned.

I met Patrick’s dark eyes and watched them cloud over with what I felt in my gut was rage.

“You’ve turned her, you bastard!” Patrick snarled.

I couldn’t help but raise my haunches and take a few steps back. To be honest, it was the reaction I’d expected but not the one I’d hoped for. Call me an optimist but I’d hoped for better.

“Smell her, Pat,” Dean answered, his voice sure and steady.

Patrick reached for me, but I backed away. I wasn’t something to be grabbed at and he knew better.

Releasing a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes in visible frustration and slumped. Patrick’s long, lean form crouched down on his toes, his forearms resting on his stretched thighs. His intense dark eyes turned on me with an apology in their depths.

“I apologize,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I feel as if you’re slipping away from me, bit by bit.”

My chest tightened at the expression of desolation in his gaze. I guess we hadn’t worked everything out after all.

I trotted over to him, rubbing my muzzle against his chest, breathing him in. The scent of death and old musty books filled my senses, making my heart thump in my chest. I caressed my warm, furry body against him to mingle our scents. His hands stroked deep into my fur, rubbing down the line of my back and up to my ears. His fingers felt incredible sifting through my fur, grazing my skin. His touch was searching, soft, and tender. I felt none of the anger I knew percolated in his gut in that soft caress. Slowly, that emotion ebbed until it was replaced with other sensations and pride.

Pressing his face into the fur along my head, he skimmed his nose and soft lips against the delicate sensitive skin around my ears.

“She smells the same except . . .” he said, his words trailing off as he lifted his face from my fur. His deep voice rumbled against my skin and my ears twitched, sending shivers up my spine.

“. . . That black licorice scent,” Dean answered.

“Yes,” Patrick replied, stroking the fur back from my eyes. “What is that?” His full lips twitched at the corners and his dark eyes softened, as if he didn’t want to spook me.

“Dunno, but it’s been there since the thorns,” Dean muttered.

“She’s picked up some of Baba Yaga’s magic,” Saeran added.

Patrick turned to the fae king and glared at him.

The man’s daffodil-colored eyes never left Milagra’s sleeping form as he spoke.

“Dahlia’s blood mingled with the old hag’s magic in that mountain. I do not believe it was unintentional.” He finally turned his weary eyes to us. “She knew what you are. She is not a benevolent being, my dear. Baba Yaga will want something from you for the gift she’s bestowed,” he said before meeting first Dean and then Patrick’s gaze. “From all of you.”

“What gift?” Dean roared, finally losing his temper.

“Her magic,” Saeran whispered. “Dahlia will invariably gain something from her blood mixing with the hag’s.”

Patrick ignored Saeran and turned back to me, seeming worried. He delved his fingers into my fur again, scratching along my shoulder blade. I let his fingers dig into my fur, nuzzling in next to him. To be held by him, even in my wolf form, was wonderful

“What is she?” Patrick breathed.

“There are old stories,” Dean said.

I plopped down on my hindquarters beside Patrick and got comfortable. Easing down, I laid my head across Patrick’s lap. He delved his fingers into my fur and stroked.

“The Golden Anidae is powerful, can rule us, but isn’t one of us. She is a peace bringer and the ultimate hand of justice.”

I huffed, snorting the cold air out through my nose.

“You think that’s what she is,” Patrick said.

“Look at her,” he gruffed.

Fear laced his words, and I couldn’t help but glance up at him as the color of his irises shifted to the stark Caribbean blue of his wolf.

“We can’t hide her for much longer, can we?” Patrick whispered into the magical darkness.

“She bends
our
magic like its
hers
,” Dean said, kneeling before me.

“I noticed that,” Patrick said with what I could only decipher as pride in his tone.

His full, kissable lips pulled up at the corners in a way that lit his dark eyes with a twinkle I’d missed terribly.

“They’ll flock to her.”

“I fear it’s already happening. None of them seem to know why,” Patrick said. “But they’re coming.”

“You ready?” Dean asked. He crossed his legs out before him and leaned back on his hands. He seemed so relaxed but the bright glimmer of his intense blue eyes shone bright, revealing more to me than his casual façade let on.

“Alex has been prepared to take over since the night Dahlia killed the Ahriman demon and Ethan,” Patrick answered without emotion. “You? You’ll need a strong Beta.”

“Kurt knows what to do if the worst happens. He’ll make a good Gaoh.”

I whined. It was all I could do to let them know I didn’t like the turn of this conversation. My mind was racing, wanting to scream my frustration until they told me what the hell they were talking about.

“I haven’t had enough time,” Dean whispered with a hitch in his words. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His gaze was entirely focused on Patrick’s hand in my fur and on his friend.

“I don’t suppose forever would have been enough time with her,” Patrick muttered. “I would have liked that.”

“If we’re careful. Clever. We might get it,” Dean said, a sinister smirk turning up the corner of his warm lips.

In my bones, I knew that smile belonged to his wolf and not to the man I knew.

Patrick wrapped his arms around me, pulling his body closer to my fur. He didn’t need to keep warm but he often liked cuddling against me to soak in my body heat. In my wolf form, I had plenty to spare.

“She is beautiful like this. Her fur is the same color as her hair,” he whispered, but I felt his remark all the way down to my paws.

Snuggling in against him, I closed my eyes. Baba Yaga’s shrill cackle echoed through the trees, making my haunches rise and my ears perk up.

Shit!

Jumping to my feet, I sprinted on four paws back toward the trees and my clothes.

“What was that?” Patrick hissed.

“I knew it was too good to last,” Dean growled.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I swore as my toes sunk into the freezing four inches of snow. “C-c-c-c-cold.” I stepped into my BDU’s and wool socks. Hopping into my boots, I made my way around the tree.

Milagra stood before Konstantin’s prone body and snarled at the old woman looming before us in a thick black wool dress. A burgundy shawl was wrapped tight around Baba Yaga’s shoulders and a mortar and pestle followed behind her, swishing a thick trail through the snow.

“What do you want?” Saeran called, his arrogant chin high in the air.

The old woman met my gaze, ignoring Saeran altogether. “
Devooshka
, you have survived again. I am impressed.”

“What’s she saying?” Patrick asked.

“I have. We all have,” I answered in Russian.

“Very good!” She laughed, clapping her hands together in delight again.

“We intend to go in peace,” I said, keeping my tone even and any question from my intonation, which was particularly tricky in Russian.

“Dahlia?” Dean growled.

“Not yet,” Baba Yaga hissed, glancing at Patrick and Dean. “You cannot cross.”

“We can, and we will,” I said, confidence making my voice strong.

“That box you have hidden in your pocket disagrees. I can smell the blood on you, the death magic floating from that box like flesh on a fire. Sweet.”

My hand instinctually went to the ivory box in my cargo pocket. I grazed my fingers along the smoothed ridges, feeling the soft thump of Patrick’s heart still beating within against my thigh.

“I don’t understand,” I said, leading her to answer my unspoken question.

“What the hell is going on?” Patrick snarled.

“Be silent, parasite. It is your welfare we discuss,” Baba Yaga bit out in English.

“Who do you—?” Patrick snapped, taking a step forward but Dean caught him at the bicep, holding him back.

“Don’t, Pat.”

“Baba Yaga,” I said, directing her attention away from Patrick and Dean, back to me. Milagra’s soft growls and the pitter-patter of her paws in the snow as she paced set my teeth on edge. As Baba Yaga’s black magic burned through my veins, I dared to respond. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“That box in your pocket. If you cross, you lose him. Likho’s magic only works here in the Outer Realm since his banishment.” A wide toothless grin spread across her face.

“You mean Patrick won’t survive,” I whispered, knowing all of them heard me.

Of course Patrick wouldn’t survive. That’s how this shit worked. I bled. I hurt. I killed. I brought balance back for everyone else but could I catch a fucking break? No! Always, there was something else. One last thing I had to do. I was sick of it!

“Why?” Saeran asked.

“It’s death magic, you fool,” Baba Yaga snarled, her eyes clouded over to pure midnight and her long, bony fingers stretched and sharpened into claws. “What do you think happens when the parasite crosses the plane with no heart in his chest? Hmm?”

“He dies a true death,” I murmured, the realization that I might have gone through all of this for nothing.

Meeting Baba Yaga’s eyes, and seeing the glint of excitement swirling in her black irises, I knew there was a way out. I also knew it would cost me. Nothing was free with Baba Yaga and magic had a price. But I also understood, she’d planned this from the beginning. We’d fallen into her trap without even a fight.