Reckoning (31 page)

“I’ve bled for you too, Dru.”

My feet slid a little in vampire blood, splashing. It still smelled horrific in here, and I wanted some light. I wanted to be outside so bad I was shaking. I wanted to run until I dropped, just to get away. “Christophe, for Christ’s sake, can we just please get out of here? This is
not helping
!”

I tried not to sound panicked, and I failed miserably.

But he was just not going to let it go. His hands fell away from my shoulders. “How much is enough, Dru? What do I have to do? Tell me. Now, while we have time.”

What the
fuck
? Here we were knee-deep in rotting vampire, gunfire getting closer all the time, God alone knew how we were going to get out of here even if that
was
the Order coming for us, and he wanted to have this discussion with me?

“We need to get out of here.” A wave of exhaustion crashed through me, and I swayed. “I don’t feel so good. Come on, Christophe. We’ll talk later.”

“Now is all I have, Dru. It’s all I’ll ever have.” But his fingers curled around my left forearm, gently this time. “But you’re right. This way. You can’t see, can you.”

“No.” I stumbled after him. “Christophe, look. It’s not a contest. It’s not—”

“Dru.” Kindly, now. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked. Shut up.”

Well, wasn’t that a fine how-do-you-do. But I couldn’t just be quiet. It was too dark, and if I stopped talking I had the idea that he might just vanish, leaving me down here. Alone. And blind. “How can
you
see?”

He pulled me aside; I sensed something in our way. It was probably a mound of corpses, and I almost lost the battle with my stomach there and then.

A jagged little laugh burst out of him. “It’s one advantage Kouroi have over
svetocha
. Even the darkness brings no relief.”

He was back to being maddening and cryptic. The relief that flooded me was probably pointless, but it still made me stagger.

He steadied me. “Dru?”

“I’m fine. I just . . . you sound like you. Like normal. It’s good.” And to top it all off, my eyes welled up again. Two fat tears trickled down my cheeks, sliding through a crust of crap I immediately added to the long and growing list of things I never wanted to think about again. “I like it,” I added lamely, trying not to sound like I was having a complete and total meltdown. Not to sound like I was shaking, and crying, and sick, and scared out of my mind, and feeling dirty all the way down to my bones.

Christophe actually paused, down there in the dark. “You . . .” He let out a long, shaky breath. “Once again,
kochana
, you save me from myself.” He laughed again, but it was a sound so sharp it could cut. It actually hurt to hear. “Come, this way.”

I tried to cry quietly while I followed him. But I don’t think I managed.

I blinked furiously when he pushed a huge heavy door open, the hinges squealing. Even the dim light beyond was scorching, and I let out a little hitching sound of relief. The gunfire was in the opposite direction, but it was moving closer.

And this was actual, honest-to-God
daylight
. Cloud-filtered sunshine falling through small round windows like portholes high up on
the stone walls. “Oh, sweet Mary and sonny Jesus,” I blurted. It was one of Gran’s favorites wouldja-look-at-that expressions, with a heavy dose of boy-am-I-glad.

Christophe glanced at me. We both looked like hell, dipped in seventeen different flavors of gunk and nastiness. But he was almost pristine under it, with the same old air of
I could just step out of all this grime and be perfect again in a heartbeat
. It was hard to believe he’d had his ribs smashed in and the rest of him battered to a pulp.

“Wow. You’re okay.” I could have smacked myself for Stating The Lamely Obvious once again. The warmth in my stomach stuttered, and I swayed.

Christophe gave a slight, pained nod. “
He
had stolen quite a bit. I managed, it seems, to steal some of it back.”

Oh, okay. Great. Fantastic. Wonderful
. “You know your way around here?”

“Logic,
svetocha
.” He peered down the hall, blinking as well. “This is the way I was brought in. I marked it in memory. Come.”

We set off down the hall, my shoes squishing and Christophe’s bare feet leaving black marks. He didn’t let go of my arm, and I didn’t mind. The touch of his skin on mine, even through the dirt, sent a warm current through me. We stepped out into the sunlight, and I made another relieved little noise. I couldn’t help myself.

“Sunlight, and I am not in the aura-dark.” Christophe glanced up. “Clouds are breaking. Just in time.”

I opened my mouth to ask him just in time for what, but before I could there was a howl and a scrabbling sound. The other end of the corridor had another iron-bound wooden door, and something hit it with incredible force. Gunfire thundered, loud and close, and Christophe pushed me against the wall. My shoulder hit with a bruising jolt, and he was in front of me, his shoulders up and his claws
lengthening, the deadly tension in him making the
touch
resound like a brass bell inside my head.

“Dru.” Christophe didn’t glance back. “Don’t worry. If this is
nosferat
, the sunlight will hamper them.”

I nodded stupidly, realized once again that he couldn’t see me. “We’ve done the hard part.” My voice shook. My tough-girl card was
so
definitely going to get pulled. “This will be easy.”

And amazingly, Christophe laughed. The door shivered, splintering. Long cracks popped free of its surface.

When it flew open, I was ready for anything other than what happened.

Ash landed on all fours, and was halfway down the hall before he dug in with his claws, stone shrieking. His eyes danced, he was shirtless, muscle moving under his pale skin. Grass stuck to his hair, and he wore a wide feral grin.

“BANG!” he yelled, and the wulfen flowed in behind him, shifting through changeform and back into boyshape. And there was Nat, skidding to a stop, her sleek hair ruffled and the relief bursting over her beautiful soot-streaked face like a sunrise. Shanks, his head wrapped in a glaring-white bandage, flowed out of changeform and threw his head back, letting out a howl that rattled the thick glass in the porthole windows.

The ruins of the door were still quivering when August stepped through, his blond hair lighting up as the daylight intensified. And there, right behind him, supple quick Hiro appeared, his short black hair lifting up in vital spikes as the
aspect
crested over him and he lifted something to his mouth. It was a comm cell, I realized, and his dark eyes glowed as his lips shaped the words.

She’s here. We found her, repeat, we found her, she’s alive. Stand-by for retrieval protocol
.

I burst out sobbing and stumbled away from the wall. Nat’s arms closed around me, and the rest of the wulfen took up Shanks’s howl. It was a joyous sound, high and glassy, uncomfortably like the suckers’ hunting-cries.

But this time I welcomed it, even as it raised the hair all over me and pulled at the raw aching places inside my head, still smoking and tender from all that hate and death.

It meant I was safe, and I gave myself up to the shaking and the crying so hard I couldn’t speak as they closed around me and started carrying me away.

It was a
whirlwind. Across a square of cracked concrete, then out into a cornfield under a cloudy late-spring sky. The young corn was flattened, and I felt a brief burst of regret. It smelled nice and green, and the clouds were breaking. The sunlight, welcome as it was, seemed pale.

There were helicopters, their downdraft battering at even more corn. I was lifted in like a sack of potatoes, then there was Nat and Ash on either side of me and Christophe across, the ground falling away as the bird accelerated. I leaned on Nat, who reeked of smoke and the clean healthy musk of werwulf, her cat-like blue eyes glowing as she put her arm around me and touched my hair, hugging me a little every now and again. I sagged against her and half passed out, not caring. Everything inside me went all gooshy, all the tension and the pain and the struggle running out like water.

I only roused myself once. “Graves? Dibs?” I had to shout over the noise. It took me a couple tries.

Nat leaned close, her breath hot on my ear. “We found ’em. Everyone’s okay. Relax!”

And I did. I sagged into her, and across the way, Christophe’s eyes glowed. The
aspect
slid over him in a wave, his hair slicking back and his fangs peeking out from under his top lip, but I didn’t care.

The heat from Graves’s blood was gone. I’d used it all up. That was okay. I’d done what I set out to do.

My eyelids fell down, and I was gratefully, finally gone.

I heard voices, but it didn’t matter. I was numb. I didn’t feel like being in charge of anything anymore. I just drifted in a pleasant gray haze
.

“. . . in shock,” someone said. “She’s bloomed, we don’t have to type her. Get the transfusion kit!
”

“But that would
—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Christophe snarled. “This? This is
hers.
Get the kit, now!
”

Sound of movement. It was comfortable where I was, nice and soft, nothing scary. I didn’t even mind that I couldn’t move. It was just . . . drifting
.

It felt good
.

“Dru?” Christophe, very close to my ear. “Dru
, kochana,
little one, hold on. Don’t go. Fight it
.”

Fight what? There wasn’t anything around here to fight. I’d taken care of all the important stuff
.

Now I could rest
.

A sting, on the inside of my arm. It felt familiar, and for a moment I was back in the wheelchair, strapped down, and the darkness
was folding around me. Cold and dark, the absence of anything
—

“Dru!” Graves, his voice hoarse and cracked. “Dru! Goddammit, don’t! Don’t!
”

“Get him out of here,” someone said
.

“No.” Christophe’s voice cut across his. But it was wrong—he sounded breathless, disconnected. Like something was wrong. “Let him call her. She’ll listen.” A gasp. “Give her everything. As much as she needs, do you hear me?
”

“What if it drains you? What if you die?” Dibs, now. I felt a faint flash of interest—so he was okay? And he wasn’t stuttering? But there was that thing in my arm, and a burning spreading through me, pins and needles in my fingers and toes
.

I didn’t like it. I wanted the numbness back
.

“I don’t care, Samuel.” Christophe sighed, a tired sound. “I don’t care. Everything, do you hear me? Every drop.” The words slurred. “Take . . . as much as
. . .”

The gray around me flushed pink. It crept up like the dawn, and the pins and needles swept through me. They hurt, jabbing into flesh that had been drowsily warm just a few minutes ago, and I felt something hard underneath me
.

“He almost drained her.” Dibs, but not sounding terrified. “By transfusion. Then Graves . . . he made her drink, like he said. She got enough to get her through whatever happened down there, but she’s in shock and it’s
—”

“Reynard!” Another familiar voice. Bruce, with his English accent, the sort-of head of the Order. I mean, technically
I
was the head, but he took care of everything while I was being trained. I could almost see him, his proud nose and caramel skin, his preppy jeans and starched dress shirts
.

Check that. I
could
see him. The pink haze drew back, shapes
looming up like rocks through fog. It was a room, oddly familiar with its sturdy walls and a gurney in the center of its stone-flagged floor, hospital machines standing at attention. The shape on the gurney was so still, and I saw without any real surprise a mop of curling hair and my own face tilted to the side, my mouth slack and everything about my body unfamiliar. I was so still, and so pale even through the pink tint
.