Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (19 page)

Dammit to hell! Couldn't we catch a single effing break?

When I'd gained a modicum of self control, I reluctantly looked down.
Christ.
No need to check for a pulse. The man's throat was utterly ravaged. He was crumpled on his side, facing away from me, but I recognized him regardless. It was blond-Eric, one of the two Erics in the Seattle coterie, his preferred wakizashi still gripped in his right hand. I didn't know him well (I didn't know any of the coterie well, to be honest), but I remembered the distinctive sword.

Across the spacious foyer, another man sprawled near the stairs, his chestnut hair fanning out over the oak floor. I wondered if this was the other Eric.

Kim must have ordered both men to guard the telepaths in the off-chance Lorcán decided to pay them a visit, but even with their rigorous training and sidhe magic, the two of them had been no match for strigoi amped up on Lorcán's transfusions.

And that wasn't the sole disturbing thought.

There wasn't much in the way of spilled blood. Both men had been drained. Both of them,
part-bloods
.

"Crap," I muttered, but before I added to the sentiment, a shout followed by a pain-filled scream shocked me away from the forethought.

Was that Michael?

God, please, let him be alive!

I zipped out of Tíereachán's shroud, past the oblong table that decorated the center of the large entryway, to the stairs.

"Stop!" Tíereachán hissed.

I halted in flight, a few feet shy of the other dead part-blood, not because of his admonishment but because I had no intention of charging into a potentially explosive situation without discovering what we were up against. Firstly, where had the scream come from?

A man's shout drifted up from the basement, answering my question. I could make out just a few words, but the menacing tone was clear enough. "… open … or … another … !"

As I cast out in the direction of the voices with my telekinetic fingers, a dark blur flew at me from somewhere to my right, crashing into my side with a flash of looming height, dark hair, and pale skin. We hit the floor in a jumble, the solid, hollow thump of our joint impact reverberating through the smooth wood surface, piercing the air around us, and announcing our presence louder than a DEFCON 1 alert in a nuclear bunker. Pain flared along my left side as the hit drove the wind clear out of me in a rough, involuntary whoosh.

The takedown happened so fast, I scarcely had time to gasp for breath, much less react. The alarming gleam of pointed canines, however, jerked me into action. With zero finesse, I lashed out at my attacker, clouting him with my TK, but to my shock, my magic slipped over him and barely nudged his head. Only then did I remember Jackie's comment about magic not working against Lorcán's vamps.

Distantly, I noted the mixed grunts, squeaking shoes, and the sonorous clashing of metal that told me both Tíereachán and Fisk were engaged.

I wasn't a sword fighter. I wasn't a fighter at all. I was a goddamned clairvoyant … with extras. Magic was my solitary weapon.

Without that, I had nothing.

My attacker shifted hard, pinning my legs under his heavy thigh and keeping my hips twisted toward the floor so that my top leg curved to trap my bottom leg. Even though his thighs were parted and his groin open, I had no leverage to take advantage of the vulnerability. With my left arm numb and immobilized under our combined weight, I could do little more than flail and push at him with my right hand, but it was like trying to dislodge the mass of a house. Before I dug my thumb into his left eye socket, he snagged my wrist and pulled my hand down to cup it against the center of his chest. In another situation, it might have been the position of a dominant lover, but the way he looked at me was anything but loving.

The vamp grinned broadly. The sight of his inch-long fangs, glistening with saliva, jolted my heart like a starting gun in the 100-meter dash.

"He said you weren't to be killed or maimed," the vamp informed me, licking his lips. "But he didn't say anything about bleeding you."

When he snapped his mouth shut with a dramatic
clack
, I noticed his fangs angled neatly over his lower teeth in such a way that they didn't interfere with his lips or tongue. Interesting, but I could have done without the anatomy lesson.

He closed his eyes while drawing in a breath through his nose. "You smell like nothing I know."

When his eyes opened, they no longer appeared human. The white sclera had all but disappeared, pushed out by the expanded navy-blue of his irises. He devoured me with his hungry stare, his pupils so dilated and reflective they resembled two black-backed mirrors.
Cat's eyes
, I thought and shivered. Except this cat wanted to bite me and drink my blood.

My breath, coming in fast, heavy pants, buffeted the air between our bodies as I struggled against his masterful hold. It took everything in me to keep from escaping into the higher dimension. If I did, it would leave the vamp free to attack Fisk and Tíereachán. For their sake, I needed to keep this guy distracted.

"Delicious." He shuddered. "Your scent spikes when you're frightened. I wonder if you taste as good as you smell."

I snorted. "Keep wondering, blood breath. Let me go and maybe I'll let you live." By some miracle, my fear didn't reveal itself in my voice.

He quirked an eyebrow and barked out laughing. "Brave, too," he said and then lowered his head and practically purred next to my ear, "Fucking delicious."

I shivered as his breath flitted over the tender skin of my neck. Before I chickened out, I turned to press my cheek against his cool lips, making skin contact and breaking through his shroud. I felt his muscles tense, whether to bite or recoil, I didn't wait long enough to find out.

In less than a blink, I encompassed his body within my power and drew so hard and fast on my cryokinesis that my vision compressed to a sparkling pinprick. The nerve endings throughout my body flared white-hot, every synapse firing to produce a blistering pain so complete I thought I might die of it. I screamed, hoarse and ragged, but managed to discharge the stolen heat away from our bodies. As darkness pulled me under, I vaguely registered my assailant's muscles going hard as if to strike.

My senses returned sluggishly. The rapid pounding of footsteps vibrated through me, amplified by my body's contact with the wood floor. The footsteps faltered and a resounding "Fuck!" exploded above me. A decisive shove against my back, probably backed by a boot and a muscular thigh, jolted me forward, savagely driving my forehead against a cold, hard object. Even if I'd wanted to defend myself, I was semiconscious, my body leaden and feeling raw, as though my insides had gone ten rounds with a sandblaster. I didn't even have the energy to open my eyes, much less stiffen in anticipation of another kick.

A second, even raspier voice queried, "What the—?" but a loud grunt from across the room cut off the man's question. "Shit! Leave them," he said in a rush as their heavy footsteps moved away.

A fierce cry, followed by the increased number and rhythm of metal clangs, jolted me out of my stupor, reminding me where I was. With my psychic shield in tatters, Tíereachán's rage, frustration, and overwhelming fear that I'd been irrevocably harmed rolled through me. He was so focused on fighting his opponents, while haranguing himself and imagining all the horrors he wanted to inflict on the vampires, that he hadn't noticed I'd awoken. The vamps required all of his skill and they knew better than to allow him the opportunity to attain skin contact, using their inhuman speed to continually dance out of reach while keeping him and Fisk busy at the end of their swords. Fighting three such adversaries, even with Fisk's skilled help, pressed Tíereachán to the edge of his abilities.

He cursed.
If only … we had Wade … for her I'll fight … until I can no longer … lift my sword … could always order Fisk … to take her and run.

Take me and run?

Not happening.

I'd perform a psychic reading of Ted Bundy's boxers before I allowed Fisk to steal me away and abandon Tíereachán and Michael.

When I opened my eyes, my bleary gaze settled on the prone strigoi embracing me. His inhuman eyes peered through me, distantly focused and unblinking. The coating of frost that covered his skin appeared almost indistinguishable from the paleness of his complexion, everywhere except his lower jaw and left cheek where my forehead had melted the surface ice and tinged his skin to a pale blush.

Well, at least now, I'd learned one thing firsthand: Like the sidhe, strigoi were immune to clairvoyance.

I wiggled out of his frozen hold, gasping at the searing pain that shot through my core with every move, and muttered between breaths, "If it's … any … consolation … I think I hurt …
myself
… more than … I hurt you."

I grunted as I slithered away from him and rolled into a pained crouch. "You're just lucky … I didn't … burn you. You'll be fine … once you thaw out," I added, feeling the need to reassure him, even though I had no idea whether he could hear me with frozen eardrums. "But if it's all the same … let's not do this again."

I removed my gloves, tossing them aside, while I evaluated the spectacle near the front door.

Tíereachán and Fisk stood side by side, magic blades in both hands, perfectly coordinated as they fenced three sure-footed, sword-wielding strigoi. It was a testament to the two sidhe's prowess and their four whirling swords that they'd managed to keep the vamps busy enough that the odd one could never circle behind them. Still, I could see the sweat pouring down their faces, and Fisk had been bloodied above his right pectoral muscle. The three strigoi, on the other hand, looked fully rested, as though they'd arrived for the fight after a solid twelve hours of sleep, healthy breakfast, and long leisurely shower.

I could see where this was headed.

Ignoring the non-stop burn inside me and the agony of my bruised shoulder, I wrapped my arms around my knees, aimed for one of the two vamps fighting Tíereachán, and, using my telekinesis, shot myself across the room. I flew six inches from the floor, tucking my chin and doing my hare-brained best to impersonate a bowling ball, while trying not to pass out. With pain erupting through my center whenever I drew power, the fetal position was about all I could manage.

As I'd envisioned, I slammed into the vamp's calves, whipping him clear off his feet. He hit the floor with a thunderous
boom
. And no wonder. The guy was built like a freaking bison, a lot of beef with that cake. I spun around and all but threw myself at the fallen man's feet as the clashing of swords echoed loud in my ears. Parked so close to the action, I relied on Tíereachán to keep the closest vamp from taking my head off with his ridiculous scimitar. Although, to be fair, he looked Egyptian. For all I knew, the sword was authentic.

I shoved my hand up the fallen strigoi's pant leg. If 'Brutus' here wore knee socks, I'd be screwed. He was already curling to sit up. No way I'd get above his knee before he kicked me in the face.

Or gutted me.

Memories from all the humans who'd touched the vamp's fashionably ripped jeans spiraled into my mind. As I staved them off with my mental shield, my fingertips found lukewarm skin.
Thank you, God, for bootcut jeans and drooping crew socks
. I immediately sucked the heat from his body, disbursing it into the nearest adjoining room.

Not wanting a repeat of my previous encounter, I paced myself, even though what I wanted to do was instantaneously freeze him to get away from the threatening guillotine above me. Twice already, I'd felt Tíereachán's alarm explode into my mind when he nearly missed deflecting a blow that had been aimed at me. If my insides hadn't felt as if they were being flayed with a blow torch at every pull of power, I might have risked siphoning energy at a faster clip or simultaneously levitating our bodies to the side, but the pain was already excruciating and I knew if I pushed any harder …

Although, at this point, I didn't think it mattered. I was pretty sure I'd already damaged myself beyond recovery, but I shoved aside the frightening thought. Tíereachán and Fisk were here because of me. I'd do almost anything to keep them from harm.

Brutus, who'd risen to a sitting position, attempted to kick me loose, but his move turned into a slow motion parody. I followed his leg's trajectory, the action too slow to dislodge my fingers from his fast-freezing skin. His leg ground to a halt, raised and bent at the knee as though he was about to adjust his sock while half reclined. It was a ridiculous pose, and I felt bad about leaving him stuck that way, but I didn't dare stop. By the time ice crystals sprang out on his face, cementing his surprised expression, my vision had narrowed to a monochrome tunnel and my insides burned with the volcanic fury of a well-used furnace.

I withdrew my hand from his pants and somehow found the strength to scoot myself backward, collapsing when my back hit something solid behind me. My breath heaved in and out of my throat in jagged bursts, and everything around me took on the grainy appearance of an old, brittle, black and white photo, surreal and stark and threatening to disintegrate.

The overarching pain sucked away my will, and, although I fought it, the relief of oblivion was too much to resist.

I fell headlong into the dark and … another life.