Hands dripping with the foul blood of the Nothos, Mal spun toward the alley Chrysabelle had escaped down. The cuts and gouges he’d endured in the fight stung now that he’d become himself again. His body craved the rest necessary to heal, and the pull of daysleep already weighed on him. Even the voices were exhausted. Dawn was minutes away. Going after Chrysabelle and the escaped Nothos was not an option unless he intended it to be his last option. There was no way he could find her and shelter before the sun came up.
Wounded, bleeding, and almost comatose with the need for sleep, he took off in the direction of Seven, the closest refuge he could think of, even though every fiber in his body and mind ached to go after Chrysabelle.
But that way lay death. And there was no way he was checking out and leaving Chrysabelle alone in the clutches of a man like Creek.
Chapter Sixteen
The scent of brimstone faded as Chrysabelle ran alongside Creek and away from Mal. She hated leaving him behind almost as much as she hated that he was right about what would happen to her if the Nothos captured her. The disappointment of not fighting side by side with Mal made her wish things were different, but it wasn’t safe for her to be near him when his beast took over. The voices hated her and the beast had already come close to killing her once before.
‘Explain.’
‘What?’ She looked over at Creek keeping pace beside her.
‘What the hell was happening to him?’
‘His beast was coming out. It’s part of his curse.’ She returned her gaze to the street ahead of them. Her sacre shifted slightly with the rhythm of her stride, tap-tap-tapping her back. ‘If you’re really KM, shouldn’t they have taught you about him in Kubai Mata school? I thought it was your job to kill vampires. I’d think he’d be pretty high on the list.’
‘You want me to kill him? ’Cause you’re making a pretty convincing case.’ Creek glanced back the way they’d come. ‘And, no, they didn’t teach me about every vampire. There’s only so much they could cram into my head in two weeks.’
‘He’s anathema. You know what that means?’
‘Yeah. Means dark is the only side he’s got.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Mal was so much more than even she’d guessed. ‘He saved my life.’
‘Of course he did. He wants your blood.’
She slowed her run to a walk. Let the Nothos come. Killing one might improve her mood. ‘You don’t have a clue.’
A few paces away, he slowed as well and turned to face her. ‘You sweet on him or something?’
She stopped so suddenly she almost fell over. ‘You’re barking mad.’
Creek took a few steps back in her direction. ‘You at least care for him. And he certainly digs you.’
Her jaw went south. ‘You are insane.’
He held up his hands. ‘Fine. You tell me that’s not the case and I’ll believe you until proven otherwise.’
‘Good, because we don’t have that kind of relationship.’ Maybe that was a lie, but she wasn’t about to take some sort of personal inventory to sort out whatever it was she did feel for Mal. Not for Creek’s sake anyway. She stalked past him, then realized she didn’t know where they were headed. ‘Where’s this bike of yours?’
‘Around the block.’
‘Great. How about we make the rest of the trip in silence?’ She looked back at him and went deadly still. ‘Two Nothos, coming up the street behind you.’ Holy mother, what did that mean for Mal? Had they escaped him? Or …
Creek had his crossbow out a moment after she drew her sacres. The handle warmed in her grasp. Her personal sacre had been tuned to her during its crafting when the hilt had been filled with her blood, marrying the blade to her as though it were an extension of her arm. Now it vibrated in her hand, ready to taste Nothos flesh once again.
The wind shifted, bringing the sour stench of brimstone and the more subtle spice of blood. She refused to think about whom that blood might belong to.
Instead of waiting for the Nothos to come to her, she attacked first, blades blurring in a figure eight before her body. The Nothos retreated out of reach, leaping onto a nearby building while the second Nothos took three of Creek’s bolts to his torso in rapid succession. They barely slowed the creature down.
‘You need a blade!’ she yelled back to Creek. Those bolts might down a vampire, but they were on the slim side for the demon spawn.
Creek was beside her a few seconds later, a long titanium quarterstaff in his hands. Her hands were too full to tell him that wasn’t going to work either. Her Nothos snapped its jaw, spraying burning saliva across her cheek.
She swiped the spittle away with the back of one hand. The Nothos grabbed for her. She ducked. It lunged, catching the edge of her tunic and shredding it. She shoved the creature as it went past, using its momentum to throw it to the ground. The scent of blood increased.
With a guttural growl, she drove her blades into the Nothos’s back before it could rise and anchored it to the pavement. The monstrosity planted its hands on the asphalt and pushed up. Its flesh slid along the blades, but the sacres remained fixed in the ground. Caught at the hilts, it stayed hunched over, unable to straighten further.
The Nothos screeched, swinging its double-jointed arms at her, reaching with its awful hands for the merest inch of skin. Threads of white silk hung from the claws that had almost sliced her belly open.
Behind her, Creek still fought. More than that, she couldn’t say. She moved around the Nothos so it couldn’t see her and jumped, landing with a foot on either side of its spine. The move slammed it into the ground again. She flicked out her wrist blades and drove one into the spot where the creature’s heart should be. A gush of yellow blood and renewed yowling told her she’d aimed correctly. With both hands on the second dagger, she punched the blade downward and severed the Nothos’s spine. She worked the weapon back and forth until the head was nearly severed. Finally, the creature went to ash beneath her feet.