Darkness Devours (22 page)

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Just make sure you be careful, as well.”

“I will. Night.”

“Night.”

I hung up, shoved the phone away, then leaned back against the wall, listening to the growing wailing and wishing it could cover up the other sounds and smells coming from the room. The scents of hunger, desire, and blood, the moans that were filled with ecstasy rather than anger, the rending of material and the smack of flesh against flesh. The vampire involved tonight was obviously into aggressive sex as well as blood taking.

Normally, sitting here listening to someone else getting sexed would have had lust surging through my veins, but in this atmosphere, it was little more than ashes from which no fire could be raised.

As the sounds in the other room began to ramp up to a climax, the howling of the ghosts became so sharp and bitter that I had to cover my ears with my hands. But even that failed to lessen the impact. It was a sound that tore through the fabric of my being, until it felt like I was unraveling.

And then something else began to creep into the atmosphere. It was an ill wind, dark and twisted, barely there at first, but gathering in strength as the feeding in the room drew closer to culmination and the howls and screams of the ghosts got stronger and louder.

And they weren’t the only ones. Amaya was hissing
fiercely, her fury filling my mind, her need to rent and tear so strong, I had to dig my nails into my hands to resist the urge to run out into that room and kill everyone.

Because it wasn’t just ghosts, a blood whore, and a vampire out there now.

The Rakshasa had finally answered the desperation of the ghosts.

Azriel,
I thought,
you’d better get your ass back here right now, because I am
not
facing this thing alone.

But I drew Amaya regardless. She slipped eagerly into my hand, the lilac fire dripping from her black edges sizzling as it splattered across the floor.

Then energy of a different kind swept around me and, a heartbeat later, Azriel appeared. Valdis was drawn, her blade running with blue electricity. The fires of the two blades filled the small room with light and, in the other room, that gathering of dark energy began to fade.

“It has sensed my arrival and retreats to the gray fields,” Azriel said. “Quickly.”

And with that, he disappeared. I swore, sat down, and closed my eyes. I didn’t bother reaching for calm, didn’t bother to center myself. I simply wrenched my soul free from my flesh and flung myself onto the fields. For a moment everything spun around me, a whirl of gray that had my stomach churning and my pulse rate shooting through the roof. Or maybe that was simply fear.

The Dušan exploded from my arm, her lilac form quickly gaining flesh and shape, until she seemed so
real that I wanted to reach out and touch her. She swirled around me, the wind of her body buffeting mine as her sharp ebony gaze scanned the fields surrounding us. I wondered if she sensed the Rakshasa, or if she was merely reacting to the knot of fear growing in the pit of my stomach.

I spun around, my gaze searching the silvery plains. But there was nothing; no one was here. Then I remembered what Azriel had said—if spirits traversed the fields, it was only via the paene. I’d come too far into the fields.

I dove for the shadowy divide between the fields and the real world, and spotted it. The Rakshasa was a boiling, writhing mass of dark gray that almost merged into the mist that was this part of the fields. And it was quickly receding into the distance.

Azriel was easier to find—he was a blaze of sunlight in this ghostly otherworld, a force whose very presence throbbed through my being. He was closer to the creature than I was, but nowhere near close enough.

I ran forward, Amaya gripped tightly in my right hand and the Dušan’s serpentine form swirling around me. Her eyes glittered fiercely as she continued to scan the fields around us—searching for trouble. Searching for a threat.

I hoped like hell she didn’t find it.

But even as that thought crossed my mind, trumpets echoed, the sound oddly haunting in the hush of the fields. The last time I’d heard those trumpets, it had meant the Raziq were hunting me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I kept my gaze on the receding forms of Azriel and
the Rakshasa, trying to increase my speed and catch up, but having little success with either. I might walk the fields, but this was not my world, and it seemed that the constraints of my flesh were affecting me here. Speed had never been one of my gifts.

The haunting echo of the horns drew closer. Amaya was a fierce storm battering my thoughts, wanting to stand and fight, and frustrated that we weren’t, while the Dušan’s movements were getting more and more agitated. My gaze swept the shadows, but I couldn’t see anything or anyone.

They were out there, nevertheless. I could feel the ill wind of their presence rushing toward me.

And then, from out of nowhere, they struck.

Only it wasn’t the Raziq. It was a writhing mass of sinuous, sluglike forms that had stalks for eyes and seemed to bleed a white substance from all over their bodies.

They rolled out of the shadows like a gigantic bowling ball and came straight at me. The Dušan screamed and dove into their midst, sending gray forms scattering as she bit and slashed. Several rolling lumps re-formed out of the main mass, the smaller ones circling me as the larger one—with the Dušan still in its midst—continued rolling toward me. I jumped out of its path and swung Amaya. Purple fire trailed from her blade, splattering the nearest creatures as she sliced through their beings and cut them asunder. Gray muck sprayed from their bodies and the mass seemed to writhe with greater agitation. But it didn’t fall apart, didn’t seem to be deterred. It simply did a long looping turn and came at me again.

The Dušan rose from its midst, twisted in midair, then dove again, teeth wide, chomping down on gray forms, flinging them left and right. It still didn’t seem to have any effect. The writhing forms just drew closer, instantly filling the spaces created by the Dušan.

A wind hit me from behind. I staggered a little, caught my balance, then swung around. One of the smaller masses had broken the circle and was coming straight at me. I swung Amaya. Her blade hit the ball of slugs and came to a shuddering halt—it was as if something had gripped her hard. She screamed her fury, spitting fire that sizzled and flamed out the minute it struck the oozing sides of the slugs. I swore and pulled back with all my might. She came free with a weird sucking sound just as a second small mass of slugs swept in. I swung to face it, but it arced, avoiding the sweep of the blade. As it passed me, the white mucus that bled from its pores exploded, splattering through the air. I twisted away from it, but nowhere near fast enough. The mucus plastered my left side and instantly hardened, pinning my arm to my body and immobilizing my leg.

Glue. It was some form of fucking glue.

There was no fighting this. All the slug balls had to do was keep their distance and spit their glue at me, and I’d be trussed up tighter than a turkey at Thanksgiving in no time. I
had
to get out of here.

Sorry, Azriel, it’s too dangerous for me to stay here on the fields
. I closed my eyes and flung myself back into my body. The force of it sent me toppling off the chair and onto the floor. And that’s where I remained, doing nothing more than sucking in air as pain shuddered
through my body and tiny men with hammers went crazy inside my head. After several heartbeats, the shifting magic crawled sluggishly over my face, my body unable to sustain the change when my energy reserves were so low.

And matters weren’t being helped by Amaya—she was a continuous scream echoing through the outer reaches of my thoughts, and the Dušan was writhing up and down my arm, the movements somewhat disturbing and definitely furious. Neither of them, it seemed, was happy about my sudden retreat.

Not that I particularly cared. I couldn’t fight if I was all glued up, and I had no intention of landing in the hands of the Raziq—I had no doubt that was who’d sent those things. For whatever reason, they didn’t seem prepared to get their hands dirty trying to capture me, be it here or on the fields.

I released Amaya, then tried to get up, but with both my left arm and leg out of action, it was decidedly awkward. Eventually, I skewed myself around until my back was pressed against the wall, then did a sideways sit-up. I poked the white substance warily; it had set like rock, and made an odd, almost hollow sound when I tapped it. I dug my fingernails under one end and tried to break it away from my clothes, with little success.

I reached for Amaya and pressed her point lightly against the muck gluing my leg. Her hissing dropped several octaves—becoming more a grumbling sound, as if she was reluctantly obeying my unspoken need—and the flames dancing down her sides ran across the mass of white. The pungent scent of burning flesh began
to infuse the air. It wasn’t my flesh burning but the white substance. It might look and work like glue, but it obviously wasn’t.

After several more minutes, the glue had disappeared, leaving only a powdery white stain on my jeans. I repeated the process on my arm, but this time, the powdery substance had chewed through my sweater and the skin underneath had a pink sheen, almost as if it had been burned.

I pushed myself to my feet, but the room spun and I had to grab at the wall to stop myself from falling. Heat shimmered around me; then Azriel appeared, quickly catching my other arm and holding me steady.

“You need to sit,” he said.

“No,” I replied, swallowing bile as sweat broke out on my brow. “I need to stay right here. Otherwise, I’m going to throw up all over your boots.”

“These boots are part of the illusion I wear, so it would not matter.”

“Which doesn’t mean they won’t get ruined when I vomit all over them.”

It was a nonsense conversation, but right then I just needed to get my mind off the pain and dizziness. Slamming my soul in and out of my body like that had
not
been one of my brightest decisions, and I doubted I would repeat it anytime soon.

“Well, yes,” he said equably, “but the point is, I can regenerate the boots—and the body.”

“Does that mean you don’t scar?”

“Do you see the wound from the silver bullet I took?”

My gaze swept over him, although I knew all I’d see was warm, suntanned flesh. “That’s a skill I need.”

“What you need is to get back to the hotel and wash that powder from your arm—otherwise the rash may well get worse and scar.”

“Damn.” I took another slow, deep breath, then carefully pushed away from the wall. The room only did a minor dance before it steadied.

Despite stating that I needed to take a shower, Azriel righted the chair, then sat me down. “I did not catch the Rakshasa.”

“I gathered that.” I ran a hand through my sweaty hair. “And unfortunately, it now knows we’re here waiting for it.”

“Yes.” He squatted in front of me, taking my left hand in his and rubbing it gently. Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how cold it was. “But I do not think that will stop it from coming. Its hunger is great.”

I frowned. “Why wouldn’t it just seek out a safer hunting ground?”

“Because, as I said, it is drawn by great anger and despair. There is much of those emotions in this place.”

My fingertips were beginning to tingle with heat, a sharp sensation that wasn’t exactly pleasant. And while part of me wondered why he didn’t just flush heat and healing through me like he usually did, the sensation of his hands rubbing mine felt too good to complain. “But there are other dark clubs—why wouldn’t it just choose one of those?”

“I suspect because of the ghosts. It is their need, their anguish, that is the draw here.”

“Does that mean the other places don’t have ghosts?”

He shrugged. “They undoubtedly do, but for whatever reason, they are not as vocal or as angry.”

“But why? I mean, they’re all in the same situation—why would these ghosts be more vocal than the others?”

“Perhaps they aren’t. Perhaps the Rakshasa—for reasons we cannot understand—simply chose this club over the others.”

“So now that it knows we’re here, it may hunt in the other clubs?”

“Possibly.”

Wouldn’t that make Hunter a happy woman? I closed my eyes as the warm, prickly sensation began to spread through the rest of my hand, but I resisted the urge to pull it from his. I wanted to enjoy the press of his fingers just a little bit longer. “Do you think we should remain here until dawn?”

“No. The Rakshasa may be hungry, but it isn’t stupid. It won’t return tonight.”

I sighed in relief. “I’m glad, because I really don’t want to be here when those ghosts start up again.”

“We won’t be.” He rose, pulling me upright with him, then encircling my waist with his other arm. His face was its usual inscrutable self, but there was an odd tension in his body and Valdis flowed with a muted red fire. “Ready?”

I nodded. Energy swept around me, through me, tearing us apart and flinging us through the fields so quickly it was little more than a blur.

I gasped as we re-formed inside the hotel room. “Sorry,” he said, his hand sliding almost sensually around my waist before he stepped back. “I did not
want to risk being on the fields for long. Not with the Raziq’s creatures still loose.”

I frowned. “Why aren’t they being hunted?”

“They are, but our resources are still stretched thin.” He paused. “Go shower, Risa.”

I studied him for a moment, knowing there was more to it than that, but also knowing he wouldn’t share until he was good and ready. With a half shrug of my own, I grabbed a shirt and some fresh panties and headed for the bathroom to clean up.

Twenty minutes later I felt somewhat refreshed, and though my arm was still red from the remnants of the slug glue, it didn’t look bad enough to scar. I got dressed, then finger-dried my hair, suddenly glad to be wearing my own face once more, even though I’d probably have to face-shift again when we left the hotel. The Raziq might have attacked me on the gray fields, but they hadn’t yet managed another attack on this plane. The subterfuge, as tiring as it was, appeared to be working.