Dr. Wolf, the Fae Rift Series Book 2- Demon Spiral (13 page)

“You are not a doctor,” Archdemon Pravus growled. “You’re a flea-bitten cur about to see the end of his beloved hospital if you don’t cooperate.”

“Whoa.” Aleric held up his hands. “Hold it right there. Why is it when anyone hears the word ‘werewolf’, they immediately assume I have fleas? That’s like me hearing that you’re an Archdemon and immediately assuming you’re a bully and a coward who does his queen’s bidding like a mindless drone. Oh, wait. That’s true.”

“That’s enough!” the Archdemon shouted so loud the windows behind Aleric cracked. “Open the Rift and we’ll leave your hospital in one piece. Fail to comply and I’ll raze it to the ground.”

“I don’t know how to open it,” Aleric said.

“You might not,” the Archdemon’s gaze moved past him to the Emergency Room doors, “But your little vampire friend certainly does.” He met Dartan’s eyes. “Tell me how to open the Rift or I’ll leave you in the sun room without a werewolf’s blood to sustain you next time.” His voice took on a tone of disgust. “That must have been painful and revolting.”

“I won’t open the Rift for you,” Dartan replied coolly.

The Archdemon gave a chuckle that filled Aleric with terror. He saw it in the gazes of the officers crouched behind the cars and on the faces of the hospital workers who had come out to see what the commotion was. The huge, lava-skinned, six-fingered Archdemon lifted his head back and let out a rolling laugh that spoke of enjoyment in the pain of others, excitement at the promise of agony, and the surety that whatever he promised would come true.

He stopped laughing and the silence that filled the air in the dark streets was charged with fear.

“You will open the Rift or I will send every one of my demons into the hospital to suck the lives of those helpless patients who, for some very perverse reason, depend on you to keep them alive,” the Archdemon threatened. “I will grow stronger on their terror, drink deeply of their fear, and engorge myself on the souls of the pathetic beings that call this life an existence. And I’ll start with those two.”

The Archdemon pointed a long finger at Gregory and Therese who cowered near the door. Both humans were drawn forward as though pulled by some unseen string. At the same time, mist began to flow from them to the Archdemon. His grin widened as looks of pain and terror twisted the couple’s faces. The humans around them were frozen with fear at the sight of the orderlies’ souls being pulled from their bodies.

Aleric pushed away his fear in light of his friends’ helplessness. He channeled his werewolf strength and tore the side mirror from the closest police car. Aleric let out a bellow of rage and chucked the mirror as hard as he could at the Archdemon.

The mirror struck Pravus on the side of his massive head.

“Leave them alone!” Aleric shouted.

The Archdemon turned to face him. His long fingers pull out two of the foot-long silver spikes from the folds of his writhing black cloak. Aleric wanted to taunt him about where he had found another cloak after taking the one from the Archdemon to rescue Dartan, but the lava flow of Pravus’ red, orange, and black skin increased with his anger, making him glow with an otherworldly light. Aleric decided taunting probably wasn’t the best way to go.

“You want to protect your humans?” Archdemon Pravus asked.

“I’ll protect them with my last breath,” Aleric vowed.

The Archdemon’s grin revealed his pointed black teeth. At his motion, the soul-pulling stopped. Gregory and Therese collapsed to the ground. Dr. Worthen and his nurses rushed to them.

“Fine,” the Archdemon said. “Beat me and I’ll let them live.”

Cold rushed through Aleric. He looked from the demon to Dartan. The vampire shook his head quickly. “Don’t do it,” he mouthed.

But if the Archdemon continued to pull, both orderlies would lose their lives. There was nothing to keep the Archdemon from then turning his attention to the police officers or the nurses or patients. If he decided to, all of the demons could swarm the hospital and the city. There was nothing to stop them. If there was any chance to protect them, no matter how small, Aleric knew he had to take it.

“I’ll fight you,” he said, his voice much more calm than his racing heartbeat. He stepped into the street between the hospital and the alleys through which the demons had come.

The Archdemon twirled the spikes he held. They looked like toothpicks in the huge demon’s hands. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, his mouth twisted with the taunting words.

Aleric had nothing that would stop the Archdemon. He was tempted to phase, but his wolf form wouldn’t give him much more of an advantage. He looked around quickly for anything he could use as a weapon to defend himself against the silver spikes. A hubcap leaning against the closest curb caught his attention. He picked it up and, leaning over, slipped the billy club from the closest officer’s belt.

The Archdemon gave a snort at his approach that sent smoke billowing from his nostrils. The flames in his eyes danced in mocking humor.

“You plan to fight me with a metal plate and a—”

The Archdemon’s taunt was cut off when the hubcap struck him between the eyes. He tried to stab Aleric when the werewolf ran at him, but Aleric blocked the spike with the club and slid beneath the demon’s legs. He came up behind Pravus and struck him in the back as hard as he could.

The Archdemon let out a grunt of pain and spun around in a whirl of his black cloak. He stabbed at Aleric twice. Aleric blocked them and hit Pravus in the center of the chest. He was gone again before the massive demon could retaliate. If he couldn’t hurt the demon, perhaps he could tire him out enough that the Archdemon would have to leave to flee the sunlight.

Aleric glanced at the sky. The stars were high overhead. He doubted he could keep it up long enough for the sun to rise and force the Archdemon and his underlings back into the cover of darkness, but he had to try.

“You insolent whelp,” the Archdemon cursed. He swung his serrated claws at Aleric’s head.

Aleric ducked and hit the demon in the ribs. He backed up before Pravus could stab his head, but tripped on crack in the asphalt. He fell and rolled to the right. The demon stabbed one of his spikes into the road, then another, missing Aleric by inches. Aleric pushed up to his feet and blocked another of the spikes with the billy club. The force of the demon’s strength knocked the club from his hands. Another spike was barreling toward Aleric’s head. He batted it aside with his left hand.

A gasp left Aleric’s lips when the tip of the spike tore through his palm. He looked down to see the blood dripping from the jagged wound. It burned as though the gash was on fire.

“You know what they say about silver and werewolves,” Pravus said.

“I’ve heard,” Aleric replied in a tight voice. He clenched his hand into a fist and looked around for the club.

“You’re all out of weapons, mutt,” the Archdemon said. “Give up and let me have them.”

“Never,” Aleric growled.

The Archdemon lunged forward faster than he had moved before. Aleric dodged to the left, but Pravus was ready. He hit Aleric across the chest so hard it sent the werewolf to his back on the pavement. Before Aleric could move, the Archdemon drove one of his metal spikes deep into Aleric’s left shoulder, pinning him to the road.

Chapter Thirteen

Aleric let out a roar of pain. The road grated against his back as he writhed beneath the agony of the silver spike.

“Now, my little werewolf, let’s see what drives you,” Archdemon Pravus said. He held his free hand above Aleric’s face while he kept the werewolf pinned with the other.

Aleric felt as though every bit of energy in his body was being pulled toward the Archdemon’s hand. It was similar to the sensation of when Dartan drank his blood, but instead of cold running through his limbs, he felt a lessening of sensation, as though his want to live was being taken from him.

“There’s a girl,” the Archdemon said, his tone mocking and cruel. “A young woman. You love her.” He gave Aleric a disdainful look. “Yet you’ve barely spoken to her.” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand werewolves and their petty infatuations. One moment with someone and you’ve given your heart away for a lifetime. Let’s see who it is.”

He pulled harder and Aleric’s back arched. The staff from the hospital shouted protests, but nobody dared to move beyond the officers’ line of vehicles.

“Lilian Worthen,” the Archdemon announced. “She’s a patient, it seems.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aleric saw Dr. Worthen trying to cross the space between the police cars. Officers held him back from reaching Aleric.

“Let him go!” the doctor demanded.

The Archdemon ignored him. “I’m tired of our little game, Aleric Bayne. I’m sad you didn’t fight harder, though I suppose, for a werewolf, I should give you credit for standing up at all. You should have rolled over with the hopes that I would scratch your belly. I would say remember that next time, but there won’t be a next time. You’re finished, and after you, I’ll turn my demons on your beloved hospital.”

A small tufted of red appeared on the Archdemon’s chest. Pravus looked down in surprise. Three more tufts followed.

“Your feeble attempts won’t help you, vampire,” the Archdemon said.

“It can’t hurt,” Aleric heard Dartan reply through the red haze of his pain.

Two more tufts joined them.

The Archdemon’s fire-filled eyes narrowed. He turned his attention back to Aleric.

“Your time to die, werewolf,” Pravus announced.

“Let him go!”

Aleric’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of the young voice.

“Leave him alone,” another yelled.

“What do you think—” the Archdemon’s words faded away when he looked up. His grip on the spike through Aleric’s shoulder loosened.

Aleric tipped his head to the side. He could see the grim children out of the corner of his eye. They stood on the police car in front of Dartan. The vampire kept a hand on each of them in case things went bad.

“We have your name,” Grimsli said.

Grimma nodded. Without speaking, the small girl pulled up the ragged sleeve of her shirt. On her arm, glowing so bright it couldn’t be missed, was the name ‘Archdemon Pravus Brevarus’ written down the entire length of her forearm.

“No,” the Archdemon said.

“It’s true,” Grimsli told him. The boy held out his arm to reveal the same name glowing blue against his skin.

Archdemon Pravus rose to his feet away from Aleric. His cloak tangled around his legs and he stumbled backwards. “No. It can’t be.”

“The names don’t lie,” Grimsli said. “Remember Grula and Clegalin? They killed our parents because their names were told, but they died anyway.”

Pravus shook his head. “No. It can’t be true. Not here. You don’t have power here.”

“The name says otherwise,” Dartan spoke from behind the children. “And both of them have it. Your time has come, Pravus.”

“Fall back,” Pravus commanded his demons. His eyes were wide, the flames dancing high in his terror. He stumbled again. Aleric wondered if the tranquilizers were affecting the Archdemon. By all accounts, he should have gone to fury mode. Maybe Dartan had saved them all.

Aleric watched from the ground as the demons followed their leader to the alleys and disappeared into the darkness. The helicopters followed overhead, illuminating their path. At Commissioner Oaks’ command, many of the officers followed.

Aleric let his head fall back. The pain was so great. He could feel the silver affecting him. Though his werewolf body wanted to heal under the moonlight, the silver spike pinning him to the ground sent pain so sharp through his body he could barely breathe.

“Aleric,” Dartan said, dropping to his knees beside the werewolf.

“Get this out,” Aleric pleaded, his voice tight.

“Wait!” someone called.

A second later, Nurse Eastwick fell to her knees on Aleric’s other side.

“We have to apply pressure the instant the stake is removed,” she told Dartan. “Otherwise, he could bleed out.”

“Yes,” Dr. Worthen said, joining her. “We need to get him to surgery immediately.

“It’s not going to heal,” Dartan said.

The solemnity of his voice stopped the nurse and doctor.

“What do you mean?” Dr. Worthen asked.

“It’s silver,” Dartan replied. “Silver is death to werewolves.”

Aleric struggled to keep his mouth closed against the pain. He wanted to yell, to pull the spike free, to plunge it into Archdemon Pravus’ heart so he could feel the same agony.

“What does that mean?” Nurse Eastwick asked.

“It means he won’t heal,” Dartan answered. “Silver keeps the wound from clotting. He’ll bleed out when we remove it.”

“No,” Nurse Eastwick protested, shaking her head. “That can’t be.”

“We have to try,” Dr. Worthen said. “I’ll scrape away any tissue that came in contact with the silver. We have to try.”

“Do it.”

Aleric felt their gazes turn to him. They had been talking as if he wasn’t there pinned to the pavement with what was left of his soul holding onto his body by threads. He forced his voice to work.

“Dartan, take out the spike. I won’t die on this road…and leave demons…in this city.”

“What if we get the healers from Blays?” Dartan asked. There was panic in his voice. “Maybe we can summon them. We can’t move the spike. It’s the only thing keeping you here.”

“We can take him straight to surgery,” Dr. Worthen suggested. “Maybe if I remove the flesh that touched the silver, he’ll have a chance to heal.” He met Aleric’s gaze, his own bright with worry. “I just don’t know.”

“I trust you,” Aleric said between tightly gritted teeth.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Dr. Worthen replied. “You’re supposed to be the fae expert, remember?”

Aleric lifted his good arm and grabbed the doctor’s shoulder. “You’ve…got this.”

Dr. Worthen stared at him for a moment. Something passed between them. It showed in the doctor’s eyes. It was as if both of them realized they didn’t have a choice in the matter. Aleric was close to death. There wasn’t time to get experts from Blays. If they didn’t act, he would die.

“Take out the stake,” Dr. Worthen told Dartan.

The vampire put one hand on Aleric’s shoulder and his other on the spike. “I’m sorry about this,” he said to the werewolf.

Aleric nodded. He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched.

The agony of the spike being pulled from the pavement and through his shoulder made Aleric cry out despite his resolve. Nurse Eastwick packed the wound tightly, holding pressure as Dartan and Dr. Worthen lifted him. Before they could bring a stretcher, Aleric felt other hands grab his arms and legs. He opened his tear-filled eyes and saw citizens and police officers alike carrying him toward the hospital.

“Hang in there,” Commissioner Oaks told him. “We’ll keep an eye on the demons for you.”

Aleric nodded; he couldn’t think of the words to speak past the fiery agony of his shoulder.

“Right through here,” Nurse Tarli said.

Aleric was surprised to hear her voice. He met her gaze.

“Don’t you die on us, Dr. Wolf,” she told him. He wondered if his eyes were fooling him or if there really was worry on her face.

Aleric felt a prick to his arm and looked down to see Nurse Eastwick placing an I.V. bag next to the operating table. He didn’t know how he had gotten there so quickly. The nurse gave him a teary smile.

“Are werewolves allergic to liquids?”

He gave his head a weak shake.

She gripped his hand for a moment, then released it. “You stay with us, Dr. Wolf. We need you here.”

Warmth rushed up his arm. Aleric felt his muscles relax as the painkillers worked their way through his system. They dulled the edge of the pain from the silver. He closed his eyes.

“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Aleric heard Nurse Eastwick say, her words muffled.

“He doesn’t have much left to lose,” Dartan replied. The vampire’s voice was filled with regret.

Aleric wondered if having a vampire in the operating room was a good idea, but he couldn’t fight through the fog to say the words. A rushing sound filled his ears, ebbing and flowing like the waves of the ocean. He listened to it, caught by the sound, as pressure pushed against his shoulder.

“More bandages,” Dr. Worthen said. “You need to slow the blood from the back. He’ll bleed out if we can’t stop it.”

“It’s not slowing,” Nurse Eastwick replied.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Dartan said, his voice tight.

The pressure paused. “Are you going to be alright?” Dr. Worthen asked.

Dartan must have nodded because the scraping continued.

“Aleric, stay with us, son,” Dr. Worthen said quietly as he worked. “Don’t you dare give up on me. I’m not letting you die on my table, not now, not ever.” He fell silent, then said, “He needs a transfusion immediately.”

“What type do we give him?” Nurse Eastwick asked.

“Go with type O,” Dartan told them.

“How do you know?” Dr. Worthen asked.

“I know my blood,” the vampire replied.

There was a pause, then Dr. Worthen said, “Get it.”

Aleric heard the door open and close. It was getting harder to keep his thoughts fixed. He knew deep down that it was important not to let his mind drift off, not to allow the Archdemon to win, but he felt so exhausted and with the sound of the rushing pressure against his ears and the quiet talking around him, a memory took over.

“That’s it, Ricky. You can do it.”

Aleric saw himself from overhead as though he watched the scene from above his own shoulder.

The little dark-haired boy he observed struggled to hold the long blade of grass between his tiny fingers.

“Just like that,” the warm voice instructed.

Aleric looked over and his breathing slowed. The woman who spoke to the little boy was his mother. His heart gave a painful throb. She watched the boy with pride in her brown eyes that had always made him feel so safe and loved. Her long black hair spilled over her shoulders in a beautiful contrast to the bright yellow dress she wore. It was her favorite dress, he remembered. It had the small white flowers across it that were her favorite.

“That’s it,” she encouraged. “Hold the grass straight and keep it tight, now cup your hands.”

She showed him, pinning a long blade of grass between her thumbs and cupping her fingers behind it.

“Now blow. Like this.” She put her lips to her thumbs and blew gently. A high whistle sounded.

The grass slipped out of little Aleric’s fingers once, twice, and then he figured out how to hold it. He brought the grass to his lips. It took several tries, but with his mother’s encouragement, a tiny, high-pitched whistle came out.

“That’s it!” his mother said, clapping her hands. “You did it! You are so amazing!” She patted his shoulder. “Never give up, Ricky. No matter what happens, never give up. You can do anything.”

A cough wracked her body. She hunched over and put her handkerchief to her lips as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Mama, are you alright?” little Aleric asked.

After a few moments, his mother was able to nod in reply. She sat up and gave him a smile. She put the handkerchief in the front pocket of her dress, but not before he saw the speckles of red that showed on the white cloth.

“Now I’ll make you a crown,” she said.

Little Aleric was easily distracted by her quick braiding. He pulled blades from the grass around them and tried to mimic her movements, his little fingers struggling to perform the graceful actions. His mother slowed so that he could see what she was doing.

Aleric, on the other hand, couldn’t tear his gaze from the handkerchief in her pocket, nor the slight touch of red that still colored her lips. He knew now what the pallor of her skin meant. He wished he could tell his younger self to cherish that moment with her in the sunlight. A few days later would find her confined to a bed. The beatings from his father would increase as his blame of her sickness needed an outlet. But in that moment, that short, precious moment, all that mattered was learning to braid the grass as his mother did.

He watched her fingers, the fingers he loved because they held him so close, combed through his always-tangled hair, made cookies for him in their oven, and tucked the covers around him at night. Her fingers were so perfect and full of grace.