Falling from the Light (The Night Runner Series Book 3) (26 page)

She touched Malcolm’s shoulder and they stepped away to speak together. I hoped that he wasn’t taking on new work. We needed a break. We deserved one.

Chev’s people arrived in twos and threes, some carrying supplies, others carrying freaking lanterns. Any other night, I would have laughed. Instead I raised my chin, fighting the letdown of adrenaline and the clashing waves of vampire energy. I just had to keep going, keep the façade up, for a little longer.

“This is Kevin.” I said to Bronson, jostling the chemist’s shoulder. His mouth snapped shut. “Delivered as promised.”

“And what can you do for me, Kevin?” Bronson asked, the words simple but laced with his insistent charm. Kevin’s legs drew up as if he would stand, but when Bronson raised his hand, the chemist stayed where he was.

“I’ve figured out ways to make chemicals easy for vampires to absorb. It took a few years, but the system is both unique and—”

“That may be of use. What else?”

“Well…
shit, that’s hot
. Sorry. Sorry about that. I have a drug that can calm your hunger, take the edge off.” His brow furrowed. “For a while.”

“I’m aware of your drug. I have been aware for some time, though your former employer insisted upon demonstrating the effects for me again.” He gestured toward Sophie, standing alone in the middle of the road. “You will provide me with the location of every altered ounce of it, then you will destroy all your notes related to its production. What else?”

Kevin’s mouth opened and closed, then he shook his head.

“Think about it.” Bronson drained his glass and held it out. It was immediately swooped up by a passing vampire in a uniform. “Dig deep, and let me know if you have any other ideas. I’d prefer the ones you fear the world is not ready for.”

I hoped it was so that he could stop any more stupid formulas before they were ever manufactured. But maybe not. Bronson had allowed Abel to mess with Sophie even though he already knew what Radia did. I couldn’t see any altruistic reason for that. He’d wanted a demonstration of loyalty, a sacrifice from Abel and his new flock.

Malcolm joined us, not as close as I would have liked, but strategically placing himself between Bronson and me. His shirt was black with blood, and dirt streaked his face over darker bruises. He was barely emitting any power, all his resources pulled tight as he healed. My throat tightened. I wanted to slip under his arm and held him stand, but there were a lot of appraising eyes on him right now. Signaling his weakness wouldn’t do him any favors.

Bronson took a deep breath, and I frowned. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him breathe before.

“It seems this is the night for keeping our word.” His upper lip rolled up a bit and quivered before he readjusted it over his teeth.

“I’ve got a database,” Kevin blurted out. “For the humans like her. Names and addresses.”

The master vampire’s eyes sparked. “How many?”

“Eighteen.” He scrambled to his feet, giving Bronson a wide berth as he moved to face him. “None of them are quite like her, but with a big enough sample, some new formulas, I know I can make something effective.”

“And what’s different about her?” Bronson asked, his voice so full of teasing charm that I was tempted to answer him.

Kevin raised both palms. “I don’t know
what’s
different, but her blood is crazy potent.”

“Wait over there,” Bronson said, pointing. Kevin turned on his heel and marched away, and I stifled the urge to run when Bronson examined me.

“Well?” he asked, turning to Malcolm.

“I examined the other samples he has with him,” Malcolm said. “None of the others come close. She may not meet the old definition, but even if she’s not, she’s the closest thing to it that’s still walking the earth.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. It was like being at the doctor as a child and having him tell your mother how to take care of you because you were too stupid to do it. Except that Malcolm was sneaking apologetic glances at me and Bronson was practically beaming.

“It means that you really are a Puer Morsus, or the modern equivalent.” Bronson caught my wrist, making me stumble toward him. He turned my hand over. The scabs were dark and dry, the flesh around them plump and pink. “A Morsus thrives on our energy, which you have already demonstrated. You will also, soon I think, be able to transmute that energy, altering it within your own body until you can return it to the vampire from which you received it. You will calm him in return for the vitality he grants you. Grant him peace of mind.”

His tone was firm, as if he wasn’t using “him” in a generic sense but was thinking of a specific “him.” I backed away when he released me, but he followed and I had to stop myself from fleeing. But holding my ground brought him too close. Despite his radiating concern, Malcolm didn’t move to intercede. What the hell was going on?

“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Mal said, and because he sounded calm I tried to be. “It has to be chosen by the Morsus. She can utilize any vampire’s energy. What she returns has to be freely given. She has to want it to work. The effect is, at the least, nullified if she is forced, coerced, or influenced in any way. At worst, it could actually cause harm.”

He’d asked if I wanted it to make Soraya better. It had seemed strange, like asking if you wanted ice cream for every meal. Well, of course, but wanting didn’t make something real. Human choice had never fared well against vampire will. Mal didn’t tell Bronson about the healing properties, and the slanted look he gave me stopped me from mentioning it.

“Well,” I said, trying to sound as boring as possible so that his attention would go elsewhere, “that’s cool, I guess.”

“You can align with anyone you choose,” Bronson said, and his tone was no longer light. “I will not push you. However, your loyalty will earn you a place of power with me. Danger will no longer touch you. You will always be comfortable. Would you like that?”

“I’m all for not having to fear for my life, but—”

“It’s settled, then.” Bronson raised a hand, cutting me off, then turned to Malcolm. “Do you know she bargained for you? Rather than negotiate for herself, she asked to have your service reduced by half. And so it is. Reduced from two years to one.”

“A little less than one,” I said, both relieved and confused that it had been so easy. “Petr has the details.”

Mal looked at me from beneath his lashes. His hair stirred in the breeze that was finally bringing breathable air into the hot, stale night. The lantern light caught the auburn highlights in the rich brown, and warmed his pale skin. His eyes were dark whiskey, the sparks in their depths so small they could have been a trick of the light.

“Sydney was compromised then,” he said. “She should be given the chance for another bargain.”

I shook my head. “I’d make the same choice now.”

He smiled crookedly, one side of his face too damaged to fulfill the expression. And he didn’t look especially happy. The skin around his eyes didn’t crinkle in that disarming way. He didn’t raise an eyebrow or wink or show any sign that this conversation was going well. He looked sad and…knowing. His lips rose as best they could in a halfhearted reassurance, but he knew something that I didn’t. I opened my mouth to reject whatever had his eyes sliding away from me, but Bronson spoke first.

“Richard Abel had pledged his loyalty,” he said, his tone so hard that I flinched.

“I’m aware,” Mal replied.

“And I’d accepted his pledge. Were you aware of that?”

Across the road, Chev’s people flipped the van back onto its tires in a shriek of metal.

Mal nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes.”

“And still you pursued and fought him,” Bronson pressed.

“What can I say? He got under my skin.” Malcolm shrugged.

My confusion gave way to a thin sort of panic. He’d screwed up and Bronson was going to hurt him. Everything we’d been through and everything we’d done didn’t matter. No matter what we did, no matter what we gave up, the possibility of pain—of punishment—would always be hanging over him like a noose. He’d never be allowed to win.

“Wait at the resort,” Bronson said to me. “Take her.”

Someone touched my arm, wrenching my gaze away from Mal. The back of the hand was slick, like the scar tissue over a burn. I raised my eyes. Vesta, the soldier who’d tried to snack on me. She had the good grace to look sheepish.

“She should stay,” Mal said, his words heavy with influence. “She hasn’t agreed yet. Let her watch before she makes her decision about allegiances.”

I held his gaze, but I blinked compulsively in anticipation of the first strike. I could try to use my newfound status to make this last year better for Malcolm. But I wouldn’t be able to give Bronson what he wanted. I couldn’t make myself want to help him, and then where would we be? Malcolm couldn’t leave.

“I honestly thought that, in twenty years, you would learn self-control,” Bronson said, sounding puzzled. “At the very least, I thought you would try, for her sake.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Malcolm said. “At least release me.”

“And what would be the point of that?”

“Because, if there’s an afterlife, I don’t want to be chained to your sorry ass.”

Bronson actually laughed. “This is the afterlife, Malcolm. But very well. You’re released. Enjoy your freedom.”

My brain caught up and I shoved Vesta out of my way. She recoiled almost before I touched her. They weren’t talking about punishment. A sound caught in my throat, a gasp of disbelief or a scream of protest. Mal’s eyes were fierce and full of…everything.

He jerked when Bronson grabbed him, then the Master flared so strongly that I threw both arms up as power rent the air. Unlike Chev’s, the blast wasn’t bright. So I was able to see very clearly when Malcolm fell to the ground.

I dropped almost on top of him, as if I could shield him from further harm. But it did no good. I couldn’t help him. He was already dead.

T
he sound
of the Bradigan pulled me back, that self-satisfied purr promising speed and distance. A year ago, that would have been all I wanted out of a night. Speed. Power. A little fun.

Tonight I wanted Malcolm back.

He didn’t look all that different. His face was smooth, as though he were sleeping. But his upper lip was swollen from the fight. And his skin was slowly turning from ivory to gray.

“Take your argument elsewhere,” Chev said, her voice flat. It was the third time she’d said it, but neither Soraya nor Bronson acknowledged her as they screamed at each other a little ways behind me. When she’d fully regained consciousness, she’d bailed from whatever safe house they’d found and come for Mal. She’d arrived a quarter of an hour too late.

Bronson had been surprised by her rage, just like he’d been surprised by my tears. He was more powerful, he’d explained patiently, as though I was too simple to get it. Malcolm was dead, so obviously I would turn all of my attention and affection on him. Like trading up for a better model of vampire.

The stupid asshole.

That title applied to Bronson, but also to Malcolm. In telling Bronson I was worth the Master’s protection, he’d secured my safety, but also – in Bronson’s mind – positioned himself as a rival. Mal’s fight with Abel was a ready-made excuse to kill him.

Why? Why did he tell him? If I were just another human girl, it wouldn’t have mattered. Bronson would have punished him and we’d all have carried on. That would have been better than this. Anything would have been better than this. He’d fought so hard to get us here.

“I will kill you both if you do not stop,” Chev said. “I don’t care that you aren’t technically on my land.”

Bronson and Sora’s argument fell from a clashing roar to a grumble. They continued to bristle, though, their power sparking where it met.

Bronson glided up behind me and reached down but did not touch me.

“Come, Sydney. You will be safer inside, and you need to…rest.”

As though he couldn’t remember the word. Or maybe the concept was alien to him. I’d have to get used to it, if I was going to live in a master vampire’s cage for the rest of my life, cooking his energy into a balm to soothe his endless days and nights.

Fuck that.

I leaned down and kissed Malcolm. The blood pearl had grown flat from the pressure of my tongue, and it took effort to tear it loose. The roof of my mouth began to bleed, but the pain was like punctuation rather than sensation. It should hurt if it was going to be worth anything.

I had to use my fingers to get his mouth open so I could force it inside, and they slipped in the ash coating his skin. He was cold and stiff to the touch, but that wasn’t the worst part. This was the moment where Malcolm would make some small joke to ease the horror of the night. But I waited, and waited, and he didn’t say anything to make it better.

He’d held me. He’d loved me. And now he was gone.

The last of his energy, of the warm spark that was as essentially him as his voice, was sputtering and going out. If the blood pearls required intent to work, then they had it. I wanted him back. I wanted him back so badly, and tried to project that—my will, my wish—into him.

“Come on, Mal,” I whispered, waiting for a sign, the smallest movement, to show that he was coming around. “Come on, come back.” I kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, leaving behind small bloody prints.

Nothing changed. He didn’t respond in any way, and my heart sank through the still shell of him and into the cold earth beneath.

“You can get over this,” Thurston said, his accent thick, his voice a low rumble. “You need to.” My own words, thrown back at me, and making so much sense in that moment that he couldn’t possibly have meant them to have that effect.

“You’re right.” I pushed to my feet, standing unsteadily on the uneven ground. Slipping the other pearl out of my pocket, I feigned a trip and slipped it into Soraya’s hand when she caught me.

Chev was still there, though most of her people were gone. The broken cars had disappeared as well, hauled off while I was paralyzed. She stood still, her arms crossed behind her, making the muscles of her shoulders bunch oddly in the sleeveless dress. Very formal for someone overseeing a crew that had tossed cat litter onto the spilled fluids, then dug the soil up and hauled it away.

“You promise,” I said to Bronson, the effort of forming the right words in the right order making my head ache, “that you’re always going to keep me safe and you’re never going to force or will me into doing anything for you?”

“I pledge this, yes.” He looked delighted at his victory.

“And you will accept my judgment on what constitutes force and will. Not yours. And you’ll never threaten my friends, other humans, or any of your underlings with harm or discomfort to make me do something for you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he made a sound like a rusty sigh when I looked at Chev, making sure she was witnessing everything. She inclined her head.

“I so pledge,” Bronson ground out.

“Fine.” Hollowed out down to my bones, I didn’t object when he took my arm. I couldn’t even hate him for killing Malcolm. In his mind, it wasn’t a malicious act. It was the fulfillment of an agreement, a simple decision.

“We will take him somewhere pleasant to complete this process,” Soraya said. She made a feminine sound of effort when she picked up Malcolm and I didn’t turn around to watch her carry him to the car. I didn’t even turn around when Mickey revved the engine and pulled away.

I had a new life to get to work on.

T
hat life started
three hours later when Thurston and Mickey returned in a hushed frenzy to jailbreak me as dawn broke, red and angry, over the desert.