Mist (31 page)

Without waiting to make sure the Jotunn stayed down, Dainn turned and raced toward Dofr and Ryan. The giant was almost on top of the boy, and Ryan wasn’t making a single attempt to get away. He reached for Ryan with a casual swipe of his hand.

Gabi lunged through the half-open doorway and stabbed Dofr in the neck with a small knife, sinking it into his flesh up to the hilt. Dainn closed the remaining distance as Gabi grabbed Ryan and pulled him out of the way. Dainn thrust the spatha into the Jotunn’s back, instantly severing his spine. Dofr toppled sideways and lay still.

“Watch out!” Gabi shouted. Dainn heard too late. Hrimgrimir came at him with all the blind fury of a bear protecting its young, his injured arm hanging at his side. The full weight of his body slammed into Dainn, throwing him against the wall next to the door and wrenching the sword from his hand. He slid to the floor as the toe of the giant’s boot connected full force with his stomach. He curled in on himself, gasping, but the Jotunn was already aiming another kick.

“Run,” he gasped, praying the young mortals would hear him. Hrimgrimir kicked him again, and ribs snapped. Dainn knew that when Hrimgrimir was finished with him, every bone in his body would be broken and his internal organs damaged beyond his ability to heal. Still he tried to hold on to the beast with imaginary hands, resisting its ravenous hatred, feeling his grip begin to loosen.

Hrimgrimir’s fourth kick turned his vision dark. The fifth caught him in the groin, bringing agony so acute that he lost the last of his control. The beast broke loose, its endless hunger infecting his blood like a deadly sepsis. The strength he had borrowed increased a hundredfold. Every pore in his flesh itched like the bites of a million tiny insects. His senses became keener than any elf ’s, bringing the stench of Jotunn sweat and mortal terror.

A high-pitched scream cut the air, bringing the giant’s leg to a suspended halt before he could complete his next kick. Dainn grabbed Hrimgrimir’s boot and wrenched it sideways, snapping all the bones in his ankle and foot. The Jotunn tottered and fell. Dainn swept up the spatha again, stood over Hrimgrimir, and pushed the tip against the giant’s throat. For the first time, he saw fear in the Jotunn’s eyes.

“What are you?” Hrimgrimir croaked.

15

Dainn held the blade firm against Hrimgrimir’s flesh and looked for Mist. She was still holding Bakrauf off and had hit him at least once. Dainn could feel elemental power swirling about her, directionless, lost without her guidance. If she could focus on it again . . .

Lowering the spatha with a flick of his wrist, Dainn ran it through Hrimgrimir’s chest. A rush of air and blood burst from the giant’s lips as he fell backward. Dainn used the heel of his boot to hold Hrimgrimir’s body in place as he pulled the blade free and turned toward Mist again.

During the brief time he’d been occupied with Hrimgrimir, she’d not only managed to keep out of Bakrauf ’s hands but had retrieved her sword and was edging her way toward the young mortals, who seemed unable or unwilling to move from their places just inside the door. Ryan’s face was blank. The girl still clutched the small, bloody knife in her hand.

Dainn understood that Mist planned to get the children away, and she trusted him to deal with the remaining Jotunn. Dainn ran at Bakrauf, ready to hack his legs out from under him.

But this one had taken to heart what Mist and Dainn were capable of. Abruptly he abandoned Mist and loped toward the door that opened onto the driveway. Dainn tossed the spatha into the air, caught the grip from the underside, and hurled it like a spear straight at Bakrauf ’s back.

The Jotunn fell onto his face halfway to the door. Dainn stood very still, panting hoarsely, holding his muscles rigid against the assault from within. The beast still wanted death, death, and more death, though there were no more enemy lives to take. Its frustrated rage pumped like acid through Dainn’s veins, rage that was as much ecstasy as torment. He went for the sword, pulled it free, and scanned the room searching for one more chance to kill.

Not all the enemies were gone. He could smell another. A male. Mortal.
Human.

The man stood beside Bakrauf ’s body, staring toward Dainn with a look of astonishment on his face. In an instant Dainn took him in: of medium height, fit and casually dressed, dark hair a little longer than the current fashion, features unmistakably those of the Japanese islands. The outside door stood open behind him, letting in gusts of cold night air Dainn saw as breath condensing out of a gaping mouth.

Dainn tensed as the man shouted words he couldn’t understand and strode toward him. He raised the spatha. The man stopped again, glanced past Dainn’s shoulder, and raised his hands. He began to speak softly, soothingly, each word carefully chosen to convey his harmlessness.

There was enough sense left in Dainn’s mind to recognize that the mortal was trying to make him drop his guard. The beast snarled. The stranger looked past him again. Dainn could smell that Mist and the mortal children were no longer in the gym. They were safe.

He attacked.

The man dropped his hands, spun around, and raced for the sword rack. He came to a skidding halt before it, grabbed one of the weapons, and slid the long, slightly curved blade from its sheath. He cast the sheath aside and stalked toward Dainn. His mouth formed words, no longer soothing but commanding.

It was all so much noise, meaning no more to Dainn than the buzzing of flies. He stopped just out of the sword’s reach. The man’s heartbeat was deafening, and the smell of his sweat nauseated Dainn as the scent of blood excited him.

But some remnant of sanity held him from skewering the mortal like a roast on a spit and tearing his body apart. In the midst of that deadly, waiting silence, someone plunged through the open door and ran into the room, shouting as he pushed himself into the narrow space between Dainn and the stranger.

Dainn stared at the boy, seeing only an obstacle that stood between him and his enemy. He raised the sword.

And slowly lowered it again, his arms growing heavy, his vision washed with scarlet. The stranger shouted for the boy to move aside just as another enemy, his biker’s vest nearly black with blood, rose from the floor and lunged for the nearest target. The giant knocked Ryan across the room with a massive fist. The boy’s back slammed into the wall, his head rebounding from the hard surface with a sickening crack. He slumped to the ground.

Dainn was already swinging at the enemy lunging toward him. He feinted, slicing toward the giant’s belly. When the Jotunn bent to protect his already injured torso, Dainn thrust the tip of his sword into the creature’s eye with such force that it lodged in the skull beneath. The Jotunn shrieked like a child. A whirlwind of sleet and deadly slivers of ice began to spin around him, ever expanding until it threatened to engulf Dainn and strip his skin from his body.

Dainn jerked the bloody blade free and hacked at the giant’s throat. The whirlwind collapsed into colorless debris at the Jotunn’s feet. He gurgled, clamping his hand over his neck, and staggered in a circle, his injured eye weeping blood and clear fluid. His legs buckled under him and he fell to his knees.

Casting the sword aside, Dainn leaped on the Jotunn and encircled the giant’s neck with his hands. He pressed into the Jotunn’s wound with his fingers, widening the gash, and didn’t stop until the last breath left the Jotunn’s body.

But there was another like him, coming from behind, wheezing like a dying engine. Dainn spun, leaped, and kicked out with both feet, striking the Jotunn in the face with the heels of his boots. He landed on all fours like a cat and lashed out again, crushing the giant’s already flattened nose. The Jotunn wheezed one final time and crashed to the floor.

Dainn turned to face the last enemy. Behind the mortal with the sword he could see the boy and the girl huddled against the wall. There was blood splashed on the wall around the boy’s head.

And the woman was with them.

He rushed the swordsman, the beast’s strength moving his muscles like pistons. The man dodged aside without attempting to strike.

“Dainn!”

He knew the voice, and the sound of it locked his joints and stilled his heart. All at once the beast began to retreat, slinking backward, shaking its head in confusion. Mist stood behind the swordsman, Kettlingr in hand, all pale features and wide gray eyes.

“You
know
this man?” the stranger said over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving Dainn’s face.

“Drop that sword,” Mist said, “unless you want to die, too.”

The man’s grip on the weapon didn’t waver. “Ma’am,” he said, “I came in when I heard someone screaming. I saw this man kill these people, and—”

“Drop it,” she said, “or I’ll take it from you.”

The stranger set the katana carefully on the floor. “Ma’am,” he said, a little more steadily, “This man is probably either psychotic or acting under the influence of powerful drugs. Take those kids out of here. I’ll call the police and an ambulance.”

Dainn tried to speak, but all that came out was a grunt. He had begun to feel every broken bone and the severe pain in his belly that meant internal bleeding.

“He would never harm the kids,” Mist said, her voice unsteady.

“Ryan,” Dainn croaked, finding his voice. “He . . . the Jotunar—”

“I’ll take care of him,” Mist said. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ve got to get out of here.” She kicked the katana out of the stranger’s reach. “Whoever you are, you’ve interfered enough.”

The mortal still didn’t move, and neither did Dainn.

“On your knees,” Mist said, gesturing with the sword.

“You seem like a decent person,” the man said. “If you do this—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Mist said. She laid Kettlingr aside, undid her belt buckle with one hand and pulled the belt free of her jeans. “You’re going to let me tie you up until all this is sorted out.”

The stranger raised his hands. “Okay. I’ll do what you say.”

“Down.”

He began to drop to his knees, but he never completed the act. He fell to his side, rolled out of reach of the sword and scrambled to his feet in one smooth motion. A second later he had a cell phone in his hand.

Dainn was moving before the mortal punched in a single number. The human was fast, but Dainn could have killed him then with as little effort as he would expend on plucking a flower. Instead, he wrenched the phone from the stranger’s grasp, threw it to the floor, and ground it under his heel until he felt it give way with a crunch of metal and plastic. He heard Mist moving behind him and waved her back sharply.

“I do not know you, or why you are here,” he said to the mortal, “but you are making a mistake. You saw how the boy was hurt. These . . . men attacked with the intent to kill.”

“Maybe they did,” the stranger said, rubbing his wrist. “If you really don’t want to hurt anyone else, you’ll let me call the police. They can help you.”

Help
him. Dainn couldn’t even summon up a laugh at the absurdity. He looked over his shoulder at Mist, who was poised and ready to attack.

“I will take him with me,” he said. “You see to the young ones.”

“You’ll kill him,” Mist said. “I can’t let you do that.”

“I will not kill him,” Dainn said. “But I will see that he doesn’t interfere again.”

“I can’t trust you not to hurt him, Dainn,” Mist said. “Just let me call an ambulance, and I’ll take care of him.”

Dainn closed his eyes. “Make your call,” he said. He heard Mist speak into her cell phone, though he couldn’t seem to understand the words. When she was finished, she walked past Dainn to the stranger and pointed Kettlingr toward the floor.

“On your stomach,” she said. “And don’t try anything again.”

The mortal hesitated. Dainn drew back his fist and punched the young man squarely on the jaw. The stranger reeled and fell to his knees, all resistance lost to the blow. Mist put Kettlingr down again and knelt beside the stranger.

“He’s okay,” she said to Dainn. “Go. Go, and keep going.”

Dainn backed away. The pain in his chest and belly was growing worse, and soon the injuries would either kill him or release the beast in another mad frenzy of rage.

He turned and ran toward the hall door. He plunged through it, slammed it behind him, and collapsed.

For a few minutes he lay where he was, coughing as blood began to fill his lungs. Leaving the loft was no longer a possibility. His vision was fading, and the beast was already clawing its way back into his mind.

Pulling himself to his knees, Dainn found his way to the nearest room. He fell against the door, pried it open, and crumpled to the worn carpet. Working the door closed with his foot, he struggled to raise repelling wards to discourage any mortal from looking into the room. He could feel the wards fail almost as soon as he created them.

He crumpled and lay very still, sinking into his body, assessing his wounds, whispering elvish spells to help close the torn blood vessels and mend the injuries to his internal organs.

They, too, failed him. His wounds were beyond mending by any but a true Healer, and they were all trapped in Ginnungagap with the others.