Poison Kissed (15 page)

Even after all he’d done to me, I still cared that I’d hurt him.

Rabid self-disgust ripped my stomach like claws, and before he could speak—or I could change my mind—I ran.

13

Joey smacks his head into the metal, and the bright agony slithers his black skin away. She’s too much. Too close. Far too mesmerizing, like a poison that tunnels his vision and warps his senses so they seek only her.

And now she’s gone.

Fleeing the monster.

Memory of her breathless surrender maddens him. He crunches green-stained claws hard on the steel, but the bright pain does nothing to cool his desire. For just a moment, she felt it, too. He’s sure of it. She wants him, sure as her mouth opened eagerly under his and her touch molded to him and her breath sighed helpless and needy onto his tongue.

And with a careless shift, he killed her desire, as swiftly and efficiently as if he’d sliced open her throat.

He bangs his head again, fighting the black reptile craving to slither and spit and splash the walls with venom. The serpent inside him roils in fury, stretching his human skin until it stings. Cold and hot streams mix hissing in his blood, so infuriating, he itches to tear his skin off in ragged strips and let the horrid stuff pour out.

Sickness chews his guts. He’s rarely felt the hatred like this. Never burned so badly to hack his own poisoned flesh apart. She’s at least curious about his human shape, if not attracted. Girls like power. But as soon as the serpent gets too close, she runs.

He disgusts her, and no doubt her desire turns her disgust on herself. Perfect.

If she’d wanted to kill him, she’d had her chance and wasted it. Did she rat on him? He doesn’t care. All he knows is that seeing her bruised and bloody at Sonny’s hands ran white-hot human fury through his cold snake veins, that her courage makes him weak, that kissing her warm full lips makes him feel alive.

Makes him care for something other than victory.

Where’s the fucking sense in that? Only victory lasts. Everything else fades. Even the heat of her kiss, now just a toxic memory.

He scrapes shaking claws through his hair, over and over, willing the desperate ache in his cock to fade. There’s something wrong with her magic, something that left her vulnerable to Sonny’s crude violence and would have done the same for him, let him take her, hurt her, break her.

But the thought of hurting her jabs cold needles into his lust, ruining it. He remembers Ivy’s cruel threat—
make her like you made me
—and iceblack rage thins his blood. If Ivy’s hurt her . . .

His sinuses buzz. He whirls, snapping out one elongating black hand, and his forearm smacks hard into hot damp flesh. His claws spring longer, and his wet black flipper rakes a fevered throat.

Vincent chokes, sharp teeth snapping in fury.

Joey rams him back into the metal wall. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Vincent snarls, and blood shines on his lips, running over his chin and onto his unshaven throat. It’s not just vomit. It’s in his hair, under his nails, crusted on the golden chains around his neck.

Joey’s blood slides cold. He doesn’t have time for this infighting shit. If Ivy’s put a curse on Mina, he has to stop her before Mina walks into a trap. Any danger she’s in is his fault. He should be after her, watching her, making sure she’s safe. . . .

He gnashes cold teeth and jams his knee into Vincent’s guts, making him retch bloody spit.
That’s fucking stupid.

It’s backwards.

Forget her.

The old determination calms him like a soft breeze. Family is everything. Power—and hence safety—is the only thing that matters. Mina is nothing. Just a brave, talented, compassionate girl who’ll never love a monster.

And where the fuck did that word come from?

Anger makes him hard all over again, and everything seems right once more.

He gives a twisted grin and slams Vincent’s skull back into the metal once more for emphasis. “Don’t ever try to creep up on me, kid. I can taste your grotty little thoughts from across the street.”

Vincent squirms, his nose frothing crimson. “Get your scaly mitts off me.”

Joey’s serpent senses swell. Fleshy stink tainted with sharp virusfever, the bloody taste of lust. He grimaces. “Charming. What the fuck you doing, getting yourself infected? Trying to impress me?”

He tightens glossy webs around Vincent’s throat, sliding venomtipped claws out another inch. The smell of shift tweaks in his mouth, dry and reptilian and disgusting, and seductive images flash of Mina, shrinking away from him, her pretty red lips quivering. But Vincent stinks worse, of stale meat and blood. “Think you can challenge me? You’re lucky the bloodsuckers didn’t kill you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” Vincent grabs at Joey’s arm, trying to wrestle him off, but his infant vampire strength isn’t enough.

Joey springs out his own fangs, and snakes like a whip to within an inch of Vincent’s nose. His vision dims, serpentsense taking over, his body suddenly awash with taste and vibration and hunger. “I’m telling you nice, just this once. Don’t piss me off. We can be friends. Just let it lie.”

But his forked tongue rasps with Vincent’s diseased breath, the blood-engorged virus particles hitting the atmosphere and thrashing themselves to death. His sinuses vibrate with the stink of bloody vampire sweat, and he knows this isn’t over. If Vincent lives long enough to gain his full strength, Joey’s got a problem.

Vincent snarls. “I’ve let it lie long enough. Time we had this out.”

“Don’t be a fuckwad. Come back when you’re grown up.” Consonants lisp in Joey’s distorted mouth. Evilcold snake strength washes dark delight into his roiling muscles, and he wrenches Vincent away from the wall and throws him to the ground.

Blood splashes crimson and blue on the concrete, remnants of Vincent’s last bite. He crawls to all fours, snarling, and his bloodshot brown eyes gleam like jewels, artificially bright. “You don’t do that to me anymore. I got special. Iridium said so. No one ignores me now.”

Joey shifts his other hand with a hot squelch, and venom splatters the pavement. Toxin burns inside him, a vile hate-want cocktail, and his tongue flickers greedily in hot night air. Taste. Drink. Explore.

Delicious sensory pleasure slides over him, rich with guilt and disgust, and the desire to change grips him tight like a dead lover’s flesh, beautiful and loathsome at the same time. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. You’re not stronger than me yet.”

“But I will be.” Vincent grins, cunning, and the rampant virus crunches his fangs a fraction longer, slicing his bottom lip bloody. “And I’m gonna rip your paranoid fucking honor out and chew it up.”

Joey’s blood shimmers bright. It’s true. If he doesn’t polish Vincent off now, he’ll be sorry. But he fights the urge to snap to serpent and strike. Vincent is a cocky little asshole, but he’s tough, and Joey needs all the friends he can get. “Don’t belittle my honor, you ungrateful shitworm. It’s my honor that keeps us alive.”

“Whatever.”

Joey spits, venom and bile. “Think you can survive without me? Sonny and Fabian are dead. Ange Valenti’s favorite cousins. He’ll hunt your bloodfevered ass down and snap you in half.”

“Iridium did Fabian. And you killed Sonny, not me.”

“Ange doesn’t know that. You think Diamond gives a damn which of us he gets first?”

Vincent chuckles, mad. “Whatever. I seen what you done to Mina. Can’t help going serpent on her, can you?”

“Keep her the fuck out of it.” The vehemence of his own words snaps Joey cold.

“She practically pukes at the sight of you. But girls like a bit of vampire cock. You think she’s not ripe for the taking? You think if I get her on my side, the others won’t follow?”

Joey’s tailbone twitches, and he longs to slash out his spiked serpent tail and rip Vincent’s eyeballs out. But he can’t kill Vincent for a few insults. He won’t.

He forces a sarcastic laugh. “The fever’s turned your mind. It happens. Ever watched someone die of bloodfever, Vincent? Blood fills up your eyeballs. Runs from your ears. Dribbles out your ass. You shit rotten flesh and vomit up your own melted guts. Hurts like a motherfucker, so I’ve heard.”

Vincent’s infant fangs glint, a bloody grin. “I ain’t dying. Mina’s already tempted. Don’t close your eyes, Joey. Don’t turn your back. Not for an instant.”

Her name’s sweet chime on Vincent’s lips swells Joey’s sinuses alive with envy and rage.

But it’s not worth his conscience. Nothing is. Not even her.

He grips his elbows, wrapping cold snakeflesh tight, and lets Vincent limp away.

14

I didn’t stop running until I reached Docklands, where the football stadium’s white saddle roof loomed cold and dark and saltwater stink gave way to warm summer city smells of smoke, parched concrete, dust. Beyond, the sweeping neon arch of the Westgate Bridge gleamed, dotted scarlet with late-night traffic, headed for distant suburbs and the coast, where three million people didn’t give a rat’s ass about gang wars or murders or dockside ambushes gone awry.

I crumpled against a poster-ripped wall, choking for breath beneath a glaring orange streetlight, and my legs buckled. My muscles screamed for rest, but the stretching confusion and agony in my mind swallowed all my attention.

He was too strong. Too forceful. Too iron-willed. Without my magic, I’d never overpower him. Until I purged this sick yearning for his regard—and yeah, okay, his body—I’d never be able to go through with my plan.

And until I killed him, I’d never be free.

I leaned forward, hands on knees, dragging in big gulps of hot midnight air.

Never mind that I liked it when he touched me. That I could still feel him now, his tongue demanding in my mouth, the creature fighting beneath his skin, the way he offered himself to me like I’d left him no other choice.

A hotted-up muscle car cruised past, paintwork shining black, and a crude wolf whistle sailed out amidst drunk male laughter. I wailed a skin-rotting curse at them, but my voice came out scratchy and sore, and no magic thrilled my blood.

I struggled upright, my galloping heart easing at last, and I dragged my hair from my face and breathed deep. I’d fucked up. Joey had caught me off guard, I could admit that. I hadn’t thought my plan through, and I’d jumped in before I was ready.

But I hadn’t given myself away. Right?

He might realize all wasn’t right with my magic, but he’d no reason to suspect my motives. If that fight with Diamond was a test, I’d surely passed it.

But I needed my magic back. My voice, my reflexes, my strength. And I needed to distance myself, remember his lies, forget how I’d craved him. Even find another guy, who I could tease into courting me like I mattered. Get seriously laid, and erase Joey from my dreams forever.

I snickered, trying to recover my reluctant sense of humor. Vincent was up for it. Maybe I’d give him a call.

But the idea just made me shudder.

Resolve pulled my spine straight, and I unzipped my phone and called Cobalt again. The rings buzzed dully in my ear, four, five, six, but he didn’t answer.

I frowned as I ended the call, and glanced at the time on my glowing white screen. Just before one. Early for him. Maybe he was in the club and couldn’t hear the phone. Maybe I’d embarrassed him last night, and he was ignoring me.

Maybe something else.

I swallowed, dry. I couldn’t deny it. Something weird happened last night, beyond sly fairy nuance or memory magic’s unpredictability. Maybe Cobalt wasn’t okay.

My pulse clanged in alarm, and I couldn’t shut it up. I really needed him to be okay. To explain what the fuck had happened, and get me my voice back before I lost everything.

I tucked my phone away. I knew where he lived, a dirty apartment block in the city. It wasn’t far. I’d start there, and if he wasn’t home, I’d search the clubs until I found him, and I wouldn’t rest until he’d told me what was going on.

The solid comfort of a plan settled in my stomach like a good meal, and I stretched my aching calves and started walking.

Twenty minutes later, I reached his broken apartment block, jammed in between a shining new glass-fronted skyscraper and an Irish pub. I ducked down the alley, where empty silver kegs stacked three high against the spraypainted wall in the stink of stale beer and vomit. The pub was still open, and a creaky hillbilly song drifted from the open windows onto the street, something involving manic banjos, a wailing violin, and a rusty-voiced singer harping on about his poor ole yellow dog.

Next to the rows of green garbage bins, a drunken fairy sprawled on his tummy, pointy yellow feet kicked up and blue dragonfly wings fluttering lazy eddies in the dust. He warbled happily along with the music and tied knots in his long white hair with dirty fingers. He saw me and waved grandly, dust smudging his curled yellow nose. “No pumpkins left, sweetie. Come back tomorrow.”

“Right. Thanks for the tip.” I skipped up two floors, my boots clanging on the rusty fire stairs. Hamburger wrappers and crushed drink cans littered the metalmesh landing, and it shed dirt and rust under my feet. In the corner, a smelly black spriggan in a trench coat pissed crooked shapes onto the wall, swaying on drunken feet, and the bright puddle dripped through the slats onto the ground. Sourness wrinkled my nose. Charming. If Cobalt made much cash in his trade, he sure wasn’t spending it on rent.

I rapped on his heat-warped plywood door, the chipped paint long faded, brighter where the number had fallen off. “Get up, ya lazyfae sod—”

Creak.

The door swung ajar. Too far for the chain to be on.

Inside, it lay dark.

Cold insect feet crawled over my skin. I glanced left and right. Doors sat silent and dark. No lightcracks leaked onto the landing to betray someone awake inside. Dead vinestalks hung limply on the rusted balcony in breezeless heat. Somewhere a possum snorted and rustled. No stairwell lighting. No security. No CCTV.

Slowly, I pushed the door open. No sound, bar the ragged brush of wood on carpet. I reached around the doorframe. Fumbled for the switch. Flipped on the light.

The shadow-thing in the doorway leapt.

My stomach tumbled. I tripped, jumping for my weapon, and the shadow did, too.

Fuck. What kind of faux-sadistic fairy idiot plasters a mirror to the wall opposite the door?

I choked a laugh and sucked in a breath to ease my racing pulse as I slipped the knife back into its case. “Jesus, C, you scared me shitless.”

No answer.

I stepped into the room. Roasted coffee teased my nose, reminding me how hungry I was, and my mouth watered. Orange light shed dimly from a single bulb. Television, pile of blue suede beanbags, ripped magazines piled waist high in the corner. Carpet threadbare and dusty. Empty glass vials scattered on the table amongst chocolate bar wrappers, rainbow sparkle remnants catching the light.

I walked in farther. “Cobalt? It’s me. Sorry to barge in, but I—”

Behind the beanbags, long midnightblue hair curled onto the carpet.

I scrambled to my knees at his side, turning his pale face toward me. His limbs lay limp, his black velvet wings crushed beneath him. I stroked his cold cheek, his pointy chin sharp in my palm. “C? You good?”

But he wasn’t.

His head lolled in my hands at a crazy angle, his pretty mouth slack. He still wore the same inkstained shirt and jeans, but those deep blue eyes stared, glazed gray. I pressed my ear to his chest. No breath. I sniffed, searching. No lemonscent of sparkle on his lips. I felt under his chin for pulse. Gone. Cold.

Dead.

I swallowed, my eyes burning. Gently, I laid his cheek on the carpet. Arranged that wonderful blue hair in a knot the way he liked it. Closed his dulled eyes, those lashes featherlight on my fingertips for the last time. I couldn’t get his head to lie straight. My hands shook in his hair. Already his bright faecolors faded, drained. His indigo essence smeared dull and dusty on my hands, and his earthy smell accused me.

No blood. No bruises. He didn’t look like it hurt. Just dead. And I never had the chance to tell him I was sorry.

Tears muddied my vision, and I wiped them viciously away. Like he gave a damn about that now, after someone broke his fucking neck.

Softly, I stroked his hair back one more time and let him be.
Sorry, C. I liked you more than you’ll know.

I stretched to my feet, guilt gnawing at my bones. Cobalt wasn’t a good boy. Dozens of people would want a piece of him. But I couldn’t kill the itch that his death was somehow my fault.

A lot of eyes had watched me last night. Joey, Vincent, Diamond, who the fuck knew who else. I’d taken Cobalt home in full public view. Everyone saw us leave together. And less than a day later . . .

I flushed. Sure. Like I was that important.
Get over yourself, Mina. No one gives a rotting spit what you do, or who you do it with.

But no time to gawk and wonder. Anyone could’ve seen me come in here. If there’d been a fight, someone might’ve called the cops already, and I could no longer count on Joey’s influence to extract me from a jam.

Swiftly, I rummaged through the glassware on the bench. All empty, crusted with crystals like coral, blue and green and yellow. I bent to search his pockets, trying not to look at his face. My crumpled cash—all he had—his phone showing four missed calls, a smudged makeup mirror still dusted with golden glitter. Nothing else. A quick search of the kitchen and the bedroom revealed the same. Nothing. Not a dealing quantity of illicit substance in sight. Even the cops couldn’t bust this place.

If Cobalt had stolen my magic, he’d already gotten rid of it.

I strode out into the lounge room, frustrated. Something crunched beneath my boot, and I looked down.

Glass.

Colored shards, wickedly sharp, glinting purple and green and yellow like oil on water.

I leaned over and plucked one up. It glittered as I turned it, and puffed a faint pink halo. The dust settled on my hand, glimmering, and rich rosescent drifted.

I glanced around, my skin cold with the memory of smooth fairy fingers, the crisp shatter of wings. Window intact, dirty ashtray on the dresser in one piece. Nothing broken. And the shards were too big to be sparkleglass.

I let the fragment drop, and it pricked my finger as it fell. Crimson oozed, and I shook it away.

I grabbed Cobalt’s phone and scrolled through the missed calls. All four from me. I flicked to the call records, his garish pink background glaring in my eyes, and my heart flipped a tiny somersault.

He’d called Diamond last night. At 3:47
A.M
. Right after I’d passed out.

Probably from my fucking living room, while I lay there unconscious.

Diamond’s words from last night floated back to me, and suddenly the entire evening made a lot more sense. Cobalt, texting as I walked up. Diamond’s little taunts.
Actu-mally, I was looking for you. Just a pinch more rat-icality.

Damn it. Cobalt had sold me out. Stolen my magic and handed it over so Diamond could blackmail me.
Hope it was fucking worth it, C, you dumb fairy twit.

Unwilling tears prickled my eyes, and I forced them back, digging into my focusing mantra.
Cold. Iron. No fear. No sympathy. Don’t let them get to your heart.

Icy calm threaded my veins, and I set my teeth deliberately. The stinky glass-ass prick wanted my attention. Well, now he had it. As for what else he wanted . . . well, last night betraying Joey had been out of the question.

But things had changed.

My belly warmed. I’d do whatever it took. Tell Diamond whatever he wanted. Make him give me my magic back, and then Joey’s tricky serpent ass would be mine. And just before I killed him, I’d tell him I’d turned. Twist the knife further. Chew just one more bleeding piece out of his heart.

I’d work for Diamond if he asked me to. What the fuck did I care? Nothing left for me with DiLuca anymore.

I stabbed the number and called, and as it rang, my stomach crawled cold, but I ignored the discomfort. Nothing Joey hated worse than a traitor.

I’d always hated liars, too. Too late to get precious about it now.

Diamond’s giggle sparkled on the line. “Zombie-phone. Back from the dead. Uncanny. Who’s this? No, no, let me guess—”

“Cut the shit.” I clutched the phone tightly, struggling to even my voice. “I know you’ve got my spell. Tell me what you want.”

Craftiness slicked into his tone like silver. “Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty. Better we discussify in person, doncha think?”

My spine tickled. I wanted to spin around, scan for enemies, put my back to the wall. “When?”

“Now, of course. You got something better to do?”

“Where?”

Claws slithered into my hair.

I jerked back, dropping the handset, and collided with warm glass.

Muscled arms folded around me, pressing me against his body, and his hot crystal chuckle teased my shoulder. “Hello, bluebell.”

Bumps needled my skin. My breath squeezed tight. His rosy scent filtered strong and thick, and I cursed. Why didn’t I notice him coming? My ears were shot, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t pay attention. I could even see us in the mirror now, muscles bulging and veins glittering scarlet in his crystalline arms, his glowing wings pulsing nectarine shadows on the floor, the wicked strawberry glint of his eyes, his sharp roseglass chin on my shoulder.

I sucked in a breath, forced my voice even. My pulse thumped, steadying me. I shrugged in his embrace, loosening my arms. “What, did you follow me from the docks?”

“Didn’t need to. Anyone ever mention you feel great?”

“Pretty fucking clever, aren’t you?” I twisted my elbow in tight to my side. Slowly eased my hand toward my knife.

Diamond cuddled me against him, his fiberoptic hair glittering over my shoulder. His hard body slid warm against my back. “Glad you think so. Smell great, too, when you’re frightened. All salty and delicio-mous. You’re a sexy lady.”

I twisted the blade free and jabbed it threateningly against his hip. “Gee, thanks. What say you get your clever ass off me before I cut your dick off?”

He sucked in air between his teeth at the sting, but I could feel he was grinning. “Ooh. You got me. Girls in mourning all over town. I’ll play nice.”

I jabbed harder, twisting. “Who’s playing?”

“Ah, ah, watch it. Okay. Keep your face on.” He released me, giggling.

I spun around, my weapon bared before me. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”

“Whatever, bluebell. I win, you lose. You can’t sing-ify any cracks in me now.” His long hair sparkled as he nonchalantly flicked his wings tidy. His shirt still had blood on it from the fight, dried red stains not his own, the fabric clawtorn over ripped glass muscles.