Richelle Mead Dark Swan Bundle: Storm Born, Thorn Queen, Iron Crowned & Shadow Heir (20 page)

“Help me…” I whispered to Kiyo. “Why won't you help me?”

White spots now danced with the black ones. I closed my eyes, and it felt better.

“I'm going to lie down,” I told him, stretching back. “Just for a minute, okay?” I rested my head on the passenger seat, lying perpendicular to the seats.

I heard a soft, almost doglike whine. He must have stood on his hind legs, because I next felt paws and a head resting near my knee.

“Why won't you help me?” I asked again, feeling tears spill out of my eyes. “I need you.”

I heard the whine again, mournful and contrite. My hand reached out, grasping for soft fur. I clutched the strands as though they alone could keep me alive. Then, my fingers lost their grip and slipped away as my hand dropped.

It was like déjà vu. Two fights, two blackouts, and two “mornings after” back in my own bed. Talk about tedious.

Only this time, I wasn't alone in bed. I knew Kiyo was with me even before I opened my eyes. I recognized his smell, the way his arms wrapped around me. They held me with delicacy now, not with the fierceness that usually seized him.

“You don't quit,” I murmured, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. “Even wounded, you're still trying to get me back in bed.”

“I've already got you here.” He lay on his side, his eyes staring into mine. Smiling, he ran a hand over my hair, smoothing it back. “I was so worried about you.”

I snuggled against him, slowly dredging up memories from last night. “I was worried about you too. What happened? Why wouldn't you change back?”

“I did…eventually.”

Well, that was obvious. I waited expectantly, needing more.

“Being a kitsune isn't just about the novelty of turning into a fox. It's more than that. It's like…I also can turn into—I don't know—a fox god. No. That's not right. I don't know how to describe it.”

“A superfox?”

His soft laughter vibrated against my forehead, and he kissed the skin there. “That's not quite right either. The foxes of the Otherworld are like the progenitors of mortal foxes in this world. They're stronger, more powerful, wilder. I can change into one of those, but to do so…I almost have to give up my humanity. They're too animal, too…I don't know, primordial. When I'm a normal red fox, I'm still pretty much the same as I am now unless I've been in that form for a really long time. Then the human part starts to go. But for your ‘superfox,' I'm already gone in one transformation. I can hang on to only a few human instincts—like that I had to fight that thing and that I had to protect you.”

I took all this in, frowning. “But that doesn't explain why you didn't change back.”

“It takes time to go in and out of that form. The change is more than physical. I have to give up my human nature to go in, my fox nature to come out. Both are hard. That's why it took me awhile to even help in the first place. I had to make a quick call, even though it left you undefended. I thought I'd do more damage in the other form.”

“Yeah, you did do a pretty good job. But you sure scared me there.” I fell silent, recalling those terrible moments of uncertainty while I bled all over myself. “When did you finally change back?”

“Not long after you passed out, I think.”

“That would explain why I'm still alive.”

He nodded. “You lost a lot of blood. You needed ten stitches.”

I blinked. “Did you take me to a doctor?”

He grinned. “You bet I did.”

It took me a moment to catch on. I pulled back the covers and lifted the skirt of one of my racier and rarely used nightgowns—how'd I get dressed in that anyway?—and saw black stitches standing out starkly against my skin, off to the side of my stomach.

“You did this?” I exclaimed. “You stitched me up? Without a doctor?”

“I
am
a doctor. I do this all the time.”

“Yeah…to cats and dogs. Not to people.”

“It's exactly the same. We're animals too.”

I eyed the stitches uneasily. The skin around them was red. “Was everything sanitized?”

He made a disparaging sound in his throat. “Of course it was. The standards are the same. Come on, stop worrying. It was either that or let you bleed to death in the car. I had a kit in the back and used it.”

“How'd you have enough light out there?”

“The overhead lamp still worked.”

I couldn't believe he'd stitched me up in a smashed car with a vet's kit. Improvisation at its best. “Did the car actually start?”

“Sort of…I got us back to the freeway before it died. I found your cell phone and called Tim.”

“Poor Tim. When I first told him I was a shaman, I think he thought it was as fake as his own Indian charade.”

“Wait—he's not actually Indian? I've been trying forever to figure out what tribe he's from.”

“He's from the tribe of Tim Warkoski. It's ridiculous, but—”

The air in the room rippled, pressure building. I had to blink a few times to ensure the shimmering around us wasn't in my head.

Kiyo propped himself up, alert and wary.

The pressure abruptly faded. A rift from the Otherworld opened up in front of us, and suddenly Dorian stood on a small table in the corner. Not unexpectedly, it promptly broke under his weight, making a horrible crashing sound as its pieces and contents fell to the floor. To his credit, he sidestepped the disaster rather gracefully, easily landing both feet on the floor. I winced, seeing the anchor ring lying among the debris. I'd set it on the table, not considering the consequences of Dorian arriving exactly where it lay.

“What the hell—” Kiyo started to climb out of bed, but I was in his way. I laid a restraining hand on his chest.

“No, it's all right. He's here for our next lesson. Jesus…I can't believe it's that time already.” I'd lost a lot of time since the car.

Dorian wore his usual simple but fine clothes, covered by another elaborate robe. This one was black satin, edged in silver and small seed pearls. If the present circumstances surprised him, he didn't show it. He kept his face typically unimpressed and sardonic. His smile twisted as he regarded us.

“I can come back later if it's more convenient. I do so hate to interrupt.”

“No, no,” I said hastily, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed's edge. The movement uncomfortably tugged the skin around my stitches. “We were just, um…resting.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “You rest in that?”

I glanced down, flushing. I'd worn this exactly once when Dean and I had gone to Mexico for a weekend. The nightgown was pale green, its top and bottom hems ornamented with elaborate green leaves and tiny pink flowers. The mid-thigh-length skirt was sheer chiffon. Note to self: Never let Kiyo dress me again, unconsciousness notwithstanding.

Tim chose that moment to walk in, summoned by the noise. “Eug, what…”

His mouth dropped—and not just because of me. I looked around at us all: me in my nightgown, Kiyo bare-chested, Dorian in his extravagant robes, and Tim in his Native getup.

“God,” I muttered, standing up, “we look like the Village People.”

I pulled the terry cloth robe over me, wondering how I always seemed to be half-naked lately. Tim continued to stare, wearing the shocked look of one who has just walked in on his parents having sex.

“Everything's fine,” I told him. He still didn't move, and I waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey, wake up. Think you can make some breakfast?”

He blinked. “It's three in the afternoon.”

I gave him a pathetic look. The familiarity of it seemed to snap him back to normal. He could never resist it. That, or he felt he owed me food for the free rent.

“What do you want?”

“Eggs and toast.”

“Healthy or unhealthy toast?”

I considered. “Healthy.”

“Are your, uh, friends eating too?”

I glanced at the other two men.

“I'd love to,” replied Dorian with a cordial half-bow. “Thank you.”

“Famished,” said Kiyo, eyes still narrowed on Dorian.

“Thanks, Tim, you're the best.” I practically pushed him out the door.

“Charming man,” remarked Dorian politely. He glanced around. “And a charming room.” The broken table aside, the room's other contents included: a pile of laundry, the wicker chair, a case of ammunition, a dresser, and a small desk with my laptop and a half-finished puzzle of the Eiffel Tower. The room didn't have a lot of space, so everything had been jammed in. It all seemed so chintzy compared to the opulence of his bedroom.

Kiyo also got out of bed, wearing just a pair of jeans. “You want to tell me again what's going on?”

“I already did.” I opened my dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt that said
I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT
on it. “We're doing my next lesson.”

“She can't do it today,” Kiyo told Dorian. “She was in a fight last night.”

“Unless I'm mistaken, she gets in a fight every night.”

“This one was bad. She was injured. Didn't you see the stitches?”

“My humble eyes had better things to occupy themselves with than her stitches.”

“Hey, guys?” I snapped. “I'm still here, you know. Stop talking about me in the third person.”

Kiyo walked over and touched my arm. “Eugenie, this is crazy. You need to go back to bed.”

“Today's lesson will not require physical exertion,” said Dorian primly.

“There, you see?” I said. “I've got to keep going with our deal.”

Kiyo looked darkly from me to Dorian. “Your ‘deal' doesn't seem to be doing a lot of good. I thought it was going to keep your would-be rapists away.”

I had turned my back to them, opened the robe, and started pulling my jeans on. I froze, considering.

“The fachan wasn't trying to rape me,” I said slowly. “He wanted to kill me.”

“Are you sure?”

“He tried to throw me through a windshield. That's not very romantic.”

“A fachan?” asked Dorian.

I shed the robe and nightgown and pulled the shirt over my head before turning back around to face them. I gave Dorian the short version of what had happened.

He stood up from where he'd been leaning against my desk and strolled over to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

“A fachan,” he mused. “Here. Curious.”

“Not really. Not compared to anything else that's happened to me,” I reminded him.

He pointed out the window. “You live in a desert. Fachans like bodies of water. You have a lot of enemies, my dear, but I doubt any fachan would hate you enough to show up here of his own volition.”

“What are you saying?” asked Kiyo.

“That someone went to considerable trouble to summon him here. Someone with either a lot of raw power or simply an affinity for water creatures.”

“Who could do that?” I asked.

“Any number of people. Maiwenn could.”

Kiyo took a few dangerous steps toward him. “Maiwenn didn't do that.”

Dorian smiled, unfazed by Kiyo's intimidating presence. They were the same height, but Dorian's frame was lean and slim, Kiyo's broader and more muscled.

“You're probably right,” Dorian said after several tense moments of silence. “Particularly since she's been so under the weather lately.” Kiyo's face grew darker.

I glanced back and forth uneasily, uncertain as to what I was in the middle of. “Do you guys know each other?”

Dorian extended a hand to Kiyo, cool and collected. “I know
of
you, but I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I am Dorian, king of the Oak Land.”

Kiyo grudgingly took his hand. “I know who you are.”

“This is Kiyo,” I said.

“Delightful to meet you. You're a…kitsune.”

Dorian said the word in an odd tone. It wasn't exactly disrespectful, but it clearly implied they were not equals.

I grabbed both their arms and steered them out. “No pissing contests. Come on. It'll only take Tim about five minutes to whip up the food.”

Whatever antagonism existed between Kiyo and Dorian, it took a break as the gentry king entertained himself with the rest of my house. He was like a kid, unable to keep his hands off of everything. Well, everything that wasn't made of plastic or an iron affiliate. My living room was a veritable wonderland, with everything conveniently piled up in junk heaps for him to explore.

“What's the purpose of this?”

He held a fluorescent pink Slinky, tossing it from side to side so he didn't have to touch the plastic extensively. My impression was gentry could touch the taboo substances in small doses with minor discomfort; prolonged exposure grew much more uncomfortable. Charge it up with power, and it could kill them.

“It doesn't really have a purpose,” I decided. “You just sort of…play with it when you're bored.”

He tossed it back and forth, watching it spring up in arches.

“Let me see it,” I said.

I held it, closing my eyes. My focus was back now with the excruciating pain vanquished. I concentrated on the Slinky, putting a small piece of my essence into it. I handed it back.

“Wrap it up and take it with you. It'll be my anchor.”

He grinned. With so many other distractions, we eventually had to drag him to the kitchen table when the food was ready.