Authors: M.J. Scott
Shadow Kin (17 page)
Still, it couldn’t hurt to make sure. I prodded the corpse with my foot. Nothing.
“What are you doing?” Simon said as I bent toward the Beast, gun still at the ready. His voice sounded very loud. I realized the crowd had gone quiet. Several of the horses were snorting uneasily, their hooves beating a nervous tattoo on the cobbles, but the people were silent.
Shocked silent or “let’s form an angry mob and attack the killer with the gun” silent?
“Making sure I finished the job,” I said, loud enough for it to carry clearly to those watching. If they were feeling intimidated, I needed them to stay that way. If they weren’t, well, I’d best make sure that changed.
Before Simon could protest, I drew the dagger with my free hand and laid it across the Beast’s throat. The Fae do good work. My dagger slid, as usual, through skin and cartilage and bone like butter, separating the head from the body. The head, frozen midchange in a hideous mix of wolf and man, toppled sideways with another dull thump.
The noise made my stomach swoop. Generally, I kill with a single stroke to the heart. Noiseless. Fast. Blood flowed from the stump, joining the pool gathered under the body, horribly bright in the sunlight. I set my teeth, willing myself not to react as the smell hit me. Simon sucked in a sudden breath, stepping backward. Apparently I wasn’t the only one disturbed by my actions.
The blood reeked of Beast. Behind me, hoofbeats clattered as one of the horses squealed; then someone cursed viciously, presumably trying to calm the animal.
Wrinkling my nose, I flipped the corpse’s coat open with my dagger, looking for weapons. Praise the Lady, there was a pistol shoved in his waistband. I looked up at Simon and held out his gun. He stared at it for a moment, then took it.
I yanked the Beast’s gun free, checked that it was loaded—normal bullets, which was unfortunate but better than nothing—then wiped my dagger clean on the coat. I half straightened and turned my attention from the dead Beast to the crowd, trying to read their mood. They were, thus far, giving us plenty of space. Good. There wasn’t much point attempting to move the body. Not with this many witnesses. Even if we did, the blood would tell its own story.
Trouble was, Lucius would most likely take it to read something along the lines of “try to kill them harder next time.”
I stood up fully and had to hide a wincing gasp. Now that my initial rush of adrenaline was wearing off, the wound on my side throbbed like seven hells and I realized I was bleeding.
Not good.
It was one thing for the Beast’s blood to be found. It was another entirely for mine to be found with it. Still, there was nothing I could do about it right now.
“We should leave,” I said to Simon, keeping my free hand pressed to my side. I held the pistol at the ready in the other. “Likely his pack mates will be on their way. They will have felt the death.”
Simon stared down at the body, looking pale. “Shouldn’t we . . .”
“No. There’s nothing you can do here.” I didn’t care how good a healer he was; he couldn’t reattach somebody’s head. Nor did I want him to. “Let’s go.”
We didn’t have time for niceties. He needed to understand the reality of the situation we were in. Maybe then he’d finally agree it would be best if I didn’t stay.
Behind me steam hissed as the ’cab chugged into life. I twisted and bit down a curse. Apparently our driver agreed with my desire for a strategic retreat. He seemed equally determined that we wouldn’t be going with him as he reversed the ’cab away speedily, eyes wild as he stared at me through the windshield.
So much for that method of getaway.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. He’d gotten a pretty good look at our faces.
As had the rest of the crowd, though right now they were mostly focused on the body, various expressions of shock, distaste, and avid curiosity on their faces. Judging by the well-worn and grubby clothes most of them wore, they weren’t necessarily the sort who’d be too keen to talk to the authorities if they turned up. And hopefully, as residents of the border boroughs, sensible enough to avoid getting caught up in Night World battles.
I pulled at Simon’s arm. “We need to leave.”
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“Let’s worry about that later.” The wound burned and oozed, but it wasn’t bleeding heavily. Hopefully I wouldn’t leave a blood trail.
The Beasts might track us anyway, but why make it easier for them? I started walking away from the crowd, then forced myself to break into a run. We needed distance between us and the body.
“We need to get St. Giles,” Simon said, keeping pace with me. If he was hurt, he wasn’t showing it. Yet the Beast had hit him solidly. If he was unharmed he was very, very lucky.
If he wasn’t, then any number of things could be happening internally, but I couldn’t do anything about any of them. I couldn’t smell human blood and there didn’t seem to be any spreading stains on the dark blue cloth of his jacket. In fact, apart from the dust on his back where he’d fallen, he looked almost as neat as when we’d left Guy’s. Whereas I had added torn and bleeding to stinking and rumpled.
Hells.
“No. They could predict we might head there. We need somewhere not connected to you. Somewhere unexpected. Preferably warded.”
Not an easy thing to produce in this part of town. I quickened my pace and almost immediately regretted it as I slipped in some horse dung on the cobbles and stumbled, arms flailing to keep my balance. The movement felt as though someone had driven a red-hot iron spike into my side, and for a moment, my vision darkened.
Simon caught my elbow, then pulled us into the shadow of a narrow alley, leading me straight into another pile of dung in the process. The grassy stench rose around us, combining with the smell of rotten garbage and rat piss in the alley, not helping my attempts to breathe deeply and drive away the pain. But the stink was probably a good thing. It might hide our scent. At this time of year, the summer heat kept the streets mostly dry, no rain to turn the rubbish and worse littering them to muddy slush or to wash away our trail.
“Let me see that,” he said, reaching toward my hand where it pressed against my side.
I stepped back. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. You look as though you’re going to faint.”
“I don’t faint.” Though right now I wasn’t entirely certain that it wasn’t a possibility. The wound hurt much more and the fabric of my shirt seemed wetter beneath my hand. Had I torn something when I’d slipped?
“We’re going to St. Giles,” he said. “It’s the safest option.”
“Safest for who?”
He ignored me. “I know this area.”
“You do?” This wasn’t the sort of neighborhood I expected Simon to be familiar with. He belonged in the wellmanicured, safe human boroughs. Close to the spires of Our Lady of the Perpetual Rose and the Brother House. Places where light and order prevailed and the alleys didn’t smell like three-week-dead fish.
“Yes. If we cut through this alley, we’ll be closer to Melchior. We can get a hackney or another ’cab.”
I hoped like hell he was right. So far the Lady seemed to like him. Perhaps she’d favor him a little longer.
One thing was certain, trying to make our way to St. Giles on foot would be foolhardy. I wasn’t going to be much use if we ran into more Beasts. I drew in a breath, trying to forget the pain in my side. “All right. It’s a plan.”
“You should let me look at that,” Simon said, frowning. He looked down to my hand. Blood coated the underside of my palm. Some dribbled between my fingers, down toward my wrist.
“It can wait. I’m not bleeding to death. He didn’t catch me full strength. If we stop for you to heal me, then we might not be so lucky next time.” The bleeding had slowed, but the torn flesh still throbbed with every movement, a deep burning pain that radiated up and down from the place my hand covered.
“You have a strange view of lucky.” He held out his hand. I ignored it.
I wasn’t going to touch him. It had been bad enough in the ’cab. I didn’t need his skin on mine distracting me while we were trying to get to safety.
“Standing and breathing is lucky enough. Now let’s go.”
His face tightened in frustration but he nodded.
Our luck held as we made our way down the alley and out into the streets beyond. No Beasts waited to pounce on us. And we hadn’t gone very far when a hackney rumbled into view. Simon stepped in front of it, holding out his hand, and the driver eased to a halt.
“St. Giles,” Simon said curtly. His tone left no room for arguments. The driver merely nodded and Simon pulled the door open and stepped back so I could climb in. I’d barely taken my place on the patched leather seat when he climbed in after me and slammed the door shut, yelling for the driver to drive on. He dropped onto the seat beside me rather than opposite.
The hackney swayed as the horses set off. I braced myself with my good hand, resisting the urge to lean back and relax. There was still a way to go to St. Giles. I needed to be alert.
Simon made a half-muffled noise of protest as the hackney hit a bump in the road. Hells, was he hurt too? “Are you all right?”
“Standing and breathing,” he said shortly. “Well, sitting and breathing. Move your hand and I’ll do what I can for that.”
“Can’t it wait until we get to the hospital?”
“If I do something now, we have a better chance of getting to the hospital in one piece if we do run into more trouble. Undo your vest and pull your shirt back.”
I froze. I hadn’t thought about him putting his hands on me to heal me. On my bare skin. “Can’t you just . . .” I paused and nodded toward his hands. “ . . . heal it?”
“I need to see it first, to know what I’m dealing with.”
“But you healed me through my shirt this morning.”
A grin flashed on his face. “Who do you think undressed you? I had plenty of time to see the damage.” The grin vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. “I assume that was Lucius’ handiwork?”
I didn’t see the point in denying it. “Yes.” Beneath the fresh pain of the claw marks, the remnants of pain from Lucius’ beating still laid a solid layer of ache beneath my skin. Simon hadn’t finished the job, I remembered. He’d needed to recharge. Well, maybe he could give me some sort of two-for-one deal now. It would be nice not to hurt. Would be nice to eat as well, I realized as I identified part of the ache in my stomach as hunger pangs.
I’d never actually gotten the promised breakfast this morning, and last night’s bowl of stew seemed a very long time ago. Add in a beating, a couple of fights, and a run through the city streets and I was starting to push the limits of my endurance.
But it wasn’t as though we could stop for a picnic lunch, so I’d just have to put up with it.
“Go on,” Simon said.
I moved my hand gingerly and started unlacing my vest. Peeling the leather away from the wounds hurt like hell. I hissed through my teeth.
Simon made a sympathetic noise. “Sorry.” He looked down at the wound. The linen of my shirt was shredded where the claws had connected. “That looks nasty.”
I shot him a sideways glance. “You don’t say.”
“It should be cleaned first.”
“We don’t have anything to clean it with,” I pointed out.
“I know,” he said. “I was just thinking out loud. I can work around it.”
He reached out and laid his hand over the wounds, twisting to do so. Another pained noise broke through his teeth, but he didn’t change position.
“You
are
hurt,” I said.
are
hurt,” I said.
“Quiet, I’m concentrating.”
I bit down on my protests. He should be healing himself, not me. As it had this morning, a cool feeling starting flowing across my stomach from his hand. I wondered vaguely why it was cool, not warm. Surely the power of the sun should be warm?
His hand was warm enough, though, and heat radiated from his body bent close to mine. I bit my lip, closing my eyes, trying to ignore the fact that there was a man so close to me. This man.
I am in control
.
.
I didn’t believe my own lie. A different sort of hunger stalked me now. The need was sparking, rousing to heat my blood. Damn Lucius to the lowest level of hell. I refused to be a slave to my body, subject to its artificially induced whims. I hated the blood, hated myself for wanting it. I’d be damned before I let the need it conjured control me.
The need surged again. Hells. I was damned already, had been since I was born. But I still wouldn’t give in.
It wasn’t Simon who made me feel this way, it was the need. So I wasn’t going to make the mistake of getting confused. No matter whether the feeling wasn’t entirely familiar, not all burning fire but something warmer and gentler threading beneath the insistent shrill of the need.
I bit down harder still on my lip, then winced at the pain.
“Sorry,” Simon repeated.
“You’re not hurting me.” Another lie but one that was easier to live with.
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