Black Widow Demon (18 page)

Despite the chill in the air, a trickle of sweat rolled from Raven’s hairline and down the nape of her neck. Blade had worked her hard all morning.

Brooding eyes met hers. As always, a thrill of excitement slithered through her when he looked at her with so much concentrated intensity. Although he continued to hold her against him in the night, he had not touched her intimately since before they came across the village. Emotionally he had distanced himself, and the knowledge left her bereft. He had said he was not afraid of the demon in her. While he might not fear it, it was plain that he did not welcome or accept it either.

She allowed the tip of her sword to greet the ground and wrapped her fingers around its pommel. “I won’t hesitate,” she said.

“Killing a man isn’t the same as killing a demon,” he said.

She shrugged. “A threat is a threat.”

“There are varying degrees. What if the threat comes from a man who believes he’s defending himself and his property? What if it’s based on ignorance, not malice?”

“All I have to do is believe the threat is real. Regret will have to come later.”

“You should put some thought into dealing with the regret when it does come,” Blade advised. “Because it will.” He took her sword from her, sheathing both it and his.

Raven gazed across the craggy spread of mountains and valleys, to the distant desert far beyond. He was right in some ways, but wrong in others. Killing demons and killing men were the same things to her.

The first flakes of snow brushed her cheek as she continued to take in the landscape. With the approaching storm she was grateful Blade had insisted they take what they needed from the village. The thick clothing and sturdy, well-fitting boots were welcome and would become even more so in the next few days when the snow piled up. She had not been able to resist taking a few more feminine pieces, too. Her mother had raised her to appreciate beauty and fine craftsmanship, even in fashion, and the artisan in her could no more be denied than the demon.

Despite having lived in the desert for the past ten years, Blade seemed to remember the layout of the broad mountain range very well. They had been moving farther and higher into it, crossing no other towns, and Raven could only assume he avoided them on purpose.

Blade looked at the heavy sky. “Take the corner of the tarpaulin. We’re going to need better shelter than we had last night.”

She grasped the heavy canvas and helped fasten it more securely around a deep shelf of rock, creating a roomy, artificial cave. Once that was accomplished, they moved their belongings inside.

“When will we reach the assassins’ temple?” she asked as Blade stacked the supply of deadwood they had gathered against one outer wall of their shelter.

They stood on the leeward side of the rising wind, but although they were protected from the worst of it, already it howled around the mountain so that they had to raise their voices to be heard.

He took his time answering her. “Does it matter?”

“Winter’s coming. The sooner I find Creed the better,” Raven said.

Blade dropped the last armful of wood on the pile. “Have you given any thought as to what helping you will mean for him?”

The cold bit through her clothing. Had she really not thought about the impact on Creed if he took on her problems? Raven passed a hand over her face. Her friend had never feared anything or anyone, but their world in Goldrush under Justice’s rule had been a very small one. She no longer knew what challenges he faced. She felt as if a great trap were about to be sprung, and she could find no way to avoid it.

Blade’s eyes remained thoughtful on her. “Justice may have already discovered that he has greater troubles than you. He’ll have to head out of the mountains soon or be trapped here. We could find that village Roam spoke of—you could stay there, at least for the winter. By spring, Justice will have forgotten about you, or no longer care.”

She had known Blade did not plan to stay with her forever—she would always be spawn and he would never forget that—but even so, the disappointment hit her hard. Because if Blade, who feared so little, could not look past her demon blood, how could she expect it of anyone else?

Despite her disappointment, his suggestion was tempting. Many of the passes would be inaccessible during the winter months, and she could have that period as a respite from running.

She pushed the temptation away. Justice did not like to lose. He would want her captured or dead before winter set in completely, and she could not bring that trouble on Roam and the others. They already faced the same obstacles she did. They did not need this one thrust on them.

“I’d be bringing Justice to their door, and that,” she said, “I’d really regret.”

Blade drew another canvas tarpaulin over the pile of deadwood to protect it from the weather. He rubbed his hands together, then tucked them under his arms for warmth. His cheeks had reddened from the cold, and the snow fell faster in soft, thick flakes that quickly coated his dark hair and lashes. The sky was now completely obscured, with no visibility at all beyond their small encampment.

He did not contradict her as she had secretly hoped he might. Nor did he suggest he stay the winter, too, and offer his added protection to both her and the others. Of course he would not.

“I’d like to speak with your friend Creed,” Blade said, his brow creasing as if he were deep in thought. “If the assassin trainers were to ally with Roam and the others, they could use them to hunt whoever or whatever destroyed that village.”

She could not quite hide her surprise at his suggestion, but the more she thought about it, the more enthusiastic she became. She had already considered joining the assassins. He offered her one more reason for why it might work.

“Creed’s very persuasive. He could convince the trainers to teach us to fight,” she said.

Although Blade’s expression did not reveal his reaction she could sense his displeasure, and was unsure of the cause. This had been his suggestion, not hers.

“That’s not what I meant. They won’t train spawn to fight. Roam can track the spawn and lead the assassins to them. That’s what would be most useful to the Godseekers—and you don’t have that ability. You’d be nothing to them.” He dusted the gathering snow from his arms, then reached for his crossbow. “Get inside the shelter. I’m going to take one last look around to make certain we won’t have any unwelcome visitors before this storm blows over.”

He disappeared into a wall of white.

Raven stared after him for several long moments. Their physical safety was more important right now than a pointless argument, although no matter what he said, she would propose training to Creed. She, too, had abilities the assassins could use. The conversation was not over, at least not from her perspective, but if the heavy sky was any indication, there would be plenty of time to finish it later.

Parting the flaps, she ducked inside the shelter and began to assemble a small fire to warm Blade when he returned.

…

Blade did not dare venture too far from their shelter for fear of losing his way in the storm. It would be far too easy to walk off a cliff.

He had not anticipated Raven would wish to train with assassins and felt stupid for the oversight. Of course, she would want that. But she had no concept of what it would mean for her. She might have demon in her, but she was not a cold-blooded killer and he would not have her become one.

He still did not like the idea of taking her to Creed. It meant exposing her to assassins and Godseekers, and therefore, certain danger. Whether she agreed with him or not, she would be better off with Roam and others like her. They offered her a type of protection she had not fully considered and one he could not provide. Besides, half demons could not hide from the world forever. Sooner or later, regardless of whether or not she was with them, they would face exposure.

Crooking an elbow over his face, he rounded a bluff and was buffeted by the rising wind. The flakes of gentle snow had turned to stinging sleet, hitting his body like splinters of glass.

The snow stopped and the sky lightened briefly as he pushed forward, the sun a dull white orb in the bleak sky. The break would be no more than a temporary lull. He did a quick search for fresh tracks in the slippery white skiff already coating the ground, worried wolven might be on the hunt before the weather worsened. When he found no signs of them, he circled back toward shelter.

A few hundred feet from their camp, he spotted smoke curling into the air and quickened his pace. Raven likely thought the snow was falling thick enough that a fire would not be noticed. While the assumption was reasonable, experience warned him to be more cautious.

He did not take the most direct route, which would give him away if anyone was watching. Instead, he worked his way slowly through sparse brush and around the remnants of an old rockslide. As the wind shifted, the snow again began to fall, and with more determination this time.

Blade only saw the dark form hiding in a shallow rock cleft because he knew where to look. The man’s attention remained intent on the shelter where Raven waited. Had his focus wavered, he would have spotted Blade, too.

If the man were simply being cautious, he would not be observing from hiding for so long. Neither would an ordinary hunter be out in this weather. The storm’s approach had been obvious since very early that morning.

Blade thought about confronting him. He could be harmless, but he could also be spawn. Or he could be an assassin, sent by her stepfather. Blade was not taking chances. He would kill him and throw his body over the cliff’s edge so that Raven need never know of it. There was enough death in her life already—he did not want her to become hardened to it.

Carefully easing the crossbow from his back, Blade brought the weapon up and sighted his target. As his finger tightened on the trigger, one foot slipped on an icy rock. The bolt he released sailed wide of its mark.

His target did not run away, however. Instead, he came at Blade with a pistol in one hand.

But that did not mean the weapon was loaded. Ammunition was expensive. He could be bluffing.

Then Blade felt the soft brush of air as the bullet flew past his face to shatter into fragments against the cliff. Several sharp pieces grazed his cheek and embedded into the thick shoulder padding of his wool-lined coat.

If the man had bullets, he had to be an assassin. Here in the mountains, this close to their temple, he could be nothing else. Blade wondered again if Raven’s stepfather had sent him after her, and if so, what they could be walking into by searching for Creed.

The crack of gunfire had not been completely swallowed by the storm, but still, Blade nurtured a faint hope that Raven had not heard it. But his hope died as the pale golden shadow of her face appeared at the flap in the tarpaulin, and she emerged, her bow in her hands, an arrow nocked.

The assassin had seen Blade look to the shelter and swung his pistol in her direction. Blade saw the shock on his face shift to lust in reaction to her defenses.

Blue fire flared in Raven’s eyes as she loosed her arrow. With a sodden
thud
, it buried its head high on the right side of the assassin’s chest, near his shoulder.

That injury would slow down but not incapacitate a trained killer. Fear for her made Blade less wary, and he dove from his hiding place and charged the assassin, who remained disciplined enough to shift targets and take another shot at him. This time, the bullet struck Blade high on his left arm, spinning him in a half circle and knocking him partially off balance.

Adrenaline numbed the injury, but he knew from past experience that if it was serious, he would suffer for it later. The threat of coming pain did not trouble him. The possibility of harm to Raven wiped all other matters from his head.

He let momentum carry him to the ground, then rolled to a crouch. As he did, he used the hand of his injured arm to seize one of his knives from his clothing, releasing it in a smooth, well-practiced motion. He followed it with a knife thrown from the other hand.

Both found their marks. One struck the assassin’s pistol hand, the other, his throat. The assassin dropped his weapon, the fingers on that hand useless now, and clawed at the knife impeding his breath. Gurgling noises bubbled from around the knife’s hilt, along with pale red foam, as his lungs filled with fluid. Blade would have liked to question him, but it was too late for that, and he doubted he would have received answers in any event.

He should finish this quickly. The assassin was dying, and he had no desire to make him suffer.

Raven tossed her weapon aside and hurried toward Blade. She did not look at the dying man on the ground.

“Go back inside,” he said, not wanting her to see the ending to this.

She wavered, her gleaming gaze fixated on his upper arm, which had begun to sting and throb. Warmth seeped down his sleeve, and he knew he was bleeding, but it didn’t feel too severe.

Her eyes, blue-diamond bright and revealing the depth of her worry, shifted to his face.

“You’re injured,” she said.

“It’s nothing.” He met her gaze. “Please,” he added. “Leave this to me.”

He could read her expression. She wanted to plead for the man’s life, but thankfully she did not. He didn’t want to have to refuse her. Her lips trembled, but no further sound emerged from them.

Instead, she fled.

He grabbed the knife handle protruding from the assassin’s throat and jerked its edge from one side of his neck to the other. Blood gushed over Blade’s hand, steaming at first, then rapidly cooling and coagulating. He dragged the body to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over. The assassin’s remains tumbled into a swirling maelstrom of white and disappeared.

Blade cleaned his hands, scrubbing them thoroughly with wet snow and taking his time with the process. He checked his arm and found both an entrance and exit wound, but no hidden pieces of shrapnel. The bleeding had stopped, the flesh appeared clean, and he could move the arm without difficulty.