Chase the Dark (39 page)

He didn’t react. Stared at her, silent, waiting.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to take a deep breath, couldn’t manage it. She wished he’d just kill her. The weight of his attention crushed her. She wanted to fall to her knees and beg for mercy. Knew it would be pointless. The aura of power around Ash was palpable. She could taste it in the air, the harsh tang of blood yearning to be spilled. The atmosphere was charged, electric with power waiting to be unleashed—enough power to tear gaping holes in one of the most feared monsters in the Underworld.

Behind her, Zwi shook her head and loosed a deep, somehow admonishing growl. Ash’s gaze shifted toward the dragon. Released from his stare, Piper shook violently. She swallowed back a whimper. Desperately, she reminded herself that she’d faced his true self once before, even if she hadn’t been able to see him. She remembered that he’d hugged her with that lethal strength, wrapped those black wings gently around her. He was the same as then. This was no different. It was—

His gaze slid back to her. Her heart jumped into her throat and her knees went weak. No, it was completely different.

Zwi slunk out of from behind her. In a swirl of black magic, the dragon shrank back to her smaller form. With a shake of her head, she spread her wings and sprang into the air, gliding across the clearing to vanish into the trees. Piper wanted to scream at the dragonet to come back, not to leave her. Swallowing, she reluctantly brought her attention back to the dark creature before her.

Finally, he moved. He slid forward, closing the gap between them. When he was a step away, she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the killing blow.

A moment passed.

Careful, gentle fingers touched her chin. Tilted her face up. She squeezed her eyes tighter.

“Piper.” He exhaled slowly. “Piper, you need to try not to be afraid. I need your help.” His touch fell from her cheek, then wrapped gently around her uninjured wrist. He pulled her arm up and pressed her hand to the horns on the side of his head. “You know me, Piper. Remember? You weren’t this scared before. I need you to be strong this time too.”

She shivered at his alien voice. Her shaking fingers touched the smooth, cool horns.

“Please, Piper,” he whispered. “I can’t use glamour because my wing is dislocated. I need your help to fix it.” A silent pause. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Breathing fast, she wrapped her hand around the top horn, squeezing until her fingers hurt. Fear bubbled in her, deep, visceral, and uncontrollable. Fear of the ultimate predator, of a powerful, alien creature far beyond her understanding.

From amidst the pieces of coherent thought and emotion left to her, a memory rose. Lyre’s voice echoed in her head, hot with passion and frustration.
Some daemons you can’t help but fear. You will always be afraid. It’s human nature.

She sucked in air, fighting for control. Lots of things were scary. Suck it up and deal with it. So what if Ash’s true self was the most terrifying sight she’d ever seen, the most petrifying monster she’d ever faced? She could cope.

One last deep breath and she opened her eyes.

Black irises met hers. Terror sucked out the breath she’d just taken. She clenched her teeth and fought to remember his careful touch on her cheek. He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. He’d promised.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked, her voice almost soundless.

His gaze searched hers for a second, then he stepped back, pulling her hand away from his head. He turned sideways and carefully unfurled one wing. The elbow joint wasn’t right. Angling the wing toward her, he took her hand and placed it below the joint. She wrapped her fingers around hard muscle, surprised by the supple texture, like sun-warmed leather.

“Hold on as tight as you can,” he told her. “Brace yourself.”

With her injured arm tucked to her chest, she bent her knees, leaned back, and squeezed his wing as hard as she could.

He checked her stance, nodded, then braced himself. Inhaled. Held it. Then he jerked hard away from her, snapping the joint straight. The sickening pop of the bone slipping back into its socket was loud in the silence. He staggered, breathing hard. She let go and watched mutely as he gingerly folded both wings against his back. His tail lashed from one side to the other as he recovered from the pain.

Her own pain was starting to overwhelm her. She pressed one shaking hand over her face. She felt sick with it all—the agony in her arm and the soul-deep terror of the daemon before her. She’d never known. She’d never realized what they truly were.

“Piper.”

Her breath caught. Warily, she lowered her hand.

Ash stood in front of her. His eyes had lightened to a dull gray, his skin unmarked by pattern or scale—full glamour flawlessly hiding the monster underneath. His sword was gone as were his wings and tail. Glamour was much more than illusion; it was a shifting of reality.

His shirt was torn and dirty from the cellar cave-in but without a single speck of choronzon blood. This clothing had been in a different plane of reality while he’d fought the choronzon, just as his strange black pants and weapons were no longer in this dimension. She could only imagine how daemons could bend physics to accommodate their whims.

“Ash.” She exhaled sharply, then swallowed hard. She understood now what Lyre had meant when he said she’d never look at a daemon the same again after seeing his true face. Her gut now knew what he was. At least she wasn’t overwhelmed by fear anymore. As it faded, clearing her head, shame pricked at her. She’d been convinced he was going to kill her. How could she have lost faith in him so easily?

The memory of those merciless eyes, black with the night, flashed through her head. Yes, she knew how.

“Come on,” he said tonelessly. “Lyre is back in the trees. His shoulder is broken but he should be fine. I’ll wrap your arm.”

Relief touched her. At least Lyre wasn’t too badly hurt, though a broken shoulder was no small injury. Glancing at the choronzon, she wondered if it had been Lyre’s cry of pain she’d heard as the harpies carried her away.

She tried to take a deep breath. “Okay,” she agreed. Her voice came out hoarse and shaky.

Ash stepped away, putting a couple paces between them. “It won’t be as bad in a few hours.”

“What won’t?” she asked with a frown.

He stared across the clearing. “The fear. It will fade . . . to a point. In a few hours.”

Her feeling of shame grew. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” She forced a smile. “Just don’t ever show me that again, and we’ll be good.”

He was already turning toward the other side of the clearing when she spoke. He paused. Slowly he looked over his shoulder. His face was a cool, distant mask as he appraised her. The weight of his judgment settled on her, almost palpable.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice empty of inflection. “You will not have to see me again.”

He turned and walked away, leaving her to follow at her own pace and put whatever distance between them she wanted. She clutched her arm to her chest and stumbled after him.

He was alive. She was alive. Lyre was alive.

It was the only good thing about the entire night she could come up with. But at least they were alive.

CHAPTER 16

T
HEY
didn’t even make it back to Lyre before everything went wrong—again.

Two unfamiliar daemons stepped out of the trees before Ash reached them. He stopped. Piper came to a halt a few paces behind him, glancing over the newcomers. It seemed the group of daemons that had attacked the Gaians hadn’t fled far during the choronzon’s attack. These two looked a little worse for wear but were otherwise unremarkable: buzz-cut, well-muscled army types. Their bearing was distinctly militaristic.

“We have the incubus,” one of the two said without preamble.

Piper sucked in a sharp breath. She clutched her injured arm and wondered what the three daemons would do if she sat down where she was and refused to move until fate stopped bitch-slapping her at every turn.

Ash didn’t immediately react. When he finally spoke, his voice was an icy, malevolent hiss.

“You do not want to get in my way right now.”

Both daemons’ stares darted toward the dead choronzon. The one who’d spoken spread his hands in a placating gesture. “If you want your friend, you’ll have to come with us. If you want to walk away instead, we won’t stop you.”

Piper figured he really meant, “We
can’t
stop you.”

Ash grunted. “Lead us then.”

The daemon nodded. He and his companion made an about-face. Ash followed. Piper trailed behind, stumbling every couple steps. Dawn tinged the horizon a pale pink but the forest was still dark. She realized with numb surprise that the rain had stopped. She wondered when. Everything was getting blurry at the edges. Her memory. The trees around her. Everything.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist. She blinked blurrily into Ash’s face. Had she stopped walking? He’d come back for her. Another flicker of surprise penetrated her daze. She would have expected him to walk on, leaving the weak haemon girl behind.

“She’s going into shock,” an unfamiliar voice said. The military daemons had come back too. Huh.

“Look at her arm,” the other said. “Her hand is—”

Ash made a sharp noise and the daemon fell silent. Ash tugged gently at her waist. She staggered back into motion, letting her head rest on his shoulder as he pulled her along. His arm was warm. Part of her wanted him to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight until everything bad went away. Another part of her didn’t want him touching her ever again.

She absorbed nothing as they walked. Time passed meaninglessly. All the trees looked the same. Their daemon guides walked easily, strangely unconcerned. Ash guided Piper after them, taking a good portion of her weight off her weak legs. Numbness blanketed her thoughts. Only when she saw the smoldering remains of the Consulate did she realize where they were. Blinking slowly, she took in the scene.

At least a dozen prefects stood around, their hands resting on their holstered guns. New cruisers were parked behind the wreckage of the original ones. The prefects were waiting with ill-concealed impatience.

Nearly all the daemons from the earlier fight had made it through without injury. They too had that military bearing, soldiers awaiting command, as they eyed the prefects with distaste. Considering the battle they’d fought, they were in good shape—professionals even more so than the prefects.

Sitting in a line by the prefects were the surviving Gaians. They were bloody, dejected, and handcuffed. Piper’s mother was not among them. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Sitting side-by-side at the feet of the daemon group were Lyre and—shock rippled through Piper’s numb haze—Uncle Calder. They weren’t bound or handcuffed but it was obvious they were supposed to stay put. Lyre was hunched in pain, gripping his shoulder with one hand, but he still smiled in relief when he saw Piper. Uncle Calder looked relieved too but his expression was grim.

“Well, well,” a voice announced into the silence. “Why am I not surprised?”

Hatred flashed through Piper. She put the voice to a face a moment later as a familiar prefect stepped away from the main group and strode toward her. A handful of cronies followed in his wake. Piper gritted her teeth. Fury burned away her numbness, straightening her spine. It was the same sergeant who’d arrested her, refused to believe her story, and accused of her of every crime the Gaians had committed or attempted to commit.

He was grinning in vindictive triumph. As he approached, his gaze raked over her. She tried feebly to hold the torn front of her shirt closed. He pulled his handcuffs off his belt. The two daemons who’d brought them tensed.

Ash was faster. He stepped forward to intercept the sergeant. The man’s face blanched as he realized, far too late, what was coming. Ash’s hand flashed out. He grabbed the sergeant by the throat and threw him backward. The man landed hard on his back, winded. Before he could gasp in a single breath, Ash’s boot came down on the man’s throat. He lifted his stare to the rest of the approaching prefects, freezing them in place.

Ash ground his boot slowly down. The sergeant’s eyes bulged. He jammed both hands under Ash’s foot, trying to relieve the pressure enough to breathe.

“I’m not in a conversational kind of mood right now,” the draconian growled, “so I’ll keep this simple. You are the first and the last prefect to ever arrest me. Try again and I’ll kill you and your entire squad. Piss me off and I’ll butcher your entire division. Mass slaughter would be a nice change of pace for me.” He leaned down and bared his teeth at the sergeant’s purple face. “I usually hunt much fouler prey than you.”

He pulled his boot off the sergeant and stepped back. His cutting look sized up the downed sergeant and dismissed him as so far beneath respect as to be worthless. The draconian slid back to Piper’s side and folded his arms impatiently.

The sergeant, coughing and gasping, stumbled to his feet. Outrage, mixed with fear he couldn’t hide, twisted his face.

“If you—” he began in a croak.

Ash interrupted, his voice biting, colder than ice. “If you thought for even a second I would play nice a second time, you won’t live long enough to regret your ignorance.”