How to Love a Blue Demon (45 page)

A
fter she began to sing, all of the demons, enemies and friendlies turned toward her. They seemed to raise their heads collectively, some faces smiling, others scowling with pain, their hands clapping desperately over their ears as they tried to block the sound of her music.

Eyoen turned in mid-air, batting away the fire arrows and heat blasts with his own offensive strikes as though they were nothing. At first he looked so frightened her heart stuttered in her chest, but Cass could not allow herself to be distracted. The ploy the Queen had cooked up was working. She didn’t need to feel the woman’s excitement at her back to understand that.
She could see it.

Eyoen was
fighting his way to her, and he looked furious. If they hadn’t been in the thick of battle, and she wasn’t already a comfortable shade of brown, she’d have bet money that he’d be tanning her ass for her.

Stop this,
he said in her mind.
I wanted you safe!

And I want the same for you, demon!
She thought back, her fingers flying over her strings as the crescendo in the song came and went.

He would have grabbed her and the Queen, but a hail of arrows rained down on them, and he had to deal with them, then swoop down to deflect a blow aimed for Materen’s back that would have killed him.
He was glorious. But Cass didn’t falter in her playing.

She launched
immediately into Purple Haze. Jimi was perfect for a battle. Rock was appropriate for the beautiful horror playing itself out before her eyes. Tears poured from her eyes as the enemy, infuriated and suffering seemed to swell with new rage, cutting down the Cyani guard left and right. And then the tears poured faster when she watched her beloved tear another demon’s head from his shoulders, pale blood spraying in an arc that decorated his blue flesh like paint.

The Queen cried out as Cinque took a hit
from behind so hard, he fell, his wings crumpling, body spiraling so fast toward the ground, Cass momentarily stopped singing she was so scared. Then the King caught him, and she began to howl out lyrics. She had to do something to release the fear and anguish making her heart race and sweat drip down her face.

B
y then the enemy had turned as much of its weighty attention as could be spared firmly on her, but Cass didn’t notice; she could barely keep her eyes open the Queen spun them around the sky so fast. She had to; otherwise they would have been struck down immediately. Eyoen was making slow progress in his efforts to reach her; he was too busy fighting those who were trying to silence her. But she felt the weight of his eyes, his fear a tiny arrow in her heart.

When she began to play
a guitar heavy version of Beyonce’s Bow Down, I Been On, the heat of fire came so fast and heavy, Cass gave in and shut her eyes.
Fuck it,
she thought.
If I go down, I’ll go down the way I want to, my guitar in my hand and my man on my mind.

T
hen she felt a familiar sensation, nothing more than a breath really, but just having him near made her body come alive. Her vibrato was like a buzz saw to the enemy’s ears, and the squeal of her guitar strings was like a razor across their brains. And when she opened her eyes, Eyoen was there. He was stunning. Streaked with dirt, sweat running down his face, a snarl on his full lips, his wings were magnificent as he spread them wide to shield her. Her voice crying out Beyonce’s Why Don’t You Love Me? swelled with new fervor as Eyoen spun her and his mother higher, so high most of the arrows couldn’t reach them, and the blasts fizzled beneath their feet. But she was louder, as though someone had amplified her.

“Yes, my son,” the Queen cried. “Carry us. I will do the rest.”

Cass felt Eyoen’s hard, labored breaths as he dashed hither and yon across the sky, two women in his arms. She could feel his exhaustion, knew that some of the blood staining his flesh was his own, but she felt his determination as hard and undeniable as if it were his flesh between her legs. She let that fire spur her own, and Aretha came next, Respect, an anthem she prayed the Cyani soldiers below would force their enemies to obey.

Minutes dragged by that felt like hours, and still she sang.
She sang until her voice cracked, and when she was hoarse and could produce no more than a rasp, she played. She played so hard, her fingers were bloody where her strings cut her.

“We have won, my son,” said the Queen.

“Mother,” Eyoen whispered, his body shaking with fatigue and shock from his wounds. “Hold her.”

And then he fell.

It was like someone had ripped something vital from her body. As Eyoen fell her blood, her life fell with him. She didn’t hear herself screaming, didn’t know that she was straining to get away from the Queen, who prevented her from a similar fate. All Cass wanted was to follow. It didn’t matter that Eyoen was plunging hundreds of feet. It didn’t matter that even if he survived the fall, she certainly wouldn’t; wherever he went, she had to go too.

There was fear, a rush of anguish so strong her entire b
ody grew tight as a strung bow. But there were no tears. Tears ran from her eyes copiously during the thick of the battle. They fell steadily when Eyoen flew up to protect her and the Queen, and they flowed like wine at a party every time he failed to dodge enemy fire and was hit. When he fell she was in a place too horrible for tears.

He’d tried to shield her from his exhaustion, the wounds
, but their bond was too strong, and he was too weary to block their connection completely. She wanted to tell him to get away, to let her and the Queen handle this. Not because he couldn’t help, but because she couldn’t bear to feel him flinch, to feel his big body jerk against hers when he was struck. She’d closed her eyes to avoid seeing the pain etched on his face as his flesh was seared or pierced by enemy weaponry, the way he labored for breath as he flew them out of harms way again and again.

Then he fell. T
here was a rushing sound like wind filling her head with white noise. She didn’t hear the Queen’s admonishments or assurances. She didn’t even see the King swoop up at the very last moment to catch his son before he hit the ground. Before everything went black, all Cass heard were Eyoen’s last words, “Mother, hold her.”

Now that it was over
Cass couldn’t stop crying. Servants fluttered, offering this and that in hopes of making her feel better, but she was inconsolable. The Queen tried to tell her everything was alright, that Eyoen was fine, but she didn’t believe her. She couldn’t get the image of her demon falling out of her mind. Every time the memory rewound itself she cried out, hands tearing at her hair as though she could remove the horrible images by force.

Between her battle concert and the crying her voice was barely a whisper, but she wouldn’t allow the healers near her. Who cared? Head and heart aching from grief, she couldn’t fathom ever wanting to utter another note.

“Leave us.”

It was the King.

The room emptied and Cass tried to straighten up, but seeing this older version of Eyoen, fresh sobs broke out as he sat at her bed side.

He placed a hand on her arm and Cass was instantly soothed as his pheromones penetrated her system.

“I hate to see you like this, my dear, but I suppose there is one good thing in this display as it makes it clear how much you love my son. But he isn’t dead, Cass, as my wife has tried to tell you.”

“Take me to him, please,” she begged. That was why she didn’t believe the Queen. No one would let her see him.

The King looked at her, yellow-gold eyes pensive.

“Please.”

“Alright, but you must not be alarmed by what you see. He suffered greatly during the battle, and it will take time for the healers to return him to health.”

Cass struggled up from the bed, and the King helped her, poofing her into the bathroom as she scrubbed at her wet cheeks with her hands.

“Straighten yourself up, my dear. If he should open his eyes we don’t want him to see you looking haggard.”

Cass quickly washed her face and hands, straightened her clothes and hair. “I’m ready.”

The King held out his hand. Cass gave him hers, and a moment later they were in another part of the castle.

The room they entered was wonderfully soothing, the walls were colored cream and a vibrant but soft yellow not unlike the King’s eyes,
as were the shiny tiles under foot. The furniture was sparse, but large and of good quality, and consisted mainly of cabinets. She would learn later the cabinetry housed the healer’s tools. But right then she couldn’t have cared less. She ignored the two healers who bowed to the King and then to her. She turned quickly, searching, and her hands flew to her mouth.

Toward the back of the room Eyoen was suspended above a white platform. He was naked except for a strip of cream fabric over his loins, and large crystals covered his entire body, including his face. These crystals weren’t like those she had grown accustomed to seeing in the Cyani markets. These were jagged and oddly shaped, and they didn’t
shine. But they did pulse with power.

“He’s resting?” She asked hopefully.

“Not exactly, my dear. He’s in what you would call a coma. We put him under in order to heal him faster.”

Cass wouldn’t have thought she had any tears left, but one tracked its lonely way down her cheek as she catalogued dozens of burns and cuts all over her mate’s body. They appeared to be healing, but some of them looked vicious.

The King seemed to agree. He turned to the older healer, a haggard looking demon who stepped forward instantly and bowed so low his head almost hit his knees.

The King spoke in Cyani, gesturing to a deep, near foot long gash that had laid Eyoen’s flesh partially open. “Why has this wound not closed?”

“I, I am sorry, my King. If I spend any more energy I too will sleep, and then there will be no one qualified to watch over the prince and direct his care.”

“You use your own energy to heal?” Cass asked. It would explain why he was so haggard.

“Yes, Miss. It is the best way in cases like this.”

“Are these injuries special in some way?” she asked anxiously. She’d grown to think of Cyani demons as practically indestructible.

“The weapon the enemy Unjel used is not ordinary,” the healer answered. “The laser does not just hit and wound, it burns and destroys everything it touches – tissues, cells, muscle, skin, everything. In order to heal the prince we had to move healthy, undamaged cells from elsewhere in his body and then promote their growth to regenerate what was lost.”

“I can heal him,” the King announced, and would have stepped forward to do so, but the healer held up a restraining hand.

“Sire, do you heal the prince, you will lose too much strength. He may instinctively pull too much from you, unaware that it is not so long ago that we closed the wounds in your own flesh.”

The King’s lips tightening irritably, and then he placed both hands on the demon’s shoulders. Cass watched, seeing the shadows under the healer’s eyes fade and his shoulders straighten a bit as his master poured energy into his body.

The demon released a shaky breath, looked gratefully at the King and then turned immediately to pick up one of the crystals near the wound. He pressed it slowly over the gash, and as they watched, the wound slowly began to knit.

The other healer hurried to his side, holding his older compatriot up as his hand began to shake.

“Stop,” said the King. “Cinque, my Queen.”

A moment later they appeared.

“What is it?” the Queen asked, hurrying toward them. She didn’t make a sound when she saw him, but Cass saw the Queens’ eyes shining with unshed tears as she quickly scanned Eyoen’s silent form.

Cinque immediately reached for his brother’s hand and held on tight.

“The healers need energy.”

Any other time Cass would have watched intrigued by this healing energy sharing, but now she only had eyes for Eyoen. She stepped closer. “May I touch him?”

The King nodded. “Carefully, my dear.”

Gently Cass lifted one of the large crystals from Eyoen’s cheek and kissed it. His breathing altered slightly, crystals trembling with the inhalation. Frightened, she looked at everyone for guidance.

Cinque smiled broadly. “He knows you are here, Cass. Touch him again. It can only be good for him.”

“I need a chair.”

Cass would not leave Eyoen’s side. Cinque or the Queen brought her food. When she ignored it, they held morsels to her lips, knowing she would not refuse the offerings for fear of causing offence. But she only had a bite or two before she dismissed them with a smile, kissing and touching and busily plying crystals over her beloved’s skin.

“He is he
aling,” the Queen said, satisfied. She too had taken a turn healing all of her sons injured in battle.

By some miracle t
he King had sustained no major injuries. As the Cyani ruler he should have remained out of the thick of the things, only interceding to save a life or to better direct their forces. But he had not. He said he could not, not when his sons’ lives were in jeopardy.