Shadow Borne (8 page)

My heart was doing a two-step and for a
quick, irrational moment I worried the bastard pervert outside
would hear, would somehow know I was lying here in the dark, scared
stiff. But of course that was ridiculous, it was fear talking.
There was no way the window peeper would know a damn thing unless I
gave away my own hand and moved. The key to any situation was to
immediately stack the deck in your favor by keeping a cool head and
a clinical outlook. Strategy. Planning. Action.

He wouldn't bother with the smaller window
on the opposite wall; it didn't have a good enough view of the bed,
really would only show him the door and part of the dresser and
besides, the wide wooden slat blinds were closed. That meant the
only way for him to keep tabs on me was through the window he was
at right now.

The obvious downside being it was so close
to the bed that, had the window been open, he would have
practically been breathing down my neck. Which was so not a
comforting thought. I grimaced and for the first time in my life
felt immensely grateful that I was too paranoid to sleep with the
windows open. Someone like Juliette would have been toast right
now.

Knowing what I had to do and actually
putting the plans to the deed were two totally different things and
not as easy as it sounded. Despite having spent the last eighteen
months being conditioned to fight, and even though nymphs were a
little more coordinated then regular people, a little faster,
sharper...the familiar flash of hot then cold washed over me in a
dizzying wave. It was the logical, completely physical part of my
body acknowledging that death could literally be right around the
corner. Normal people just didn't live their lives worrying about
such things, I lamented, schooling quivering muscles to hold it,
hold it, just another moment longer.

Why did it seem like every time I began to
let down my guard, someone tried to kidnap me or kill me? Soon,
soon, the words whispered like a mantra through my mind, soothing
and bolstering all at once. Breath. In-out. In-out, nice and slow,
nice and steady. Soon he would make his move; the gauntlet would be
thrown and then I would make mine. There. Every sense focused into
high alert when the shadow lifted and the moonlight was once more
splashed across the bed.

It didn't feel silvery and pretty anymore;
it was too bright and I was raw and naked, exposed in its glare.
Naked. One corner of my mouth twisted at the thought. That
certainly would have made this night worse, if I'd had to waste
time getting dressed on top of the precious seconds retrieving my
weapon and lacing my boots would eat.

I didn't jump out of bed and leap across the
room; stringent training had made it so that sort of instinctual,
natural behavior didn't even tempt me anymore. In the long run,
shit like that wasn't faster because too often it gave you away.
Death probably would have claimed me before my boots were laced if
I'd made all kinds of noise crashing through the house. Plus,
whomever was out there could always double back and peer into the
window. It was entirely possible he was backing off to try and
trick me into showing my hand first, if he wanted to make sure I
was really asleep.

So, after doing a silent countdown from
twenty, I rolled swiftly off the bed, bracing myself with my
forearms to muffle the slight sound. He wasn't at the window.
Yet.

Truthfully, I didn't expect him to come back
to my bedroom window; it would have been terrible strategy. There
was no way to get through it without waking me, had I been asleep,
anyway.

No, he was probably halfway around the house
by now. My midnight peeper would come in quietly through the back
door, or the kitchen window, maybe. Just in case, though, I took a
few seconds to shape the comforter into a lump that vaguely
resembled a person. It wouldn't stand up to close inspection, but
if he didn't study it too thoroughly...it was better than nothing,
anyway, I shrugged and turned my attention back to slipping from
the room in a low crawl. Once I cleared the door, I moved into a
crouch and inched up the wall next to the open bathroom door.

There wasn't a window in that room so I
stood there with my back to the darkened room, listening. No sound
whispered through the small house, not even a telltale rustle of
clothing. He hadn't come in yet, then. I bent at the waist and
moved silently but swiftly through the cabin. Where in the hell had
I left my boots?

I inhaled sharply, drew a blank, and bit
back one of Claire's more colorful curses, until I spotted them
lying haphazardly underneath the table. It took only half a minute
or so of tugging and twisting to get them on and laced, another few
seconds to strap on my dagger.

The man still hadn't tried to come in and I
was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd gone when the shadows
gathered at the kitchen window, creating an unnatural blackness
that seemed to fill the space. This was it, then.

A thin, high pitched but barely audible
screeching noise filled the silence of the kitchen. It was coming
from the window. What the hell? Curious now, I slunk to the other
side of the room and grabbed my bow and the quiver of arrows which
lay half on its side next to the sad looking coat rack that I
couldn't remember ever having used.

The nails on a chalkboard sound intensified
until I winced, and then a large circle of glass slipped free of
the window and fell with a soft thud to the carpeted kitchen
floor.

I watched a thin, pasty white arm hook
through the window where the glass had been, groping along the
frame until it reached the latch at the top. I stood there in the
middle of the room, staring in a kind of sick, fascinated horror as
that sinister chalk white arm flipped the latch in one fluid
motion, withdrew, and began to soundlessly raise the window.
Coatyl.

A million thoughts screamed through my brain
just then, but only one mattered–what now? The answer was obvious
enough. Slipping a lethal, sharp tipped arrow onto the bow, I
gripped the end and the thick, pliable string between my fingers
and slid the fingers of my other hand up to rest just beneath the
arrow shaft near the tip. A few nimble steps to the side and I'd
danced into the shadows between the table and the front door.

I kept my gaze pinned to the window and
waited. The damn thing was coming in. I took a deep breath and
slowly counted back from ten; the Coatyl navigated the open window
with a graceful speed that was at direct odds with its butt ugly
appearance. Nine, eight, seven, six.

No, I frowned, bow cocked and ready as the
creature straightened and raised itself to its full height, the
Coatyl went way beyond butt ugly. I occupied the darkest part of
the room, not moving, hardly breathing. Five, four. Move away from
the window. Three, two. It moved. The arrow sliced across the room;
its aim was true.

The deadly animal was pinned by the arrow
that protruded from its chest and secured it to the wall beside the
kitchen window. The Coatyl looked similar enough in form to a
person, but the fact that they walked upright on two legs, were in
possession of two arms, a head, and a torso was where the
similarity ended.

The torso I'd pierced was thin, bony and
elongated. These animals were designed for speed not brawn; they
were pretty much helpless against any sort of weapon that could
pierce the skin. Despite this well known fact, the Coatyl were one
of the most feared creatures in Terlain; adults spoke of them in
hushed tones and children hid safe and warm beneath their blankets
and whispered spooky tales to one another of the fanged, pale
beasts that hunted human blood.

Hell, I snorted as I
watched the five-inch razor sharp nails, claws really, twitch and
writhe and scratch deep grooves into my kitchen wall. Thin rivulets
of liquid dripped down the faded wallpaper;
Too close
. I realized abruptly and
backed up a step. The liquid that dripped from it's talon-like
fingernails was a neuro-toxin that would at the very least make me
sick and at worst, lay me out flat if I got close enough for the
thing to scratch me.

The creature was naked, although it had no
discernible 'private' parts. It was so pale it almost seemed to
generate its own light, hanging there as it was. Above the
creature's harsh breathing and the pounding of my own heart, I
suddenly heard a plop, plop, plop sound from the window next to
where I stood with the Coatyl. Shit. It was raining.

Well, why not, I glowered. "Because I was
just saying to myself, 'you know what would make this night
complete? A storm'." I muttered in disgust an instant before I had
a terrible thought that had nothing to do with rain showers.

The Coatyl were pack hunters. "Did you bring
friends?" I murmured, more to myself than the Coatyl. He couldn't
understand me and anyway they weren't capable of speech. Damn. My
eyes cut to the open window. Were there more of them out there?

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

I gasped at the dark,
gritty whisper that came at me, sinister and ugly in the small
kitchen. I almost spun around to face the unseen assailant who had
somehow managed to get the drop on me, before reality kicked in and
it hit me that the Coatyl had raised its pale head. Deep set eyes
were glaring malevolently at me from a bloodless, sunken face. Long
strings of hair framed a narrow, bony face and those
teeth...
don't show fear.

But, oh how difficult that was–the Coatyl
had just spoken to me. It wasn't possible.

"What did you say?" I demanded in a harsh
whisper.

"I said maybe I'm," the thing coughed,
"alone. And maybe I'm not."

It smiled at me then, smug
even though he was pinned to a wall and at death's door. Why wasn't
he dead yet? I wondered idly. He–the thing sounded like a 'he'
anyway, was talking; my numb senses processed the implausibility of
that with grim finality. He was
talking
. Part of me wanted to recoil
from the intensity of the Coatyl's death stare and say no way
because it wasn't possible. The Coatyl did not talk. They were
mindless, violent animals that hunted in packs. They were not
intelligent. But...

Acceptance crashed over me in a sickening
torrent, this one was. I could see the awareness flickering in his
eyes, just beyond the malice that plainly said the thing would rip
me in two if he weren't stuck to my kitchen wall. Yes, he was very
conscious of what was going on.

"Why?" I breathed, "How? How are you
talking? Coatyl don't talk. They–you've never talked." I was
babbling but there didn't seem to be any help for it. What had I
stumbled upon this night? Rather, what had stumbled upon me?

I eyed the disgusting, slightly opaque
creature before me with a sense of foreboding. This was so not
good.

"We never used to talk." The thing wheezed.
"And now we do." he ended on an eerie chuckle that made ice trail
down my spine. I fought the sudden urge to spin around; there
wasn't anyone behind me, it was only nerves that had me so keyed
up.

"Why did you come here?" I forced the words
past a throat that felt too tight, too hot, but I really did need
to question the thing. So I shored my defenses and tried to look
intimidating enough to make him answer my questions.

One hand went to the knife at my thigh,
briefly fingering the handle, but as it turned out, the Coatyl
needed no encouragement. He gulped mouthfuls of air and seemed to
steady himself before saying. "I have a message for you."

I raised one eyebrow. "I'm listening. What's
your message."

"Not...mine. I'm the messenger. So are you.
Messengers. You're all going to die."

I suppressed a shudder and glared at him
instead. "If I'm the messenger, then who's the message for?"

He glared back, black eyes bulging and
burning bright in his white face. For a minute I thought he wasn't
going to say anything more but then he bared his fang-like teeth
and grinned.

"He's coming for her. Tell her...she's
next."

"Who?" I practically shouted when he fell
into another brooding silence.

His eyes snapped back to mine. "Claire
Roberts."

I recoiled from both the rage in his tone
and the shock of hearing Claire's name spill from his mouth. "Who
sent you?" I demanded. "Was it Kahn? Talk." I commanded
breathlessly.

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you." His eyes bore
into mine, full of hate and helpless rage. He truly was helpless,
of course, even if his demonic countenance was almost enough to
make me forget that fact. His voice had become thin and reedy in
the last couple of minutes. He was dying, and so was my chance of
getting any useful information. His breathing became labored and at
the tail end of each rapid, weak puff, the telltale death rattle
could be heard. I had to do something to keep him talking, and I
had to act quickly.

I whipped the knife from its holder and held
it under his chin, pressing upward with just enough force to pierce
the thick skin there.

His eyes bugged for a moment before he
laughed. "I'm dying anyway." he mockingly pointed out.

"True." I shrugged. "But I can make it very,
very painful."

"They were right about you, the
others...you're not easy to kill."

“
If you had planned on
killing me tonight," I asked slowly, confused now, "how did you
expect me to pass the message along to Claire?"

"Written on the wall." the Coatyl whispered
with a cold smile. "In your blood."

Nice. Well, I'd asked. "Who sent you?" This
time I used the blade to punctuate my words.

Why he answered, I really couldn't say,
because in the next second his eyes closed and he was gone. Maybe
he figured there was nothing left to lose or maybe he wanted to
spite me. For whatever reason, though, on his last breath flickered
a single name.