The Shifting Price of Prey (63 page)

My palm was seared down to bone, the skin black and cauterised like I’d gripped a red-hot poker; my stomach heaved at the roast flesh smell.

I hugged my arm close, jaw clenched to block the pain, and picked the knife up with my other hand.

I swivelled on my knees, turning to face the Emperor now lying on the second stone circle, his skinny body nude apart from the golden laurel wreath still crowning his head.

He smiled at me. A wide, fang-filled, eager beam. I froze. It was the most human thing he’d done, and it scared me more than any of his flat alien stares. He was a vamp. He was going to be
the Autarch. Head Fang over all of Britain’s suckers. Malik was going to give him his Oath. And I was acknowledged as Malik’s blood-property. He would own Malik, and through him me, and
none of those I loved would be safe.

And he would be unkillable.

I had to put Malik’s soul in him. That was my task. I’d made a bargain. I couldn’t not do it. But no way could I leave it in him. Bastien was a psycho, I still wanted him dead,
but at least through whatever dysfunctional relationship they had, Malik could control him. I looked over at Malik trapped by magic on the third stone circle. Did his plan include a way to kill the
Emperor once Bastien was dead? But then how could Malik kill the Emperor, if he still bore Malik’s soul? And hell, even if he didn’t, Malik had a ton of power, but the Emperor still had
a good thousand years on him. Not to mention the Emperor had made Malik a vamp.

Fuck. I had to stop this, but I couldn’t see how . . .

I frowned back at the Emperor and the stone circle he lay on.

I couldn’t
see
any magic.

Of course—

‘Ready or not,’ I muttered grimly, then leaned over and plunged the knife into the Emperor’s chest. His eyes widened fractionally but he didn’t flinch. The dragon’s
tear flashed to life and the handle heated. Smoke spiralled, bringing the Emperor’s soul with it. I gritted my teeth,
called
Malik’s soul from inside me and slapped it around
the Emperor’s. He did flinch at that, face contorting with pain. Good. I grabbed both souls and forced them down the knife and into the Emperor’s body, then yanked the knife out,
dropping it safely between my knees, shaking my hand to dispel the scalding pain.

Nothing happened. The Emperor’s body was still and lifeless. Shit, had I done it too fast? Panic choked my throat—

His eyes flickered open and he touched a tentative hand to his chest.

Relief washed the panic away.
Now for the next bit . . .
‘I’ve done all you directed,’ I said, surprised my voice came out calm. ‘So my task is complete.
Agreed?’

He squinted at me, deep lines bracketing his mouth, almost as if he were in agony.

I leaned over, got right in his face. ‘Romulus Augustus, I have bonded Malik al-Khan’s soul to yours. Are we agreed that I have completed the task to your satisfaction?’

My heart stuttered desperately as his frown deepened.
C’mon, say it!

‘Agreed.’ His voice was faint and there was a thread of question in the word . . .

A chime sounded.

. . . but not enough to stop the magic.

Bargain executed.

I collapsed back on my arse, head bowed, hardly believing it had worked—

It had fucking worked.

Yes! Katie, Freya and the rest were almost safe. One more thing . . .

Pulse pounding in my ears, I snatched the spells from the glyphs on Malik’s stone circle and slammed them into the glyphs carved around the outside of the stone where the Emperor lay.
Hoisting him with his own magical petard.

Grabbing up the knife I stabbed it back into his chest again—
C’mon, c’mon
. . .

His soul appeared, face contorted with rage, mouth flapping silently like a landed fish.

‘Do not think to confuse the issue by being less than specific about exactly what you want me to do,’ I muttered, then smiled grimly, ripped Malik’s soul from around the
Emperor’s, bundled it tight back inside me, then shoved the Emperor’s soul back, jerking the hot knife out with a pain-filled grunt, cradling my hand as I gagged on the reek of my own
scorched flesh.

I shot a glance at Bastien still trapped on his circle.
Kill him before or after giving Malik his soul back?
‘Hell, you’re not going anywhere,’ I muttered, then
trembling from adrenalin and expectant exhilaration, I half scrambled, half ran the few feet round to where Malik lay, and dropped to my knees next to him.

Even without the magic holding him, he still showed no signs of reviving from whatever the bastards had done to him. But he was immortal. They could hurt him, but they couldn’t kill him.
Not ever. Right?

‘I have your soul safe here,’ I murmured, taking his icy hand and pressing it to my chest. His soul moved inside me, enfolding my heart within its cool embrace, and a curious peace
settled in me. I gently laid his hand down, touched my fingers to my lips then placed them over his own heart. ‘Now I give you back your soul, Malik al-Khan.’

I gripped Janan, sent a prayer to any gods listening and sucked in a calming breath –
need to do this right
– then carefully leaned over and positioned the knife above
Malik’s unbeating heart—

A hand seized my wrist, jerking me up.

A steel-hard arm pinioned me against a hard body.

And a familiar voice said, ‘You really do not want to do that, my lovely sidhe princess.’

I
froze as my old panic and fear flashed through me. Then fury scoured it away. I was done being scared of him, done letting my teenage memories of
him rule my life, done letting him play with me like I was some sort of sidhe doll to prod and poke and push around whenever he felt like it. The sadistic psycho was a vamp and without
Malik’s soul he was mortal.

He could die.

Of course, the psycho would be easier to kill if he wasn’t hugging me like a slobbering bear.

I released the knife as he wanted, then grabbed his arms where they banded beneath my breasts to stop him getting me in a choke-hold. Flexing my knees I dropped my body weight, shifting our
joint centre of gravity forwards. Jerking my left leg up, I stomped hard on the bridge of his foot, hammering the heel of my boot down like a pile-driver, hearing his foot break with a happy
crunching sound. The human foot has twenty-six bones – a quarter of all the bones in the body – thirty-three joints and more than a hundred muscles, tendons and ligaments. And even if
the foot is no longer human but vamp, all those bones, joints and other things are still just as easily damaged. Stomping on anyone’s foot
hurts
.

A surprised yell blasted my ear and his hold loosened.

In one smooth move, I tightened my left hand on his arm, stepped into a spread-leg sumo-style stance, and double-hammered my elbow back into his groin, grim delight sparking as he let out a
high-pitched squeal and started to double over. Sweeping my right leg behind him, I shoved it into the back of his thigh, further unbalancing him as I hooked my right hand under his leg, heaved him
up, and threw him around my hips and down on to his back. He landed with a gratifyingly heavy thud, a startled pain-filled scream whooshing out of his mouth. I backed away, sucking in deep breaths
to calm the adrenalin-shakes, working out my options.

Bastien was huddled on the ground in front of the Emperor’s slab, hands cupping his Mr Very Unhappy and moaning for England. Vulnerable, if not totally defenceless. The Empress
must’ve released him from his stone. Nice for the Big Girl’s Blouse to have his mother watching over him. At least the Emperor was still lying on his stone circle, trapped by his own
magic. Totally defenceless. Two vamps with one sword came to mind.

Time for Ascalon.

The ball of green dragonfire engulfed my hand, and grunt- ing through the searing pain from Janan’s burns on my palm, I gripped the blessed sword.

I started towards them both.

Mr Moany Bastien stopped his over-the-top whimpering and rose to his feet as if a puppet master had pulled his strings. Creepy.

‘Well, well, princess,’ he said, backing around the stone slab. ‘I see you have your sword again. I take it you intend to dispatch Romulus Augustus with it before he calls any
of his minions to the scene. He is a much more dangerous threat than I, is he not?’

I shot Supercilious Smiling Bastien a narrowed look. Killing the Emperor first was playing right into the pyscho’s hands. But, much as it irritated me, it was the way to go.
‘You’re right,’ I said coolly. ‘The Emperor needs dispatching. First.’

Smiley Bastien inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I am glad we agree, princess. On that, at least.’

Mentally I flipped him the bird and moved to the Emperor, positioning myself at the top of the stone circle. I looked into his flat alien eyes, then raised Ascalon two-handed over my head and
brought the sword down. The blessed blade sliced through the Emperor’s neck with absolutely no resistance until it hit the sandstone. But unlike Janan, the sword cleaved cleanly through
flesh, muscle, ligaments, tendons, blood vessels and bone, separating the Emperor’s laurel-wreathed head from his nude body. His eyes blinked, then his head slowly rolled to the side,
stopping to glower at my feet as his crown lodged on the stone. Viscous claret-coloured blood seeped out of his severed neck and pooled beneath his head. I poked the head with the sword, moving it
out of reach of the blood – better safe than sorry – then quickly changed my grip on the sword so the blade pointed downwards.

‘The heart, my bride,’ Eager Bastien urged. ‘Do not forget the heart.’

‘I know,’ I snapped back, thinking
you’re next, buddy
. I moved sideways, lining myself up with the Emperor’s chest, then stabbed down into his heart; again the
blessed steel cut cleanly, resisting only as it bit into the stone beneath. The Emperor’s body stiffened, limbs going rigid, then it sunk in on itself like a pricked balloon until all that
was left was withered, wrinkled skin over jutting bone.

I poked at the Emperor’s remains with the sword. I’d sort of expected something more to happen when ending a millennium-and-a-half-year-old vamp. Not that I’d wanted him to put
up a fight, or even thought he could, trapped as he was. Nor was I particularly bothered about killing him while he was defenceless. He was a baddie. And I was pragmatic, not stupid. I’d
never have won in a fair fight. If any fight I had with a vamp could ever be called fair.

Of course, his remains would still have to burn, and his ashes scattered to be sure he really wasn’t going to pop back up at some point in the future. But still, deflating like that was a
pretty anti-climactic end.

Bastien clapped, flashing fang. ‘Felicitations, princess. I ap- plaud your swordsmanship.’

I bared my own teeth at him in a smile. ‘If you liked that wait till you see what I’ve got for an Encore.’

‘Encores are all well and good, my lovely sidhe, but I do believe we have only seen the Prelude.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Behold! Act One!’ He threw something at the Emperor— Gold flashed through the air: one of the Emperor’s coins.

The Emperor’s body twitched and lit itself on fire, the flames burning the cool blue of an ice-dragon’s breath. I stumbled back in shock as the blaze licked the tent roof, then
spread out and rained down the tent sides, trapping me – and trapping Malik in the roaring inferno. A panicked scream twisted inside me. Even if he was immortal, no way did I want to see him
crispy-crittered and endure the pain of healing. If I could get to his stone I could protect us both. All it needed was my blood in the circle’s outer groove, and hey presto, one Blood Ward.
Only, a curtain of flames burned furiously between us. I’d have to jump and roll to smother—

Bastien lunged forwards and snatched something from the Emperor’s stone. The fire snuffed out as if it had never been. All that remained on the slab was a body-shaped pile of ashes. I
sagged in relief then scowled at Bastien.

Somehow he’d managed to dress himself in the Emperor’s purple toga. He stood with his arms held out like he was offering benediction. In one hand he held the Emperor’s gold
laurel-wreath crown, and dangling from the other by its dark hair was a small shrunken head the size of a crab apple.

‘Here we have Act Two, my sweet sidhe.’ He brought the shrunken head to his lips, kissed it, then popped it into his mouth and munched down.

‘Nice illusion,’ I said drily, trying not to heave.

‘Ah, but is it?’ He held his finger up much like the Emperor had done. I shuddered, the sight weirding me out. ‘Act Three comes, my princess.’

The hair on my nape rose as a low keening wind rushed through the tent’s entrance and the Emperor’s ashes spiralled up in a small tornado. An unseen hand briefly cupped my cheek with
a gentle feeling of gratitude, startling me. Then the wind-gathered ashes exploded outwards and dissipated into the ether, leaving the candles still burning.