Hell Bent

Chapter 24

I was freezing. I was also lying in my bed. Naked.

Huh.

I opened my eyes. It was dark out now. My room was lit by the moonlight pushing through the blinds.

Moonlight that showed me I was not alone in my bed.

I grinned. Dessa had every damn one of my covers wrapped around her, tucked tight up to her chin. She was curled on her side, facing me.

She was asleep, and if I weren’t shivering so hard my teeth were beginning to rattle, I’d probably do the gallant and manly thing and lie there watching her sleep while I compared her to flowers and sunrises in haiku. Instead I pulled on the covers.

“Wake up, woman. I’m freezing out here.”

She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. “Does that mean you’ll stop snoring?”

“What? Lies.”

She opened those innocent blue eyes and gave me a wicked grin. “Admit it. I wrecked you.”

Caught by that look, I couldn’t help doing the comparing thing, while my heart tapped up a warm beat. I decided she was a sly little fox, and that her smile was sweeter and hotter than any whiskey I’d ever tried to lose myself in.

I suddenly realized I’d been looking for her for a long, long time.

“Well,” I said, swallowing back the emotions that I wasn’t sure how to deal with. I glanced up at the silk stockings tied to the headboard and rubbed the faint mark they’d left around my wrist. “If I concede that there was mutual wreckage going on, do I get the password for your blanket fort?”

She rolled her eyes as if considering it, then locked her gaze on me again. “Kiss me nice enough, and I’ll think about it.”

“That sounds like a fair enough deal.” I scooted closer and leaned down like I was going to give it my all.

Instead I reached out, grabbed a handful of blanket, and pushed up onto my knees, pulling the blanket with me.

“Aha!”

She clung to the cover and squealed, pulling back. “We had a bargain!”

“No more bargains, woman,” I said as she laughed. “I claim these blankets in the name of Flynn!” I threw the first blanket over my shoulder, which just made her laugh harder.

“I shall de-fleece you. Then I shall have all the blankets, and all the warmth, and you will be at my mercy!”

“Fine.” She used her feet and hands to push all the blankets off her, then pulled up onto her knees. “You can have the blankets. I didn’t want them anyway.” She wadded them up and threw them at my face.

I didn’t do much to catch them as they fell in a mess to one side. Because suddenly she was in front of me, on her knees, naked, her hair falling in tousled waves around the curve of her shoulders, the graceful arc of her neck, unafraid as she gave me a challenging smirk. Her hand was to one side, clutching the pillow in preparation of braining me.

I blinked slowly and gave her a predatory grin. “Oh, I like this much better.” I reached out, brushed my fingers down the outside of her hip, then down the back of her leg to that particularly sensitive spot behind her knee I’d discovered.

She closed her eyes and goose bumps washed over her skin. She bit her lip and made a needful sound.

I lifted my finger and placed my palm on her hip.

She jerked back, her eyes wide.

I tipped my head. Wondered what had spooked her. If I had hurt her.

“Your hands are ice!” she accused.

“Really? You think? Maybe if someone hadn’t stolen every damn blanket.”

She gave me a glare that was wholly ruined by her small smile. “Hands off until you shower. Hot shower. No touching until those hands regain human temperatures.”

“I am so not showering alone,” I said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She slid out of bed, just inches away from me, careful not to brush against me as she passed by. She stood, stretched her arms up over her head, and arched her back.

I lost track of breathing for a moment or two.

Then that gorgeous woman sauntered off to the bathroom, swinging her hips. She paused, and gave me the come-hither over her shoulder.

Oh, baby. I hithered.

The inn is an old structure and the showers had been put in somewhere around the nineteen twenties. And while they were the height of modern convenience then, a Realtor might categorize them as “quaint” now.

Small for one person, downright cozy for two.

Not that I was complaining. And after my skin had gone up a few degrees so that I could once again use my hands along with my boyish charms, Dessa wasn’t complaining either.

We finally untangled from each other, toweled off, and got back into our clothes. I made her help me find my rings, which were in the bed, under the bed, and one, strangely, in my half-open sock drawer.

Something darted out from under the bed and burrowed under the towel I’d thrown on the floor.

“Uh, Dessa?” I said. “Your hat got loose.”

“What?”

I pointed at the towel just as a tiny furred triangular head with a black mask peeked out and made an equally tiny grunt/squeak.

“Your hat,” I repeated.

She took a few steps toward the towel. The ferret must have spotted her because it took off at a ridiculous Slinky-like hop-run, darting under the chair, then suddenly reappearing under the pillow on the bed.

“Jinkies! How did you get out of your cage?” She crawled across the bed and snatched the thing up midescape route, which apparently involved trying to wiggle its way into the nightstand drawer.

“Jinkies?”

“That’s his name.”

“You’re a fan of Scooby Doo?”

“No. My brother was. He named him Jinkies. He was his.” She crawled back off the bed one-handed, the little furry monster in her other hand, then blew her hair out of her face and walked over to me. “Shame, this is Jinkies, the ferret.”

The ferret was pretty cute up close. It wriggled around in Dessa’s grip, clever black eyes glittering.

“You sure it’s not a weasel?”

“Ferret.”

“Whatever. You have to admit it’s a terrible hat.”

Dessa rolled her eyes. “Give me a minute. I’ll get him settled.”

She padded out of the room, holding the feasel up to her face so she could coo at it.

Yes, I thought it was adorable of her.

Once she was out of the room, I realized I was ravenous. I glanced at the bedside clock. It was an hour and several minutes off, but with some quick math, I figured it was about three in the morning.

As soon as Dessa returned without Jinkies, I caught her hand and walked toward the door.

“Hungry?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Good thing I know how to break into the kitchen.” We snuck hand in hand through the darkened hallway and down the stairs.

Eleanor followed along behind us, and I was grateful that she had given us as much privacy as the ties between she and me allowed.

The dining area was empty; the cleaning crew had gone home. And I knew the morning shift wouldn’t be in to start the breads and pastries for at least an hour.

I stepped up to the kitchen door, took hold of the handle, lifted, and gave the door a shove with my shoulder. The old lock gave, and the kitchen was ours.

Eleanor stayed on the other side of the door.

“What is your pleasure, lass?” I asked, walking over to the refrigerator. “Anything you want, sky’s the limit. Let’s see, we have beef stew, hand-tossed pizza, rosemary chicken. Ah, spanakopita. I know what I’m having.”

I pulled out the Greek dish, turned.

Dessa was leaning against the counter with a brownie in one hand and a half-eaten piece of cheesecake in the other.

“What?” she mumbled around the cheesecake. “You said anything, right?”

“Why am I not surprised you are an eat-dessert-first kind of gal?”

She swallowed. “No. This is my second course. I had you first.” And before I could say anything, she held up the dessert. “Want to taste my cheesecake?” She blinked big, innocent eyes.

Lord, how could I say no? “Why, yes. Yes, I do.” I walked over and leaned into her until she had to arch back just a bit. Then I kissed her, holding her lips with mine, stroking my tongue along hers until she exhaled contentedly.

“Good?” she asked as I pulled back a bit.

I licked my lips. “Never had better. But all it did was whet my appetite.”

“Oh,” she said. “So do you want to . . . ?” She pointed at the door with the brownie and wiggled her eyebrows.

“Good God, woman,” I said with a laugh. “Yes, I want that. But a man needs his strength. Let me get some food in my belly.” I shoved the entire spanakopita in the microwave, heated it more or less evenly, then set it on the counter and ate damn near half of it before I noticed Dessa had wandered off, because she was wandering back with two beers and a fork in her hands.

“I didn’t take the expensive stuff,” she said, setting a beer bottle in front of me. She’d already removed the cap.

“Last time you bought me a drink . . .”

“I only poison on a first date,” she said. “Share a bite or two of your spanakopita?”

“Help yourself.” I pushed the pan closer to her, and she took a bite.

“Mmm. Not as good as the cheesecake, but mmm.”

I tipped back the beer took a long draw. God, could a man be happier? I suddenly understood this be-with-one-person thing. The let’s-give-this-a-go thing. Coming home to her every day would be like visiting heaven. If heaven were a sweet-eyed, naughty-minded redhead.

I took a deep breath and savored the silence and bliss filling me.

It had been a long time since I’d felt so good.

Dessa picked up her beer, then sidled over to me and slipped her arm around my back. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her temple. She took a drink of beer, then tucked her head into my shoulder.

“Shame,” she said quietly against my chest.

“Hmm?”

“This is nice.”

“But?”

“No. Just this is nice,” she said. “Better than I expected.”

I chuckled. “How badly did you underestimate me, darlin’?”

“No.” She took a drink of beer, was quiet for a minute. “I underestimated myself. How . . . how I would feel about you.”

“That makes two of us,” I said. “I’m surprised how much I feel about me too.”

She slapped my stomach.

“Ow,” I chuckled.

“What about me?” she asked, shifting so she could look up at me.

I didn’t want to lie to her. So I didn’t.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone else in my life,” I said evenly.

She nodded, understanding, I thought, the rarity and truth of that statement. She let go of the breath she was holding. “To tomorrow,” she said, holding up her beer.

“And all our days after that.” I clinked my bottle against hers, took a drink.

A simple toast to hide a lingering promise. That maybe we’d do this together for a while, see if two lives could become one.

That’s when I heard the car engine approaching, the gravel shifting beneath the tires. Someone was coming our way in a hell of a hurry.

Here’s the thing about having an assassin as a girlfriend: she didn’t ask me who I thought it was, didn’t ask if she needed to grab her things, didn’t ask what she should do. She was out of the kitchen before I was, and up the stairs for her things.

I went to the window, looked out.

It was Terric’s car.

This wasn’t good. This couldn’t be good.

He parked as close to the door as he could without plowing into the place and left the engine running.

I strode over to the door, wishing I’d put on my boots and grabbed my coat before I’d come downstairs. Or wishing I’d told Dessa to get them for me.

I pulled the door open. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

Terric was shock-pale, his hair pulled back in a band tight against his head. His eyes were bloodshot red, and his heart was pumping too fast, erratic.

“Victor,” he choked out. “He’s been hit.”

“How bad?” I asked.

Terric just shook his head.

“Fuck. Where is he? Terric, where is he?” I reached out, dropped my hand on his shoulder. My touch seemed to help him focus. He swallowed.

“I don’t know, Shame. I think his house.”

I didn’t ask him why he had come all the way out to the inn before going to Victor’s to check on him. I didn’t ask how he knew he was hurt. I’d find that out on the way over.

“Give me your keys.”

He dropped them into my hand.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Here are your shoes.” Dessa was right behind me.

I turned. She’d put on her coat and shoes, and from the cut of her jacket, and the duffel bag in one hand, I knew she also had her guns.

But along with her things, she’d had the foresight to bring me socks, shoes, my sweater, and the baseball bat.

I loved a woman who was steady in a crisis.

“Get him in the car,” I said. “I’ll drive.”

Dessa took Terric’s hand and said something to him in a soothing tone. He went with her, and sat in the backseat of the car, which showed me how confused he was. She got into the front.

I pulled on socks and boots, pulled on my coat, and picked up the baseball bat. Then I locked and shut the door and ran to the car, Eleanor right behind me.

I slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted it for my legs instead of Terric’s, and got us out of the parking lot as fast as I could.

“Tell me what happened, Ter,” I said. “Tell me what you know about Victor.”

“I got a call. From Davy. He only got a few words out. That Victor had been hit.”

“Did you call Victor?”

“Yes. He didn’t answer.”

I was taking the fastest route I could to Victor’s house, and was going eighty-plus. This time of night at least I didn’t have to worry about traffic.

“Did you call the police?”

“N-no.”

“You just drove straight out to the inn?”

“Yes. You were there.” He was starting to sound a little clearer. I don’t know how he’d managed to drive in the state of mind he was in.

“Do you have your phone?” I asked.

He sat up a straighter and checked his coat pockets. “Jesus,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Hand it to Dessa.”

“I can do it,” he said. “Hello,” he said to Dessa, as if just noticing her in the car.

“Hey,” she said back.

“Call Stotts,” I said. “Dessa, do you have a phone?”

I’d left mine in the room, but she pulled hers out.

“I need you to dial this number.” I told her Allie’s number. She dialed.

I took the phone from her, each ring an eternity. What if Victor wasn’t the only one who’d been hit?

Stotts must have answered almost immediately because Terric was already talking, and as far as I could tell, his voice was steady, and he was giving clear information.

“Jones,” Zay answered.

“This is Shame,” I said. “Victor’s been hit. Davy got a message to Terric. We’re on our way to Victor’s now—”

I braced, ran a light at speed, and avoided a head-on collision with a garbage truck.

“Shame?” Zay said.

“Keep your eyes open and be ready in case anything’s coming your way,” I finished. “I’ll call in when we know more.”

“Keep it tight,” he said. “Listen to Terric.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Terric looked like he’d finally shaken off his confusion and had gotten his head straight. “I’ll do that,” I said.

I handed Dessa the phone, then slowed to seventy or so as I navigated the neighborhood streets.

Came up on Victor’s house. The cops hadn’t made it here yet. We were out of the car before the engine stopped growling.

Dessa pulled her gun. My gun was also somewhere in my room with my jacket. Neither Terric nor I carried any weapon other than the magic at our fingertips. I glanced over at him, checking to see if he was together enough for this.

“I’m clear,” he said without looking at me.

I got to the front door first. It was locked. But then, if Eli had used that gate technology, he wouldn’t need to open the door.

“Shoot it,” I said.

Dessa stepped up, shot it without hesitation. Then she shouldered into the room, gun raised.

Damn it. I did not want her in harm’s way.

And there was the drawback to having an assassin girlfriend.

“Victor!” I yelled. No answer. “Fuck.”

I took off running to the living room and kitchen. Terric ran past me to the bathroom and bedroom.

Victor was an uncle to both of us—no, more than that. A father when my father died. A trusted counselor when Terric had lost his ability to use Faith magic. A steady wisdom and calm voice throughout all the pain and struggle and uncertainties of magic, the Authority, and our place in the world.

He had, in a very real way, made us the men we were.

He trusted us, demanded the best of us. He stood by us when we took on the challenge of building a world where magic was no longer a secret.

I knew the moment when Terric found him. Knew it even before I heard Terric’s anguished moan. Could feel the pain and sorrow like a shot straight through Terric’s heart, tearing through mine.

Victor was dead.

I knew it as I ran to Terric, knew it as I stepped through the doorway to the bedroom. Terric knelt on the floor next to the bloody, broken form of Victor.

Everything went silent. I couldn’t hear Terric pleading, couldn’t hear Dessa jogging our way, couldn’t hear my own heartbeat. The world was smothered.

I closed my eyes, hovering there in that mad lucidity.

The monster within me stretched, opened its arms, and latched each slick tentacle around me, drawing me into it, into the nothingness where it promised blood, destruction, and vicious release. Where it promised I would never have to feel pain again. Where it promised the terror of others would fall upon me like a numbing salve.

“Shame?” Dessa’s hand rested on my arm.

I opened my eyes.

And the world, the room, pounded down around me.

Terric, on the phone, blood on his hands, blood streaked through his hair where he must have pulled at it with his fingers. Dessa at my side, her gun still in her hand and aimed at me.

“Dessa,” I said. “Are you . . . are you all right?”

“I’m not the one on fire.” She nodded at my hand.

I lifted my right hand. The rings were glowing red, but as I watched, the burn was fading like coals dusted at the edges.

“He’s sane,” Terric said to Dessa as he pocketed his phone. Then, in a voice louder than that whisper, “Dessa, put the gun down. He could kill you before you pulled the trigger.”

She hesitated. Finally lowered the gun.

I turned. Looked into blue eyes that were not frightened—but were very wary.

As she had every right to be.

“Did I hurt you?” I said with what gentleness I could manage.

She searched my eyes. I did not know what she saw there. Maybe Death magic. It was there, just behind my will, lapping at my control. Pressing and promising.

She held up her hand, turned it one way and the other to examine the skin. “Felt like all the skin burned off when I touched you.”

“And now?”

She curled her fingers to her palm. “Everything works.” She pulled her shoulders back.

“Don’t touch me for a while,” I said. “I’m in control, but it’s not solid.”

She nodded.

I finally turned my full attention to Victor.

He was on his back, in his pajama pants, his shirt cut to shreds, the edges of it burned. Blood soaked the carpet. Terric was kneeling in it.

I walked the few steps to Victor’s prone body. It seemed to take three long years before I reached his side. I rested my hand on Terric’s shoulder and for a second, he leaned his head against my arm.

I felt his sorrow as if it were my own. Because it was.

I wanted to scream. Instead Terric whispered a prayer. It was the words of a very old spell—Peace.

Grief knotted my throat and clenched my gut. I didn’t have time for grief. I couldn’t have time.

So I pushed it away, fed it to the monster within me. Any pain would sate it, even my own.

Terric lifted his head away from me and stood as I knelt, trading places, his hand falling now on my shoulder. Perhaps it seemed an odd thing, the way we moved in tandem without thought, but it was natural as breathing to me.

“The marks,” Terric said.

I moved the edge of Victor’s shirt away, uncovered the shredded mess that was his torso. He had been carved, and carved, and carved again.

Spells: Pain, Refresh, Fire, Refresh, Crush, Break, Sever. Refresh, and Refresh again. Every dark agony cut into him in a continuous circuit of unending torture.

The bastard hadn’t even had the fucking decency to carve Death into his skin. He had carved Life instead. He had squeezed every last ounce of pain out of Victor.

And in the blood around his body was another spell. But from the ragged streak trailing off to one side, it was clear that the spell had been interrupted before it was finished.

“Eli,” Terric and I said at the same time.

It wasn’t a name anymore.

It was the shape of the thing we were going kill.