The Lion & the Deathless Dark — Chapter 27

C HA P T E R T W E NT Y- S E V E N

lood arced over my bare chest. I looked down to see a cascade of black drops over my skin. Then up again to see Septimus staggering, thenB falling. A bolt of silver, surely blessed, jutted out from his shoulder, black-red slowly spreading over his white jacket.

Through the haze of drugs and adrenaline, I thought, Well, that didn’t last long.

And then, everything crashed down around me.

I spun around to see — I barked a humorless laugh.

Johnus. The man whose hand had been, minutes ago, between my thighs. His lust for sex had been replaced with lust for blood. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his hair mussed, his irises black circles. He swayed slightly

as he held the crossbow.

“Fuck!”

It was the only thing I could think to say.

“It’s all right.” He paced forward, blown-out eyes trained on Septimus.

“You don’t need to be ashamed. Vampires are born seducers. You couldn’t have resisted him.” His lip curled in disgust. “I knew you had been called away.”

My addled mind took too long to place everything together.

I’d been so damned good at seducing this man that he had come after me when I’d left. And then when he’d seen me and Septimus— Shit. It was worth one attempt at playing dumb.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, hands raised, stepping in front of Septimus. “Whatever you think he is—”

“I am a hunter, darling,” he spat. “I know a vampire when I see one.

Now step away.”

I didn’t move, glancing between him and Septimus.

Septimus was still on the ground, which wasn’t encouraging. But the bolt had missed his heart, which meant that it almost certainly had not killed him. Vampires were notoriously difficult to kill without piercing the heart, save for decapitation. I knew this as well as any.

The man approached us unsteadily. I didn’t move, still guarding Septimus’s motionless form as the man yanked a long knife from his— My lips thinned, holding back laughter despite our circumstances.

For fuck’s sake. The man hadn’t even bothered to button up his trousers before rushing out here to find me. I’d have to make sure I goaded Septimus with that later. Though something told me that he wouldn’t find it funny.

To be fair, it wouldn’t be funny if he got staked through the heart right now.

“Wait,” I stammered, suddenly jealous of Septimus’s silver tongue.

“There’s no need to—stop!”

I grabbed Johnus’s arm.

He paused. And something about the way he looked at me made me feel suddenly exposed—made me want to glance down at myself to make sure that there were no teeth marks on the flesh that, moments ago, I’d so wanted Septimus to touch.

Disgust flickered over his face. And then, something more dangerous.

Possession.

“You’re ensnared,” he snarled. “They do that.”

He pushed me to the wall, his face burying into my hair. His cock began to stiffen against me, which now had my stomach turning. “Don’t worry, beauty,” he murmured. “Look away while I take care of this, and then I’ll take care of you. Once he is dead, his hold over you will break.”

First of all, he was wrong—Bloodborn vampires didn’t even have the ability to ensnare. But correcting him was the last thing on my mind as I attempted to push him off of me and he brought the knife against my chest.

“It isn’t your fault,” he said. “You’ve been seduced—”

I grabbed the knife, twisted his wrist. Under normal circumstances, I could have broken it, but my still-injured shoulder wailed in protest. Instead I settled for turning the blade around in his hands, driving it into his shoulder. Not deep enough to kill.

He released me with a roar of pain. He looked at me like I was an animal as he drew himself back up, one hand clutching the bloody wound. I had to blink hard to clear my eyesight. Damn the venther. I felt like I was seeing through a shimmery haze.

“Vampire-tainted whore,” he spat. “You will regret—”

Tendrils of red burst from his chest.

I lurched away.

At first, I wasn’t even sure what I was witnessing. It was as if a spider with massive, twisted limbs was tearing itself free from his body through the wound in his chest—rivers of red, more and more, peeling back his skin, floating into the air. Soon, smaller threads joined them, floating from the corners of his eyes, from his ears, from his mouth.

“That’s enough.”

I turned my head to see Septimus, supporting himself against the wall with one hand, the other raised—as if beckoning all those rivers of blood, which swirled around his hand and in spirals up his arms. His eyes were almost completely black-red, the white consumed. His mouth was set into a grim line.

“Enough,” he repeated, as if to himself.

Johnus let out a wordless, gurgling noise, maybe some lost plea for his life, before his body went hurling against the wall with a vicious CRACK.

He slid to the floor, limp. Red fell over the tile like rain.

“Fucking hell,” I breathed.

I was too high for this.

I turned to Septimus, expecting to get an earful for instigating this, but he was frozen, hand raised. Threads of blood still danced around his arm.

His shoulders rose and fell with shallow, quick breaths. The silver bolt still jutted from his shoulder, black streaking down the white of his jacket.

He stared down at the limp body. Johnus’s once-fine clothing was now soaked in crimson. Without looking away, Septimus grabbed the bolt lodged in his flesh and yanked it out with a sickening wet sound, then

tossed it to the floor.

“Septimus,” I barked.

His head snapped up. The remaining threads of red fell, like dregs of

rain dribbling from the trees.

“What?”

For a moment, he seemed genuinely disoriented.

But then, more footsteps. “Holy fucking gods,” a voice rang out.

Another man, finely dressed, stood at the door. I dimly recognized him as the one who had been at the table nearby, dick-deep in his companion.

Fuck.

“Go!” I said to Septimus, giving him a shove, and we bolted down the

hall.

“Where are we running to?” he said.

“I need Zefiah. Then we have to get the hell out of here.”

He looked me up and down, as if realizing for the first time that Zefiah was not with me.

“You came to a seedy pleasure house in the middle of nowhere and then left your god-forged sword alone in your room?”

Oh, I didn’t appreciate that judgmental tone.

“She didn’t go with the outfit,” I ground out.

And she knew how to ruin a mood better than anyone I’d ever met, but I left that part unsaid.

We darted down one hallway, then another, then rounded the bend

toward the stairs— “Wait.”

Septimus grabbed my arm, the two of us skidding to a clumsy stop just

before the corner.

“Sh,” he hissed.

I went quiet, and heard the sound of shouts echoing from the great room. Definitely not the raucous cheers of drunken partiers. Sounded like our friend had been discovered.

We peered around the corner. The stairs were still unguarded, but farther down the hall, men gathered, dragging themselves together from their obvious inebriation. They were passing around weapons of some kind—

sheathed swords and— “Shit,” I spat.

Crossbows. Crossbows with scarlet sashes on the handles.

Even Kajmar’s followers had their vampire-hunting dreams, these days.

Looked like Johnus hadn’t been bluffing. He really had been a hunter, and apparently far from the only one here.

“You brought us to a temple full of vampire hunters?” I whispered to Septimus, and he shot me an indignant look.

“I brought us to this temple? Was I the one moaning about how badly I needed a—”

I waved him off. “Never mind. We could take the time to kill all these people, but I’d prefer not to.”

“Shocking, coming out of your mouth. But agreed.” He eyed another two men who ran down the hall to join the others. We were up to maybe a dozen by now. “The faster we get out of here, the better.”

This was about to get very messy, very fast.

I looked between the stairs, still preciously clear, to the door, which would be impassable in minutes, at least without large amounts of bloodshed. We needed to escape and quickly. Our horses were in the stable, and we wouldn’t be getting too far without them—besides, they were far too precious to leave behind.

“You get the horses,” I whispered. “I’ll get Zefiah.”

Septimus hesitated, for reasons I didn’t quite understand. But he just said, “And meet you where?”

My teeth ground as I watched the hunters gather. “Out front. Now move, before we’re going to have to kill half the people here to get out.”

I began to turn—there was no time to waste on goodbyes—but he whispered, “Kyrene.”

I glanced over my shoulder. He was already halfway down the hall.

He said, “Be careful,” and with that, he disappeared around the corner.

{WHERE. Have. You. Been?} Blade of judgment indeed. As soon as I threw open the door, the lectures began. {I have been trying to warn you for hours. This place is overrun with hunters. I sense them in half the rooms upstairs, and a glut of them

downstairs as well.} Yes, Zefiah. We know that now.

I seized her from the bed and hurriedly slung her sheath across my back, wincing as the movement jostled my still-tender wounds. Then I threw my

pack over my other shoulder, right next to the one I’d grabbed from Septimus’s room. I was grateful we both packed light. {And yet you left me here, shouting my warnings into the void of nothingness where your good sense should have—} Zefiah, enough. I know. I’m a reckless idiot, Ferdinan would never, et cetera et cetera.

With a wince, I drew her. Her light, bolstered by all that righteous indignation, drenched the dim corners of the room in gold. I attempted to lift her, then sucked in a hiss as my right arm quivered.

Help me get out of here, I told her. Then you can lecture me all you want.

A bolt of light snapped to the door. I whirled around as footsteps rushed closer.

“—was in this one,” a voice was saying. “With her vampire companion—” {Your shoulder—} Zefiah started, but I couldn’t exactly give a fuck about my ruined shoulder, because I only barely had time to ready myself when the door flung open.

A cluster of armed men rushed through. At the front was the one who had seen Septimus and me over his friend’s dead body. I only barely glimpsed his face before he threw up his palm and a cloud of purple smoke suffused the air.

My lungs contracted. I let out a cough. My vision blurred, senses growing slippery, already addled by wine and drugs from earlier.

Gods fucking damn it. Illusion dust—a magic of Kajmar.

I narrowly dodged a silver bolt whizzing by. It opened a river of blood along my left arm. I swung Zefiah, who let out a mighty blast of light as she took off one attacker’s head in a clean sweep.

Another dove for me, then screamed as his sword arm and his weapon fell to the ground in a bloody thump.

But there were so many of them. More still, pouring in through the hall. {You will need to kill everyone in this place to get to the front door,} Zefiah said as she sliced through another hand, and I barely dodged a silver bolt.

The floor seemed to tilt, the window frame melting as if made of wax left in the sun. Someone was throwing up more and more of that illusionism smoke. Zefiah’s bursts of gold light bounced off thick clouds of lavender.

Someone grabbed my shoulder, and a burst of pain exploded through me. I lurched backward, then stumbled, and then I was against the far wall, pressed to velvet curtains.

The hunter’s breath was thick with alcohol. The fuzzy unnatural pleasantness of the venther was beginning to wear off. His face seemed to melt between inhuman beauty and grotesque fury.

“Where is the vampire?” Spittle flecked across my face. He bellowed like I was across the room. “Where is he, whore?”

That was a great question.

I peered over my shoulder, through the window behind me—down, where a horse pranced anxiously at the front steps, a cloaked figure atop it.

Septimus looked up, and his broken-glass eyes met mine, as if in silent confirmation.

The man followed my gaze. His face shifted. He shouted, “There—!”

I drew back Zefiah and smashed the window.

Behind me, the hunters converged. Below, Septimus urged his horse into a run, his gaze locked to mine, one hand raised.

No one gets to kill me but you, right, Zef? {Kyrene, wait—} I flung myself out the shattered window.

My stomach fell out beneath me. The cold mountain air rushed by. I had never liked heights, not since the night I’d toppled from the third story of the Citadel of the Destined Dawn and somehow survived. And as the ground rushed toward me and my mortality grew suddenly fragile again through the haze of drugs and adrenaline, I thought, Maybe not your smartest idea after all, Kyrene.

But then, a red mist surrounded me. A strange sensation bubbled in my veins, hot, like someone was moving my body without my permission. My limbs locked. My fall slowed. The ground approached, but more slowly.

I looked down at myself to see tendrils of elegant crimson pouring from my open wounds, wrapping around me like ribbons, and leading down to Septimus’s outstretched hand.

It was nothing like what I imagined flying to feel like. It was as if I were being suspended from within, and while definitely preferable to squashing to the ground like a bug, it was not a pleasant sensation.

The landing was not exactly smooth. I let out an unintended oof as I fell clumsily to the ground.

“Get up,” Septimus said urgently. I looked up to see his hand outstretched. The horse’s eyes were wide, whites showing as it anxiously eyed the plumes of colorful smoke pouring from the broken window. The hunters above screamed curses. A crossbow bolt landed six inches to my left.

I took Septimus’s hand and let him pull me onto the horse, placing me in front of him.

“Where’s the other horse?” I asked, as he clicked his tongue and urged

our mount into a gallop.

“Stolen.”

And he was scolding me for leaving my possessions unintended.

A bolt whizzed to our left, then another just ahead. The horse let out a shriek of pain and flinched. I prayed it wasn’t a direct hit.

Septimus shoved the reins into my hands. “Here.”

I looked over my shoulder as he turned around in the saddle and lifted both his hands. Behind us, in the rapidly shrinking temple, half a dozen men now stood at the balcony, some aiming bows at us, others climbing down

for pursuit.

“What are you—”

I didn’t know why I bothered asking.

Ropes of red shot from Septimus’s palms.

Bloodthirsty battle cries broke into gurgling screams.

Bodies burst into smears of scarlet seconds before we rounded a corner

in the cliff path.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

Septimus turned around, pleased with himself.

“Not bad,” he said to himself. “Not bad.”

Not bad indeed.

OUR POOR, loyal horse ran and ran and ran until too much time had passed to remember when we’d last heard even the faintest echoes of shouts behind us. We had wound deep into the narrow, deserted roads leading into the

mountains, taking a path so convoluted it would be difficult for anyone to follow. Once we were certain no one was on our tail, we finally slowed to a stop.

I became very aware of Septimus’s arms around me. My back was against his chest. I could feel his breath rustling the wavy strands of my hair. I was still practically naked, and my exhale ended in a slight shiver.

After the constant pounding of hoofbeats and blood in my ears, the

silence was all-consuming.

Anyone after us, Zef? {No. Not for miles.} “No companions,” I said. Septimus and I dismounted. I slid to the ground like a pool of jelly. Our horse, exhausted, groaned appreciatively, and Septimus stroked her nose in thanks.

I sank to my knees, then fell backward, until I was splayed out in the dirt. The sky spread out above us, cold and clear.

“It’s really night right now,” I said. “You can tell because the stars are a little brighter, if you look close.”

And then I began laughing, and laughing, and laughing. I couldn’t stop.

My muscles convulsed. I rolled over to curl up on myself. {Six bleeding blades, Kyrene. What is wrong with you?} Septimus kneeled beside me, eyes narrowed. One glance at his serious concern made me collapse into laughter again.

“Fucking hell, Septimus. Don’t look so serious.”

“How much of that smoke did you inhale?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine! It’s just—”

I wiped tears from my eyes.

“A pleasure temple full of vampire hunters. The god of pleasure cultivates fucking vampire hunters.”

That was what this world had come to. A god who, ten years ago, was in charge of drunken parties and pretty illusions now used his proclivities for drugs and wine as a weapon.

“Can you imagine if they’d been the ones to end us?” I was starting to laugh again. “What would your family have said? Here lies Septimus.

Ended by pleasure.”

He stared at me, completely serious, then said, “But what a way to go.”

And then he began to laugh, too.

It was such an elegant, musical sound—more elegant than anyone ever should be when laughing maniacally about drug-armed pleasure hunters. He sank down beside me and let his head sag, the laughter rising until we were

both howling at the moon like wolves. {This is embarrassing,} Zefiah sniffed.

“Zefiah is ashamed of us,” I choked out between gasps.

“She should be. I’m ashamed of us.”

Septimus was the first to collect himself. He let out a heaving sigh, then looked up at the sky.

“You’re right,” he said. “The stars are brighter at night. I’ve never noticed before.”

“It’s nice to feel the passage of time sometimes.”

His expression shuttered. “I wish I could stop feeling it,” he remarked.

Then he turned to me, the spark in his eye restored, and there was something in that look—that easy, fleetingly unguarded look—that almost looked like actual affection. And for some reason, it made my breath catch in my chest, sharper and more dangerous even than the way he had looked at me when I’d spread my legs for him.

He got to his feet, then extended his hand to me. When I took it, that seemed more intimate, too.

I stood, but his hand remained around mine. I looked down at it and frowned. His fingers were trembling.

He followed my gaze, then smoothly extracted it and slid it into his pocket.

I could feel something looming over us, dangerous and cold, something I desperately wanted to avoid looking at for as long as I possibly could.

So I said, voice light, “Well, what do you think, Prince Septimus? Was a bath and a bed worth all of that?”

“Technically, we didn’t even get to sleep in the beds.” And though he was subtle—though he tried to hide it—I felt his gaze linger on my body, still so exposed, when he said, “But I think it was worth it anyway, lyri.”