Reckoning

not stop, because it was so good. And because I was in my own skin now, separate and oddly bereft.

The laughter shuddered to a stop. He exhaled, hard. Then, a quiet croak. “Do you need more?”

God. No. I want more, that’s the problem. I shook my head, clamping my lips shut. Buried my face in his shoulder and fought the hunger, step by step, back into its little box. His fingers slid free of my hair, and he stroked the tangled curls down.

And for just that moment, the darkness behind my eyelids held no danger. But there was no time. I knew, as surely as I knew my own name, that somewhere in the stone warren we were trapped in, Sergej was waking up.

And boy, was he going to be pissed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Graves stumbled, the water glass dripping in his hand, and sat down on the bed. Hard.

He wasn’t too steady on his feet. And he looked terrible—gaunt, ashen, huge circles under his burning-green eyes. My fingers flew, buckling the malaika on; I knelt and started digging in the duffel. Ammo, and the spare gun in its holster. Thank God. Plus a pair of canvas shoes, not as good as boots but I grabbed them anyway. I left the cash, the rest of the clothes, and the fake ID; I grabbed a black hoodie and the ammo bag. The lump of fresh strength behind my breastbone scorched, comfortingly. My left hand tingled like it was asleep but waking up.

“Jesus.” Graves made it up to his feet, took two staggering steps, and tossed the water in Dibs’s slack face.

That did the trick. Dibs sat up with a yelp, scrambled back until he hit the wall, and stared wildly at us.

I zipped the duffel back closed. “Can you get you and Dibs out of here? Is there an exit?”

Graves nodded. “There’s one or two. I been prowling around during the day—wait. What are you—”

“Christophe’s down there. You two get out. If I can get Christophe free, we’ll rendezvous—wait, where are we? What city? Do you know?”

“What did you do?” Dibs braced his shoulders against the wall. He stared at me, his eyes wide and terrified like a little kid’s after a nightmare. “Dru?”

“Relax. I’m going to be fine.” It was sort of a lie, sure. But it was all I had. “Where are we? Do either of you know?”

“You can’t go down there. Someone’s always around. Dru—” Graves sat down on the bed again. Or rather, his legs gave out and he just dropped. “You can’t.”

I strapped the holster on, tested it. Good. Swiped at my hair, found a ponytail elastic in one of the hoodie’s pockets. A moment’s worth of work gave me a halfass braid-ponytail-thing that would keep my hair back, at least.

My fingers dove into the ammo bag, found a clip, and I popped it in, chambered a round, slid the gun back in the holster and buckled the ammo bag’s nylon belt. “I am not leaving anyone behind here.” I sounded flat and terribly adult.

Just like Dad.

“Now’s our best chance,” I continued. “Do you know where the hell we are?”

“Fargo.” Dibs shuddered. “North Dakota. We’re outside Fargo by about ten miles. Dru, what did you . . . did you drink? From him?”

Fargo. They must’ve put me in a plane to get me up here. For a moment my skin chilled, thinking of being trapped in that metal box again. I was actually thinking now, and it was a relief. Back to being my bad old tough-girl self, with a lump of warmth in my stomach sending waves of heat and strength through the rest of me.

I didn’t want to think about it. I had all I could do nerving myself up for what I had to do next. I plopped down on the floor and yanked the shoes on.

Graves stripped his hair back from his forehead. It lay lank and dead against his fingers, the dye swallowing light. He was sweating, the ashen tone to his skin more pronounced. He looked absolutely hideous. “I made her. Shut up, Dibs. Look, Dru, he’ll wake up. Leave Christophe, goddammit. He wouldn’t —”

“I wouldn’t leave you behind.” I rose, my body obeying me smoothly now.

How long did I have before the strength in Graves’s blood ran out? I wasn’t sure. So I had to do this quick.

I ghosted to the door, the touch rippling out in concentric rings. Nobody around, but the air was full of the breathlessness right before a thunderstorm. It was beginning to feel almost normal, that sense of crisis approaching. “I won’t leave him behind either,” I finished, still in that queer flat tone.

“What is it with you and him?” Graves’s lip lifted, white teeth showing. Even his gums were pale.

Bloodless.

Don’t think about that, Dru. Think about what you got to do next.

I reached up with my right hand. Snapped the malaika free. Probably my best bet in a house full of suckers. If the Maharaj showed up, we’d see how good I was with hexing, and a silver-grain round or two might discourage them in a hell of a hurry too.

And if I ran out of ammo, I’d figure something else out.

I glanced down. My left hand was whole now, no trace of the burning. I couldn’t see if the blisters were still hanging around, but it felt like they were. Half-healed and tender. It still tingled when I flexed my fingers, but it felt all right.

“Dru. Goddammit.” Graves surged to his feet. “What is it with Christophe? Is it that he’s djamphir?”

I couldn’t believe he was even asking. “No. It’s because he’s my friend.”

“What am I, then?”

Oh, for the love of . . . “Well, you don’t want to be my boyfriend, so I don’t know. You tell me. But tell me after we meet up. You and Dibs get the hell out of here. There’s cash and blank IDs in the duffel; you can get on a train and get back to the Prima. Go there, tell everyone what’s going down, and wait for me.”

“Wait.” Dibs was on his feet now. The bruising up and down his face glared at me; he reeked of worry and ammonia fear, sharp-stinging my freshly-tuned nose. His T-shirt fluttered a little bit, ripped from whatever tango he and Graves had gotten into in the hall. “Dru, you can’t—”

My lips skinned back from my teeth now. My jaw crackled as my fangs slipped loose, tender and aching; I could still smell the blood on the air and the dry-fur reek of nosferat.

Dibs almost swallowed his tongue. He shrank back against the wall, trembling. Graves stared at me, his face twisting for a second.

Before, I would’ve called the expression disgust. But the touch was still resonating inside my head, the complex stew of his emotions my own for a moment. It wasn’t disgust, I realized.

It was pain. Because even when the fangs that made me something dirty, something like Sergej, came out, he still thought I was beautiful. And the pain came from that broken place inside him.

The place where he thought he wasn’t worth a damn.

I was across the room before I knew it. I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand, bent down, and pressed my lips on his. He stiffened, but his mouth opened, and I think it was the first time in my life I’d ever kissed like I was a boy. If you know what I mean, great, if you don’t, well, I can’t explain it any clearer.

Or maybe I can. It was the first time I took a kiss instead of accepting one, the first time I didn’t think that the person I was kissing might refuse. No, I wanted it. I wanted to feel his mouth, and I did. I took it.

And I liked it.