“It's Gargo's blood,” I said without preamble. “When we fought his body, it seeped into the soil and infected the Zone.”
“Fuck!” Slate snarled.
“Do you have any idea how to... cure this infection?” Aaro asked.
“Yes.” I sighed deeply. “But the cost concerns me.”
“What cost?” Slate demanded.
I glanced at Binx—busy kissing Achira—then said, “Blood. Possibly more than he can give.”
“He?” Aaro asked.
“The God of Water and Darkness,” I whispered.
Chapter Twelve
It wasn't the thought of spilling Darc's blood that haunted me as we drove back to the barracks. It was the voice that had spoken through Daha. If it was magic that was opposing us—the magic inside Gargo's blood—we could be giving it exactly what it wanted by bringing Darcraxis to the Zone. It had said it wanted vengeance upon the Gods who had wronged it. Gods; plural. There had been a few who had wronged Gargo, at least in his opinion. Depending on how loose you were with the term “God,” there could be more than a few. Either way, Darcraxis was one of them.
It seemed that Gargo's hatred had spread beyond me to include others, but he had focused on the Gods. Which, knowing Gargo, made sense. The God of the Gargoyles had been too arrogant to see anyone who wasn't a God as a threat. That meant that he wouldn't hold any mortals responsible for hurting him. To do so would be akin to admitting that a bunch of inconsequential mortals had conquered him, and Gargo would never do that. But how much reasoning would magic have? Even the magic in a God's blood.
Evidently quite a lot. Enough to set Felinae at each other's throats, send a whole race of them running, and speak to me through a seer.
“We should have known Gargo wasn't done with us,” I murmured.
“He was the first God on Earth,” Slate said almost reverently. “It doesn't surprise me that even his blood can kill.”
“Not kill; infect,” I mused. “It seeped into the stones for sanctuary and now it's rising. But why now?”
“Maybe it needed some time to regroup,” Aaro suggested.
“Isn't Darcraxis immortal?” Binx tossed the question over his shoulder as he drove.
“Yes,” I said warily. “To an extent.”
“Does that extent include bleeding him dry?” Binx asked pointedly.
“I don't know,” I whispered. “Hopefully, it won't take that much blood.”
Slate made a grating sound in his throat. “I don't like this. There has to be another way.”
“There isn't,” I said grimly. “I asked. The only other option would be lead to more suffering; Daha wouldn't even tell me what it is.”
“We'll leave it up to Darc,” Slate said decisively. “If he doesn't want to do it, I won't hold it against him.”
“Our zone is in jeopardy,” Aaro argued. “He has to do it. Darc's like family and family helps each other no matter the cost.”
“Jago,” Slate spoke into his radio instead of answering Aaro.
“Boss?”
“Forget the search for tunnels. Meet us back at my office.”
“Yup.”
Slate tucked the radio into his jacket and took my hand. He stared forward resolutely.
“Slate!” Aaro growled.
“I will not force another man to bleed for me, Brother.” Slate looked down at our joined hands then lifted them and kissed the back of mine.
I heard what laid unspoken in that gesture; that he especially would not ask it of someone whose death would hurt me.
In answer, I lifted my contact charm and slid it into my ear. “Darcraxis.”
It was all the direction the charm needed; there was only one Darcraxis in all the Realms.
“My fire,” Darc's deep, sensual voice purred into my ear.
“Hey, you,” I whispered.
“What's happened?” Darc immediately went on alert.
“We've got a problem in Slate's zone.” I glanced at Slate, and he gave me a look that spoke volumes; all of them entitled Don't Manipulate Darcraxis.
“Again?” Darc asked.
“Again,” I confirmed. “We need your help.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Before you agree, you need to know what it is we need, Darc.”
“Go on.”
“Gargo's blood has infected the Zone. The only way to counter it is with blood that's equally as powerful. Blood with a magic that's cold and cleansing.”
“My blood,” he concluded.
“You got it, babe. But you can say no. Slate wants me to make that clear to you. No one will—”
“I'm on my way,” Darc cut me off. “I'll summon the others as well.”
“Darc,” I whispered gratefully and let go of Slate.
Slate's hand curled into a fist and withdrew to his lap.
“I will survive it, my fire,” Darc said simply. “I would not risk eternity with you if I didn't believe that absolutely.”
“Okay. But hold on one sec.” I looked at Slate. “Are the wards still keyed to us? Will they let Darc and the others through?”
“Of course,” Slate said brusquely.
Slate's zone came equipped with an emergency ward that could be activated to prevent Beneathers with the means to travel magically from invading. I knew that Slate had the ward altered to allow his Gargoyles, my men, and me through but that alteration had been done during the war with Gargo, and I wasn't sure that he'd kept it in place.
“Okay, you're good to travel,” I said to Darc.
“I love you.” The connection faded.
I removed the charm and let it drop on its chain as I stared ahead, my chest cold and constricted. I knew something was bothering Slate, but I didn't have the energy to wheedle it out of him. And it turned out that I didn't have to; he made it clear with his next words.
“Looks like the cavalry is coming after all,” Slate muttered.
Chapter Thirteen
“There's no shame in using your strengths,” I said as I took Slate's hand. “And we are part of your strength, Slate. This is the reward you get
