So had Slate. He pulled the Jeep to a stop beside the filled hole, finding it unerringly, and the headlights spotlighted the barely discernible edges. The rest of my men were waiting for us along that faint edge; they too knew the perimeter of Gargo's prison. I climbed out of the Jeep and went straight into a group hug. As I held them, I breathed them in; Torin, Declan, Gage, Banning, and Darcraxis. The men I loved. The combination of their scents did something to my body that had my muscles melting. They were my sunshine. I let out my breath on a long sigh and pulled them closer.
“El, what's going on here?” Gage, my griffin mate, asked, his eyes still within a calm, hazel range but his voice wary.
“Darc told you about Gargo's blood?” I countered his question with my own as I stood back, out of their arms.
They all nodded, some of them glancing at Slate and giving him a second nod as he walked up.
“The blood is driving the Zone residents insane,” Slate answered for me. “It started with the Felinae, who are evidently more sensitive to such things.”
“And we just came from a Troll fight,” I added.
“Trolls?” Declan's amethyst eyes went wide. “Are we going to have to repair your zone again?”
Slate grimaced. “We got it under control before they could do too much damage but if we don't get this infection cured soon I don't know what will happen.”
“What do I need to do?” Darcraxis settled his sparkling sapphire stare on Slate.
Darc is the tallest of my men but when he had been a God—a full God with all of his power—he'd been even taller, a giant really. This body was technically a miniature version of himself. Looking at him made that fact laughable. Darc was anything but miniature. Even his stance was impressive; his broad shoulders straight and ready to handle whatever we asked of him. He wasn't as thickly muscled as Gage—with his Griffin-build—but Darc's body was still muscular and even at rest it looked capable of anything. He shook his raven-black hair out of his face with a casual toss and lifted his chin confidently.
I almost believed he'd be okay.
“It was Elaria who was given the instructions.” Slate deferred to me.
“Given by whom?” Torin asked.
“A Naga seer we consulted,” I answered. “All the seer said was that we needed Darc's blood to counter Gargo's. I'm assuming that means he needs to bleed in the same place that Gargo did.”
“Rather simple,” Banning, my Blooder (aka vampire) prince, noted with a frown. He crossed his arms—nearly as impressive as Darc's—and his sleeve lifted to show a tattoo of my face. Technically it was Fortune's face, but it was the same one I wore in this life.
“God magic is usually simple,” Darc said, settling his stare back on me.
“It makes sense; that's how they intended to free Gargo,” Gage reminded us. “By draining El...” his voice faded as he realized what he was about to say. “Fuck, are we going to have to drain all of Darc's blood?”
The men turned their stares on Darcraxis. Even Binx and Aaro, who stood a few feet away, waited for his response.
“I will not allow myself to be drained completely,” Darc reassured us. “If more is required than I'm able to give, I will pause and recover before bleeding more.”
“Fuck,” I repeated Gage's sentiments. “Fuck,” I added another for good measure. “I don't like this. I can't stand here and watch you bleed out, Darc.”
“I can't stand by and watch Slate's people suffer for something I'm partially responsible for,” Darc countered.
“This is not your responsibility,” Slate said firmly. “Your help is greatly appreciated, but I don't want you doing it because you feel guilty.”
“That's not why I'm doing it.” Darc laid a hand on Slate's shoulder. “You're one of us. Family. If you suffer, we all suffer.”
Aaro made an approving and somewhat smug sound.
“Thank you.” Slate laid his hand over Darc's.
Darc turned and looked at the ground. “As I recall, most of the blood seeped into the earth near the hole. Some did get into the water, but I imagine that was diluted by the sea.”
Torin nodded and went with Darc to an area several feet to the right of the filled hole. “About here I think.”
Aaro jumped in the Jeep and drove it closer to the spot, giving the men some light. The beams caught the metal of Darc's dagger as he pulled the blade from a sheath on his belt. That was one thing about dressing like a Shining One, they tended toward a medieval flair and daggers were a common accessory.
“Wait!” I hurried over to Darc. “Let me come up with a song to have ready.”
“A song for what, my fire?” Darc asked with a wry twist of his lips. “I'm immortal and becoming more so every day; your song won't be necessary.”
“Just in case,” I insisted.
Darc spread his hands—one of which held his dagger—in an as-you-wish gesture.
Ky? I posed the question inside my mind.
A song to save a God's life or a song to refill his body with blood? Kyanite asked.
Refill him? I hadn't thought of that.
You can do anything, my love.
Nearly anything, RS huffed.
What's with the tone, RS? I asked.
You heard Darc; he's getting stronger. And you heard the psychic snake too; something will have to be done, girlfriend.
I thought we decided that— you know what? This isn't the time for this conversation. Ky, you got anything for blood?
I have a few options. Tell your lover to make the first cut.
I looked at Darc and whispered, “Okay.”
Darcraxis, God of Water and Darkness, sliced his forearm without hesitation. It was the kind of cut a truly suicidal person makes; one who knows enough to go along
