A shimmer in the air, a warm breeze ruffling her hair. A small scream of stretching, overstressed metal; the rifle, twisted into an unusable hoop, was flung across the room, landing on the slumped mess which used to be Hardison. A blurred streak resolved into the shreds of a black wool coat, thin curls of smoke rising from the fabric. Underneath, a three-piece suit, torn and peppered with holes; atop the tatterdemalion a sandy-dark head, damp hair bearing a frosting of rapidly melting snow-crystals.
The wall next to the desk shuddered like a drumhead, dust rising from the table-surface. Wren hit hard, leaving a dent in drywall before sliding down.
Another burst of warm air caressed Bea’s cheek, stirring tangled curls. She stared at the shadow looming over her, still blinking away afterimages, and the immediate flood of hot, bone-deep relief was so intense she flinched. Her hip banged the futon couch’s base, and Lukas’s hand halted in midair.
He was soaked almost clear through and oddly gaunt, stubbled cheeks hollow and his jaw working. His eyes were no longer dark but red, a wet vivid glow spreading in tiny droplets which winked out on invisible updrafts; he smelled of cold night wind, burning, and a clear colorless scent she recognized.
Pure, unfiltered rage. Her own anger was a single droplet to that ocean.
He crouched easily, regarding her, head slightly tilted. His largest fangs touched his lower lip, pressing gently; the truly scary thing, she realized afresh, was how controlled he was.
Lukas grimaced slightly, and the fangs receded. “All is well, Beatrice.” His hand didn’t move, palm-up, offering.
Oh, God. She reached for him, almost blindly, and let out a sobbing breath when her fingers met his.
He steadied her, clearly unworried about Wren’s presence; Bea couldn’t decide whether to keep an eye on the gasping heap who had just been holding a gun on her or stare at the monster who brushed at her shoulders, peered at her with those strange crimson eyes, and finally leaned close to inhale deeply.
That seemed to help, because when he withdrew the red glow had shrunk to those almost-familiar pinpricks. He held her shoulders, gave her one more long examination.
Under a heavy layer of smoke and winter night, he smelled so very familiar—the dry almost-musk of a healthy sandy-haired male. The thirst dilated at the back of her throat, she had to swallow hard against it.
“I thought you were dead,” she managed.
“Hardly.” A ghost of a smile; the crimson pinpricks vanished. His eyes were dark again, and strangely warm. The change was so sudden it almost robbed her of breath. “I have not enjoyed your company nearly enough.”
Really? After being blown up and shot at? Her gaze skipped past him—Wren was moving, it looked like he’d gotten his breath back.
Lukas’s hands tightened fractionally on her shoulders, a brief, consoling squeeze. “Are you hurt? Tell me.”
She managed a headshake. But it sure looks like he is.
“Very well. Sit, if you like. This may take a moment.” He let go of her, though lingeringly, as if he didn’t quite trust she could keep herself upright without the help.
She found she could, and watched Wren try to push himself back against the wall as Lukas bore down on him. Even in rags, her monster strolled as if in complete charge of everything the room contained, and honestly she couldn’t say he wasn’t.
“M-m-master…” Wren’s teeth chattered, chopping the word into quivering pieces. He had gone chalky, with a decided greenish undertone, and the black tactical breastplate creaked as he tried to scoot further. An invisible rippling descended upon him, both like and unlike the seals. He froze, though his ribs still heaved with deep panting breaths. One of his arms hung at a peculiar angle—looked like a humerus fracture.
Bea winced in sympathy.
“Be still,” Lukas said, almost kindly. “I did not mind the money you embezzled; you earned more than that with hard work. I did not mind your contact with hunter cells either, for it saved me the trouble of tracking them.” He stopped, very close to the other man, and folded gracefully into a crouch once more, balancing easily. “I cannot even blame you for covering up incursions for half a year hoping another sanguinant would topple me, for that is my own incompetence. I had calcified almost to the point of no return.”
“Master…” Wren’s mouth worked, spittle collecting at the corners, sliding down his chin. He trembled so hard the wall creaked like his body-armor, though the invisible weight forestalled any other movement. “I...I was misled.”
“Were you?” Lukas’s tone of gentle interest was downright chilling. “I suppose we might call it that. Still, all those things matter little. Even luring me away with months-old reports of an incursion was a good ruse, though a tired one. And yet.”
“I won’t ever do it again. P-p-please, Master.” It was jarring to hear such a big, brawny guy whine, mostly because Bea knew what it was like to plead with such overwhelming power. “I promise, I swear.”
“It is good to have a tool one knows the measure of,” Lukas said, softly. “But you attempted to break into a sealed saferoom where my leman rested.”
What? It took Bea a moment to realize what the hell he was talking about—the North Bluffs mansion, and the door unlocking itself.
So he had believed her about that. At the moment, she was just very, very glad he was occupied with something else. The rifle, bent nearly double, lay atop Hardison’s body; she hurriedly looked away. There was the door...but that was kind of useless, wasn’t it.
And really, why would she run? He was a monster, yes. He’d also come to get her, and Bea discovered it was incredibly comforting to be the person someone dropped everything and ran to help.
Had Jared felt this way when she showed up at the house on Noll Mountain? The loosening in the chest, the sudden sense of being able to breathe again, the oh, thank God, someone else, I don’t have to do everything alone?
Huge greasy drops of sweat stood out on Wren’s face, matching the shiny spit coating his chin. “Two hundred years,” he spat, suddenly. Looked like he’d gotten past fear and into defiance; Bea could absolutely relate. “You were never going to change me!”
