Laws Of The Blood - Heroes Part 20

Valentine then took a deep breath as she straightened to her not particularly significant height. She held her hands up at shoulder height, palms facing out. Very much a ritual pose. For a second, Haven was reminded of the Snake G.o.ddess amulet she wore.

Valentine spoke, slowly and clearly, her accent shifting to something that sounded kind of Greek to Haven. "Martina, blood daughter of Marco, of the line descended of Corvical."

"How did you know?" Martina demanded.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of your head, I bet, Haven thought.

Valentine continued speaking. "I declare you a danger to the G.o.ddess's way. I declare you banished from the dark. I take your heart as mine."

Martina took a step back, still looking confused even as she completely vamped out into full fangs and claws. Valentine just stood there. Martina's muscles bunched. She sprang at the smaller woman.

What happened then was extremely fast, so fast Haven had trouble following the action. It was also extremely b.l.o.o.d.y.

When the winner stepped back, Haven looked at the twitching body lying on the floor.

"You didn't take her heart."

"Wanted to give her a little time to think about her sins," Valentine answered as she wiped blood off her hands onto her short black skirt.

Haven looked around for Martina's missing head. When he found it, he saw that her eyes were open, her mouth moving. "She's not dead."

"She's dead. You get decapitated, you're dead. It'll take a few minutes for her consciousness to dissipate, though." When Valentine went on, Haven knew she was really speaking to the dying Martina. "I would like for her to understand that her trying to separate strigoi from Nighthawks was inviting chaos into a culture already on the edge of extinction. She wanted to live without limits, without laws."

"I thought you said the Laws are s.h.i.t," Haven confronted Valentine.

"The Council's Laws don't concern me, but something older does," she answered. "I serve justice, Mr. Haven. Justice doesn't have anything to do with the law."

"You got that right," he agreed. He still didn't like the way the severed head continued to moan from where it had ended up wedged between two of the display cases. Magic hovered all around, like waiting ghosts, and the place reeked of fresh blood. The alarms still sounded.Haven hefted the sword, squared his shoulders, and said the last thing he wanted to say. "Dragon's waiting. Let's go."

"How do we get at it?" Haven questioned when he and Valentine reached the back of the crowd outside the hotel. People were gathered thickly on the street and sidewalk adjacent to a rear garden. They were clapping and pointing, laughing and gasping in wonder.

"How are they doing that?" was a common comment.

So was, "Cool special effect."

And, "Is that real fire?"

"Is this safe?" Haven heard someone say, though they didn't make any effort to leave.

"Did you see the way that tower fell down? I think that's real fire."

"They use real fire in the volcano at the Mirage," someone pointed out. "A dragon's cooler than a volcano."

"Not as cool as the pirate show."

Haven dragged his attention away from the onlookers. It was only a stalling technique, anyway. If people were stupid enough to stand around and gawk, it was their problem. Or possibly, it was Valentine's.

"Get everyone away from here," he ordered her, pleased at the role reversal for a moment.

Then he looked at the dragon.

"Holy s.h.i.t."

He looked very closely, trying to decide if it was completely made out of fire. All he could tell was that it burned. He'd never thought much about dragons. He'd seen them on tattoos, and on artwork. Char read fantasy novels. The covers of those books were full of dragons. Mostly benign-looking creatures. The dragons in art didn't blaze. This one had ruby red scales beneath the fire. The scales themselves had a moving, molten quality to them. There were black patches dotted on the scales, like lava crusting into obsidian. Its eyes were hot gold, the expression in them the only thing cold about the creature. The thing's form was all sharp angles of claw and fanged snout, and sinuous, flowing body. About twenty feet long, with a huge head. Haven could sense it growing through the fur of flames and heat haze. There were wings as well, flapping and uncurling, flapping and growing, emerging like the wings of a newborn b.u.t.terfly. "Will it fly?" he asked Valentine.

"Soon."

"Can it spout fire?"

"Soon," she answered again.

Haven decided it was futile to try to bull his way through the crowd here at its thickest point. Even if he tried waving the sword at the onlookers, they'd think it was part of the show. So he turned around and moved quickly back to the main hotel entrance. From there he ran through the lobby and followed the smell of smoke to the tower where the monster had been born, and had then left in the most direct way possible. Haven had glimpsed the gaping hole in the tower wall from the outside, and figured he could make his way through the rubble if he followed the dragon's path. The dragon's attention had been on the crowd, and on scanning the busy airport traffic that came in so close over the hotels.

Maybe it sensed the flying things as rivals, or prey. What Haven hoped was that he could sneak up on the monster's back while its attention was elsewhere.

Hurrying through the remains of the tower was hard. Broken walls formed barriers to climb and circ.u.mvent. The sprinkler system had kept the fire damage to a minimum, but it had also turned the floors into slippery streams, and created puddles in the wreckage that Haven had to wade through in almost complete darkness. He wished he had a sheath for the stupid, heavy sword, but he made do having to carry it.

The journey through the dark held its hazards, but it didn't go on for long. But even a few minutes alone in the dark gave him time to think. He thought about Char, and about how she was going to live forever, and he would never see her again. He thought about not getting out of this alive, and how there had been a time when he had gone into every fight for the thrill of it, never caring if he got out alive. He thought about the dream of dying by fire, and hoped to h.e.l.l it wouldn't hurt as bad for real as it had in the dream. He thought about not having had the chance to say goodbye to her, but knew he didn't dare expend the energy to try for some sort of telepathic communication now. He thought about turning around and getting the h.e.l.l out of Vegas. He even stopped for a moment, and muttered, "f.u.c.k this." Then he shifted the sword in his sweating hands, and went on.

The dragon's trail led to the hole it had made in the side of the building, and the glow from the dragon itself illuminated the rest of the way to the garden.

Haven hesitated for only a moment when he reached the outside, to a.s.sess the ground before him and the whereabouts of the monster. It hadn't gone anywhere. Its wings were still unfolding. They were beautiful things, even still stunted and immature, made of fire and smoke. He wished now that he'd asked Valentine if she knew exactly how the mortal picked for the task stayed the dragon, but it was too late to check an instruction manual now. Watching the wings flutter and grow, he decided that maybe the spot between where they sprouted on the dragon's spine was a vulnerable point. Might as well make that the point of attack.

Besides, a large piece of the fallen tower wall jutted up from the ground near the dragon's back. Haven didn't have time to see whether the rubble would hold his weight. He didn't let himself think. He hefted the sword in his hands. He ran up the broken wall.

He jumped on the dragon's back.

He exhaled as he landed feet first on the dragon's spine. The next breath he took burned his lungs. His clothes caught on fire as he landed on the creature's back. Haven screamed as skin melted and sloughed off his face and his hands. The world went up in pain.

For a h.e.l.lish moment, Jebel Haven lost his mind, and was glad of it. If he was maddened by the agony, he could get on with dying and not have to struggle though any action that would make him linger in this burning world. Then dragon skin rippled beneath the melting soles of his boots. Wings fluttered, stirring burning ash through the air. Ash that was dying bits of Jebel Haven.

The knowledge woke him up, and p.i.s.sed him off. If he was going to die, he had to die fighting. He didn't know any other way.

He didn't know how he kept his grip on the sword. In fact, the sword was the only thing in the world that was cool. While everything around him was flame, the weapon was cold steel ice. Haven felt the power of it, thrumming through him, stronger than the pain.

He had magic in him, right? An inborn ability to manipulate it? All he had to do was lift the sword. His arms couldn't do it, he already knew that.

Think.

He thought about lifting the sword. And the sword lifted his arms. The sword held him up. He thought about it some more, and the sword twisted, turned downward. The sword found the vulnerable spot. Jebel didn't see the exact place to strike, but the sword knew it. The sword urged him on, to gather all the strength he had in him.

The dragon turned its head to look at Haven, its golden eyes full of malevolent intelligence.

If he'd had any spit left in him, Jebel Haven would have spit in those eyes. As it was, he managed to croak, "Screw you."

And let the sword take the fall.

He plunged forward with it, tumbling into the spurting fountain of lava that was the wounded dragon's blood. He prayed for the world to go dark then, but instead it went very, very bright.

Chapter 21

IT WAS THE cool blue light, a small spot shining bravely amid the overwhelming fiery red, that drew Valentine's attention. She knew that the dragon didn't notice Haven, not at first. It knew instinctively that mortals were no danger to it. It had some of the arrogance of the magician that had brought it to life. The dragon wanted to grow its wings and fly. To breathe flame and burn the world. It was impatient, but it had no fear.

She knew fear, fear for a mortal man's life as she ignored the police cars and the fire trucks after making strong mental suggestions to direct their activity into an effort to save the hotel. She pretty much ignored the people that insisted on milling around. She'd gotten enough innocent bystanders to leave the area that she didn't feel guilty. Anyone who was stupid enough to hang around when a dragon was about deserved what they got. Flame rained down. Toxic fumes swirled along with the smoke and ash. Amid all that, a man faced living h.e.l.l for the sake of them all.

Haven did not deserve what was happening to him. She could hear him screaming. She could smell his flesh. She could taste it in the ashes drifting on the wind. His blood bubbled and cooked.

And he fought. He would not give up. She knew that when the cold blue light appeared around him. She didn't think Haven knew what he was doing when he opened himself to the sacrifice and fed his soul into the sword. The sword, then, knew what to do. The cold light of the sword's power surrounded Haven, but it could shield him only a little. And a great deal of damage had already been done.

Valentine did not know when she began creeping closer. She wanted to help, wanted to do something. It wasn't fair that the rules of magic didn't work that way. Here she was, an ancient being of power and great wisdom - give or take a few really major f.u.c.kups - and all that the laws of magic allowed was for her to give advice and stand around and wa The flash of light blew away thought, blew away everything but awareness of light. Knocked her backward, and flat on her back.

The temperature dropped like a rock.

Thank the G.o.ddess, was her first thought as she lay on the broken ground, staring up at the full moon over Las Vegas.

"Well, hasn't this been an interesting evening," she murmured.

It was all so big - the night, the world...

Then Valentine remembered Haven, and moved with the speed of lightning. She had to sprint across a layer of hot coals, the disintegrating remains of the dragon. Mortals wouldn't know it had existed, wouldn't know someone had saved their sorry a.s.ses.

That was so unfair.

Haven still had the sword grasped in what was left of his hand. A faint crackle of blue energy ran over the metal and around Haven's burned and broken form. Valentine knelt in the warm ashes beside him. She ran her hand over him, sensing without touching.

She was a vampire; horror should not affect her. Making death was a craving. She was a Nighthawk, an eater of evil. She was thousands of years old, and had seen it all. This hurt. The death of a hero hurt.

Only he wasn't dead yet. The poor darling.

Near dead, yes. But she sensed the fading life in him. She sensed his awareness. He was pain. He was the longing for the ending of pain.

Valentine touched him, a finger almost hovering on his forehead. "Soon, sweetheart. Soon."

A word came back to her, communication filtered through the faint, gentle contact. Why?

The word took Valentine by surprise. And the sheer, stubborn cussedness that still made him cling to life despite the agony amazed her.

"Tenacious b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said, sitting back on her heels. From this position, she studied what was left of him, rather than concentrating on the hideous wounds. He had a mouth left. His throat was intact.

It occurred to her that there was something she could do.

Once she made up her mind, Valentine didn't take time for gentleness. She grabbed Haven by the seared meat that had been his shoulders, and pulled his head into her lap. She extended mating fangs and bit deeply into her own wrist. Once blood was flowing freely, she pressed Haven's mouth against the wound. Drink, she thought at him. Drink deep.

Char. Even in this extremis, a picture of the other vampire formed in his mind. Char Drink deep and live. Valentine's command overrode any protest. Her blood was filling his mouth. Eventually, he swallowed. Once the taste of life was in him, he could not stop.

Valentine closed her eyes and whispered as she flowed into him, blending her life with another's. There had been enough evil magic in this place tonight. The words of power she drew out of long memory were life-giving, lifesaving, an act of love.

Desire roiled in her, hot as dragon fire. Desire awakened her. She could not taste him. She could not take him. She could only give, but how she wanted. Hunger bound her to him, as it would bind him to her. At another time, but very soon, she would take him into her the way he took her now. Then they would be lovers for as long a little while as the needs of their kind allowed.

"What has she done?"

Char felt the mating energy all around her as she ran across the field of ashes. It had been a garden not so long before. There had been darker energy here not so long ago. She recognized the residue of stubborn anger, and that was her Jebel. She was full of wonder at the way he'd expended magic in this place. And knew he had expended himself in the process. She had run here in tears, expecting to find her Jebel dead.

"What has she done?" Char questioned again, expecting no answer from Geoff, who ran at her side. She already knew what the b.i.t.c.h had done. What was happening right now.

Char crushed burnt flowers beneath her feet, as well as broken gla.s.s and charred bits of what had been one of the many towers of the Silk Road. Firefighters roamed through the ruins of the tower, onlookers gathered beyond a cordoned-off area across the street, but there were no mortals in the garden. Not exactly. Not anymore.

Jebel, Char grieved. I should have been here to help him. It should be me.

"He's mine!" she declared, coming upon where Valentine knelt with Jebel in her lap.

The old Nighthawk's head was thrown back, a look of longing and ecstasy transforming her beautiful face into something far more stunning. How could she compete with that?

"d.a.m.n you!" Char screamed, throwing herself forward.

Geoff caught Char around the waist, held on tight as she twisted and began to transform. The fury that surged from her hit him like a hammer blow, but he would not let her go.

No! he shouted into her mind, loud and commanding. He threw up a mental wall around Char and himself, holding her to her human shape with an effort that sent pain singing through him. Do you want Haven dead? Do you want to die?He's mine!

Char McCairn was smart. She managed to fight down her instincts. "Let go of me," she said. They looked at each other for a few moments before she added, "Please." She was crying. It was the sign of a bereaved woman, not an angry vampire. Fury bubbled under the surface, but she had it together.

He didn't want to let her go. He wanted to hold her in his arms, maybe forever, but at least for a good, long now. But for the moment he stepped back, and kept his mouth shut. Haven's fate was a matter between Char and Valentine.

Valentine still cradled Haven in her lap, but he was no longer suckling. His eyes were closed, and her fingers stroked over the mottled red new skin of his cheeks, and forehead and lips.

Char stepped up to them and looked down at Jebel for a long time. He was unconscious, she could not touch his thoughts, but life was strong in him. He was injured still, weak as a kitten, but he was not the dying man she'd run across the city to find. He was healing. Another vampire's blood was doing that for him. Char hadn't thought the companion ritual could be used to save a life. But she knew that the ritual had taken Jebel from her life.

After a while she looked at Valentine. The old vampire gazed up at her with a dazed expression. There was no guilt in Valentine.

No shame over what she'd stolen. "He's mine," Char told her. "He's always been mine."

Valentine made the faintest gesture of negation. "He had no blood of yours in him. For which I thank you."

"Thank me?" Char heard her voice rise in bitter indignation. Her claws bit into her balled fists. She hated when Sterling's hands landed on her shoulders. He projected calm she didn't want, but she ended up relying on it anyway. "Thank me for waiting for him to make a choice?" she questioned again. "So it would be easier for you to steal him away?"

Valentine gave a faint shake of her head again. She seemed very tired. "Thank you, because if he had not been pure mortal, he could not have done what he had to do. He accepted the sacrifice," she went on. "Went willingly to certain death. He saved the city. That deserved a healing."

"Is that what you call it?" Char shouted at the woman. "You gave him your blood. He's mine!"

Behind her, Sterling whispered, "Not now."

Before her, Valentine said, "He is alive."