Trapped under their crushing weight, he fought, wrestled away from teeth. Not fast enough. He yelped and twisted sharply. One had bit him but missed the intended target and gashed his collarbone.
The familiar and horrifying icy sharpness of a knife slid into his ribcage. Gasping through gritted teeth, he dug his fingers into anything at hand to escape the demon dog pile. The knife disappeared before he could track which demon held the weapon. If he could take it, he could end this.
Once again the knife sailed in his direction, and in the tangle of bodies it sank into his thigh. Torn and burning muscles throbbed around the knife, a beacon of hope. He gripped the hilt protruding from his leg, yanked it free, and prayed he hadn’t lost too much strength or blood. Clamping his teeth tight, he sucked in a deep breath and centered his focus. Time to do what he did best. Kill.
He neatly sliced deep into the delicate skin of one demon’s inner arm. It reared up, and he used the advantage to lodge the knife through the side of its neck, severing the tendons and veins as he ripped it away. The demon fell, its hands clawing at its neck.
Keir quieted his mind, focused on the last demon. One arm free, he cracked the hilt into the demon’s temple, its balance thrown enough to leave a small window of opportunity. Weapon now between them, he drove the knife up, deep into the demon’s heart. The poor creature never had a chance. One little six-inch blade in his hand made a world of difference.
Three demon bodies lay in a broken mess on the road. Not his problem. The sun would return them to ash, destroying the evidence. He’d lost precious time and blood. Tucking his throbbing arm close to his body, he limped away from the grisly scene.
Two streets down, he hopped inside the car and locked the damn doors. Gingerly, he tested his arm from elbow to wrist. It hurt like hell, but nothing felt broken. His leg bled heavily, the warmth seeping over his thigh. Neither had healed, which told him every effort his body made toward survival focused on the hole in his side.
Could his body heal a gushing leg? No problem. A fractured arm? Easily. Internal injuries? Doable. All three? The combination was fatal.
He turned the key, threw the little car into gear, and sped off. Blood-slicked fingers gripped the wheel, and he pushed the car hard to wedge a good distance between him and Paris.
For nearly an hour, he steered with one hand and worked the pedals with the wrong leg. Maneuvering the last few city streets had been tricky, but the awaited ease of the country drive brought a new set of problems. Hours of effort to keep the car on the road over the long trip left his body stiff and sore even in undamaged places.
Almost home. The widow’s house lay at the end of the long lane just ahead, bringing on the intimidating challenge of parking her car. Keir drove slowly down the lane to the barn’s overhang and used the weight of his body to turn the wheel. He braked, and quickly pulled out the keys. The engine shuddered into silence.
He’d borrowed this car in the past, always leaving it with a full tank of gas, but not this time. Didn’t matter. The widow wouldn’t care about the missing gas when she saw the buttery cream leather interior smeared with blood. If he made it home, Wolfe should be able to take care of the mess, but at the moment he wasn’t sure it was possible.
After nudging the door open, he stumbled out, his arm numb and weak at his side. His sluggish muscles protested any motion. Slipping behind the barn, he headed for a gently swelling hill. Home lay just on the other side. Dew-slicked grass didn’t help, but it could hardly be blamed for his struggles, not when his body made every effort to shut down and heal. His lungs burned with each breath. He fought desperately to keep his body from slipping into sleep. If he slept now, the morning sun would fry him.
His legs buckled, and he grunted as he fell to his knees. Holding his useless arm tight against his bleeding ribs, he crawled. His leg muscles cramped, the pain thrumming down to his toes. His damaged leg faltered, no longer responding to his will.
Keir hit the ground hard, gasping, attempting to breathe through the agony. He’d landed on his injured arm, and each frantic breath for oxygen triggered a new torture with each expansion of his ribcage.
He shoved his broken body away from the sweet smell of earth and crushed grass and flopped onto his back. Stars dotted the clear night sky, but then his vision blurred, and the sky went black. A few deep breaths and the stars blinked back. He had to stay conscious. Without immediate access to blood for a speedy recovery, the healing sleep would take him against his will. He’d heard those who fought the healing sleep endured all manner of hallucinations before getting sucked in, anyway. He might just find out the truth of it tonight.
If he died, Arianne wouldn’t know about the demons, which would hardly matter because without him she wouldn’t have long to live. He couldn’t physically make it to the entrance, but he had to get inside Galbraith before the sun rose.
The city lay somewhere below him. He had one shot. His body would probably shut down on impact, but he’d be inside. At the very least, the teeth marks on his neck would give her evidence of demons. Keir lost his vision completely as he took Spirit, falling through soil and rock to the city below.
Chapter 5
Galbraith
Cleopatra took a small sip of her Earl Gray. This week had been dismal, a slight deviation from the norm, and not even the beauty of the dining hall could lift her spirits. The circular room had lovely gothic alcoves evenly spaced along the wall, the dining tables tucked beneath each.
Near the ceiling and between the alcoves, each aristocratic family’s crest was represented, the fabric hanging so very still. Circling vines and flowers in a rich, red brown had been painted on the walls, trailing onto the ceiling.
Tonight it didn’t move her, and sadly, very few things could lately. Long ago she’d embraced the thrill of being alive. With her dear friend, Arianne, at her side, they’d run through the halls, hid in the church balcony for hours, leaped into the pond. Laughed.
The pond had been the final straw. Arianne’s father had glowered, but never said a word. Her father hadn’t reacted well. Cleopatra had been shut in her home, left in solitude for weeks, and forbidden from seeing her troublesome friend. Her father never changed his mind about her friendship with Arianne, and eventually she’d lost hope.
Arianne had grown up fast, taking on the massive responsibility of ruling her city, but her core defiance remained firmly intact. She was brash, fearless, and enjoyed life even within the limitations of her ruling status. Cleopatra couldn’t help but be envious. They’d been the same. Those qualities had once thrived inside her, but now that she’d grown, she was empty.
They rarely saw each other. Cleopatra couldn’t initiate contact, not when the constant scrutiny of her peers had her second-guessing every move she made. Any unladylike behavior and they would immediately report to her parents. She no longer had the heart to sit through another soul-crushing lecture.
Tonight she craved a dose of friendship, and so she sat alone at her family’s table. The back-lit glass panels under the alcove mimicked windows, made her feel exposed. She had no choice. This was the only way they could meet, just for a while. If the lady of Galbraith sat at your table, you stayed, end of story.
Cleopatra had eaten with her parents and dawdled through the entire meal, annoying them enough that they’d left half an hour ago. Arianne tended to wake late, and others with the same penchant were slowly arriving. Perched alone at her family’s table, prim and proper in her pale blue empire gown, she waited.
Lady Arianne breezed through the open entry doors, her crimson gown crisp and stiff, shifting rather than flowing. Five couples sat scattered throughout the dining hall, and all perked up at the lady’s swift entrance. She ignored every single one.
The lady of Galbraith