Twisted Soul (Cursed Legacies #3)

15. Maven

15

MAVEN

Breaking Douglas’s nose is satisfying—but it’s far more satisfying when his new injury doesn’t throw him off.

Though he’s dropped his gun, he’s already withdrawing a dagger made of blessed bone, aiming for where my heart would be. I knock it from his hand, but in an impressive display of agility, his other hand catches the weapon before he tries again to drive it into my chest.

I dodge, but a grin splits my face. Douglas’s movements are concise, and his technique is solid. So far, he hasn’t started monologuing or screeching like many people do in a fight.

“Nice to meet you,” I tell him, genuinely meaning it because a decent combat partner is hard to come by.

“Fuck you,” he retorts, trying again.

He stabs, I dodge, and when I test a savage kick to his side, he tries to grab my leg. I let him and then jump, simultaneously wrapping my other leg around his arm to bring him to the snow. He breaks out of the hold quickly, trying to slam the butt of his gun into my head, but I roll aside.

“We found your little one-eyed, rotting distraction in Maine. You’re fucking demented,” he spits.

“Thanks.” I dodge another strike.

“Where’s that depraved little incubus shit?”

Screams echo behind us, so shrill that we both glance over in time to see one of the bounty hunters literally clawing a fellow hunter’s face off. Another bounty hunter is tearing his own hair out, laughing maniacally, and shooting in every direction as blood dribbles from his nose, ears, and eyes. One moment, he’s there, and then Crypt’s hand flashes out of nowhere before they both vanish.

How gruesome. I grin.

“Looks like he’s playing with your friends.”

Douglas is pissed, and his next blow is twice as brutal. For a moment, we’re trapped in my favorite dance—the deadly tango of a good old-fashioned knife fight. He slashes, I sidestep. I stab, he swerves. Our movements could be mistaken as coordinated if someone stumbled upon this scene without context.

Gods, I’ve missed a good fight.

Other bounty hunters and hellhounds cry out, no doubt falling to my formidable matches. I’m not trying my hardest, but Douglas is doing so well that I decide to test him. Slipping Pierce from my sleeve, I butt the end of it into his forehead and take advantage of his momentary surprise to make a move for his chest. I don’t actually intend to kill him yet—this fight is too refreshing.

He breaks away to regain his footing, but it's too late. He missed it.

“Disappointing. You missed a golden opportunity,” I sigh.

He wipes blood off his face as we circle, and I notice that his green eyes light up momentarily when one of the caster bounty hunters casts a spell nearby.

“Bitch, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“When I went for your chest, mine was wide open. I assume you’re not holding that blessed bone dagger for shits and giggles. Try harder.”

This time, when I launch toward him, I feign right before crouching to sweep my leg, connecting with the backs of his knees so he falls back into the thick snow on the ground. He shouts, but the moment I’m on top of him, ready to strike, he finally finds a new opening and drives the dagger into the place where my heart would be.

Fuck , that hurts. I didn’t expect him to actually land the blow.

Still, the thrill of finally meeting someone worth fighting has me grinning as the agony spreads through my chest and my blood dribbles onto him.

“Much better.”

Douglas blinks down at the blessed bone in my chest, then squints at me.

“What the hell kind of freak of nature are you? They said you were a revenant. This should have killed you.”

It might, temporarily. I was having too much fun, and now I’m at risk of passing out from blood loss, which would be really fucking inconvenient.

Instead of addressing his confusion, I shrug. “I’d return the favor, but you’re surprisingly fun to fight. Between you and me, I miss daily combat. So I’ll let your little ambush slide—but the next time you find me, if you target any of my matches, I’ll rip your beating heart out and feed it to you. Got it?”

Before my words can fully sink into his ginger head, I slam Pierce’s butt into his temple hard enough that he’s knocked out cold. Blood steadily trickles from his nose as I stand to check my surroundings. Several bounty hunters lay frozen or dead in the snow alongside hellhounds, but I still hear fighting on the other side of the cabin.

I want to check on my matches, but first, I need to make sure they don’t have a synchronized aneurysm seeing me stabbed through the chest yet again.

Yanking the blessed bone blade from my chest, I watch it crumble to ash. That’s the kicker to blessed bone weapons—they’re only good for one use. Grimacing as my vision wobbles, I use the hellhound’s life force for a patchy healing spell to get rid of the worst of the damage inside my chest.

By the time a very blood-spattered Crypt appears and pulls me into his arms, I’m no longer on the verge of fainting from blood loss. Everett is at my side a moment later. I check them both for injuries, but aside from a hellhound bite that's already nearly completely healed on one of Crypt's arms, they're okay.

Where are you and Baelfire? I send to Silas.

Not far. He was shot with a shifter-specific tranquilizer that prevents him from healing, but I’m fixing it.

My teeth clench at the knowledge that Baelfire is hurt, but Everett gingerly lifts the edge of my sweatshirt and swears.

“There are fucking bullets in your stomach,” he seethes.

I glance down and pick one out, flicking the bloodied metal away. My head spins since I’ve lost more blood than I anticipated, but I ignore it like I was trained to, just like I ignore the lingering waves of pain in my stomach and chest.

“They didn’t hit anything too important. More importantly, that was far too small a group of bounty hunters for the threat we pose. Others will probably arrive soon.”

I need you to transport us away from here, I tell Silas telepathically.

Are you running low on life forces to wield, my vicious revenant? he asks, teasing.

Yes, actually. I don't want to risk dipping into Somnus’s life force before we find etherium.

In that case, I can certainly ? —

He goes suddenly silent.

I tense. Silas?

His voice is strained, even telepathically. Gods above, I will never grow accustomed to seeing souls reaped. I have yet to see the reaper goddess’s face, but I dread the day I finally do.

Meanwhile, Crypt's tempestuous glare drops to Douglas, who is still passed out in the snow. “Shall we take this one's head as a trophy before we go, love? It's the least he can repay for harming you.”

I shake my head as Everett carefully pries another bullet from my side. He's so upset by my injuries that he's trembling, but to his credit, there is no frost climbing up his arms. In fact, the only frost here is blooming wherever he gently brushes his fingers, skillfully sealing my wounds with a numbing cold that somehow soothes the pain.

I've never seen his ability so accurate.

Interesting.

“Douglas can live for now,” I tell Crypt. “He’s a fun opponent. Besides, he now thinks I'm not a revenant, which he'll relay to the Legacy Council. The more confused they are, the better for us.”

A buzzing from one of my pockets startles me, and I fumble with the phone before finally answering the damn thing. Before I can say anything, a familiar voice crackles over the line.

“ Forty-eight motherfucking calls? Are you shitting me? All right, stalker caller. You had better be a really hot bitch with huge tits and a raging demon kink because if I find out you're just some fucking spammer trying to tell me about my car’s extended warranty, I’m going to?—”

“Let me guess. Rip my head off?” I say coldly.

Melchom goes dead silent. Meanwhile, Everett pulls my phone away from my ear to tap a button. The next time the demon talks, it's much louder, so they can both hear the slight tremble in Melchom’s voice.

“Oh! I—it’s you. I, um…thought you said you wouldn't need me again, telum.” He chuckles nervously. “Look, babe, about that whole changeling thing—I swear on my tail that I had no idea those Remitters were going to send it to Everbound to fuck with your plans. I never would’ve sold it a single speck of nightshade root powder if I knew?—”

“You’re a shitty liar, Melchom.”

Everett grumbles unhappily about hearing the demon’s taboo name. Crypt leans forward to speak more clearly into the phone.

“Melchom, is it?”

The demon hisses. “Who the fuck is that? That’s more than enough infernal name-dropping?—”

“Oh, hardly.” Crypt's tone turns pitch black, his markings lighting up ominously. “Our pretty scourge seems to think you intentionally misled her, which resulted in a rather agonizing memory for me. So you had better pray to hell or hedonism or whatever it is that demons believe in that you have useful information to offer her. If not, I will hunt you down, drive you mad, rip your horns out, and shove them up your flaccid little prick.”

I smirk at the menace lacing my match’s tone—and because I can't help finding Everett's disturbed expression funny.

Melchom audibly gulps. “Flaming shitballs. Is it…it’s you! Never thought I'd talk to the Nightmare Prince. You’re running with the telum now, huh? Listen, I'm a huge fan, but you gotta be more specific about what you want from me.”

“There's an elusive black market dealer with a stash of etherium,” I say smoothly. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

Melchom sounds like he's smoking. “Ah, now what's this? The telum wants god rocks? Odd. But you know, if my slut of a girlfriend heard this, she'd be tickled pink. See, she bought into all these outlandish rumors that were circling the demon community years ago?—”

He's wasting time. When I spot a haunted-looking Silas and exhausted Baelfire walking towards us through the trees, side-stepping corpses and massive shards of ice that must be from Everett, I decide to speed things along.

“ Invoco te Melchom, filium tenebrarum, filium gehennae ,” I recite in the Nether tongue.

It's the very beginning of a demonic ritual I witnessed necromancers perform countless times when I was young. Melchom must not want a piece of my dark soul in exchange for being shackled to me for all eternity because he makes a horrified, inhuman squawking sound.

“No! Stop! Stop it right now. The dealer you want goes by The Scarab, and that's all I fucking know! Okay? That's it!”

Silas and Baelfire finally stop beside us, and I’m relieved to see Bael has healed. But as if the gods want to see how much they can throw at me at once, distant howls sound.

More hellhounds. Fucking great.

“Well?” Melchom demands, still pissy about my nearly invoking his essence. “I told you: The Scarab. All I know is his fucking name, I swear. And if you try to scare the living hells out of me again?—”

“Don’t threaten my mate,” Bael snaps.

Melchom pauses. “Whoa, there. Mate? Hang on a motherfucking second. Telum , don’t tell me you…got matches?” He bursts into riotous laughter. “Is that why the Nightmare Prince is with you, too? Hells and bells! Hate ‘em or love ‘em, the gods do have one wild fucking sense of humor, huh? Hey, you know, you’re a scary little fuck, but you’re kinda hot, so if you’re looking to add to your bouquet of dicks, mine’s not half bad?—”

I hang up before the four extremely pissed-off matches surrounding me can snap my burner phone in half. More bounty hunters are on their way, and all I got out of Melchom was a stupid name, so it’s time we move on.

Except Silas’s ruby irises trap mine. “Did that demon say your dealer is called The Scarab?”

I nod.

I can practically see thoughts clicking into place in his head as he mutters to himself. “The symbol of the life cycle. Rebirth. Clever, and if it’s true, I always suspected…”

“If you know something, spit it out,” Everett snaps, irritable from the call with the demon.

Howling erupts alarmingly close to us this time, but all my ice elemental has to do is look in that direction, and a sharp blast of ice sweeps past us. A loud crack echoes through the woods before the howls become startled barks. Bounty hunters shout in alarm, and then it all cuts off at once, leaving the woods eerily silent again.

We all look at Everett.

“They were crossing over a frozen lake I noticed yesterday. Makes freezing shit easy,” he mutters.

Impressive.

And again, far more concise than usual.

Silas looks back at me, his expression intense. “The Scarab is…” His mouth moves, but his voice cuts off, and he huffs. “I know who we’re looking for and where to find him. I can do the transportation spell, but I'll need to feed?—”

Before he’s finished speaking, I sheath Pierce and step forward, pulling my hair away from one side of my neck.

“Take it.”

“No,” Everett cuts in, stepping in front of me. “She's lost enough blood as it is. Drink from someone else.”

I start to argue that he could literally drink all of my blood, and I’d still wake up just fine sooner or later, but Crypt holds out his wrist.

“Quicky now, Crane. Before more meddling hounds descend.”

Silas pulls a face, but being a pragmatic fae, he bites into the incubus's wrist. Crypt doesn't even flinch.

But the moment Silas swallows, he breaks away, choking on and promptly heaving Crypt's blood back up into the nearest snow drift.

Shit.

What if…

I awkwardly rub Silas's back in the most supportive gesture I can manage. When he's no longer gagging, I offer a reassuring smile and use one of my dark sweater’s too-long sleeves to wipe lingering red off his face.

“I think you have to feed from me.”

He considers that and nods wearily before casting a disgusted look at Crypt. “Your blood is revolting, by the way. It tastes like carbonated battery acid.”

Crypt hums. “Not nearly as nice as Maven's, as I’ve discovered. Her blood is just as lovely as she is.”

He’s just saying that to get a rise out of Silas, and it seems like it’s working. Actually, it seems like his boat-rocking is beginning to piss off the others, too, since they’re still annoyed from that little phone call.

I look over at Douglas and notice he's starting to stir, groaning quietly. With a sigh, I withdraw Pierce and walk back to him as his eyes flutter open.

“Too soon. Back to sleep.”

Slamming the dagger’s blunt end into his opposite temple, I watch as he blacks out again. He’ll wake up with a fucking nasty concussion and a raging headache. Shaking out my hand, I turn back to the others. They’re all frowning at me.

“Why leave him alive?” Silas frowns. “That seems uncharacteristic of you.”

I shrug. “It is, but I like him.”

Baelfire growls. “You what? That’s it, I'm with Si. Let's kill the guy.”

“Slowly and violently,” Crypt agrees. “I call dibs.”

“Fine by me. I think we'll all like him more when he's dead,” Everett adds crisply.

Gods. They're all so jealous and over the top, it’s damn near toxic.

I love it.

“Are we worried about Douglas tracing your magic where we’re going?” I ask Silas.

He shakes his head, his pupils dilating when I offer the side of my neck again. He cradles the other side of my neck with his hand, tenderly brushing his lips against the place he’s about to bite.

No, my blood blossom, he says telepathically in fae. No one will be able to breach where we’re going.

Good. Then bite me. It's time we meet The Scarab.