Page 62 of Lucifer's Mirror
He shakes his head and then he’s back. “Hurry.”
At the end of the line, there’s a woman—or maybe a girl—she looks young, with short, matted black hair and a thin face. Her gray eyes gleam with intelligence, and she stands her ground as I approach. I hold up the knife.
The man tied behind her is babbling, his face a mask of fear, but she snaps at him in a language I don’t understand, and he goes still. I move closer and cut the rope that ties her to the man in front, then she twists so I can slice through the bonds behind her. She breaks free and holds out her hand. I realize she wants the knife, and after a moment’s hesitation, I hand it to her. “Tell them to help the wolf and the man on the horse,” I say, and she nods. “Oh, and get whoever is shooting the arrows.”
Zayne pulls me away. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve done what we need to do. And all the blood is having a weird effect on me.”
I turn to look into his eyes—they’re flashing between human and serpent, and his nostrils are flaring, and maybe his teeth are getting bigger. He’s right. We need to get out of here.
The girl is moving down the slave line, cutting people free and talking to them fiercely. I hope she’s telling them to fight. Because if they don’t, and we lose this one, they will be back tied up before I can say “serves you right.”
But most are yelling and heading into the fray, picking up whatever weapons they can find along the way. They look quite… eager. Our job is done, and I allow Zayne to tug me around. Time to get out of here.
Easier said than done. A solid wall of guards is heading our way. There’s no getting through that. Zayne must think the same because he drags me around in the opposite direction. I catch a glimpse of Khaosti. For a moment, I falter. He’s surrounded on all sides, fighting with tooth and claw, jaws dripping with crimson. Then we’re running again. Pain fills my body. I’m pretty sure I’ve torn open the wound in my side. I’m losing blood, and my head is swimming.
Then we skid to a halt. A huge figure bars our way. We can’t go forward, and a quick glance behind shows that route’s no better.
“Shit,” Zayne yells. “Run. I’ll hold him off.”
No way. I search frantically for something, anything that can help. But we’re unarmed, and the man has a big knife. He lunges toward us; we dodge, but he’s nimble for someone so big. There’s nowhere to go. And he knows it—there’s a grin on his ugly ass face. Zayne holds me tight.
“Sorry,” I hear him whisper.
This can’t be the end. But the man is coming toward us, knife held high. I’m filled with regret for what will never be. Except, only a foot away, he lurches and falls forward, crashing to the ground. A knife sticks out of the back of his head. The black-haired girl stands over him, a look of hatred on her face.
“Thanks,” I croak.
She nods and then disappears into the madness, and Zayne scoops me up and starts running. But there are people everywhere. Now I do close my eyes so I don’t see the end coming. And I don’t open them until something grabs Zayne from behind, and he screams.
Chapter 29
Aftermath
We’reflying.
Zayne is holding on to me tight. And Thanouq is holding on to Zayne. Huge talons grip his shoulders, and I wince. That has got to hurt. We’re flying low and fast, and soon we leave the heaving mass of chaos behind. It only takes seconds before we reach the small copse of trees where we left the horses.
Thanouq flies low and then drops us the last little bit. Zayne lands on his feet but then topples over, taking me with him. Luckily, I land on top of him, though he’s almost as hard as the ground. His arms are still around me, and I just lie there. Above us, Thanouq circles once—maybe he’s checking that we haven’t broken our necks. From the way he’s glaring down at us, that might very well have been his intention. Then, with a whoosh of his great wings, he speeds back to the fight.
From that last expression, I’m guessing we’re both in for a bollocking when he gets back. But I’m not sorry. We did what we felt we had to do. But not only that—we did some good.
I lie for a few seconds longer, breathing in the scent of Zayne, blood, and smoke. But he is really not that comfortable, and I poke a finger into his side. “You alive?” I ask.
“I am,” he replies. “And that’s something I wasn’t expecting to say.” He sighs, his warm breath brushing the top of my head. “I thought we were dead.”
“Me too.” I wriggle, but his hands tighten around me. “You can let me go now.”
His arms loosen at last, and I sort of roll off and onto my hands and knees. Beside me, Zayne pushes himself to his feet. “You need a hand?” he asks.
I don’t want to admit it, but the answer is a resounding yes. I nod.
I manage to sit back on my heels, but the movement is just about the final straw, and I hug my side with one arm and hold the other out to Zayne. He pulls me gently to my feet, then looks me over. His expression is blank, which is worrying. I guess I’ve moved beyond the teasing, you-look-like-hell stage into the you-look-like-death-warmed-up stage.
“You’re bleeding,” he says.
I glance down. Blood is oozing from between my splayed fingers. Ugh. I sway, a little lightheaded, and he tugs on my hand and leads me to the shade of the trees, where the horses are stamping restlessly. They smell the blood.
“Sit.” Zayne waves me to a boulder, and I totter over and collapse, biting back a whimper. He crosses to the horses and rummages in what looks like Khaosti’s saddlebags, then comes back with the salve, a bottle of water, and bandages. I don’t wait for him to say it. I just tug my T-shirt over my head—the effort very nearly kills me—and hold it against my breasts. He crouches down beside me and slowly unwinds the blood-soaked bandage. I look away, biting my lip so I don’t sound as pathetic as I feel. He wipes away the blood with a cool damp cloth, then gently strokes on the salve. I hadn’t been aware that gentle was in his repertoire—I must be in a bad way. Finally, he wraps a bandage around me, and I slump my shoulders.
