Shady Lady (Corine Solomon 3)

I didn’t understand why it wasn’t engaging. If it had been sent to kill me, well, I was helpless. Then it shredded my blouse with its talons—and I knew. My skirt fell in tatters beneath razor claws. No. Not that. Just kill me. Please.

It slammed me to the ground and came down over me. The scaly hide bit into my skin, echoed by the painful prick of the metal spikes on its harness. I tried to keep my thighs together, but it ripped them wide-open with a casual gesture. I ground my teeth. It couldn’t end like this: raped and murdered in a village whose name I didn’t even know.

Think.

The demon ran a claw tip down my neck. I felt almost no pain, but then hot blood trickled down my neck. Its long, forked tongue flickered over my skin, snakelike, and it shuddered in pleasure. I lay still, trying not to provoke it. Take your time. I’m no threat. The crucifix had fallen to my side when the demon knocked me down. I fumbled for it, a new idea kindling. If only I could—

Got it. I curled my fingers around it and dropped my mental blocks. As I’d hoped, the years of priestly faith remained, there for the taking. I let their surety and peace swell through me. I didn’t believe, but four hundred years of devotion offered significant power, and I owned it now.

To distract the creature, I softened beneath it. I couldn’t bring myself to arch or moan, but it noticed. The fiend paused in licking up my blood. “Do you attempt to bargain for a painless death?”

In answer I curled my free hand through its harness. It couldn’t know my gift, what had been my one little useless gift. Though I was more now, the touch would save me. Bolstered by the gentle strength and piety of long-dead holy men, I rode the anguish that blazed through me. For countless, infinite moments, I waded through the degradation, terror, and agony it lived to inflict. I lived a thousand nightmares before it carried me to the heart of what I must know.

When I came to myself again, rich in new knowledge, it lay atop me, poised to enter. In some hideous sibilant tongue it crooned to me, opening my legs wide.

I smiled and struck.

My time in the jungle had given me greater strength, or perhaps priestly shades lent theirs as well—whatever the power, the crucifix sank into the side of the monster’s neck. It screamed and rolled, talons scrabbling at the holy object. The cross sizzled in the wound, sending foul ichor bubbling forth. A vile smell filled the air, like burnt, rancid meat.

“You have not slain me,” it snarled, ripping the cross out of its flesh and flipping upright. “Only roused my wrath. Now I shall devour you while I fuck you, accursed meat-girl.”

As it leapt, I dove. Elation flamed through me. It had tasted my blood; therefore, it could be unsummoned, no matter what safeguards the sorcerer had put in place. Now that I knew its name, I owned this thing; the power of ancient kings sang in my veins, and for that moment, I believed.

“In the name of north, south, east, and west, in the name of the once and future queen, in the name of the smoke and the earth, and the wind and the water, I name you Caim, Knight of Hell, who was banished from light of the daystar and may not walk this earth without my leave. I turn and bind you back from whence you came. Tsurikshikn!”

Darklight swarmed around it. If I expected fury or outrage, I was disappointed. Instead, the thing displayed reverence. It fell to its knees as the world ripped wide once more. “My queen,” it breathed. “You are she, born of Solomon the Binder’s line. Master did not tell me, I swear. I did not know.”

And then it crawled backward from whence it had come. Distant screams came to me as if filtered through a layer of water. I heard the pain and the anguish, and then that too fell silent. The air lost its viscosity, holding now only the hint of sulfur and brimstone.

Kel. If that was where the fiend had sent him, I had to get him out of there. My hands shook as I fought to recall precisely what the demon had said to him. If I could find the right words, words that were precisely opposite, I could call him. I knew his name. I crawled across the trampled grass to the crucifix; I would use it as my focus. Once more, the energy surged through me.

“Kelethiel, my friend and guardian, son of Uriel and Vashti, in the name of the smoke and the earth, and the wind and the water, I call and command thee.”

Nothing. No flash of light. No otherworldly pyrotechnics. No, no, no. I wasn’t leaving this up to divine minions, who might not get around to liberating him for a hundred years. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the verbiage quite right.

I wrapped both hands around the crucifix, feeling the burn start on my branded palm. Power built, like lightning in the air before a storm. “Kelethiel, my true friend, son of Uriel and Vashti, on the strength of your sacred vow, I call thee!”

Everything shifted and slowed. It wasn’t like before, but more like the world split in two and then merged. In the old one, I was alone. In the new version, Kel tumbled to the ground before me.

He looked dead, so many wounds. Blood smeared his skin, obscuring his tattoos; they held no light at all. Visible bite marks scored his skin, as if a horde of demons had chewed his flesh. The hole in his chest hadn’t healed, either, not even a little. He had no power in hell, or whatever dimension contained the demons. They’d stripped him, as if his clothes contained his strength or his power. Or maybe they just hadn’t wanted his garments getting in the way of good torture.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye; a few villagers had come out of their homes to investigate the weird lights and noises. I shooed them off with a fierce scowl and a bark of, “¡Lárguense!” I’m sure the sight of a bloody, naked woman and a dead-seeming man did more to frighten them than my voice.

Shielding his body with mine as they hurried off, I remembered how he’d pressed his hands over the wound in his belly in my bathroom; that seemed like ages ago now. Uncertainly, I sealed both his palms atop the gaping wound, using mine to hold his in place. If the fiend had pierced his heart, perhaps he couldn’t heal from this. In all the lore I’d ever read, destruction of the heart guaranteed true death.

For the longest time, I maintained the pose. I didn’t know how the magic functioned, and I’d give ten years of my life for my mother’s grimoires. For the first time, I thought they might work.

His blood bubbled up through my fingers, dark and rich. If I had open wounds on my hands, I’d be insane with the rush. Fortunately, I’d also gone past revulsion; I found it hard to credit that I’d once been squeamish. I’d changed so much since I left Chance. There was no way I could doubt it; I wasn’t the same woman I had been. I shouldn’t be able to call upon the power of dead priests to bolster my own strength. Once, handling only offered pain and heat and information. Now I had stepped through a veil, and the world reacted to me in a different way.

Since you took your mother’s power, and you died, a little voice whispered.

“Wake up,” I said shakily. “I don’t think I can get back to civilization on my own. Please don’t leave me here by myself.”

Tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. They dropped onto his pale, still face. When I’d touched him in the hostel room, he’d had a heartbeat. He didn’t now. Which meant he was dead. It didn’t mean he couldn’t come back, if I helped him.

So breathe for him.

I’d taken CPR years ago. Did I remember it? Fingers on nose and chin . . . When I moved my hands, his stayed on the wound. I bent down and opened his mouth, tilting his head, and then gave him two breaths. I could remember very little other than that. I counted and exhaled for endless moments, need and worry tangled up inside me. Listening, I couldn’t tell if it had any effect.

The tenth—or twentieth—time my lips touched his, a tremor went through him. His tats kindled with a pale glow, telling me systems had come back online. From here he should heal on his own, though it would hurt like a bitch and kick him into a long sleep afterward. Eyes still shut, he flung me onto my back. Despite his injuries, he was incredibly strong.

I wouldn’t risk fighting and hurting him worse. His blood covered me as it was. But this wasn’t an attack. His eyes opened; silver filmed them. I knew he didn’t see me. Not wearing a smile like that. It almost stopped my heart.

“Asherah,” he whispered. “Asherah.”

The name rang distant bells, but he lowered his head and obliterated my long-term memory. His mouth took mine, full of possessive need and hot with devotion. Gods and goddesses, how I wished I were Asherah.

If I’d ever wondered whether he was a fully functional man, he put my curiosity to rest with slow hip movements. At some point he had been some woman’s lover. The name sounded old—why didn’t I stop this? I shouldn’t—

Oh.

His lips traced over the side of my throat, tasting the blood the demon had drawn. “Who hurt you, dādu? I will bring you his heart.” He nuzzled my ear, whispering in a language I didn’t recognize. “Ana dadika.”

Even knowing he held another woman in his mind, I couldn’t pull free. I told myself I didn’t want to fight him; there was no telling what new hallucination resistance would summon. Slowly I grew conscious of my nakedness and that there could be people watching us. He wouldn’t thank me if I let him sweep me into the delusion.

“Kel,” I whispered.

His hands wandered, exploring me from shoulder to hip and back again. His tats blazed until they burned against my skin. He bit down on the curve of my ear. “Say it again.”

“Kel.”

“It’s been so long. So long since I touched you.”

I exhaled slowly. If he moved or I did, protest would be moot. Already I could barely remember why I didn’t want to do this.

“Look at me. I’m not Asherah.”

Finally, the silver shine faded from his eyes. I could tell the moment he recognized me. But his desire didn’t vanish; since we were naked, I would’ve been humiliated if it had. Instead his longing gained layers. His gaze carried eternity, the weight of loneliness, and something unfamiliar. I only knew that I had never seen that expression in anyone before.

“Binder,” he breathed. Dimly, I remembered Caim using that word. “You called me back. You gave me your breath.”

“You needed it.”

“I need this.” He shifted his hips as if asking a question.

I didn’t ask why. In truth, I needed it too. No promises, just relief and the keen, knife-edged moment. I needed to wipe away the horror handling the demon’s harness had left behind.

He lowered his head, and this time he kissed me. His lips felt fevered against mine, faintly flavored with my blood. It did not revolt me, only offered a coppery tinge, and then it was more, a kiss that took my breath and gave it back. Heat rose from his body like sunlight on crystal and quartz.

“This creates energy,” he whispered into my throat. “I can use it to drive off that cursed sleep. I can’t leave you unguarded now.”

I didn’t care about his reasons. I just wanted him. It was enough that he knew who I was. In answer, I wound my legs around his hips. I didn’t care how many people might be watching from the shadows. Let them think we were pagans or devils.