I stopped. The only thing in front of me was a wall … or was it? My father had said the book was veiled, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was cloaked in shadows. I ran my hand over the wet stained wall, searching for any unusual markings in the cold bricks. My fingers brushed against a perfectly round indentation and the Dušan’s head swung around, staring at it.
That had to be it.
I stuck a finger into the hole. Something sharp pricked my finger and I instinctively jerked back. A droplet of blood beaded the tip, but it didn’t actually look as if anything had bitten me. I frowned, remembering my father’s words. Only one of the blood will be able to find or see it. I shoved the finger back into the hole. After a heartbeat, there was a soft clicking noise and a small rectangular section of the wall receded, revealing a small chamber. In it sat the book.
I reached inside and picked it up, but the minute I did, there was a huge whooshing sound and three metal gates dropped down from the ceiling, forming a very solid cage.
The bastards had set a trap, and I’d just sprung it.
Chapter Six
AS SOON AS THE THICK METAL BARS HAD clanged home, a rainbow shimmer flared up around them, quickly encasing us on all four sides as well as above. I knew that shimmer—it had been present in the cell, too. It was a veil of magic that prevented me from reaching for the Aedh. To do so would only send me crashing to the floor in writhing agony—or so I’d discovered the last time they had me trapped.
“You have to get us out of here,” I said, turning quickly to Azriel. “I can’t shift shape when that veil is in place.”
“And I can’t transport you out of here when it is present,” he said, his expression grim. “So let’s hope this works.”
He raised Valdis and swept her across the nearest barrier. The sword screamed as she bit through the air, the blue flames incandescent by the time metal hit metal. Sparks flew and Azriel’s arms jerked as the sword’s speed slowed abruptly. Still, bit by bit, Valdis was cutting through the bars, hissing and screaming every inch of the way. Metal melted, running like water down the bars to pool at their base.
The sound of running steps began to echo from the tunnel we’d just left. The Razan were coming. The Raziq were probably on their way, too. I licked my lips, my heart racing as Azriel withdrew the sword and started cutting again lower.
Valdis’s screaming continued to fill the
air, her fire flicking across the darkness, sending blue shadows dancing up the slick brick walls. When the second cut was as long as the first, Azriel withdrew the sword, raised a foot, and kicked at the metal. The bars went flying, clattering noisily against the opposite wall. A shout came from one of the men in the tunnel and the sound of their steps grew faster.
“Go,” Azriel said, turning to face me. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down the edge of his face.
I shoved the book down the front of my top, then grabbed the bars above the cut and swung through feetfirst. My wounded leg brushed one edge and pain rolled through me. Gasping, I stumbled forward, going down on one knee, my hands disappearing into the thick slime lining the floor as I tried to stop my fall.
“Don’t move!” a voice said from the tunnel doorway.
I looked up and saw a blond Razan burst into the main tunnel. I saw the gun in his hands, already raised. I saw him pull the trigger.
I threw myself sideways, but it was too late. Far too late … only suddenly I was jerked roughly to the right and there was a body standing between me and that bullet.
As Azriel’s arms wrapped around me, I felt him jerk. Then energy surged and we were on the gray fields. This time the trip was short and sharp, and darkness still encased us when we reappeared.
We hit the ground together and sprawled forward, landing with some force against a surface that was hard and cold. For several seconds neither of us moved. Azriel’s weight pressed me against the cold concrete, making it difficult to breathe. Not that I really cared; I was too busy listening to the silence, smelling the damp and the cold, and wondering where the hell we were.
“Not clear yet,” Azriel stated as his weight lifted off me.
There was an edge in his voice that made me frown. “Meaning we’re still in the tunnels?”
“Yes.” He pushed upright. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll survive.” I rolled onto my back and accepted his offered hand. His warm flesh was slick—not with moisture or slime, but with blood.
“You’ve been shot?” I said, watching the blood pour from his wounded shoulder as he hauled me up. “How the hell can a reaper get shot?”
“When I’m in flesh form, I can be damaged.” He shrugged.
“Meaning you can also be killed?”
“We are not immortal, Risa. If death is our fate, it will find us—whatever the form.”
“But you’re more vulnerable in flesh form?” The blood pouring down his arm dripped from our twined fingers—an indication of just how serious the wound was even if he didn’t appear to be worrying. Hell, did reapers even feel pain?
“Yes,” he said softly. “We are not Aedh. We live and love and hurt.”