Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (24 page)

Chapter 27

“Stop, or I slit her throat.”

He’d gotten the drop on me. The bastard had gotten the fucking drop on me, and I hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even seen him move.
How the hell had he done it?

He dug the long, curved, jagged-edged knife against my skin. My flesh burned where the blade sliced my skin and a warm coat of blood flowed down my throat, soaking the neck of my shirt.
Bastards.

“Dean! Stop!” I ordered as Dean stepped forward.

Saeran removed Dean’s large hands from the crushed windpipe of one of the few remaining Cossack guards. Fingerprints were visible in the deep ridges left on the man’s neck as Dean jerked his hand away.

The Cossack was smart, I’d give him that. He had his free arm laced through my arms behind my back, rendering my gun hand and the hand still clutching the Gladius immobile. The other hand held the knife pressed firmly beneath my chin. He’d neutralized me with very little effort.

“I’m sorry,” I huffed, pathetic. We’d all die here in this stupid fucking princess castle and it was all my fault.

“
Khozyaika khochet, shtobwe ahnee
,” the Cossack said.

“What?” Dean barked.

The Cossack pressed the knife’s edge harder into my neck and I leaned into him, stretching the length of my throat to get some distance, even if it was millimeters, between me and that damned blade.

“The Mistress wants us,” I translated.

Dean slid a quick glance to Saeran, who shrugged his shoulders and then met my eyes.

“
Khodeet
,” the Cossack ground out another order.

“I guess we’re walking,” I said.

The remaining Cossacks flanked Dean and Saeran. There were only four of them left, even odds, but this guy wasn’t letting me go, and his grip was tight.

The Cossack shoved me by the others, wrenching my arm as we went. A sharp, burning pain shot through my shoulder as the muscles tore from the bone then slowly and ever so painfully re-knit themselves together. I didn’t dare drop my weapons and he didn’t seem in a hurry to take them from me. He jerked me again and something popped. Groaning, my mind exploded with the pain as the bastard dislocated my shoulder.

“Dahlia?” Dean called up to me from behind.

“Sonovabitch,” I groaned again. “This bastard just dislocated my shoulder.” I wiped the tear on my shoulder and raised my chin. “Watch it, will ya!” I snapped in Russian at the Cossack holding me with a death grip. He ignored me.

We marched down the hall in silence, twisting and turning through the dark halls. My stomach churned with each step we took. A constant ache now burned through my body. My mind raced for a way out. The Eithina in me growled as the Cossack tightened his grip on my arm, sending pain shooting through me again. Stopping abruptly, the Cossack yanked my arms again.

“Jesus,” I growled.

One of the guards from behind me stepped up and shoved open the door in front of us. The Cossack ripped the sword from my throat, dragging the blade across my skin and tearing my flesh before shoving me through the door.

I stumbled, scraping Gladi’s tip on the stone floor. Sparks shot up as the metal of the blade and the ancient sword’s magic connected with the magic permeating through the castle.

I regained my balance just before I ran into the large wooden canopy bed sitting in the middle of the room. Turning on my captor, I prepared for a fight. There was no way in hell I was letting him get the drop on me again. Especially not with a bed in the room. I’d gut him before I’d let him touch me. The Cossack sneered at me.

The remaining guards threw Dean and Saeran into the room, too. Both men quickly shuffled out of my way. Raising the Smith and Wesson, I squeezed the gun in my grip. I loved the feel of it in my hand, the cold metal, the weight, and the power of death in my grasp.

I fired, lodging a bullet between my captor’s eyes. Firing again, the second bullet struck the next Cossack, center chest and straight into his heart. The third shot lodged in the neck of a third Cossack before the last man standing got to the door and slammed it shut. The heavy sound of a key twisting in the metal lock echoed in the silent room as the Cossack secured the door and us.

Dean rubbed his large hands over my injured shoulder. He massaged the painful muscles, easing my tension and met my gaze. I gave him a quick nod as his fingers wrapped around my shoulder. With a sharp, quick shove of his strength, he popped it back into place. I groaned, closing my eyes and ignoring the tears dampening my eyelashes. The pain subsided and my mind cleared again. After a quiet moment, I opened my eyes again and met his questioning glare.

“Better?” he asked, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about my shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I said with a cruel little smile curving my lips. I rolled the shoulder, moving through the burning pain in my muscles.

Burning in the hearth, lighting the room and spreading heat in the large space, a gigantic fire crackled and climbed. The only furniture in the almost Spartan room was the oversized bed and an armoire in the corner.

A soft growl rippled through the room, raising the hackles on the back of my neck and Dean’s hands froze on my body.

On the bed and huddled under the heavy furs was a dark-haired man. His face was scrunched up in pain, his skin sallow, and covered in sweat. His features seemed familiar, resonating deep in the recesses of my mind. The deep scar along his cheek named him as the man who’d snatched Patrick to this wasteland realm. But I knew him. Something in the pit of my stomach twisted with a primal recognition I didn’t understand. Probably didn’t want to understand.

The Petite Princess sat with the man’s head in her lap at the headboard. A wicked snarl curved her lips as she growled at us. Her dark eyes glowed with determination and vengeance. Long, dark hair streamed down her back in a wave of ebony and I could see that she was the spitting image of her mother, Juliana Salazan. I’d seen a picture of Juliana in Cordero Salazan’s bedroom. Right before I killed him. I wondered if she even knew.

“Milagra?” Saeran whispered.

“What have you done to him?” she growled through an iron jaw.

The sound of her claws ripping from her fingertips made my skin crawl as she fought the shift, still clutching the man on her lap. Not many could shift only a portion of their body. It took a great deal of control or a great deal of power. By the way her hands trembled and her heart raced, I suspected it was power and not control. I could count the number of werewolves on one hand I knew who had that capacity and one of them was dead.

“We haven’t done anything,” I snapped.

“Fix him,” she ordered, her voice thick with confusion, barely even noticing Saeran. She sounded so small, so young, and very, very naïve.

I stepped up to the bed and the metallic stench of blood hit me in the face . His neck was drenched in a crimson stain and the flesh was torn, ragged. My lips twitched at the corners as understanding flooded me.

“He got away,” I whispered, meeting her tear stained face.

“No he didn’t. Likho has him in the throne room. The parasite is as good as dead if you don’t help me,” she bit out. Her dark eyes met mine, and for the first time since entering the room, I saw the pain and regret in the depths of her bottomless black irises.

“I can’t help him. None of us can,” I said with regret. “He’s as good as dead.”

She jumped, graceful and lithe, as her body flew through the air with her claws extended. It almost happened in slow motion as time stopped and started around me. Her claws sank into the flesh of my shoulder and bicep, scraping bone as blood gushed and splattered out.

Dean reached down and snatched her by the scruff of her neck, yanking her from me. Throwing her hard across the room, Milagra’s body slammed into the stonewall and slid to a crumpled heap on the floor.

I wrapped my hands around my arm to staunch the bleeding, hoping like hell she hadn’t ripped more muscle. Getting to my feet, I swayed but focused on Milagra crouched on the ground against the wall. Better to focus on her than the searing pain ripping through my arm.

“God damn it!” I hissed through clenched teeth.

Flinging her hair back with a flick of her head, Milagra snarled and growled, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. She hopped up to the balls of her feet and angled her body to make a second attack.

Dean stood firm, his shoulders tight, his hands flexed at his sides as he bounced on his feet panting heavily and ready to pounce. His irises melted to the bright Caribbean blue of his wolf and he growled back at her in a loud rumble that vibrated across my skin. Her growl was desperate and angry but Dean’s was commanding and strong. He was Alpha, Gaoh. Letting his power flow through the room, he filled the space with his scorching heat.

His heat caressed me, calling to my Eithina like a familiar howl in the darkness. I shifted, uneasy as my body reacted, tightening things low in reaction, wanting to answer.

Ours
, she whispered through my mind.

Damn straight
, I answered back.

Milagra tried to battle against Dean’s power but it was too overwhelming, too strong for her to ignore. Her growls dwindled to whimpers as she cowered in the corner with her metaphysical tail between her legs.

“Please, Dean. Don’t hurt her,” Saeran begged, stepping between Milagra and Dean.

I swung Gladi up, halting the blade a hair from Saeran’s neck.

“Stay put,” I grunted through clenched teeth. He was already too close to Dean, and I didn’t trust him not to stab us in the back where Milagra was concerned. At my sword point, Saeran stepped back.

Ignoring Saeran and me beside him, Dean’s blue eyes never left Milagra. I wouldn’t let Saeran interfere, dominance had to be determined but she was still fighting Dean’s power while cowering beneath it. Stubborn bitch.

“Do it,” I growled to Dean.

His face remained immobile, blank of emotion but for the muscle in his jaw jumping with his exertion.

Milagra screamed as Dean’s power rushed into her, forcing her will out and his in.

“What are you doing?” Saeran cried, pain and fear for the woman clear in his desperate shriek. Etched in the deep lines of his brow, concern forced Saeran to chance a step forward against Gladi’s edge.

I skimmed her sharp blade along his neck, stopping him in his tracks as a crimson line bubbled and sizzled across Gladi’s blade. His power seeped into her and she ate at Saeran’s strength and magic as if at a feast.

“He’s showing her who’s boss,” I growled.

Milagra screamed again, a low, anguish-filled groan as fur pushed through her skin, her bones cracked and shifted, her face elongated into an elegant snout and sharp fangs forced their way through her gums. It usually didn’t take Dean this long but he hadn’t slept in days and hadn’t eaten anything but MREs since we crossed over. Exhausted and hungry, he was using up more energy than he probably had in his reserves to prove a point. I knew we were running on borrowed time, I could feel it in Milagra’s shift and the rush of my blood in my veins as his energy sucked from me and into her. But it had to be done. Milagra needed to understand we were not to be trifled with and that she was no longer in control.

After several long minutes, Milagra sat in a heap of gray fur, panting and shaking the remaining tattered clothing from her furry, four-legged body.

Meeting my gaze, Dean nodded once to let me know he was okay.

I sighed as relief untwisted my gut and I dropped the sword from Saeran’s neck. Dean was fine. We were all going to be fine.
Yeah, right.

Turning to Milagra cowed in the corner and ready for anything, I took a step. Saeran jumped in front of her and dropped to his knees, blocking Milagra from my view and my weapon. Bowing his head, he glanced up at me from under soft green lashes. I’d been prepared for a fight, for anger, and violence. I wasn’t prepared for the plea swirling in his daffodil-yellow eyes.

“Please, don’t kill her,” Saeran begged.

Sliding my hands down the front of my BDU pants and wiping the blood on the fabric, I met Dean’s glare. As Gaoh, Milagra’s continued existence was really his call after he’d so completely dominated her. I may be the Eithina but he was the true Pack leader and the decision was his.

“Shift back to human,” Dean ordered, his command a gruff growl at the back of his throat.

The sound of it rumbled low in my body and ignited a fire of arousal that I forced back down. Now was not the time or the place. Later. If we survived, there would be time later.

Milagra huddled, shaking, as Dean commanded the wolf back inside her body. It wasn’t smooth or even pretty but it was quick. In under a minute, she was sitting, crouched in the corner, huddled around her nakedness and shivering against the cold stone. Turning dark, tear-filled eyes up to us, she met our gazes.

“Please, help Konstantin,” she begged softly. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Milagra?” Saeran chastised in a harsh, questioning tone. “He and his kind are responsible for taking you from me.”

“He’s the only one who protected me!” she snapped. “He’s the only one who fought for me. I love him.”

Saeran inched closer to her quivering body and reached out to touch her. She shrank from him, sliding further into herself as if he’d struck her.

“Milagra,
I
love you.
I
fought for you,” Saeran pleaded with her, his desperation clear in his quivering voice.

“You left me here,” she snapped.

The girl was a sniveling ball of emotions. Her decline into a sobbing mess was painful to watch as she receded behind too many years of pain and degradation. Striding across the room to the armoire, I yanked the door open. I couldn’t watch her recoil into herself as every pain she’d ever experienced played across her face. Her eyes were haunted as she looked from Saeran to the man on the bed. I knew too well about pain you couldn’t hide. Although I had a feeling, this girl had suffered much more than I ever had. A twinge of protectiveness boiled in my blood and suddenly I had a new reason to kill every living being in this castle.