The Last Slayer Page 9

  The problem with such people is that you can’t cure stupidity, not even with magic. Not that I could work anything after draco perditio had wrung me dry. Whatever Valerie’s Sex had replenished wasn’t even enough for a circle of containment.

  The wyrm raised its head high as if to intimidate me. A wasted move, since I was already intimidated. But maybe it appealed to its sense of drama. Long teeth dripped acid from its open jaws. Drops hit the ground and sizzled on the asphalt, creating fumes that smelled like ammonia. I coughed, backing away. I did not want the wyrm’s saliva on me. It’s one thing to be mousy, another to be disfigured.

  The wyrm thickened the air with its poison breath. The dragon closed its mouth, its cheeks expanding cartoonishly. What the…

  A puffer wyrm?

  Poison came spewing out of its mouth, needlelike liquid missiles arcing in the air, landing on whatever was in the way. I gathered enough power—which meant not much—to put up a low-grade shield to protect myself. Others weren’t so fortunate. There were loud splats, and people started screaming. A woman next to me crumpled. The poison didn’t just melt her flesh. It squirmed like a sack of maggots, eating into her skin and the meat of her body. With each bite the bits of poison grew bigger and smelled more like rancid fish oil. She shrieked as she rolled on the ground, trying to brush them off her skin, but wherever she touched them they split and reproduced.

  She wasn’t the only one thrashing around, and I swallowed hard. My protective instinct screamed at me to do something. Those who hadn’t gotten hit by the spit maggots jumped into their vehicles and tried to get away. But on the west side they couldn’t get past the wyrm, and on the east side all the lanes were jammed. The wyrm saliva began to eat at steel and glass.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  The wyrm geared itself up for another attack, and this time I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. I honestly had nothing left in me. I looked around desperately for something to hide behind.

  The dragon reared back and spat again. I ducked and rolled, but part of it hit me, and I gasped at the searing pain on my left shoulder. I could see the maggot, its little teeth tearing my flesh. I whipped out the knife I used for killing demons, but the maggot was faster. It burrowed into my shoulder, like a hot poker penetrating deeper and deeper into the joint, and I bit my lower lip until it bled. Finally I screamed.

  My vision began to blur, but I could see the wyrm arcing toward me, its slavering maw wide open. For its size, it was surprisingly fast. I tried to roll away, but it closed its jaws on my other shoulder, the good one, and pumped poison into my system. Tens—perhaps hundreds—of maggots wiggled into my body. The wyrm raised its head high, my body still clamped between its jaws, and the world tilted crazily.

  Suddenly a figure appeared before the wyrm. A white cape fell from his broad shoulders, and silver-white moonbeam hair swayed down his back. In his right hand, he held a seven-foot sword. His feet were planted widely apart, and he seemed to radiate light.

  Ramiel.

  He said something, a challenge, in a language I couldn’t understand.

  The wyrm hissed at him but didn’t let go of me.

  The man moved with the grace of an Olympic athlete, like he had oiled ball bearings for joints. He plunged his sword deep into the wyrm’s belly and ran down its length, pulling the blade as he went. The skin split open like a tightly stretched drum, and I felt the shock travel through the monster’s body.

  The dragon’s guts spilled out, splattering onto the ground. A sharp metallic stench of blood mixed with digestive juices and semirotted flesh stung my nose. If I’d had the energy, I would have puked.

  The wyrm keened eerily and collapsed. Its head smashed into the road, breaking it into little chunks and slamming me against the asphalt. I felt my bones crack, tendons and muscles tear loose. Fine black dust rose from the impact; breathing became difficult. I coughed blood and blinked. Things seemed suddenly far away and not all that important.

  Ramiel landed on the wyrm’s cheek and glanced at me. His green eyes were crystal clear, his armor just like in my dream. God, he looked good. It wasn’t fair.

  Bloody sword still in his hand, he leaned toward me. I had no idea what I should do. Maybe he wanted to fight. Maybe he wanted to decapitate me and show my head off to all his demon buddies.

  My pain-drugged brain begged to shut down.

  I let it.

  ***

  Soft, warm breeze…light floral scents mingled with freshly cut grass…the murmur of a stream nearby.

  My eyelids were too heavy to lift, but my other senses tuned to my environment and myself.

  My maggot-eaten ribs no longer rose. The bones had snapped and punctured my lungs, filling them with blood. All of my organs felt like they had undergone a thorough pounding from a meat tenderizer. There wasn’t a single part of me left unbroken.

  Yet my brain no longer registered pain. Maybe that part had been overloaded. Maybe I was dead, and nothing mattered anymore. If death meant no pain, I could stay dead for a while.

  But only for a while.

  A hand touched my chest. Not sexually, although somehow I knew it was a man. I couldn’t see him. But I could sense his movements. His hands traveled over my torso, checking my wounds. Why? I was beyond anyone’s reach. Not even the best healer could patch me up.

  If I was going to die, it wasn’t such a bad way to go. Two wyrms in one day would be the stuff of hunter legends. Of course, I hadn’t killed the second one, but it was still dead.

  The man finally rested his hands on my fractured skull, sticky with congealing blood. The touch was very gentle, almost hovering. Then his hands sank into my head, bypassing the shredded epidermis to the bones and the brain beneath.

  All of a sudden the pain returned. I gasped at the agonizing burning. It shut down my senses to everything except itself.

  His fingers moved gently and slowly. Wherever he went, pain followed. I tried to reject his touch. The dead deserve some peace and quiet.

  His hands became more insistent as they remolded me, fit the pieces of my skull back together, ripped the still-wriggling spit-maggots from my body.

  Then he moved to my neck, realigning my spine. Would it be enough to allow me to hunt again? A part of me was sourly amused that even after everything that had happened, I could still worry about my job.

  He moved on to my torso. I could sense his breathing growing ragged with exertion and the draining of magic. Healing someone as damaged as I was—i.e., basically dead—takes an enormous reservoir of power, and I didn’t know anyone, at least any mortal, who had that much of it.

  Furthermore, he was reaching me through the astral plane. Astral work requires extra concentration. One wrong move and both of us could very literally get stuck in limbo. Because of the sacrifice he was making—giving me his magic to save my life—I bore the pain without screaming. It was the least I could do.

  Finally he reached my toes and stopped. I realized I could move again, even though my skin stung horribly. He hadn’t healed that, but I could live with it.

  I kept my eyes closed. I focused on breathing instead, getting blessed air in and out of my lungs. His head rested between my bare breasts, cool silken hair covering my body. I raised my hand and wrapped the strands around my fingers. His left hand moved over my rib cage, the fingers gently skimming the skin. I winced at the burning sensation. The wyrm had flayed me, left patches of me on the asphalt.

  The man’s lips touched my tattered skin. Searing pain squeezed all the air out of my lungs. My hands clenched into fists over his scalp, but he didn’t stop his agonizing assault.

  Deep inside, a sliver of pleasure emerged through the red haze of pain. It was as if he controlled my body and its reaction to him. His lips ran all over me, closing my wounds and causing intense pain and pleasure equally, all mingling until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

  It was a rebirth, and yet unbearable. I felt him on my skin, moving over the healed flesh, chec
king his work.

  His lips found mine. Dazed and suddenly drugged with power, I returned the kiss, my mouth eager for his. His magic mingled with mine and magnified our strength.

  He massaged my breasts gently, then tweaked a nipple. My breathing quickened, and I placed my hand over his, urging him to take me as he wanted.

  His mouth traveled downward and enveloped my other nipple with a scalding heat. Crying out, I arched my back. I parted my legs and nestled him between my thighs. He fit perfectly there, but didn’t enter. Instead, he intensified his assault on my breasts, then moved down to my sex, licking my slick newly healed flesh.

  What he did—it reached beyond the physical. It went straight to my core and overloaded my senses until I saw nothing but stars and every fiber of my body contracted tightly in anticipation of the most intense orgasm of my life.

  But he didn’t allow the release. Instead, he seemed content just licking me.

  Frustration and pleasure rushed over me. I found that my voice worked again. “Fuck me, damn it.”

  He laughed, the vibration caused by the sound enough to push me over the edge. I screamed, my back arching taut as a bow. Oh what a feeling! To be launched into the sky from the most powerful catapult in the world and know that you’ll be safe because your lover will catch you.

  He didn’t stop. His tongue moved faster over my wet folds, and I writhed. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “No.” I gasped. “I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  And I did, again and again. Each time, I flew higher until I thought I would die from it.

  Finally, he plunged into me, his sex stretching me tightly. My fingers dug into his back muscles.

  He didn’t waste any time, moving in and out, each stroke more gratifying than the previous one. Pleasure washed over me like waves of ambrosia. I felt like crying, giving myself to him completely.

  When I tensed and screamed my final release, he let go and allowed the ecstasy to claim him as well.

  Finally I opened my eyes. It was Ramiel, of course. Sex—the real thing—floated around us like dandelion wisps. I’d never seen it out of the bottle before. I reached out, but it scattered at my touch, quick and skittish as a school of fish. Ramiel cupped a hand and Sex gathered and pooled in it, glowing moonbeam white. He spread it over my skin like warm oil. I shuddered at this further infusion of power. He licked his fingers clean, his pink tongue running over them leisurely. The sight reminded me of the things he’d done to me, and I bit my lower lip from moaning as the desire rekindled. His eyes grew dark and hot, but he didn’t make a move. To distract myself I rubbed a bit of Sex from my chest and put it in my mouth. It was amazing—delicious, as sweet and rich as freshly whipped cream. It filled my mouth with a smooth coolness that made my tongue tingle, like a meringue made from ice-cold sparkling water. I felt refreshed and surprisingly well rested.

  “Happy birthday, Ashera.”

  “I’m dead. I don’t think there’s much to celebrate.”

  He laughed. “You’re hardly dead. Look.”

  I blinked several times, and my brain began taking in my surroundings. People were gawking. He wasn’t on top of me. He was kneeling beside me, still fully armored. The wyrm carcass lay some yards away. It stank like a butcher shop that had just received a shipment of half-spoiled meat.

  I raised myself up slowly. My clothes were tattered and soiled beyond repair, but I wasn’t naked. Thick slippery black liquid stuck to me. I sniffed and gritted my teeth. I was not going to hurl because of some dragon saliva.

  So that was astral sex, the purely psyche-based mating. I’d never experienced it before, and I couldn’t decide if I liked it or not. The orgasms were oh-god good, but I hated getting my psyche invaded—even if it generated a ton of Sex that didn’t taste gross, and my power reservoir felt replenished and brimming. Why hadn’t he taken more? He’d had some—he’d licked it off his fingers—but there was plenty to go around. He certainly didn’t have to give it all to me.

  “Who are you?” I got to my feet. “Really.”

  He rose with me. “As I told you, I am called Ramiel.” He bowed deeply, his hair brushing against the dark road. When he came up there was a faint smile on his face. “At your service.”

  Maybe he really was Ramiel. “So…what are you?” I said.

  “I am the Dragonlord of Besade and a triumvir of Lapslora.” He glanced at the chunks of metal that used to be my car. “Do you require transportation?”

  Ramiel of Besade, legendary for killing Kyran, the slayer overlord. If he was telling the truth, I was dealing with a heavy-duty badass. Kyran had fought his way up to become defender of the race almost a millennium ago, and he had been the single biggest obstacle to the genocide of the slayers. Ramiel had been a mere two hundred years old—the youngest of all the dragonlords—when he’d decapitated the slayer overlord. The problem was I didn’t think “Ramiel” was honest. He was beyond gorgeous, as most supernaturals that have mortal shape are, and his entire being glowed as most creatures of nightmare do after Sex. It was something of a puzzle. Dragonlords couldn’t invade people’s dreams, and incubi couldn’t do what Ramiel had done. For now I’d consider him a dragonlord with incubus power—maybe he’d bargained with one of them…although I couldn’t imagine why he’d bother. And I needed to watch what I said and did around him. Messing with incubi was one thing, messing with demigods quite another.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  I crossed my arms. “You don’t exactly inspire trust.”

  “I healed you at the expense of depleting my own magic.”

  Touché. Still, something about him rankled. Maybe because he had been able to invade my subconscious twice in the past twenty-four hours. Maybe because he was a supernatural and I just didn’t trust his kind. “What do you want?”

  He put a hand over his heart. It was completely unaffected, a gesture out of another age. “To ensure you are protected.”

  Altruism? From a demigod? No supernatural does anyone a favor without an ulterior motive. I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay the price.

  He continued, “What you did against the wyrm in the woods was magnificent. And to last so long against the second wyrm after the use of such magic was highly praiseworthy, much better than I expected.” He glanced at the wyrm carcass. “That was Nathanael’s creature, one of his best.”

  Getting praised by a demon was more than a little strange. “How do you know about the first wyrm?”

  He looked puzzled. “The reverberations of draco perditio, of course.”

  All right, so maybe he hadn’t been spying on me. Practiced magic users can sense powerful spells.

  “So I went to observe.”

  Aha! He had been watching. And waiting. If he were that worried about my well-being, he could’ve killed the second wyrm sooner instead of taking in the show. This was how you knew you were dealing with a demon—nothing but pretty little lies.

  To ensure you are protected. Whatever.

  It was time to leave. I still needed to retrieve that book. The last thing I wanted was a trio of dragonlords accusing me of disobeying them.

  “I’ll tell you why the two wyrms went on a rampage today,” Ramiel continued, “and transport you to wherever you need to go. I give you my word that’s all I will do.”

  I glanced at my car—or what was left of it. What choice did I have? Supernaturals couldn’t break their word, so maybe…just maybe it was okay to accept his offer so long as I remembered what a liar he was.

  Taking my silence as a yes, he whistled, the sound high and clear. An amphitere descended from the sky, its purple and red wings stretched tight in a smooth gliding approach. A thick velvet pad and coverlet hung from its back. Against the deep blue of the fabric, a silver hydra crest writhed furiously. No doubt it sensed Ramiel’s bloodied sword. This is one way you can tell a truly magical item from a fake. The real ones live and evolve along with their owners.

  The crowd around us shouted and poi
nted at the flying dragon. Incredibly, there were still lots of cell phones out, and most of them started snapping pictures. Some people crossed the concrete divider and ran toward Ramiel. The sharper ones must’ve realized he was a supernatural—not that there was much room for doubt. The man positively glowed.

  Ramiel sighed at the dragon groupies’ mad rush. He turned away from them, the faintest of lines appearing between his eyebrows for just an instant. The ones in the lead suddenly stopped short, their clothes flattening against their bodies, then stumbled backward. They pushed against the invisible barrier and then banged on it with their fists, but there wasn’t any sound except their desperate cries.

  “Take us with you! Please!”

  “I love you!” a woman shrieked.

  My face turned hot. Couldn’t we maintain more dignity around the demons…even if this one was a demigod? How could they still want to worship supernaturals after what had just happened?

  When the amphitere stopped before him, Ramiel stepped onto it easily and extended me a hand. I hesitated, then took it and climbed aboard. The amphitere’s muscles twitched. Maybe it was galled to carry a dragon-killing mortal.

  “Hold tight,” Ramiel said.

  The amphitere took off with a shocking suddenness, and I was forced to grab Ramiel’s waist to avoid falling backward. He stood without any problem, gripping a long leather cord tied to the dragon’s body armor.

  Under us, the people who were pushing against the wall suddenly pitched forward and fell. The ones behind ran over them and spilled into the gigantic shadow created by the amphitere. They glared and shouted at me as if somehow I was responsible for Ramiel’s departure.

  Idiots. Those people should have been grateful that spit maggots weren’t feasting on their flesh. They should have been helping the wounded rather than running after a dragonlord. The injured remained on the highway, forgotten by the healthy.

  The amphitere soared into the sky. With each powerful stroke of its wings the air grew colder, and soon we were high up. I expected to begin freezing and sucking for oxygen, but neither happened.