Part 14 (1/2)

But I hadn't forgotten him.

Oturu.

I'd been trying to keep the demon from my thoughts. Been fighting, with all my might. Because he couldn't be here. Not now. It was too dangerous, too unpredictable. If he got sick, I'd never forgive myself.

All in vain, though. It was night, and my need had probably been broadcast across the stars-straight from my heart to his, or however we were connected.

Thunder first, but thunder without a sound. Just the rumble, a vibration in the air that purred through my bones and blood, settling in my chest, drifting down into my stomach. I looked up again and saw a shadow flash. Dek and Mal tensed with a chirp. Zee sighed.

Branches parted. I saw his feet first-a cl.u.s.ter of knives, s.h.i.+ning and deadly-followed by the hungry folds of a flowing, drifting cloak. In the shadows, all the demon became was grace, a hush of s.p.a.ce that his presence held, and swallowed.

”Oturu,” I said, gazing at that hard, pale jaw, the slant of his mouth, the abyss that hid his eyes beneath the brim of his wide, sloping hat. ”Stay back.”

Tendrils of hair flowed through the air like crooked veins-twisting and floating down to my face. I staggered away from him, clawing at the trees to help me stay upright-but he made a sharp sound, and my body froze. No one else had that power over me. But Oturu was different. Oturu had the promise of my bloodline. That for him, we would be powerless, at his mercy, as a sign of the ultimate trust.

Our lives, as a pledge of friends.h.i.+p. A pledge that had created a bond that had transcended generations, all because of a single kindness my ancestor had shown him-one act of mercy that had created a link between our blood and his.

”Don't,” I whispered, begging him with my voice. ”I'm sick. You can't be here. You might get infected.”

Oturu only drew closer, his floating tendrils of hair brus.h.i.+ng my skin, lingering on my lips. He leaned in so close we could have kissed, and still I could not see his eyes. But I felt him, the weight of the abyss, the touch of his hair as it wound through my own. I should have been disgusted, disturbed, but I searched my heart and felt only fear for him-and a terrible, selfish, comfort.

”Our Lady,” he whispered. ”We have always known you will be the death of us.”

I could move again. I began to fall, but Rex and Aaz were there, holding me up-and Zee braced himself against my legs. ”Don't say that.”

”Now, or in a thousand years.” Oturu's cloak flowed around me like wings. ”We are one. We will not live without you.”

I touched my stomach. ”You'll live for her.”

His mouth softened, and those tendrils of hair grazed my s.h.i.+rt, sliding beneath the soft cotton to press against my skin.

”Another queen,” he murmured. ”But she will not be you. You are the last.”

I swallowed hard. ”Not the first time I've heard that. But I don't believe it. I am not the last of this bloodline.”

The wide brim of his hat tilted forward. ”It has already begun, Hunter.”

Then, before I could ask him what the h.e.l.l that meant, he said, ”She is warm. What ails you surrounds her.”

It was hard to find my voice. ”Surrounds, or infects?”

”It wants to kill her.” Oturu bowed his head, as though listening. ”That is all I know.”

I felt nauseated. Zee pointed at Oturu. ”Too much fear you bring. We protect little light. We protect Maxine.”

Oturu pulled away from me. ”You cannot protect her from everything.”

”I pick up my own slack,” I muttered, trying to sound tough, strong, as if that would make me feel better. ”But if you're going to take the risk of being near me, then I need your help. We've been attacked by the Aetar. I don't know how many of their constructs are on this world, or who else is coming for us.”

”You wish us to hunt them.”

”Hunt and kill,” I said, and hesitated. ”I'll need Tracker, too.”

Oturu momentarily stilled, floating on the dagger tips of his feet-more than two feet, less than ten-some indeterminable number that was just as mysterious as his hidden face. He could have been a dancer-of the demonic variety-his grace utterly unmatched, even by the boys.

For a moment, deep within the drowning abyss of that living cloak, I saw a face press outward, contorted in agony. I almost stepped back, but then I recognized those features. My breath caught.

”Tracker,” I said. ”What are you doing to him?”

”He has not yet learned to kneel before our Lady,” murmured Oturu. ”Not in the deepest altar of his heart.”

”No one has to kneel to anyone, for any reason,” I said wearily. ”Why do you still do this to him? Why won't you give him his freedom?”

”We promised not to,” said Oturu. ”We promised you.”

I blinked, startled. I saw, from the corner of my eye, Zee-looking away from us, as though embarra.s.sed.

But before I could ask them what the h.e.l.l that meant, Oturu's cloak flared-wide as the hood of a cobra. I stumbled backward as Tracker fell from the abyss. Just behind him I glimpsed other faces pressing outward, as if trying to escape with him. Not all were human.

Raw and Aaz fell into the shadows around us, only their eyes visible: crimson, glowing. I heard their low growls. Dek and Mal coiled tighter around my throat. No purrs, no song-watching Tracker with all their deadly focus. Only Zee was relaxed, but that was deceptive. I wished I could be that smooth. My pulse was fast, and I felt nervous.

It had been six years, but Tracker still put me on edge, for reasons I could not explain. Maybe because he hated my guts. Maybe because he was part of a past that wasn't mine but that belonged to my bloodline, all the way back to the beginning. He knew things about the women in my family that I could never imagine, and I was envious of that. Protective of it, too.

Tracker knelt, shuddering and breathing hard. He looked the same as when I'd last seen him: skin the color of a cat's-eye, golden and tawny, his hair black and long, wild around his angular face. His nose was large, hooked, close to ugly-closer still to handsome.

He wore jeans, a black turtleneck; a belt buckle the size of my hand, silver and inlaid with lapis. A band of iron hid beneath his chin, peeking from the edge of his collar.

Looking at him inspired too much dej vu-and not because we'd met before. This went deeper, part of some inherited genetic memory. Tracker was in the blood.

He tilted his head to look at me. Black eyes. Aggressive stare.

”Oh,” he said. ”It's you.”

”In the flesh,” I replied. ”You need some water?”

”Water.” He laughed bitterly.

I glanced at Raw, who gave Tracker a dirty look. Still, he pulled a bottle of cold water from the shadows and tossed it at me. I unscrewed the top, and the man grabbed it from my hand. He drank like he was dying, water spilling down the sides of his mouth.

A tendril of hair, delicate as a long finger, snaked beneath the man's collar. Oturu tugged, and Tracker choked, spitting water.

”Stop,” I said.

”Stand,” Oturu said in his soft, silky voice-ignoring me. ”Your Lady needs you.”

Hate flickered through Tracker's face, but he climbed awkwardly to his feet. ”What now?”