His clawed fingers found the vulnerable soft throat and wrenched; there was a gout of foul noisome black blood, and the body of his enemy fell as Sophie let out another thin wordless cry of warning.
I know, he wanted to tell her, don’t worry, but his mouth wasn’t shaped for human words right now, and in any case, there was no time. He turned and leaped, every iota of force applied to fling himself back toward her, hitting the highest point of the arc just as the other two upir collided with him. He wanted to knock them away from her and succeeded, landing cat-footed on all fours and snarling just once, shoulders hunching as his claws snicked against the rooftop.
Once was all the warning they were going to get.
They spread out, then feinted in, trying to get past him at the shaman, who had scrabbled back against the wall near the kicked-open door. He snapped at them, stalemate for a moment while he worked the geography of the rooftop around in his head and tested the wind for more of them. Backed up a little to give himself room, his body between the shaman and the twisty-coiling things that smelled of death and spiced rotting rust, their faces twisted plum-colored obscenities because they had dropped the mask of breathing humanity they once wore.
They snarled, and he snarled back, teeth bared and a series of glottal clicks filling his throat. This is mine, the animal in him said without words, a wash of musk and blood-tinted determination.
The taller one leaped at him, and instinct took over, tucking his chin and twisting his body aside, his own claws tearing through reeking blood-fat flesh. The body thumped to the rooftop and the second, smaller upir fled screeching.
Dammit. There goes my quiet exit. He straightened, the Change melting from him, and felt the cold slap of rain. The rage folded down quietly, the animal watchful and angry in its corner at the very bottom of him.
The shaman hunched, hugging herself, her eyes huge and dark with terror. He held out his hand, noticing for the first time the cold sweep of the wind. “Come on. We’d better get out of here.”
“Jesus,” she whispered. “Those—they were—”
“We are going to have to have a talk. They’re after you. We need to figure out why.”
“I haven’t done anything!” She was shivering, and in a little bit she’d be soaked. Her jacket was clinging over her blouse, and the way the wet cloth molded itself to her was not doing anything to help him concentrate.
“I know.” But maybe they don’t know that. “We’ve got to get away. Come on, Sophie.”
She reached up blindly, and touched him willingly for the first time. Her fingers slid through his, and an acrid thread of smoke reached his nostrils. Jesus. What the hell now?
For a terrible second he was years ago and far away, smelling smoke and hearing the awful shattering unsound of a shaman’s death. It took a deep breath he didn’t have time for and a wrenching physical shudder to bring himself back to the present.
Not this shaman. Not this time. This time, I’m going to do it right.
A moment’s worth of work got her to her feet, and he added up the rooftop again and arrived at the same answer. “You’re not going to like this, but we’re going to have to jump.”
She didn’t even protest, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Instead, she just nodded wearily. “Yeah. Sure.”
“It won’t take long,” he said, as if she had protested.
“You killed them.” She sounded numb, and was shivering so hard his own teeth wanted to chatter.
“Of course I did. They weren’t here to give you Christmas cards. No idea what they want?”
“None at all.” She slumped helplessly as he hurried her across the rooftop, reached up to push her glasses up her nose with a fingertip. The little movement made his heart do something funny inside his chest. “We’re jumping?”
“I’m jumping.” He eyed the distance between the two buildings and decided he could do it even if she passed out, but he’d have to Change a little. His stomach spoke unhappily, and he told it to shut up. The smell of smoke grew stronger, drifting up through the open door. Upir hated fire, why would something be burning?
I don’t like this. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him he needed to fuel the burn of the Change. He blinked away bad memories and the sick thumping of fear in his chest. Neither would help them.
First he’d get them the hell away from here. Then he’d feed both of them, and everything would be fine.
“I’m jumping,” he repeated, trying to reassure them both. “You just hold on.”
Chapter 15
He settled in a chair by the window, propping his wet, booted feet up on the sill. Sophie sat on the bed, staring at the blank screen of the television. The room was warm, and she wondered why the entire world still looked like it was wrapped in gauze.
The night was a confusing jumble. She remembered an all-night restaurant, a club sandwich he’d badgered her into eating, and the rain driving against the windows. A long street with lights burned out, and him pushing her against the side of a building and laying a warning finger on her lips, while something black and twisted slid past their hiding place—a slice of darkness that seemed suddenly far too small to hold them both.
This little room was warm, and the rain had decided to start pounding like it wanted to find a way in. The weird gauze covering the room was full of faces she didn’t want to look too closely at. They moved, formed and re-formed, stared at her, some with goggles of astonishment, others gazing into the distance, some moving their mouths as if speaking. The ever-present smell of musk and male was comforting, and it seemed to hold the faces at bay.
He hadn’t said anything since he pushed her inside the room. She didn’t even remember where they were or if he’d paid for it; it looked like yet another hotel room.
Her nylons were sadly the worse for wear and her coat was soaked. And she had no goddamn idea what to do next.
Well, there was no harm in asking, was there? What was the worst he could do to her now?
You know, I really don’t want to know. But she gathered herself. It took two tries before her voice would work.
“What do I do now?” she whispered, and braced herself.
He cocked his head. “You go ahead and sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Sleep? After all that? “I don’t think I can.”
“Just lay down. The rest will take care of itself.” His hair was wet, curling a little, and if she hadn’t seen him kill those…those things, she might not have believed it. Because he slumped in the chair as if he was tired, rolled his head back on his shoulders, and sighed. There was no sign of the thing he became, fur crackling from its skin, moving with a grace and speed that was far from human.
Sophie shivered. “I can’t.”
He didn’t sound angry, only thoughtful. “Sure you can. Just lay down. It’s almost dawn, we’re safer during daylight. Upir don’t come out much then.”
Much? “I thought vampires couldn’t stand daylight.”
“The older ones can, but not much of it. It’s fire they can’t stand, direct open flame. Messy way to kill ’em, though. Best way is to take the throat out.” He stopped, settled his boots more firmly on the windowsill. “You’re safe. We weren’t followed—I broke our trail and doubled back. You should sleep.”
“But I…” Her feet ached and her back twinged, too. Running in heels was not good. Her glasses were spotted with rain, but she hardly noticed because the gauzy things between her and the world were still moving, creeping closer and closer, pressing against the little sphere of normalcy her head ached to maintain.