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I was close to immortal, as were all born of the Rift, the moment the universe had been forever changed, the moment a fissure had been torn between real and imagined. The moment dream and nightmare creatures first bled into the world of humans.
A lasso of chain dipped in the essence of nightmare sailed through the air and caught her wings. In her rage, she’d neglected to make them invisible. That was the problem with the righteous; in the end, they were always handicapped by their indignation.
Dareios, my right hand, jerked her backward and wrestled her under control.
I tsked while the angel was restrained. Waited until I had her full attention.
“I understand, my pretty.” My words were a whisper, as if we were conspirators, as if we were lovers. “It’s so hard to come down from the high of fighting.”
She gritted her teeth and said nothing.
It made the loud thud behind me unexpected—the sound of bodies falling to the ground.
I tore myself away from my fuck and spun round to face them.
Two intruders. They’d climbed the outside wall? If they weren’t already, my watchmen were as good as dead.
“Unfortunately you’ve come at the wrong time. And for that, I have to kill you.”
Then one of the intruders stepped forward, a woman. She stepped into the light still shining from the angel, as did her larger male companion. Fuck. The Cucitrice and the male, the Thaumaturge. Immortals. Powerful enemies.
The Cucitrice’s gaze flicked to the angel, assessing.
Ahhh, clever, they’d sent the angel to distract me.
It was the second time the Cucitrice had tricked me, and it would be the last. The bitch had just been marked in blood.
“One day...” I said carefully to her. “I will have you flayed just for the show of it.”
“I think you love me. You say the nicest things.” She blew me a kiss.
My cold smile answered.
My pistol lay spent on the table, pity. I flexed my fist. The spare chain near my feet would do. I could kill them with that. They had no idea how good at fighting I’d made this human.
The Cucitrice began to raise a flintlock, and I recognized it as an object from the House. It would vanquish any of my creatures with ease. Me? Not so easily done.
With my foot, I flipped the chain up to my hand, caught it and flung, snaking it like a deadly whip. The end accelerated. By the time it touched the Cucitrice the chain’s furthest link was close to light speed. It pierced her chest, killing her instantly, then sped to the Thaumaturge wounding him grievously.
But she’d fired, her finger squeezing on reflex.
The pistol ball struck and burrowed deep into my abdomen. I staggered, sank to my knees.
Curled over and bleeding, I gave orders to Dareios to take the unconscious Thaumaturge to the island, as we’d once discussed. At least we could trap one of them. If only the Cucitrice had survived, I’d have them both.
My gut burned and pain radiated through me. This body was dying. Medicine couldn’t save me, but the body was inconsequential. The nightmare portion of me would be carried away to find another host.
I’d be back.
What had they hoped to accomplish? Petty disruptions.
Always, I lived on.
“Do as I discussed,” I repeated to whoever was out there.
So cold. I shivered and spilled the last of my blood, felt the wash of it over my hand where I clutched my belly. Starved of whatever they needed, my eyesight dimmed.
The beat of my heart stilled.
