I still didn’t move.
Crane’s nostrils flared as he concentrated on me. Crane said with more force, “I command you to kill them.”
Then I realized the cause of his anger. I narrowed my eyes. “Looks like whatever psychic tie we shared has been cut, Landy boy.”
“No.” He stomped his foot with all the fury and petulance of a child about to throw a tantrum.
I threw my knee up into his balls. Crane doubled over with a cry of pain. It was cut short when I threw a jab into his face, breaking his nose with a spectacular explosion of blood.
“I know it’s not Fire and Ice, but the shade suits you,” I said, referring to the blood slicked across his mouth, now dripping onto his shirt.
“But I think you could use a second coat.” I threw a second punch into his mouth. He wailed like a furious child.
“Do you know what it’s like to be controlled? Do you know what it’s like to be maimed and murdered? No. You think you can play god.”
He tried to intercept my next kick, but I was stronger now. He stumbled back under the force of my fury. I took the opportunity to take another step and pivot to throw a roundhouse kick that connected with the side of his head. I heard the crack of his neck, but Crane still didn’t go down. He was powerful with his army of sekhors feeding his strength, but I’d swallowed blood from an actual god. That, and I was as livid as a cat trapped in a dunk tank.
“My life is not for you to control or toy with. Those girls were not your playthings, and this world is not your playground.” I continued my furious onslaught, making each point with a smashing punch or a swift, vicious kick.
“But while we are here, I might as well perform an experiment onyou.”
A couple of old two-by-fours lay in an abandoned pile and I used my toe to flick one up into my hands. Before Crane could take another step, I jabbed the makeshift wooden stake through his heart.
Crane’s already waxy skin paled. His mouth formed an “o” as blood dripped out the corners.
His skin cracked, making it appear as though there was a map of red glowing rivers all over his body, up his neck, across his face. Then with one last grunt he exploded into ash.
“You deserved worse,” I whispered. When I turned, I found Grim standing off a ways, watching me. A shadow cut across his eyes, but I could see the hard set of his jaw.
The master vampire was dead. I’d completed my purpose. Grim had made it all too clear the moment I’d outlived my usefulness that he would end me. I waited, expecting him to close the distance and put an end to my existence. Especially now that I’d drunk his blood.
He didn’t move. As the minutes stretched out between us, I realized he wasn’t going to kill me. Was he waiting to do it later? Or did this have to do with my drinking his blood? I didn’t know, but I’d take advantage of my borrowed time. Jamal needed help, now.
Turning my back on him, I ran toward Miranda’s voice. I finally met up with her and we grasped each other’s arms, relieved to see each other.
“Jamal?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.
Blood smeared along her neck, face, and arms. I was about to answer when I was struck by a realization. “Is that vampire blood on you?” I asked.
“Some of it theirs, some of it mine,” she said, pushing some of her hair back, smearing more blood into it. She still wore a sling on one arm, and the scent of gunpowder surrounded her in a thick haze that made me want to sneeze. She’d come to the rescue packing some serious heat. Miranda West was a patent badass.
Then I realize something. Every time I was near a human, I was drawn to their blood, no matter how much I’d already drunk. It called to me like a siren. This close to Miranda, covered in her own blood, it should make me want to lick her like a popsicle on a hot day, but I felt…nothing. No draw, no hunger, no nothing.
Grim had done something to me. Something I couldn’t explain, but I knew to the marrow of my bones I didn’t want it.
“Later, you will have to explain to me about Grim and his superhero friends, but tell me,” her voice more insistent, “do you know if Jamal is alright?”
“He needs help but he’s going to be alright,” I said, then pulled her toward where her son was.
We would get help. Jamal would live. But I might be killed once Miranda found out I was the one who bit him.
32
Jamal was recovering in the hospital, and Grim hadn’t deigned to kill me. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to me since we left the tunnels. He went straight to shower and get changed while Timothy, who looked the most unkempt I’d ever seen him, having laid waste to all of the sekhors with Miranda, Fallon, and some woman, presumably another goddess, named Galina, stared off after Grim.
“You’ll need to get showered and changed,” he said to me.
“Why?”
