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“We have to get out of here,” she moaned.
“I can’t,” I said, gesturing at the belt around my waist. “Your binding has me pinned.”
She managed a breathless laugh, even through the pain. “Dullard. It’s a seatbelt. Press the red button at your waist. Or failing that, rend the bloody thing with your claws. I know you’re strong enough.” She looked down at herself. “Then do me a favor and undo mine. I doubt the doors will work, so we’ll have to go out the windows.”
Well, that was easy enough, even strapped to a seat.
“Close your eyes,” I said, then swung a booted foot at the window, hurling kick after kick at the pane until it gave way. Glass peppered the frozen ground outside and a blast of cold air hit my face. I struggled with the button on the lap band for a moment until it popped free. I considered leaving Fyrcat dangling from the ceiling, but remembered exactly why it would be a bad idea a moment later. If she was killed, I’d die, as well.
So I undid her buckle, and Fyrcat fell limply into my arms. It seemed to cost her an enormous effort, but she crawled past me, moving toward the window slowly. Terror flashed across her eyes, and she scurried backward a few inches, her round backside pushing into my front.
“What are you doing?”
“Draugr!” she hissed. “Lots and lots of draugr. The noise must have drawn them to us.”
“Fuck!”
“My sentiments exactly,” she said with a nod. “There are at least three or four dozen of them, and I’m not sure if I have the magic to fend them off. When they’ve finished with us, they’ll rip into the mortals.”
Which was precisely what we’d come here to stop. I ground my teeth, glaring at the top of her head. “I thought the rest would have replenished some of your powers.”
“It did,” she said just as waspishly. “And then I wasted whatever was replenished by dragging your sorry ass to Marshall Heights. I shouldn’t have bothered.”
“Fine,” I said, reaching for my sword. It had landed on the roof, which was now the floor. I was fortunate it hadn’t struck me as the vehicle flipped. “I’ll deal with this on my own.”
“No!” Fyrcat said, seizing my wrist. Her nails dug into my forearm, and in the low light I spotted the glimmer of tears in her eyes. With her guard down she looked deceptively small. Defenseless even. “Don’t leave me here by myself.”
Damn my soft heart. I pulled the witch into my side, sheltering her from the wind as we pulled ourselves free of the wreck.
A chorus of snarls drew closer as we waded through the snow. A mangled hand swiped at my face and missed. I followed the line of the arm up to a face, even as the stench of rotted flesh assaulted my nose.
The draugrs had grayish skin that was torn and shredded in places, revealing their rotted insides. A ghostly glow emanated from empty eye sockets. They lacked armor, which gave us a fighting chance. Unfortunately, they had scrounged weapons they could from the town. Broken fence posts, shards of metal that Jovi had called ‘rebar,’ spades, and more.
I’d heard of these fuckers, but I’d never fought one. This particular one had once been a Midgardian man of considerable height and weight. Three hundred pounds of putrefying flesh with a warrior’s intellect shining from its eyes. I wondered which of my brothers or sisters had slipped into the man’s skin. Did it matter if they were trying to kill me?
Another corpse, this time female, lunged for Fyrcat. The witch swatted uselessly at the pus-covered hand. A dry, raspy sound wheezed from the woman’s mouth. It took me a moment to realize it was a laugh.
“We are done,” Fyrcat whispered.
“You have to fight,” I growled. “There must be a way to restore your magic. What can I do?”
Fyrcat hesitated. When her eyes rolled up to meet mine, they were wet. “You won’t like it.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Fine. I need you to kiss me.”
***
Jovi
A whirling vortex of shadow spun us around before dropping us somewhere unknown. I landed on top of Torsten. He hissed through his teeth when my hand accidentally brushed over the wound in his chest.
“Sorry,” I whispered, hands fluttering in the air above it. If I’d had Fyrcat’s skill or knowledge, I could have probably waved them confidently over the mutilated flesh and healed him. But I wasn’t Fyrcat. I wasn’t even really sure who I was these days.
“Don’t worry about it,” he grunted, giving me a light push. “If nothing gets in the wound, it should heal shortly.”
“Really?”
