Selene

It’s a good thing I don’t have to tell him he was right about the body armor. Selene gapped her mouth, so her breath eased soundlessly past her teeth. Her left arm ached fiercely—Nikolai had wrenched her out of the burning car on Sixth Street, glass crunching under his boots. The smell of the docks—seawater, a slight breeze coming from the water, petroleo and oil and the stench of ships and iron—didn’t even begin to cover the reek of the werecain prowling around the tanker looming up before them, its bulk blocking out the night sky.

Sirens howled all through the city. Fire, police, ambulance. It was shaping up to be an interesting night for everyone.

The man on her left side let out a soundless sigh. He was Indigenous, wearing body-armor very similar to Selene’s, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He held an assault rifle, and there was a huge Bowie knife strapped to his leg.

I don’t even want to ask. Selene touched Nikolai’s shoulder. He didn’t move, his attention on the tanker. It exhaled a cold breath of Power out into the night, and chill unease touched her nape. They were tucked out of sight, waiting, the rest of Nikolai’s Guard—roughly a dozen men who appeared never to speak unless they absolutely had to—had peeled off and vanished into the night. All of them wore streaky black paint on their faces and hands except for the man next to her, who settled back into the wooden wall they were up against and closed his eyes.

Grigori had stayed on the docks, the only place where the interference of so much cold iron and ambient Power from the water would hide him from Nikolai’s sense of the city as a living, breathing thing. Selene privately thought that it was stupid for Grigori to be where Nikolai would expect him to be, but. . .then again, they hadn’t found the other Nichtvren yet.

She shivered. You have no manners. I’d half like to teach you some, Grigori’s voice whispered in her memory.

I hope we can just grab Marina and get out. Selene set her teeth, heat bubbling under her breastbone, the medallion scorching as well. He killed Danny. The heat changed to a hard lump of ice against her heart. Don’t chicken out now, Selene. You’ve come this far.

Nikolai was completely still. Selene had to look twice to see him, even though he stood close enough to touch, a deeper blot of shadow in the darkness. It was just past midnight. A fine mist drizzled over the city, night folding like a blanket over the streets.

The werecain had attacked on Sixth Street, and Selene could still taste copper adrenaline at the back of her tongue. Me and my luck with cars. Her mind jagged nervously from one thought to the next.

I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. She looked at the curve of Nikolai’s cheek as he studied the jumble of wooden boxes on the pier, cargo stacked here and there, werecain prowling from shadow to shadow. He looked calm, and his pulse was unhurried. He held Selene’s hand again, his thumb occasionally stroking over the inside of her wrist and sending a slight shiver down her back, heat sinking into her. He tore the throats out of three werecain without even looking like it was work. He looked bored while he did it. God, I’ve really underestimated him.

That’s a good thing now. The devil I know, instead of Grigori. Selene shivered again. The cold fingers of unease walked up and down her spine, gooseflesh breaking out on her back, her nipples drawing up and tightening, muscles tensing.

Something’s very wrong here.

She opened her mouth to whisper, but Nikolai squeezed her hand and moved forward soundlessly. She followed, trying to move quietly, shifted from foot to foot, eerily silent. It was a hunter’s instinct, a predator’s benefit to a Nichtvren.

Once he was sure she was following, Nikolai let go of her hand with one last gentle squeeze. Now that I’ve seen how strong he is, I think I’m going to appreciate him being gentle a little more.

Just a little.

A new thought struck. How strong am I? How long would it take me to get as strong as he is?

And what would I do if I was?

Selene slipped the gun out of her right holster. Behind her, the other man drifted, following. He was quiet too, for a human.

Nikolai edged around another corner and slid into the shadow of a stack of wooden crates. Selene’s fingers lay on the outside of the trigger guard, and she held the gun low and ready, just like Jack had taught her.

The other man held his breath. A werecain in huntform—dropping down to all fours, its massive unlovely head swinging back and forth with its gait—prowled past them, its yellow-glowing eyes fixed straight ahead.

Nikolai was gone. A dark shape streaked soundlessly past the werecain, a single flicker of steel, and the huge furred body dropped with a barely audible thud, a thin wet sound bubbling up. He had slit its throat in one movement. Blood burst out along the pavement.

Then Nikolai was back, nodding at the other man, and they left the shelter of the stack of boxes.

The dock muttered under Selene’s feet, wood creaking as water lapped at its underbelly. Her body automatically shifted weight with every slight movement, as if she was walking on the surface of a drum. Behind her, the man’s pulse sped up slightly. Her nostrils flared. The smell of werecain was so deep and thick here she was grateful when her nose shut off and she could no longer smell it. Her hand shook slightly, a fine tremor she didn’t like the feel of.

Stay quiet. Just stay quiet. We’ve been lucky.

Light seared her night-adapted eyes. Selene flung up her hand, a short cry escaping her. The sound was lost in the sudden roar of gunfire coming from onshore. They’ve stopped being quiet. Instinct threw her body into a crouch.

Nikolai snarled, a single syllable of focused Power. Glass cracked and tinkled, and the light died as suddenly as it had struck.

Running footsteps. Growls. The man behind her fired, one short burst, and something huge thudded to the dock’s surface. “Bogies!” he yelled, in a surprisingly deep voice.

No shit, you think? Selene’s eyes cleared enough to see Nikolai move forward again. She ran after him, doing her best to keep up, the narrow gangplank bent under their combined weight.

Something whistled past Selene; she let out a short sharp cry.

You’ve got a predator’s body, Danny’s voice whispered. Just let it do the work for you.

Lovely. A ghost is giving me survival tips. Selene’s heart hammered. Copper flooded her mouth, her legs pumping. She swung over the side of the boat. Nikolai flashed through a pool of orange light from a deck lamp, the sword a bright length in his hands. Selene’s fangs popped free, atavistic rage swelling under her ribs.

The deck was metal, and piled with ropes along one side, the wheelhouse to Selene’s right—Nikolai was heading unerringly for it, probably forgetting he’d told her to stay close to him.

Another spate of gunfire, and something hit Selene in the side, driving her down. Her body tucked, rolled, she came up to her feet moving forward, moving, momentum slamming her from behind, sudden flash of light scoring her eyes.

Her left hand swept out, almost of its own volition, claws springing free. The werecain dropped, choking on its own blood. Its eyes were wide, surprised and very blue in the sudden flood of light.

I did that? she thought wonderingly, before she was driven behind another pile of wooden boxes by a spattering hail of bullets zinging off the deck.

She landed on hands and knees, the gun skittering away. Shit!

Screams. Werecain growls. More gunfire. He’s got thralls as well as werecain, Danny said. Selene, you’re pinned. Get out, go along the rail side there.

She obeyed, scrambling, her boots gripping the metal. Bullets pounded the deck behind her. If I was as old as Nikolai I could ignore a few bullets. She dove for another cover, a large metal box standing almost at the bow of the ship. Selene heard her own panting, quick and light, and a low thrumming sound that raised every hair on her body.

Over the smells of the ship—werecain, greasy petroleo, stink of iron, the dirty salt smell of the sea—came a breath of violets. And musk.

“Marina!” Her voice tore through the chaos of gunfire and snarls. Someone screamed, a long pitiful howling wail. “Marina!”

“Here!” A faint answering cry, almost lost under the cacophony. Selene gathered herself and was about to launch her body through the side of the metal box when her eyes snagged on a door.

I hope it’s not locked. She gave herself a sharp mental slap for being a fool. Of course it’s locked, she’d be out here on deck if it wasn’t Selene drew her left-hand gun. “Get back from the door!”

“Get me out of here!” Marina yelled.

Selene squeezed the trigger.

Her first shot ricocheted off the iron surface, digging a furrow in the red paint. Goddammit, that always works for everyone else! Selene swore viciously, and there was an incredible tearing sound from the other end of the ship.

A holocaust of light seared Selene’s night-adapted eyes. The shock of the explosion knocked her sideways, skidding along the corner of the huge metal box. Her body twisted, hooking her claws into metal with a screech that would have ground her teeth down to shards if she’d been human. Oh, Christos, I’ve lost the other gun, some hero I am. She landed hard against the narrow strip of deck along the box, breath leaving her in a whoosh.

Her claws had torn the metal in six long jagged slices. Selene rolled to her feet, shaking her head, something warm dripping in her right eye. Goddamn it. Am I going to lose all my hair in this mess?

Smoke belched across the deck.

Selene made it back to the side of the box. “Marina!” she yelled, hooking her claws in the top slice. The rust-flecked metal was strangely warm. She inhaled—why am I still breathing?—and yanked down with one convulsive effort, a long huuugh! tearing its way out of her.

Metal groaned.

“I’m here.” The healer’s face appeared, pale in the lurid orange light exploding up from the ship. Crackling heat swept across Selene’s cheek. “Selene? Oh, my God, you’ve Turned!”

Well, you get fifteen points for stating the fucking obvious. “Come on!” Selene snarled, and lunged in through the rough rectangular hole she’d torn. She grabbed the healer under the arms—just like picking up a little kid, she thought—and pulled.

Marina cried out hoarsely. Something clattered. “Rigel?” she gasped, as Selene hauled her bodily out of the box. “Rigel, is he—”

“He’s back at the nest!” Selene had to yell over the incredible din. The noise was so huge it speared both eardrums, a painful weight. “Come on!”

A hell of a time to have no weapons, Danny’s voice said snidely.

“If you can’t say anything useful shut up!” Selene yelled. It was the crowning absurdity.

The entire ship shuddered. Thick black smoke belched up from the burning end. The bursts of gunfire were sporadic now, but something was snarling close by.

Werecain. She gave Marina a quick once-over, pulling her along the side of the ship. Something whined overhead and she pushed the healer down. Marina’s long hair was tangled and she was dirty, smelling like werecain, her clothes torn and a stripe of blood on one hand. But she moved okay, and seemed to be otherwise unwounded.

Great. Now I just have to get her off of here—where’s Nikolai? He said to stay close, but he ran right for the front of the ship, goddammit. Where is he, is he okay?

They ended up crouching behind a stack of huge metal pipes. Bullets clanged and whined. “Are you okay?” Her throat burned from screaming over the smoke-laden noise.

“I’ve had better days,” Marina called back. “You look awful.” Her blue eyes glowed, and her pretty mouth turned down at the corners under its mask of dirt.

I screwed a Nichtvren this morning and got yanked out of a burning car tonight, and now I’m being shot at, again. No wonder I look like shit. “Come on!” She grabbed Marina’s arm, careful not to squeeze too hard. “We’ve got to get you out of here!” I don’t want to disappoint Rigel, honey. You’re so fucking lucky it makes my heart hurt.

Marina nodded, tangled hair swinging down over her dirty face. Selene inhaled, shoved herself to her feet and began to run, carrying the other woman’s slight weight with her.

They reached the gangplank. Two of Nikolai’s guard—the Indigenous man and a skinny Italian guy, both firing over the top of a hasty barricade of scrap metal—were holding the ship end of it. Four werecain were darting from the other side, their fur painted luridly by the fire, which sent up another quake of noise and massive fireball.

Selene fell flat. Marina recovered more quickly than she did, hauled her to her feet, and they made it to the shelter of the barricade.

Marina’s ribs flared with deep gasping breaths.

Smoke in the air. Shit. Hope she doesn’t get poisoned. “Is it safe?” Selene yelled, pointing down the gangplank. Got to get her out of here.

“They’re firing from there!” the Indigenous man yelled back, pointing at a vicious firefight going on further down the deck.

Selene shoved the healer down. “Take care of her.” She pivoted on the balls of her feet.

What are you doing? Danny’s voice screeched at her.

Something stupid, Selene thought. Nikolai went that way, and that’s where I’m going, goddammit. Have to do it fast before I lost my nerve. Her claws sprang free, and her heart gave another frantic burst. The heat was incredible, lying against her skin like oil. Those werecain are between him and escaping from this hulk of metal, so I’m going to get rid of them.

Oh, no. Danny sounded horrified. I was afraid you were going to say that.

Selene leapt.

***

The body armor saved her again. The last werecain slammed into her, a furry hulk of rib-snapping force. She went down, claws skritching across her abdomen. Prickling cold hit her and she screamed, her claws fully extended, fangs glittering. She tore at the huge furred thing blindly, instinct tucking her chin down so its teeth couldn’t find her throat.

Blood exploded, hot salt spraying up and drenching her face. Selene scrambled, twisting, her boots scraping across metal deck, the heat of the fire popping across her face. The werecain slumped, and she heard a victory yell from the other side of the barricade.

I hope that’s our side. She didn’t stop, her feet pounding the deck, up, up, she had to find Nikolai, where the hell was he?

Smoke billowed. The sound of clanging metal.

What the—Something seemed to punch her in the stomach, she lost most of her air. Swords. Jesu.

There was a sort of wheelhouse—at least, she guessed that’s what it was, her maritime experience being nil—between her and the main fire. Maybe the explosion was the engine. If this thing has a hold full of heavy petroleo we’ll all be hashing this out in hell.

The clanging was coming from the top. Selene spotted a ladder and leapt for it, unprepared for the speed and fluidity of her new body. She almost splatted face first into the ladder and saved herself only by a lunging effort, hitting her forehead on a metal rung that was dangerously warm. Stars flashed across her vision. She scrambled up, muscles beginning to burn, the thirst throbbing. I’m going to need to feed, she thought, and the resultant shiver through her entire body almost tossed her from the ladder.

Stop thinking with your groin and get up there! she shrieked at herself. Nikolai needs you!

“Nikolai!” The cry escaped her. She vaulted the top of the ladder and landed, amazingly, on her feet.

The fire’s carnivorous heat, radiating directly now and not blocked by debris stacked on deck, smacked into her. She dropped to her knees, her eyes watering, and saw.

Nikolai paced back and forth, the sword balanced in his hands, his entire body focused on the other Nichtvren. His hair was scorched and half his face was terribly bruised, almost black, and shiny. That’s not a bruise, it’s a burn. Power pulsed out from them both.

Nikolai’s shirt was in tatters. So was Grigori’s.

Grigori, the beads in his hair clacking as he moved, circled as Nikolai did. His left arm flopped uselessly. He snarled, fangs extended and dripping with glittering saliva. He held a broadsword, handling the massive length with ease even though it looked dull and clumsy compared to Nikolai’s slim shining blade.

Oh, Christos. I don’t have a gun.

Nikolai moved forward, his burned face expressionless. Metal rang and flexed. The fire belched again, the deck heaved. Grigori closed with Nikolai—the older Nichtvren was bulkier, a few inches taller, and had the fire behind him. Nikolai gave ground, his blade ringing, slashing and feinting.

“Nikolai,” Selene whispered. She drove her claws into the roof of the wheelhouse. Her wrists ached. Nikolai, oh God, be careful. You’ve got to kill him. You’ve just GOT to.

Grigori stumbled, his sword slipping aside, and Nikolai darted in with spooky, graceful speed.

The taller Nichtvren half-whirled, a flurry of movement—and Nikolai’s sword flashed away in a high impossible arc. It landed on the wheelhouse roof, chiming, and skittered past Selene, who grabbed for it with unthinking reflexive speed. She had to wrench her claws out of the roofing, and her fingers closed only on air.

The ship heaved again, a fresh explosion rocking the entire massive structure of steel. The high tinkle of glass shattering only added to the booming tearing noise. Oh, no, please, no—

Grigori, his face a mask of utter rage, drove his sword into Nikolai’s chest.

Nikolai fell backward.

Selene screamed. Some ceaseless spinning pulse inside her that she had never known existed. . .stopped.

Nikolai hit the roof of the wheelhouse and slid back, his limp body fetching up against an air-conditioning vent with a sickening crack. It knocked the housing sideways, the density of his body and the massive force he’d been flung with conspiring like thieves. Selene flinched, her jaw dropping. The medallion gave one scorching burst of heat against her chest.

Grigori tipped his head back and roared. The sound—and the wave of sheer Power—would have flung Selene off the roof if her left-hand claws hadn’t still been driven in.

She tore them free and leapt. “Nikolai!” she screamed, something ugly and hard pressing up behind her heart. It clawed free, this dark and horrible thing, and her palm slapped on the hilt of the broadsword. One twist and a yank, and it was in her hand, its tip black with Nikolai’s blood.

“SELENE!” Danny’s voice, not whispering in the middle of her skull but slicing through the confusion of oily black smoke and crawling flame.

The world slowed to a series of shutter-clicks.

Click. “You—” Selene, running, her entire body arched forward, her eyes bulging, her charred hair streaming.

Click. “Son—” Her breath jagged in after the word. Grigori’s head snapped down. Power snaked for her, a missile of something dead and murderous.

Click. “Of a—” Selene leapt. Her chest cracked, her eyes split, her throat tore itself open. A blinding flash of blue-white light. The sharp sudden smell of ozone.

Click. “Bitch!” The sword curved down, an arc of solid silver.

Grigori flung up his arm. His claws raked for Selene’s eyes—

And somehow, incredibly, missed as the deck heaved again.

The broadsword made a cracking sound as it clove through his arm and buried itself in Grigori’s neck. Selene landed, her boots skidding, and the firecrack of her rage hit like thunder after lightning. Hit with Power and physical force, she thought dreamily. Everything was slow, caught in a bubble of stasis. Anything else is useless.

Like the glass globe of quiet closing around her when Danny died. A killing calm.

The sword drove down cleanly, splintering ribs. Selene heard a noise like the world grinding to a stop. A sheet of orange, oily flame billowed up, and she tossed the hilt away from her in a reflex action that saved her from being dragged into the inferno. She threw herself back, fighting momentum, the world slowing down, moving through syrup, her body struggling again without thought, claws digging into roofing with a rending sound lost under the bucking explosion of more heavy petroleo going up in flames. The blast actually helped, pushing her back, she rolled, her head smacking something metallic hard enough that her fangs clipped together and she lost a chunk of her lower lip.

—where am I—

“GET UP YOU DUMB BITCH GET UP!” Danny screamed, a delirium of terror.

No wonder he’s still talking. Maybe he was out of his body when he died.

That broke her trance. She hauled herself half-upright, saw Nikolai’s body, ten feet away. Shook her head, blood flying from her lip, the heat of the fire making her skin feel tight and shiny. Her hair was smoking, she could smell it, feel it crisping.

Fire is every Nichtvren’s enemy, she heard her own voice in a lecture hall, long ago, in another life. Open flame is the best defense against a Nichtvren gone bad—if any of them can be said to be good, that is.

The whole class had laughed, and she’d felt gratified. Leave him. Let him lie there.

She finally reached him. Nikolai lay still, his burned face tilted back, eyes closed, strangely peaceful, his mouth slack.

Selene’s claws dug into his shoulders. She pulled him up, hysterical strength nearly overbalancing both of them. “Don’t you goddamn dare die on me!” she heard herself shout, a thin reedy sound, as the boat shuddered again and settled in the water.

Selene hefted Nikolai’s limp body and looked around, wildly.

“To your left!” Danny’s voice, reedy as a cricket’s, almost physical amid the chaos. And the only voice that could have gotten through to her.

She immediately jagged to her left, dragging Nikolai, but her legs were limp noodles and he was so heavy, so heavy. The gunfire had stopped. Sirens were drawing closer. The cavalry always comes late, she thought, with a kind of mad clarity. There’s a lesson in that, Selene.

She was still running when the wheelhouse roof gave way underneath her. The speed she’d built up took her in a soaring leap, Nikolai dragged with her, his entire body limp and boneless. When they hit the water, she lost consciousness for a moment.

Blackness closed over her head. She surfaced, thrashing desperately in the water, great foaming chunks of it jetting up and splashing back down. Am I doing that? she wondered, and found she was arching for shore. The pier was burning too.

There was another massive ripping sound behind her, and the water steamed. Chunks of metal rained down, flaming bits of wreckage. Selene’s arm locked around Nikolai’s neck, dragging him.

There is no comfort in alone, Nikolai’s voice whispered, faint and fading.

“Nikolai—” She got a mouthful of seawater with a thick chaser of oil from the burning ship, choked, her lip stinging terribly. Her eyes smarted. Her entire body trembled, a thin fine shuddering made out of wire. “Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard.” She choked again, spat to clear her mouth. He was utterly limp. She swam for shore, churning at the water, Power bleeding out through her heavy arms and legs. If I keep this up my heart will stop.

She kept going.

The waves helped, and once she reached the side of another pier she found a ladder. She clung to it, wondering if she could carry him up.

“Selene!” Marina’s voice. A rope—two—three ropes coiled down. One of them struck Selene’s head, and she shook it away. “Tie him on!”

Selene nodded. Her fingers were cold and terribly numb. Still, she managed to get one rope tied around Nikolai’s chest, under his arms. She almost lost him twice, his head falling limply back and his body slipping through her grasp.

When she had it knotted securely, she found herself treading water. “Haul him up,” she said, harshly, and heard Nikolai’s snap of command in her own voice. Do I really sound like him? She looked at the thin shingle ladder nailed together, and a sigh shook her heavy body in the water’s cold arms. The medallion was a circle of ice against her chest, its life gone.

Sucking at her wounded lip, her eyes streaming tears, Selene began to climb.