WHEN WE REACHED THE DEAD-RAT WIELDING kids, Derek collapsed. He fell forward, snout first into the asphalt. The kids stared, startled, but didn't bolt.
A soft shudder went through the werewolf, releasing a mist, and leaving the naked human body curled on the ground. The kids looked on.
The gash on his thigh was deeper than I had thought. The creature's claws had severed the thick muscle shield of the quadriceps and cut deep into the calf. I peered into the wound and saw the shredded femoral artery. The injured flesh quivered. Torn blood vessels crawled toward each other amidst the muscle starting to knit together. The Lyc-V had shut his consciousness down to save energy for repairs.
Pain lanced my waist, tearing up into my chest. Gritting my teeth, I turned Derek on his stomach, worked one arm under his hips and threaded the other across his chest under his arms. He was heavier than he looked, weighing in at one fifty, maybe one fifty-five. No matter.
"Hey, lady!" said the kid with feathers in his hair.
The children stood huddled together. We must have made quite a spectacle, Derek, nude and no longer furry, and I, drenched in blood, with my sword still smoking in its sheath.
"You need some help?" the kid said.
"Yeah," I said, my voice hoarse.
He came forward, picked up Derek's feet, and looked back at his pack. "Mike."
Mike spat to the side and tried to look mean.
The kid with the feathers glared at him. "Mike!"
Mike spat again, for show—there wasn't much spit left—came over, and awkwardly clutched Derek's shoulders.
"Hold him under the armpits," I said.
He glanced at me, fear dancing in his eyes, set his jaw, and shifted his grip.
"On three," I muttered. "Three."
We heaved. The world swayed in the whirlwind of pain and then Derek was draped across Frau's back. He would be fine. Lyc-V would repair him and tomorrow morning he'd be like new. I, on the other hand… A wet bloodstain was spreading from under my jacket at an alarming rate. If the blood started dripping, I'd be in a world of trouble. At least I still hurt.
"Thanks," I muttered to the children.
"My name's Red," the kid with feathers said.
I stuck my hand into the pocket of my pants. My fingers found a card. I handed it to him, careful to wipe the bloody smudge marring it on my sleeve. Not my blood. Derek's.
"If you ever need help," I said.
He took it solemnly and nodded.
THE STAIRS WERE DARK AS HELL.
I climbed, the steady pressure of Derek's body distributed over my back. If I bent over just right, the pain was bearable, and so I dragged Derek and the bag up the stairs one step at a time, trying to keep my angle steady and being careful where I put my feet. I wasn't certain if a werewolf could survive a broken neck. I knew I couldn't.
I paused on the landing to catch a breath and glanced up at my apartment's door.
A man sat on the stairs, his head leaning against the wall.
Gently I lowered Derek to the floor and went for my sword. The man's chest rose and fell in a smooth, even rhythm. I padded up the stairs, breathing through clenched teeth, until I could see his face. Crest. He didn't wake.
I tapped his head with the flat of Slayer's blade. When I awoke, I did so instantly and silently, my hand looking for my sword before my eyelids snapped open. Crest awoke like a man unused to danger, with luxurious slowness. He blinked and stifled a yawn, squinting at me.
I gave him a moment to recognize me.
"Kate?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to pick you up for dinner. We had a date."
Shit. I had completely forgotten about the date.
"I got held up until ten," he went on. "I called you but you didn't answer. It was too late by then, but I figured I'd drop by with a peace offering." He held up a paper bag full of white cartons, decorated with a stylized Chinese symbol in red ink. "You weren't here. I thought I'd wait a couple of minutes, sat down here on the stairs…" His brain finally registered my bloodied clothes, the sword, and the smudges of dried blood marring my face. His eyes widened.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll live."
I unlocked the door to the apartment, opening the ward.
"There is a naked man on the landing," I said hoping to forestall any upcoming questions. "I'm going to carry him into this apartment."
Crest threw the Chinese food into the apartment hallway and went down the stairs to get Derek without saying a word. Together we brought him inside and put him on the hallway carpet. I shut the door in the world's face and let out a breath.
I kicked off my shoes and turned the lantern switch. My shoes were bloody again. Oh well, nothing a lot of bleach wouldn't fix.
The tiny flames of feylanterns surged up, bathing the apartment in a comforting soft glow. Crest knelt to examine Derek's leg.
"He needs emergency care," he said. His voice had the brisk, professional, slightly distant tone good physicians adopted under stress.
"No, he doesn't."
He glanced at me. "Kate, the cut's deep and dirty and the artery's probably severed. He'll bleed to death."
Dizziness came, and I swayed a little. I wanted to sit down, but couches and chairs were harder to bleach than shoes. "He isn't bleeding."
Crest opened his mouth and looked back at the wound. "Shit."
"The Lycos Virus in action," I told him and went to the kitchen. There was no ready ice and scraping the freezer walls wasn't in me right that minute, so I put the bag into the sink and pulled off my shredded jacket in a flash of pain. The top underneath was soaked with blood. I tried removing it but it was stuck. I rummaged through the everything drawer for scissors, found some, and tried to cut off the vest.
The scissors got caught in the soggy fabric. I cursed and then Crest was beside me, his hand over the scissors. "I remembered you didn't have the Lyc-V," he said and the vest fell to the floor in a sodden, heavy mass.
He knelt to examine the jagged claw marks on my stomach.
"How bad?" I asked.
"Mostly shallow. Two deep lacerations, here and here." His finger grazed the skin lightly and still I winced.
"Hurts."
"I'd imagine. Would you like me to take you to the emergency room?"
"No. There is an r-kit on the table in the living room," I said. With magic this high, a regeneration-kit was almost as good as the spell doc. It cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. And its magic healed with very little scarring.
He looked at me. "Are you sure? We'd get it stitched in no time."
"I'm sure."
He went to get it. The trouble with regeneration-kits was that sometimes, like all things magic, they backfired and ate into the wound instead of healing it.
I shrugged off my pants, my panties, and my bra on the way to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The water ran bloody. My stomach hurt. When blood no longer swirled around my feet, I shut off the shower and yelled for Crest to come in. He did, carrying the roll of brown paper.
"Do you know how to use one of those?" I asked.
"I am an M.D."
"Some M.D.s want nothing to do with the r-kits."
"You're not giving me a choice about it," he said. "Raise your arms."
I put my arms to my head and chanted the incantation. Crest untied the cord securing the paper and unrolled it. It contained a bandage and a long wide strip, smeared with brown ointment and covered with waxed paper. Crest peeled the paper off and held the strip by its edges. I chanted. The ointment on the strip obeyed, liquefying. A strong smell of nutmeg spread through the room.
Crest pressed the strip against my stomach. It adhered and a soothing coolness spread through my injured muscles, slowly transforming into warmth that suffused my stomach, drowning out pain.
"Better," I murmured. Crest bandaged my waist. After putting in a long day at work this seemingly normal guy would come all this way just to see me. Why? What would it be like to crawl home after a hard day and instead of licking my wounds in solitude in a dark and empty house, find him? On the couch, maybe. Reading a book. Maybe he would put it down and say, "I'm glad you've made it. Would you like some coffee?"
His hand grazed the tattoo on my shoulder. "Why a raven?"
"To honor my father."
The fingers continued to gently slide across my skin. "The writing under it, is that Cyrillic?"
"Yes."
"What does it say?"
"Dar Vorona. Gift of the Raven. I'm my father's gift."
"To whom?"
"That, my dear doctor, is a story for another time."
"The raven is holding a bloody sword," Crest said thoughtfully.
"I never said it was a nice gift."
He finished the bandage and was examining it critically. "You know those things are unreliable." His voice held just a touch of reproach.
"Eleven out of twelve work fine. I'd say that's better chances than getting an orgasm with a blind date and women still try."
He blinked and laughed softly. "I never know what you'll say next."
"I don't either."
He rose and put his arms around me. So warm. I resisted the impulse to lean back against him. "Are you hungry?"
"Ravenous," I murmured.
"The food's probably cold by now."
"I don't care."
He kissed my neck. The kiss sent tingling warmth down into my fingertips. I turned and he kissed me again, on the mouth. I was so tired… I wanted to melt against him and let him hold me. "You're trying to take advantage of an injured naked woman."
"I know," he whispered in my ear, drawing me closer. "How awful."
Please don't let go. What am I thinking? Am I this desperate? I took a deep breath and pushed away from him gently. "I have to finish my work. I don't think you want to watch me."
"Do it after," he whispered and kissed me again. Somehow instead of breaking free, I pressed against him. I wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up in him like this, smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine… And then the vampire's head would lose the last of its magic and Derek and I would've bled for nothing. Poor Derek. "No," I said, my face a grimace. "By then it'll be too late."
"Work first. I see."
"Tonight. Not always."
"I'll watch," he said.
"You don't want to, trust me."
"It's part of what you do. I want to know."
Why? I shrugged and went to the bedroom to find some clothes. He didn't follow me.