Never. I didn't say it to him and I didn't say it to myself. I didn't have to. It was as unspoken but true as the rising and setting sun. The sword in my hand was for my own personal monster. But if worse came to worst… I'd been dead once today. It wasn't so bad.
Bending his head, Darkling's curved fangs snapped at Robin's neck. Niko seized the black throat and pulled him off Goodfellow. A few scattered drops of blood dribbled from the jet claws as he tore free of Niko's grip and somersaulted through the air. Hitting the wall feetfirst, he raced along the length of the room with the speed and grace of a greyhound. Robin whirled, led his target, and tossed his knife. It spun with deceptive laziness and slammed point first into the plaster, missing Darkling by scant millimeters.
"Don't quit your day job," Rafferty grunted over my shoulder.
Annoyed, Robin flashed him a frozen glare that thawed instantly as he caught sight of me. "Caliban?" The moment of distraction cost him. Darkling hit him with enough force to lift him bodily several feet off the floor and slam him into the far wall. Hissing in pain, Goodfellow managed to get his knee up and push him off a few inches. It wasn't much, but it was just enough for Robin to pull another knife seemingly out of nowhere. He jammed it toward the scaled stomach. Sinuous as a snake, Darkling twisted and avoided the blow. Almost. The point of the blade caught the webbing of arm and side. With a gaping grin, Darkling yanked the weapon from Robin's grasp and touched the metal to his tongue, tasting his own blood. It was almost white, the blood, with a peculiarly thin and foamy consistency. It reminded me of the leaking fluid of a caterpillar accidentally crushed by my Keds fifteen or more years ago.
Pale eyes glittered as even paler liquid was licked from a lipless mouth. "Like a fine wine. Here… have some." Spinning, he punched the blade into Niko's shoulder like an ice pick through wet cardboard. Nik had been drifting up silently behind him, sword readied for a decapitating blow. There wasn't any way Darkling could've heard him, preternatural hearing or not. Nik was genetically human, but there were aspects to him, skills he possessed, that were beyond human. How did Darkling know, then? How was he aware of Niko's flanking motion?
Because of me.
He'd shared my mind for long enough to know Nik as I knew him. What I could predict in my brother, Darkling would see just as clearly.
Niko reeled backward with the knife still firmly embedded in his shoulder. He didn't make a sound, simply steadied himself and transferred his sword to the other hand. With a face as set as that of a stone statue, he moved back into the fray. He didn't spare a moment for the pain and he didn't spare a glance for me. He didn't have to. He was as aware of me as he was of Darkling. And right now he was focused on saving me.
Trouble was… I was tired of being saved. I was tired of my ass being in a sling because Mom had needed extra cash and had diddled the boogeyman. I was tired of running and I was damn tired of getting caught. One way or the other, this was the end of it. One way or the other, the monster was no more. Was I referring to Darkling or myself?
I didn't know.
My fingers felt clumsy on the hilt of my borrowed sword, and my legs felt like someone else's as my squat became the distant, inbred cousin to a crouch. Rafferty's hand was still clamped on my shoulder, but his attention was fixed on the battle. Robin had dropped to the floor and rolled out from under Darkling, reaching for another dagger tucked against the small of his back as he went. Darkling himself had done a backward flip away from the wall into the center of the room. The venom he spat at Niko was a glittering mist in the air. Nik ducked to one knee, dodging it, then lunged up again. The toll of the metal penetrating his flesh was beginning to tell. The upper part of his shirt was soaked in blood and shock sweat was beginning to dampen his hair. It wouldn't stop him, though, I knew. Nothing short of death would.
"You're quick," Darkling commended, clapping his dark hands lightly. "For a sheep. But it didn't help you before, Cyrano, and it won't help you now." He cocked his head sideways. "I own him, you know. Little brother belongs to me. I've been in every part of him… every cell of his body, every fiber of his being. He's mine to use as I want. Mine. And there's nothing… nothing you can do." His voice was a thousand times more deadly than his poison. Soft, conspiratorial, and utterly soulless. "I'll take him just as before. You can't stop me. You can never stop me."
"But I can."