Lili St Crow - Defiance

I considered spitting again, the taste of danger candy was so thick. Definitely not out of the woods yet.

Were my chances better staying put or moving? Well, duh, moving. I headed for the front of the car, my legs about as starchy as rubber noodles. It felt like one too many hits of Dad’s Jim Beam, the world turning to a loosey-goosey carnival ride. There was another thump in the car behind me, and I still couldn’t tell if it was train noise or a nosferat looking to take my head off the hard way.

Huh. Is there an easy way to take someone’s head off? It’s one of those unanswerable questions, like why hot dogs come in eight-packs and buns come in tens. Someone had asked me that a while ago, is there an easy way?

My heart squeezed down on itself, hard. I shoved the feeling away. I couldn’t afford to think about him . I needed all my wits in one basket right now.

I eyed the door. There was a release catch, and if I bailed, I could be pretty sure it would hurt and then I’d be down here in the tunnel. In the dark, or so close to complete dark it doesn’t matter.

What a choice. Nosferat in a rollicking subway car, or bailing and possibly breaking something, then having to deal with nosferat and trains in a dark tunnel. “Stick to the plan,” I muttered, digging in my tiny little purse. “Stick to the goddamn plan. Yeah.”

Hiro wasn’t just going to have kittens. He was going to have little baby penguins, too. And Bruce would just look disappointed. And Christophe . . .

He’s on his way. You know he is. You’ve just got to keep your head attached until he gets here.

Easier said than done. The brakes squealed; I rocked sideways as the train slowed. Coming up on the next stop. My fingers closed on the teensy disposable cell phone just as a third thud, this one accompanied with a screech of tearing metal, came from the car behind me. I dropped the phone, glanced back, and saw the claws sticking through the back wall. They retracted, then maggot-white fingers squirmed through and started tearing at the back end of the car like it was tinfoil.

Run first, call in later.

I was suddenly, deeply glad there were no civilians in this car. The train jolted, slowing, and I grabbed for the door release.

Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times, sure. Worked great in an amusement park. Not so great right now.

The aspect blurred lovingly over me as I wrenched at the door, metal squealing and tearing along with the brakes. The station burst open like a flower, lit by fluorescents, a long flight of stairs going up. I kicked the door twice; on the second kick it exploded out and I grabbed the side of the hole it left behind. The door flew into a tiled wall, hit with megaton force. Dust and sharp tile shards puffed up. I leapt, just as the nosferat burst into the car.

My feet hit first, and training curled me into a ball. I rolled, shedding momentum and erasing some skin on my knee and my right arm, came up running. The scarf tore free, its little pearls scraping some skin loose as well. Hit the stairs at warp speed, my boots making an odd hollow ringing against the concrete. Slapping boot-steps behind me, too heavy and fast to be human.

In movies, the girl being chased looks over her shoulder while the thing comes for her. The urge to do that never occurs to me. For one thing, it’ll slow me down too much.

For another, if I’m going to be hit, I don’t want to know. I want to be running flat-out when it happens, not stumbling because I’m glancing back like a moron.

The world slowed down again, but grudgingly. I was too tired, I was terrified, but the edge of emotion that let me use superhuman speed was wearing off. Adrenaline can only take you so far.

I jumped the turnstile at the head of the stairs. Gran’s owl was nowhere in sight. I was on my own here, and the nosferat was right behind me, footfalls echoing and its glassine snarl bouncing off the tiled walls. A half-turn and another short flight, and the night breathed over my hair, full of exhaust fumes and the smell of danger. Wax oranges filled my mouth, I swallowed again and wished I hadn’t, and the touch blazed inside my skull.

My feet tangled together.

If they hadn’t, the nosferat would have hit me. As it was, he went tumbling overhead as I fell, his claws kissing my hair and shearing a few curls as he twisted like a cat in midleap. I rolled, erasing more skin on my leg, gained my feet with a convulsive lurch, and stumbled back. The street was dark, residential, but I could hear the neon and the clubs pounding just a short distance away, a thunderstorm pulse.

The nosferat landed neatly, kneeling with one hand spread against the wet pavement. Fine rain misted down, and his black eyes gleamed in a streetlamp’s uncertain light. He was blond, jewels of water hanging on his fashionable razor-layered cut. His clothes were worth more than a month’s running money, Armani unless I missed my guess, and the shoes were alligator.

Bastard. Even gators don’t deserve that. Especially when most of their meat was probably dumped back into the swamp to rot after the jerks got the hide.

I inhaled, my hands coming up and everything narrowing to a single point around me. This was it. This was what I’d been training for—facing a nosferat on a dark street.

Getting a little of my own back. Some revenge.

If I hadn’t been playing bait tonight I’d’ve had a gun, or a pair of malaika . Even my silver-loaded switchblade would’ve been nice. But no, it was mano a mano for this.

Great.

The nosferat ’s lips curled back, ivory teeth glowing. Those teeth grabbed all available light, pulling it in from the darkened street and swirling it against his lips. The snarl made his pretty teenage face into a caricature of hatred. I loosened my knees.

If you’ve got a Plan D, Dru, now would be a good time.

I didn’t. In a few seconds he was going to spring, I was going to do my best to stay out of his way, and I’d either be jumping to stay ahead of him—or very dead.

Another snarl, this one low and incredibly loud. It came from behind me on a hot draft, thudding through my bones like a bass beat from big speakers. I never thought I’d be happy to hear that sound.

Or feel a werwulf breathing in my hair.

Of course Christophe would have let Ash loose. He was like that—always two steps ahead. As long as he was taking care of things, I didn’t need to worry.

Much.

The Broken werwulf slid a few steps to the side. His narrow head dipped, the silvery streak glowing just like the nosferat ’s teeth. Even on all fours, his shoulders bulked and reached the lower curve of my ribs. His growl didn’t change in pitch, but it seemed to swell. Like his chest did. He got even bigger, bulking up.

Graves would have started muttering about mass-conversion ratios and irrationality.

That was the wrong thing to think. Because sick, furious heat welled up inside me. My hands, held loose and ready, turned into fists. The bloodhunger woke up, stroking the back of my palate. This was the other way to make the aspect come alive, with anger.

No, not just anger.

Rage.

A thin thread of heat kissed my upper arm. I’d scraped hard against the pavement, and I was bleeding. There was another way to fuel the aspect.

Bloodhunger. Why they call it that when it’s technically thirst, I don’t know.

I lifted one fist, licked along the meat of my palm, a flicker of disgust quickly shelved. The red fluid coated my tongue, hit the back of my throat, and the nosferat jerked forward. He blurred into motion, and Ash grabbed the pavement and flung himself forward, too.