Lili St Crow - Defiance

No way. Still too much work to do.

But I just lay there for a few seconds, Graves in my arms, his head tipped back and his throat working as he swallowed several times. He was definitely hugging me tighter than he had to, and every time he gasped in a breath, he would exhale and his arms would tighten more.

Like he was afraid someone would take me away.

My arm was twisted underneath me, and I was exhausted. Even my toenails hurt. Even my hair hurt. The pain was a river, and I just lay in it.

“Dru. Dru. ” He was saying my name. He had his face in my dirty hair. I hugged him back as hard as I could. The fire roared like the sea, and I could see the side of a warehouse. We were on the verge of a greenbelt, wet bushes dripping under the fine misting rain, and the night was painted by leaping flames.

There were still sporadic gunshots. I didn’t hear Christophe screaming anymore. The thought sent a hot bolt of guilt through me. Thick black smoke was heaving itself up into the sky.

“Dru,” Graves repeated raggedly. “Dru. Jesus. Dru. ”

“Um.” I could find nothing to say. My fangs were still out, achingly sensitive. “Graves.” Or should I call you Edgar? A thin bubble of hysterical laughter welled up inside of me; I ended up letting out a wheeze that turned into a series of smoke-tarnished coughs.

“Jesus.” Was he shaking? I couldn’t tell, because I’d turned into mud. I could’ve just laid there and waited for morning with no trouble at all.

Except it was going to get cold, and we couldn’t stay here.

“Graves.” The word rasped against the bloodhunger, quivering on the back of my palate. No more danger candy; why had it failed me this time? Had the blooming gotten rid of it?

Worry about that later, Dru.

He hugged me even harder. “Jesus. Jesus. ”

I coughed again. “Got. To. Get out. Graves. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Something rustled in the greenbelt, under the suck-back draft of the fire. Graves tensed, and weary annoyance filtered through me. Oh, Lord, what now? Take a number, I’m done for the night.

But we did have to go. And someone was in the bushes.

A shadow loomed over us, orange light reflecting oddly from his irises before he crouched. Soot smeared over his face, his long greasy hair was singed, and he was barefoot. He pushed at my shoulder with those long pale fingers, and a happy grin lit his dirty face.

“Bang,” Ash whispered. White teeth flashed, just like the skunk stripe in his hair.

“Holy fuck .” Every muscle in Graves’s body had turned to stone. “What the—”

“It’s Ash.” I even sounded tired to death. It was hard to talk. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Just us.”

“Bang!” Ash repeated, and pushed at my shoulder again. Nudging at me, like a dog.

I nodded, pushing my chin down and bringing it back up. The wet we were laying on was seeping into my hair. “Bang,” I agreed wearily. “Help me up?” I freed one hand, and his slim strong fingers laced through mine.

“He changed back?” Graves made it to his feet slowly. He didn’t bother brushing off his coat. “Jeez.”

I patted myself down. No bleeding, just aching. My ribs on the left side seemed fine enough, except for hurting like mad bastards. The lump of heat in my midsection from Anna’s blood was gone, and her whispering inside my head had faded to a ghost-mutter, as if I’d just cleared a haunted house and was hearing the echoes. I had my bag, and my malaika lay on the ground.

Think, Dru. Think now, and think hard.

First things first. “Help me clip my malaika in.” I swayed. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

“What exactly are we going to do?” Graves just sounded curious, and I hoped he’d forgotten he was disgusted by my fangs.

It didn’t matter, I told myself firmly. He’d come back and unloaded most of a clip into Sergej. Whether he was disgusted or not didn’t matter.

Not now.

“Catch a cab, ride a bus.” I considered it for a moment as Ash steadied me. He looked damn happy, all things considered. “If all else fails, you get a crash course in how to steal a car.”

“You sure do show a boy a good time, Miss Anderson.” Graves hunched his shoulders. His irises flashed green again. “I’m starving.”

He sounded, of all things, hopeful .

“Bang,” Ash agreed, nodding vigorously. That made it unanimous.

The weight of being in charge, of deciding what to do, settled back on my shoulders. Like it had never left. “Transport first.” I tried to sound absolutely certain. “Then food. Then we find someplace to sleep.”

Graves bent over, straightened slowly with my malaika . The fire painted his bruises with garish immediacy, and I couldn’t read his expression. Ash bounced a little next to me, like a hound who’s just done a good deed and expects a pet or two.

“Good job,” I managed. “Good job, Ash. Get us out of here and somewhere there’s transportation, okay?”

“Bang-kay. Kay. Okay.” He nodded vigorously, and pointed at the greenbelt. There could have been a million vampires hiding in those shadows, and for a moment the urge to just collapse right where I was and let the Order find me was overwhelming.

Then I squared my shoulders, stood still so Graves could snap my malaika back in, and found out I could walk.

I scanned the hotelparking lot one more time and shut the door. Stood for a moment with my head hanging. The thought of warding the walls just about threatened to keel me over.

I’d paid cash and used an old fake ID, a leftover from traveling with Dad. The clerk barely glanced at it, his eyes lighting up when I shoved the greenbacks over the counter. He went back to watching the flickering television playing some show about tattoo artists, and I’d taken the key gladly and shuffled off.

“Come on, this won’t stay hot. Or even warmish.” Graves touched my shoulder.

Both the boys had carried up armloads of fast-food bags. That’s one thing about the big city—they don’t even blink when you go through a New Jersey drive-through at 3 a.m. in a stolen car with two hungry werwulfen and get sixty bucks’ worth of burgers and fries, not to mention six large chocolate milk shakes.

Ash was already snout-deep in a double-bacon cheeseburger, trying to eat it and suck on the straw to his second milk shake at the same time. Graves had a handful of french fries and was already looking way more peppy. If he could get enough food in him, the bruises would heal down and he’d be all right in twelve hours or so.

My brain was tired. It felt like I was thinking through mud. Sergej. Anna. Christophe. Did I really do all that? I blinked, picked up a gigantic burger in its crackling paper wrapping, and swallowed hard.

The rock in my throat didn’t want to go away. I just swallowed past it. I ate mechanically, and for about fifteen minutes the only sounds were slurping, munching, and Ash’s happy little humming sounds as he chewed. Graves ate steadily, his eyelids at half-mast over his pain-darkened irises and his shoulders hunched.

After a while, Graves stopped. Looked at me. We stared at each other for a long moment, and I braced myself as much as I could. Kept chewing. Washed down the flavorless cud with a bullet of toot-haching cold-sweet milkshake.

“So what are doing now?” Graves’s eyes were lighting back up, the shadows retreating the more he ate. He looked at me like I should know.

Well, I did, sort of. Out of all of us, I was the one most used to planning things like this. Escapes. Scenarios. Dad had drilled it into me, I’d spent a whole childhood preparing.