Kelly Gay - The Darkest Edge of Dawn

Oh, Brim. You stupid beast. And then I let my grief sink me into his patterns until the white behind my lids encompassed everything. And there was nothing else.

That voice sounded in my head again. That soothing female voice that I’d heard amid the panic and cries. That welcoming song that blew through me, and drew me, and fascinated me.

“Charlie? Detective, we have to move.”

I flinched, trying to get away from the wet assault on my face. The scent of blood and sweat and hound reached my nose. I cracked an eye open and lifted my head. My good arm was draped over Brim’s back. I’d collapsed over him. But his large head was turned, his nasty tongue licking my face and neck. My hand caressed his smooth stomach. The wounds were there, raw scars. Dried blood.

“How—”

I tried to shake some mental sense into my head as Brim got up and trotted off, sniffing the stones of the terrace. Pendaran, clothed and back in nymph form, smiled down at me. “I believe you healed him.”

My jaw dropped, and I gaped for a moment until the memories began to slowly flow back into my mind. Sinking into him, seeing his wounds, weaving them, putting them back together … That had been real?

“But … Where? Aaron?” I glanced beyond Pen to see that the hole in the darkness was now gone, cutting off the blinding sun from the city below and leaving us once more in darkness.

Pen’s hand slid under my arm, pulling me up. I swayed, my stomach rolling in on itself and sending bile to my throat. I swallowed it down. “Fuck,” I breathed out through the pain and nausea.

“The ring has been delivered. We need to get you off this terrace before—”

And then I heard it and understood. Fighting, coming from the stairwell and into the arboretum, the dangerous forest of glass and darkness. Hank and several of the Druid’s Kinfolk flooded onto the scene, pushed back by a swarm of jinn warriors.

Grigori Tennin did not intend to lose his prize.

I glanced at the sarcophagus. Llyran had failed. Tennin was another story. I shoved Pendaran away, demanding my body to regain its balance, but I crumpled to the ground instead. I opened my mouth to tell him to take the First One, but as soon as Grigori Tennin himself appeared, marching through the fighting, violet eyes gleaming and chest heaving like a murderous bull, Pendaran’s expression went deadly. He ran, leapt into the air, and shifted into dragon form.

Seeing those two heavyweights converge was like watching two land masses collide. Everyone stopped for a second.

Through the chaos, I saw Brimstone attacking and Hank caught against the wall fighting two female jinn warriors.

And I was spent. I had nothing to give.

Tennin grabbed Pen by the leg and swung him around, sending him into one of the steel supports that had held up the glass dome. It bent with a spinechilling whine. Hank had gotten one of the warrior’s short swords and shoved it through the belly of one of his opponents, then immediately deflected another. Pen roused, but wasn’t quick enough to evade the swift descent of Tennin’s vicious axe. It sliced through the Druid’s shoulder as the dragon swiped the jinn boss off his feet, gripped him in his talons, and then flung him toward the edge of the terrace.

Hank battled the other jinn. A kick to her jaw sent her spinning around, her back to him as he caught her, pulled her close, brought up his hands, and snapped her neck. She sank at his feet. His eyes lifted, met mine, and he started toward me.

But then his body jerked. He froze, eyes never leaving mine. And then he fell forward with an axe buried between his shoulder blades.

Behind him Grigori Tennin stalked forward, eyes glowing violet red and pinned on me.

Pendaran’s wings unfurled as he leapt high over the melee and came crashing down on Hank, his big black wings covering my partner from view, but not before I saw his jaws open and his white teeth come down on Hank’s neck. A scream welled in my chest, but before I could let it fly, the dragon’s head came up, and his jaws flung Hank’s voice-mod into the air.

And then the Druid King’s dragon eyes narrowed on Grigori as he came for me. Pendaran let out a furious roar, spun around, took six massive steps, and then lunged for Grigori. The impact sent them flying off the fifty-story building.

I crawled toward Hank, weaving between warriors and ducking weapons. I still couldn’t feel my arm, but knew I had to reach him. “Hank,” I cried, pulling myself to his body. He didn’t respond. Immediately I wrapped my good hand around the axe handle and pulled it out, flinging it behind me and noticing that Orin and Brim had moved closer, making a protective stance around us. I grabbed Hank’s shoulder and pulled him over. “Hank!” I tapped his cheek, noticing his neck and the deep, bloody gouges caused by Pendaran’s teeth. “Please, wake up! Hank! ”

The jinn were pushing in; more of the nymphs surrounded us now, outnumbered by Tennin’s fierce warriors.

“Charlie?”

I swung my head around to see Hank’s eyes open. “Use your voice,” I said suddenly.

“What?”

I grabbed his shoulder and shook, though it barely moved him. “Goddammit, Hank! Use your voice and use it now!”

One hand lifted to his neck. Understanding dawned in his eyes, and it was like watching a superconductor draw energy to itself as he realized his power was his once again. His face went merciless, and his eyes went sapphire as he grabbed me, shoved me down, and sat up. Instinctively I covered my ears, knowing that he was about to unleash a word of power, something he had claimed once that I’d never hear in my lifetime. Hah. He should’ve known better.

The deep five-syllable boom that came out of Hank emerged with the force of a tidal wave that rattled my teeth, flattened everything in its path, shook the building, and—from the sound of glass breaking—popped several windows in the tower.

I waited until there was no sound but the city itself and the constant, heavy beat of my pulse.

When I lifted my head, it looked as though a bomb had gone off. Much of the dirt, glass, and debris had been wiped off the terrace and only some trees and stubborn plants remained. Jinn warriors and nymphs lay where they fell. Brim was next to me, on his side, but breathing normally.

“They’re not dead,” Hank said in nearly a whisper from behind me.

He was standing, stepping over the bodies, to pick up a dagger and shove it beneath the strap of his belt. It was gray and dark overhead. The wind whipped his bloody and torn clothes and his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his face. He dragged his fingers through it and then gazed out over the skyline.

Last one standing, I thought.

He offered me a hand and I took it, unsteady on my feet at first and my arm still burning and completely useless. “Why am I still conscious?”

“Because you were connected to me,” he said quietly. Too quietly. “You had hold of my hand.”

“What’s wrong with your voice? Are you hur—?” But the answer came to me even as he started to respond.

“I’m controlling my tone. We’re not very good at it. Can’t keep it up for long …”

The voice-mod was gone. There was nothing adjusting his natural tone. But I didn’t care. I was in too much pain to care. Maybe even in too much pain to be affected much by Hank’s voice. And if not, then, so what? I’d be enamored with him to the point of forgetting I hurt so much. “Talk all you want,” I muttered as we picked our way over the bodies, heading toward the agate sarcophagus. “Maybe it’ll take the pain away. My arm hurts like hell.”

That was an understatement. It hurt everywhere, but my arm overshadowed everything else. It burned, pulsed in an angry, red, infected beat. I glanced down at it. From the tips of my fingers to my shoulder, my skin was pink from the burn and covered in faint blue script.