Лорел Гамильтон - Rafael

I pulled enough of the T-shirt out of the front of my pants so that I could squeeze it out like you’d wring a wet washcloth, but instead of water I wrung blood out on the floor.

I looked up at Franco as I held my newly bloody hands out from my body. “Not my blood.”

“You are really unpopular to have that many of us challenge you,” he said.

“Only one person tried to kill me outside, just one,” I said.

He looked even more disdainful and arrogant. “One person hurt you this badly, you so aren’t getting in to see the doctors. They’re here for the fighters.”

I could feel my temper start to rise like it usually did if I wasn’t working at staying calm, but standing there covered in the blood of a man that I’d torn apart by accident, because I didn’t understand how strong I was, I didn’t want to stay calm. I’d wanted to find a private corner to fall apart and scream and maybe cry, and shower and change into something clean, but no one was going to give me room to cry, so if I couldn’t deal with my real emotions right now, I’d pick a different emotion.

“You have to explain it to him, or make him move, Anita. I’m sorry, it’s just how it works,” Claudia said.

“Fine,” I said, and I glared up at the big man. He was at least seven inches taller than me. I looked into his dark brown eyes for a second and then moved my gaze down to the center of his body. If he made a move, that was where it would start. Whether it was a punch, or a kick, or going for a blade, or even just taking a step forward, he had to move the center of his body first. Eye contact was great, but the eyes could lie, the middle of his chest couldn’t. Funny, it was almost the same spot where the heart was, so that even in violence we led with our hearts.

My anger was warm and washed away the need to cry or be hysterical. Rage had been my shield against the world for so long that it was like putting on a favorite sweatshirt all comfy and worn in all the right places, so that you could cuddle into it and feel safe.

“I’m covered in the blood of my enemy, who tried to kill me with a silver blade.”

“Silver, how long did the fight last for someone to go for silver?” he asked.

“He started with it, out of the gate.”

“Show him the knife,” Claudia said.

I’d forgotten I had it, sheathed and tucked in at the back of my pants. The fact that I’d forgotten it meant I was more shocky than I’d thought. I pulled the knife out, sheath and all.

He looked at the blade. “You killed Tony?”

“If this is his blade, yeah.”

“How can you be good enough with a blade to have killed Tony? You’re not even a real shapeshifter.”

“I didn’t kill him with a blade,” I said, and the anger was starting to seep away on a wave of weariness that just washed over me and made me almost sway.

“What, did you kill him with your bare hands?” He made it derisive, a very I’m the big strong man and you’re a weak little girl tone. I’d heard that tone all my life and I was so fucking tired of it.

“Yes,” I said.

“How?” Again, with that disbelieving tone.

“I tore his arm off at the shoulder and he bled to death.”

“A human couldn’t do that.”

“No, a human couldn’t do that,” I said, and my voice was soft; the anger that had kept me safe was just gone.

“Rafael gave you what the rest of us fought to earn. Now you have our strength without changing form. What else did he just give you that the rest of us bled for?”

My inner beasts stirred, but only rat looked up from the darkness, black eyes gleaming dark on dark inside me. I was surrounded by too much matching energy for any of my other beasts. The magic that had thinned down once we stepped into the warehouse pulsed through me like my body was a gong to be struck and made to vibrate. It wasn’t just sound that vibrated, that thrummed inside and on every side of me, it was power.

Franco staggered back against the wall as if he might have fallen without it. Claudia hadn’t moved. Whatever this magic was, it could be aimed, or maybe it just went in the direction of my emotions. Franco was standing between me and someplace I wanted to go. He was standing between me and medical care. He was standing between me and getting out of all this blood.

My rage came back not like a comfy sweatshirt this time but like a suit of armor, and what good is armor without a sword? And then I thought, I don’t know how this magic works. If I aim it at him, will I be able to control it? Will it kill him by accident like the man outside? I suddenly knew every blade Franco was wearing. The only place I couldn’t see was his back, so he might be carrying there, but otherwise I knew them all.

“Your eyes, your eyes, no one told me you were a bruja.” He pressed himself against that wall where the power had thrown him, but it wasn’t the magic keeping him there, it was his fear.

“Are you going to try to stop us from going through the door?” I asked.

He shook his head, pressing himself a little harder against the wall. “Brujas can go where they like.”

“Good to know,” I said.

Claudia held the door for us. Pierette and I walked through, and Franco kept cowering against the wall. He was a wererat, he shouldn’t be afraid of little rats, so what the hell did the brujas do to put that level of fear in him, and why hadn’t Rafael mentioned that the wererats had their own flavor of magic? If he’d just assumed it didn’t matter to me, we needed to talk. If he’d left it out deliberately, we really needed to talk, but later, after he’d defeated Hector and we’d chased down the vampire that was trying to make a move on the rodere. But first—first I’d let a doctor look at my leg and see if I could borrow some clean clothes. I’d have liked to think a shower was possible, but I wasn’t feeling that optimistic.

21

I DON’T KNOW if it was the magic or interacting with Franco, but I was calmer until I saw myself in the mirror that covered half of one wall. It wasn’t Carrie-at-the-prom bad, I only had a little bit of blood on the ends of my hair on one side, and black hair hides it better than strawberry blond does; so does black clothing. If you hadn’t been around a lot of violence, you might not even have known my clothes were covered with blood, but I’d been around a lot of violence and I knew exactly what I was looking at. I could feel the blood starting to dry on my skin and the cloth of my shirt starting to stick wherever the bra didn’t keep it at a distance. It had never occurred to me that sports bras were meant for wicking up sweat and that meant blood was just another liquid to them. Good to know for later.

Claudia waved her hand in front of my face. I blinked and looked at her; it was as if I was experiencing everything in slow motion. “You’re in shock,” she said.

I thought about nodding and finally said, “Yes.”

“I can’t tell how much of the blood I’m smelling is hers,” Pierette said from the other side of me. Had she been there a moment before, or just walked up from somewhere else? Was this just shock?

Claudia called out to someone and Dr. Lillian was there. She’d cut her thick gray hair very short so that the delicate bones of her face were more noticeable. She looked older, but not old, if that made sense, but knowing how much older Rafael was than I’d assumed, I realized for this much to show on her she had to be eighty, or even older. Could she be over a hundred?

She smiled, her gray-blue eyes full of that no-nonsense warmth that the best doctors and nurses seem to have. “How are you feeling, Anita?”

“Fine,” I said, automatically.

The smile faded and she shined a little light in my eyes, made me follow her finger as she moved it. “You are not fine. You are in shock.” She looked up at Claudia. “You said this blood wasn’t hers.”