Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

“You’ve grown,” said a rough voice, behind him. “I suppose I imagined you as a child, all these years.”

Eddie turned, and watched as that leopard shifted shape: fur disappearing into flesh, bones lengthening, human features becoming prominent in a feline face.

Lyssa stood beside him, very still, tense, as the leopard became a brown-haired woman: pale and slender, with small breasts and narrow hips, and deep scars across her torso that looked like claw marks.

She seemed very young, hardly eighteen — until he saw her eyes. The pits of her eyes were black as a winter lake, bottomless and cold with death. He was afraid to look too long into that gaze, as if it would consume him — starting with his heart — swallowing his dreams, down to the last drop.

He had managed to push away the crippling fear that Nikola and Betty had tried to infect him with, but Lyssa was right: the Cruor Venator was something else entirely.

Her presence felt like a vacuum, sucking away on the edges of his soul — nibbling and tearing, and tugging with sharp teeth all the bits of himself that mattered. He wanted to scratch his skin and twitch. His heart pounded. Cold waves of power rushed over him, tendrils breaking through his immunity.

It made him sick. Fear crept. He wanted to cringe.

Instead, Eddie forced his spine even straighter and met her gaze. This woman, he told himself, was nothing but another Matthew Swint — a monster hiding in a human shell — and he was not going to be a coward again.

He was not going to be cowed.

The Cruor Venator smiled faintly. “You have balls, young man.”

“Don’t look at him,” Lyssa whispered.

“If I were not too old to breed,” replied the witch, ignoring her, “you would tempt me. I like how you stare into my eyes, as though it is a challenge.”

An imaginary tongue raced across an imaginary wound in Eddie’s back, and he fought down the shudder that crawled up his spine into his throat.

Lyssa stepped in front of him. “You found me. I’m here. I got your messages.”

The Cruor Venator rolled her shoulders, dark eyes glittering. “You’re here, but you’re hardly ripe. Or perhaps you’re far more coldhearted than I gave you credit for being.”

Lyssa quivered. “Ripe.”

“You haven’t killed. I can see it in your eyes. You have not yet embraced your blood,” said the Cruor Venator , giving her a look filled with curiosity and disdain. “Your mother was never so stupid, but we were from a different age. Death was once a quiet thing, as accepted as water and air. To kill was to survive.”

“I survive,” she whispered.

“But you do not live. How many excuses do you need, little one? I show you the wounded body of someone you know. I kill your friend. I threaten the lives of others in your care. I practically give you Nikola and Betty, whom I know you could have killed with just a thought. Indeed, I thought you might have taken Betty’s life. . but alas, no.”

The Cruor Venator smiled. “I murdered your mother and your father. And yet, you still pretend. You refrain from death.” Her gaze ticked left, to Eddie. “Perhaps you are ashamed. Does he know what you are?”

Lyssa tensed. Eddie placed his hands on her shoulders, heat spreading from his palms as he summoned all his strength to make his voice sound steady, and calm.

“She is a Cruor Venator, ” he said, too gently. “And she knows she has nothing to be ashamed of with me.”

Beneath his hands, Lyssa stilled.

Then, in a voice that trembled, said, “Why are you doing this, Georgene? Why bait me? Why try to force my hand?”

“Because we’re family,” she said, which didn’t surprise Eddie nearly as much as it should have. “And it has occurred to me, over the years, that it is a sad thing to be the last of one’s kind. I will make no pacts with a demon for immortality. And likewise, no fae would grant it to me. So when I die. .”

“You should have thought of that before you killed my mother,” said Lyssa.

“Your mother,” replied the woman, “had it coming. And if your father hadn’t stolen her from me before I was done—”

The Cruor Venator never finished that sentence. Fire roared off Lyssa, a blast so furious the blood began boiling beneath their feet. Flames engulfed the witch, whose skin crackled and peeled, her hair lifting up as hot air slammed her face.

But all she did was bare her teeth and smile.

“Not yet,” she said, her voice almost lost beneath the hiss of fire. “You’re no Cruor Venator to kill me. Not until you take a life of your own.”

The witch pointed behind them. Tina was still unconscious

“Kill her,” whispered the Cruor Venator , holding Lyssa’s gaze. “Take her blood, then neither of us will be alone. You will be a true Cruor Venator. ”

“And me, as well?” asked a soft voice from the door.

Eddie turned and found Nikola just outside, watching them. A blade in her hand. Gaze steady and cold.

“Darling,” said the Cruor Venator softly. “Of course, you.”

Nikola smiled, her feet making sticky sounds with each slow step. “And am I too late?”

“For the killing?” murmured the witch. “No, dear. Not too late for that.”

“Good,” Nikola said, and threw her dagger at the Cruor Venator. The blade sank hilt deep into her throat.

Eddie moved in almost the same instant, grabbing Lyssa around the waist and swinging her away from the witch. He didn’t have to worry, though. Nikola snarled, leaping across the blood-soaked floor to slam fists into the Cruor Venator ’s chest.

“Tina,” Lyssa gasped.

Fire filled his hands, racing up his arms as she squirmed away from him, slipping and sliding across the slick floor to Jimmy’s mother. The woman was unbound. Lyssa grabbed her arms and began dragging her to the door. Eddie moved to help her, just as a cold wave of power slammed into him.

It was from the witches, who were engaged in an eerily silent contest of blood and wills. The Cruor Venator made not a sound as Nikola stabbed her, but he knew in his gut that no matter what damage they did. . she would survive.

And then this would begin again.

Without looking back, he went to Lyssa — picked up Tina in his arms — and they ran like hell from the nightmare.

Another world, outside: a river breeze and starlight and the faintest hint of morning. No scent of blood. Lyssa shuddered when they ran from the house, full of her mother and the memory of that death-drenched room.

A scream had been building from that first taste of her mother’s blood — a scream caught in her throat, growing with each moment spent in Georgene’s presence. But now, away from her, that silent scream was becoming something else — and the moment Lyssa stepped onto the driveway, she fell to one knee, burning up. Her skin split open in seams of golden light. Bones cracked. Her heart thundered so hard she clutched her chest.

She was going to explode.

“Lyssa,” Eddie said urgently, but she shook her head and stumbled sideways, away from him. He stood too close, and Tina was in his arms. The poor woman would burn and die if Lyssa lost control.

A small, young voice rang out. Lyssa looked up, and saw Jimmy running down the driveway toward them.

“No,” she croaked, backing away. “Jesus.”

“Jimmy!” shouted Eddie. “Stay there!”

The boy did not stop. Lyssa turned, fleeing back inside the house, trying to put walls between herself and the boy. Fire erupted over her skin, burning through her clothing — rising in her throat, filling that buried scream with terrible power.