The Demon's Librarian

CHAPTER 22

Drifting.

It was gray, the place where he drifted. Infinitely gray, the world turned to comforting cotton-wool static. Nothing left to fight. Nothing left to do but lie still, staring blindly into the grayness, and feel the welcome numbness as it slid up his arms and legs, increment by increment, searching for his heart. When it reached his heart the gray would turn to black, and he would be released.

It didn't matter. He had done… what? Something. He had kept someone safe, and that was all that mattered. Now there was nothing left to do. Nothing but lie here and wait.

Sometimes people spoke softly, his brothers keeping watch as a vigil for the dead, some leaving, some arriving; their silence was laced with the subliminal hiss of demons watching what could well be their own fate someday. Despair turned to numbness, grief turned to apathy, the will to live sapped, gone, forgotten. The body healed itself, in fits and starts, but that was of no use.

Not now.

"Oh, Jesus.” This voice cut through the gray, flushing it with gold for a bare moment.

The thought was slow. What? Stretched out like taffy, the single word hung in the gray mist.

"Jesus Christ. What have they done to you?"

Stinging, a faraway pain. He turned his attention away, fretfully, seeing the gray mist again. Let me go. Just let me go.

"Ryan? Orion!” She sounded close to weeping, and something jabbed him in the side. “Goddammit, wake up!"

Another voice intruding, this one smooth and male. Malik. One of the commanders. “You can't bring him back. He's too far gone."

"You stay out of this, you son of a bitch.” Coldly furious. The woman's voice was familiar, so familiar it almost roused his interest. The demon stirred under the floor of his mind, a hurtful flower blooming.

No. Go back to sleep. Just let it go. Nothing more to do here, nothing more to see. Just go. Just let go.

More prickling pain, in faroff territory he recognized as his fingers and toes. Tiny needles jabbing, jabbing; each one a thin diamond star of pain. Like a frostbitten limb slowly waking up, like the painful scrape of sunlight…?

"Wake up, goddamit! I'm not finished with you! Wake the hell up, Ryan! I'm talking to you, you big dumb jerk! Get up! I need you!"

That sent another uncomfortable spike of interest through him. Need me? Nobody needs me. I did what I had to do. Now let me die.

BLAM!

The impact jolted him; the sound of open palm hitting flesh. He heard a sharp collective intake of breath. Something against his side, two dimples of pressure on either side of his hips. The blow smashed through the shell of gray haze, white light bursting against his eyes, something pressing against his chest.

BLAM!

Again. The light burst through him, the demon rising snarling through layers of apathy, chemical adrenaline flooding his bloodstream, the listlessness shaking itself away. His hand shot up, closed around something soft and fragile. But gently. Exquisitely gently.

Ryan blinked. A low rumbling growl died in his chest; his pupils shrank, trying to deal with the sudden influx of light. “Quit it.” He tried to make the words forbidding, could only manage a whisper. Why was his body so heavy?

Shock. Bodily systems shutting down. Jesus. What the hell—He peered through the glare of light, slowly making out a familiar face, framed by the low ceiling of a Drakul dormitory. He could barely remember being dragged in here while they were setting the dorm up. The Order had probably moved in here in a hell of a hurry.

Chess's eyes were now mostly dark-gold, the hazel that remained merely flecks. She had braced her knees on either side of his hips, and her hair was loose, falling forward over her shoulders. She wore a blue V-neck sweater that made her skin look even more flawless, and she had the fading remains of a terrific black eye. The gash in her forehead had healed nicely. She smelled of Malik healing-sorcery, and of gold, and of female, the familiar scent he filled his lungs with, staring up at her, her wrist trapped in his fingers.

And she was crying. Tears spilled down her cheeks and high color flushed along her cheekbones, she looked frantic.

She was so goddamn beautiful it robbed him of breath.

Life returned in a rush of color and sound. He was vaguely aware of the presence of other Drakulein, watching with bright eyes and reined interest. The Deputy Master also stood by the bed, his arms folded and his dark eyes narrowed. You sadistic bastard… He buried the thought. They'd made Shelton a commander because he had a habit of losing Drakul. What was he doing here? And with Chess?

He blinked again. What the hell's going on? Chess? In a Drakul dorm?

We made it. She's safe. Relief burst inside his chest, exquisite relief. What the hell was going on?

She let out a sound that was half a sob, half a sigh. Her left hand, wrapped in a white gauze bandage, was knotted in his shirt. At least the other Drakul had cleaned him up and dressed him before putting him in a bed to die.

"You idiotic, infuriating, brainless—” She seemed, for once, to run out of words, and tipped her head back, her jaw working. Ryan observed this curiously.

Finally, her chin came back down, and she fixed him with a glare he was exceedingly happy to be alive to see. “Don't you dare die on me!” she finally settled for saying, with barely-controlled violence. “We're partners, remember? Don't you dare die!"

He searched for something to say. His mouth opened. “Your bedside manner could use a little work, sweetheart."

For a moment he thought she was going to try to tear her hand free and slap him again, and he decided he'd let her, if only because the thought of her skin touching his made a bolt of fire go through him. Instead, her arm relaxed. She let out a long, sobbing breath, her shoulders dropping. He was suddenly, acutely aware of her weight against him.

"Don't call me that.” She swallowed. “Are you… they said you were…"

He was acutely aware of other eyes watching. “I'll be all right. Are you okay?” That was the important thing. She didn't smell hurt; but the sudden stinging scent of her fear lashed him into full alertness, smashing at the remaining gray, cottony numbness. The demon stretched inside him, strangely satisfied—of course, he'd let it out. And it had feasted on blood and violence.

She nodded, biting at her lower lip. “Let go, I need to sit down. I spilled my coffee."

What? “What happened?” Clue me in, sweetheart. The last thing I remember is you telling me to stand up since you'd… what? Killed a High One? His skin chilled again, at the thought of her facing that alone.

She let out an unsteady, barking little laugh that it hurt him to hear. “What happened? I had to drag you through blackberry bushes and put up with that SOB—” She tilted her head toward the Deputy Master. “—trying to tell me to just let you die. You can't die, Ryan. Not after I dragged your ass up that goddamn hill."

I never thought I'd live to hear Shelton referred to as a SOB. Ryan made his fingers loosen. His entire body ached, yanked back from shock. He would need a little bit of bedrest and a few protein loads before he was near fighting capacity again. He'd pushed the limits of even a Drakul's strength. He vaguely remembered taking on a High One, blind with the rage of his demon half. “Yes ma'am,” he mumbled, and she clambered off the bed, giving him a venomous look that cheered him up immensely. “No dying allowed.” He sounded hoarse but much more alert now.

"You better believe it.” Someone moved aside for her, and she dropped into a chair by the bedside, then reached over and grabbed his hand, lying discarded on the plain dun blanket. Against the bare white walls and low ceiling of the dormitory, she seemed almost to glow. She darted another glance at the Deputy Master, whose face had settled into an interested, bland expression. “This is my Drakul,” she informed him, tartly. Ryan felt, even if he couldn't see, the sudden attention of the other Drakulein, each of whom held completely still, waiting. Her fingers laced through his. “I'm told the Golden have Drakul bodyguards. So this one's mine. If you want anything out of me, anything at all, you'd better be nice to him."

The Deputy Master paled under the rich tone of his skin. “You're the boss.” He managed to make the words sound sarcastic, at least, even under the pressure of Chess's withering look. “Just be careful. They're not human, no matter how much they like to pretend."

"More human than the Malik who turned us over to the Unspeakable.” She looked back down at Ryan, who almost wished he could be a fly on the wall at the next Council meeting. Her fingers were warm in his, and she squeezed his hand, the feel of her skin electric against his. “More human than supercilious fatheads who treat other men like animals. If you guys want to hang out in my city, there's a few things that are going to change around here. Now get out, before I decide I dislike your face more than I already do."

Ryan winced, but the Deputy Master turned on his heel and stalked away. He waited until the door had closed at the far end of the dormitory's hall to clear his throat. I could get up if I had to. I could. Yeah, sure I could. “That wasn't wise, Chess."

"Wise, schmise.” She shook her head, dark hair falling in her eyes. She blew a strand of it back irritably, and his heart leapt inside his chest. “Well, what are the rest of you staring at? Huh?"

Wisely, perhaps, nobody answered her. Instead, the feeling of presence leached away as the Drakulein slowly, silently, went back to their everyday lives, some leaving through the doors at either end of the hall, others moving to the tables at the far end of the room to clean their weapons and talk in hushed tones.

"Are you really all right?” she asked finally, reaching over with her bandaged left hand to touch his forehead anxiously, as if checking him for fever. The gauze scratched his skin, but her fingertips were warm.

No, I'm not. I feel like hell, and you just opened up a giant can of worms. The Deputy Master's not going to take this well, and he's an enemy I don't want to make. “Better.” He squeezed her hand, too. But gently. Very gently. “You dragged me up a hill? Through blackberries?"

Her chin set, and she scowled stubbornly at him. “I wasn't going to leave you behind."

Oh, Christ. “Chess—"

"Don't.” The color had drained from her cheeks, and she looked close to tears again. “We're going to have to talk about your habit of manhandling me. And that ‘sweetheart’ thing has really got to go. And maybe I should find another apartment, now that the Inkani know where I live. But… I mean, are you really… do you think you could stand to stick around me? For a while?"

Oh, my God. Is she saying what I think she's saying? “Stick around?” I sound like I have a rock caught in my craw. Good one, Ryan.

The blush came back. She dropped her eyes, staring at the comforter and shifting uneasily on the chair. “Well, I suppose this qualifies as dating, doesn't it? In a totally weird, twisted sort of way."

She is. She is saying what I think she's saying. Oh my God. “Um.” He couldn't find the words he wanted, settled for whatever came to mind. “Jesus Christ, Chess. You're beautiful. I adore you. I've adored you since the first time I… God. Yes. Goddammit, yes."

Was that relief that passed over her face? She let out a heavy sigh, and he saw the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of exhaustion on her. She'd need a little bit of a break. Of course, getting her to slow down would be like trying to stop the Titanic from sinking, probably.

"I really like you, too. Go figure, I finally find some decent boyfriend material and he's half demon."

It stung, but only briefly. He was part-demon, and he was grateful for it. If he hadn't been, he'd have died, and she might even now be chained to an obsidian altar while the High Ones tore the soul from her beautiful, fragile body. “You have great taste in music."

"Really?” She actually smiled, a tremulous, trying-to-be-cheerful smile. “Well, that's something. Do you think this is going to… work?"

Christ, sweetheart, I don't care if it works or not. All I want is to keep you alive; that's enough for me. “I think it will.” He heard something approaching certainty in his voice, almost flinched away from it. His body sank into the bed, the demon satisfied, lying quiescent under the surface of his mind. “But we're going to have to work on our communication, sweetheart."

"What did I tell you about that sweetheart shit?” But her smile widened, and lying there heavy and fatigued on the narrow cot, in the middle of a Drakul dormitory, he suddenly felt… light. And happy, for once.

"Yes ma'am,” he muttered, and closed his eyes, willing himself to heal.