Chapter Twenty-Six
Letting loose on Shade had been cathartic. Having a place for the full moon was reassuring. But spending most of the past two days and nights making love with Miranda had been transformative.
Instead of bursts of rage that took Darren by surprise, there was a simmering pool of lava deep inside him. He was still watching out for spikes, curtailing them and keeping a tight hold on his behavior, but he wasn’t afraid of them anymore. He was going to harness that power and use it to defeat Forester.
Darren handed Jack a skillet as they walked back into the room. The silver bell sounded as always, but Jack was right there to silence it.
“Miranda, why don’t you stand opposite me,” Jack said. “Forester doesn’t have many options for where he can appear in a space this small. If we spread out, we can cover more area.”
She nodded, then leaned in and gave Darren a quick kiss on the cheek before taking up her position.
“Where do you want me?” he said.
“Opposite the door.” Jack leaned in and murmured, “You should know I’m armed with silver. If something goes wrong, I will put you down. Don’t make me—for Miranda’s sake.”
Jack picked up a wicked looking knife that he had laying on the counter behind him. Darren took a quick sniff of the air. Iron. That blade was meant for Forester. But there were hints of silver around Jack. Enough to burn Darren’s nose.
Darren shook his head to get the smell out. The now-familiar rage rose up in him.
How dare he threaten me? How dare he think I’m a danger to Miranda?
Darren curbed the instinct to growl. Instead, he smiled.
Jack’s brow furrowed. His scent shifted. Somehow, the smile made him more afraid.
Instead of letting himself laugh at the thought, Darren said, “Thanks for looking out for her.”
Before Jack could say anything more, Darren walked to the wall opposite the door—not that Forester would need to use it.
The iron box was sitting in the middle of the floor. Jack had moved the folding table out of the way. They had a big empty room, perfect for fighting. Darren couldn’t wait.
He pulled his shirt over his head, remembering the fight with Shade. Darren’s clothes had inhibited his movement. He’d felt seams start to tear.
Every time he changed, he was bigger. The ground was farther away and the world felt smaller, his clothes tighter. He was going to have to invest in some stretch pants at this rate. He tossed his shirt on the counter and kicked off his shoes.
“I’m going to need you to look away, Miranda,” Darren said.
“What? Why?” she said.
She was staring at him with her lips slightly parted, her gaze telling him almost as much as her scent. It was too much of a distraction.
“Because, we’re supposed to fight, not…” He glanced over at Jack, then back to Miranda. “If you get worked up like that, I’m going to get worked up like that, and this whole thing is going to go in a very different direction.”
“Right. Okay.” She grinned, her cheeks turning red, then covered her eyes with one hand. “I’m not peeking.”
Darren chuckled, then he pulled off his socks and pants and threw them on top of his shirt.
Jack’s scent changed, deepened with a rich almost sandalwood tone. When Darren turned to him, Jack quickly looked away.
Oh… Uh… That was unexpected.
Hearing Jack talk about Miranda’s dad, Darren had felt there was something left unsaid. Now he wondered just how close they had been.
“Leave it,” Jack said.
“Leave what?” Miranda still had her eyes covered.
Jack and Darren both said, “Nothing,” at the same time.
“O…kay,” she said.
Darren had other things to focus on at the moment. He pushed that mystery aside for another time. Jack looked away as Darren took off his boxer-briefs.
He flexed his fingers, felt the prick as his claws extended. His skin started to itch. He didn’t fight it. Shaking his head, he stretched his lips as his face changed. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the muscles and bones pop as they shifted.
It felt…good. Incredibly good.
Energy coursed through him. He could feel his blood pulsing in his veins. The room shifted into shades of blue and green. Miranda and Jack were glowing yellow-orange-red silhouettes. He could see their hearts through their chests, both beating faster as they finally looked at him.
Jack was afraid.
Miranda wasn’t.
She stepped forward and knelt by the iron box. “Everybody ready for this?”
“Go for it,” Jack said.
Darren nodded.
She opened the box, then returned to her spot by the wall.
Darren stretched his mouth again. He could feel a kind of wall stopping him from changing completely, something limiting his strength. He wondered what it would be like to let go after his first full moon.
What was available to him now would be enough. It had to be. Forester wasn’t leaving this room alive.
He thought about having the elf’s blood in his mouth and growled.
“You okay there, Darren?” Jack’s voice grated on Darren’s sensitive ears.
Another sound was vibrating beneath it. A keening that made his head hurt. The air in front of Jack rippled, a line of white appearing, then widening.
Darren leapt forward. Jack reached behind his back—probably going for that gun loaded with silver. He seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Forester stepped through the rippling air. At least, Darren assumed it was Forester. He was completely covered in armor. Vines were engraved in the gleaming metal. The pattern looked like it was moving.
The sword in Forester’s hand was of greater concern. In a graceful arc, he swung it at Jack’s head. The bamboo bell above the door began to ring.
So much for Jack’s alarm system.
The human was just starting to register Forester’s appearance when Darren landed between them, grabbing the elf’s sword arm. A slit in the faceplate of his armor let Darren see the glowing green eyes he’d come to hate so much.
Jack scrambled out of the way the moment Darren registered the blistering pain in his hand.
Forester’s armor was made of silver. At least in part. Enough to burn Darren’s skin. He let go of the elf’s arm and jumped backwards onto the counter.
“We’ve battled the Knights for hundreds of years,” Forester said. “You think I wasn’t prepared for this?”
He slashed at Darren. Darren leapt over Forester’s head to avoid the blade.
Jack ran at Forester from the side, swinging his skillet. Another line appeared in the air between Forester and Jack. Darren didn’t know what would happen if Jack fell through it.
He leapt at Jack, catching him under his ribs and spinning him in a different direction. Forester disappeared through the crack in reality.
“What the fuck was that?” Jack yelled. Apparently, he was getting over his fear of Darren.
Darren suppressed the urge to rip Jack’s head off. “You were heading right for…whatever he uses to teleport. I didn’t know what would happen if you crossed through it.”
“Oh,” Jack said. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Miranda was shifting nervously back and forth, looking around the room. “I didn’t foresee the armor. He’s too fast. This was a mistake.”
She was right.
Forester could appear anywhere at any time. And he was covered in silver. How the hell was Darren supposed to protect Miranda? He couldn’t even touch Forester without feeling excruciating pain.
Another line appeared, widening to let Forester through. Time dilated again. Even if Darren could warn Jack and Miranda, their weapons were useless. There was nothing they could do.
But he could.
He took several deep breaths, working up his nerve. The moment Forester stepped through the opening, Darren rushed him. He rammed his shoulder into Forester’s gut, lifting him from his feet. The elf’s sword clattered to the ground.
Darren kept running forward, crashing into the wall and pinning Forester there. Forester struck at Darren’s back. The pain was nothing compared to the agony of his shoulder. Darren could feel blood running down his arm and back. He tried to bite at Forester’s neck, but his armor had a neck guard Darren couldn’t get past.
There had to be weak points—joints where the parts connected. If he didn’t find them quickly, it wouldn’t matter. The pain was making Darren’s vision turn red. The lava pool of rage deep inside was bubbling up to the surface. He could barely keep himself from letting Forester go. Darren wanted to destroy something—anything. He wanted to make others hurt as he did.
“Hold his head.” Miranda appeared at Darren’s side.
It didn’t calm him. Instead, he felt the rage build even more. He had to find a way through Forester’s armor. He had to kill him to protect Miranda.
“Darren!” She lifted Forester’s sword. Was she turning on him?
No. She wouldn’t. She needed him to do something. Darren focused past the pain. He grabbed onto Forester’s helm and held on. His hands blistered, blood running down his arms.
Miranda made a sort of choking sound, then she lifted Forester’s sword and held it in front of the slit he used to see through.
Forester started to scramble frantically in Darren’s grip. Weakened skin tore, sloughing off as the muscle beneath started to melt.
Darren didn’t care. He was going to do this.
Jack appeared at his back, holding Miranda’s arms steady. Together, the leaned forward, driving the sword deep into Forester’s head. Green blood gushed out over his armor.
His body kept on with its frantic movements for a few seconds, but then the movements became twitches. Death convulsions? Darren wasn’t sure. And until he was, he couldn’t let go.
“Darren, please. You have to let him go.” Miranda was tugging on his arm. She couldn’t get purchase.
Jack joined her, grabbing Darren’s other arm.
Darren wanted to…bite them. He clenched his jaws shut tight.
He let them pull him away from the elf. Forester fell forward onto his knees and stayed there. Darren took another step forward, but his legs gave out. He landed on all fours, letting out a howl as his hands hit the floor. He reared back on his knees, a macabre mirror of the elf in front of him.
Forester was still alive.
He started to reach for his sword, but Miranda was already there. She used her skillet like a hammer, pounding the sword in deeper. It burst through the back of Forester’s helm.
She retched, then let out a horrible sob. “His sword is silver. Use your knife. The iron one. It’ll make it past his defenses now. Hurry, while he’s weakened.”
Jack picked up his knife from where he’d dropped it. Without hesitating a moment, he lined it up next to the sword already sticking out of Forester’s face and drove it in deep.
The green blood turned black. Forester’s body jerked again. His blood thickened, then dried into ash that poured out from spaces in his armor under his chin, down his sides. His armor collapsed on itself until it was just a pile of gleaming metal laying on the floor.
Miranda dropped to her knees next to Darren and wrapped her arms around his neck. She buried her face in the fur covering his intact shoulder.
“God, Darren. I’m so sorry.”
“I…wanted…” Darren coughed. His hands and shoulders itched like crazy. “I wanted to kill him.”
“You couldn’t,” Jack said. “We had to work together to take him down.”
Darren started to growl. He wanted to taste blood. Jack’s would do. He started to rise, but Miranda was still clinging to his neck.
“Jack, don’t move,” Miranda said. “No matter what, don’t move.”
The scent of fear joined the blood and ash of the room. Jack’s fear. It numbed some of the pain Darren felt. His vision was totally red.
He would slash open Jack’s stomach and soothe the pain in his hands with the human’s blood. And then he’d bite Miranda and turn her—make her join him. Nothing and no one would stop him.
“I can see what you’re planning.” Miranda held on tighter. “If you kill him, I’ll be next. You won’t be able to control yourself.”
What? He would never hurt her. Ever.
Except to bite her. To turn her. Hadn’t he just been thinking of that?
“I’ll try to stop you if you go after Jack,” she whispered.
How could she side against him?
“No,” he said.
“You know I will. And it will send you over the edge. You’re too hurt. In too much pain.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek—actually kissed him when he was in this form, covered in blood, ready to turn her, whether she wanted it or not. Ready to kill…the closest thing to family she’d had since her mother died.
And Jack was so much closer to Miranda’s family than she realized. He had loved Miranda’s dad. Darren was sure of it. Jack probably thought of Miranda as a daughter. If he stayed, he would protect her like Darren would. And whether that happened or not was all on Darren.
Darren stood up. Miranda dangled from his neck. He lifted an arm to hold her against his side, keeping his regenerating hands away from her.
Jack was normally taller than Darren. In this form, Darren stared down at him.
“You’re not leaving,” Darren said.
He felt them both suck in a breath, preparing themselves for whatever would come next. Jack looked ready to fight. Miranda was trembling.
Darren wouldn’t force her to make that impossible choice. Instead, he forced himself to calm, pushed down on the rage surging through him. He didn’t care that his vision was red. He was still Darren. He was still in control.
He took a few steps toward Jack.
Darren had felt so invincible the other times he’d changed. But Forester had taught him a painful lesson. Even outside of Faerie, he had been powerful enough to nearly kill them all. Silver armor was all he needed. If it hadn’t been for Miranda and Jack…
Thinking about that was too dangerous. Darren thought about the weapons Morrison was making—thought through new permutations of what was needed. As much as Darren loved the idea of using his hands and teeth to rip Forester to shreds, he would have needed a fucking can opener to get to the elf’s flesh.
If he’d thought to have a weapon handy, he might not have been hurt at all. He might not have come so close to killing his allies—allies he needed.
He’d been wrong about being able to take Forester on his own. And if he’d been wrong about this, he could be wrong about other battles in the future.
“You’re not leaving town,” Darren said. “Not leaving Miranda. You will stay and help me protect her.”
Jack swallowed hard, then nodded. His voice was barely audible.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and spoke again more strongly. “Yeah. I will.”
Darren wrapped both arms around Miranda and pressed his cheek against the top of her head, waiting for the pain to pass. The red slowly faded from his vision.