Blood of the Demon (Kara Gillian #2)

Blood of the Demon (Kara Gillian #2) Page 40

“And this creature you know as Ryan Kristoff is important to you,” Rhyzkahl finished for me.

I struggled to work moisture into my mouth. I had the horrible feeling that I was about to burst into tears, which was really the last thing I needed to do when attempting to establish terms with a demonic lord. And, of course, the more I struggled to keep myself from thinking about crying, the more tears stung the backs of my eyelids.

“Yes, my lord. Wh-what manner of service would you have me offer you in exchange for your aid that would fulfill the bounds of honor?” Damn it, I was crying now. I could feel the treacherous tears snaking their way down my cheeks, and it took everything I had not to wipe them away.

“Stand up, Kara. Kneeling does not suit you.”

I got awkwardly to my feet and then went ahead and swiped at the tears with the back of my hand. Rhyzkahl turned away from me and took the two steps to his throne, seating himself in a languorous manner. “This matter is more complicated than you can know,” he said, looking thoughtful.

“Because of Ryan, right? He’s not just an FBI agent?”

He gave no indication of denial or affirmation. “It is a complex matter. It is not so simple for me to interfere.”

“Why?” I persisted. “Does someone want him dead? Is that why that kzak was pushed through the portal? To get him?”

His crystal-blue gaze speared me. “When did you encounter a kzak?”

“A week ago, I think. Was it after him?” Or me? I added silently.

His expression remained inscrutable. “I cannot answer that.”

I scowled. I was definitely over the wanting-to-cry part. Now I was into the annoyed-at-being-in-the-dark part. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Let us get back to the matter at hand, shall we?” he said. He stood and strode to me, then cupped my chin in his hand and tilted it up so he could look down into my face. “You wish to have the threat this woman poses eliminated, and you wish Ryan Kristoff to be spared from this threat.”

“Yes.” I couldn’t really nod with his hand under my chin.

“Yet you also wish to protect your world, your realm, from the chance that an arcane creature of my power would despoil it for his own gain.”

“Yes.”

He released my chin and took a step back, to my relief. He was a lot taller, and I was getting a crick in my neck. He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded me, a thoughtful expression on his face. “If this creature consumes Ryan Kristoff, there is little doubt that she would proceed to then destroy you.” It didn’t sound as if he was hoping for any sort of response, more as if he was working out a problem. I wished I had a clue as to what the problem was. I kept silent and waited for him to get to the damn point.

He was silent for several more heartbeats. “I have an interest in you and would prefer that you were not harmed by this creature.” Then he nodded, as if satisfied with some internal debate. “You will summon me to your world no less than once every turning of the moon around your earth for the next three of your world’s years. Upon being summoned, I will remain no longer than half of one day, unless additional terms are set at the time of the summoning. During that time in your world, I will do nothing with the intent of causing you harm or that acts against your own code of honor without your leave.”

I quickly ran through what he’d said. Once a month for the next three years, for no more than half a day. “My code of honor includes obeying the judicial laws that apply to me. I would have you obey them to the same degree, unless I indicate otherwise.”

He inclined his head. “Agreed. In return, I will remove the threat that this woman poses to you and to those you hold dear.” I thought his lip curled in derision, but if so the expression was a brief one.

“And you will also agree,” I said, straightening my shoulders, “on all subsequent summonings of your person, to answer no less than three questions that I ask of you, to the best of your ability.”

A faint smile curved the corner of his mouth, as if pleased at my temerity to bend the negotiation to my favor, even if only by a few millimeters. “One question.”

“Two.”

“Done. These are terms that I can and will abide by.”

I let my breath out. “These are terms that I can and will abide by,” I echoed. And, to my relief, they were.

“Give me your hand, Kara.”

I extended my right hand, but he shook his head and reached for my left, turning it palm up. A knife abruptly appeared in his hand, a wicked and evil-looking artifact, with a blade that shimmered with an oily blue sheen and a handle covered in spikes that thrust between his fingers as he gripped it. The thought flashed through me that a careless grasp on that knife would be a painful experience. A dark-blue jewel capped the pommel with a dull light that seemed to flicker sluggishly from its depths.

A spasm of abject terror shot through me at the sight of the knife, for no reason that I could name. But before I could yank my hand back, Rhyzkahl tightened his hold and pulled my arm straight, then slid the knife across my forearm, perfectly following the thin scar on my arm from where I’d cut my own flesh to summon Kehlirik. A hideous wave of cold nausea swept through me at the touch of the blade, but it was gone as soon as the metal was no longer in contact with my flesh. I watched the blood well up from the shallow slice, then looked up at Rhyzkahl in time to see him make a similar slice on his own forearm. He took a step closer to me and pressed the two slices together. I expected to feel something—a shock or burning or something bizarre as the blood mingled—but all I could feel was the powerful aura of him that surrounded us both.

“And now the oath is bound in blood.” He smiled and kissed me—a light and strangely chaste kiss, especially compared to some of the deep and throbbing and heat-filled kisses he had laid on me before.

“I need to know something,” I said after he stepped back. “I mean … could you answer two questions for me now?”

He inclined his head ever so slightly in acquiescence.

“You said that the link you had with my dreams was broken when I died … but … do you still have any sort of link to me?”

For an instant I had the impression he wanted to laugh, but all he did was smile. “Perceptive and clever. In those last seconds before you perished, I forged a new and different link—one that I knew would survive your death.”

The fucker. He hadn’t lied to me before, but he sure hadn’t told me the whole truth. But at least now I knew.

“Your second question?” he prompted. I had a feeling he knew what I was going to ask. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know the answer, but I knew I needed to know.

“What is a kiraknikahl?” I asked, voice cracking.

The demon’s mouth curved in a hard smile. “A kiraknikahl is an oath-breaker.”

A heartbeat later his throne room was gone and we were back in the attic, leaving me no chance to process the meaning of his answer. The knife was still in Rhyzkahl’s hand, and even as I registered the change in the surroundings, he turned and seized Rachel, yanking her away from Ryan in a swift and fluid move. Before she could do more than widen her eyes in shock, Rhyzkahl had plunged the knife into Rachel’s chest, directly into her heart.

She screamed and clutched at the knife, clawing at Rhyzkahl’s hands as he held it buried to the evil hilt in her chest. Ryan sagged heavily to his knees, then looked up at Rachel and Rhyzkahl. His eyes rested on the knife, widening in horror as he scrabbled weakly back, gaze locked on the blade.

Rachel screamed again—a sound a thousand times worse than the scream Ryan had made when she’d begun to steal his essence. Rhyzkahl slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him in what could have been a loving embrace except for the knife he held buried in her chest. I could feel a malevolent coiling of potency filling the room, and I found myself drawing back from the two of them along with Ryan, not stopping until we were both up against the wall of the attic.

“No,” I heard Ryan moan. “No. Not that.” I tore my gaze away from Rhyzkahl to look at Ryan. A look of indescribable grief and horror filled his eyes. He suddenly turned to look at me, then his gaze dropped to my forearm, and, if anything, the grief and horror increased. “Kara. Kara, what did you do?”

I looked down at my forearm, expecting to see the line of blood, but instead I saw a swirl of potency where the cut had been. In the span of three heartbeats, the swirl coalesced to form an intricate mark on the inside of my forearm, as if tattooed there by arcane power. I knew the symbol well. The Mark of Rhyzkahl. I turned away from Ryan. I didn’t need to hear his condemnation. “I did what I had to do.”

The dark-blue gem in the knife’s pommel suddenly flared, and Rachel sagged in Rhyzkahl’s arms. He released her and stepped back, dropping her like a sack of flour. She collapsed into a heap, then, as we watched, her body shriveled and began to disintegrate until, a few heartbeats later, nothing remained but dust and clothing.

I could feel myself taking shallow gasps of breath. Like a fucking vampire in sunlight. Oddly appropriate, though, I thought, in a corner of my mind that was trying to focus on something, anything, to keep from remembering the sound of that last tortured scream.

Rhyzkahl turned to me. He lifted the wicked knife in a mock salute, inclining his head to me. “As agreed,” he said, with no elaboration, glancing briefly to Ryan and then back to me. I didn’t need him to elaborate. He was informing me that he’d fulfilled this portion of the agreement.

I gulped and inclined my head to him. “As agreed,” I echoed hoarsely.

He smiled brilliantly, then was gone.

Ryan slowly got to his feet, eyes on the tumbled pile of dust and clothing that was all that remained of Rachel Roth. I watched him warily for about a dozen heartbeats, but he made no move to turn to me or look at me.

“Are you all right?” I asked. He did look better. Whatever essence Rachel had drained from him had apparently gone back to him when Rhyzkahl destroyed her.

He nodded once without looking at me—a short, quick motion, the barest amount of necessary movement to give the required answer.

My throat tightened, and a feeling like cold lead settled into my stomach. A part of me had expected this sort of reaction, but that didn’t make it feel any better. He’s alive. I’ve probably lost him, but at least he’s alive.

Lost him? I’d never had him. And now it was too late.

I wanted to say something else, but then I decided that I really didn’t. I turned and headed out of the attic and down the stairs, all the time hoping to hear him call out to me, but when I reached the door there was still nothing but a calm ticking silence in the house.

I exited into dusky twilight in time to see a black Crown Victoria screech into the driveway behind Ryan’s car. Zack ran toward the steps, stopping in his tracks when he saw me.

“Kara, I just heard the bolo—” He stopped, eyes on my forearm, face paling. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Ryan’s inside. He’s fine—now. Rachel’s been taken care of. I’m going home.” I walked past him to my car, not looking back.

“Kara …?” He sounded bewildered.

“Ryan’s fine. I’m going home!” I repeated through clenched teeth, then I climbed into my car, slammed the door, and sped off.

Chapter 35

It took several days to clean up the loose ends and complete the paperwork, but by the middle of the following week the cases were squared away. Carol Roth’s death had been ruled a negligent homicide, with Harris Roth listed as the primary suspect. Arrest warrants had been issued for Rachel Roth for the murders of Brian Roth and Davis Sharp. I’d managed to scrape together enough probable cause for warrants, though I knew there would be no way to prove her guilt in court. It didn’t matter. It was all for the paper trail. It wasn’t as if Rachel would ever be found.

I didn’t see Ryan in all that time. I’d driven by my aunt’s house the morning after the confrontation with Rachel, prepared to keep driving if his car or Zack’s car was there, but the driveway was empty. And when I checked the house, I found that everything had been cleaned and locked up.

After that I went to the station and had a talk with my sergeant. I started it out by asking him how much he wanted to know.

Sergeant Cory Crawford looked at me steadily and said, “Tell me whatever it is I need to know.”

It worked for both of us.

For the official story, Sarge seemed content with one that ended up being close to the truth—minus the bit about Rachel sucking people’s souls out. Harris screwed around, accidentally killed one of his paramours—who happened to be his daughter-in-law—and Rachel tried to cover it up by killing Brian and staging it as a suicide. Another loose end was tied up when the Roth house was searched and a dark blue pickup with damage to the right front bumper was found in the garage.

Sarge was also able to inform me that Judge Roth had been the one who’d asked to have me replaced with Pellini for the Brian and Carol Roth murders. “He probably knew that Pellini’s a lazy fuck,” he’d confided, “and figured there’d be less chance of the truth being discovered.”

By the following Friday, the world in general had settled into something resembling normalcy. No one made any comment about the mark on my arm. Without other-sight, the mark looked like a very faint, slightly shimmery henna marking, essentially invisible unless you knew it was there. I’d received some quiet congratulations from my rank on my handling of the various cases, but then it was as if they could sense that I didn’t want to hear anything more about it, and the matter was left alone.