Shattered Bonds (Jane Yellowrock #13) - Faith Hunter Page 0,64

pale. The sensation of magic kicked up a notch, peppery and electric on my pelt tips. She had been about to drain one of our vampires. Now she was too engaged in a mental Onorio battle to hurt my people.

In Shimon’s syntax, Edmund said, “Perhaps we might effect a trade. Offer me something I would want. Or someone.” I didn’t know which of my people he thought he could trade for, but that wasn’t happening. His fingers fanned out, casually, “It is said that you have found the iron spike of Golgotha, and that it is yours. I have an appreciation for antiquities. I will trade your primo for this artifact.”

Leo had once said, “The Europeans’ greatest desire is for the remaining iron from the spike of Golgotha.” Because the iron could control vamps and witches and time itself. The iron and its magic were the most powerful metal on Earth. Shimon had to have a small piece at least, in order to create a time circle and to chitinize his own body. I had a few pieces, but not a full spike, not that I’d tell him that. Beside me, Bruiser began to breathe harder. I smelled his sweat. “No,” I said. “Give me Edmund Hartley.”

The sensation of magic in the room went even higher. I thought my ear tabs might burn from the power. “You will give unto me this spike,” he said, his tone laced with mesmerism, directed straight at me.

My knees went weak. My stomach went sour and sick, and my skinwalker magics began to race. I wanted to throw up, pass out, run with my tail between my legs. The Flayer could create fear, paralyzing terror. I couldn’t even breathe.

Beast growled deep inside, pierced my brain with her claws. The pain was needle sharp, and I settled. I managed a breath. I didn’t spew. “I will give you nothing,” I said, sounding almost like myself. “You will give me Edmund Hartley.”

The Flayer laughed, the sound like velvet and brandy and the stink of human ashes. Leo had never laughed so powerfully, so full of might. Beast sent steel into our knees or they might have buckled. “No,” he said. “I have claimed him. You have lost him. The thing you call Edmund is mine by right of might.”

Impasse. I stepped to the side, seeing Eli. He was in firing position, halfway concealed in a niche behind an open door. My fingers twitched toward my throwing knives.

To the side of the insectoid Shimon, two of his vampires fell, dropping as if dead. My first thought was Bruiser. But he was busy. So . . . Molly and death magics. As the vamps landed and bounced slightly, she inhaled, nostrils fluttering, excited, satisfied, yet wanting more. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. It was like sex and desire and power all mixed in together.

Shimon flinched. Just a little. His eyes flicked to my side, to Molly’s face. He said something with his own mouth, words Ed had never heard or couldn’t interpret, a curse for certain. Recognition, rage, a hint of something else in Shimon’s eyes. Avarice. He wanted Molly or wanted her dead. He knew what she was.

Edmund was bleeding from his eyes, watery, bloody tears. He was lying on his side, draped over the feet of the last Son of Darkness. Two more vamps dropped. Ed’s mouth fell open; his eyes rolled back in his head. Shimon was killing him. I forgot to breathe. Molly chuckled, an evil witch cackle of pleasure and absolute strength.

Evan hummed a note so high his voice nearly broke. Stress drained his face to a pasty white. Wild hunger lit Molly’s. Bruiser, on my other side, was gasping, his magics erratic, rapidly depleting as he fought his first Onorio.

Evan took Molly’s hand and altered the note he hummed. They were working together to control the death magics and point them at the enemy, at Shimon, but he didn’t fall, didn’t react at all. Molly was close to losing control and frying everyone in the room. Everyone except Shimon.

The Flayer’s eyes fell on the big witch, knowing Evan for a sorcerer. Greed brightened his eyes. He wanted them both. He lifted a hand as if he was about to throw a stone.

Magic. Danger! Beast thought.

I didn’t have time to plan. I flicked the throwing knife at Shimon. It missed the seam in the carapace at his neck and bounced off his chest. Oh crap.

The vamps in the semicircle all stepped forward, in

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