Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,61
the water, then reluctantly faced the bathroom mirror. No wonder the Good Samaritan who’d driven me home had suggested we go to the hospital. My clothes were singed black, smeared with blood, coated in dirt, and torn in several places.
Wincing with each movement, I tugged two of my three sweaters off, removed the infernus from around my neck, and pulled the notebook page and photo out of my last layer. I handed everything to Amalia.
“Can you please put those in my room, then run a spare blanket and some towels through the dryer on high?”
She nodded, took the objects, and left. With a peek to ensure Zylas was still out cold, I stripped down to my underwear, located a box of bandages and rubbing alcohol wipes, and cleaned the scrapes and scratches all over my body. Between my fall through a ceiling and the demon magic explosion, I was looking decidedly worse for wear.
I checked on Zylas again, then hurried into my bedroom. As I pulled on sweatpants and a soft sweater, Amalia stuck her head in. “You decent? Good. Tell me what happened.”
Grimacing, I outlined our vampire nest infiltration and its depressing results.
“Another demon stole all the documents?” she repeated incredulously, following me back to the bathroom.
“Not just any demon.” Sitting on the tub’s edge, I checked that Zylas was still breathing. “Claude’s demon.”
“Guess he wanted his stuff back. Did you see the supreme asshole himself?”
“No, just the demon. I’m not sure what kind of contract Claude has with it, but that demon has way more autonomy than it should.” Fighting my despair, I wet my hand in the steamy spray and rubbed the blood off Zylas’s neck. “Chances are, Claude and the vampires now have enough information to find Uncle Jack.”
“And we’ve got nothing.” She tugged on her ponytail. “I still don’t understand what vampires have to do with all this.”
“Demon blood.” I splashed water on the punctures in Zylas’s arm. “Those vampires have been drinking demon blood, and it makes them as strong and fast as a demon. They said their ‘lord’ has promised them even more demon blood to feast on.”
“Where are they getting demon blood from? Aside from Zylas.” She gazed at him, nose wrinkled, then sighed. “Gotta say, I actually feel bad for him.”
I felt worse than bad. Guilt dragged at my lungs.
She left me to babysit my demon, and I fretted over his unresponsive state. After my one vampire bite experience, the tranquilizing effect had worn off quickly, but who knew how much worse it affected demons? Either way, his blood loss was my bigger concern; until he recovered enough to heal himself with magic, he would be weak.
My guilt growing, I pushed his wet hair off his face, then combed my fingers through the tangles. I was considering grabbing my hairbrush when he stirred. His eyes cracked open, the faintest hint of scarlet glowing in their depths.
“Hey,” I said softly.
“Sahvē,” he replied, equally quiet, his husky tones rougher than usual.
“I’m sorry about the cold water. I didn’t realize …”
Inhaling sharply, he pushed himself into a sitting position, the water pouring across his legs and lower torso. He angled his head away from the spray—away from me. “I did not tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“If I am very weakened, too much cold will kill me.”
My stomach swooped in dread. How close had we come to accidentally snuffing out his life? “You should have warned me about that.”
“Why would I tell you easy ways to kill me?”
Another swoop in my middle—a different kind. Jaw tightening, I reached down, heedless of the water misting my sleeve, and gripped his chin. I pulled his head toward me and growled, “Zylas Vh’alyir, you are zh’ūltis.”
He bared his teeth and jerked away from my hand.
“I’m not your enemy,” I told him angrily. “We’re partners. We help each other. I can’t fight like you, but I’ll do everything I can to protect you like you protect me.”
His anger faltered, his brow creasing.
“So don’t be a stubborn idiot. Tell me important things like how not to kill you by accident!”
He snarled in answer.
I turned my back on him and folded my arms, fuming. If I was fuming, I didn’t have to admit I was hurt that he still didn’t trust me. Did he really think I would murder him the next time he was vulnerable?
“Drādah,” he muttered.
I ignored him, nursing my righteous anger.
“Drādah.” More insistent. Annoyed. Well, he could be annoyed. Served him right for so much as thinking I would—