They were my father’s reptilian eyes, draugr eyes. The only useful thing he’d ever done was accidentally augment the magic I inherited from my mother. Unfortunately, the extra juice came with a foul temper—one that was even worse the last few weeks. After I’d been injected by venom, my moods were increasingly intense.
I wanted to rip limbs off.
I wanted to shove my thumbs into their eye sockets and keep going until I felt brain matter.
Before the urges were more than images, I was moving from one spot to the next.
I could flow like a draugr. I could move quickly enough that to the mortal eye it looked like teleportation. I flowed to the side of the shooter and grabbed his wrist.
Eli was not far behind. He didn’t flow, but he was used to my movements and impulses. He had his sword to the shooter’s throat a moment after I jerked the gun away from the man.
“Dearest?” Eli said, his voice tethering me sanity.
I concentrated on his voice, his calm, and I punched the other shooter rather than removing his eyes. Then I let out a scream of frustration and shoved my magic into the soil like a seismic force.
The dead answered.
Dozens of voices answered my call. Hands reknitted. Flesh was regrown from the magic that flowed from my body into the graves. Mouths reformed, as if I was a sculptor of man.
“You do not wake the dead without reason,” I growled at the now-unarmed man who dared to try to shoot me.
Here, of all places. He tried to spill my blood into these graves.
I stepped over the man I’d punched and ignored the cringing, sobbing widow and the other woman who was trying to convince her mother to leave.
And I stalked toward the shooter in Eli’s grip.
“Bonbon, you have a scratch.” Eli nodded toward my throat.
“Shit.” I felt my neck where Eli had indicated. Blood slid into my collar.
I stepped closer to the shooter. “What were you thinking, Weasel Nuts?”
“Would you mind covering the wound?” Eli asked, forcing me to focus again.
His voice was calm, but we both knew that I could not shed blood in a space where graves were so plentiful. I’d accidentally bound two draugr so far, and blood was a binding agent in necromancy. Unless I wanted to bring home a few reanimated servants, my blood couldn’t spill here.
I had to focus. And I didn’t need an army of undead soldiers.
“Take this.” Eli pulled off his shirt with one hand, switching the hilt between hands to keep the sword to Weasel Nuts’ throat.
I stared. Not the time.
Eli’s lips quirked in a half-smile, and then he pressed the blade just a bit. “And, I believe you need to answer my lady.”
I shot Eli a look—his lady? What year did he think this was?—but I pressed his shirt against my throat. I did not, absolutely did not, take a deep breath because the shirt smelled like Eli.
Eli smiled as I took another quick extra breath.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” Weasel Nuts spat in my direction. “Foul thing.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Eli removed his sword blade and in a blink turned it so he could bash the pommel into the man’s mouth.
Weasel Nuts dropped to his knees, and this time when he spat, he spat out his own teeth and blood.
If I were the swooning sort, this would be such a moment. Something about defending me always did good things to my libido.
“Geneviève, would you be so kind as to call the police?” Eli motioned toward the women. “And escort the ladies away from this unpleasant man?”
It sounded chivalrous—or chauvinistic—but it was actually an excuse. I needed to get my ass outside the cemetery before I dripped blood. Eli had provided a way to do so gracefully.
“Ladies?” Eli said, louder now. “Ms. Crowe will walk you toward the street.”
The women came over, and the widow flinched when my gaze met hers. My draugr eyes unnerved people.
But then she straightened her shoulders and stared right into my reptilian eyes as if they were normal. “I do apologize, Ms. Crowe. They have an accomplice who is holding my grandson as a hostage. We had to cooperate.”
My simmering temper spiked, keeping my exhaustion away and my focus sharp.
I stared at the women. With my grave sight, I saw trails of energy, the whispers of deaths, and the auras of anything living. These women were afraid, but not evil. They were worried.