Chapter 16 Ian
IAN
"Oh," Horton mumbles, still looking over at his phone in my hand. "She's cute. Big rack."
"Turn around and stop looking so I don't have to kill you, Bob."
"Okay." He turns around to face the wall behind the counter. "Hey, your future wife looks like the Frost's secret daughter that got hit by a bus yesterday. You know, the one everyone's calling Skidmark online."
My breath halts. I drop his phone and grip the gas station counter so hard that I accidentally break off a piece.
"What?"
"Yeah-huh, it's been all over the news and stuff all day," he shrugs, swaying again. "She survived, and now people are trying to figure out where she lives. The fae are mad at her for trying to steal from them or something, I dunno."
A million too-intense thrall emotions are overwhelming me. Relief that Heidi is alive. Bone-deep horror that she was hit by a bus. Rage at the people who harmed her and anyone who dares be mad at someone so perfect.
I need to get to her.
I was hoping to be a little more stable before she sees me, but fuck it.
Taking a steadying breath, I rub my face, swallowing down my out-of-control appetite once again. It sounds like someone is revving a motorcycle outside, and it's grating on my nerves.
"Gods, I'm so thirsty," I pant.
"We have fountain soda machines," he offers.
"You'd be the drink, Bob."
"Oh." Under the hypnotism, Horton only sounds mildly concerned.
"But I don't want to kill a nice kid like you if I lose control while feeding. Which I probably will, because being a newly-freed thrall is a mindfuck and a half. If only—"
When the doors of the gas station chime, I dart away from the counter too fast for humans to see. Peeking out from a nook that's half-hidden behind the fountain drinks that Horton was telling me about, I watch as a fit guy about my height walks in.
He's dressed in dark jeans, a gray T-shirt, a black, ripped jean jacket, biker gloves, and unlaced combat boots.
His dark hair's a mess, and he has piercings all over his ears and one through his nose.
When the still-hypnotized cashier doesn't turn around at the sound of his entry, the newcomer raps on the counter.
"Hey, fuckass. Over here."
Horton doesn't turn because I haven't released him from the hypnosis yet.
The biker rounds the counter to wave his hand in front of the kid's face. When Horton keeps standing there in a daze, the guy shrugs, grabs a couple of boxes of extra-large condoms from behind the counter, and strolls back out of the gas station.
Petty condom theft is a paper-thin justification for draining someone dry. Still, my stomach is screaming, and all I can think about is blood. Blood, blood, blood. Dripping from my face and filling this excruciating void that demands all of my attention.
Moving toward the door, I glance over my shoulder at Horton. "Hey, Bob. Do you know how to access the security cameras in this station?"
"Uh-huh. My boss showed me a few weeks ago."
"Good. Find a way to delete any footage of me from them, then forget I was ever here and everything we talked about.
If someone asks about all the blood in the bathroom, say you got a bloody nose.
And if anyone calls that woman Skidmark around you, stick up for her because she's a godsdamned angel. "
"Okay. Bye, Ian."
Pushing through the gas station doors, I see the black-clad condom thief fueling up a motorcycle at one of the pumps.
This rural stop is somewhere just off the interstate in Iowa, and there's nobody else around at three o'clock in the dead of night, so I don't hesitate to blur toward him.
He'll be dead before he can see me, anyway.
At least, that's what I think until a thick spike of metal skewers me.
A cry of surprised agony rips from my throat as I buckle onto the cold asphalt outside. My hands immediately go to my stomach, where my body is already trying to regenerate and close around the painful invasion.
"Serves you fucking right, trying to jump me like that," the biker huffs with an uncommon accent I can't pinpoint.
As he walks toward me, I try to dislodge the metal by gripping the rod and pulling it out of me—but I scream again when I realize there's a massive fucking barb inside of me.
If I rip this thing out, it's going to take out a chunk so big that if I survive, regenerating the hole in my body would take hours.
Trying not to writhe from the pain, I look up at the asshole, noting that one of the bollards around the pump is now missing.
"You're a metal elemental," I choke, putting two and two together.
He crouches beside me to smirk down with dark gray eyes. When he speaks, the flash of a tongue piercing catches the dim lighting over the gas pumps.
"And you're about to be the dumbest fucking vamp I've ever killed. Kha?le, asshole.”
He flicks his hand, and the metal spike inside me starts to move.
"Wait—please, wait," I hold up a bloodied hand, desperate enough to beg because there's absolutely no way fucking way that I'm leaving this earth until I see Heidi again.
When the elemental grins, I see that a couple of his teeth are pointed. Almost like fangs.
Or…no, more like the even slighter points of demon teeth.
"Tell you what, vamp, I'll let you live in exchange for an infernal pledge," he offers.
I hiss as my body tries again to fix the damage with the metal still inside me. Siphons like me—vampires, sirens, incubi, and so on—have the ability to regenerate and heal faster than any of the other Houses, but sometimes that can be used against us like this, to prolong pain.
"A what?" I grimace. "Is that like a blood oath or something?"
"Nah, it's just a thing some demons do. Can't trust each other worth shit, so these come in handy."
I let my head drop to the cold asphalt so my neck can rest, my fangs aching as crippling hunger plagues me even now, bleeding out in front of this gas station.
My breaths are getting raspy. I'm pretty sure he nicked a few organs, and feeling those trying to grow back around the metal fucking hurts. "Wild guess here, but are you a demon?"
"Half-demon, yeah."
"Just my luck," I rasp, in too much pain and thirst to think clearly. "Look, I won't attack you, okay? Just get this fucking thing out of me, and we can part ways."
He snorts. "What, all peacefully? Nah, it's either a swift death here or a pledge. I promise I'm not gonna ask for your soul or some shit—I wouldn't even know what to do with a slimy vampire soul. Now, repeat after me. Per nomen to.”
"Is this demonology?" I grit out.
"Fuck around and find out. Come on, what've you got to lose, anyway? Do you wanna live, or don't you?"
Damn it, I really need to live. All I can think about is how fucking pathetic it would be to die here like this, after everything I've been through—without getting to see Heidi or her smile again.
Adjusting my position on the cold asphalt to make the metal in my stomach hurt a bit less, I glare at the half-demon elemental. “Per nomen to.”
He whistles. "What awful pronunciation."
"Just keep going, hell-spawn," I scowl.
"Ad thamas quiem."
"Ad thamas quiem."
"Agapáte," he says before motioning at himself. “Seit Mezzakhiel.”
I finish repeating after him. On the last word, a harsh chill rolls over my body for a second before fading. I'm starting to black out a little from the pain of this thing jutting into my stomach and out of my back, but the half-demon looks satisfied and makes a motion with his hand.
The air whooshes painfully from me as I feel the metal inside me contort again, smoothing and slipping until it drops to the asphalt, freed from my stomach.
I swear with relief, one hand going to the place where I was just run through. Since I've been feeding so fucking much, it doesn't take my body long to repair the damage left behind.
I finally sit up, glowering at the smug jackass. "All right, what sick, twisted demon thing did you just make me pledge to do?"
"Only murder heaps of cute little puppies, of course," he rolls his eyes, kicking aside the blood-covered spike now lying on the road. "Don't be stupid—if I want something sick and twisted done, I can do it myself. Only thing you promised is to help me track down and win over the woman I love."
My head rears back before I get to my feet, sure I misheard him.
"Love? You're kidding. You're a fucking demon."
"Half-demon," he clarifies again, going back to fueling his bike. "By the way, you look like a used tampon on legs. You on some kinda blood spree or something?"
I glance down at my stained shirt, hands, arms, and the splatters on my pants. The lingering scent sends a pang of pure hunger down my throat. I swallow hard as my head pounds, my attention drifting to this guy's neck.
I wonder what demon blood tastes like.
He notices where I'm looking. To my surprise, he barks out a laugh and holds out his wrist. "Try if you want."
I pause. "You're not serious."
"The fuck I'm not. I'm not scared of a bite. Just don't forget, since you made that infernal pledge, if you come anywhere close to killing me, your soul'll immediately be cut up into pieces and scattered through all the hells of the Beyond to burn for all time."
Fair warning, I guess.
I should really ignore this offer since it's coming from a half-demon who just coerced me into his little side quest by turning me into a thrall-ke-bab.
But thirst is making my insides scrape together, empty and desperate, and searing my throat.
It feels like I've been left out to dry in a desert for days.
My fucked-up, newly freed thrall brain seems blissfully unaware of the fact that I drank almost two gallons from the last guy I took out earlier today before my stomach started sending it right back up.
The ache in my mouth worsens. I take a step toward the half-demon, then one back. "No. Just tell me where this so-called lady love of yours is, and let's get this over with."