Chapter 34
thirty-four
Hunters, Hunters Everywhere
Ismile cordially. “I have many books with dragons in them. Are you interested in romance or—”
“Ma’am, if we could just cut to the chase,” the lanky hunter says with a southern twang. “The being with wings and a tail. Where is it?”
Inky black slides along the wall by the door and I slowly shake my head at the vestige of Bastian.
“I really am not sure what you’re talking about,” I say.
I don’t want this to go to blows. For one, I have no idea how powerful these hunters might be. They could destroy the entire shop. For two, what if we lose? What if they take Bastian?
No. Better to talk them down and get them out. Plus, if they meant us harm, they would’ve been turned around already—unless they have defenses against Bastian’s magic.
The second man takes a step forward, removing his bowler hat. As his head emerges, so do long, thick feathers. The plumage is radiant colors of blue, green, and purple. They shiver and give off a vibrational hum I can feel behind my eyes.
“Where is the dragon?” the lanky glasses man asks again.
I sense the answer on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. Instead, I force a sludgy deflection through my lips. “You must…want the copy of Third Wing. Many dragons.”
The words feel like taffy on my teeth, my mouth moving much slower than it should.
The headman looks to the feather-guy. “What are you doing?”
“The spell is in effect. She’s under my trance,” he says in a parrot-like voice that makes me laugh.
The third man begins winding through the table displays and inspecting the shelves as the black shadow of Bastian stretches over the entrance wall. His form grows until he’s something inhuman, and massive, with wings flared wide.
Please, Bastian, don’t!
“I have a copy of Mated to the Dragon Warlord if you like,” I say, the words coming more easily. “It was just refurbished.”
The lanky hunter grabs my chin and points my face at the parrot man. My gaze transfixes on the shivering feathers and the urge to spill my guts is overwhelming.
Resist him. Resist it!
“Where. Is. The dragon,” he says again, squeezing my chin tightly.
“I have a dragon figurine with the fantasy,” I say, pointing toward the shelves. “It’s not for sale, though, unless you give me a lot of money.”
“Useless,” the headman growls, tossing me back.
I stagger as the parrot puts his hat back on.
“Kill her and torch the place,” he declares. “Burn the dragon out.”
“Mrrgrrroooow,” comes a feline war-cry.
Oscar leaps in front of me, his ruff all the way up and tail flared as wide as it’ll go. His fur begins to change from orange to black as he grows and grows. His growl becomes deeper as his size reaches that of a large dog.
My heart stops.
“Focsine Mora ega Cluasan!” the third man screams.
The hunters all jump back, the headman shielding himself with some kind of light barrier from the device on his arm. Oscar leaps forward into the shield and the projection goes prismatic, then disappears. The hunter screams as Oscar latches onto his throat.
What the fuck?!
The other two hunters run for the door, but Bastian appears in a swirl of gold-shimmering blackness, blocking their path. With a quick fist, he floors one man, then grabs featherhead by the neck. In a single twist, he snaps it just as easily as he’d broken Robbie’s arm.
The third hunter scrambles back, raising his hand. A bright red spear appears behind Bastian and I scream his name. He looks at me and I know I’ve fucked everything. The magic weapon slices into him from behind, exploding through his chest with a spray of inky black and gold blood.
The protection ward around the door shatters and arcs of orange lightning slam into the man on the ground. His body vaporizes in an instant, leaving nothing but a scorch mark on the floor.
The headman throws Oscar off him and scrambles toward the wall. A rectangle of pure light appears and he tumbles into it, disappearing from the shop with a quick snap.
I rush to Bastian’s side and take some of his weight. There’s black and gold oozing from the hole in his chest. He grunts in pain, pressing his hand over the spot.
“I’ve got you, I’m here,” I say as I carry him toward the chair beside the historical fantasy section.
“’M, a’right,” he mumbles. “Need…story.”
“A story?” I ask.
He nods. “Read t’me.”
I help him into the chair and run to the shelves. I pull down the first book I touch. My hands tremble as I open to the first page, smearing it with gold-flecked black blood. I fall down in front of him as I find the first chapter.
“The ranger was a proud, quiet man. He’d seen his share of battle and death was an old friend. But tonight, he would become truly acquainted with evil.”
Oscar, now small and orange again, jumps onto Bastian’s lap. He strokes the cat’s back, leaving streaks of blood across him. Oscar peers at me with his yellow eyes, a keen knowing in them. I will have questions for him later, if one can question a cat…
“Read, ple’se,” Bastian gurgles as black trickles from his lips.
My hands shake so hard I have to set the book in my lap.
“Long was the road to hell, and it was paved with every misdeed the ranger had ever witnessed. Ever perpetrated.”
I look up and he nods for me to continue.
I read three chapters before his blood loss slows.
The sun crests the apex and heads toward the horizon.
Seventeen chapters and the wound is closing.
There have been knocks at the door but we’ve ignored them. My phone has chimed in my pocket but it’s inconsequential. My mouth is dry and I need to pee like all hell, but I read and read.
I’m blinking wearily, the words blurring together as I slur, when a hand grasps my shoulder.
“It’s okay now, Cait,” Bastian’s voice soothes me.
I lean into his arm and he pulls me from the ground. I ache everywhere. I’m hungry, and I really, really need to pee.
“I have you, now,” he whispers as he pulls me up into his grasp.
“Don’t squish,” I complain, pointing to my belly.
“I won’t,” he replies, making sure not to curl me up.
He carries me to the stairs and takes them carefully—twisting and turning since I’m laid out on him like a plank of wood—as Oscar leads the way.
“You saved me,” he says. “More than just reading the story, you gave me your magic. You healed me.”
“Oh, good,” I mumble. “Toilet first please.”
He chuckles. “As you wish.”
A few doors later, and a strange removal of my stockings, I’m sitting on the porcelain throne.
“Out,” I say, waving him off.
“I’ll turn around,” he says.
“Nooo,” I moan. “You’ll hear, and smell.”
“I will also protect you from collapsing and bashing your head on the bathroom floor.”
I have to pee too badly to fight, so I let it out, a little bit of my dignity going with it but—
Goooooosh that feels so good.
Bastian laughs and I realize I’ve said it out loud.
“What is my cat?” I ask as the pee trickles out of me.
“A son of Cluasan Mora.”
“What…?”
“A cat-sith,” he says.
I blink my eyes out of sync as I reach for the toilet paper. “A what?”
“A magical cat being that can steal souls.”
“Holy fuck,” I murmur as I wipe a lot less thoroughly than I feel like I should but also my arm is lead.
“Empty?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, realizing I can’t stand up.
How embarrassing.
He pulls me to my feet, but instead of tugging my stockings up, he takes them off along with my shoes.
He pulls me into his arms again and takes me to the bedroom where he lays me on the bed.
Slowly and carefully—or at least I think it’s slowly because I’m coming to between removal of articles—he takes off my clothes and tucks me under the covers.
Oscar jumps onto the bed, his yellow eyes gleaming in the low moonlight.
“What are you?” I ask him.
He sits. “Mermow?”
Still love?
“Of course I still love you,” I say. “But also, I’m a little scared.”
“Mer mer. Mowow, mrrrf. Merow.”
No scared. I protect you, love you. I strong.
“Yeah, you’re like…really strong. Stronger than me. You bit that dude’s neck right out. OH MY GOD THE BIRDMAN IS DEAD.”
Bastian pushes me back down to the bed. “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay,” I say, because what am I going to do? Call the police?
Hello, Randy, who is still on vacation, there’s a dead parrot man in my bookshop…
“I know you will,” Bastian says, scratching under Oscar’s chin.
Is he talking to the cat?
Wait, I talked to the cat.
And I understood him.
What the fuck.
“Get some rest, Cait. You’ve exhausted yourself,” Bastian says and I feel his warm hand on my cheek.
“Okie dokie,” I repeat, my syllables lazy.
My eyes are already shut, and darkness takes me easily.