The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(88)

Celine says nothing as she slows to walk beside me.

“Isn’t his silence driving you mad?” Arjun asks her.

“A little, I suppose. But I always need a moment to reflect after I’m met with disappointment.” She offers him a stern look. “And don’t think I plan to ignore what you’ve done.”

Arjun pauses to kick up a swirl of thickening mist. “Pardon?”

“I don’t know if I should yell at you or kiss you for what you did at the palace,” she says.

“You should always kiss me, princess.” Arjun winks.

Celine frowns. “Are you not worried about what he’ll make you do for the six weeks you’re in service to him?”

“Eh.” Arjun raises a shoulder. “It will be predictable. Most likely he’ll relish the chance to enact petty revenge on my mother for—”

Celine screams as Arjun is wrenched from the footpath and swallowed into a patch of rising mist.

I yank the crossbow from my cloak just as Celine brandishes her dirk.

“Arjun!” Celine calls out.

“Stay back,” Arjun yells. “They’re lamiak.” A sound rips through the darkness, followed by a keening wail. With a gasp, Arjun stumbles toward us, his silver blade coated with thick blood and an open gash near his collarbone.

“What are lamiak?” I demand as we all gather together, our weapons flashing white beneath the moon.

“Mindless blood drinkers,” he says through gritted teeth. “As if a vampire had been reduced to its basest element. Stay alert. They are never alone.”

All at once a pair of shimmering eyes, the color like the inside of a flame, glow through the darkness. Celine shrieks as a pale creature dressed in filthy grey rags lumbers toward us. His nails are long; his hair hangs down his back in a snarl. His face has been torn from the pages of a childhood nightmare, his eyes sunken and hollow, his cheeks gaunt. Chipped fangs protrude down his chin.

Another lamiak launches itself through the night sky, hissing through the air. It snatches Celine by the hood and tries to yank her away. Both Arjun and I move toward it, slashing at its throat. I am knocked to the ground by two more of the creatures. A sound like the clacking of teeth flies from one of their mouths, and four more bound from the mist toward us, their long, ragged nails curled like talons.

They tear at my cloak as I lift the crossbow and fire two quarrels at one of them.

“Aim for the center of the chest,” Arjun instructs.

I fire another quarrel, and it flies wide. The lamiak nearest to me tries to snatch the crossbow from my grasp, and I shove it toward the snow. Three more land on my back. I look up as I struggle to stand, throwing one of them off my shoulder as another digs its talons into my arm, just above the arrow wound inflicted by the twig men.

Snow flies around me, obscuring my vision. My fangs have lengthened in my mouth, my vision sharpened by my fury. In my periphery I see Arjun pull Celine from an attack as she turns her blade around and sinks its point into the chest of the creature nearest to her, who draws back with an ear-piercing screech, taking the blade with it.

I cannot stop the onslaught of lamiak descending on us. They do not try to drink from me, as if they know I am one of them, but this knowledge has also identified me as their enemy. They bear down on me in force, preventing me from coming to Arjun’s or Celine’s aid.

Arjun falls to the snow, overcome by two lamiak, as Celine is grabbed from behind by another.

I shout and try to stand.

Something starts to glow in Celine’s hand. With a cry, she brandishes the sphere of sunlight in the air above her head. It starts to burn brightly. She gasps, and I can see that her fingers have started to shine as if they’ve caught fire. With both hands, she lifts the bauble high. The lamiak shriek, their skin beginning to burn. The ones far enough away try to crawl toward the darkness, but many of them smolder and catch flame, their clothes turning to ash.

Celine waits until the last of the creatures is nothing but tendrils of smoke. Tears stream from her eyes, the scent of burning flesh carrying on the wintry air.

She collapses into the snow, her hands and arms blistered.





CELINE





When Celine sat up, panic began to set in. The same panic she’d felt in the hospital after she’d been attacked at Saint Louis Cathedral the night of Mardi Gras.

The first thing she noticed was the light. Even though dusk appeared to have settled around her, the sun still shone from beyond the window, its light faint and warm. Tiny baubles flickered throughout the room, multiplying as they neared the high domed ceilings. Her bed was the largest bed she’d ever seen in her life. It appeared to be fashioned of twisting vines carved from a pale tree that smelled of cedar and spice. The coverlet felt as soft as a cloud to the touch. The faint scents of honeysuckle and citrus suffused the space.

Even at a glance, Celine knew this was not the sort of chamber one found in the mortal world. All at once, recent events flashed through her mind’s eye. She swallowed at the memory of the lamiak coming toward her, the chittering echo of its death cry. The perfume of the frigid mist in the Wyld seemed to curl through her nostrils and ripple down her spine.

Shivering, Celine pulled the cloudlike coverlet to her chin.

A buzzing sound rang in her right ear, startling her. A tiny winged fairy zipped before her, inspecting her as it muttered in a language Celine could not understand. Then it vanished out an open window, undoubtedly to deliver a message.