Ruby Shadows (Born to Darkness #3)(9)
“I thought they were just dreams,” I protested. “I—”
At that moment the thing down at the bottom of the pit gave another sharp tug. Suddenly I found myself slipping out of Laish’s arms. I screamed piercingly at the pain, wondering if my hip had disconnected from its socket.
“Please,” I gasped. “Oh, no, please!”
Suddenly a sword appeared in Laish’s other hand, the one that wasn’t holding me. It was easy to see in the darkness because the silver blade was actually on fire. I gasped and flinched away from it but he only took a firmer grip on my waist.
“Hold tight to me, Gwendolyn. We’ll be out of here soon.”
I looked down into the darkness which was now illuminated by the fiery sword. The thing wrapped around my ankle and calf was thick and muscular but it wasn’t pink or even red—it was black. A sickly, oozing, grayish-black, coated in slime. I felt my stomach do a slow backflip at the sight. All that disgusting slime was coating my skin and the forked tip of the tongue was inching upward, over my knee, getting closer to my inner thigh…
Laish made a sound of disgust. With one swipe of the burning blade, he severed the slimy tongue thing. It clung a moment longer, then slid down my leg and fell back down into the pit to its owner. There was a hoarse, awful howl of pain and the ragged stump of the tongue hovered in midair, spurting foul, black blood. Then it withdrew, whipping wildly from side to side, spraying the dirt sides of the sink hole with slime.
I felt instant relief the moment the thing was off me. I wanted to get out of there right away but still Laish hovered for a moment more. He shouted something after the thing—something in a sharp, cruel language that hurt my ears—and then we shot upward and were suddenly standing on my Grams’ bedroom floor—what was left of it, anyway. Or I should say Laish was standing—the burning sword was gone and I was in his arms.
Only I didn’t think I could stay there much longer.
“Let me go!” I struggled against him, pressing against his broad chest. “Please, Laish, I have to…I need…”
“All right.” He set me on my feet and I bolted for the bathroom.
I barely got inside and lifted the toilet seat before every bit of wine I’d had that night along with everything else I’d eaten came straight up.
I heaved again…and then again even though my stomach was now empty. The nausea went on and on and on. I didn’t know what was wrong with me—was it a reaction to the extreme terror I’d just been feeling? But it was over now—why couldn’t I stop being sick?
“Gwendolyn…Gwendolyn…” Laish was suddenly beside me, sweeping back my hair and looking at me anxiously.
“Go ‘way,” I ordered him, trying to control my rolling stomach. I might not like him very much but that still didn’t mean I wanted him to watch me toss my cookies.
“I can’t. You’re having a reaction to the slime.”
“The what?” I demanded, and then had to bend over the bowl again. Nothing came up this time although it felt like my body was trying to eject my whole stomach through my mouth. Finally the wave passed and I sat back up and wiped my mouth with a swatch of toilet paper. Laish passed me a cup of water and I rinsed out my mouth. My hand trembled so much I nearly spilled it all over me. I was shaking uncontrollably.
Laish was looking more worried by the minute.
“The slime. Look.” He pointed to my leg—the one the thing’s tongue had been wrapped around. I saw with disgust that it was coated up to the thigh in grayish-black slime.
“Ugh!” My stomach rolled again, threatening to eject the water I’d just had. I put a hand to my aching midsection. “Get it off!” I begged.
“Of course.” Leaning over me, he turned on the tub. As soon as the water began to steam, he grabbed me and dumped me in.
“Hey!” I protested. Half the water in the tub was icy cold and the other half was too hot—they hadn’t had a chance to mix yet. I didn’t know whether to shiver or yelp at the burn.
Laish paid no attention to my protests. He grabbed one of Grams’ pristine white hand towels—the ones she keeps for company only—and began to scrub industriously at my leg.
I wanted to protest his harsh treatment—it felt like he was trying to rub my skin off—but I soon saw it was necessary. The grayish-black slime that coated my skin didn’t want to come off. In fact, in places it looked like it was trying to eat its way in. Seeing that made me feel panicky all over again.
“Get it off!” I begged, rubbing at my leg. “Get it off me, please!”
“I will,” he said grimly. “Just hold still, Gwendolyn.”
I didn’t want to hold still. The stuff was eating into my skin and now it started to burn…burn like acid. I could barely keep myself from screaming as Laish scrubbed my thigh and calf. As he worked, I heard him muttering more words in that strange, harsh language under his breath. It hurt my ears almost as much as the slime was hurting my leg.
At last the burning stopped. Looking down, I saw that the slime was finally peeling away—sloughing off like a snake skin in long, thin, ragged strips.
The sight made me feel sick all over again but somehow I managed to keep from heaving. When the last of the stuff was washed down the drain (where it would no doubt play hell with Grams’ plumbing) I let out a little sob of relief and looked at myself. Despite the acid eating through my flesh sensation, my skin seemed intact, thank the Goddess. It was still my normal creamy brown and just a little red from the scrubbing. My stomach was beginning to feel better too—well, as much as it could after heaving continuously for ten minutes earlier.