Carnival of Souls Page 8

  Kaleb forced himself to sit upright and offered the only reassurance he could speak with reasonable honesty. “I’m not going to lose to Aya.”

  “Maybe not in a ring,” Zevi muttered as he walked away. He said nothing more as he gathered his needles and knife and dropped them into his postsurgery water basin. He remained silent as he collected the remains of Kaleb’s ruined trousers and several bits of cloth that were on the floor beside Kaleb. He dropped them into another, much larger bucket.

  Kaleb waited as Zevi paced and put away everything that he could possibly put away. Zevi always liked to keep things orderly, but when he was stressed he was obsessive about tidying up. Right now, he was about as stressed as he got.

  “She’s not like us,” Zevi blurted. His hands moved like a conjurer creating a storm as he ranted. “You only fight or kill for a reason. She doesn’t need to, but she does. If you’re going to have to fight and kill without contract or competition, we should just go home.”

  The younger cur ducked his head when he realized what he’d said. It had been seven years since Kaleb had found Zevi in the Untamed Lands and brought him to The City, but that place was still “home” to Zevi. It wasn’t, had never been, Kaleb’s home. Sometimes, Kaleb thought that what he feared most about the Untamed Lands was that it would take Zevi from him. Before Zevi, he hadn’t been afraid of the overgrown wilderness that encroached on The City, but being a cur meant needing to find and form a pack. Kaleb had only ever found one cur who felt like home to him—and in that way that he now knew as uniquely Zevi’s, the cur in question understood their bond long before he did. Zevi didn’t question what was obvious to him. When Zevi found and tended to the then-wounded Kaleb, he knew that they were to be connected. Kaleb had taken longer to figure it out, but now that he had a pack, the terror of losing Zevi was what woke him at night. Winning the competition meant Kaleb could protect Zevi—and find other curs who fit with their small family.

  “It’s okay,” Kaleb reassured him. “Everything will be okay.”

  He was too injured to get up and follow Zevi. He waited for several minutes until Zevi paused, and then he said, “Zevi? Be still. Z?”

  Zevi looked at him, and Kaleb asked, “What’s really wrong?”

  “Aside from you’re hurt again?”

  “Yes,” Kaleb said as patiently as he was able.

  Zevi came and sat on the ground beside him. “I don’t understand her. I don’t trust Aya. What if she just kills us?”

  Calmly, Kaleb told him, “There’s no reason for her to kill you.”

  “There was no reason for her to kill Verie either,” Zevi muttered.

  And there it was: Verie had been one of Zevi’s friends. The truth was that Kaleb wasn’t convinced Aya had made the kill. He’d listened to what she had and very carefully had not said on Judgment Day. Of course, he also understood that Aya did have a reason to attack Zevi. His packmate’s injury or death would affect his ability to fight, and Aya was devious enough to know that. She took advantage of opportunities. It was why she was a likely candidate to win—and why he was all but certain that she hadn’t actually killed Verie and that Verie hadn’t illegally aided anyone. Aya was merely taking advantage of the situation. He’d watched her throughout the whole competition. She was practical, but not unnecessarily violent.

  She looked like she was everything that Marchosias respected. If she weren’t female, Marchosias would have offered her a choice position in the government, but no female had held such positions during Marchosias’ reign. Aya would be the first, but only if she won. If she lost, she’d still have a cossetted place in the palace. Marchosias had very clear taste in breeding: admirable traits or good alliances. Aya’s family was among the highest in the ruling caste, and she had demonstrated superior skill as a fighter.

  Kaleb put a hand on Zevi’s forearm. “I have no intention of letting Aya or anyone else stand between me and the future we deserve. I’ll take care of us, Z. I promise.”

  CHAPTER 10

  KALEB HAD WAITED UNTIL Zevi was asleep before leaving their home. He wasn’t ready to talk about Mallory. The options weren’t vast: either he chose to stand by the contract—accept the payment and kill Mallory when Haage determined it most advantageous—or he violated his contract and went to Marchosias. He wasn’t sure if admitting to finding the missing daughter would overcome the fact that he’d hidden that information. Marchosias could reward him as easily as condemn him. The dilemma was the one he’d been wrestling with more and more as he got to know Mallory.

  He crept through The City, only upright due to willpower and the medicinal skills of his packmate, and went to the gate that he’d paid for not long after the competition began. Before this contract, he’d been to the human world periodically. Something about them fascinated him. As a child, he’d followed a mark over there, and when the situation got out of hand, he’d been taken into custody and placed with what they called a foster family. Years later, he’d honed the skills he’d learned in those weeks and felt relatively able to blend into the human world. That didn’t mean, however, that the twinge of sheer panic ever faded when he crossed through the gate.

  A flicker of fear of being trapped again, away from his Zevi, assailed him as he stepped into the other world. If not for the desire to protect his packmate, he would bring Zevi here, but the younger cur already had trouble coping with The City. Kaleb wasn’t sure how he’d deal with a third set of rules, so unless it was essential, Kaleb’s trips would be solo excursions.

  He took a moment to calm his nerves, and then he made his way to Mallory. He’d never been to her home with her knowledge; like any daimon on the run, she hid her den. Still, he knew where it was, had known before he’d ever spoken to her, and it was to that home that he now went. For the first time, he stood on her porch and knocked on a side door to her house. It was shadowed, unlike the front door, which would leave him exposed and standing with his back to the street.

  Moments passed before she opened it. He could smell the sharp tang of metal, of gun, that he now associated with her. It wasn’t a scent that existed in The City; it was of the human world, the world Mallory thought of as hers. In The City, guns were forbidden. Death was to be an act of closeness. That was the law: “If you cannot touch the person you are ending, you can’t kill them.” Guns made death impersonal.

  She opened the door only partway. At first, she simply stared at him, a pistol clutched in the hand she kept out of sight. “Kaleb?”

  “Hello.”

  “What are you . . . ? I mean . . . Hi.” She paused almost imperceptibly before asking, “How did you know where I live?”

  “I was passing by one day, and I saw you going inside, so I took a chance.” Kaleb did his best to look harmless. “Are you busy?”

  “No, not right now.” Mallory ducked her head briefly and whispered something he couldn’t hear.

  He suspected that she was allowing him entry into her home and wondered briefly if humans had become more aware of magic or if some meddling witch had warded her house. How much does she know? He couldn’t think of any way to ask her that without alarming her, and he didn’t think that tipping her to what he knew was in his best interest. Whether he killed her or delivered her to The City, he’d need to gain her full trust to do it. Asking if her house was warded wouldn’t do that.

  “Do you want to come in?” she asked aloud.

  “I do,” Kaleb said.

  “We’re moving, so there’s no furniture, but if you want . . . unless you weren’t really staying. I mean . . .” Her words trailed off and her hand went to the stone that hung on a cord around her neck.

  He’d seen such amulets in the possession of Watchers. The stones helped keep a daimon healthier, giving them strength that was stored in the stones. The Watchers’ tolerance of witches made them more trusting of stronger spells. The combination of her amulet and the wards made sense; a Watcher must have hidden Mallory and paid for the wardings on her and on the house.
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br />   “I’d like to stay.” He smiled, but the expression was ruined by a wince of pain as he stepped into the house. He grabbed the kitchen counter. “Sorry.”

  “Are you okay?” She whispered something hurriedly again and then put her hand on his biceps. “Kaleb?”

  They both froze for a moment when she touched him. It wasn’t until she retracted her hand that he could say, “I’m fine.”

  He focused his attention on her, and she looked away—not fast enough that he missed the interest in her eyes. She was so different from the daimons he’d met in The City. They’d made no secret of their interest, but tried to hide fear or worry. Mallory tried to hide her interest, but had no qualms showing that she worried.

  A small sound of pain escaped, but he tried to turn it into a laugh before he said, “Just a minor injury. One of my matches went a little wild.”

  She’d been clear on what she thought when he’d told her previously that he was a fighter, so he wasn’t surprised when she said, “Boxing is barbaric.”

  “I know. Today, I really know.” He winced at both the pain and the extent of what he’d hidden, what she’d eventually know he’d hidden if she was brought to The City instead of killed. It was peculiar to care what she thought, but he did. He didn’t want her to know that when he said he boxed, he really meant he fought to the death; or that when he said he was away at school, he meant away in another world. He’d tried to find close approximations of the truth when he told her about himself, but some things had no human equivalent.

  “I don’t have anywhere for you to sit.” She looked around her barren house. “Everything was sent out already. The movers left a few hours ago.”

  He smiled at the thought of not only bringing her to The City, but of seeing her in his home, of having a new home—one furnished to him as winner of Marchosias’ Competition.

  “What?” She couldn’t look away from him, and he heard the flicker of fear in her voice.

  “Do you know what would make me feel better, Mallory?” He stepped close enough to her that the edge of his shirt brushed against hers.

  Mutely, she shook her head, but she didn’t flee.

  He leaned down until their lips were nearly touching.

  She parted her lips to say something, but he kissed her before she could utter a word. He’d never kissed anyone for reasons other than base need or being hired. None of that prepared him for the way Mallory responded to him—or how he responded to her. His body burned like something had pierced his veins, and it took more effort than he’d ever known not to let their first kiss become the first night with their bodies entangled.

  After several wonderful moments, Kaleb pulled back abruptly. They were both breathing heavily, and her eyes were wide with a mix of longing and shock.

  She looked as startled as he felt. The difference between them was that he knew what that sensation meant. Mallory was pack, his in a way that only Zevi had ever been. She belonged in his life, in his home, but how could he say that to a daimon who thought she was human? Marchosias was a cur, but a lot of daimons were curs. Kaleb had bedded some, killed others, but he’d only ever felt the fierce need to protect one other cur.

  “You’re . . . not what I was expecting,” he said. Nothing he’d ever experienced came near the wash of heat that felt like it would burn them both alive.

  She started trembling.

  He stared at her, trying to find words to explain, to help them both understand, but there were none that he could share without telling her what he was and what she was. He wasn’t sure either of them was ready for that. He slid his hands up and down her arms to quell her chills and to have an excuse to keep touching her. “I’m sorry.”

  “For kissing me?” she asked.

  “No,” Kaleb said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t do that the moment I met you.”

  Mallory took several steps backward, out of his reach. “I don’t understand, but I think that maybe you should . . .”

  “Kiss you again?” Kaleb walked toward her, and she continued to back up so that she stayed just out of reach.

  She trembled violently, and he wondered if the spells that were wrapped on her were being loosened by their kisses. He wasn’t having that reaction. He wanted to pull her to him and calm her, but she was wide-eyed with fear. That he did recognize. The first time he’d felt the pack connection, he rebelled. Then, he’d been unprepared for the urgent need to be near anyone, to protect them at any cost.

  He watched Mallory force herself to try to be calm. Tentatively, she laughed and said, “That seemed w—”

  “Perfect,” he interrupted.

  She smiled. “I was going to say weird.”

  “Perfect,” he repeated.

  He reached out toward her, and this time, she stepped closer again. He knew how she was feeling, and even if he couldn’t explain it all, he did know how to help. He remembered it, that feeling like discovering a wound inside that he hadn’t even known existed. The only way to ease the pain inside was to be closer to pack.

  “I should have kissed you sooner, Mallory.” Kaleb put his hands on her shoulders, slid them down her arms, and then settled them on her hips. “So many answers are clear now.”

  “Answers to what?” She breathed more than spoke the question.

  “I’ll go wherever you go,” he promised.

  “Because of one kiss?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “And because of what that kiss means. We belong together. You know it. Somewhere inside, you know it. Even though the words sound crazy, you know they’re true.”

  She didn’t reply, but she melted into his embrace. It was an answer without words, but he needed the words. They were pack. She was meant to be in his life, and now that he knew it, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. It was different, not more, but unique from the bond he shared with Zevi, and he wondered briefly if every packmate would feel different to him.

  “MALLORY?” KALEB PROMPTED.

  She looked into his eyes, wishing she could tell him something, anything, that would make this be something more than one fabulous—but fleeting—surprise. She couldn’t. Any words she had were ones she couldn’t speak. My father is a witch. Daimons are real. I can’t be with a normal boy because it’s too dangerous for both of us. She couldn’t admit those sorts of secrets—even to someone who made her feel like her blood had just become liquid fire. All she knew was that the thought of him leaving her life made her feel panic. It was just a kiss, she told herself. But the way he looked at her made her believe that it was more than that—for both of them.

  “Kiss me again,” she said.

  He didn’t build from tentative to feverish; he started with the sort of kiss that asked questions she didn’t know how to answer, the sort of kiss that reminded her how little she knew about him and quickly made her forget everything she knew about caution. If the boys she’d kissed before had been like him, she wouldn’t still be a virgin, but no one else had made her feel like she could be happy spending the rest of eternity kissing. It was perfect.

  It was also exceedingly stupid. They barely knew each other, and no amount of physical connection would bridge the gulf of secrets that she had to keep between them.

  She pulled away and put a hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. What do I really know about him? They’d run into each other a number of times over the past month, when he’d said he was home from school, but a few casual conversations and a soul-searing kiss or two weren’t reason enough to ignore all common sense. Hours of defense training had made her feel confident that she could handle anything boys tried, but in all of what she’d learned, there weren’t any lessons on how to avoid feeling like a skeeze because you reacted to a boy’s kisses like a cat discovering catnip.

  “I think you need to go,” she said as steadily as she was able.

  “I will go wherever you tell me. I want to see you again. I need to see you.” There was something desperate in his eyes and in his voice, and she wond
ered if it was the same urgency she felt.

  Kaleb lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. “Please?”

  “I’m moving tonight,” she said.

  “I’ll come to you anywhere,” he promised.

  “You hardly even know me.”

  “I want to know you though. Are you going to punish me for just now finding you?” he asked.

  “No, but . . .” She vacillated between wanting to believe him and doubting every word.

  “Do you kiss everyone that way? Or did that feel like . . . magic? Like something unusual? If it didn’t, tell me to go, but if it did”—he shook his head and stared straight into her eyes—“admit that. I swear to you, Mallory, I’ve never felt like that because of a kiss.”

  She looked directly at him, refusing to be embarrassed. “It was perfect, but one kiss doesn’t mean—”

  “It could.” His hand slid up her back, and she closed her eyes as he whispered, “Tell me I can visit you. Please?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she hedged. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d ever felt so at ease around, anyone she instinctively wanted to trust, and she certainly hadn’t ever wanted anyone as much.

  “Why?” He watched her, waiting for her answer, and she had to restrain herself from kissing him again.

  She couldn’t answer.

  He didn’t move. He simply asked, “Tell me where you’re going. Please?”

  “What if it’s too far?”

  Kaleb laughed softly. “Nowhere is too far.”

  She clenched her hands, trying not to touch him. Now that they’d kissed, it seemed so easy, so natural, to pull him back to her.

  He wouldn’t object.

  Her mouth felt dry, and she took another steadying breath. She reached up to touch the skin where her pendant rested under her shirt. It was a silly habit from childhood that she’d never quite surrendered. The stone pendant was from her mother’s family, and her mother had made her promise repeatedly to never let it out of her reach. Mallory wrapped her hand around it for comfort.