Page 34 of Throwing Shade
Laurent barked a rusty laugh that was bright and pure in its delight, his eyes sparkling with a warm mirth, and my heart twisted. Didn’t he have much hilarity in his life?
No feeling sorry for the wolf.
“I don’t care what you call yourself,” I said, “so long as we get on with this so I can talk to Laurent.”
“He’s still human,” Laurent said, with a thoughtful expression. His behavior made even less sense if Rupert was still human, though if thinking I could sense dybbuks was a glitch on my part, that was fine by me.
Rupert let out a huge breath. “Told you.”
“Shut up,” Laurent and I said in unison.
Rupert looked down at his hands, then took a couple of steps closer, a belligerence to his strides. “Why, when I can use my mouth for better things?” He waggled his tongue.
I planted the kitten-free hand on my hip. “You use that mouth to talk to your mother?”
A look of confusion flashed over Rupert’s face and then he swore softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. You’re right, that was really rude of me.”
I pointed at him. “Wild personality swings. Classic dybbuk behavior.” Based on my sample group of two possessed Ohrists, this was empirical fact, not because of some magic Spidey-sense.
“Enough talking,” Laurent said. “If you’re going to finish me, then finish me.” He chest bumped Rupert to add injury to insult.
Rupert clenched his fists, his eyes screwed tight. Light swarmed up from his feet through his legs and torso, but it wasn’t nearly as bright or as powerful-feeling as when Laurent had channelled light over his fur while fighting the dybbuk inside Alex.
Laurent threw his arms wide, but the fervent gleam in his eyes undermined the cocky pop of his hip and his chin notched up in dare. This wasn’t a game of chicken, it was a man so desperate to feel alive that he welcomed death.
Did he hear a constant thud of bodies hitting the ground and feel flesh yielding to his claws? Did he wake in the night haunted by all the faces he’d committed to memory? Had he numbed himself to survive?
I lay my hand over my heart, but sharply dropped it.
I’d come here to rescue my friend. Laurent was the only person I’d met so far who seemed to have any chance of accomplishing that for me, and right now we were wasting time.
“Men,” I said to the kitten, who meowed in agreement. As it was a sunny day, casting lovely shadows, I kicked Delilah into motion.
Before the light fully engulfed Rupert and he shot lasers or detonated or whatever the hell he planned to do, Delilah hooked an arm around his neck from behind and choked him out.
The light disappeared and Rupert went limp in her arms. Delilah dropped him.
“As I was saying.” Still cradling the cat, I awkwardly rolled Rupert onto his back with my foot. No point in him suffocating. “Time is of the essence.”
Laurent’s eyes snapped open. They glowed brilliant emerald. “What. Did. You. Do?” He growled and advanced on me, both his hands shifted to deadly sharp claws.
Jude was still missing, I now had to worry about the undead snacking on my child, and I’d missed lunch. I’d been pushed to my limit and I was not going to be bullied by an overgrown dog with a death wish.
I scratched the kitten’s ears. “It’s like your own personal Vorpal Blade.”
Laurent stopped dead and blinked. “Quoi?”
“Your claws.” I made slashing motions with my free hand. “Jabberwocky? ‘One, two! One, two! And through and through. The Vorpal Blade went snicker-snack.’” I batted my lashes at him. “You going to snicker-snack me, Huff ’n’ Puff?”
Laurent glared at me, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
I notched my chin up, the air between us growing charged. Static energy shivered into the marrow of my bones but I didn’t give an inch. I’d birthed a seven-pound human without anaesthetic, my poor vag expanding like a python muscling down a cow. Try me.
His hands returned to normal. “Give me my damn cat.” He grabbed the kitten, set her on his shoulder, and jerked a finger at the still-unconscious Rupert. “Grab his legs.”
“Why?”
“He needs to be chained up inside.”
