Page 75 of The Last Slayer
I rose from my seat abruptly, making one of the samaels tumble over backward. I had my answer.
“Get off him,” I said to the lilith. She continued to fondle Ramiel as if she hadn’t heard anything. My internal alarm rang loud and clear even through the haze of wine. “Ramiel, get her off you or I’m going to make you regret it.”
Nahemah’s eyes danced with amusement, and she glanced at Ramiel. He didn’t even open his eyes.
His cavalier attitude pissed me off, but something about it made me sure I had found the reason for my unease.
I started toward him. The wine made my balance a bit off, but I could still manage fine. I whispered the incantation he’d taught me at the cottage.
My torso and heart suddenly felt like there were hot lumps of coal inside, burning through. I inhaled and inhaled, helpless to stop. It was as if my entire body struggled to expand against a tight iron corset. I thought for a moment I’d gotten the words wrong. My rib cage felt like it would snap.
My right palm ripped and a long sword shot out through the skin. Somehow it didn’t hurt. My blood stained the bright rubies, sapphires and emeralds on the hilt. Nahemah’s eyes sharpened at the sight of the weapon.
Gripping the sword tightly, I walked around the table. The cut on my palm closed immediately, the blood congealing into a hard sticky frosting around the jeweled pommel. I finally exhaled. My body didn’t hurt anymore now that the blade was out. Leh’s heartstone pulsated inside me and adrenaline flooded into my bloodstream. The effects of the wine vanished abruptly; everything seemed brighter and sharper than usual.
Ramiel finally deigned to give me a cursory glance. Something was definitely wrong with the way he looked at me. And the way he smelled, with an odd undertone of decaying rose petals…and the way his magic surrounded him, like rancid oil trying to mix with water—with my extra sensitivity I could tell that all his emanations were off.
Everything about his presence reminded me of rotten fruit. And with that came a conviction that my instinct was right.
I thrust at his stomach. It wouldn’t have been fast enough to hurt Ramiel—the real one, that is—but it was quick enough to skewer most lesser supernaturals.
He didn’t even have a chance to gasp. The blade entered his flesh even as the lilith rolled away screaming. He gripped the naked blade, cutting his palms. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood flowing from his belly and finally met mine.
Eyes the color of rivets.
“Son of a bitch.” I stepped back, pulling my sword out as I did. I turned to Nahemah. “What the hell is going on?”
She rose from her seat, her face as smooth and blank as a doll’s. “What did you have to do that for?” She sighed. “Now it’s going to be messy.”
Fear began knotting my stomach, and the food I’d eaten protested. Still I held my position. “Where’s Ramiel?”
She shrugged. “Enjoying his dinner, I’m sure. If he’d known what kind of a barbarian you are, he would never have associated with you, regardless of his vow to Leh. My, my, look what you’ve done to my poor servant.”
She walked toward her dying samael and shoved him to the floor. Gasping, he fell forward. He still had Ramiel’s face and body. Blood spilled across the marble, the odor of stomach contents mixing with the aroma of food. I did my best not to gag. If the chorus and harpists could continue to perform as if nothing had happened, I could damn well act like this was par for the course too.
Nahemah inspected the méridienne. “It’s going to be such a chore to get the stain out of the cushions. Oh well. Not my responsibility.”
“What do you want?”
She rolled her eyes. “Dinner. With you, of course. I thought having a Ramiel look-alike would make you feel more relaxed. I didn’t want the real one here glowering at me the whole time. He can be so tedious. You would think someone who’s of impure line would be a little more fun. Less strict about formalities.”
“Impure line?”
“Didn’t he tell you? He’s a mongrel.” Nahemah’s lips twisted. “So righteous. So arrogant. So strict. As if he could erase the taint with his conduct.” She waved her hand at the samael on the floor and all the blood. “Now the banquet’s ruined. How can we possibly eat after such tragedy? That wasn’t very nice of you, Ashera.”
My name rolled from her tongue like an old hard candy, saccharine and sticky. I suppressed a shudder.
Nahemah took a step. Slowly and sensuously. Then two. Each languid m
ovement of her hips brought her closer.
“When a dragonlady offers her help…” a step, “…provides such superb hospitality…” another step, “…she deserves something more…” a roll of her hips, “…than a gutted servant.” Still another step.
Instinct told me to retreat, but I forced myself to stand my ground. Any sign of fear would only embolden her. Now she stood close enough that I could smell roses and moon-milk on her.
She smiled at me. Then her left hand shot out like a cobra toward my heart, while a sword appeared gleaming in her right. It happened so fast, I was still in the middle of jumping backward when she swung.
I blocked her sword with mine. They met with a clang that hurt my ears and made my blood sing.
