"Anywhere," he moaned. "Anywhere."
She slid her hand from his trousers and pulled them open, then lowered herself to her knees. He tried to look down, but the other girl reached up to kiss him and put his hand under her blouse. Her companion worked on him for a few moments. Then she pulled back, and when she did, I saw her teeth. Sharp white teeth. The other girl stopped kissing his lips and moved down to his neck. Her companion lowered her head to his crotch again, hesitating one split second and then diving in, fangs out.
The man let out a terrible scream, and tried to fling the other girl back, but she dug her own fangs into his neck, ripping out chunks of flesh, tossing them aside, blood spurting and gushing, the man screaming.
"You scream," the one girl said, lifting her bloodied mouth. "Just like they did. You heard them, and you did nothing. Now I hope they hear you. I hope they hear you and they smile."
The scene faded and the young man turned to me. "The sidhe are not always kind or good. That is not their way. No more than it is ours sometimes. Hurt them and they hurt you. Help them and they help you back."
"And these ones?" I nodded at the skeletons. "Is there any way to help them now?"
"Put them at rest. In the forest. Their kin will appreciate it."
"And you?"
A wry smile. "I would rather be buried in consecrated ground, but it does not seem to have done me any harm. Look to the little sidhe. They did not deserve this."
"Neither did you," I said, but he'd already disappeared.
I staggered back and fell right through the door, into the next room. The girls in the beds were skeletons again, like the two men on the floor.
A thump sounded from the next room. I went still, my gun rising.
"Olivia?"
I climbed back over the rubble to see Gabriel crouched at the basement window, his arm and shoulder through it, knocking against the frame with a glower, as if he could break it wider.
"You won't fit," I said.
He glowered at me, as if the situation was now my fault for choosing too small a window. Then he looked away quickly, and I remembered I was wearing my jacket over my bra. I zipped it up.
"Sorry," I said. "My shirt was sacrificed for emergency first aid."
His gaze traveled over me, assessing. My arm was hidden under the jacket, and he said, "Ms. Madole?"
I made a noise that could be taken as assent. His mouth tightened, as if now annoyed that I'd given up my shirt for an injured stranger.
"Come, then," he said with an impatient wave, and I hesitated, trying to get a better look at his expression. The shadows and the night stole it, leaving my chest tightening, and as I made my way to him, all I could think about was the last time I'd been in trouble and I called him.
But he's here now.
Yes, and he doesn't look pleased about it.
When I walked over, he reached down for me, only to realize his hand fell short. He grumbled and scowled, as he pushed his head and arm through the window.
"I can get out," I said. "Just back up."
He ignored me and reached down far enough for me to grab his wrist. I started taking it with my right, and a stab of pain reminded me why that wasn't a good idea. I gripped it with my left instead, and used my feet to scramble up the rough wall as he hauled me through.
"Use both hands," he said.
"I--"
He grabbed my other wrist, and I hissed against the wrenching pain. He didn't notice, grunting with exertion as he hauled me out. Once I was through, I bent over, pretending to catch my breath, as I bit my lip and tried not to whimper at the pain.
"What's wrong?" he said.
"Pulled a muscle. Give me a second--"