There's a knife near your right hand, Michael. Use it to cut the remaining rope. To Cordell, she said. “Why don't you just give it up? Your game here is over." He smiled, revealing yellow-stained canines. “The game is never over until the clock hits zero." He flung out his right hand. Energy ripped towards her. She dove away, felt heat cut across her leg, burning deep. She hit the ground with a grunt then scrambled to her feet. Pain surged up her leg, a white-hot ache that churned her stomach. She swallowed against the rising bile, glancing down. The lightning had finished what the wraith had started—sheared off her jeans at the calf, and made a two-inch wide welt bloom around her leg.
Rock scuffed behind her. She spun and saw Ginger approaching, a club held high above her head. She saw the anguish in the other woman's blue eyes and knew Cordell was forcing this action on her. The club arced towards Nikki's head. She wrenched it away kinetically, then knocked Ginger back, thrusting her hard against a wall. She slumped to the ground and didn't move. Nikki turned to face Cordell. Why in the hell wasn't Michael moving?
I think Cordell has broken my right arm. His thoughts skimmed hers, warm and reassuring but still very distant. Yet his pain throbbed through her, as did the concern he was desperately trying to hide. I can't grab the knife, Nikki.
Oh God. Maybe his legs were broken as well. Maybe she'd have to cope with Cordell alone ... She tried to remain calm. If they'd combined their powers to beat Jasper, surely they could do the same to destroy Cordell.
But if Michael had any control over his kinetic abilities, wouldn't he have used them to lift the knife and free his arm?
She clenched her fists. She had to concentrate on one problem at a time. Any more would overwhelm her at the moment. How about your legs?
They're okay. I'm okay. It's just ... my arm.
I'll try to free you.
No ... Cordell's too dangerous.
Like she didn't already know that. The vampire in question rolled several feet towards her. She flexed her fingers, watching him warily. His skin was so pale it was almost transparent, giving his face a skeletal look. His lips were bleeding, and blood dribbled unheeded from the side of his mouth. She shivered. Give the man a black cape and a scythe, and he'd look like the Grim Reaper on wheels. She grabbed the second knife, her knuckles almost white with the force of her grip. Somehow, she had to distract Cordell long enough to cut the remaining rope and free Michael. Cordell snorted softly. “That little sticker you're holding won't do you much good, you know." Tension rolled through her. Why wasn't he attacking her? What was he waiting for?
"Maybe it won't. But how well can you perform magic without eyes, huh?” Her stomach churned at the thought, but she battled to keep it from showing. If she revealed one ounce of weakness to Cordell, he would exploit it, of that she had no doubt.
Power began to burn through the night, an unseen force rising like a wind at her back. She bit her lip, wanting to turn around and see what was approaching, and yet she knew that was probably what Cordell wanted. Sweat began to trickle down her face, and her palm felt slick against the knife hilt. Energy burned through her, aching for release. She waited, watching Cordell. Saw the hunger growing in his eyes. Saw his canines beginning to lengthen.
She threw the knife. His eyes widened in shock, and he flung up an arm to protect his face. But she'd never intended to hit him. Instead, she grabbed the knife kinetically, directing it toward Michael, slashing the last rope holding him captive. Still he didn't move. She let the knife clatter to the ground. Cordell laughed—a low, insane sound. “Not much of a threat with a knife, are you?" She shrugged. Behind her, the force was growing. The sense of evil was so thick it was almost suffocating. Every breath burned, as if his scent was toxic.
Goose bumps chased a chill across her skin. She battled the desire to attack Cordell, battled the need to run. She had to protect Michael until he'd fully regained consciousness. Whether he'd be able to help her once he was conscious was another matter entirely—and one she just didn't want to think about right now.
The force behind her became the scream of wind. The sensation of danger tingled across her skin, so sharp it burned. She risked a quick look over her shoulder. Nothing stirred the darkness. Nothing was creeping up on her.
And it was nothing that wrapped cold fingers of air around her body, grabbing her, propelling her forward, toward a waiting Cordell. She planted her feet, trying to stop her movement, but it was useless. Cordell's eyes were alight with anticipation. Her knees slammed into his, the unseen hands of energy bending her, forcing her face, her neck, toward his. His breath washed over her, a putrid mix of rotten meat and soured milk. She screamed, thrusting her arms between them, desperate to keep him from tasting her.
His teeth sank into her arms. Agony burned white-hot through her soul. Cordell watched her, his gaze mocking as he greedily sucked her blood. Energy rushed through her, exploding from her body, surrounding them both. She pushed him hard, rolling him back. The still wind wrapped around her, holding her close. She couldn't escape him.
A wave of dizziness washed through her. For a minute, she saw stars, dancing red through the night. She blinked and realized they were flame imps, swirling frantically near the waterfall. She didn't understand why the imps wanted her near the waterfall, but she had no option but to trust them. Cordell was sucking her dry. If she didn't do something now she'd die. But I can't die, can I ... ?
She had no time to worry about that now. Besides, she'd be better off dead than Cordell's slave. She flooded the night with energy, forcing Cordell backwards. The water's music flowed around them, overpowering the howl of the unseen force holding her close to him. Cordell's grip on her arm suddenly loosened. Realization and fear ran through his gaze, but it was too late for him to do anything about it. Still locked together, they flew into the water and plunged deep into the icy depths.
* * * *
Nikki's terror plunged through Michael's soul, shaking the last vestiges of unconsciousness from his mind. He jerked upright, only to have pain shoot through his brain—a white-hot agony that almost sent him back to the darkness.
Teeth gritted and his breath little more than a hiss, he turned, his gaze searching the cavern for her. There was no sign of her. No sign of Cordell. The flames no longer burned in the fire pit, but the darkness was heavy with the stench of magic.
He reached for the link. Her terror clubbed him, filling his mind with a rush of tangled, undecipherable thoughts.
He swung his legs off the table. Her thoughts were close—she had to be here somewhere. Nikki?
Where are you?
He waited tensely for an answer, but nothing came. The link was a void washed with her horror and growing panic. Damn it, woman, answer me!
Still no response. He slipped off the table, but his legs refused to hold his weight and he fell to his knees. Cursing the weakness, urgency beating through his soul, he gripped the table with his good arm and forced himself upright again. Forced his legs to hold.
Moisture trickled down his face. He thrust at it impatiently, knowing by the smell it was blood. The gash on his head was a good three inches long and probably would have been dangerous had he been anything other than a vampire.
He expanded his senses, searching the night again. Pain beat though his head, an agony he had no choice but to ignore. The colors churning through the void were becoming more frantic. Wherever Nikki was, she needed his help fast.
There was no one in the cavern—not Nikki nor Cordell. He cursed, thrusting a hand through his blood-matted hair. This didn't make sense. She was here somewhere, regardless of what his senses were saying—her thoughts were too close, too strong, for her to be anywhere else. Flame imps darted across the waterfall's pond, their color flashing red and gold. Oh God, no. .. Gut twisting, he hobbled forward. The imps’ light washed red across the churning surface of the water, making it look slick with blood. Magic stung the night, and the air seemed to howl. The churning in the water grew more agitated. Suddenly, Cordell's limp body surged free, shooting past Michael to land like a wet sack of rags near the fire pit. He didn't move, but he wasn't dead. Michael could still hear the tremulous beat of his heart.