Alison strained around him, taking in the long, lithesome limbs and the golden hair of the beheaded corpse.
“How awful. That woman just killed Isi’s lover right in front of him?” Alison whispered in a choked voice.
They both watched as Isi suddenly collapsed in Fardusk’s arms. Alison started toward the tableau of misery, but Saint stopped her, understanding that nothing could penetrate the warrior’s agony in that moment.
“Bena didn’t kill Jane Farrant, Alison,” Saint corrected quietly. “You must understand. Javier Ash murdered her two years ago. Isi has lived in anguish every day of those years knowing that a monster inhabited his lover’s body, making a mockery…a sacrilege of everything she was.”
Alison didn’t say anything for a moment. Isi sobbed harshly and shoved himself out of Fardusk’s arms.
They all watched as he staggered like a newly blinded man down the dark tunnel.
“He loved her,” Alison breathed out, her tone tinged with awe.
“The Iniskium can love,” Saint said in a hushed tone.
Saint slid his heartluster back into its sheath, knocking Alison’s clutching hands off him. He glanced back at her. She’d plastered herself against the wall of the tunnel. He saw where she stared fixedly. He kicked aside Crowbar’s severed head, clearing the path for her.
“It’s not pretty, but it’s the only way to kill a Scourge revenant,” Saint explained. His tone softened when he saw how pale the young woman was as she stared at Crowbar’s remains. “Crowbar died more than seventy years ago, Alison. What you see is the remains of his walking, talking, eating corpse. Now, come on. Teslar and his followers will have fled by now. I want you to show me his den.”
Alison glanced up and met his gaze. Her hand shook in his as he led her away from the carnage.
Ten minutes later, Saint stepped into the crystal chamber alone. The sound of the earth’s singing escalated a hundred-thousand-fold, the vibrations making his flesh quiver like a stroked harp string. A young man with dark curly hair and a bloody face appeared to be the only occupant of the furnished chamber. He rushed toward Saint.
“I am not Teslar,” Saint said distractedly, easily reading the man’s mind in his vulnerable state.
“I…I don’t understand,” he said shakily, wiping his bleeding nose on his sleeve. Saint barely noticed the man’s eyes studying his hair and goatee. He was too stunned by the power of the earth’s energy infusing him with life to be aware of much of anything else.
“What’s your name?” Saint asked.
“El…Elliot.”
“How long ago did Teslar leave, Elliot?”
Elliot shrugged. “I’m not sure. Five minutes ago? Ten?”
Too much of a head start, Saint thought in rising frustration. He glanced over at the medical table. The chief of the Chicago Police Department had been keeping him updated on the Youngblood Thief case and he’d seen the grisly photos of the corpses. He recognized the captive bolt Teslar used to paralyze his victims.
“You just narrowly escaped being the Youngblood Thief’s next victim.” The young man swayed on
his feet. Saint caught his arm, steadying him, and guided him over to the couch. He saw what appeared to be his pants lying there and laid them in Elliot’s lap, covering him.
“I don’t understand. If you’re not Teslar, you must be his twin. If you see him, will you ask him to give me another chance?”” Elliot grabbed at his waist and looked up at him pleadingly. “Why is Teslar angry at me? Please tell me where he is. I have to apologize for whatever I’ve done.”
Saint grimaced and moved back from the young man’s desperate clutch. He was saved from having to reply when Fardusk entered the chamber. He stared, open-mouthed. Saint realized it was the first time in more than half a millennium he’d ever seen Fardusk stunned. Strix and Bena followed. Bena gasped loudly in wonder.
“Do you know what this means?” Bena asked, referring to the miraculous chamber.
Saint nodded. He thought of Christina—Christina laughing, the way her face softened when she looked at Aidan… Christina staring up at him with green eyes glazed with desire.
“It means never having to feed from another human again.”
Elliot’s confused expression segued to dazed wonder when he saw Saint break into a smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Christina caught the baseball Aidan tossed her and looked around at the sound of Saint’s motorcycle approaching. She and Aidan left the yard and reached the patio at the same moment as Saint and Alison.
“The wound on your arm’s re-opened,” Christina said immediately when she saw the mixture of dried and wet blood on Saint’s biceps. She charged across the patio and lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt.