Page 84 of Time's Fool

I fell for what felt like a long time, screaming into the void. Then hit the ground hard enough to rattle me and kept on going, rolling down a steep incline. And would have kept on screaming if I’d had enough air in my lungs, since my body seemed determined to hit every rock on the way down the world’s tallest mountain.

Every rock.

But it was my body, because I didn’t think a spirit could hurt this badly, although I couldn’t tell for sure. Or whether I was back inside it completely or not, or had just brought it along for the ride. Or was inside it at all, and not just falling along with it, only there seemed to be too many arms and legs for that.

And then I stopped rolling and slammed into a stream full of rocks, face first this time, and felt the familiar sensations of splitting skin and spewing blood.

Not dead yet, I thought blearily, as someone rolled me over.

Dead doesn’t hurt this much.

I opened my eyes, but still couldn’t see, although not because of a lack of light. It was everywhere, almost blinding after the gloom of the street. But my eyes felt like two dried currants in my head and weren’t much use, and all I saw was a big, bright blur.

But somebody was there, and was hauling me out of the drink, and crushing me to a broad, hard chest that was acting strangely. Very strange. It was moving around a lot, and since my head was crushed against it, so was I.

That was uncomfortable, but even worse were the sounds he was making. And it was a he, I could tell that much, but nothing else because those weren’t words. More like wrenching sobs.

Which was even more annoying since I’d rolled down the same damned hill and been dead for half a day, yet you didn’t hear me complaining.

Although part of that was because I couldn’t breathe with somebody squeezing me back to death!

I tried flailing around, but my movements were weak and I don’t think he noticed. So, I made myself a bit clearer, and grabbed a knife. It wasn’t mine; I didn’t know where mine was. This one was on his belt, with the leather sheath sticking painfully into my thigh. But although it was within reach, I had a hard time grasping it. My fingers didn’t seem to work right, any more than anything else.

But I finally managed. And flexed my hand a few times around the hilt, to make sure that I wasn’t going to drop it. And then I stabbed him . . .

In the arse.

That hadn’t been intentional, but my arm felt clumsy and half asleep, and had gone off course. I’d planned to hold it against his neck and demand that he release me, but I spasmed and—wonderful. Now he was probably going to kill me, I thought, and I doubted seriously my ability to defend myself.

God’s bones!

I tried to scramble away when he abruptly let me go, but didn’t get far. For a moment, there was a stunned, almost silence, with just some raspy breathing. Which gave me time to get the knife up and wave it around in front of me in what I hoped was a menacing manner, but probably wasn’t.

And then somebody took it away from me, which I’d more or less expected. And jerked me closer, which also wasn’t a surprise. But what happened next . . .

I had not anticipated.

I had a brief glimpse of a vivid blue eye that almost had me panicking, and a fall of auburn hair which reassured me somewhat. And then the bastard kissed me. And it was a kiss, with hands scrabbling and mouth crushing and all sorts of frantic, half-articulated sounds and, incredibly, what felt like tears on his cheeks.

It was the latter that saved him, because I’d managed to find the knife again, but didn’t use it. I’d belatedly recognized him as the mad vampire Louis-Cesare, who was now crushing me to his chest, but slightly more gently this time. And muttering Dieu merci over and over again while he rocked us back and forth.

I sat there, not that I had a choice, and listened to the babble. And slowly, slowly, slowly, began to get an impossible idea. One even crazier than he was.

Death had done something to my brain, I thought. Or maybe I’d hit down a little too hard on one of those rocks. Way too hard, I amended, because I found myself kissing him back when his lips found mine again, which was beyond crazy and venturing into ludicrous.

He finally let me go and I found my hands smoothing over those aristocratic features. Yes, they were wet, and I didn’t think the water on them was from the river we’d landed in, as the rest of him was dry. He’d been on top, and mostly been spared the bath I’d taken.

But it felt like the only thing he’d been spared.

“You’re crying,” I finally accused, as it was the only thing that made sense. He didn’t deny it; he still seemed to be having trouble talking. “Why?”

“Why?” There was some more stunned silence. And then it was like a gate had been opened in a reservoir, and all the water came rushing out, only it wasn’t water. It was words, a strange mix of French and English and possibly something else; I wasn’t sure as the dialects he was using were not normal.

And then he shook me, which hurt because everything hurt right now, and I made a small sound. Which was a mistake because then I was getting crushed again. But my spirit and body seemed to have had a chance to reacquaint themselves, and I was starting to feel more like myself. Enough that I broke his hold and scrabbled away, but not enough so that I made it back to my feet.

Although that was likely due to something else.

A stabbing pain radiated up my shin, and I cursed the feel of a broken bone. I didn’t have those often, due to dhampir’s skeletons being as strong as the rest of us. But then, I didn’t die regularly, either. Or fall down what had felt like an actual mountain.

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