Page 18 of The Librarian of Souls
I cannot do this.
I cannot save her if I cannot control myself. Sharp talons dig into my palms as I remember the last time I could not control my hunger. How it ruined me, how I was forced to disappear, how I was forced to suffer for my own incompetence.This time is different, I remind myself. This is not a frenzy fifty years in the making. This is my human who needs me. It will not happen again. I pull at every grain of sand, the softness running across my flesh until I am in my contained form. I take a deep breath, the scent of Joanna, her blood, keeping me on task.
Her throat contracts as I lift her and relief zips down my spine. She is cold from the rain, not death. But if she remains like this she might as well be chasing it. I enter the mouth of the tunnel, an itemised list of everything that must be done forming in my mind. Muscle memory guides me through the darkness.
Gwenmore is like any good city. The public transport system is funded just enough to be absolutely vital to the mortals that use it while being just unreliable enough that nobody questions when a station must be closed or a train diverted because of a signal failure. The tunnels came nearly a century before the subway system. The city had grown exponentially and we needed a way to move lurking creatures at any hour. Integrating the two just made sense.
As I wait for the subway cars to speed through its perpendicular tunnel, I feel the eyes on me in the darkness. Joanna’s scent attracts those who would usually scuttle by, but I sense their curiosity, their hunger for fresh meat. My sands lash out like a whip as an imp attempts to touch her shoe.
“If you touch my mate, I will end you.” My voice is cold and uninterested, but the sands that grip the creature squeeze so tight it squeals. The sands at my back bleed from my flesh to form spikes and spines, ready to lash out and defend my Joanna until we are safe again.
I walk through the wide, dark tunnel until I get to the safety of the library.
Now for the hard part. I must call my friends and truly explain what I have done.
My small office smells worse than a cheesemonger’s on a hot summer day. The emotions of an orc, a demon, and a ghoul all merge with an absolute lack of scent from the one being that I called them here for. Deg’Doriel fumes as he leans against the buffet behind my desk. The moment he opened the hidden door to the archives, his scent turned sour. Arlo pumps out so much fear and hunger it is like a festering wound opening up over a beautiful roast dinner. Kragnash’s mossy scent is mixed with that of his wet dog that is curled up under my desk, waiting to be called to his master.
“There’s just the two of them?” Arlo asks, jostling from foot to foot as he waits to rush into the tunnels. In his left hand are the scribbled directions Deg gave him.
“Yes, they will not be overly filling, but consider it partial payment for a job done,” I say, shoving him behind the open bookcase and down the stairs. I look over at Kragnash. “What do you need?”
“Well now,” his voice trails off as he drags his murky eyes in the direction of Joanna’s broken form.
Deg’Doriel brought most of the supplies we could need, along with my belongings. My darling lays on a plastic sheet, unmoving. Her chest barely rises as she breathes, a shuddering wet sound that has my sands roil and curl under my skin. I wiped most of the blood from her swollen face, but so much is still covering her clothes. I did not even know humans had so much blood in their bodies to lose.
“You want me to save a human?”
“She is my mate,” I bristle under the accusation in his tone, but the orc is unmoved.
“Not if we just let her die,” Deg huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “That would solve our problem.”
“What do you need to save her?” I demand. It takes everything in me to keep under control, to keep myself from telling my oldest friends to leave and that I will save her myself.
“May I?” He crouches next to her carefully, his hulking form casting a large shadow. He opens his palm to me.
Taking his hand, I guide it carefully to touch Joanna. The largeness of his palm against her cheek makes my teeth grind, but I remind myself I am the reason he is here. Kragnash is going to help my mate. This is what needs to be done. Even as my sands pour from my fingers and cradle her swollen face.
He swipes his thumb gently under her nose and pulls it away, a dribble of blood on his skin. Kragnash inhales, his eyes closing. Silent tension leaks into the scents mixing in the room. My sands wrap further around my mate until her head rests on a pool of black sand. Moisture, Joanna’s blood, slowly leaks into them, and suddenly it is like my sands are on fire with hunger. I turn to Deg’Doriel and let his furious gaze ground me because if anyone is creative enough to find a way to kill me, it would be him.
I cannot turn into a frenzied beast, the bond between Joanna and I has turned unstable. It slips between us like sands through an hourglass, our time coming to an end if I do not do something, save her. My instincts riot with a need to feast, but there is no deciphering if that feasting will bond us or kill my Joanna.
Deg’Doriel’s phone goes off and he answers sharply.
“What? One second.” He snaps his fingers, and Kragnash opens his eyes, cocking his head in the direction of the demon. “You need a live one?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring him here and then you finish up.”
Arlo returns carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder. The ghoul has shed his flannel and his undershirt is untucked. His thin pale arms strain, but he does not seem to have a problem carrying the weight of a fully grown man. Carefully, he is laid down next to Joanna.
“Thank you, son. Now go on and finish up. We can do the rest of the clean up.” Kragnash does not move to begin anything until he has gone, unwilling to share his secrets so soon with the new member. He turns back to me. “What happens if she has your blood?”
“Without the bite, I assume nothing.” Already, I am pulling the sleeve of my half-dry shirt up. I genuinely do not believe anything will happen, but there is no certainty. This could complete the bond, or this could sever it.
Kragnash begins to move quickly. He pulls a pocket knife from his jeans and grabs the bucket I took from the janitor’s closet. It is like we are orchestrating a murder from one of those ridiculous human crime shows. Deg’Doriel watches the whole time with a scowl on his face as Kragnash manoeuvres the man over the bucket and slits his throat. Blood pours quickly into it and the knife is handed to me.
“Your turn, as much as you can, then I can begin.”
