Angels of Darkness
sound just like him.
Henry held out his hand. âItâs easier if you hold on to me.â
Karina hesitated.
âYou do want to remember, donât you?â Arthur asked.
She put her hand into Henryâs. His long warm fingers closed about hers. The world tore in two and she was back on the landing of the fire escape at the not-motel, cradling Emily. Her whole body burned with a terrible ache.
Arthur leaned his head to the side, looked at them for a moment, and plucked Emily from her arms.
âNo!â Karina struggled to hold on, but her hands had lost all strength.
Emily didnât kick. Didnât scream. Her face was completely blank, as if she had turned into a doll. Arthur turned and handed her to someone behind him on the stairs.
âEmily!â Karina tried to crawl after her but her body refused to obey.
Arthur touched the hem of her black top and edged it upward. His fingers touched her stomach. Pain pierced her and she cried out.
âAh. Now see, this isnât good.â Arthur shook his head mournfully. âAll of this must seem terribly confusing to you and our time is short, so I will keep the explanations simple. This is the house where monsters live. We are the killers of monsters. I suppose that also makes us monsters simply by necessity. I donât know why youâre here. Itâs probably a pure coincidence. An unlucky roll of the dice. You and your children were caught in the cross fire. One of the monsters poisoned you with her throat dart. The wound is fatal. Youâre dying.â
Fear shot down Karinaâs spine in an icy rush. She didnât think she could have gotten more scared, but his tone, that patient, pleasant, even tone, as if he were discussing lunch, terrified her. Itâs not a dream, she realized. Itâs happening. Itâs happening to me right now. God, please let Emily be okay. Please. Iâll do anything.
âI can smell your fear,â Arthur said. âIt rolls off your skin. A better man would feel discomfort at your pain. But Iâm not a good man. I feel nothing for you. We rarely have to deal with innocent bystanders and when we do, we strive to send them back unharmed, not out of some altruistic impulse, but because we dislike attention. If you hadnât been injured, Henry here would wipe your memory and the five of you would go merrily on your way. As it is, however, you will be dead in the next thirty minutes.â
The words refused to leave her mouth. Karina strained and forced them out. âWhy are you telling me this?â
His ice-cold smile made her heart jump. âIâm talking to you because Iâm about to offer you a deal. You have something we want, my lady. Your body has a genetic predisposition toward producing certain hormones one of us desperately needs. Your subspecies isnât unique, but itâs rare enough to make you valuable. I suspect thatâs also how you were able to find this place, and thatâs why the yadovita, the redheaded woman, took the time to poison you instead of defending herself from us. Listen carefully, my lady, because I wonât repeat myself.â
She stared at him, committing each word to memory.
âThe creature behind you requires your blood. He will feed on you. His venom will counteract the poison thatâs killing your body. In return, he will consume the chemicals your body will produce. You will give yourself to the House of Daryon. You will let the beast feed on you. You will live in quarters of our choosing. You can never leave. You can have no contact with the outside world. For your agreement to this, we will spare your life and the lives of the children.â
The thing on the windowsill let out a low whine of anticipation. That . . . that beast would feed on her. Forever . Oh, dear God. I canât do it . . . I canât . . .
Arthur leaned forward, his face showing no emotion beyond the pleasant, calm composure. âConsider carefully before you answer. I donât offer this deal to you because I like you or because Iâm moved by some noble emotion. I do it because we need you. What I propose wonât be pleasant for you. You wonât enjoy it. In fact, many would say youâre better off dying now.â
Fog gathered on the edge of her mind, threatening to smother her. Karina clawed at reality, trying to remain conscious.
âMy daughter . . .â
The beast growled on the
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