Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 128
But even they were drowned out by the sinister whisper that suddenly filled her ear. “I am going to eat your heart out, little whore.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The Chaos and the Darkness
That voice! The Gypsy fiend from London! It was the voice of nightmare!
A pale figure swam into view before Emma, as though through chloroform. The figure was as terrible as the voice she recalled. The Nekromantis! Fragmented thoughts suddenly reformed into deranged horror as fiendish black claws, curved like some mad butcher’s bistouries, descended over her chest.
In the ravening reflection of white eyes, so like empty glass, she beheld her own face contorted in screams. Then a violent jerk of her body as he cleaved her chest open. Blood surged up like a geyser, staining Emma’s gaping mouth and tongue. She was insensible to the pain, completely overmastered by panicked incredulity, drowning in crimson. Caught in that white devil’s gaze, she was only vaguely aware of her body jerking beneath the violent rending of bone and flesh.
He gave a terrible smile, teeth long and deadly and shark-like. But it was his pincer fingers he employed like a spider to penetrate ever deeper.
But here came another awful howl—a hideous and animalistic bellow such as wrenched her from numb terror and arrested the Nekromantis. The next instant he was violently thrust from atop her.
In the chaos and throes and wreckage, another bestial rumble, and then a cold, questing snout pressed against her neck. A large white wolf materialized before her widening gaze. It blew a hot puff of animal breath against her cheek. There was a keen sapience manifest in those yellow orbs before it quickly retreated from view.
The wolf’s snout was replaced by Mary’s beloved countenance leaning over her, blood streaming from the gash on her temple. “Emma!” She ripped at her habit and then pressed the shredded fabric directly to Emma’s chest. “Hold fast!”
Emma’s face fell to the side, her eyes searching the dimming scene. Blood and tears coated Emma’s tongue like grit. As the cold seeped into her bones, she watched the white wolf lunge at the Nekromantis who feinted left and then leapt right, easily evading the wolf’s jaws. He landed with hideous grace in the willow bough above the wolf’s head and threw his black scowls down at the animal clawing at the bark with great, ferocious paws.
Amidst the taunts and growls came the unexpected shouts and cries of the other nuns, the sound of a monastic stampede drawing nearer. And the sound of Milli’s keening struggles.
“Milli!” said Emma, her voice bloodless, rasping. She tried to move, to turn her body towards her sister’s panicked screams. “I have…have to help her!”
Mary lowered her head and kissed Emma’s brow, whispering for her to be still and conserve her energy. But Mary’s words were cut short with a violent gasp. For a fleeting moment, the nun’s eyes snapped wide with pain and disbelief, her nose mere inches from Emma as her mouth slackened. Mary slumped forward like a toppling monument, her hands falling away from Emma’s hemorrhaging chest. Her coif and veil were gone and her throat yawned open with a sickening gurgle. The very next moment, Mary’s body lurched like a sack of meat as Ana pushed her roughly aside.
Raven hair, blood-spattered and caked with dirt, fell like a manteau between Emma and the awful sight of her poor cousin’s vacant eyes and that wide, red, smiling throat. It was all unreal—a sickening dream! That was not a giant wolf snarling up at the white face of Evil; that was not Mary’s throat drenching the willow roots; and this was not her friend, Ana, straddling her broken chest—aiming that vicious blade at her heart.
“Confound you, Emma!” Ana’s hands shook with some powerful emotion. Regret or eagerness? Emma couldn’t tell. “You should have heeded me!” Ana gave a sad shake of her head that was suddenly bellied by a darksome quirk of the lips. “Poor, stupid Emma. Shall I unbosom you of all your woes?” Eagerness. Definitely vile eagerness.
Emma could not tear her eyes away, they were fixed and frozen to the blade, waiting for its descent. That brief suspension of time was suddenly broken as Milli, out of nowhere, flung herself at Ana. Swifter than the eyes could follow, Ana deflected the girl’s attack and struck Milli a glancing blow from the hilt of her blade. Eyes ablaze with rancorous red, Ana forestalled another of Milli’s attacks with a threatening swipe of her weapon.
Milli was panting, wounded and unsteady, the advantage of surprise lost. Still, she continued her zealous attempts to dislodge Ana from Emma’s chest. “Leave her alone!”
“Stay back, girl!” Ana threw out her arms out like flapping wings and sent a powerful, rushing gust towards Milli. It struck her down like a furious blow and was gone as suddenly as it had fulminated. “Stay back, I say, or it will be the worse for you!”
But Milli’s efforts were anything but vain, for Emma was not dead and useless yet. With her last dregs of strength, Emma bent her leg and snatched from her boot the weapon Valko had given her. Wasting no time, delirious and desperate, Emma made good use of Ana’s distraction and plunged the blade swiftly between the witch’s ribs with startling accuracy—the supervening force eloquent of love’s last dying act.
Shock superseded rage. Ana stilled, horror-struck as her eyes fell to the blade jutting from her chest. A virulent screeching sounded nearby. It was joined by a deep and agonizing roar so terrible that it shook the ground.
Milli scrambled forward, shaking with terror as she kicked Ana’s slumping body clear of Emma.