“I was hoping you’d agree to be freed after all this time.” Sorrow lightened the pastor’s brown eyes. “I’ve studied and learned. This ritual will be painful, but I think it will work. Only you or the demon will survive.”
The words slashed through her. She bunched her fists to start fighting. “You’re crazy. This isn’t happening.”
The pastor sighed and nodded at Pierce. Before Haven could turn, he clocked her in the temple, his fist harder than a rock. She went down, fighting the darkness, and hit the ground a second before she was swept into unconsciousness. The last word to tumble from her mouth was Quade’s name, and then, nothingness.
* * * *
Quade plastered his hand against the side of the craft as it rose into the air. His stomach dropped and remained on the ground below. He sat on a long bench against the side of the craft, the kid was up front, and Ronan sat across from him in a chair next to the still open door. “You get used to it,” he said.
Quade looked up front where the kid was driving. Anybody younger than a century was a kid as far as he was concerned. “Is there a driving age?” he asked, trying not to throw up. This craft would get him to his mate, so he’d endure the possible drop. How safe could a vehicle in the air be, anyway?
Ronan grasped the laptop from up front and drew it back. “Garrett is flying, not driving, and he’s one of the best pilots around.” He reached for the door and shut it. Silence descended. “This craft is a Realm specialty, hence the silence inside so we can talk. It can’t be traced or followed, either.”
Garrett, wearing some odd headset, glanced over his shoulder. “I stopped being a kid when I was a kid.”
Yeah, his sizzling gray eyes hinted that he’d seen some shit. If nothing else, becoming a member of the Seven would age a male horribly, even if it didn’t show on the outside. Quade nodded. “Understood. Just don’t crash this thing.”
Garrett grinned. “No promises.” He turned back to all of the dials and blinking lights, pressing on a couple.
Ronan flipped open the laptop, stood, and sat next to Quade. “We’ve traced her to here.” He pointed to a location near an ocean. He typed quickly. “We should have another update in a couple of minutes from the Realm techs. They’re excellent.” He sat back, a solid form in a turbulent world.
Quade stared at the opposite side of the craft, grateful the door was closed. “How did Jacer die?” The words surprised him, but he couldn’t let go of the thought that his older brother was gone.
Ronan grimaced. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time.”
Quade clamped a hand on his brother’s strong forearm. “He wouldn’t have gone easy. How did he die, Ronan?”
Shared pain filled Ronan’s eyes. “The Cyst got to him during one of the wars.”
Quade’s chest seized as if he’d been punched. He breathed through the pain. “Did Xeno kill him?” Xeno was the head of the Cyst sect, and Quade should’ve killed him earlier that day, damn it.
“No. Omar did, but I’m sure Xeno ordered it done,” Ronan said, his tone hoarse. “I already killed Omar. Xeno is next.”
Quade nodded. Omar had been a Cyst general and a spectacular fighter, although he’d been rumored to be insane. “Good job.” It was fitting that Ronan had killed Omar. Quade would continue avenging his brother by going after Xeno once Haven was safe. The female had to be safe. He closed his eyes and knocked his head back on the hard metal. “I failed her.”
“No, you did not,” Ronan said, his tone weary now. “We were in a fight, and there was no way you could get to the house before being taken down by bullets. Shifters are fast and crafty.”
“We’re better,” Garrett said, dropping the helicopter several feet in the air. “We’ll get your mate back, Quade. We’re almost there.”
Quade forced down the bile caused by the sudden descent and opened his eyes. “Do we know what kind of force they’ve amassed?”
“No.” Ronan clicked several keys, his gaze scanning the screen. He straightened.
Quade tuned in to his brother’s mood. “What?”
Ronan looked up, his jaw hardening. “Once we had the location, the Realm techs hacked into Pastor Lockship’s computer.”
“So?” Quade said, his instincts humming.
“The pastor has been studying exorcisms for the last decade and has even traveled across the globe in search of different methods. The one he has studied the most is called the Tewazni Method, created in the early fourteen hundreds by a group of zealots.”
Quade stiffened. He didn’t like that word. “Zealots?”
“Yeah.” Ronan shut the laptop. “They believed that pain was the only way to exorcise a demon. They used fire and whips until the subject either died or the demon left the body.” He shook his head. “It’s crazy. Much like the burning or drowning of so-called human witches years ago.”
Dull blades cut a swath beneath Quade’s skin, and his heart rate picked up. “They’re going to light her on fire?” He leaned forward. “Garrett? How close are we?” They had to arrive in time to save her. “I didn’t tell her she could die by fire.” It was rare and horribly painful, but immortals could be burned to death. Beheading was easier, but he’d heard stories about wars gone by and the torture of fire that ended lives. “They could kill her, Ronan.”
Garrett leaned back. “We’re almost there. I don’t know where we can land, but I’ll get you as close as I can.”
Quade jumped up and swept the door open, looking down. The ocean was on one side and cliffs on the other. Large homes dotted the cliffs, and whitecaps sprayed up high from the water. His head spun, and he lurched.
Ronan grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “The dizziness will last awhile,” he yelled over the wind. “Just sit. We’ll be there soon.”
Quade couldn’t breathe. He’d felt fury often in his lifetimes, but fear was rare. Knowing Haven was in the hands of zealots and guarded by a shifter, one faster than he’d ever seen before, tunneled a hole of terror through his being.
He had to get to her in time.
Chapter Twenty
Haven came to in the middle of a circle, surrounded by fire. She lay on her side, curled up on a wooden floor, her legs to her chest. Somebody had removed her clothing and placed her in a thick white gown that covered her from neck to ankles. The cuffs around her wrists were too tight. Slowly, she sat up, her vision hazing.
She was in some sort of room, a library with many shelves, all of them empty. The entire room had been cleared of objects, but was full of people. The long gown made her feel vulnerable in a way her jeans and sweater had not.
Figures sat on the outside of the fire, several feet back. She could make out the pastor, three men, and two women. “Pierce?” she croaked, her throat aching.
“He went to the bank to check his accounts,” the pastor said, sitting across from her, a tattered book in his hands. “I know he is interested in you, but I think it’s the demon he wants. Once we save you, Pierce will be gone. I’m sure of it.” The pastor opened the book.
“That isn’t the Bible,” she whispered, her neck aching.
“No,” he said.
She looked at him, her head hurting from the blow. Her chest ached in a way it hadn’t for a long time. “You’re supposed to be my father,” she said. “Supposed to protect me.” Supposed to love her, but he’d never come close. So why did his behavior still hurt?
“I am trying to help you.” He patted the book.
“What is it?” She gave up right then and there her last remaining dream that he might really be her father or care about her. That would never happen, and it was time to completely let it go.
He held the book as if it was something precious. “This is an ancient text that will save you, Mary Agnes.” He looked down and started to chant in a language she had never heard before. The other people around the circle did the s
ame.
She snorted and wiped a tear off her heated face. “You’re chanting? Seriously?”
The pastor lifted his head. “Ignore the demon. He will try to stay with her.”
Haven rolled her eyes and looked for a way out. She felt a little off, and not just from the smack to the head. Though coming down from the pills had been easier than she’d expected, she still felt sluggish. She rubbed her neck, feeling the indent left by Quade’s fangs. He’d bitten her, which meant they’d shared blood. Would that give her any extra strength?
Probably not. She kept him in her head, anyway. What would Quade do? The smell of chemicals filled the smoke that rose through a wide-open skylight in the ceiling. The smoke blocked out the moon and the stars. She herself angled to the side so she could study the burning rocks placed in a ring around her. Who knew what chemicals covered them? It’d hurt like hell, but she could jump through the flames. Even if she landed on a rock or two, the burns would go away.
As she began to stand, a whip cracked across her arm, cutting the material of the white gown. Pain encircled her wrist, and blood welled to tarnish the white. Swallowing, she turned to find one of the men holding a whip. The other men, except for her father, stood, also holding whips. She looked in turn at each of them. If she stood, they’d strike. The women continued the chant, their bodies swaying as they sat, their eyes wide. She focused on the pastor. “What? The chicks don’t get whips, too?”
“Get out, demon!” he yelled, holding up his palm to face her.
She rubbed the fresh cut on her arm. “There’s no demon inside me, you dumb fuck.”
A whip cracked, slicing across her cheekbone. She yelped and scrambled back. Blood dripped down her face, and she willed the pain away. The sensation of her skin stitching itself together itched.
One of the women screamed. “The demon healed her.”
Three whips struck simultaneously, cutting her chin, shoulder, and foot. She cried out, the pain coming from every direction. They attacked again, and she turned, grabbing the end of one whip and pulling with all her strength. The man fell flat onto the burning rocks and released the whip, screaming and scrambling back. Blisters instantly sprang up along his face and hands and he sagged back against the wall, whimpering.
She jumped to her feet. “Now I have a whip, assholes.” Swinging, she nailed the second man across the chest, splitting open his shirt. Blood arced toward her. She might not have extra strength, but she definitely had beyond-human speed.
The pastor stood, his hand still out. “No more, demon. Come out. Let her free.”
“I am the demon, damn it,” she yelled at him, no longer able to keep quiet. A whip cut across the back of her head, and she fell to her knees. Partially turning, she waited, and the second her attacker struck again, she captured the whip and pulled. He released it, and she fell to the side, her elbow colliding with a burning rock.
Agony roared up her arm. She whimpered and scampered to the middle of the circle. Then she stood and turned toward the last guy holding a whip. “Wanna try it, asshole?”
He was around thirty years old with blond hair and blue eyes. Thin with large hands. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I just want to save the girl.”
She sighed. “The girl doesn’t need saving.” Well, she wouldn’t mind a little backup. Pain wasn’t her thing, and if she passed out again, who knew what they might do to her. What if they cut off her head so the imaginary demon could get free? Then she’d really be dead. “Now. You all get out of the way, let me run, and I won’t destroy you.” Maybe they’d believe her.
The pastor finally stood and set the book aside. “It’s too late. I’m so sorry.” He nodded to the women.
The two women stood, drawing large squirt bottles from behind their backs. In unison, they pointed the nozzles and aimed at Haven. Liquid flew through the fire, increasing the flames and then covering her. The flames crackled and popped, much brighter and higher than before. Even hotter.
The liquid hurt her exposed skin. What the hell kind of chemical was it?
She took a deep breath. The only way out was through the fire. With the chemical on her, how badly would she burn? There was no choice.
Pivoting, she turned and leaped into the flames.
* * * *
Quade looked down—way down—at the porch of the large house and held on to the side of the craft, his legs bunched. Black smoke and particulates billowed from a hole in the ceiling, and panic seized him. “There’s fire.” The smoke seemed odd.
“Wait.” Ronan grabbed his shoulder from the other side of the helicopter’s open door. Wind swept the vehicle, and they swung in the air. “If you jump now, you’ll break both your legs and probably most of your body.” He leaned to the side. “Get lower, Garrett,” he bellowed over the blustering wind.
“I’m trying.” Garrett pushed some lever, and they went lower. He struggled with the stick in front of him, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
“What is wrong with the smoke?” Quade yelled.
Ronan shook his head. “Probably an accelerant of some type. The fire will burn hotter.”
Hotter? Haven was in trouble. He had to go.
“I…can…get…lower,” Garrett grunted. “Then meet me half a mile to the north. There’s a front lawn there big enough to land this thing.”
Quade couldn’t wait any longer. He pushed off and fell several stories, hitting the porch and dropping, then rolling instantly. Pain lashed up his legs, but no bones broke. A second later, Ronan landed next to him, emitting a harsh grunt. He dropped and rolled in the other direction.
Screaming came from inside the house.
Quade leaped up and ran through the doorway. Glass crashed all around him, cutting his face and neck. He hadn’t realized it was a glass door. Shaking off shards, he kept going, running past a sparkling kitchen with plates of fruit set neatly on the countertop.
Two women ran out of a far doorway, screaming, smoke billowing in their wake. He shoved past them. Unnatural smoke burned his nostrils and throat, irritating his lungs. Whatever an accelerator was, it fucking hurt.
He barreled through the doorway, and the entire room was filled with the smoke. He ran into Haven’s father, who was trying to run out, grabbed him by the neck, and threw him into the nearest wall. The asshole crashed to the ground and bounced twice, out cold. “Haven!” Quade bellowed.
A scream from below the smoke, down on the floor, had him dropping into a slide.
He reached her and everything inside him fell silent. Her right arm was burning, her body convulsing.
“Quade,” she moaned, blisters upon blisters singeing her beautiful skin. He grabbed her arm and patted out the flames, trying to pull them away from her and onto him. Every time he smothered an area, the fire lit up again.
Grunts sounded from a brief fight behind him, and then Ronan crouched next to him.
“Can’t get fire out,” Quade coughed.
Haven went limp, blissfully out cold.
Ronan attacked the fire starting on her legs, soot covering his face and his eyes watering. “It’s the chemicals. Get her outside,” he yelled over the roaring flames.
Maybe into the ocean? Could he stay conscious with her if he jumped off the cliff? Ignoring the searing pain, Quade lifted Haven and turned to run through the house and outside, toward the cliffs.
“No,” Ronan yelled, right behind him. “Soil not water. Use dirt.”
Quade leaped off the porch, his heart thundering as he set his mate on the ground and frantically started digging with his hands, flinging the soil on her arm and down her right leg. Ronan dropped next to him, also digging and then patting the dirt into her.
Terror seized him, and Quade worked faster, fury commingling with desperation until his movements were faster than even he could believe. “Haven,” he yelled. “Hold on. I’ve got y
ou.” The house exploded behind him, and he crouched over her, protecting her from flying debris and glass.
The fire finally subsided on her arm, so he moved down her abs while Ronan worked on her legs.
Sirens sounded in the distance. He recognized their sound from a television show, but he couldn’t stop yet. Even if the humans arrived.
He finished with her just as Ronan tamped out the last of the fire near her ankle.
White material, burned black, was embedded in her burned skin. Blisters covered her arm, and most of her hair was a mass of dirt and soot. Apparently, she’d protected her head and left side from the accelerant, so hopefully her brain wasn’t injured too badly.
Quade sat back, staring at her, the anger inside him ballooning into a raw rage and a driving need for revenge. First, he had to get Haven to safety. Being as gentle as possible, he reached under her and stood, lifting her.
Her soft moan of pain cut him to pieces.
Ronan stood, his gaze as hard as Quade had ever seen it. “Let’s get her to a hospital, and then we’ll go hunting.”
Quade turned to look at the house. “Her father is dead.” Most of the humans, except for the two women who’d escaped, were dead. He didn’t much care about them. But the shifter. He was going to bleed and soon. “I want to know everything there is to know about Pierce the cougar.”
“Agreed.” Ronan rubbed the burns on his right arm, and his hand was black with burned skin from snuffing out the flames on Haven. The wail of the sirens grew more urgent. “Let’s go. This way.” He jogged down the path along the ocean.
Quade followed, holding Haven as close as he dared, careful not to jar her any more than was necessary. Another explosion and then several more bellowed behind him, and he crouched over her, increasing his speed.
They reached the helicopter and jumped in.
Garrett looked over his shoulder at Haven, and his face turned pale. “Holy shit.” He turned and quickly pressed a series of levers and flashing lights. “We’ll have to take her to Realm headquarters and the hospital there.”
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