by Sierra Dean
Jerking his head side to side, the wolf tore out the man’s trachea, and a spray of blood colored the animal’s gray fur a nasty red. Another body for the pile. As the wolf looked for his next victim—evidently whoever happened to be closest to him—I scouted the surrounding area, hoping to find an obvious place Mercy might be hiding.
“Now, now, girlie. Why don’t you step down off that table and we go see your mother?” This from Buzzcut, who hadn’t lowered his gun even to see what the wolf was up to.
“Why don’t you step closer so I can give you a shorter haircut?” I spat back.
“If you come with me, I might find it in my heart to let your friends live.”
That made me snort. “Please. You can’t keep your own men alive, and I’m supposed to believe you can magically protect mine? Nuh-uh. If anyone’s making promises here, it’s going to be me.”
“It will be very hard to make promises if you’re dead.”
“You’re not going to kill me. No one else here needs to die.” As I spoke, the wolf leaped onto the back of a guard who’d been running for it, ripping the dude’s ear clean off. “Except that guy, maybe.”
“Control the animal,” Buzzcut snapped. Another guy went to one of the pig stalls and located a long stick with something like a noose attached to it. As far as I could tell it was something old-timey dogcatchers had used to capture animals without risking a bite.
That must have been what they’d used to get Ben and Fairfax tied up so quickly. I didn’t think it was likely they’d domesticated them in such a short period of time.
The wolf versions of my little brother and the other member of his pack had been chained to one of the pigpen rails and were growling and tugging at their restraints. A hunger for blood was nakedly apparent in their eyes, but if I managed to release them, would they help us or get themselves killed?
I decided not to tempt fate.
Once we were out of this mess, I could make my apologies to Ben. At least he’d be alive to hold a grudge.
“There’s an office past the cooling units,” Holden called down. “You might not be able to see it from there, it’s pretty small.”
Aha. Finally things were starting to go my way.
“Des, you think you can cover me?” I didn’t much care if Buzzcut could overhear everything we were saying. I was ninety percent certain he wouldn’t shoot me, and the remaining ten percent honestly didn’t care whether he did or didn’t. If I died running for it, this whole mess would be over. If I made it, then it would end in a much happier fashion.
One way or another, I was ready for this to be done.
Desmond shifted his focus to Buzzcut. The other remaining men seemed mostly interested in avoiding the wrath of the wolf, while two of them attempted to back him into a corner so they could chain him up. This was my window, and I had to take it.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Buzzcut warned.
“Foolish is my middle name.” I made sure a bullet was in the chamber and glanced over my shoulder to where the meat hooks were dangling from the ceiling. “Well, actually it’s Merriweather. But you might agree that sounds pretty foolish.” Shrugging, I jumped off the table, tucking into a ball as I landed so I could roll towards the cooling room. The bullet wound in my side was kicking up quite the fuss. I hadn’t taken any time to see if there was an exit wound on my back, but given how much pain I was in, I was certain the slug was still inside me.
I pushed that problem into Later Secret’s worry list.
Later Secret was really going to hate Past Secret.
I got to my feet and ran like hell, staggering to the side when a bullet exploded a chunk of wall to the right of my head. Ringing filled my ears, but still I ran. I ducked around the first corner I could find and pressed my back to the wall, taking a moment to regain my composure.
The small office Holden had spotted was about ten feet away and had been built like a little metal shed inside the barn, rather than creating an actual room. The walls were corrugated metal, and the roof was made of a similar material. Footfalls across the roof sounded like comical bell gongs. I lifted my gun in time to see Mercy jump down from the top of the shed and duck through the door.
I could fire and hope the bullets perforated the side of the office walls and got her at the same time. But depending on whether or not the metal was reinforced, there was a chance those bullets might come back at me, and I didn’t need any more holes in me for the time being.
Plus, Grandmere might be in there, and she’d only get caught in the crossfire. Mercy would love that, me being the one to kill Grandmere, saving her the trouble.
And I couldn’t bust my way through the door, either. She might have guards inside waiting to take me out. Or, hell, she could have rigged the place to explode the second I opened the door.
With too many unknown variables, I was stuck staring at a small metal box, trying to figure out what to do.
“I always knew you were weak,” I called out. “Too weak to stick around and raise your kids. Too weak to stay within the pack and call your brother king. And now you’re too weak to face me.”
“I am not weak,” the speakers crowed. “You’re weak. You hide behind your king, and your men, you hide behind that human man you call a friend. You hide behind poor, helpless old women.”
“…show you helpless…” a voice in the background snarked. The French accent was unmistakable. Grandmere was still alive and well enough to sass talk her captor. Glad to know I got my poorly timed wit from someone in the family.
“Shut up. You’re both going to die here.”
“I know someone is going to die here,” I observed. “But I know you want to kill me face-to-face. So stop hiding and come out. You think you’re a queen? Think you’ve got what it takes to rule a pack and command their respect? We’ve thinned out your herd a little, but if you can kill me, maybe they’ll actually still follow you once this is over.”
Silence.
“Bok-bok-bucawk.” Yup. I made chicken noises at the psychopath holding my grandmere hostage. I clucked at the woman who’d murdered my best friend.
If Desmond had still been standing next to me, this might be one of those times he cautioned me against using humor. Not that his warnings ever worked.
If we got married, he’d probably expect me to start listening to him.
I snorted.
“You’re crazy,” Mercy announced.
“Runs in the family. Speaking of which, Dad sends his love.” This wasn’t altogether false. The few times Sutherland and I had sat together in an attempt at father-daughter bonding, it had become evident he believed Mercy was still the same girl he’d known at seventeen. He often asked about her and spoke fondly of a pretty blue dress she once owned. Though I had no way of knowing for certain, I had a feeling he was referring to the dress she’d worn the day he tried to kill her.
Romantic.
“What do you mean?” Now she wasn’t sounding as sure of herself. All her previous pronouncements had been commanding, or if not that, at least full of hellfire and rage. Now she sounded meek. This was better than expected.
“Dad. Sends. His. Love.”
“You’re talking nonsense. Your father is gone.” Unless she was a fantastic actress, she’d just answered my question about whether or not she’d had something to do with Sutherland’s death warrant. It did nothing to lessen my hateful feelings towards her, but it was one fewer reason I had to want her dead.
“Sutherland? No, he’s not gone. He’s living in a rent-controlled walk-up in Chelsea. Hasn’t aged a day since you met him. You guys would probably still get along great; he’s crazier than you are.” I felt a smidgeon bad for insulting my father behind his back. Ever since he’d come back into my life, things between us had gone as smoothly as they could, given the circumstances.
I couldn’t think of him as my dad, not in the traditional sense. That position belonged to Keaty, for better or for worse. But it was nice to know there was some
one who had played a part in my birth who still liked the idea of seeing me. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Mercy’s desire to wipe me off the face of the planet had dented my self-esteem somewhat. Maybe that was something I could talk about with my new therapist if I got back to New York.
Killing Mommy Dearest would be a great step towards healing, though.
And I knew what I was saying was working to lure her out.
A brainstorm struck, and I pulled my cell from my pocket. The smartphone’s screen had gotten pretty badly smashed during the fight—or perhaps it had an encounter with a bullet—but when I touched the home button, it lit up. I dialed Sutherland’s apartment number, hit the speakerphone option and cranked up the volume.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Oh, hello.” There was a long pause. “Secret?”
I wanted to ask if he had a bunch of other illegitimate children running around, but managed to bite my tongue. “Yeah, it’s me. Can you do me a favor?”
“I’m not supposed to leave the apartment.”
“I know, you don’t have to.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Can you say hi to Mom for me?” I certainly hoped this request wasn’t going to screw him up any worse than he already was. He’d experienced a lot, and now I was using him to help me kill the woman he once loved.
It’s okay, as long as I hang up before I kill her.
“Your mother isn’t here.”
I sighed. “I know, she’s with me.”
“Is she wearing her blue dress?”
Bingo.
The office door flew open, banging against the metal wall of the shed, and Mercy stormed out, a sawed-off shotgun aimed for my head and tears streaming down her face.
“Stop it,” she demanded.
“Mer-mer, is that you?” Sutherland asked.
For one single solitary moment, I felt an overwhelming pity for Mercy. Her gaze dropped to the phone in my hand, and the look of total loss and heartbreak on her face made my chest ache. This ploy had worked as well as I’d hoped, only now I felt guilty for doing it. How was this different from Peyton using Desmond against me?
You still won, I reminded myself. Because you were stronger.
“Sutherland?” The hitch of her voice hurt to hear.
“Hi, baby.”
And there it was, the love between them I’d heard people talk about but had never been able to imagine. To me, Mercy had been a creature built from spite and rage alone. The idea she could truly love someone, or have someone love her, felt totally foreign to me. But once upon a time my mother had loved Sutherland Halliston, and he’d loved her. The way he called her baby and the way she said his name…it was all there, plain as day.
“Dad, Mercy has to go.”
“No…” she whispered.
“Say goodbye.”
“Give your mother a kiss for me,” he instructed.
“I’ll give her something.” My gaze never left Mercy’s face. I watched her crumble under the weight of unexpected emotion. Of all the things I could have done to her, there was no way she could have expected me to use love as a weapon.
“Love you, Mer-mer,” Sutherland said.
I held the phone up, showing her the shattered screen. “Anything you want to add?”
She shifted her attention to me, and behind the tears I could see her fury building up, firing all her synapses at once. “I love you too.”
I ended the call and tucked my phone back into my pocket.
“I’m going to count to ten, and you’re going to run out of here. You’re going to run for the woods. After ten, I’m coming after you, and we’re going to finish this thing. Understand?”
The shotgun trembled in her hands, and I knew she was fighting the urge to blow a hole in my face right then and there. I couldn’t blame her. If I had the upper hand with a weapon, she’d already be dead. But I didn’t like the way she held her finger right on the trigger. If I shot her now, she’d take me down with her.
“Now run,” I told her.
And she did.
Chapter Thirty-Four
My werewolf half thrilled at the chase.
As I blitzed through the barn after—admittedly—less than ten seconds, the others were still reeling in the wake of Mercy’s similar exit.
“Go get Grandmere,” I shouted to Desmond as I passed.
Holden had come down from the loft and was pummeling the hell out of some poor schmuck’s face.
“Make sure my brother is safe,” I added, hauling ass for the front door exit.
Outside, the cool air greeted me like a slap. My breath was stolen by the sudden shift in temperature, and I took a moment to compose myself as I scanned the fields, trying to determine which way Mercy had gone. Randomly, I thought how proud Lucas would be of me for taking this course of action. This was how real wolves settled their grudges. One-on-one, to the death.
We weren’t using the others as pawns anymore.
By the time the sun streaked the sky purple in a couple hours, one of the McQueen women would be lying dead on the forest floor, and this whole ordeal would be over at last.
Away from the deafening noise I’d been surrounded by in the barn, being outside was like stepping into a soundproof room. It was so quiet I could hear the thump of my pulse in my ears, and each breath I took sounded ragged and forced.
Footfalls rustled the grass, moving away from the Syler house and towards one of the big empty parcels of land beyond it. If she ran about three more miles, she would cross the border into America, that’s how close we were.
Stealth no longer mattered.
I took off running behind her, pausing only when the sound of my own crashing footfalls blotted out hers and I wasn’t sure which way she’d gone. Within minutes the farm was out of sight and I was tearing through the woods, trying to maintain my speed while bare branches clawed at my face and roots conspired to trip me.
Here, only the sound of the odd leaf or snapping twig told me I was still going the right way.
When the sound of running stopped, I skidded to a halt, bracing myself against the nearest tree branch. I wasn’t out of breath so much as I was tired from fighting the elements with each new step. My bullet wound was starting to bleed freely, something I wasn’t altogether accustomed to. Normally the skin would have begun to stitch itself together by now.
Another fun side effect of silver bullets.
I let my eyes adjust to the surrounding area the best I could, but it wasn’t exactly like having night vision. I could make out shapes better than a human might, but Holden could have read an eye chart down to the last line from a hundred yards away.
Why couldn’t I have inherited that vampire trait, instead of needing blood to survive and being allergic to sunlight?
Evolution baffled me.
I squatted down, knowing her night vision was no better than mine. If she decided to take a shot in the dark—literally—she’d miss my head and give away her location.
Unless she decided to aim for my chest, in which case I’d be screwed either way.
Scanning the darkness, I tried to pick up any signs of motion or hints of where she might be. It didn’t occur to me to look upwards until she landed dead on my back, knocking us both to the ground.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she snarled.
Funny, wasn’t that exactly what Peyton had said to me? Nice to know how many of my enemies regretted their missed opportunities to do away with me.
“Which time?” The retort lacked finesse this time around, so to punctuate it I punched her across the cheek with enough force to send her reeling. Brute strength was one area where I could outclass most werewolves. “You’ve failed to kill me a lot.” Thinking about Brigit lying dead in my arms, I stoked my own rage. I’d softened the slightest bit when Mercy had shown emotion in the barn. I empathized with a woman who’d lost the man she loved.
But Mercy didn’t deserve my empat
hy, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve my forgiveness. Thinking about Brigit made a pellet of pure white-hot loathing blossom into something greater inside me. I felt alive, recharged, and the world around me was painted red.
Without thinking, my fangs were out, and the bloodlust had taken over.
Kill, the monster inside me commanded.
My rational brain—the part of me who might normally struggle against that kind of instruction—had nothing to say about the matter.
Mercy collected herself quickly after the punch and came for me again, only this time she was demonstrating a neat little trick of hers. Something she’d passed down to me.
Her hands had shifted form, creating a freakish and terrifying hybrid of human and wolf. Her fingers were long and jutted at bizarre angles, with hair on her palms and knuckles, and deadly sharp claws protruding where her fingernails had previously been. She slashed at me with those claws, and in spite of my efforts to backpedal, she managed to get me across the chest.
Deep, red gashes appeared over my skin, and when they didn’t hurt right away, I knew I was in trouble.
“I’m going to finish the job tonight,” she snarled.
She might, too, if she kept at it like this. I was lucky she’d gotten me in the chest. It was ugly, sure, but if she’d gone for my arm, I’d be a sitting duck. At least now I still had the ability to pick up and use a weapon.
My sword had fallen when she knocked me over, but my gun was in its holster and easily accessible. I used to keep it tucked into my jeans, but since getting the holster, I’d run into far fewer issues where I couldn’t reach the weapon in a time of crisis.
I pulled it out and fired without taking time to aim perfectly. Mercy spun backwards, howling. The bullet had struck her right in the shoulder, and if the silver worked quickly, she would soon have one less claw to attack me with.
Staggering to my feet like a drunk, I scoured the ground looking for my sword. The gun was great and all, but if I was going to kill Mercy, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. If ever there’d been a villain in my life who might pull the horror-movie twist of coming back to life after she was supposed to be dead, it would be Mercy. I didn’t feel like having to kill her twice. Once would be more than enough to suit my purposes.