by Sierra Dean
My wayward sword had landed about five feet away, and I moved towards it, realizing with each step that my injuries had started to take their toll. Between the bullet and the new chest wound—which was healing, but taking its time about it—I was in rough shape. I needed to finish this now, otherwise I wasn’t sure I’d maintain the better odds.
Mercy lunged at me again, grabbing my hair with her good arm and driving me face first into the nearest tree. I turned in time so my cheekbone broke instead of my nose, but the pain receptors in my brain couldn’t tell the difference. Ow, was their response.
Jerking my elbow back, I repaid the favor by landing a blow right on the bridge of her nose. She started bleeding immediately, whereas my injury would hurt internally for the day it took for the bone to reset. I was going to be bruised like a prizefighter for most of the next day.
She tried to claw at me again, but I grabbed the branch overhead and kicked out with both feet, planting my heels on her chest and sending her flying back into the tree behind her. I dropped to the ground and dove for my sword, struggling to get back to my feet once I had it. There wouldn’t be any cool kick stands with how I was feeling right now. I was lucky to still be standing at all.
Considering I’d kicked her into a hundred-year-old tree, Mercy got back into a standing position pretty quickly. The arm on the side where I’d shot her hung limp, and she was breathing hard. I put one hand to my side, and when I pulled my fingers away, they were slick with wet blood.
Awesome.
“Just stay down,” I wheezed.
“Die already.”
Maybe we had a few things in common after all. A stubborn unwillingness to be killed was chief among them.
“Fine. Don’t take it lying down. Whatever. It’s going to end the same way regardless.” My threat lacked a menacing punch thanks to the way my voice hitched up from pain with every other word. At this rate neither one of us would walk out of here tonight.
She took a step towards me and her knee gave out, sending her lolling to one side before she regained her footing. If I was in better shape, I’d be delighted to know how weak she was. There wasn’t a lot of fight left in her. Too bad there wasn’t a lot of fight left in me either.
Any last words? I asked myself.
Was there anything I desperately wanted to say to her now that I had her right in front of me?
“It didn’t have to be like this, you know.” I edged forward and kept my gaze locked on her, worried her pitiful state was all part of an act. That would be right up Mercy’s alley, to pretend she was injured only to come at me full force when I got too close.
Except the shot I’d landed on her shoulder couldn’t be faked.
“Pretty words won’t change anything, kid.” She spit on the ground, the foamy red blood glistening in the moonlight.
“I never wanted anything from you. I never asked you to love me. You could have lived your life and let me live mine.”
“You’re an abomination. You shouldn’t have a life to begin with.”
This old song and dance again. Sometimes I wondered why she’d let me live long enough to give me to Grandmere if she’d thought I was such a monster. Was it her first and last maternal act?
Abandoning children was something she excelled at.
“And Ben? He’s no abomination, but that didn’t stop you from turning your son into a monster.”
Mercy leaned against the tree beside her and smiled softly. Her dark brown curls were wet at the bottom where they’d been soaking in her blood. My own blonde ones probably looked much worse.
“He’ll be fine.” She coughed.
“Do you know what I did to Peyton?” I tested my grip on the sword, making sure I wouldn’t drop it when I needed it most.
“Since you’re still alive, I assume you killed him.”
“Do you want to know how?”
“Not really.” The claws on her useless hand had shifted back to normal, leaving her with only one set. “I’m done talking to you.”
“Good.” I lifted the sword and called on my vampire speed, bursting forward with the blade level. It slid through her neck as though she were made of paper and pinned her to the tree behind her.
Mercy’s body thrashed, and she swatted at me with her claws, slicing into the arm of my jacket and through to the skin beneath.
“Just die,” I snarled.
“…ou…irst…” she burbled, blood pouring from her lips.
Pop.
I didn’t see the gun because it was still in my holster, but I hadn’t bothered with the safety and I’d left it with a bullet at the ready. All she’d had to do was angle the gun inward and pull the trigger.
Like the claw wounds on my chest, I didn’t feel the bullet right away. I took two steps backwards, and her fingers fell away from the gun.
Even with a sword jammed through her neck, Mercy stared right at me and smiled.
I wanted to watch her die.
Sinking to the ground, I propped myself against the nearest tree just as the searing agony from the new silver bullet joined in chorus with the one before it. I needed to get the bullets out. Needed to get inside to protect myself from the sunrise that would be coming all too soon.
She stared at me, and I waited.
As my vision started to turn fuzzy and black, a new light came. Not a light calling me up to heaven, but the blue-white shimmer of the dead. All around us the ghosts of Buck Syler’s victims rose, dozens upon dozens. I couldn’t make out their faces, only the distorted female shapes. They grouped together, surrounding Mercy and staring down at me.
Ghosts can’t speak, so they made their silent commentary, and I was too out of it to wonder what they thought of this whole scene.
I looked past them and kept both eyes on Mercy. She seemed oblivious to the spirits closing in around her. I waited until the life was blotted out from her eyes and the last rattle of breath escaped her lungs.
She didn’t join them.
Once I was sure she was gone for good, I closed my eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The best indicator I wasn’t dead was the insane amount of pain that woke me up.
“Augh,” I shrieked, swatting at the hands on me.
“I told you we should have waited until she was awake,” Holden’s cool voice cut in. “Idiots.”
“I understand, but if we’d waited that long, she’d be dead.” Desmond was standing closer to me, his words coming through clearer.
“You boys. Nothing but arguments. If you aren’t going to help, you must both leave. Vous comprenez?” This from the familiar accent of Grandmere. I could have cried, either because I now knew for sure she was alive, or because this meant I was actually dead.
“Oui,” Holden spat back in reply.
“Fine,” Desmond answered.
They were still bickering, so chances were good I hadn’t gone to heaven.
“Uuuuuugh.”
“Don’t move, bebe, this will hurt quite a lot indeed.” Grandmere pushed me back gently, and my head thumped against something hard and wooden.
I didn’t have much time to think of what it might be because a moment later she jammed her fingers into the soft tissue below my rib cage. I scrambled, reaching out to take hold of whatever was closest. Desmond grabbed my hand, and even though I squeezed hard enough to hear his knuckles pop, he didn’t pull away.
The sound I belatedly recognized as my own screaming faded away, leaving only my rasping breaths in its place.
“Good Lord,” Holden observed.
I lifted my head, easing my grip on Desmond’s hand. Grandmere held up the fragmented bits of a slug in her hand, angling them so I could see before she dumped them into a nearby glass of water where another cluster of metal had already been deposited.
Guess removing the first bullet was what brought me back from the dead.
My body responded immediately to the removal of the silver. It wasn’t like an instant fix, but the holes cut through
me by the bullets started pulling themselves back together, letting the healing process begin. I wiggled my jaw, and the responding thrum of pain in my cheek told me the bone was still plenty broken.
Twenty-one hours.
Having someone put their fingers under my skin brought back a flood of memories, even though Grandmere had been saving me. I doubted I’d ever be able to have someone put their hands on me without having to chase back my demons first.
I tugged down the hem of my shirt, which was already ruined by bullet holes and blood, but I didn’t feel like exposing my skin any longer. Everyone in the room had seen me naked, but I hated feeling…bare.
“Thank you.” I hoped I was completely covered. I was sitting on the dining room table in Grandmere’s house. The shades on the window were drawn tight, but there wasn’t yet any sign of light peeking around them. Between that and Holden’s presence in the room, I had to assume it was still night. “Where is she?”
My whole body demanded I stay put, but I braced myself on Desmond’s shoulder and slid off the table. Standing on two feet, I felt woozy, but managed to keep myself upright.
Concussed and injured, I still noticed no one had answered my question.
“Where is she?”
Desmond guided me to a nearby chair and forced me to sit. I braced myself for some terrible announcement that, defying all reason, Mercy had survived being stabbed in the throat. I didn’t know how she could, but leave it to my mother to find a way to stay—
“Her body is in the shed. We couldn’t leave her in the woods. There was too much risk of exposure.” Desmond glanced at Grandmere, then back to me. “There’s more, but I’m not sure you’re ready.”
“Try me.”
“We got Ben and Fairfax locked up in the other garden shed. It should hold them for now, but there’s no sign of them shifting back. A few of Mercy’s men got away while we were trying to secure Callum’s wolves.”
“I don’t care.” I’d gotten who I came for. Let the parasites vanish back under whatever rock Mercy had kicked over to find them. Given Desmond’s expression, he wasn’t quite done with the news yet. “What else?”
“Callum called.”
“Callum called,” I repeated.
“The phone was ringing off the hook when we got you back here. We couldn’t ignore him. He insisted on speaking to Vivienne.”
“Charming temper on my children,” Grandmere huffed.
“He wanted to know she was alive,” Desmond explained. “And she told him about you, about Mercy, the whole situation with Ben and Fairfax. She couldn’t give him all the details about the shift, but apparently he already knew something about it from you?”
I nodded. “I called him when I couldn’t figure out how to fix you.”
Desmond squeezed my hand. “He wants us to come see him immediately. He’s asked us to return his wolves safely and…” He glanced to Holden, and it was the vampire who finished the sentence.
“He wants your mother’s head.”
“Her head?” Surely he must be using a metaphor. I shifted my attention to Grandmere, hoping she would clarify things. Instead she had sat down in a chair with her face cradled in her hands. I hadn’t once stopped to consider what Mercy’s death would mean to her. I kept the two women totally separate in my mind, usually forgetting entirely that Mercy was Grandmere’s daughter.
I’d killed her child.
“What?” I asked Holden, still unable to process the request.
Desmond answered for him. “Because of what Mercy did to you, Ben and Fairfax, she has been deemed a sworn enemy of the pack. Beyond her standing excommunication, she has been sentenced to death on sight. Since you’ve…well, since that’s not an issue anymore, Callum needs proof.”
But Callum had already given me his blessing to kill her. When we’d spoken from Paris, he hadn’t mentioned anything about needing her head. Did he assume I would fail and skipped saying anything because of that? Or was this some bonus punishment he’d cooked up at the last minute? “Can’t I just send him a picture?”
Desmond shook his head. “That’s not how things work in the pack.”
“I didn’t have to bring Marcus’s head to Lucas.”
“That’s because Lucas saw Marcus’s body. You didn’t have to prove he was dead.” He took both my hands, squeezing them. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to do this, but there isn’t any other option.”
No other option? Seriously? I could think of loads of other options, and most of them could be accomplished without cutting off my mother’s head. Werewolf society was so goddamn backwards, some days I wondered how they managed to get anything done.
“Grandmere?” I stood, and the room spun. I walked the few steps across the room and knelt in front of her, mirroring the gesture Desmond had just used on me. I held her wrists, waiting for her to pull her hands away from her face. When she did, it was clear she’d been crying.
I wouldn’t do anything without her approval. Callum might want the head, but if Grandmere said no, it wasn’t going to happen.
To be totally honest, I didn’t mind the idea of lobbing the bitch’s head off and delivering it to my uncle on a damned silver platter. But I wasn’t going to disrespect my grandmere’s grief if she said she was against it.
“What do you want me to do?”
She moved her hands to my cheeks and tipped my head upwards, running her thumb lightly across the bruise under my eye. “She almost took you from me,” she whispered. “What would I do? What would I do without you, bebe?”
Here I thought her tears were because Mercy was dead—and maybe in part they were—but instead of hating me for killing her child, she was grateful I’d survived.
I offered a watery smile. “She almost took you from me.” Turning my face, I placed a kiss against the rough skin of her palm. “You don’t have to worry now.”
“I’ve spent twenty-four years knowing she would come one day. Twenty-four years of fear for you because I knew she could not let it go. Oh, Secret, you cannot know the terror.”
“It’s over.” Saying the words was like waking from a dream. It was over. This whole nightmare with Peyton and Mercy, it was done. The two greatest evils in my life were gone, and now…
Now what?
I wasn’t out of the woods as far as trouble went. I still needed to go back to New York and face the wrath of the council, and for better or worse—probably worse—I owed Aubrey Delacourte a favor. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t done with sticky situations. But all the same I felt free.
“It’s over,” I said again.
Both Holden and Desmond watched me, but neither moved closer. I didn’t think I could handle their support right then anyway. Between the stark realization that I’d successfully killed my mother, and the too-fresh memory of having fingers inside my skin, I didn’t feel like getting hugged right now.
I got up, grasping Grandmere’s hand to remind myself she wasn’t going anywhere, and I had in fact saved her. “Take me to the body.”
Thankfully I didn’t have to ask a second time, otherwise I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go through with it. Killing her was one thing, but I wasn’t used to having to look at dead bodies once I was done with them. Especially not bodies I was connected to in some way.
Desmond led me outside to where the bruise-colored hints of sunrise had begun to brighten the sky by degrees. I was already feeling sleepy thanks to the night’s activities and my copious wounds. The coming morning was drawing me in, and I was ready to yield to a long and hopefully dreamless sleep.
The shed door was open, and before we entered I glanced across the yard to the brown garden shed near the vegetable patch. I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from within, so perhaps Ben and Fairfax had given in to sleep as well.
Boy would their faces be red when they realized how badly they’d failed at being bodyguards.
I hefted a sigh, too tired to mentally laugh at my own jokes.
Mercy’s body rested agains
t the back wall of the tool shed, her feet between the tires of Grandmere’s riding lawnmower.
She looked like a doll, limp and lifeless, her arms dangling, palms turned upward like she was begging for something. With her head lolled down, chin against her chest, she might have nodded off.
I cleared the room and poked her in the side with the toe of my shoe. Her head bobbed, but she didn’t respond. Desmond, clever fellow that he was, had remembered to bring my sword and handed me the weapon.
“Tell me this is real.” I glanced at him, quietly pleading for him to confirm I wasn’t dreaming.
“It’s about as real as it gets.”
I slipped the sword from its sheath—someone had thoughtfully put it back in its scabbard at some point—and slid the blade under Mercy’s chin, tilting her head up so I could see her face. Her slate-gray eyes, totally devoid of life, looked back but focused on nothing.
The unhealed slit in her neck was visible now, showing bloody meat and bone gristle through the skin. I’d done a number on her when I pinned her to the tree.
Now we had one last hurdle to cross.
“Can you get me a box, please? There should be one in the supply shed next door.”
“I don’t think your grandmother has enough sheds,” he observed sarcastically.
“There used to be six. She consolidated.” I wasn’t really paying attention to our conversation. I was too busy staring into my mother’s vacant eyes.
“I’ll be right back.”
Once he was gone, I crouched beside Mercy and lowered the sword, keeping her head up by gripping her hair.
“It didn’t have to end like this, you know.” I half-expected her to jolt back to life and rip my throat out. She just sat there though, all her dead weight tugging on my hand. “I wanted to leave you be. I never wanted to kill you, but you couldn’t let it go, could you?”
I released her head and sat back against the riding mower so I mirrored her pose. “You bitch,” I spat. “Why couldn’t you leave me alone? Why did you make me do this?” Kicking her in the leg, I wanted to take out all my frustration on her. I thought killing her would pull back the darkness and shed some light into my world. Instead I just had a bleak pit inside me that felt like guilt.