Vengeance Borne

by amanda bonilla

  “Wes,” she said, peeling her gaze away. “Friend of a friend, sort of. He must be getting an eyeful.”

  She shifted again, turning her shoulder to the fireman and another wave of emotion rolled over Micah, nearly stealing his breath. Apparently she was too preoccupied by her “friend of a friend” to properly mask her emotions. He needed to distract her from whatever had her nerves twisted into tight, unyielding knots. “Jax is an interesting name. How’d you get it?”

  “Jax isn’t my name. It’s short.”

  “For what?”

  “Jacquelyn.”

  The tightness in his chest eased and he drew in a deep breath. That’s better. “Jacquelyn,” he said, accenting the qu sound. “I like it better than Jax.”

  She smiled and a rush of pleasure bloomed out from his stomach, enveloping him in molten comfort. Better than anything any pill could fabricate. He’d sleep a thousand dreamless nights from just one moment of her pleasure.

  “So,” Micah said, ready to get back on track, “are you going to tell me what a Bearer is?” She said he had a gift, nothing he hadn’t heard before from him mom. But Bearer was something entirely new. The word was as foreign to him as his own feelings that he tried so desperately to numb. “And what exactly does it mean to be unrealized? Don’t take this the wrong way, but it sounds like you’re trying to sell me something, Jacquelyn.”

  The look she gave him was pure incredulity. Apparently, no one dared to call her out. She wasn’t the first person to try to force their superstitious propaganda on him. His mother was Romany for Christ’s sake. You didn’t get much more superstitious than that.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Micah, but I’m starting to think that here and now is not the place to discuss this.” He couldn’t help but wonder if her change of heart had anything to do with Friend-of-a-Friend. “I’m going to need you to come with me somewhere tomorrow night.” She paused, stabbed her straw into her drink a couple of times, her tone uncertain. “You need help. Since I don’t have time to deal with you myself, I know someone who will. Trust me. You’re going to want to meet this person.”

  Micah thought about it for all of about a half second. Foolish, sure. What he should be doing is getting the hell back into the motor home and putting a few hundred miles between himself and this crazy-ass town. But when he met those wide, sparkling eyes of hers, he knew he’d walk into a burning building if she asked him to, let alone stick around for another day. Besides, he was paid up for a week, no use wasting money. “Sure.”

  “Okay then.” She tossed her napkin down on the table and stood. “Meet me at Grind tomorrow at three. That’s when my shift is over. We can go from there.”

  “You’re leaving?” He didn’t want her anywhere but right here with him. He didn’t even have a damn car to drive her home.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m going to go home and go to bed.” She plunked twenty dollars down on the table. “Sorry to drop a bomb and run, but I need to get out of here. Your energy’s a little suffocating.”

  The bomb dropping was low on his list compared to her leaving. If he pressed her to stay, it might freak her out. He’d never felt compelled to be in any woman’s company for more than a little while, but voicing that would only scare her off. She didn’t seem like someone who’d appreciate a stalker, and he sure as hell didn’t want to come across as one, no matter how curious he was about her. Besides, he could probably use some time alone, too.

  “No problem. But dinner’s on me.” He slid the twenty back to her. “I guess I’ll have to wait for tomorrow if I want more information. But, just so you know, this isn’t necessarily the strangest thing I’ve ever dealt with.” She raised a challenging brow and he shrugged, biting back the words he wanted to say. You know the day I met you at the gas station? Well, I dreamt about you the night before. You were being attacked by a wannabe prom queen of all things, and she gave you the cut on your face. Sometimes I do that—dream about things—before they happen.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Jacquelyn murmured.

  “Don’t you be so sure.” he shot back at her.

  She shook her head and the sensation of pleasure fled, chased by frustration, and mingled with confusion. The constant shift of emotion drew on his energy. He was wiped.

  “How are you getting home?”

  “Riding my bike. I’ll be fine. I do it all the time.” She gave a quick little wink, an expression almost more threatening than endearing. There was more to her than met the eye and Micah couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

  A little alone time was what Jacquelyn needed to clear her head, and she used the time to think. The comfortable temperature of the near-autumn air relaxed her. They had another month yet of decent weather, after that, it would be too cold for early morning or late night bicycle rides. Which reminded her, she needed to get her car fixed.

  Unfortunately, the night hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. She couldn’t help but wonder if Dean Winchester would have handled the situation any better. Probably not. The one thing most demon slayers had in common whether they were fictional TV characters or not: they all sort of suffered in the communication department. The Sentry wasn’t concerned with how articulate she could be or if she was just the right amount of tactful and feminine. She’d had one job since she was born: seek and destroy the supernatural scum of the earth. Didn’t exactly make for a sweet disposition. It’s not like she was offering up a glass of lemonade to go with a stake to the heart. Jacquelyn let out a gust of breath as she pedaled up a steep incline. She’d always wished she could be more articulate. But Micah seemed to take it in stride despite her uncontrollable word vomit and less than stellar people skills. Surely Micah heard words like “Bearer” every day. Ugh. Way to go, dumbass. She’d really fucked that up.

  As she coasted into her driveway, Jacquelyn tilted her head toward the nearly full moon. The Hunter’s moon. Brightest as it occurred at the autumnal equinox. Perfect for predators, and she fit right in. How would Micah react to that little tidbit of information? Finn had always reveled in the hunt. Killing didn’t bother him. But for some reason, she sensed Micah would care. She didn’t think his highly empathetic nature would work in harmony with killing. No matter what they hunted.

  The moonlight led the way as she parked her bike in the lean-to that served as a garage, the shadows forming beside her no more troubling than they would be in light of day. She didn’t fear the shadows but what lurked behind them. Nothing to fear at the moment, however. Jacquelyn could sense the energy signature unique to the supernatural, taste their rage as a tingling on the back of her tongue when they were near. The creatures she hunted were far from her tonight, making their evil mischief in another Waerd’s territory. Let them be someone else’s problem for one evening, at least.

  Sometimes she envied Bearers. Their job was to comfort, to take away the pain, both physical and emotional, that wore so heavily on a Waerd’s psyche. Jacquelyn couldn’t grant comfort or save someone from a life-threatening wound. The only emotions she was allowed to absorb were hate, fear, and rage. She got none of the warm-fuzzies a Bearer received. A Bearer could sense her emotions, and the only thing she sensed was the painful presence of the supernatural. Bearers were given gifts. Hers felt more like a punishment. And the Sentry forced her to pay penance with her services.

  She shuffled up the walkway leading to her modest manufactured home. It barely broke the thousand-square-foot mark and was the shape of a fat brick, but it was big enough for her. After a face lift or two over the years, it looked a lot homier than it had when she’d bought it off the auction block. It might not have been as magnificent as some of the homes around the lake, but it was hers. And there was very little in this world she could claim really and truly belonged to her.

  Movement caught her attention in Jacquelyn’s peripheral vision and the glow of moonlight illuminated a tall, lone figure pacing back and forth on her porch. Looking to the treed area along her driveway, she noticed for
the first time the gleam off the hood of his truck. Jeez. She must have been totally wrapped up in her thoughts to miss it. Way to stay on your toes, hunter.

  “Who’s the guy?” Finn asked as she climbed the steps to her front porch.

  Damn. Wes was spreading the gossip lightning fast tonight. What a butthole. She’d make him pay for it later. Rule numero uno: never screw with the lady who makes your drinks. “You’re spying on me now?” She should have known Finn would be jealous and possessive.

  “If I have to. We just broke up, Jax. What the hell?”

  She wanted nothing more than to stick the key in the lock and slam the door in his face. But knowing Finn, he’d spend the night on her porch, and Trish would kill her if he got sick from sleeping outside all night.

  “It’s not what it looked like.”

  “Funny, because from what I heard it looked pretty much like a date.”

  “If you came here tonight to pick a fight, you might as well go home. I’m not in the mood.” Date or not, her life was none of his damn business anymore. She broke up with him, which meant she wasn’t his to worry about.

  “Is it that easy for you to move on?” The hurt sliced through his voice, and it nearly tore her composure to shreds.

  Did she come across as that heartless? “No. Finn, of course not. I wasn’t on a date. This guy, Micah, he’s—”

  Finn put his mouth to hers before she could finish her sentence. She tried to pull away, but one hand found her hip while the other wound around her neck, and he brought her hard against him, his fingers biting into her skin. Snaking her hands between their pressed bodies, Jacquelyn’s palms found his chest and she pushed against him. He ignored the plea; his arms tightened around her, refusing to let her go.

  Wow. So not the way to win her over. Knowing no better way to free herself from his demanding kiss, Jacquelyn turned to the only weapon in her arsenal. She let the anger boiling inside of her build until it felt like it would flood her, then she sent it all out in a rush, flowing straight into Finn, a conduit for her emotions. Every ounce of what she felt flowed through her straight into him. He pulled away, as effective as a blow to his gut with a two-by-four and he doubled over, gasping for air.

  “Go home, Finn.” She took several steps back, putting distance between them. “Please, before something happens that we both regret.” Jacquelyn didn’t need to be a Bearer to sense his pain. The expression on his face tore through her, and for a moment she remembered how good it felt to have his arms around her, his humor to boost her spirits, his presence to comfort her. Finn wasn’t a bad guy, he just wasn’t the guy. Why couldn’t he see what was so painfully clear to her?

  “I still want you. I didn’t end anything. Damn it, Jax, how could you do this to me? To us?”

  “Go home Finn,” she said as she stretched her emotional shield back into place. “Please.”

  Jacquelyn turned, unable to face him, and fumbled with her key while she tried to slide it into the lock. Finn’s heavy footsteps echoed on the porch before he stomped down the stairs and onto the stone walkway. When his truck door slammed, she jumped and rammed her key the rest of the way into the doorknob. As she unlocked the door and let herself in, she swallowed down the sob that threatened its way up her throat.

  This had been one hell of a great night.

  Chapter 8

  HE WAS CHANGING. With each passing day he sensed it. He’d thought himself strong before. But now… oh, now he was so much stronger. More sure of himself. Better than he used to be.

  He regarded his arms, flexing above his head in a languid stretch as he lay in bed. Arms that had been strong enough from the manual labor he did at work day in and day out now appeared more corded than before, the veins more pronounced. The usual morning fatigue didn’t plague him, either. In fact, he felt energized, ready to face the day head on. He ran his tongue around his mouth and grimaced at the sour tang that coated his taste buds. Sort of metallic and sharp. Something happened last night. His memory blurred, but he recollected scraps of what went on. Impressions of laughter, revelry. Did he eat something?

  His lovelies returned to his side, cooing in his ear soft, whispered words. Lover’s words. Words of praise. They urged him to the mirror and he went willingly, their hands stroking and caressing as he walked. He turned on the light, the better to see, and gasped at the sight of his own reflection.

  He looked like himself—and yet—not. His hair gleamed in the lamp light, thicker than he remembered. Running his fingers through the locks…yes. Much thicker. Even his skin glowed healthier than usual. A pleasant, albeit unexpected side-effect.

  “How?” he asked in disbelief, his eyes drifting shut as the pleasure of their touch rippled across his skin.

  “You gave us vengeance, we give you strength. A gift.”

  For so long he’d tried to make her realize how much he loved her. How desperately he needed her. No one could ever love her the way he did, even if she hadn’t chosen to see the truth of it. The scales were tipping in his favor now, though. If she wanted strength, he’d show her strength. He’d never tasted glory so sweet, and from this moment on, he’d go for the throat. This was a new day. The man he’d once been died with their touch, and he was glad.

  “Who’s next?” he murmured to the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror.

  “Who indeed?” invisible voices echoed hungrily.

  Jacquelyn lay in bed, nestled beneath the weight of too many blankets. She turned the heat off at night, relying only on the piles of blankets to keep her warm. Finn used to be her personal space-heater, spooned in behind her, arms wrapped around her. Tight. Too tight, actually. Just like the strangle hold he had on their relationship, he held her in bed as if she’d escape given the chance. She laughed dreamily. There had been a time or two she’d considered gnawing off her own arm, just to be free of his suffocating embrace. Now, here she was, the entire bed to herself with all the space in the world, and she’d gladly volunteer her own arm for the chance to have someone hold her close. Even if it was only for a few fleeting minutes.

  She took a deep breath and the cool morning air stung as she swallowed it into her lungs. The comforter was tucked beneath her chin, exposing her head to the chilly morning. In another month or so it would be too cold to sleep without any heat, but for now, she welcomed the bite. Tucking her face back into the cozy warmth of the blankets, she allowed herself to drift off. Another fifteen minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  The promise of REM was nothing more than a pipe dream when the shrill, upbeat tune of her cell phone broke the peaceful moment of half-sleep. Just as well, she’d have hit the snooze again if it hadn’t rung. Probably Bree, chomping at the bit and terrified of facing the morning rush alone. Why couldn’t she just take over the closing shift and leave opening to people whose stress levels didn’t rocket into the stratosphere at the drop of a hat?

  “Hello?” she growled into the receiver.

  “Jax.” Libby’s voice broke with the just the tiny syllable.

  “Hey.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just go back to sleep. “What’s up?” What indeed. Libby didn’t top any lists for shy and timid. If she had something to say, nothing short of having her lips glued together would keep her from saying it. The silence stretched out and became uncomfortable, solidifying like a block of ice in the pit of Jacquelyn’s stomach.

  “Willie Carmichael was killed last night.”

  Jacquelyn shot up in bed and clutched the phone to her ear. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “What? How?”

  “They think it was an animal attack. Mountain lion maybe. His body was—mutilated.”

  Silence. What could she say? Too many thoughts raced through her head to voice what she was really thinking. Libby already sounded scared enough without Jacquelyn adding to it. Besides, animal attack her ass. Odds were a mountain lion had about as much to do with Willie Carmichael’s death as Bree did with discretion.

  “It also… ate him. That’s what the police think, an
yway. Some of him was missing.”

  Life in a small town. Gossip spread like wildfire and Jacquelyn didn’t doubt that most everyone had heard at least one of about a hundred different versions of how Willie had died. The trick was weeding through the stories to get to the truth. “Does Finn know?” Stupid question. How could he not know? Finn worked for Willie Carmichael. He would have been one of the first to be told.

  “He knows.” Libby’s voice turned grim. Well, grimmer. “He’s the one who called me.”

  Jacquelyn’s spine lost all of its starch as she slumped against the backboard. Not much chance of this being blown out of proportion if Libby had gotten her info straight from the horse’s mouth. Finn would have heard it directly from Sheriff Boyd. This was so not good. A violent death. Mutilated. Eaten. Her hand shook as she pressed the phone tight to her ear. “Thanks for letting me know, Libs,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

  Jacquelyn rolled the phone around in her hand for a turn or two before touching her finger to the contact list. Scrolling through the names, she selected FINN CELL and pressed SEND.

  “Hey,” Finn answered, calm and even. Almost, expectant.

  “Is it true? Have you seen the body yet?”

  “Yep.”

  Jacquelyn knew him well enough to realize that his clipped response meant he was in the presence of people who prohibited him from sharing any details. No doubt the lumber yard was abuzz with the news; everyone speculating on the hows and whys. He should have called her first, though. The fact that he’d called Libby, knowing she’d pass the news along was an immature annoyance Jacquelyn didn’t have time for. As the territory’s Waerd, she needed to know. First. And not through the grapevine. He was acting like a total child. Withholding information didn’t do either of them any good and it’s not like Trish wouldn't lay it all out on the table later. No one died in a hunter’s territory without Trish investigating it first.