Vengeance Borne

by amanda bonilla

  “Furies,” Finn whined, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Who’s controlling them, Finn?”

  “Be careful. Don’t—trust him…” Finn’s eyes, blue and vibrant, once twinkling with life grew dull and Jacquelyn pulled away, searching his face for any sign of coherency. “Not a friend,” he whispered. “Not your friend.”

  His eyes drifted shut, his chest no longer rising and falling with his labored breath. Jacquelyn scrambled over him and tipped Finn’s head back, pulling down his chin. She put her mouth to his, and the taste of blood was thick on her tongue as she gave him breath. Come, on, Finn. You’re not dying, you’re not! Stay with me! She placed the heels of her palms, one on top of the other at his sternum and began chest compressions. But with each pump, blood gushed from the many bone-deep tears in his chest. Another breath and more compressions. Breath… Compressions… Breath…

  “Jacquelyn?” Micah’s voice called from the driveway and she thought she’d drop dead from either shock or relief. It didn’t matter how he knew she’d be at Finn’s or how he got here. She needed a healer right now, and his timing couldn’t be more of a godsend.

  “Micah!” She continued the chest compressions and gave Finn a breath. “Go around back. Hurry! I need you right fucking now!”

  One, two, three, four, Jacquelyn counted each pump to Finn’s chest before she stopped to give him another breath. By the time she was ready to start the compressions again, Micah was by her side. He shoved her hands away and put his palms over the wounds on Finn’s chest. “I’m not sure what to do.” A deep furrow cleaved his brow and Jacquelyn could have sworn that she felt his distress drill straight into her chest.

  “Just let it happen, Micah.” She didn’t know how else to instruct him. She knew absolutely dick about a Bearer’s abilities and how to use them. But he’d healed her after the Changeling attack without even realizing he’d done it. Instinct had to be his guide in this situation. “Please, Micah. Don’t let him die.”

  The sun faded into the horizon, the bleak gray backdrop of twilight a mourning shroud over the sky. Jacquelyn sat back and gave Micah some space as he bent over Finn’s broken body. A stillness settled over him that made Jacquelyn’s breath stall in her chest. Just as Micah concentrated on healing Finn, she focused her energy on Micah, willing any little droplet of power she might possess into him in the hopes that it would help. Tears spilled down her cheeks as fear constricted her lungs, limbs, heart. She was paralyzed by fear.

  “Jacquelyn.” The command sprang from Micah’s lips in a way that made her snap to attention. “I need to you lock it down. My instinct is screaming for me to deal with you, not Finn when you get out of control like that. Understand?”

  She nodded her agreement, though Micah’s back was turned to her. The words just wouldn’t push past her lips. With a strength that was borne of desperation, Jacquelyn pulled up her emotional wall good and tight. Eyes closed, legs folded beneath her, she retreated within herself, erecting an invisible structure that barricaded her in and kept Micah out. Power buffeted her senses, his energy unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Finn would be okay. She knew it. Micah would keep him alive. Her instincts were always spot on. Micah was by far the most powerful Bearer she’d ever met.

  His voice came to her as though through a tunnel. It’s echo faint and weak. “He’s alive, but still in really, really rough shape. Call an ambulance.”

  Jacquelyn’s eyes flew open just as Micah collapsed next to Finn. She scrambled over to Micah and she pressed her fingers to his throat. Alive. A sigh of relief contracted in her chest. She’d had enough of near-death experiences for one day and if anything happened to Micah she would have gone after him into the afterlife and dragged his ass home.

  After she was assured that Micah was simply unconscious and would be okay, she shifted her attention to Finn. He wasn’t going to be up and running—probably not even talking—anytime soon, but at least he was alive and that’s all that mattered. Jacquelyn pulled her cell from her pocket with shaking hands and dialed 911. If she didn’t quit calling these attacks in, the sheriff was going to start getting suspicious.

  Once an ambulance was dispatched, she dialed Trish. Her suppressed emotions buffeted the wall she’d erected like hurricane waves crashing against the jetty. It was only a matter of time before the dam failed and all hell broke loose.

  “Jacquelyn.” Trish’s deeply concerned tone was all it took to break down the wall. “Did Micah make it in time?”

  “Yes.” The word rang with relief. Thank god for Trish and her freaky intuition. “He’s here, Trish. He kept him alive.” Jacquelyn could no longer quell the sobs that rose in her throat. “I need you.” The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried, and the last words came out choked with sorrow. “Please Trish, I need you.”

  Micah drove to the hospital. He was seven different kinds of exhausted and healing Finn left him feeling like he’d been run over by a steam roller, but Trish was in no condition to be behind the wheel. She sat stoic in the passenger seat, incredibly composed despite her worry. “Finn,” she murmured to no one, her unfocused stare trained out the window. “Oh, my dear boy.”

  Jacquelyn refused to go. Her emotions had gone haywire shortly after the ambulance arrived, swinging from fear, to anger, to anguish, and somewhere near despair. The onslaught of her shifting emotions caused Micah’s temples to throb and his stomach ached as though he’d been punched in the gut. With a jackhammer.

  Once Trish was settled and they were assured that Finn would, in fact, live, Micah drove back to the scene of the crime. As soon as he set foot on Finn’s porch he sensed the Furies’ wrath without having to see evidence of their mayhem. The attack on Finn had been more personal than Willie Carmichael’s death, more intense than Bree’s. Whatever bastard controlled these Furies, he hated Finn with a passion. Envied and despised him to the point of frenzied violence. There was something less calculated in the impulsive emotions Micah picked up on as he walked the perimeter of the porch. Finn’s assault had been spurred by passion and the attacker had taken his time to make sure that Finn knew it.

  Micah found it hard to stand. He was still so weak and the assault of rage and longing nearly knocked him off his feet. He stumbled into the house, his vision blurring, but when his eyes landed on Jacquelyn, he constructed an impenetrable wall. Seeing her like this, so weak and vulnerable made Micah more than determined to be strong. She sat on the living room floor, oblivious to the pool of blood that surrounded her, soaking into her jeans. Finn had been taken to the hospital hours ago, but she couldn’t be persuaded to budge. Micah knelt down beside her, wary and careful not to touch her.

  “The Sentry will send a rapid response team.” She stared straight ahead, rocking back and forth like a mother soothing her child. “They come whenever one of us is injured or killed.” Her voice caught in her throat. “There’ll be an inquiry. They’ll conduct an investigation. Someone will be held accountable. More than likely me. I wonder where they’ll send me this time. What they’ll do to me. McCall wasn’t small enough to keep me out of trouble. Maybe I’ll wind up in Siberia or the South Pole…”

  Words failed Micah as her fear and anguish tore through his gut. This had to be hard on her, resurrecting painful memories and guilt that nearly crushed her under its weight. Let the Sentry come and try to take her away from here. No way would he allow them to lay the blame at her feet yet again. And he’d die before he let them uproot her and cast her aside as if she was no better than the creatures they forced her to hunt. The ruthlessness of it soured his stomach.

  “Micah,” Jacquelyn murmured. “I need you to do me a favor.”

  He reached out and squeezed her hand, but she didn’t indicate that she’d even noticed the contact. “Anything. Just say the word.”

  “Take it away.” Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks making pink rivulets where they washed away the blood smeared on her skin. “I can’t stand it, Micah. It’s killing me. I don�
�t want to feel this.”

  Micah placed his hands on her face, and with his thumbs, brushed aside her tears. He stood, and, taking her hand pulled her up beside him. If she felt even half of the pain she projected, he knew he couldn’t stand by and let her suffer. She was so compliant, so unlike the woman he’d come to know when he pulled her into his arms. Micah held her tight and the sound of silent weeping soon turned into agonizing sobs. Pulling on the power he’d only recently learned to used, he fastened imaginary strings to her emotions and tugged, gently drawing the pain, the grief from her soul and taking it into himself.

  Soon her cries quieted and she stood still, nestling her face into his shoulder. “Thank you, Micah.”

  Jacquelyn cared for Finn; that affection swirled around inside of him. And the pain of his attack burned deep in Micah’s soul, though there’d been little love lost between them. But he took that anguish, the horror of his violent attack and bore the burden for her. Because he’d bear any pain for her, no matter the extent of hurt. And just like Finn, he knew he’d never be able to leave her. He’d be drawn to her no matter the distance between them.

  “Micah,” Jacquelyn sniffed into his chest. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

  “It was all Trish,” he said. It still filled him with awe to think that Trish had felt Finn’s pain and sent Micah to help. “She just…knew. And she sent me here.”

  “I tried to keep him alive but he was just so torn apart—”

  “Shhh,” Micah said, stroking her hair. “You did what you could.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She straightened and looked at him. “But I’m going to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jacquelyn’s face was puffy and her eyes were bloodshot from her tears. “I’m going to find the bastard that did this, and I’m going to make him pay.”

  Chapter 26

  MICAH HAD THE sense he didn’t belong, though he knew that wasn’t exactly true. Right now, Jacquelyn needed a Bearer to help her through this and Trish needed a shoulder to lean on, even though she’d never admit it. The intrusion of the Sentry’s response team had set everyone on edge and Micah still didn’t understand the importance of their presence. Were they just here to make sure Jacquelyn couldn’t be held accountable for what had happened to Finn, or was something more drastic going on?

  Of the five Sentry—Employees? Elders? Generals? Micah had no idea—that had been sent to gather evidence and conduct interviews, three had stayed behind. For some reason, he expected robed figures with silver medallions around their necks. Not the pin-stripe-suit-wearing, FBI-looking characters rifling through paperwork at Trish’s kitchen table.

  “Patricia.” A woman with a severe bun on top of her hair sipped from the cup of tea in front of her. “How long had Mr. Connor been neglecting his duties as Bearer of this district?”

  Trish set a tray with homemade biscuits and scones in front of Bun Head. One of the biscuits escaped its porcelain prison and rolled across the table from the force. “Finn never neglected his responsibilities to this district.”

  “Um, Trish?” Micah interrupted before Trish started launching hot scones at her guests. “I brought in some firewood for you. Can I do anything else?”

  “Ah, Mr. Marinescu,” Bun Head brought her face up from her stack of papers to give him an obvious sizing up. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ll need to speak with you as well.”

  How in the hell did that woman know his last name? As far as he could remember he’d never told Trish, or Jacquelyn for that matter. Who were these people, the freakin’ supernatural mob?

  “Something like that.” She smirked. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Micah was damn sick of these non-mind readers reading his mind. He looked to Trish for guidance and she ever-so-slightly inclined her head toward the empty seat. She placed a plate with a scone in front of him and whispered in his ear, “Relax dear. They’re not omniscient.”

  Paranoid much? He let out a sigh and broke a corner off the huckleberry scone. One of Bun Head’s partners in crime handed her a folder and she opened it, perusing the contents with interest. Micah squirmed in his seat, feeling a little like a seventh grader in the principal’s office. He hadn’t been in town long enough to settle in, let alone justify someone—anyone—having an entire folder on him. “So do I get a name in return?” he asked. “I’d feel a lot better talking to you if we were on a first name basis.”

  The woman dipped her head, peering down her hawkish nose at him from above the black rims of her square-framed glasses. He expected her to fling them off at any moment, loosening her hair and whipping it around like some shampoo commercial spokes-vixen. But to his disappointment, she pushed the glasses back up the bridge of her nose and rifled through her paperwork.

  “My name’s Celeste,” she said. “And I’m the incident investigator for this district.”

  “Nice to meet you, Celeste.”

  “Hmm, a charmer,” she said to her partners. “Great. Since you’re here, we might as well get started. When were you inducted into service for this territory?”

  Inducted? Service? Huh?

  “Micah hasn’t been officially inducted.” Trish laid a hand on his shoulder, gave a comforting squeeze. “He’s only just been realized.”

  “I was under the impression he’d been brought in to replace Mr. Connor. Newly realized Bearers have no place in the field, Patricia. You know that. This is a complete fiasco.”

  Trish took a seat beside Micah, and he felt the coming storm that boiled inside of her. He’d learned quickly enough that nobody smarted off to Trish. Especially in her own kitchen. “Now you listen here, Celeste Park. I’ve been the Master Bearer for this region since before you could wipe your own ass. Don’t ever come to my house again and accuse me of doing anything less than my job. Do you understand me?”

  If Celeste felt the wave of anger rolling off of Trish like thunder, she didn’t let on. But Micah felt it, and, boy, was that old lady pissed. She turned a stern eye on Celeste’s partners. The evil eye, as his mother would have called it. Those boys were fucked.

  “Thank you, Trish,” Celeste said. “I think you’ve said your piece.”

  “I haven’t even gotten started,” Trish snapped. “And would you like to know what I think of the Sentry’s bureaucratic bullshit?”

  “Hey, Trish,” Micah said, taking a turn with the comforting shoulder pat. “Can you check on Jacquelyn for me? She was still sleeping, a half hour ago, but someone should be with her when she wakes up.”

  Trish pushed out her chair, mumbling under her breath. But Micah didn’t need to hear her words to feel her annoyance. Empathy had its benefits. “Soooo.” He took a deep breath. Expelled it. Looked from one interrogator to the next. “I have no idea why you’re here, besides what Jacquelyn told me.”

  “Whenever a Bearer or Waerd is killed, or injured in the field there’s an investigation, Micah.” Celeste jotted something down on a legal pad. “This isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence.”

  “I’d hope not.” Micah tried to peer over her arm at the notepad but she pulled it closer to her body. “But I’ve gotta say, having you here, all suited up—feels more like a Come-to-Jesus rather than an innocent inquiry. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Celeste scratched away on her yellow pad. “Clever. What was your profession before coming to this territory, Micah?”

  “None of your damned business, that’s what,” Micah said. “What are you trying to prove here? That Finn’s attack was someone’s fault? Jacquelyn’s? Trish’s? Or maybe mine?”

  “We’re evaluating the situation.” Celeste’s tone became almost shrill. How attractive. “Furies are not to be taken lightly. They must be eliminated, immediately. It would be problematic if they’re not. An uncontrollable supernatural force let loose in a town this size would be hard to ignore. And even harder to cover up. Jacquelyn’s first Bearer was killed by the very creatures she was supposed to be eliminating. A
nd here we are again. Same bullshit, different day. We are here to determine if Ms. Byrne can effectively do her job as appointed Waerd of this district. That is our only concern. If Jacquelyn can’t take care of this situation and quickly, we’ll be forced to reassign her.”

  “Well, let me tell you something about Ms. Byrne.” Micah stood and braced his palms on the table, leaning toward Celeste. He towered over her and leveled his gaze on hers, projecting every ounce of anger he felt toward her. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and she shrunk down into her chair. “She’s the toughest woman I’ve ever met. Fearless, strong, capable. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for her and I’d still be trying to wrap my head around all of this bullshit without the instruction she’s given me in just a few days. If her progress has been impeded at all, it’s because of me. Period. She’s the reason Finn didn’t die in a pool of his own blood. She’ll have this taken care of, soon, and then you’ll be kissing her ass.”

  “I’m sure,” Celeste said with a sneer. “I was told that you saved Mr. Connor, not Jacquelyn. Isn’t that right?”

  “She performed CPR on him for god knows how long until I showed up. If she hadn’t done that, he’d be dead right now. I just finished what she started.”

  Celeste’s mouth puckered as though she’d just sucked on a lemon. “I see. What about Mr. Conner?” She leaned back in her seat, fiddling with her pencil. If he had her on edge, Micah was glad. Too hard to tell though, since this Celeste had constructed an emotional shield that might as well have been made from titanium. “Finn wasn’t negligent in his duties as Bearer?”

  “Not as far as I could tell,” Micah said. “But I don’t know him well.”

  “Hmmm,” Celeste responded like a psychiatrist in session. Her pen worked furiously, scribbling out notes. “And what has your experience been like with Mrs. Whitney? Has she been—competent in her role as Master Bearer?”

  “Trish?” Micah felt a protective urge spike within him. “That woman is—well, I don’t have the words to explain to what she is to me. But you go after her again the way you did earlier…you’ll have me to deal with and I can be a ruthless son of a bitch when I want to be.”