Pete’s appearance had definitely taken a turn for the worse since Micah had seen him last. The bones of his face seemed too large for his skin which stretched taught over cheekbones that protruded from his face like knobs. His eyes once bright and clear had a dull white sheen, sunken into his eye sockets and overshadowed by sharp brow bones. Even his teeth seemed sharper, more animal-like as his gray lips drew back in a sneer. More creature than man, Trish’s assertion had been correct. Pete belonged to the Furies completely.
“They want you!” He jabbed an accusing finger at Jacquelyn. “And I protected you! Me! And like some cheap slut, you’re kissing him in our house! The home I made for you!” Pete’s breath came in panting gasps and he paced the room, muttering to himself, pulling at the strands of his thinning, stringy hair.
“Yes,” he said as if debating an internal argument. “They want you. And they can have you.”
Chapter 31
JACQUELYN JUMPED FROM the bed, cornered and wary. Pete had devolved even more in the short time since his first visit to the room, and she was certain that the Furies had taken full possession of his body. Kill the host. Sure, easier said than done without a weapon. Fuck my life. How was she supposed to get them out of this with no gun and no fucking dagger?
Micah stepped in front of her, stupid, but a nice gesture. He reached back and grabbed her hand. Not exactly the best time for this kind of affection. But before she could pull away, she felt something drop into her hand as it slid down the sleeve of his hoodie. The pommel of her dagger warmed her palm, and she said a silent prayer of thanks for quick studies.
Pete continued to pace, his internal debate far from over. “It might not be her fault. She didn’t bring him here. He came on his own. Maybe he forced her. Yes! He forced her. She didn’t want to. He made her kiss him!”
He spun in a circle, his voice ragged and higher pitched, “No! She lied to us! We gave her a home and protection, and she’s nothing but a whore. We should kill her, now. And her pet. They both deserve to die. Vengeance is ours to claim, and we’ll take payment in flesh.
“No!” The split-minded conversation raged on. Wow, Pete was giving Gollum a run for his money right about now. “I love her. I can’t live without her!
“You will. We’ll find you another. Someone worthy of us. We’ll take care of you. We love you.”
Four enemies had become one, and for a moment, Jacquelyn could only count herself lucky. As long as they possessed his body, she had only one foe to fight. It shifted the advantage back into her court and left her only Pete to deal with. Preternatural strength wasn’t anything to balk at, though. She might be able to immobilize him with a couple of shots to the chest or head, but he was too far gone for a simple bullet to take him out completely.
“Pete,” Jacquelyn said with the sort of caution you use to talk a guy off a ledge. “You don’t want this. Those lovely ladies of yours aren’t angels, they’re devils. You can fight them. Tell them to leave once and for all. You’re not a killer. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Pete laughed, a dry, hissing cackle that boiled from his gut. “I killed Finn,” he said. “I ripped him apart with my bare hands.” Another round of laughter followed the first, mad and wild. “Did you know I watched him sneak out of your house? How could you let him treat you like that? Did he fuck you and leave after he got what he wanted? It made you cheap, and you’re not.”
A pang of hurt stabbed at her chest, the image of Finn’s broken and bleeding body still fresh in her memory. Pete thought he killed Finn, but thank God—and Micah—he’d been unsuccessful. Jacquelyn tucked the dagger behind her and took a step in front of Micah, inching her way close to Pete. If she could keep him occupied, she could diffuse the situation with little to no risk. “Pete, I’m sorry.” She tried to sound meek and apologetic. “I didn’t know how you felt about me. If I’d known, maybe I would have done things differently.”
“She’s lying,” Pete said, raking his hands through his hair. “Betrayer. Liar. Dirty creature. Kill her. Kill her now!
“I love her!” Pete screamed at himself. “You told me I could have her!
“She’s a witch, just like the old woman. She’ll hurt us, send us away.”
“I would never do that,” Jacquelyn crooned, now almost face to face with Pete. “We can all live here together. Like a family.”
The dagger flashed as she spun it in her fist, rising high and stabbing downward. But Pete’s reflexes had improved as much as his strength and he caught her wrist before the dagger could pierce his skin. A look of hurt, deep torment flashed across his inhuman features and a bestial growl tore through his chest. He twisted her wrist until she thought it might break and she dropped the dagger. Her feet left the floor as Pete snatched her into a rough embrace. His breath, hot and smelling of rotten meat, passed over her face and his jaws snapped together, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.
His arms opened like a trap releasing, and she fell to the floor. But before she could react, he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her to a half-standing position, the other hand wrapped tight around her throat. Micah reached for his shoulder holster. He had a clear shot, it might stun Pete long enough for her to get away and grab the dagger. She just prayed his aim was true.
“Don’t do it,” Pete warned as he wrapped his free hand around Jacquelyn’s throat. She knew from his previous gentle care of her, it wouldn’t take much for him to kill her. “One step, and I’ll break her neck.”
Micah froze, his body tense and the muscle at his jaw flexing. “You hurt her, I’ll introduce you personally to pain.”
Well, Jacquelyn thought, he has the tough guy routine down, at least. Bravado, thy name is Micah.
Pete’s maniacal laughter sent a trail of shivers across Jacquelyn’s skin. He’d kill her in a heartbeat. The Furies had him, and the real Pete was only hanging on by a thread. “It’s okay, Micah.” Her voice strained as it worked up through her constricted throat. “Just hang on.”
Pete snatched her up to a standing position, pulling her back tight against his chest. “Did you sleep with him, too?” he hissed in her ear. “I bet you roll over and spread your legs for everyone. How could you do that? I would have loved you. I would have protected you. Worshipped you. And now it’s too late.”
“It’s never too late, Pete,” Jacquelyn choked out.
“Yes, it is.” A tortured sob escaped his chest. “It’s too late. They have me now and I have to kill you. It’s too late for both of us.”
In a flash, he backed out of the room, Jacquelyn’s stomach lurching from the speed and force. With one hand still wrapped in her hair, Pete flung her, hard, and she bounced off the banister, the bone in her left ankle crunching under the strain. The collision bounced her from the banister into the wall and, like a pinball, she continued her journey, tumbling down the stairs. Jacquelyn pushed against the floor, tried to get up, but the cobwebs in her mind bound her and through the darkening haze of unconsciousness, she heard Micah’s enraged shout, and a scuffle, followed by a loud pop!, and then another as he fired her .357.
Awareness slipped from her grasp for a bare moment. And when she opened her eyes, Micah stood over her, the magical warmth of his Bearer’s touch healing her broken ankle. “Where is he?” The words sounded barely coherent as she spoke them.
Micah pressed the dagger into her hand. “Coming, and pissed. Get. Up!” He wrapped his arms around her chest and heaved, bringing her to a standing position.
She allowed him to steady her, still unable to gain her bearings. Residual pain shot from her ankle up her leg and she stumbled as she backed away from the foot of the stairs just as Pete flew down them, the speed of his decent almost blurring. Micah shoved her, and she listed to the side and ducked before he fired two more rounds hitting Pete once in the thigh and again in his left shoulder. The silver did little to incapacitate him as he charged, and Micah fired again, this time hitting him square in the chest. Blood spewed from the wound wi
th every beat of his heart. Pete screamed, a wild animal sound, and he clawed at his wound with his tongue flicking across his lips in a serpentine fashion.
Disbelief colored his features, rage spewed from his screaming mouth and Jacquelyn took the opportunity, charging with all she was worth. She wrapped her hand around his shoulder and positioned the dagger above his heart. “This is for Finn,” she snarled as she drove the tip of the dagger through skin, tissue and bone, piercing Pete’s heart.
His back bowed, and, for good measure, Jacquelyn shoved again, driving the blade hilt-deep into his chest. “Jack-lyn,” he whined, before he crumpled to the floor at her feet.
A bright flash burst from Pete’s body, and a wind raged in the confines of the kitchen, knocking pictures from the walls and the boiling pot off the stove. A tea towel landed on the exposed burner, the flames growing and consuming the towel only to rise and lick up the sides of the curtained window. Old wallpaper, peeling back to expose dry boards burned in an instantaneous flash, the fire eating away at every ounce of usable fuel. Black smoke billowed in shreds of dark curls, rolling along the ceiling where they exploded into toxic clouds. The old house began to burn like the dry kindling it was, the fire spreading quickly over the walls and bleeding to the floor in molten drops. Jacquelyn felt Micah seize her around the waist, but she wasn’t about to leave without the dagger. She pulled, twisting the blade against unyielding flesh, and slid the blade from Pete’s empty, soulless body. Without a living host, the Furies had fled in a torrent of light and wind, no doubt searching already for a new victim to claim.
“Where’s Trish?” Jacquelyn coughed as smoke filled her lungs. The fire raged around them, the heat scorching, the sound a dull roar in her ears. She’d burn to death before she left that house without Trish.
With the dagger safely in her possession, Jacquelyn pulled away from Micah’s embrace, crawling on the floor, well beneath the bellowing smoke, searching for any sign of Trish. “She’s here somewhere! Trish! Trish!”
“Jacquelyn! Over here!” She heard Micah call and she crawled toward a mud room just to the left of the kitchen by the back door. Micah found her, and scooped her up in his arms. He kicked the door and the latch shattered loose and swung open. He negotiated the doorway, careful to keep from knocking Trish into the jamb. “Come on, Jacquelyn!” he shouted. “Hurry up!”
Her ankle wasn’t completely healed and she limped for the door, pushing off the top stair in a leap. She flew over the stairs and rolled to the ground. Micah wasn’t too far ahead, running awkwardly with Trish hanging limp in his arms. Jacquelyn scrambled to her feet and ran, each breath a burning torture in her lungs, each step on her bad ankle enough to coax tears to her eyes. She rounded the fence and caught up to Micah just as the windows of the house began to burst. Shielding her head with her arms from the shards of glass that fell from the sky, she dropped to the ground beside Micah and Trish.
“Is she alive?” Jacquelyn panted, panic welling up inside of her. “Micah? Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine.”
Jacquelyn watched as he laid his hands to Trish’s face, the faintest golden glow pulsing from beneath his hands. He’d healed her with his Bearer’s magic as well. And she knew from previous experiences, Micah had some pretty powerful mojo inside him.
Relief mingled with grief as Jacquelyn slumped to the ground, coughing violently as she expelled the last of the smoke from her lungs. The smell of moist earth and old grass filled her nostrils. A good smell, despite the odor of the dying land that clung to the grass. Winter would come and bury that smell and in the spring the new grass would burst from the ground, green and alive. She felt like that dead grass. Used up and spent. But just like winter would cleanse the land, time would heal her, too. Finn would heal. She was still alive, Trish was alive and, thank God, Micah was alive. And she couldn’t wait for spring.
Chapter 32
MICAH STOOD IN the tall, brittle grass, the Hunter’s Moon illuminating the clearing with false daylight. He’d made a promise, and, despite Jacquelyn’s suggestion that he not hold up his end of the bargain, he wasn’t about to go back on his word.
“Hello, Micah,” the Dryad said, her voice like leaves rustled by the wind. “I’m so glad you came.”
I’m sure you are. He stood, alert and ready for anything, his emotions locked up tight, a wall raised against the Dryad’s intrusion. He’d learned so much in such a short time. Confidence in his actions was now second nature.
“But you didn’t come alone,” the Dryad chided. “You brought your hunter. I sense her somewhere near.”
Confident, yes. Stupid, no. Jacquelyn wasn’t far, waiting for him in her car up on the main road. She’d come in a heartbeat, guns blazing if he needed her.
The Dryad watched him with hungry eyes, much the same way she had the first time they met. Her flowing robes and long hair drifted on a non-existent breeze, the smell of the forest after a heavy rain washing over his senses.
“I’m here.” Micah spread his arms wide. “Just like I promised. Why did you want to see me?”
“The world needs Bearers,” the Dryad said. “Hunters would run rampant; killing anything they didn’t understand if it weren’t for your kind. They’re nothing more than thugs. But you,” she sighed, her lithe fingers caressing Micah’s arm, “are a different breed entirely.”
Micah wondered if this Dryad knew who really pulled the strings in his circle of acquaintances. Would it surprise her to know that Waerds only follow the orders of the Sentry? And that most of the high-ranking positions in that secret organization were held by Bearers. Her opinion of him might change if she knew the truth. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t ask me here because you wanted to give me a compliment.” Micah took a step back, out of the Dryad’s reach. “So say your piece and we’ll get this over with.”
“Let’s just say I’ve grown fond of you.” The Dryad’s bottom lip protruded in a mock pout. “I wanted you to know that I’ve decided to stay near. For a while, at least. You’ve drawn my curiosity, something few humans have managed to do.”
Great. Jacquelyn was going to flip. Here they thought the Dryad would be leaving as soon as the Furies were expelled. Now she was planning on sticking around.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He felt her push, trying to worm her way into his head. But he pushed back, asserting his dominance and she smiled.
“Oh, it’s a good idea.” Her tone screamed of sensual promise. “I like these woods. They suit me. I promise I’ll behave.” She crossed her heart, her index finger lingering near the swell of her left breast. “If…you promise to visit often.”
More bargains. He’d be a fool to strike another with her. By all rights, she should have left town days ago. But instead she’d decided to take up residence. “I’m not promising you anything.”
“You might change your mind.” She looked up the hill to where Jacquelyn’s car was parked. “I can protect her.”
Micah’s blood-pressure spiked. “Is that a threat?”
“No. But many things lurk in these woods. Things I can either banish or allow to wander. Doesn’t she need a break? Just a little time to lick her wounds? Let me stay for three moons. Visit me once at every full moon, and I’ll give you repose while I’m here.”
No trouble. Normalcy. Time to mend, to settle in. It sounded too good to be true. It is, a voice urged at the back of his mind. Don’t trust her.
“Your hunter’s lover is still injured?” the Dryad asked.
“He is.” Finn had finally gained consciousness, but it would take months of physical therapy and a little boost from Trish and Micah before he was one-hundred percent again.
“And she killed the Furies’ host, the man that did the deed?”
“Yes. And the Furies are gone, just like we promised you.”
“Vengeance is a strange thing,” the Dryad mused. “Isn’t it, Micah? The Furies took their reward in the end. They won.”
“I’d hardly say
that.”
"Your hunter took her vengeance on the man who almost killed her love. What do Furies care how the toll is exacted as long as it’s paid? She gave them what they came here for. Revenge.”
Micah cringed. It was a good thing Jacquelyn wasn’t here to hear the Dryad’s twisted words. She’d been plagued with guilt for days, hadn’t been able to let go of the fact that three people, including one she’d once loved had suffered because of Pete’s sick infatuation. The Dryad was right. Jacquelyn, more than anyone, needed a break.
“What would these visits consist of?” Micah asked, wary.
“Just talk. I want your companionship, not your soul.” The Dryad laughed. “I’m not as cruel as your hunter makes me out to be. Three moons. No more, no less. It seems a fair price to pay for a quarter year’s peace.”
It was tempting. Jacquelyn deserved it. She so deserved it after the shit she’d been through. Five years of keeping innocent people safe. Five years of repenting for a death that wasn’t her fault. And two more deaths she couldn’t scrub clean from her conscience. Not to mention what happened to Finn. Was three months, three nights really, worth a scrap of peace for her?
“Fine.” Micah hoped he hadn’t just rammed the nail in his own coffin. “Three moons. No more, no less. You have a deal.”
“That didn’t take long,” Jacquelyn said as Micah climbed into the passenger seat. “But ten more minutes, I was going to go down there to check on you.”
“I can handle myself.” Micah closed the door and buckled up.
“That you can. What did she want?”
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