by C. B. Haight
He underestimated her though, something Jarrett rarely did. She was not without a trick or two of her own. She was, after all, half-demon. With practiced skill, she aimed her dagger behind her and plunged the shining blade deep into his lower right side. But the odd angle of her attack caused her to lose her grip on the dagger.
Her effort and speed with the weapon impressed him. It was a trait he would have normally appreciated, except the blade in question was currently embedded deep in his side.
The burn he felt surrounding the offending metal told him that the blade must be silver. So, she did know at least a little bit about him. The intense, fiery sensation coursing through his blood, caused by the cursed metal for any of his kind, was a distinctive and unforgettable pain that would get worse fast. The silver would infect his blood and hinder his natural ability to heal.
While Jarrett stood still, growling from the sharp, intense pain running through the entire right side of his body, she stomped the heel of her boot down as hard as she could, stabbing into his left foot. Though caught off guard, and in severe pain, Jarrett didn’t release his grip on the scrawny woman. If anything he tightened it. He sensed her surprise.
The witch ground her spiked heel in harder and made an unsuccessful attempt to grab the protruding dagger. He dodged it, and despite her fierce struggling to gain freedom from his bruising grip, he held her firm. He wrapped his left hand around her fragile neck and pinned her arms down with his other arm while trying to decide what he wanted to do—kill her or leave her unconscious.
Abruptly, she went still, and Jarrett heard her whispered chanting. Knowing her intent and also knowing the unpredictability of magic all too well, his decision was made for him. He knew if he let her go she would come back. They always came back. End it, he told himself.
A strange sort of disappointment coursed through him. He felt none of his usual satisfaction. She’d killed many before and deserved to die, but he was sick of it all, tired of the game. He grew weary of it decades ago. But it always seemed to follow him no matter what he did. How many will I have to kill to buy my freedom? he wondered.
He knew she would be still until the spell was cast. Keeping a firm grip on her neck, he released her captive arms. Jarrett didn’t even flinch as he reached down and viciously yanked the offending blade free from his body. The ease in which he did the gruesome act would lead anyone watching to believe that he just removed a thorn from his finger instead of the dagger from his bleeding side. Crimson blood flowed freely from the fresh wound. Jarrett gritted his teeth against the pain and lifted the blood-covered blade before his eyes.
He ignored her quiet chanting and focused his attention on the finely crafted silver weapon. It was only mere seconds, but to him, it seemed to play out in long, slow minutes. Shaking off his strange melancholy, Jarrett waited patiently for her to finish every delicate syllable. When she did, he felt the slight distortion in the air around him as the spell tried to take effect. He tightened his grip on her neck, cutting off her precious air flow. He heard her struggle to gasp and felt desperation fill her.
Fear made its way through her cold and evil veins. He could smell it and felt her panic rise. Her spell didn’t work on him of course, and he was sure the demon-witch must have never seen such a thing before. People can often fight effects of paralyzing magic, but it takes them several minutes to do so.
He, on the other hand, was immune.
She shivered. He knew she understood that he wasn’t affected in the slightest way by her spell. Because of her error, she would die.
He tilted his head toward the ceiling, and closing his eyes, he let the hated demon within him rise. Though his body made no change, his senses heightened. He took in a deep draw of the rich, fear-scented pheromones. “Tell me,” he said, mimicking her earlier words, his voice a growling whisper in her ear, “what did you plan to do if this went badly?”
She couldn’t answer, due to his painful grip on her throat. Chills raced over her, and she renewed her struggle to get free. Rule three, he thought, always plan a contingency.
With an almost casual movement, Jarrett flipped the blade, caught it, and buried it with deadly precision deep into her breastbone. He spun her around to face him, and looking right into her wide, shocked eyes, he said, “Because it just did.”
Jarrett let the body fall and inspected his side. Pressing his hand to the injury, he winced slightly from the sensitive wound and cursed himself for being so slow. Ever since his encounter with Cade, Jarrett seemed to have lost his edge. This happened to be the second time someone almost got the drop on him and the first time, in many years, he found himself wounded so severely. It made him wonder what could be happening to him and if he could fix it before it was too late.
His memories plagued him regularly. It was an annoyance he’d never allowed himself—at least not since he’d been a boy. He’d forced those painful images deep down long ago, burying them under his fury. That’s where he wanted to keep them, and unless he could find a way to push them back, the nightmare of his past would continue distracting him.
Jarrett could only figure his recent encounter with the woman named Collett was the cause of his unwanted recollection of the long-forgotten images. It was a cruel irony that the woman in question was currently shacked up with his estranged brother, Cade. She was also the same woman who forced him from his burning home as a boy centuries ago.
No, Jarrett thought to himself, not forgotten, but repressed. He knew he could never forget anything about Rowena. Even if the curse of his life lasted 1,000 years, he would never forget.
Sweat dotted his forehead, and he cursed again. The infection from the silver was spreading already. He grabbed a hand-towel from the bathroom, pressed it firmly to the stab wound, and tied it there with one of his belts. He winced at the applied pressure. Then he dressed quickly, threw a few belongings into a black duffel, and left without looking back. It wasn’t the first time he’d left everything to start over.
He didn’t know where he would end up, and he didn’t have a clue how to get out of his latest predicament. It wasn’t like anyone he knew could, or even would, help him. Fortunately, his contingency had always been in place. He’d hired strong people long ago to watch over his substantial assets, such as his club, so he knew he had time to figure it out.
And if he didn’t—Well, Jarrett mused glumly, maybe the world would be better off without The Hunter.
Chapter 3
Cody grunted as his tormentor landed another heavy fist to his ribs. The chains holding his hands high above his head, straining his shoulders to painful limits, rattled and clinked as his body moved with the impact. His toes barely touched the floor but not enough to offer any relief to his aching arms.
The man who controlled the strings to the puppet doing all the punching asked, “Now then, tell me again why you left?” His unearthly voice was soft, yet it grated and chilled Cody as it echoed in the empty warehouse.
Cody closed his eyes in frustration. There would be no correct answer here. He could not win. He’d told them the story three times already. Over and over again he had related what he’d learned while forced to spy on Cade Werren and Rederrick Williams.
His master was desperate to get his hands on the woman Collett. She currently resided with Cade under the protection of The Brotherhood, an organization built to help protect those with supernatural abilities. They made a habit out of frustrating The Faction’s plans and thereby frustrating his master, The Faction’s creator.
Rederrick and Cade had taken Cody into their group a couple years ago, not knowing that he had already been recruited by The Faction.
Desperate, between screams and moans, Cody began to recount the details of his time spent in Rederrick’s home once again. He explained again about Thanksgiving Day, when he sat across from Collett at dinner, he saw the apprehension on her face. He panted through pain as he told his leader about overhearing everyone in the house talk about Collett’s ability to delv
e into their personal minds and feelings. He knew it was only a matter of time until she knew the truth.
“I told you,” he pled, knowing that silence would only make matters worse. “She would have figured it out. Then Cade would have killed me on the spot.”
“What makes you think I won’t give you the very same treatment for your cowardice?”
He felt another painful blow connect with his stomach. Cody groaned pitifully in response as he tried to draw his legs up in reflex, but the strain on his arms wouldn’t allow it.
“Come on man!” he groaned. “Wouldn’t it have been worse if they found me out? I can’t help it if she can sense thoughts. How’d you expect me to work with that?”
“You idiot! Her talent is not so simple. You were there to understand their plans and find a way to get her here, and now I have nothing!” shrieked Niall, the man in command of The Faction.
His outburst startled not only Cody, but the thug using him as a punching bag. Neither man ever saw their master less than completely level headed.
He recomposed himself and straightened his perfectly groomed suit. He stepped forward into the light to stare into Cody’s blue eyes with his empty, silvery orbs. If Cody didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the man blind. It was an assumption that could get a man killed.
Niall pinched his thin lips together, and his eyebrows drew together as if he were considering a puzzle. Then he nodded to the thug, and the heavy, thick-armed man answered the gesture with another solid blow to Cody’s already bruised body. Cody coughed and gasped as his breath left him again.
“No matter. You’ve given me something at least. You are certain then that she can’t remember who she is?”
“I swear it. She has short, vague flashes here and there, but has no real understanding of anything in her past. She doesn’t even know about you,” Cody insisted hopefully. For some unknown reason, even knowing it would cause him more pain if they found out, he held back the information of how Collett had been coming into her powers.
“What else have you learned?”
Cody felt a small amount of his tension ease. His ability allowed him to know Niall believed him.
“I’m pretty sure she’s fallen for that guy, Cade, and he loves her. Also, they keep her under close guard at Rederrick’s home in Colorado.” When Niall scowled, Cody added promptly, “but I have the security codes.”
“Continue,” Niall bade.
“Cade doesn’t know why I left. He probably believes I’m dead. I left the same night a fire started. Finnawick called to check in, and when I was on the phone, someone attacked me. When I came to, everything was in chaos. I figured it was one of your guys, so I just got out of the way. I could…”
His words trailed off as a small, skinny woman with dark hair and angled features hurried into the derelict warehouse. She bustled over to Niall on her stiletto heels that matched her fashionable business suit. She was dressed to perfection as Niall insisted of all the cronies close to him. Cody watched as she whispered to Niall frantically. Then she pulled a sheet of paper out of a manila folder.
The harsh light glinted off the image, and even through his swollen eyes, Cody immediately recognized the man in the picture. “If you already knew who Cade is, what did you need me for?” Even as he said it he regretted it, because Niall’s attention came back to him.
He looked up sharply from the paper he examined. “Cade?” he questioned with interest.
“Yeah, Cade. He goes by Cade Werren.”
“Are you telling me that this man,” Niall held up the fuzzy picture, “is Cade Werren, leader of that ridicules Brotherhood?”
The tone of Niall’s voice made Cody nervous. He squinted his swollen eyes to get a better look of the picture in Niall’s hand. The picture seemed to be a sort of security footage with poor resolution, but it still looked like Cade. The man in the picture wore dark glasses, and his hair was longer, but Cody was almost certain it was him.
“Well, yeah, it looks like him except . . .” Cody said hesitantly, “the hair is longer. This must be an older picture.”
Niall considered Cody’s words carefully, not exactly sure what it meant. Then his thin lips spread into a wide, sinister smile as he reflected on the possibilities of Cody’s assumption. “Well done,” he mumbled while he looked at the picture once more. Of course, no one in the room believed he congratulated them. His comment was clearly directed to a person unknown. “Well done!” he said again almost cheerfully.
Holding his breath, Cody waited, hoping the information would gain his freedom. He didn’t even really know why he got mixed up with these people in the first place. How could something so simple go so wrong? It started with gambling debts, and then the ugly man named Finnawick learned of his ability when he talked them out of collecting on the debts. Now he found himself in so deep he couldn’t see a way out.
For as long as he could remember, Cody could somehow sense when other people lied. As he got older, he discovered that he could easily use those feelings in reverse. He’d used that talent to convince people of almost anything. The problem evolved when those skills didn’t seem to work on Finnawick or Niall. He tried once to use his natural persuasion against Finnawick, and Finnawick had played him like a fiddle.
He didn’t really want to hurt Rederrick or Cade. They were pretty nice, and the people they worked with trusted him, despite the fact that they knew of his ability. Trust became a feeling people rarely felt around him—at least not for long anyway. Cade barely knew Cody, but he’d always been fair to him. They were even training him in all manner of things, something Finnawick or Niall would have never done. However, Cody could see no way out of this without betraying The Brotherhood. It was no big deal, he told himself. I’ve done it before. What is the difference really?
There was a difference though, and subconsciously Cody knew it. But what were his choices—give Niall what he wanted and live, or refuse him and die? In the past, the decision would have been easy. Self-preservation always came first to him. Cody learned to take care of himself before anyone else early in life. As a young boy, he learned how often people lied, especially his own father. Nobody was ever honest. His musings did little to comfort him. Logic told him it was either him or The Brotherhood, but for the first time, both choices weighed heavily on him, and neither prospect seemed appealing.
Niall’s cool voice broke Cody’s reverie, “Cody, once again you have proven your worth. I’ll let you live, but you must learn the consequence of disobeying me. The price of failure is indeed high.” He nodded once again to the thick armed brute who continued beating him long after Niall left the room.
As each brutal blow inflicted more pain on his already battered body, Cody began to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to die instead. He knew better than to try and use his ability to escape his punishment. It would only make matters worse. So he took every painful punch as if he was once more a boy, and hoped he would find oblivion soon.
After Jarrett paid cash to the drowsy clerk and checked into the dingy motel, he walked down to his assigned room, slid the key into the lock, and opened the door. He took a quick scan of the rundown space. The sagging double bed sat in the middle of the room with a dresser straight across from it, leaving a narrow pathway to the small bathroom. What may have once been white walls had become yellow from too many years of nicotine-users smoking within the confines of the room and too little maintenance. A very outdated television which, Jarrett assumed, probably didn’t even work was secured to the dresser. Not that he cared. He never watched much TV, and he didn’t intend to start today.
With a grumble of acceptance, Jarrett shut the door, threw his duffel on the bed, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. His side burned, and he could feel his body fighting to heal the wound. Stripping off his clothes, he turned the shower on. Soon, he saw steam begin to gather and stepped under the spray. He closed his eyes when he felt the sting of water slide over the garish slice in his sid
e. Jarrett leaned his head forward, resting it against the shower wall, while the water poured over him.
“Damn, I’m tired,” he mused.
He thought killing the imp Finnawick would have bought more time, but he realized he should’ve known better. He had killed Finnawick out of necessity to save Jeffery’s mother and keep him away from Cade and Collett. However, the action was like leading a moth to flame. It had been a pure act of defiance. He just couldn’t stand to let the smelly bastard keep breathing after he kidnapped the sorcerer’s mom.
It wasn’t the first time he killed one of Niall’s lap dogs. Though, considering his predicament, it may be one of the last.
After a long time of letting the water slide down over his aching, fevered body, he felt the water temperature change. Clearing his mind, he washed and exited the shower. He dried off carefully with the thin, economy-sized towel offered by the motel then strode over to his bag on the bed.
He pulled out the first-aid supplies he’d grabbed as an afterthought and looked at the needle and thread. Then scowling, he examined his side. He knew it would require too much effort and decided not to bother sewing it closed, convincing himself it wouldn’t matter. He was likely to be attacked again soon, and the stitches wouldn’t stay closed in a fight.
Instead, he packed the slowly leaking wound with gauze and tape, pulled on his shorts, and flicked out the lights as he went to bed. Reaching over, he pulled the recovered dagger from his bag. He twisted and turned it in his fingers while wondering how he ever let the witch get the better of him. He reminded himself he would have to step up his game.
The blade of the dagger showed a few nicks here and there—each mark telling a story about the weapon’s use. He laid the weapon down at his side and thought about who and what would be coming for him next. He knew things were only going to get worse. Letting his thoughts drift, Jarrett closed his eyes and sought sleep, knowing the next days, maybe even months, would promise little of it.