His anger reeked, fueled by the stink of his sweat and fear. He spared a brief, disbelieving glance at the biker dude who lay sprawled on the ground, eyes out of focus, as if the very stars spun around his head.
“Fine. You want to play, so let’s play.” I flicked hair out of my face, and curled my finger at him in a cheeky ‘Come on’ gesture. It paid off a tad, as a frown of concern slipped across his face at my confidence.
What he didn’t know was I wasn’t all that prepared to be so cocky. The only weapon on me was a tiny curved blade in my boot. Although it was deadly sharp and had a vicious point, I needed to be close to use it. Dangerously close.
He circled me, like a bull, giving me a wide berth, eyes on me. Those eyes flickered every few seconds in his partner’s direction. Was he wondering how long I would take to turn him into a similar pretzel?
I bent forward, flicking my fingers at him, beckoning him with both hands. And smiled.
He lunged.
I spun around, landed a solid punch to his ribs, and heard the soft crunch as two of his ribs caved in under the force of the blow.
Adrenalin masked his pain and he appeared only winded. For now.
He came barreling at me again. I stepped swiftly aside and kicked his feet from under him. I almost felt sorry for him, until he grabbed my leg as I stepped away. Losing my balance, I fell. At the last second, I spun around and landed on both forearms, my eyes still fixed firmly on my opponent.
I was tiring of playing with him. No real challenge with these two lunk-heads.
We both rose, staring each other down. I closed the distance, avoiding a right jab and then a left. Landed a blow to his windpipe leaving him gagging, spread-eagled on the pavement, feet away from his partner.
Biker-dude was back on his feet. Anger emanated from him as his gaze slid from me to the winded man on the ground.
“What’s wrong? Can’t take a beating from a girl?” I smiled.
He closed the distance and threw a punch. It landed short. Amateur.
Frustrated, he jammed his hand into his pocket and my heart sank as I stared straight into the black barrel of a S&W. I was fast, and strong, but not when facing a weapon powerful enough to blast my brains all over the sidewalk. I gritted my teeth and took my chances.
A super-fast swipe with my left hand, an equally quick duck to the left in case the weapon fired, and the gun went spinning off to the edge of the curb, firing twice as it spun. It was a miracle none of us were struck.
As he watched his weapon skitter away, he bent and reached for his boot, grabbing the blade strapped to his ankle. I almost laughed out loud, but squashed the urge, knowing I’d be the only one to appreciate the irony. My little blade was warm against my ankle. She’d taste blood before long.
He ran at me swiping the knife in short arcs. It was harder to get close to him this time, protected as he was by the deadly teeth of the serrated blade. He lunged with his unarmed hand and I raised my arm to deflect the blow. Too late I knew it was a mistake, as the blade bit deeply into my forearm. Blood gushed from the wound.
Now I was mad. I’d lost far too much blood in the last week to put up with this crap any longer. I reached with both hands for his arm, pulled hard to get him moving toward me, then smashed up onto his forearm, while my left hand hit down hard on his forearm. The air was filled with the sickening crunch of splitting bone. The action also worked to plunge the blade deep into his thigh. He collapsed to the ground not sure which would need his attention, the knife in his thigh or the hand now dangling useless from his shoulder.
The blood was the distraction. My attention changed, focusing on mauling the biker, ignoring my Panthers need as my claws lengthened just so. Need to slice a vein open and spill his life-blood right here, filled me. I was taken aback by the viciousness of my thought. My Panther pushed and surged from inside, frustrated and hungry. I missed Pickup-Guy as he rose and advanced on me, his knife raised, ready to spill my blood.
When I felt the cold steel penetrate my flesh it was too late. Too late to protect myself and too late for him to get away alive. The wound in my back pulled the Panther out, bent on revenge. Out here in the open, I had to control how far I changed, and managed to rein it in so only my claws and teeth transformed.
It was all I needed. I turned on him, forcing his hand against the hilt of the blade still buried deep in my back. My hands swept around and in one fluid swipe I lashed his throat with deadly sharp claws.
He stopped dead. Touched his throat as the ruby seeped through the slashes in his flesh. I knew before his knees touched the ground he would be dead in the next few minutes. Knew before he fell face down on the sidewalk it was a mistake to kill him this way. Too distinctive.
My claws retracted as regret surged stronger, overpowering my Panther’s need. A quick scan of the street confirmed it still remained deserted, but I knew someone would’ve heard the gunshots. Would’ve rung the police, even if they were afraid to check for themselves.
I grabbed the dying man, lifted his bulk into my arms and in a few strides tossed him in the back of the pickup. It was amazing the vehicle was still there. I approached Biker-dude who’d come around in time to see the last deadly blow I’d dealt to his partner. He had tears in his eyes.
I would’ve felt sorry for him, except the gash in my arm still bled and the knife in my back was killing me. I grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him to the cab of the truck, tossing him into the driver’s seat, broken arm and all.
He sat there, looking at me.
“What are you waiting for? Go.”
Back at the blood-soiled scene, I picked up my backpack and the gun they left behind. The need to stamp my foot in frustration was so strong. Again, my blood was spilled all over a crime scene. Well, at least this time I had someone on the inside who’d cover for me.
At least I hoped he would.
I hobbled across the street, gasping for breath. The road and the sidewalk spun a little and I leaned against the nearest streetlight and closed my eyes for a few moments. I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed.
“Hey Kai,” Logan answered.
“Logan? I really need your help and this time it’s super urgent,” I said, gasping a little with the pain shooting up and down my back. “I need you now.”
“Where are you?” Logan asked, his tone gravelly with worry. “Are you okay?”
“I’m outside the Rehab Centre, but I think I can make it home. I don’t want to stick around here any longer.”
“Right, I’ll meet you at your apartment then,” he said, then hesitated a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you at my place.” I cut the call and shifted forward. One foot in front of the other, glancing around, ever watchful. I didn’t need another attack. I had to keep moving. A part of me berated my decision to meet Logan at my apartment. He could’ve picked me up right here. But I really didn’t want to be standing around waiting for him, with a knife in my back and barely conscious.
I walked and my head began to throb as my heart pumped harder and faster to make up for the blood I was losing.
This is not the time to pass out, Odel.
I rubbed my temples and gritted my teeth and focused on getting home.
I just hoped I wouldn’t pass out before I got there.
Logan was sitting on the stairs when the birdcage clanged and rattled its way up. It came to a grinding halt and Kailin shoved the gate open. She gave him a weak smile as she hobbled to her door. Logan rose and held his hand out for the keys. He’d expected a little resistance from the usually independent Kailin but she just released them with a sigh.
A splotch of bright red at one temple caught his eye and he began to worry more, if that was possible. What had happened? He’d never heard her voice sound that way before; afraid, in pain and in need.
But all Logan did was raise one dark eyebrow at the spot while unlocking the door. He stood aside for her
to enter and she limped in and slowly turned to face him.
“I need some help,” she said, her features schooled as if determined not to make a big deal of whatever she needed.
“What happened?” Logan’s words were hard and angry. Anger came more easily than fear so he went with it.
She didn’t answer, just turned around and dropped her backpack. All Logan could manage was to swallow his gasp. Then silence.
“What the-“ Logan frowned. He figured she’d slung the bag over her shoulder, close to the hilt of the blade so she didn’t walk the streets with a knife sticking out of her back of her jacket for all the world to see. In case he was in any doubt as to what he was seeing he stepped closer.
“Pull it out,” she demanded, her voice low, her body tensed, waiting for the pain.
“Are you kidding?” Logan rubbed his fingers through his hair, strangely numb even though he was an experienced agent.
“Stop being a sissy and pull the bloody thing out. It won’t heal if you leave it, and I can’t reach the damned thing.” She growled the words and Logan stilled, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Instinct told him something but he wasn’t paying attention right now.
“Nuh-uh. You need a doctor.”
She turned and glared at him, her pain pinched eyes moist and hooded. “Please. I can’t see a doctor. Too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? What the hell is more dangerous than being stabbed in the back with a knife? Kailin be reasonable. You need to go to the hospital to get that thing out. You could bleed to death if the blade hit an artery or something.”
“The hospital is the worst place for me. I would take it out myself, but I can’t. That’s why I called you.” She was still glaring at him and Logan couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Fine. Go and lie on the sofa.” He spoke as if he were being forced to eat a meal of road-kill.
Kailin walked meekly to the sofa and settled onto the cushions. Logan bent over her, and pressed the torn edges of her shirt apart to get a better look. Then he placed a palm on the left of the wound. The muscles in her back tensed as she readied herself. Logan found himself shaking his head. At her strength or her audacity he wasn’t sure. He grasped the handle of the knife, heard Kailin hiss but ignored it. He had to get a good grip on the knife. Satisfied, he tensed and heard Kailin take in a deep breath.
Then he pulled.
She screamed, the sound of it cut deep into Logan and he shuddered. Not that pulling the knife out made him feel ill, but the thought of hurting her caused him actual physical pain.
It was over soon enough. She passed out while he pressed his hand against the wound to staunch any blood-flow.
Chapter Thirty-One
I don’t remember what happened after Logan pulled the damned knife out. Passing out does that. Blurs memories and obliterates pain, even if it’s only temporary.
I awoke flat on my stomach, the sharp-edged bite of agony in my arm and back now dialed down to a burning ache, the pain rounded, fuller and hot. The healing stage had begun.
We weren’t invincible by any means. A good, old, shot to the heart would do the trick nicely, although in the old days the preference was to pull the still-beating heart from the chest cavity and plunge a knife straight through the throbbing organ. I’d take the shot to the heart any day.
My forearm had been neatly bandaged and taped. My back was stiff and icy hot. It crackled with the tape just above the top of my singlet.
Sounds filtered through to me. A pot clinked against a burner. Some liquid bubbled and boiled away. The whir of the old fan oven provided white noise. It didn’t take my Panther senses to tell me that a steak was searing and potatoes grilling.
I sat up to a swimming head, but persevered. My only health restriction was the loss of blood, something a good meal would replenish. I padded barefoot to the door, the pile soft and luxurious beneath my feet. I sneaked a look into the kitchen to catch the maestro at work.
His senses must have been fine-tuned because he looked up and smiled.
“Rested?” He smiled, but the shape of his lips held a tightness; worry, concern. And I felt like a heel knowing I was about to justify the worry and concern with the truth. He had to know.
“Yes, feel better now.” Not for long.
He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and moved to inspect my bandaged hand. Satisfied he turned me around to check the wound in my back.
“The bleeding has stopped. That’s a good sign.” He was trying to reassure me. “We’ll have dinner, then I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“What for?”
He looked at me as if I was a simpleton. “Stitches. Both the cuts are huge, they need stitches to help them heal better.” He spoke slowly. He didn’t know the wounds wouldn’t need to be stitched. My body would fix them just fine.
Although Walkers had the ability to heal, we still scarred like any other creature. They healed faster, but it would be a few weeks before the scars faded.
His finger traced the ridges of the scar the bullet had left.
“Perhaps, someday, you can tell me how this happened to you? But for now, please explain how come I had to pull a friggin’ knife out of your body.” His voice wavered. Anger. I could smell it on his skin and found the strength of his reaction quite unbalancing.
“I was attacked at the Centre. I had some stuff to pick up.” I should’ve listened to him when he warned me I was a target.
“Kailin, why didn’t you call me to go with you? I told you already, somebody wants you dead and they certainly seem to be taking every opportunity possible.” His voice rose and Kailin could hear anger and fear in the timbre. Then he sighed, schooling his features. “Did you get a look at your attacker?”
He pulled a chair out for me to sit, and passed me a bowl of chili and a spoon. I almost forgot to answer, as I savored the rich spices on my palate. He’d even thought of a starter to go with the steak. He’d be handy to have around. Grandma Ivy cooked like this - wholesome, spicy food that filled the stomach and the heart. Thinking of her, I glanced at her bedroom door which sat ajar. She hadn’t returned yet, butterflies twisted in my gut. Should she walk in now, all hell would break loose. A strange man in her house, a grandchild all stabbed and wounded. What would she make of it?
“Kailin?” Logan tilted his head, looking at me, as if wondering if I was about to keel over and breathe my last. “Did you see your attacker?”
“Yeah. Attackers. A guy on a bike and another in a pickup across the street.” I nodded.
“Mugging?”
I shrugged. “Definitely not. They were...intent. Like they had a job to do. But they didn’t take anything.” They may have wanted something but perhaps I never gave them the chance. “Maybe because I kicked the shit out of them?”
He ignored my comment. “Does the gun belong to them? Or you?” He nodded at the pistol sitting at the end of the counter, black and gleaming. Right next to the blade of the hunting knife, placed on a towel, its serrated edges still clogged with tissues and flesh from my body.
“Not mine. One of them dropped it. I think it was the guy in the pickup.”
I gave the gun a nasty glare and returned to my chili as the ice in my veins slowly thawed. Logan took the gun in his hands, turned it over. He popped open the chamber and tipped the rounds into his open palm. Not bullets, but tiny metal vials filled with a sickly green liquid. Shaped like bullets with a clear shell and a hollow centre. Not unlike the vials I sometimes used to subdue my targets. I knew Tara would soon be getting a visit from me.
“Well, at least we know they weren’t trying to kill you?” As if that was any consolation. They had managed to leave two bloody, painful calling cards. “Drug-filled rounds like these can only mean they’d mean to abduct you. It wasn’t a robbery. Wasn’t a random attack. Someone had tried to kidnap you. It was deliberate. Organized. They know where you work. They would’ve been watching you,” Logan said, his voice icy, emotionless.
I shive
red in spite of the warmth of the room. I’d been calm until now.
For a Wraith Hunter, I was turning into a total wuss because I was being stalked. Where did all my courage go? Probably bled out of me along with a few pails of blood.
“Know anyone who would want to kidnap you? Any jilted boyfriends out for revenge?” He meant it as a joke but I wasn’t paying any attention to his words. My mind was turning over the events of the last few days. The chili bowl lay empty before me, and when he took it away I didn’t even notice.
I cleared my throat. “The biker-dude had a mask on. Until he lost his helmet.” My stomached clenched, and breathing was an effort. “He drove the car the night the body of the Walker was dumped. That night I’d only seen the face of the driver as the car sped off. When I crossed the road I’d been so intent on checking on the victim I hadn’t noticed the car return. Once the bullets started flying the last thing on my mind was getting a visual of my attacker. But now the details of his face are clearly imprinted in my mind. Biker-guy was the one who’d shot at me. I killed him.” I felt a twinge of satisfaction that he’d died at my hand, then wondered where this ruthless streak had come from. I had to be hard and a bit ruthless to kill the way I did, so regularly. But I had a purpose to my killings. They weren’t just random hits. My marks were Wraiths, intent on using their Hosts. As yet I was unsure of what their goal was, but I had been blessed by this strange ability to track these awful creatures. It was a duty.
I finished talking, my voice remaining a monotone the entire time. My stomach clenched as I watched Logan’s face. I was finally being upfront with Logan. Finally telling him I’d been the witness. His features had remained expressionless the entire time. Either not surprised or so far beyond fury that he had to hide it.
Logan turned on his heel and went back to the pots, while I stared at his tense, stiff back. I couldn’t gauge how angry he was.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 329