He hit them both dead center in the heart. He grabbed one of their guns, flipped it over, and fired into the rogues running toward him until the weapon jammed. He tossed it to the ground.
Axel swooped in, landed on his feet, scooped up the bleeding witch, and leaped back into the air.
Sutton fought through more rogues as he headed toward the kiln.
A hellish scream came from the bunkhouses.
It was a game, a way to divert his attention and kill him. He had to kill Styx first, then Axel or the other Wing Slayer Hunters could help the screaming woman. He knew that Axel would have sent out a 911. Ram, Phoenix, and Key were coming, so he forced himself to ignore the sobs coming from the row of bunkhouses.
He stalked to the kiln, pulling out his phone, and dialed Darcy to open the line. “I’m almost to the kiln.”
“Say ‘now’ when you’re ready for interference,” Darcy said.
A bullet tore into his calf. He whipped around, snapped down a blade, and threw it straight into the heart of the tall, thick rogue who shot him. The man dropped his gun and slumped to the ground.
Still holding the phone, he turned back. “Got it,” he said as he passed between the house and bunkhouses to the kiln. The chimney stuck out of a roof supported by four posts. He was sure that the rogues had been using the kiln to get rid of bodies, both witches and rogues. Focus, he told himself, and he went silent and invisible. He moved past the massive oven, the loud roar of the heating elements sickening him. He saw the man standing in front of the oven door, surrounded by six armed women obviously acting as guards. They stood shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle, but the man was a full head taller than the women.
It had to be Styx and his brainwashed mortals. From what he could see, Styx was just over six feet, with dirty blond hair, brown eyes, a soft face, and hairless arms. He was holding a knife and running his fingers over it. He recognized the knife from the vision.
It was Keri.
And that bastard was touching her.
“I know you’re there. I’m psychic, possessing powers you can’t even imagine.”
Sutton dropped his shield. “More like you can see the blood from my leg in the dirt.” He was aware of movement behind him. Probably rogues or maybe other mortal women. It was a trap, of course. Luring him there with the hope of saving Carla then killing him, too.
Styx’s gaze traveled over him, wings and all, then he shrugged. “You can’t doubt me. Look what I’ve done to Carla. Even now, she’s dying. And when I throw this knife in the kiln?” He grinned. “Toast.”
Hatred exploded in his mind. He’d never been an emotional fighter, and he determinedly ignored the pulsing rage. Too much was at stake for him to get stupid by trash talk. He had to be cold, analytical, and fast.
With his knife in one hand, and the opened phone in the other, he took a step that brought him just below the roof of the shelter.
Styx said, “So here’s the question. If I throw the knife in the oven, will you dive in after it—to a fiery death—to save your witch’s life?”
Sutton wanted to get the best advantage before scrambling Styx’s psychic waves. As casually as possible, he looked around, including the dozen or so rogues behind him.
Psychic or not, Styx didn’t get how the Wing Slayer Hunters worked. They had each other’s backs. It was just a matter of how long it would take the men to arrive. Once they got there, Sutton wasn’t worried about all the rogues behind him.
His concern was the brainwashed women. He hoped their plan worked and the witches could confuse Styx’s psychic powers enough to cut his link to the women. Then he could get the knife without killing them. Were the others here yet? The roar of the kiln would mask the sounds. He decided to draw this out a few more minutes. “If you throw that knife in, what’s to stop me from killing you?”
Styx laughed. “You can’t kill me. Oh, you can try, and these women will kill you. Or the men behind you will kill you. Or maybe I’ll kill you.”
His arrogance and confidence were unchecked. This man had been getting away with everything from rape to murder by using his psychic gift. He’d manipulated his own father. And he’d enhanced his skills, both by witch blood and by using Keri in that knife. He was scum.
Styx grinned. “Do you want me to tell you how I train my girls?”
Sutton tightened his grip on the phone. “You mean brainwash.”
“First I destroy their memories that define them. Then we break them. The boys all like that part. Rape, pain, humiliation, beatings. And once they are broken, I decide who they are. Watch this. Megan and Paula, throw Kelly in the kiln.”
Two of the women reached for the girl between them. She looked to be no more than nineteen. They grabbed her arms and—
He couldn’t let this happen. “Now,” Sutton said and held up the phone. The cell grew hot and started to vibrate in his hand. In seconds, a low drone like a swarm of bees began to fill the air.
“What the hell!” Styx yelled.
Megan and Paula let go of Kelly, who fell to her knees, holding her head. Several of them dropped the guns, or seemed startled to have them. They began to talk at once.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“My head hurts.”
“I can’t think!”
Styx was standing still, a thin line of blood running from his nose. The interference the witches caused was working! Strong enough to burst a blood vessel in his nose. Taking advantage of his confusion, Sutton rushed the rogue psychic, keeping the phone opened. His used his right wing to shove the women back, away from the kiln.
Styx snapped out of his fugue, drew his hand back, and threw the knife toward the fiery oven.
“No!” Sutton dived for the knife and stretched out his hand. He was too far away! If that blade went into the kiln, Keri and Carla would die.
Styx shouted, “Kill him!” to the rogues.
Rage slammed down on Sutton and his eagle screeched. Both man and bird reacted, snapping out their left wing and blocking the path to the oven.
A blast of vicious heat scorched the feathers, and the knife slapped against the inside then fell to the ground.
All hell broke loose. Wing Slayer Hunters rushed the rogues swarming into the shelter.
Styx grabbed the woman closest to him.
Sutton kept the phone up and moved closer. “It’s over, leech. Let her go.”
“I’ll kill her!” He shoved a knife up to the woman’s throat. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” A thin necklace of blood bubbled up on the terrified woman’s throat.
He wasn’t going to let him kill the woman, or hurt anyone else. Styx and his mind games ended now. Lifting the phone higher, he said, “Phone for you. It’s the witches. They’re destroying your power.”
Enraged, he screamed, “No! They can’t! I can destroy their minds!” His nosebleed began to gush.
Sutton dropped the phone, snapped his wrist, and caught the thin blade. He hurled it past the woman’s head and into Styx’s right eye.
“Kill him!” Styx screamed, dropping his hold on the woman to yank the blade from his eye. He tried to grab another confused woman, and Sutton leaped, using his right wing to knock the woman free and slam Styx into the ground.
Styx smashed the heel of his boot into the gunshot wound on Sutton’s calf.
Sutton jammed the heel of his palm into the bastard’s bloody eye, shoved his elbow into his throat, and while Styx writhed and grunted beneath him, he grabbed Styx’s knife and stabbed it into his chest.
Styx’s good eye shot open in shock.
Sutton shoved off him and said, “Don’t need to be psychic to know you’ll spend eternity as a shade.”
The life drained out of that eye, and he was dead.
Sutton hurried to the kiln and found the silver knife on the dirt just two feet from the yawning mouth of fire that would have destroyed Keri’s soul and killed Carla. He leaned down and gently picked up the knife.
It was hot, too hot from being so close to the opened oven. Blisters formed on his hand, but he ignored that, unwilling to let the knife go now that he had it. “I’ve got you, Keri, and I’m taking you back to your sister and mother.” He picked up his own knife that he had dropped in the leap to save Keri and put it in his holster. The heat of the oven made his left wing hurt worse, and his right calf screamed with each step.
Leaving the shelter, he saw that dead rogues littered the compound. A group of women was gathered in front of the bunkhouses and Key was talking to them, calming them down.
All the hunters were torn and bleeding, but they were alive.
Axel limped up. “That wing looks like shit. Can you fly?”
He dropped his gaze to the knife that held Keri’s soul, then back up to Axel. “Yes.” He hoped like hell that was true. Come on, eagle, we have to reunite the sisters. One more time, for Carla. He took four steps and leaped into the air like he’d seen Axel do.
The eagle spread his wings and took them home.
Carla was dying. She had made the wrong choice, the selfish choice, and she was dying for it. For loving Sutton. For choosing him over Keri.
For taking Keri’s soul mirror, her eagle.
The drilling in her head made her nauseous and her vision was dimming. She was cold and shivering. But she could see Darcy, standing in front of the sliding glass door framed in the glow of the breaking dawn, her hands stretched out to the side, palms up, as she was channeling power from the Circle Witches through the cell phone attached to her ear.
She didn’t need clear vision to know that Darcy was beautiful in her power.
Carla’s mom was on the bed next to her, the laptop on her thighs. She was working with the Circle Witches, sending her power along with the rest of them.
Jerome sat on a chair at the end of the bed. Worry and grief made him appear thinner and smaller. “Carla, is Styx trying to reach you?”
“No.” Her mouth was dry and her lips rough from peeling.
“This will work,” he insisted.
She didn’t tell him that she could feel her life force leaving her. She wasn’t going to survive. But it was Keri that she was worried about. Keri’s very soul was dying. That wasn’t fair, and it was her fault. She tried to focus her eyes. “Dad, if I don’t survive, please tell Darcy to try to free Keri. Even if there’s just a spark of a chance that her soul will survive and go on.”
Her mom inhaled sharply.
“You’re upsetting your mother,” Jerome said in a choked voice.
“I’m sorry. Please, promise me, Dad.” Keri can’t die off forever. Her soul was too passionate and loving, too caring, too full of life. She had to go on to her next life.
Her father dropped his head. “I’ll tell her.”
“Thank you.”
“Carla, don’t give up hope,” her mom said, breaking her concentration. She put her arm around Carla’s shoulders. “Sutton will get the knife and get back here.”
Sutton. Her throat tightened, her eyes burned, and her heart ached. She loved him and she had felt their souls touch each other. How had it all gone so wrong? Because he wasn’t hers.
“Okay” was all she managed before hundreds of voices filled her head. They were singing, but it was a horrible jumble, different words, different tunes, even different languages. They kept getting louder and louder, the volume rising steadily.
Stop! Styx screamed in her head.
Then a blast of heat swamped her and she couldn’t breathe. Her chest locked up while sweat popped out on her skin. “Hot.” She struggled in the bed, weakly trying to kick off the covers.
She felt her mother’s hand on her head. “You’re burning up!”
Jerome leaped out of the chair. “Is she breathing?”
“Yes, but she’s too hot! Do something!” Chandra cried.
She tried to grab her mom’s hand, but her limbs were too heavy. “Keri’s hot.” The prongs in her head were vibrating violently. She could feel her sister’s soul struggling feebly but there was nothing to hold her. Just the hot silver of the knife suffocating her.
Was she in the kiln? Carla’s eyes filled with tears, but she was too weak to do anything but feel. I’m sorry, Keri. I’m so sorry.
She tried to open her eyes but everything was dim and far away. And colder. A chill raced along her skin and sank into her bones. And she was so tired, her muscles too heavy to even shiver anymore.
“Carla?” Darcy said.
Carla could feel Darcy’s hand on her arm, but she couldn’t see her. It was too hard to talk.
“Carla,” Darcy said more urgently. “Hang on! Sutton is coming! It’s over, he’s got Keri and he’s coming.”
“Try” was all she could manage.
Sutton landed outside the cabin in the front. The sun was beginning to rise, revealing the isolation he had always loved. He heard the waves crashing below, the birds singing, and his heart thudding.
Linc walked up to him. “Everything’s been quiet here.”
“Thanks.” His attention turned to the sliding glass door to his bedroom as Darcy raced out, her long ponytail flying. “Sutton! Hurry!”
He rushed toward her, ignoring his right calf screaming in pain where he’d taken the bullet. He passed Darcy and headed for the door.
The wings folded tight against his back so he could get through the door. Distantly he wondered why the wings didn’t disappear, but maybe the burned wing couldn’t do it. Or maybe the wings were permanent since he and the eagle had forced them out. He didn’t care. He clutched the knife in his hand and hurried to the bed.
He knew Jerome and Chandra were standing on the other side of the bed, and that Darcy had come in behind him, but all he cared about was the woman under layers of blankets. She lay still and pale as death. There were obscene dark circles under her eyes. His heart jerked and pounded. The eagle let out a keening sound and his wings opened up, trying to reach her. “Carly?” His voice came out a croak.
Her eyelids fluttered.
He reached across Carla and set the knife in Chandra’s trembling hand. Knowing Keri was safe with her mother, he pulled the mountain of covers off Carla and lifted her into his arms. “Baby, I have the knife. I have Keri.”
She opened her eyes slowly. They were unfocused. “Cold.”
His wings wrapped around her. Now Sutton knew why the wings hadn’t faded into his tattoo. The eagle wanted to touch Carla, comfort her, love her. “Better? The eagle has his wings around you.”
She blinked, turning her face into the feathers touching her.
He looked up, his gaze landing on Jerome. “What do we do? Styx is dead, why isn’t she better?” Carla felt insubstantial in his arms, like she was slipping away from him. His heart pounded hard enough to burst.
Jerome shoved both hands through his wild hair. “She and Keri are too weak. Cut her with the knife. If Keri’s soul is strong enough, they will re-bond and Carla can pull Keri out of the knife. That should save Keri, which will in turn save Carla.”
Oh, hell no. He’d known he’d have to break their bond somehow, but this? It sickened him. He couldn’t hurt her, he couldn’t do it. This was his nightmare, the one where he’d seen his hand holding the silver knife and cutting Carla. How many times had he woken, craving witch blood and hating himself for it? Telling himself he was one day closer to having to end his life so he didn’t become the monster that cut Carla.
Chandra walked up to him, holding the knife carefully. “You have to.”
Panic raced over his skin, making his head roar, and the wings tried to cover Carla, to shield her from him. He stared at Chandra, “I can’t.”
Jerome said, “Has to be you. You have to do it to break your bond with her or she won’t be able to rebond with Keri.”
Darcy sucked in a breath.
He looked over at Carla’s best friend. He wasn’t sure what he’d thought he’d have to do to break the bond … but this? “True?”
Her brown eyes fill
ed with gold agony, and her witch-shimmer was almost gray with worry. “Yes.”
“She’ll feel it? The blade and the break?”
He saw her struggle with what she should say, but he knew she was telling him the truth when her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes. She has to feel it for it to work.”
He had to hurt her. Goddamn it. How could he do it? He knew he had to, and he knew that by doing it, he was irrevocably cutting her bond to him. Forever. Carla would not make the same mistake twice. She knew now that he and Keri were soul mirrors.
But he wanted Carla. Loved Carla. Lived for her. He was going to stab the woman he loved.
He was a monster. Like his mother said, like his dreams showed him. This was what he brought Carla with his blind insistence that she belonged to him.
Carla’s breath labored and started to rattle. Her body shuddered from the effort to draw air. She felt so fragile in his arms.
Darcy said, “You have to do it, Sutton. Now. Both Carla and Keri are getting too weak. Time’s running out.”
Chandra held out the knife, her hand shaking.
He stared at that silver knife. “Where do I cut her?”
Jerome answered, “The scar. Keri will recognize it.”
He took the knife and closed his eyes. “Leave, just leave us alone.”
Chandra brushed Carla’s hair back and kissed her forehead. “Ancestors be with you,” she said and turned to leave. Jerome put his arm around Chandra.
Darcy put her hand on Sutton’s shoulder. “She chose you out of love. She won’t blame you for this.”
He wasn’t even surprised. Darcy was that compassionate and kind, forgiving him when he would never forgive himself.
When the door closed softly and they were alone, he carried Carla to the bed, sat on the edge, and laid the knife on the cool sheet next to his thigh. He could feel her struggle for each breath. Maybe Wing Slayer was punishing him for not putting him before Carly. But why did he always have to take away the ones he loved? Sutton tried begging for her life. “Wing Slayer, please, save her. I’ll give you anything.” He brought her face up to his and brushed his mouth over hers. “I love you, Carly.”
Soul Magic Page 31