The Bonds of Blood (The Final Formula Series, Book 4.5)

by Becca Andre

George straightened and tipped his head back with a sigh. He smacked his lips. “Damn that’s nice.”

  “Get off me.” James rolled his shoulder. The hole in his back was gone.

  George laughed and with a shove, rose to his feet.

  James sprang up into a crouch, the padlock clanking against the chain around his throat. His eyes narrowed as they watched George, but he made no other move.

  George walked to the bed and picked up a pair of pajama bottoms draped across the end. “Put those on.” He threw the pants at James. “I don’t want to spend the drive looking at that dead dick.”

  “Drive?” Elysia asked. “Where are you taking us?”

  James pulled on the pants, but never took his eyes off his brother.

  “Home. I need to secure my brother until I can get our passports together for a trip to England.” He gave James a grin.

  “Why England?” she asked.

  “My ancestors built an ingenious tomb there. Perfect for a dead family member.” He answered her, but his eyes remained on James.

  “It’s the place where Gavin was entombed,” James said, though like George, he kept his eyes on his brother when he spoke. “And until then, he intends to lock me in the old bank vault in the basement of his gun shop in Portsmouth… with our mother.”

  “With—” Elysia didn’t get to finish her question before George leapt across the space separating him from James and seized him by the dog collar.

  “What do you know of that?” he shouted in James’s face.

  “I found her,” James answered, his gaze holding George’s. “Her and the journal. And now I have them both.”

  “No!” George slammed his fist into the James’s face.

  Elysia flinched at the sickening crunch, then George hit him again. This time, George released his hold on the collar, and James went stumbling until he slammed into the wall beside the door.

  “You took her from me once,” George whispered. “You will not take her from me again.” He launched himself at James once more.

  Elysia gasped, but James rolled out of George’s reach a mere fraction of a second before he could seize him.

  “Ely, get out of here!” James shouted, turning to face George as he charged him again. This time, James didn’t step back. Instead, he threw a punch of his own.

  George twisted to the side at the last moment and took only a glancing blow across his cheek.

  Elysia turned and ran for the door. If she could get to a phone and call Ian—

  A gun shot exploded behind her, and prickles of pain erupted across her cheek and throat. She threw herself to the side, and her shoulder slammed into the doorframe, almost dropping her. Then she saw the gouge in the doorframe beside her. She had been sprayed with chunks of wood when the bullet struck. Thank God none had hit her in the eye.

  “Don’t. Move,” George said from behind her.

  She turned to face him and found herself looking down the barrel of his gun.

  George took a step away from James, keeping both of them in sight. “I really want a piece of that,” he said to James, “but the fact remains that she is expendable. As long as I have you, we can always find another girl.”

  James lifted his lips away from his teeth in a silent snarl.

  “But I think you’d be disappointed, little brother.” George smiled. Abruptly, he grabbed James by the collar once more, his mood changing in the blink of an eye. “You’d better be lying about Mother. If she’s gone, you’re not going to like the consequences.”

  Elysia snorted. “And they say necromancers have sick fetishes about the dead.”

  The gunshot registered at the same moment a burning pain erupted in her shoulder. She gripped her upper arm and doubled over.

  “Ely!” James shouted.

  A smack of flesh on flesh followed.

  “Calm yourself,” George said. “It was just a graze. I told you, I want her.”

  Ignoring the pain, Elysia straightened. James was on his knees at his brother’s feet, but George was grinning at her.

  “But next time, the bullet goes through her heart.” He gave her a wink, a faint green glow still burning in his eyes.

  Chapter 18

  James slammed his feet against the door of the dog box and heard the padlock clank against the hasp outside. Had he also heard wood split? It was hard to tell over the roar of the truck’s oversized tires on the pavement. James wasn’t certain if George had decided to steal the big 4X4 pickup because he liked it or because it had a large dog box built across the back of the bed, just behind the cab. Both, probably.

  On the plus side, if George was driving, he couldn’t molest Elysia. Though he had made her join him in the cab after locking James in the dog box.

  James pushed his bare feet against the wooden door, testing it for weak spots to determine where to land his next kick. Old cedar chips lined the box, his movements kicking up dust and dog hair. Blue tick hounds, if he had to guess. The truck’s owner was probably a raccoon hunter.

  James paused to sneeze, the act kicking up even more dust and compounding the problem. He slammed his feet into the door, and this time, he definitely heard a crack—at the same moment a sliver of wood jammed into the arch of his foot. He growled a curse, reaching down to search the sole of his foot for the sliver. He wouldn’t bleed, but damn that hurt.

  Tires squealed as the truck jerked to the side, throwing James against the wall. He grunted on impact, then the truck changed direction, throwing him across the width of the box to slam against the other wall. The brakes locked up, and this time, he was thrown against the back wall, smacking his head soundly.

  The truck slowed rapidly, sliding a little sideways, the sound of the road changing as it seemed they now slid over gravel. The vehicle jerked to a stop at last, and James released a breath, his ears ringing from the blow to the head. Had a deer run out in front of them?

  “Damn it,” James grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Even when he wasn’t trying, George managed to hurt him.

  One of the truck doors opened. Feet hit the gravel. Elysia.

  “James, get free!” she shouted.

  The command hit him, and he twisted around to line up another kick at the door, even as he heard George’s door open. James slammed his feet into the door again, snarling as the move drove the sliver of wood deeper into his foot.

  Elysia’s rapid footfalls were moving away from the truck.

  A gun fired.

  “Shit!” James slammed his feet against the door again.

  “Stand right there,” George commanded.

  James released a breath. If George was giving Elysia commands, he hadn’t shot her. Well, he hadn’t killed her.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” George demanded. “Trying to kill us all?” It sounded like he was just holding his temper in check.

  James. Elysia’s mental voice whispered in his mind. There’s a cemetery over the hill beside this gravel lot. I’m already animating the dead. If you can distract him, I can use the zombies to catch him.

  James stilled. He didn’t like her being involved in this.

  A soft thump that shook the truck was followed by her grunt. Had George shoved her against the side of the truck?

  “I don’t think you’re upset about nearly dying,” Elysia said, a smile in her voice. “I think it bothers you more that I got the better of you. If you weren’t so busy trying to get your hand up my dress, you would have seen me grab the wheel.”

  She grunted again, but James hadn’t heard him strike her.

  “Careful,” George said through clenched teeth. “I was about to stop, anyway. I couldn’t stand being in that cab with you any longer. We’re only going to Portsmouth to lock up the dog. The rest doesn’t matter. I’ll take you right here.”

  She gasped. “Get off me.” />
  James slammed his feet against the door of the dog box with all his might, not caring that it drove the sliver deeper into his foot.

  A gun fired, and pain stabbed him in the stomach.

  “James!” Elysia cried.

  “Bust out of that box, and I’ll kill her, understood?” George demanded.

  “Touch her, and I will kill you,” James promised. “Understood?”

  Suddenly, George grunted, and another thump sounded against the side of the truck.

  “Dumb bitch,” George snarled the words, but thankfully, there was no sound of flesh on flesh to follow it up. Then he laughed. “She’s running toward this little cemetery.” He thumped his hand on top of the dog box. “What do you think, dead man? Shall my son be conceived among your brethren?”

  James twisted around, grimacing at the pain in his stomach, until his shoulders now pressed against the door.

  “The Hunt begins,” George said. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots marked his departure.

  James braced his feet against the back of the box. There was no way this could end well. If George figured out that Elysia was a necromancer, he would kill her. And if he didn’t figure it out, he would rape her.

  Using his feet on the wall to give him some leverage, James pushed against the door. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, awakening fresh pain from the bullet wound. He clamped his mouth closed, yet he couldn’t quite stop the cry that escaped. But George was most likely consumed by the Hunt now. If he noticed, he wouldn’t care.

  The door popped, the wood breaking away from one hinge. James relaxed and took a couple of deep breaths in preparation for another attempt. He hoped George had left a weapon in the truck. He was going to need some help. Injured and locked in iron, he didn’t have a lot of hope in taking his brother down.

  One more deep breath—that hurt his wounded abdomen as well—and he tensed to push against the door. Suddenly, it gave behind him, and he fell backward through the opening, grunting on impact. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the nearly full moon as he gathered his strength.

  A shadow fell across him, and a skeletal face leaned into view.

  “Oh hell.”

  Elysia must have already raised one zombie and fed it her blood. Just his luck, it had come for him instead of George.

  James rolled to the side as the zombie reached for him. Fleshless fingers brushed his bare shoulder, but failed to find purchase. He continued the roll coming up on his hands and knees. Gripping the side of the truck, he prepared to haul himself over the side, but the zombie seized him by the arm and pulled him back. Skeletal fingers dug into his biceps, piercing the skin. The zombie jerked him back into the truck and threw him down. James’s back thumped against the truck bed and the remains of the kennel door, the busted hinge slicing into his shoulder. Iron. That wasn’t good. He was bleeding.

  The zombie groaned and reached for his throat.

  James pulled up his knees and slammed both feet into the thing’s chest. The blow staggered the zombie back several feet until its lower legs collided with the tailgate. Unable to stop its momentum, the zombie tumbled backward out of the truck.

  Teeth gritted against the pain, James pushed himself up. Something clanked with his movement, and he discovered a shovel and a pair of post-hole diggers lying against the side of the bed. Perhaps the truck’s owner had been installing a fence. James sent a silent word of thanks to the industrious fellow and picked up the shovel.

  Skeletal fingers gripped the tailgate, and a moment later, the zombie pulled itself up into the bed once more.

  “Determined, aren’t you?” James asked.

  The zombie had no response, of course. It shuffled toward him, hands outstretched.

  James lifted the shovel and waited. One step, two, then the zombie was in range. He swung with all his might, catching the thing squarely in the throat with the edge of the shovelhead. The metal cleaved through the shriveled muscle and tendon, severing the spine. The head flew free, landing in the gravel beyond the truck. An instant later, the body fell to the truck bed with a hollow thump, breaking apart on impact.

  James released a breath, grateful the body had been so decayed that it had only taken a single blow. He wrapped an arm around his stomach, taking shallow breaths until the pain was manageable.

  Climbing out of the truck wasn’t easy, but he did it as quickly as possible. Pausing a moment to search the truck cab for weapons—and finding none—he gripped the shovel and limped toward the cemetery.

  Chapter 19

  James crested the small hill and stopped in the shadow of a large buckeye tree to assess the situation. He would do Elysia no good if George got another quarrel in him.

  The moon washed the old cemetery of color, but he had no problem locating Elysia. She stood near the center of the graveyard with her back against a large obelisk.

  “Did you really think you could escape that easily?” George stood beneath the spreading branches of a nearby tree, only ten yards from Elysia.

  “No.” She pushed off the obelisk and faced him. Her hair had fallen down around her shoulders, the golden strands appearing silver in the moonlight. “But then, I wasn’t trying to escape you.” She smiled. “Welcome to my world, Hunter.”

  James couldn’t decide if he wanted to groan or grin at her bravado. He loved her courage, but doubted that she fully appreciated George’s capabilities. Clinging to the shadows, he glided down the hill.

  George left the cover of the tree he stood beneath, and something glinted in his hand: his large hunting knife. “What the hell are you talking about, woman?”

  Elysia smiled, then spread her arms to encompass the cemetery. “Rise,” she said, her voice carrying easily. Groans sounded around her as at least a dozen zombies crawled from the ground.

  George took a step back. “Necromancer.” His lip twisted in disgust.

  James wanted to shake his head. She had brought the bodies close to the surface while waiting for George to reveal himself. Then raised the zombies for effect. Foolish. She should have sent them after George as fast as she could.

  Elysia grinned. “I told you I knew a little something about Old Magic.” A zombie stopped beside her, and she reached over to brush some dirt from its shoulder.

  George didn’t turn to watch the zombies emerging from their graves all around him. His eyes remained on her. “No way in hell will I let a necromancer birth my son.”

  “That wasn’t going to happen, anyway. Besides, my bloodline is as cursed as yours.”

  George glared at her. “I’m not cursed.”

  “Right. That would be James.”

  George stiffened and glanced around him. James stilled, blending with the shadows of the maple tree he now stood beside. George knew he was free and stalking him.

  “Careful, little brother,” George called out. He sheathed the knife and pulled out the crossbow he had slung over his back.

  “The grim is mine, Hunter.” Elysia held up her left hand, displaying the ring James had placed on her finger only hours ago. “My husband. Now how about we lock you in a little cell?” She looked up at the zombie standing beside her. “Grab him.”

  The zombie surged forward, but once again, George didn’t glance in its direction. He knew what was controlling the zombie. He pulled up the crossbow, aiming it at Elysia.

  James sprang out of the shadows, all pain forgotten as he closed the distance between him and Elysia. George turned, his bow tracking James’s movement. Shit. James chided himself. He had played right into George’s hands.

  He lifted the shovel, intending to intercept the quarrel. The crossbow twanged, and suddenly, James’s view of his brother was blocked by a rotting coat. A zombie had thrown itself into George’s line of fire, taking the bolt for James.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Elysia said, her white eyes meeting James
’s.

  A second zombie had closed with George. It reached for him, but he spun out of its path, swinging the crossbow as he went. He struck the zombie across the back of the neck, and the head flew free. The rest of the body crumbled to the ground at George’s feet.

  “The bodies are too old,” James said to Elysia. “Send them all after him and run.”

  He looked back in time to watch George pull a quarrel from his quiver, but he didn’t get a chance to load it.

  Another zombie charged at him, and George sprang up on the nearest headstone, leaping to the next before the zombie could correct its course. He ran along the tops of the headstones as if they were stepping stones along a garden path. Clamping the quarrel between his teeth, he swung the crossbow over his shoulder and jumped up, catching the limb of an overhanging tree, then pulled himself up with ease.

  “Hey, necromancer,” George called. “Do zombies climb trees?”

  “Sure,” Elysia answered, and the zombies began to hurry toward the tree. She glanced over at James, a smile on her lips. “I treed a Hunter.”

  James gripped her arm and pulled her around to the far side of the obelisk. “He has the high ground—and his bow.”

  She frowned and reached up to touch the chain around his throat. “I sent that zombie to free you, but you had to kill—”

  She cried out, twisting away from him, a quarrel buried in her shoulder. The momentum from the quarrel’s impact sent her stumbling, and her legs became tangled in her gown. Catching her foot on a broken headstone, she fell back.

  James leapt forward, reaching for her, but even as he moved, he knew he was too late. He could clearly see George’s intent, the angle of the shot, how the impact would drive Elysia back, the broken headstone, and finally, the large rectangle of marble that marked the grave behind her.

  The back of her head hit with a sickening crunch.

  “Ely!” James fell to his knees beside her, aware of the zombies dropping to the ground around them. He gripped her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Ely?”

  The smell of her power-laden blood reached his sensitive nose. He slipped a hand behind her neck and up into her damp hair. His fingers came away bloody. Unable to call the hound, he pressed his bloody digits to her throat, then released a breath as her pulse beat a strong rhythm against his fingertips.