by Becca Andre
A soft thump sounded behind him, and James twisted around to watch George straighten after dropping from the tree. Gripping his shovel, James rose to his feet.
“It really pisses me off the way everyone underestimates a Hunter. Without flashy magic like raising the dead or lighting fires, Hunters are seen as little more than human.” George sneered. “The PIA laughed at us. Those agents who faced us in that warehouse aren’t laughing now. And neither is your pretty little necromancer.”
James remained silent, turning to fully face him. The handgun was visible in the holster on George’s belt, but he wouldn’t bother with it. He had already reloaded his bow.
“But you know what really pisses me off?” George continued. “It’s when you underestimate me.” He stopped a few feet away. “I had promised not to lock you away like your predecessor, where the only time you saw another living being was when we brought you the women who would bear the sons of Hunters.”
James was well acquainted with the… life Gavin had led, imprisoned between life and death. Gavin had told him all about it, in graphic detail, long before George had explained what the grim’s true purpose was in continuing the Huntsman bloodline. Then James realized what else George had said. “You promised? Who?”
“Mother.”
James stilled. “What?” The word escaped on a barely audible whisper.
“Of course, that was before you ripped her apart. She might have changed her mind, but never got the chance to tell me.” He lifted his crossbow. “I hope she forgives me.”
James watched his finger tighten around the trigger. He spun the shovel upward, in front of his body as George fired. The quarrel shot across the small space between them and thunked into the handle of the shovel. James turned his shoulders, releasing the shovel as he sprang forward. He caught George square in the chest and took him to the ground.
“I like it when you underestimate me.” James grinned, then pulled back his hand for a punch.
A hint of movement, and James tried to pull away, but couldn’t avoid the knife thrust. George buried his hunting knife in his stomach.
James froze. Angled below his rib cage, George would have no problem shoving the long blade upward and piercing James’s heart.
“I don’t underestimate you,” George said. “I just know you’re a lot slower when locked in iron. For some reason, you seem to forget that.” He smiled.
James wrapped his hand around George’s wrist, just beneath the knife handle. If George succeeded and incapacitated him, James had no doubt that he would kill Elysia.
Without warning, George cried out, releasing the knife handle to reach for his throat.
Shoving himself off his brother, James stared in wonder at the badly decayed hand that had reached through the soil to seize George by the neck. He turned to find Elysia up on one elbow, her white eyes focused on George.
James took a step toward her and stopped. He was bleeding, both from the hasp wound in his back, as well as the knife wound in his stomach. He didn’t dare go near her.
Sensing a presence behind him, James spun and came face to face with another zombie. It reached for his throat.
“It’s okay,” Elysia called to him.
Against his instincts, James stood still as the zombie closed with him. It didn’t wrap its hands around his neck as he expected. Instead, its fleshless fingers wrapped around the dog collar, then pulled.
James gagged as a powerful pull yanked the chain tight across his throat, the boney knuckles digging into his flesh. With a sudden pop, the pressure released, and metal chain links fell to the ground around him. James’s senses roared to life.
Pulling free the knife buried in his upper stomach, James turned—and found the space where George had been empty. Before James could dive for cover, a gun fired. His vision winked out in his right eye as his head was slung back with the impact of the bullet.
James threw himself into the change, and instinct took over even as his awareness grew cloudy. The next thing he knew, he stood on four paws, George’s and Elysia’s souls glowing before him.
George was turning away from him, his arm coming up as he spun. James knew he meant to put the next bullet between Elysia’s eyes.
Unable to clear the distance between them in time, James shifted to human form and snatched up the knife. He could kill his brother or incapacitate him. In that instant, James made up his mind.
George finished his turn, and James released the knife.
The unwieldy hunting knife left his hand and rotated as perfectly as a well-balanced throwing knife as it streaked toward his brother, James’s blood dulling the glint of moonlight on the polished surface. George’s finger tensed around the trigger, then the knife slammed into his chest. The arm holding the gun jerked upward and the gun fired.
Elysia dropped to the ground, raising an arm over her head. Of course, her evasive maneuvers would have come way too late if the bullet hadn’t flown wide, knocked off course by the impact of the knife.
George crumpled to the ground.
“Oh God,” Elysia whispered, her wide eyes on George. The knife was buried to the hilt, directly over his heart. She looked up at James. “What did you do?”
“You’re my anchor now.” Ian was wrong. James wanted to smile, but he could find no joy at this moment. He took no pleasure in killing his brother, even though George had been a cold-blooded killer. “It’s over, Ely. I’m free. We’re free.”
“No,” she whispered, her gaze shifting back to George. “He’s not dead, yet. But his death begins to call me.”
“I feel nothing. I’m still bound to you.” He took a step toward her, but never completed it as darkness rose up, haloing his vision and dropping him to his knees.
“James!” Elysia cried, her voice sounding distant.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision.
James, a new voice whispered. A voice he had heard before. He lifted his head, knowing what he would see.
His silent heart clenched in his chest as the beauty of the light washed over him, taking away all those concerns that had seemed so important just moments before. The light was so much closer this time. He felt the warmth, and it made him aware of his fatigue and how tired he was of this joke he called life.
It’s time, James. A figure stepped forward out of the brilliance, and James recognized the nightgown, even though the stains were gone. He lifted his head and looked up into her blue eyes, knowing instantly who she was. Her dark hair lifted in an unseen breeze and she smiled.
Come. His mother held out a hand to him.
Chapter 20
“James?” Elysia called to him, but he didn’t look at her, his attention focused on the moon above them. “James, please talk to me.”
Getting no response, she glanced at George. His chest still rose and fell, but the gap between breaths was growing.
Elysia pushed herself up on her hands and knees. Darkness rose up and tried to swallow her, but she fought back. Nausea rolled over her and she retched, the action almost making her black out. Struggling to remain conscious, she forced herself to move. She crawled through the unmowed grass, fighting the long skirt of her gown, and the waves of dizziness until she reached George’s side.
Though her head was still bleeding, she shoved her finger into her mouth and bit down. She wasn’t taking any chances. She could feel George’s growing death. Time was running out.
She scrutinized the gash she had made in her finger, and satisfied that it was bleeding heavily enough, shoved the digit between George’s slack lips.
James gasped, and she looked over to find his glowing eyes on her. “Ely, don’t.”
“I’m not going to let you die,” she told him.
“Don’t reap him.”
“I need to keep him alive. Until help arrives. You know how this works.” How many times had they done
it before? She couldn’t seem to remember.
“Help can’t arrive in time,” James whispered. “You feel it. I feel it.” He lifted his head, his still-glowing eyes focused above him. “Can you see the light?”
Her heart pounded harder, making her head thump along with it. She looked up, but saw only moonlight.
“James?”
He turned his head to look at her once more. “I guess you were right. Our bond isn’t strong enough to hold me in this world.” His expression turned sad. “But I guess that’s no surprise. I never belonged on the mortal plane.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
He smiled and his eyes met hers. “I love you, Elysia Grace Mallory… Huntsman.”
She pulled in a breath as the bond knotted tighter than she had ever felt it, competing with the sensation of George’s growing death. His last few breaths were right now wheezing from his lungs.
Screw this. She wasn’t about to let James go. She reached out and captured George’s soul.
“Yes, I know,” James whispered, staring above them. His pupils shrank down to pinpricks as if he stared into the sun. Who was he talking to?
His skin took on that translucent quality Elysia had seen before: when she feed him nearly all of her soul in the land of the dead.
“James, don’t.”
“Ely,” he whispered, laughing a little. “You can’t command me now.”
Oh yeah? Watch. “James Daniel Huntsman, do not go into the light!”
“What?” he whispered. Then his skin seemed to burst into golden flame, and she lifted an arm to shield her eyes. A second passed and she dropped her arm. Dark spots swam before her eyes, but the light was gone.
And so was James.
Elysia stared at the place where he had been, then doubled over and threw up. Blackness closed in around her vision until she made herself stop. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she rocked in place.
“James,” she whispered. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t. Yet her necromantic senses told her that George was dead. As dead as any body littering the ground around them. All of James’s brothers, the lives that had bound his soul to the mortal plane were dead. But was he truly gone?
She closed her eyes, blocking out the chirp of the insects and the calls of the night birds, and in the depths of her soul, sought out that link that bound her to him. James?
Ignoring the pounding of her heart and the warm trickle of blood still running down the back of her neck, she listened.
Elysia?
The bond tightened and she pressed both hands to her mouth, a fresh burst of tears threatening to destroy the silence. He wasn’t gone. She reached out again, imagining that link between them. Where are you, James?
A wave of darkness washed over her, and for a moment, she feared she was about to pass out—until she became aware of the fear. This wasn’t the darkness of encroaching unconsciousness. This was the total darkness of Ian’s tomb the time Neil had locked her inside. Familiar terror enveloped her, and she pulled back with a whimper.
“Oh dear God.” Had James just shown her where he was? Had her forbidding him to go into the light sent him… elsewhere. “No. No, I can’t let that happen.”
She closed her eyes and reached out again. James? The darkness enveloped her immediately. She desperately wanted to pull away, but made herself stand her ground. How do I save you?
A shape whirled out of the darkness. She cried out and opened her eyes, letting in the moonlight. But the image still burned in her mind. It was a pair of dragons—one light, one dark—biting each other’s tails. It was the image Addie had shown her while explaining some alchemical concept.
Of course. Alchemy. The grim was a creation of alchemy.
“Addie,” Elysia whispered. James was sending her to Addie.
She reached up and gripped the nearest headstone and pulled herself to her feet. The darkness that rolled over her this time was the threat of unconsciousness. She gingerly pressed a hand to the back of her head, and it came away wet with blood. If she was going to help James, she needed help first.
She nudged George with her toe. “Get up.”
His eyes opened, and he wheezed as he pulled a breath into his lungs. The knife imbedded in his chest rose and fell. He sat up and then shoved himself to his feet, glancing around with wide eyes until his gaze settled on her.
“You’re going to drive me to the nearest hospital, then you’re going to wait patiently, saying nothing and doing nothing until I’m released.”
He took another breath, absorbing the command.
“Remove that.” She gestured at the knife.
He reached up and pulled the knife from his chest, then stared at the bloodied blade.
“Yes, you’re dead,” she told him. “And you’re mine. I reaped your soul, Hunter.” She smiled, though she took no pleasure in it. “Welcome to hell.”
Afterword
Thank you for reading The Bonds of Blood. I hope you enjoyed it. If you liked it well enough to leave a review; that would be great! There’s more to come in The Final Formula Series. If you want me to notify you when I have a new release, all you need to do is subscribe to my newsletter at http://beccaandre.com. As an added bonus, you’ll also receive an alternate POV scene from one of my novels when you sign up.
Acknowledgements
It’s time again to thank all folks who help me make my stories better. I’d to thank:
Kendra Highley, Lindsay Buroker, Kelly Crawley, Cindy Wilkinson, and Genevieve Turcotte for digging through my typos.
Shelley Holloway for another amazing editing experience.
Glendon Haddix and the team at Streetlight Graphics for the always beautiful cover art and formatting. (Check out my gorgeous website. They did that, too!)
And you, kind reader, for letting me entertain you. I really appreciate the reviews, comments, and emails. Thank you!
About the Author
Becca Andre lives in southern Ohio with her husband, two children, and an elderly Jack Russell Terrier. A love of science and math (yes, she’s weird like that), led to a career as a chemist where she blows things up far more infrequently than you’d expect. Other interests include: chocolate, hard rock, and slaying things on the Xbox. She also finds writing about herself in third person a bit strange.
For more on the world of the Final Formula, upcoming releases, and random ramblings, stop by http://beccaandre.com
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