A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (7 page)

“I assure you I can forget everything that’s happened.” She knew these hunters prized the secrecy of their existence—not to mention the secrecy of lycans’ existence. “I won’t talk to anyone. I promise. Who would believe me?”

He patted her shoulder. “Stay put and we’ll be with you soon, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart
. The word rankled. His condescension rankled. She was almost tempted to explain to him just what she was and what she could do. Of course, that would probably be the end of her. Assuming they knew to decapitate her.

Before she could say anything else, he shut the door in her face. She slapped the wall with a frustrated growl. Whirling around, she paced the room, trying to erase the image of Darius strapped in that chair, prepped for all manner of horrible torture. She needed to worry about herself, about stopping Balthazar’s new witch. Not about some lycan.

He probably deserved whatever they did for his past deeds. His very existence was a threat, a risk to innocent lives everywhere. She shouldn’t care about his fate.

She
shouldn’t
.

* * *

C
ONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED GRADUALLY.
L
IKE
an annoying gnat buzzing about his head, Darius tried to push it away, reluctant to embrace it. When pain coursed through his body he gasped, his head shooting straight
up, eyes wide and aching as he surveyed his surroundings, instantly assessing his position in the middle of a roomful of hunters.

“He’s awake,” several of them shouted. They tightened their ranks around him, their anxiousness palpable. They reminded him of children at the circus, eager for the show.

As his awareness sharpened, so did the pain. He struggled against the silver chains restraining him, hissing and going still at the fresh wave of agony. The sweet odor of searing flesh filled his nose. Smoke lifted from him as if he was a piece of meat on the grill.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Sam asked from beside him, his eyes glittering with satisfaction.

He swallowed back a response, afraid a plea would escape. He’d beg nothing of this hunter. Of any of them. They couldn’t hurt him as much as he’d suffered already, countless times in countless lives.

Pushing the pain aside, his thoughts jumped to Tresa. What had they done with her? A quick glance to her bedroom revealed the door to be shut. Was she still cuffed in there? He felt himself leaning forward against his chains. The fire burned hotter in his chest and arms.

“What’d you do with her?” he demanded.

Several hunters exchanged looks and he
immediately regretted the words, realizing he’d come off sounding worried. Letting them think he meant to make a meal out of her put her in a better position. He didn’t examine why he should want to protect her. He just did.

“The woman you had cuffed to that bed? She’s fine,” one of them answered. “Fortunately we got to her before you could ruin her.”

Darius curled his lips in a deliberate sneer. “Too bad. She would have tasted sweet.”

“Bastard.” A fair-haired hunter lunged forward, his face flushed angrily. His comrades pulled him back.

Darius chuckled. “After a few weeks with me, moonrise wouldn’t have come soon enough for her. She would have begged me to finish her off.”

The young hunter flailed wildly, intent on breaking through his friends to reach Darius. They forced him outside. “Walk it off, Klonsky.”

Apparently Tresa had gained a savior. He ignored his flash of annoyance. He should be relieved. He wouldn’t put it past these hunters to kill her so she didn’t spread word of their existence—or the existence of lycans. It wouldn’t be the first time hunters had killed in the name of their cause.

Sam got in his face. “You like brutalizing women, dog?”

Darius chuckled. The man sounded so heroic. “Actually, I don’t. Would you believe I abstain from violence and feeding on humans? Every full moon I lock myself away…”

Sam snorted and his hand lashed out, grinding deeper the silver chain directly over Darius’s heart.

Darius cringed, tensing against the pain, his body going as straight as a charged wire.

“Enough,” a voice commanded.

Still glowering down at Darius, Sam stepped back, allowing another hunter to move directly in front of him. He was middle-aged and possessed none of Sam’s ferocity as he coolly looked Darius over.

Darius took several deep breaths, staring at this hunter through the steam smoldering off his body. “What do you want with me?” He was no fool. If they hadn’t killed him yet, it was because they wanted something.

Clearly this hunter was the group’s leader. His features revealed nothing as he assessed Darius. “Intel, of course. You’re a very old lycan. You must know a great deal about other packs out there.”

“I’ve been running solo a long time. I
don’t
know about others out there.”

He motioned to Darius’s body with a smooth
wave of his hand. “Your end is inevitable. How much pain you want to suffer first is up to you. Silver is the only thing that can kill you,” he reminded Darius unnecessarily. “But let me assure you that my imagination is limitless. Over the years, I’ve learned that a lycan can withstand a lot of abuse.” For a long moment he held Darius’s gaze, as though he wanted his point—and the
fear
—to settle in.

Darius let loose a single laugh. “And over the years, I’ve learned that pain is relative.”

A flicker of irritation flared in the hunter’s eyes, the first sign of emotion Darius had detected from him. “Indeed. Then let’s begin.” He nodded to Sam.

With an avid grin, Sam made certain the clamps on Darius’s chest were secure. Darius held the leader’s gaze, his expression blank as he forced his mind to glide away… to drift to a place where he could wait out the onslaught of torture.

Sam stepped away and flipped a switch on a device sitting on the coffee table. Instantly, electricity flooded Darius’s body. The force of it arched his spine, driving him to pull against the ropes of silver.

He clenched his teeth, trying to swallow back the scream, but it was useless. He couldn’t hold silent against the torture.

S
EVEN

T
he door to her room opened. Tresa scrambled off the bed where she’d been curled up in a ball, trying to block out the sound of Darius’s screams. At the first cries, she had trembled and pulled the pillow over her head. But it did no good. She shook at the sound of his screams, imagining the pain he was suffering.

And she’d wept. She couldn’t help herself. With his every shout, every low, keening moan, she felt herself splintering inside. The knowledge that she had done this—that she was responsible for
him,
for what he was… for the existence of these hunters…

It was too much.

Several times she had stood up, determined to rush through the door and try to stop them, the overwhelming need to explain that he wasn’t the type of lycan they should be hunting burning on her lips. It wasn’t his fault that he was what he was.

She stopped each time, reminding herself that if she showed the slightest sympathy, they’d likely strap her up beside him and inflict the same torture on her. She had to keep silent. Save herself. Escape. Balthazar was out there with his new witch, and their killing spree had to be stopped.

Darius had fallen silent over an hour ago. She’d watched the clock, timing the ominous silence. At least his screams had told her he still lived. Now she could only wonder if he was still alive.

Klonsky smiled uncertainly at her. “You doing better?” he asked, smoothing a hand over his fair, feathery hair.

“Yes. Thank you.” She nodded, straining for a glimpse beyond his shoulder.

“Come on.” He motioned for her to follow him from the room.

She hesitated, unsure. What did they want with her? Had they decided she was a liability? A witness they couldn’t keep alive?

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “We decided you can go.”

“I can?” She blinked. They were letting her go? She could just stroll out of here?

He moved to grasp her elbow. “I persuaded them to let you go. You can come back after we’ve left.”

As if she would ever return here. “Th-thanks.”

He peered down at her, his gaze intense. “Forget what you saw. No one will believe you even if you tell. But if we hear anything, if you show up on some talk show, we’ll find you…” He let his sentence trail off ominously.

She didn’t need him to elaborate. They had tracked down Darius. A feat in itself, she suspected. He didn’t seem like the sort to let himself get captured.

She nodded fiercely. “I understand. I won’t talk.”

“Good girl.” Patting her arm in an irritating manner, he led her from the room.

The hunters were all still here. None so much as glanced at her. A few sat at her kitchen table, inspecting their gear. Another peered inside her refrigerator. She clenched her jaw and tried not to look bothered by their total invasion of her home. She just needed to get out of here.

She stumbled when she caught sight of Darius in the center of the room. He was still strapped to the chair, his flesh bloody and raw, exposed where the silver chains looped around him. Bile rose in the back of her throat. His head sagged, and for a moment she thought he was dead. But then his head lifted, slowly, as if the effort pained him.

As though he sensed her, those startling pewter eyes locked on her. Well, at least one eye did. His right eye was badly swollen and sealed shut.

She felt trapped, pinned beneath his stare. It was impossible to look away. His face revealed nothing, no expression, just the ravages of his beatings. A hot stab of pity twisted through her. And guilt, too.

She inhaled a ragged breath. She shouldn’t feel guilty that the lycan who’d held her captive was in this predicament. He might deserve her pity, but she shouldn’t feel
guilty
. He’d heal. As much as he suffered, as bad as he looked, these weren’t mortal wounds.

Her gaze drifted to the pistols the hunters carried, certain no ordinary bullets sat in those chambers. Who was she kidding? It was just a matter of time before they killed him with a silver bullet.

He’s not your concern, Tresa.

She squared her shoulders and told herself to forget the lycan. He was not her responsibility. She couldn’t save him.

She reached for her bag, trampled and shoved against the wall, still near the door where she’d left it the day before. Had it only been hours? It felt like days as she’d sat in her
room listening to Darius’s cries. She fought the urge to look back at him again.

Klonsky reached for the handle of her bag. “You sure you’ll be okay? I can take you into town.”

“Klonksy,” another hunter called, his voice annoyed. “Let her go.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, reaching to take her bag from him, eager to be free of this testosterone-charged room.

Klonksy ignored the other hunter and dipped his head to meet her gaze. He smiled. Charmingly, she supposed, if her heart weren’t pounding a hundred beats a second. Either he was flirting with her or he was sincerely concerned for her welfare. Whatever the case, she didn’t care.

He took her arm as if she were something delicate. As if she required escorting. How quickly his treatment of her would alter if he knew what she really was.

She slid her arm free. “I can manage. Thank you.”

“You heard her, Klonksy,” the other hunter called out again, his blunt features reflecting his impatience. “Leave her be and get back to the job.”

She swallowed against the thickness in her
throat.
The job
. The job of exterminating lycans. Mostly a good thing, except this one, Darius… he was different. She knew that.

Picking up her bag, she moved for the door. All the while, she imagined she felt Darius’s gaze burning on her back from where he sat. A prisoner. Awaiting his execution.

* * *

D
ARIUS TORE HIS GAZE
off the door through which Tresa had just departed. With his one good eye, he’d observed her clearly as she strolled out of the house, out of his grasp, without a backward glance.

The hunter Sam stared after her with a dazed expression. Taken in by a witch. He supposed he could understand that. She’d affected him, too. She’d made him question his conviction that she was every bit as bad as her demon.

It was tempting to forget what she was, what she had done. Lucky for him, he was practiced at denying himself temptation.

Tearing his gaze from the door, he commanded himself to forget her. He needed to focus on survival. He’d hunt her down again later.

The pain from the silver was a constant now. Unremitting. A deep burning in his flesh.
A sting that radiated through his body. If he moved, fresh agony would stab him, fresh smoke would waft from him. He inhaled thinly through his nostrils and let his head droop and loll. Best if they thought him weak and beaten.

He surveyed them from beneath his lashes, taking a head count. Eighteen hunters armed to the teeth. Tough odds. One fatal shot from a silver bullet and he was finished. Not that he had anything to lose. He’d be dead if he stayed, if he didn’t try to escape.

He held himself motionless, readying for his next move, waiting for the right moment.

* * *

T
RESA TRIED NOT TO
run once she stepped outside the house, certain that would only draw suspicion. But then, she supposed a woman suffering abduction and abuse at the hands of a lycan might run. That thought in her mind, she didn’t worry when her steps quickened.

She fumbled with the garage opener in her bag and opened the door behind which her SUV sat parked. Still shaking, she didn’t wait to let the engine warm up. She backed out and gunned it down the driveway to the road, glancing several times in the rearview mirror, almost expecting to see Darius giving chase
behind her. Ridiculous, of course. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t going anywhere ever again.

Her stomach twisted sickly and she struck the steering wheel with her fist.

They wouldn’t kill him swiftly. She’d seen that in their eyes. They reminded her of other men, from a long time ago. Knights who’d invaded her home with the same mercilessness in their eyes. Heartless assassins, they carried the same stink, eager to follow commands to destroy and take life.