Twisted (18 page)

Saw movement. Across the street, in the bushes of another house. Leaves rattling, a glow of orange. The color of confidence and determination. Riley pulled from the kiss and narrowed his focal point. The orange glow was faint, as if concealed by a metaphysical scarf, but it was there all the same.

“Riley?”

“Hang on.”

A girl stood from the center of those bushes. Blonde, familiar.
Witch.
She held a crossbow, the tip aimed directly at Mary Ann. Riley jolted to his feet, taking Mary Ann with him even while shoving her out of the way.

He was too late. The action had been anticipated.

The witch moved with him, fluidly shifting her aim. The arrow whizzed faster than a blink. Glass shattered, and that arrow slammed into Mary Ann's back.

She screamed, a high-pitched sound of pain and shock, her eyes flaring wide, her body jolting. She was so close to him, the tip sliced at
Riley's
chest. He jerked her to the floor just as another arrow slicked through the now-open window, this one sticking in the far wall.

“What…happened?” She was panting, her words
barely audible. Blood poured down her chest and back, soaking her with little crimson rivers. Her aura was blue once again, but fading, the other colors having vanished.
Her
energy was draining.

“The witches found us.” He never should have discounted their ability to track like the humans. And he never should have kissed Mary Ann. Deep down, he had known the dangers, the risks, but he'd allowed his need of her to persuade him.

This was on him.

He couldn't shift and hunt the witch-bitches because he couldn't leave Mary Ann like this. And hell! She should have been protected from mortal injury. She should have started healing already.

He'd warded her for exactly this kind of thing weeks ago. A stabbing, gunshot, arrow, it didn't matter. She. Should. Heal. But the witch had seen her back, the ward, and had aimed accordingly, hitting her in the one spot guaranteed to prevent her from healing supernaturally: the center of the ward, disrupting the words and negating the inked spell completely.

Just then, Mary Ann was as vulnerable as any other human. Unless…

“Feed off me,” he said, even as he calculated the best escape route. He'd already walked through the place and
memorized the exits, but he didn't know if witches now surrounded the place. If they did, the moment he carried Mary Ann away, they'd start shooting again.

“No,” she croaked.

“Yes. You have to. You need to.” If she fed off him, she would be strengthened. He would be weakened, yes, but she could take the witches out in a way he could not. All at once, rather than one at a time. Besides, it was fitting. Her ability to drain was why the enemy had chosen to notch her up with holes. “Feed off me and kill them.”

“No,” she said again, the depths of her stubbornness more apparent than ever.

“If you don't, they'll kill
you.
”

“No.”

Done arguing, Riley stripped the rest of the way and shifted into his wolf form, his bones readjusting, fur sprouting from his pores. He was so used to doing this, it felt more like stretching after a nap than actually becoming something new.

He clamped his teeth on Mary Ann's arm, as gently as he could, which wasn't much, and forced her to climb onto his back.

Another arrow soared overhead, just missing her.

Hold on tight,
he commanded, speaking into her mind as he bounded from the living room.

“O…kay,” she said, her teeth chattering.

He was a stupid idiot fool. She needed what little warmth her clothes would offer, but he couldn't pull a shirt over her injury and he couldn't afford to carry the material in his mouth. Currently his teeth were the only weapon he had.

He really could have used Tucker just then. Words he'd never thought to entertain. But an illusion or two would have seriously come in handy.

Left with no other choice, Riley raced out the back door, bursting through the hollowed plywood without pause. He zigzagged off the porch, making himself a harder target to lock onto, and good thing. Arrows rained.

How many witches were out there? More than Jennifer and Marie, he knew that much.

“Hurt,” Mary Ann said.

I know, sweetheart.
He pushed the words into her head.
I'd take your pain into my own body if I could.

An arrow homed in on him and lodged in his front left leg. He snarled at the pain, but didn't slow and didn't dare stumble. Mary Ann would have fallen, and he couldn't allow that. Gravel bit into his paws, making
everything worse. A quick search of the area, and he saw eleven auras. All orange, and all faint. They must have bespelled themselves, hoping to hide from him. Well, their spell hadn't worked fully.

He narrowed his focus on the one farthest from the others and closed in. A blur of motion, never slowing, he raced past the witch and chomped her between his jaws, dragging her along. She struggled against him, but still he didn't slow. Kept moving, taking both females farther and farther away. Careful, so careful.

Drain her,
he commanded Mary Ann.
Now!

She must have obeyed, because the witch's struggles tapered off…stopped completely. She became a limp rag in his mouth, and he spit her out. Still he didn't slow.

Any better?

“A little.”

He'd get her somewhere safe and doctor her himself. Then, the hunt would begin. No more letting the witches and the fae chase while he and Mary Ann ran. That had been his biggest mistake, and one he wouldn't make again.

The hunters were about to become the prey.

T
UCKER PERCHED ON THE
highest limb of an oak and watched as the wolf absconded with Mary Ann. They left a trail of blood a blind man would spot. The wolf was unsteady and weaving, and Mary Ann limp as a noodle. She wouldn't last much longer.

The wolf read auras, but Tucker knew the siren's call of death. No question, Mary Ann was even then swimming out to greet the lyrical grim reaper, and nothing would stop her.

The witch's aim had been true. Her arrow had sliced through the ward preventing Mary Ann from receiving a mortal wound. The location alone was damaging, but the blood loss would be more so.

Wards worked—until they were closed. Or burned away. Or any number of other painful things. Some people opted to get a ward to protect their wards, so that
something like this could never happen, but not many went that route. What if someone gave you a ward you didn't want? 'Cause yeah. Being held down and inked with all kinds of badness never happened.

Tucker would have snickered at his sarcasm, considering he'd told Mary Ann how ugly it was, but he was too afraid it'd sound like a sob. Only pansy-assed babies sobbed. He wasn't a pansy-assed baby.

He was a liar.

He hadn't been completely honest with Mary Ann. Oh, he'd run from Vlad after stabbing Aden all right—but he'd run
after
he'd “chatted” with the guy. Bastard had threatened him with a few wards of his own if he didn't man up and do as he was told.

Man up. Funny, coming from a guy who looked more monster than man while he hid in the shadows, but whatever.

Until yesterday, Tucker hadn't exactly followed the former king's orders. He'd helped Mary Ann rather than hurt her.

He liked her. More than he should, and more than was wise.

Why'd she have to let the wolf stick around?

Tucker would have continued to resist Vlad if she'd kicked the wolf to the curb.

Because, when he and Mary Ann were alone, he was fine. A halfway decent individual. Dirty-minded, maybe, but who wasn't? Then Riley had shown up, and
boom.
Vlad had made another move, and Tucker had lost the battle.

Poor Mary Ann. She was an unwanted casualty.

Tucker waited as the witches who'd just annihilated her congregated under his tree. Red Robed Bitches, that's what he called them. They were glaring up at him, pissed that they'd failed and blaming him. Even though he hadn't been the one to freaking fail.

“You said we'd have the pair cornered if we waited until they were inside the house,” the blonde in charge said. Marie, he thought was her name. She was a pretty thing but vicious in her determination.

Having rifled through Mary Ann's things, he'd found the address she'd tried so hard to hide. Had known exactly where she would go, if not when. So, he'd cast an illusion when she and the wolf left the café and followed them. “That's when I thought you were competent,” he replied. “Why didn't you give chase?”

“And risk a draining?”

“Again I'm struck by the words
thought you were competent.
”

They spat expletives at him.

He shoved from the branch and fell…fell…and landed on his feet. In the center of the RRBs now, he spun, his arms splayed wide, his vibe all about daring them to try something with him.

He really wanted them to try something with him.

He deserved punishment, but then, so did they. Only difference was, he knew he deserved it. They'd be the first to tell you how righteous their cause, how they were on the holy path, blah, blah, blah.

They had lost Mary Ann's trail after Riley warded her, but they hadn't lost Tucker's. Apparently they'd magically locked onto him, too, but Riley had refused to ward him, so there you go. Because of Riley's refusal, they'd never really lost the girl. Tucker would not take the blame for that.

The fae had been trailing Mary Ann and Tucker, as well. They would have been here, extracting their pound of flesh like the witches, only the witches had…politely asked them to leave, sending the other race home to their mamas.

After that, Tucker had thrown the witches an illusion—one of Mary Ann and Riley talking, arguing, tossing out names and info Tucker had pulled out of his ass—hoping to send the little RRBs running in a thou
sand different directions. Of course, that's when Vlad had called him.

Tucker…my Tucker…

Just. Like. That.

Everything had changed.

Tucker…

He shuddered as that eerie, commanding voice continued to shove its way into his head, leading him around like a puppet on a string. Wasn't difficult to do, either. The darkest part of Tucker's nature—the part that enjoyed verbally ripping his little brother to pieces, kicking puppies, fist fighting his friends, cheating on his girlfriend, watching the girl pregnant with his baby lose the respect of her family—that part craved the vampire's guidance.

The other part of him was curled up in a little ball, weeping like a stupid kid, sad about all the pain he'd caused—all the destruction he would soon cause. But Tucker hated that side of himself, too, so really, there wasn't any part of himself that he liked.

Tucker, my Tucker, finish this.

The king's voice was stronger than before, louder, more…everything. Every day he healed a little more, and one day soon, he would be the man, the warrior, he'd once been.

Vlad had commanded Tucker to approach the witches, told him what image to show them, told him what to say and how to act. And he had. He'd done all of it. Assumed the image of someone they knew—who he was supposed to be, he still wasn't sure—and they'd believed him and done everything he'd wanted without question.

“—even listening?” Marie demanded.

“No.”

“Argh! You were always frustrating, but now you're just a bastard.”

“You can't blame your failure on me,” he said. “I gift wrapped the pair and handed them to you like it was your birthday.” Just saying those words caused guilt to claw at him.

Tucker…you know what to do. Kill the witches, find the wolf and the drainer, and finish them off.

Kill the witches? Fine, no problem. Consider it done. But…
You wanted the wolf and Mary—the drainer's deaths blamed on the witches.
He shoved the words out of his mind, into the air, and knew Vlad heard him. Wherever he was.
If the witches are dead, how can they be blamed?

I'm sure you'll think of a way. Now, do what I told you.

No sense in fighting Vlad. He'd come out the loser. Tucker squared his shoulders, his gaze narrowing on the
gaggle of females around him. He shook his arms, just barely, but enough. The blades he'd stashed under his shirt sleeves slid into his palms. He gripped the hilts.

“Why don't you gift wrap them again,” Marie said primly. “And we'll go from there.”

“No, I don't think I will.”

Cleary she did not like to be thwarted. She stomped her foot, saying, “Why not?”

“You're not gonna be around to accept any more presents.” Without another word, he struck.

 

R
ILEY LEFT
M
ARY
A
NN
behind a Dumpster, shifted to human, didn't care that he was naked, stole a bottle of vodka and a pass key to a motel room from the clerk at the desk, a bag from one of the guests and went back for Mary Ann. He carried her inside the empty room without being seen or dropping her. A shocker and a miracle, considering he was as twitchy as a junkie in need of a fix.

He settled his bundle on the bed as gently as he could, then ransacked the bag for something to wear.

“Don't move,” he told her when she thrashed against the mattress.

“O…kay?” she asked.

“Yes, we're going to be okay,” he lied.

Only thing he found that would come close to fitting was a pair of shorts that had the word
Princess
stamped across the ass in glittery pink. Now wasn't the time to care about fashion—or the lack thereof. Or the fact that the shorts were too snug and he might never be able to have children. He might need to do another endless dash, and he had to be prepared.

He peered down at his leg. The arrow had been pounded out of him when he'd accidentally run into a tree, but he could feel the wood shards embedded in the muscle, cutting at him, making him bleed harder rather than heal. He applied pressure to force the shards out, grimaced, but wasn't going to let the pain stop him. If he didn't staunch the flow, he wouldn't be able to care for Mary Ann.

So he doctored himself as fast as he could, using one of the T-shirts in the bag, and raced back to the bed, where he crouched in front of Mary Ann. Her skin was chalk white, the blue tracery of her veins evident. There were bruises under her eyes, and her lips were chapped. All cosmetic—until you looked at her chest. There was so much blood caking her skin, she looked like she was wearing a red sweater. Worse, the arrow still protruded from the front
and
the back.

“H-how b-bad?” she whispered.

She was on her side, her shoulders slumped, and her head lolling forward. She was fighting sleep, her teeth chattering. Never had he seen her this weak and helpless. And he never wanted to see her like this again.

What he did want to do was panic the hell out, but he wasn't going to let himself. Someone needed to stay calm, and bottom line, he was the only option.

“R-Riley?”

Brutal honesty, no more lies. “It's bad. Real bad.”

“Kn-knew it. D-dying?”

“No!” he shouted, then more quietly added, “No. I won't let you.” He pressed his fingers into her carotid and counted the beats that jumped up to meet him. One hundred and sixty-eight a minute. God. The speed at which her heart hammered was a testament to how much blood she had lost. If she reached one hundred and eighty thumps a minute, there'd be no saving her.

He had to act fast. “I've got to leave you here for a minute, okay? I have to get a few supplies so I can remove the arrow.”

That'd make her bleed even more, but he couldn't patch her up with it there.

“O…kay.” Her eyelashes fluttered, as if she were trying to focus on him but couldn't quite manage it. He needed to go, now, now,
now,
but if he released her, she
would fall on her face or on her back, and both options would do more damage to her already fragile body.

Moving like he was on a racetrack being timed, he propped pillows in front and behind her, holding her in that position all the while, and tucked the blanket around her legs to keep her warm. Then he washed the blood off himself and zipped out the door, stealing money from the front desk, then zooming to the convenience store across the street to gather up gauze, disinfectant and anything else he could find that he might need.

Yeah, his shorts got a few looks. When he had what he needed, he just sort of threw the money on the counter and left.

Mary Ann hadn't moved. Her eyes were closed, her entire body shaking violently. Not a good sign. He counted her pulse again. One hundred and seventy-three beats a minute.

He was trembling as he uncapped the half-gone vodka, held Mary Ann's mouth open and poured the contents inside. He worked her throat with his free hand, ensuring she swallowed as much as possible.

She didn't choke, didn't protest, hell, didn't notice anything was being done to her. Good for her, since he was about to hurt her worse than she'd ever been hurt, but a bad sign. A really bad sign.

“You will not die on me,” he told her. “Understand?” He splashed a bit of the alcohol over the wound. Then, still trembling, he gripped the front end, breathed in and out, trying to stop his trembling, and snapped the wood in two, removing the tip.

He threw the piece on the floor, lifted Mary Ann into the light of the lamp, and studied what remained. The shaft had gone all the way through, so the wood was peeking out both sides of her. Okay. Good. The damage had already been done. The danger now was leaving shards inside her when he pushed the rest of the arrow out. Which he had to do quickly, smoothly.

Like that was possible when he looked like he had advanced Parkinson's. Riley claimed the bottle of vodka and downed the rest in three gulps. The liquid burned a path along his throat, scalded his stomach, then blistered through his veins. He'd had to do this kind of triage before. To himself, to his brothers and to his friends. Why was he breaking down now?

He pressed his fingers into Mary Ann's pulse. One hundred and seventy-five.

A string of curses left him, but at least the alcohol kept him from vomiting. He moved behind her. In the mirror across the way, he could see that her eyes were still closed, her expression still too smooth for what was
happening. Another breath in, out.
You can do this. Don't hesitate. Just act.

He raised his arm. Lowered his arm.
Come on!

Raised. Lowered. He wanted to grab the end of the shaft and jerk, that would have been easier, or should have been, but the wood was slippery from her blood and he'd never be able to maintain his grip long enough. So, he had to punch one end to shoot the other end out the other side. The thought of punching her, however…

You would rather she die? You would rather puss out than do everything you can?

With a roar, Riley balled his fist and did it. He punched the broken end with all his might. He made contact with the wood, then Mary Ann's flesh, pushing the arrow the rest of the way through her body, and out the wound in her front. She barely twitched.

Okay. Done, the worst was done. Time for the easy stuff.

So why did he feel faint? The shaking only got worse as he cleaned and bandaged her, and when he finished,
he
was the one covered in blood. Again. And this was fresh. Meaning, she'd lost more than another spurt or two.