Vengeance Borne (17 page)

Warmth bloomed around her as Micah’s palm came to rest on her back, massaging in lazy circles. His energy funneled into her, his thoughts obviously focused on her. She didn’t mind the sensation as it washed against her skin. It made her feel a little less alone. Jacquelyn wondered in the still silence that settled between them, what did he think of her now that he knew she wasn’t the heroic hunter of evil she’d let him assume she was, but rather, a hopeless screw up sent to where her betters thought she’d cause the least amount of trouble.

“How did Ryan die?” Micah asked softly, and Jacquelyn sat up straight to look at him. The concern in his expression took her breath away. “It was an accident, right?”

“Brimstone demon.” Jacquelyn shifted, reliving the memory was almost as bad as being there. “We chased one into an abandoned building, but I didn’t realize they had a nest there. A second one surprised us and attacked him.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

“No,” Jacquelyn said, rueful. “But I should have known better. I allowed myself to get too comfortable and I let my guard down. I have to own that mistake.”

“How did the Sentry find you?” Micah asked. “It seems strange that they can’t find Bearers, but they inherently know when a Waerd is born and take them away from their families. And seriously, why wouldn’t families fight them? You’d think parents would raise hell over some secret organization claiming ownership of their child and taking them to some secret facility somewhere.”

“The Sentry is everywhere,” Jacquelyn replied. “They have eyes always on the lookout for potential recruits. The thing about a super-secret organization, though, is the secrecy. They have ways of finding Waerds, and I have no idea how they do it. It has to do with their whole fate and destiny doctrine. Like some sort of bat signal goes off over a house when a Waerd is about to be born. As for the parents…you have no idea how badly I’d like answers to how they can let their children go so easily. Every day I wish I could ask mine why they gave me up without a fight.”

“They never told you anything about your family?”

“Nada. Waerds are mushrooms, Micah. Plain and simple.”

Micah quirked a brow. “How so?”

“We’re kept in the dark and fed shit.”

Micah laughed and flashed her a brilliant, albeit sad, smile. “Keeping you ignorant makes you easier to control. What about Trish? Is she a mushroom, too?”

“I don’t think so. She’s pretty high up on the Sentry’s food chain. I’ve tried to wrangle information out of her, but she’s tough. I love her like the annoying grandma I never had, but I’ve never doubted that she’s completely loyal to the cause. She’d die before she’d willingly give up any of the Sentry’s secrets.” She looked to the sky and took a deep breath.

Micah’s hand came to rest once again on Jacquelyn’s thigh, just above her knee, his warmth soaking through the thick denim of her jeans. His fingers traced lazy patterns around her kneecap as he sat, silent. Slow heat meandered up her thigh, settling in Jacquelyn’s stomach, churning with nervous energy. A simple touch shouldn’t spark a fire so hot.

Micah’s gentle laughter broke the silence. “My stomach just flipped like I’d been tossed upside down going Mach ten. That’s from you, isn’t it?”

Damned empaths
. Nothing she felt belonged solely to her when one of them was around. The invasiveness of his ability sucked her tender feelings to the bottoms of her feet.

“Sorry.” Micah removed his hand from her leg. “I know you hate that. I didn’t mean to do it, it just—happened.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jacquelyn rubbed her palm against her stomach, as if erasing the sensation. “You’re not exactly in control of your gifts. I’ll give you a bye.” She smiled. “This time.”

His good-natured laughter banished all traces of annoyance. Micah’s charm had to be one of the best weapons in his arsenal. How could anyone stay pissed at him for long with those dazzling eyes and bright smile trained on you?

Micah scooted away and Jacquelyn felt the distance between them open like a cavern as he leaned against the opposite banister, far out of physical reach. The wide, open space settled on her like cold morning fog and Jacquelyn rubbed her arms as if chilled. “Did you ever try to run away?” he asked as he rolled the whiskey bottle to and fro beside him. “I probably would’ve bolted the first chance I got.”

Jacquelyn watched the amber liquid as it sloshed inside the bottle. The motion made her stomach lurch. “You’ve never tried to run from the Sentry,” she scoffed. “I don’t know how they do it, but once they get their hooks in you, they can find you. Anywhere.”

“Trish too?”

“Oh yeah, Trish too.”

“She kind of struck me as the mafia grandma type,” Micah laughed. “But I didn’t peg her as being ruthless.”

Jacquelyn smiled. “Mafia grandma. That’s exactly how I thought of her when I first met her. I’m going to tell her you said that. Trish isn’t ruthless, Micah. Even though she drives me insane sometimes, I guess… I love her. Don’t let her fool you, though, she’s no gentle lady, either. She does whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“That’s not ruthless?”

“Not if it saves innocent people from evil they’d rather not know about. If it weren’t for people like Trish, this world would be going to hell in a hand basket. And if you think I’m exaggerating, just wait until tomorrow.”

Micah sat up straight. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“We’re going hunting.”

The smile faded from Micah’s face. If she’d been a little more sober she could’ve eased that last little bit on him. Hell, who was she kidding? She didn’t ease anyone into anything. She’d always been a bomb dropper and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.
Kaboom!
If Micah was staying—and from the night’s dinner conversation it appeared he was—then he might as well get to work. Finn couldn’t run backup for her right now. His personal feelings would cloud his empathy. And how could she possibly focus if he was making passes at her all night? No. It had to be Micah, whether he was ready or not. “Do you think you’re up for it?” Jacquelyn asked, a challenge in her voice. “Want to see what this is all about firsthand? Things are weird between me and Finn right now, and I’ll need a Bearer at my side.”

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I don’t know what to do.” Micah shrugged, and stood the whiskey bottle back upright.

“No. But I do. You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting. I just need your little emotional feelers. And if I get hurt you’re sort of my custom-made medic. Remember the cut on my cheek?”

He leaned forward, hands dangerously close to her thigh, and inspected her cheek. “You said I healed it.”

“With just a touch. Pretty impressive shit, too. I don’t get hurt easily, but it would’ve taken Finn a couple of days to do what you did in a couple of seconds.”

His hand moved a fraction of an inch at a time, coming to rest beside her own. One fingertip traced along Jacquelyn’s wrist and delicious chills raced across her skin, her heart beating wildly in her chest. God, she hoped he didn’t feel the exhilarating rush.

“I won’t pry into your emotions again,” he whispered, as if reading her mind.

“Don’t be so sure.” Crap. Her voice sounded strangled in her throat.
Way to play it cool, hunter
.

“I’m a quick learner.” He trained his gaze on her face and smiled. “Trust me. You’re wrong about one thing, you know.”

“Oh yeah.” Jacquelyn quirked a brow. “What’s that.”

“You
are
special, Jacquelyn,” Micah said, his voice just a little more than a whisper. “I could feel the magic in you the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Jacquelyn swallowed and took deep even breaths as she tried to control the hammering rhythm of her pulse. “Micah—I—”

A mournful scream pierced the quiet night and Jacquelyn’s previously heated blood ran cold.

“What in the hell was that?” Micah sat up straight and alert. “I heard that sound, a few nights back.”

“The Banshee is the herald of death. Someone’s going to die tonight. And she’s here to take their soul.”

Another cry followed the first and Jacquelyn shot up, standing much too fast for her spinning head. She should have known better than to drink so much. “Yep, Banshee,” she said. Throwing up her hand, she motioned for Micah to stay still as she ducked into the house and retrieved an AirLite S&W .357 from Trish’s coat closet. She stalked back out onto the porch and shoved the revolver into Micah’s hand. “Here. I’ve gotta grab the rest of my shit from the house. Stay here. If you see anything, blow a fucking hole in it.”

“What do you mean
anything
?” he called after her.

“I mean, anything that moves.” Jacquelyn slammed the front door behind her.

You better sober up damn quick
, she thought, grabbing her shoulder holster, a Glock, and sheathed dagger from a cupboard in the dining room hutch. Trish was better prepared than an entire company of Boy Scouts. She had a weapons cache that would give the ATF a collective stiffy. Jacquelyn’s step faltered as she hustled for the front door. It was one thing to risk her own neck but something else entirely to risk Micah’s. Maybe she should leave him here and go out on her own. It wasn’t protocol, but Finn had chewed her ass for going out alone after the Changeling. Hunting alone wasn’t an option anymore. If the Furies had claimed another victim, she’d need Micah. Decision made.

She flew through the door, to find Micah pointing the .357 toward the driveway. “I heard it again,” he said. “What does it want?”

Jacquelyn checked for ammo and slid the clip—loaded with silver—home. It clicked into place and she shoved the gun into a holster she’d slung across her shoulders. The dagger was resting in its sheath and stuffed into her waistband, and she pulled her t-shirt down over it. She stretched her neck to either side, Trish’s front porch listing like a fishing boat on rough seas, and then shook her head to clear her mind of the fog that had settled there. Alcohol usually burned through her system inhumanly fast, so she’d be good to go in ten or fifteen minutes. But in the meantime, she’d be lucky if she didn’t shoot herself or Micah before they tracked the Banshee’s cries to its intended soul. Not that it would be on purpose. Damned if she wasn’t still a little—or a lot—drunk.

“Fuck my life,” Jacquelyn complained, taking the steps two at a time. Two hunts in a row where she’d been off her game. Not a good idea. “There’s a flashlight under the backseat of Trish’s truck. Grab it and let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Micah ran to the Dodge, yanking open the back door.

“Out there.” She jerked her head toward the blackness beyond the winding driveway. “We’ve got to find the intended before the Banshee gets her hands on whoever it is.”

“And what happens if we don’t?” Micah’s voice bounced as he ran to catch up with her.

“If we don’t, it’s not going to matter.” The magic from the dagger warmed her back, a small comfort in the cold void of night. “She doesn’t kill, only takes the dead. We’ve got to find the victim before she has anyone to take.”

“Kind of like finding a needle in a haystack, isn’t it?”

“Welcome to my world, Micah. Now, get your ass in gear. It’s going to be a long night.”

Chapter 13

“WHY DON’T PEOPLE hear that wail every time someone dies?” Micah asked as he negotiated a fallen tree. They’d been walking for just over an hour and God knew how many miles. “I mean, that’s an obviously creepy sound. A little hard to miss.”

“It would be, if everyone could hear her. Our ears are sort of specially tuned to pick up on the frequency.” Under the glow of the flashlight, Jacquelyn’s face became severe. Not the cute, small-featured face he’d grown to appreciate, but stern, angry, and full of purpose. “Plus, the Banshee only claims victims of supernatural deaths. She doesn’t show up unless something inhuman is around.”

“So, I suppose it goes without saying that what we’re doing right now could be construed as dangerous?”

“Yeah, that goes without saying.” Waves of anxious energy pulsed from Jacquelyn, peppering Micah’s nerves like bits of gravel. And the fact that she was indeed frightened wasn’t lost on him, either. “If you can’t do this, Micah, I understand. The main road isn’t far from here, I’m sure you could hitch a ride back to Trish’s.”

“No.” He one hundred percent refused to back down. Finn wasn’t the only Bearer man enough to have Jacquelyn’s back and he wanted her to know it. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Close on Jacquelyn’s heels, he followed her out of a stand of blue spruce, the moon illuminating a dry grassy clearing dotted with sage brush. The highway was visible in the distance, an occasional flash of headlights disappearing over the low hills toward a small town. He couldn’t remember the name, but he recalled driving through on his way to McCall. “What would someone be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” Micah turned a full circle, noting the absence of anything but trees and brush. “I mean, it seems a little far-fetched.”

“Willie Carmichael was out in the middle of nowhere, remember?” She bent low, squatting close to the ground and closed her eyes. “I’m following the sound of the Banshee, and this is where it leads.” Her voice trailed off into silence and she remained still, appearing in meditation and then she whispered, “Come here, Micah.”

Dry grass crunched under his feet, drowning out the sound of crickets in the distance. A gentle breeze washed over his face and he breathed in the scent of sage. “Kneel down,” Jacquelyn’s voice had become monotone, yet soft as the breeze on his cheek. Her burst of fear had subsided, replaced by an equally unsettling calm.
Storm’s coming
, he thought, taking a knee at her side. But which would be worse, nature’s fury, or the emotional downpour Jacquelyn was sure to unleash?

“Give me your hand.” She still hadn’t moved, not an inch, and her voice reminded him of a fortune teller his mother had taken him to once, who’d claimed to be possessed by the spirit of his grandmother, level and ominous. “I’m going to show you how special you really are.”

He extended his hand, palm up, and she seized his wrist. Her eyes opened, empty green pools under the cover of darkness. Her gaze locked with his, her face unreadable, and she reached behind her back to produce an ancient-looking dagger with a jeweled hilt. Micah’s breath caught in his throat. She exuded no emotion for him to gauge, as if her soul were as empty as her eyes.