Vengeance Borne (39 page)

“Jack-lyn, are you okay?”

The voice came from directly behind her, his mispronunciation of her name hitting Jacquelyn like a slap to the face. She turned, her heart pounding a frenzied beat against her ribcage. His duty pants were covered in dark splotches, his pullover ripped just below the Maltese cross embroidered on the chest that read, V
olunteer
.

“Pete.”

Before she could react, Micah grabbed her around the waist and shoved her behind him. Her mind spun as pieces of the puzzle locked into place, disbelieving the possibility even when it stared her straight in the face. Shy, harmless, Pete Koskella had become a monster of unimaginable evil and it damned near broke her heart.

He smiled his game-show host smile, his fists opening and clenching at his sides. “You don’t have to worry anymore. No one’s going to hurt you ever again. I’m here to take you home.”

Chapter 30

JACQUELYN FLOATED SOMEWHERE in the realm between awareness and nothing. A dark gray cloud. No light permeated her vision and, honestly, she wasn’t sure if her eyes were open or not. Strange sounds filtered in through the haze, voices that made no sense, as if they were speaking on a frequency she couldn’t quite hear.

She fought for a single lucid thought, as she recalled her last memory. She’d been standing on her front porch with Wes and… Micah. He tried to protect her. Her knuckles throbbed, reminding her she had appendages below her neck, and she remembered smashing her fist into her attacker’s face more than once. Micah stepped in, fought like hell alongside Wes but the three of them together were no match for the inhuman strength of their opponent. A voice slithered into her thoughts, an overeager voice that went hand in hand with his smile. He was taking her home…

Harmless described Pete to a fault. Overeager on occasion and though their previous encounters at her house and then at the Gas ‘n Go had left her feeling on edge, she’d never considered the shy outcast a threat to anyone. As Jacquelyn lay in the dark, muddling through the past week, she put the pieces together one by one. Pete worked for Willie Carmichael at the hardware store. He’d probably seen the results of Willie’s binges as yellowing bruises on Christy Carmichael’s face more than once. And she knew through Finn that Willie didn’t treat his employees much better. Bree had embarrassed and belittled him in public. But Finn—her poor Finn. His only sin had been loving her. Micah had been right all along, somehow she’d become the object of Pete’s twisted obsession. Finn had nearly died because of her—just like Ryan—and she’d have to live the rest of her life with that knowledge casting a shadow on her already tainted soul.

A muted orange glow, like the light of a waning sunset, echoed in the back of Jacquelyn’s mind. She focused on her eyelids, definitely closed, and slowly peeled each one open. Blurred by whatever still made her head feel overinflated and her equilibrium skewed, she blinked once and then again, as a sliver of light slowly came into focus.

Pete stood in the doorway, his head peeking through the crack. In the wan light he was the same old Pete, shy and reserved, starving for attention. He pushed the door wider, a shaft of light framing his body and his movement became less tentative, more of a saunter as he approached her. The closer he came, the less round his features appeared. Sharper, elongated and hard, the lines of his face looked drawn and hollow. His teeth glistened in the shadows, his lips drawn back into a predatory snarl.

His weight as he sat beside her on the bed caused her to roll a little toward him; she was still too weak to move. What had he done to her? Knocked her out? Drugged her? And where were Wes and Micah?

“My lovelies were rough with you when I told them not to be.” He stroked her hair like he would a pet. “I’ve sent them away but they won’t stay gone for long. They’re angry with me because I won’t give them the old lady.”

“Pete,” she tried to say, but the word came out as a strangled cry, wild and thick.

“Shh.” He soothed her, petting her hair before his hand trailed down her shoulder and lingered at her breast. He pulled away as if he’d been burned, and absently returned to stroking her hair. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you. I made us a wonderful home and you’re going to be happy here. You’re mine now. I love you.”

Her stomach heaved and she gagged on the bile rising in her throat. How could she have been so stupid? Some hunter she’d turned out to be. She’d practically handed herself over to him. God, she needed Micah.
Where is he
?

“When you’re feeling better, we’ll have dinner.” Pete traced his fingers along the lines of her body with less shock and more curiosity. “No one likes to eat when they don’t feel good though, and my angels hit you too hard when they took you. I hope your head doesn’t hurt too badly.”

An inward groan was all she could manage. Flashes of memory started to come back to her. She’d been standing at the top of the steps, staring at Pete. Micah dove for Pete, and something knocked him against the side of the house. Wes had fought hard as well, throwing punches like a man possessed. But Pete was too damned strong, and he’d managed to knock Wes out with a single punch. Despite her own best efforts—not to mention years of combat training—she’d been thrown down the stairs, pushed by something she could neither see nor fight and after that, her world had gone dark.

The dagger no longer warmed the skin at her side, and the holster as well had been removed, no doubt her Glock along with it. A defenseless Waerd without her Bearer. He’d rendered her completely impotent. A pulse where her hairline met her temple felt tight and swollen, growing larger with every beat of her heart. Supernatural wounds were always tougher to heal from. She might have a concussion, and she needed a Bearer’s touch if she even wanted to consider fighting Pete and his new pets.

“P—Pete.” Jacquelyn used every ounce of energy she could muster just to speak.

“Yes?” His expectant tone made her stomach constrict with unyielding knots.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Pete leaned away, his lovesick expression replaced by one of sheer rage. He reached down, wrapped his long fingers around her throat and squeezed, his grip relaxing and contracting before it contracted again, tighter, closing off her airway completely.

Jacquelyn gasped, dragging her arms—still weak at her sides—up to his wrists. She didn’t have the strength to pry him away, and the world spun as her grasp on consciousness slipped, the gray haze of nothing seeping back into her mind.

“Oh!” Pete released her throat and scrambled away from her. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Jack-lyn. I—I won’t hurt you if you’re cooperative. I know you’re upset right now, but when you come out to eat you’ll see what I’ve done for you. You’ll see that you’re going to be happy here.”

Jacquelyn drew a ragged breath to fill her depleted lungs. With weak fingers she massaged her neck and the fetid stench of the room filled her nostrils, causing her to cough and gag. Old and musty, the air was thick with the cloying heaviness of death.

Without pause, Pete knelt beside her and took her face roughly between his hands. If he squeezed any harder, she’d pop, but he seemed unaware of the preternatural strength threatening to crush her skull. The tips of his left fingers dug into the knot on her forehead and she tried not to cry out. He lowered his face and kissed her, slow at first, but his fervor increased and he moved his mouth hungrily over hers, his lips tasting and his teeth biting. Pulling away, his breath heaved in his chest and his eyes shone with a crazy light.

“Later,” he panted. “We’ll have time for that later. As soon as you feel ready, come down and eat.” His mouth spread in another over-the-top smile. “But don’t try anything sneaky.” He tapped his forefinger to his temple. “My darlings are always watching and would kill you. Whether I love you or not.” He closed the door behind him, leaving her in darkness once again.

Micah punched the accelerator to the floor, pushing the needle on the speedometer well over ninety. Jacquelyn’s car shook like it was going to fall apart at any second, but he refused to let up on the gas. If he didn’t get to her soon, his dream would come true and he’d be too late to save her.

Finding out where Pete lived had been an easy thing once Micah discovered their mystery man’s identity. Mollifying Wes on the other hand, had proved a little tougher. He’d been hell-bent on charging into the action and had nearly gotten himself killed in the process. Micah had to give it to Wes, though, the guy had balls. He’d fought for all he was worth but it hadn’t been enough against invisible foes. Micah was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around what he’d seen despite the fact that he’d known the Furies from his visions of their gruesome kills.

Inhumanly strong, the unseen force had tossed Wes like a ragdoll across Jacquelyn’s porch. Micah hadn’t lasted much longer—three against one weren’t good odds when your opponents were human—and despite his best efforts, he’d landed in an aching heap not far from Wes. The host was who they needed to get their hands on, but the damned Furies protected their master well and neither Micah nor Wes had managed to get their hands on that slimy little piece of shit who’d run off with Jacquelyn. And when Jacquelyn tumbled down the stairs, writhing in pain and screaming before Micah could gain his bearings; Wes had been reduced to a quivering lump of man-flesh. “Just like the fucking exorcist,” he’d muttered, shaking as he gripped his head between his palms.

Micah had done his best to be tactful, calming Wes by draining him of every ounce of emotion he’d stuffed into that cavalier, adventure-seeking mind of his. After he was good and numb, no longer interested in playing the bounty hunter, getting Wes to comply was an easy task. He provided Micah with detailed directions to Pete’s house, agreeing to stay put at Jacquelyn’s house. Wes’s problem wasn’t his bravery. The guy had that in spades. It was the fact that he wanted to charge into the situation without thinking it through first. That sort of half-cocked preparedness would get someone killed, and Micah needed every ounce of focus at his disposal to protect both Trish and Jacquelyn. Fear ate at his insides like acid, the prospect that they were already dead a torturous thought in the back of his mind. But Micah refused to accept defeat. He’d get them both back. Alive.

The Subaru wasn’t built for speed, but it managed well enough as Micah sped across the loose gravel road, a plume of dust rising behind him like a rooster’s tail. Details escaped him as he tried to remember his dream as though he could find some clue to how this would all play out. Had the road been so long? This one seemed to go on forever. Rounding a corner and then another, the car drifted and he quickly steered into the skid righting the car on the road. A valley stretched out before him, ringed by rolling hills and dotted with an old, rundown white farmhouse, big red barn, and a peppering of old rusting combines.

His mentor was more than likely dead, his partner the prisoner of a mad man with wild, vengeful killers to protect him, and Micah was left to fight, untrained with only a magic dagger and a .357 loaded with silver rounds.
I have no clue what I’m doing
.
No fucking clue whatsoever
.

As he neared the house, Micah pulled the car off to the side of the road and parked it in a field behind an outcropping of rocks. He was up against some serious shit and didn’t think it would behoove him to charge up the driveway, sirens blaring. This had become a stealth mission, and he wouldn’t fail Jacquelyn. Because he knew that she would never fail him.

Micah wracked his brain, going over every experience with complete clarity. The Goblin had been easy, a shot to disable and the dagger for the kill. This situation was different, and a hell of a lot more dangerous. He was outnumbered, four to one, and he had no idea what kind of state he’d find Jacquelyn in. She might not be able to help him. But he could heal her. He’d touched her cheek and healed her cut. He’d brought Finn back from the precipice of death. A glimmer of hope shone in the dark recess of his thoughts. Hurt was okay. Dead wasn’t. If she hadn’t opened up to him, trusted him with her knowledge of the supernatural, he’d be in deep shit, but her intentions had been clear:
Find the host and kill him
.

Jogging the last couple hundred yards, Micah conserved as much energy for the coming fight as he could. The dagger flashed in his fist and the .357 bounced against his ribs as he ran. Kill the host. Banish the Furies. Kill the host. He just needed a clear shot, one second, to immobilize him and then he’d run the dagger through his chest. Could he do it? Take a life? And for that matter, would it even work? He had no idea. As he neared the farmhouse, the familiar sickening need blossomed within him. The perverse lust flavored with a violent edge. This Pete would kill Jacquelyn once he was done with her. He had no doubt. Yes, he could do this. He’d drive the dagger through the bastard’s black heart.

Jacquelyn’s emotions called to him like a beacon through the fog. He felt her despair, her anger and frustration. She tried to hide her fear, and he wondered who she was hiding it from. Edging around the side of the house, he sensed Trish as well. What he felt from her was more than emotion. Somehow, she was trying to communicate with him. Flashes of thought, that’s what Jacquelyn had taught him to look for. He’d done it in town with a few people earlier in the day. He had to focus, concentrate on Trish and maybe he’d catch a glimpse of what she was trying to tell him.