Darkness Unleashed

by McKenzie Hunter

  Three days later, Josh wasn’t any closer to finding an answer, and he wore the failure poorly. I’d spent many hours watching him as he moved between his notes, the books on the table, and his laptop like a caffeine-addled rabbit. I considered suggesting he take a break, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears. At the rate he was going, by the time I returned to the pack’s house, he would probably have crashed and fallen asleep on the desk. If not, Dr. Jeremy was keeping a cautious eye on him and wasn’t above taking matters into his hands and sedating him.

  Josh’s words of caution to be careful stayed with me as I walked into the courthouse alongside Steven. They’d carried a note of worry and fear, and he’d given me a haunted look as if he’d discovered something troubling. Or maybe uneasiness plagued him about the level of magic it took to remove a spell cast by eight powerful witches.

  I looked down at my unmarked arm again, just as cameras flashed. My hand shot up to hide my face. Ethan managed to look intimidating in his dark suit; the platinum-colored silk tie matched the cool gunmetal glare he shot anyone who walked alongside us attempting to film Steven. I thought people would have lost interest in the “angel face” killer, but apparently, they were waiting for the actual trial to start. The video continued to be available on the Web despite our efforts to scrub it. It was still being sensationalized, likely the handiwork of Dexter. Clips had played on the news just the day before.

  Steven kept his hair longer, which made him look even more cherubic. He didn’t look like he could perform an act of malice of any kind, let alone a murder. His three-piece brown suit complemented his ruddy cheeks, which flushed even more as people shouted questions at him. His large green eyes tracked the people standing outside the courtroom, taking pictures, videotaping him, and peppering him with questions. He remained silent and allowed Ethan to respond confidently that Steven was innocent. Even the reporters seemed unconvinced that Steven was guilty of the charges.

  I’d settled for dark blue slacks and a long-sleeved pearl-colored shirt, and I’d wrangled my curly tresses into a sleek bun. When I’d looked in the mirror, I’d appeared older, and the frigid frown I wore couldn’t be helping. Nor could the pallor of my face, which even blush couldn’t counter. The case worried me as much as Josh’s dire warning. Although Ethan was sure the judge wouldn’t accept his motion to dismiss, I hoped he would, based on the lack of evidence. The prosecutor had no prints or evidence that Steven had been at the site of the murders, leaving them with a leaked video that had been modified and an anonymous eyewitness to the crimes. Ethan suspected, however, that they would present testimony from members of the Red Blood, who were willing to do anything to expose us, including committing perjury. Even Ethan’s unwavering confidence wasn’t enough to keep my fear that this could end badly for Steven at bay.

  In the courtroom, I focused intently on the pretrial motions. I listened to the evidence the DA produced; he was as confident as Ethan had been with the reporters outside. The DA was a short man dressed in a suit that didn’t flatter his stocky build. His face was round and his hazel eyes gentle, making him seem candidly sincere—an advocate for truth and justice. His words rang with truthfulness and earnestness. He pleaded for the opportunity to rid the world of criminals and monsters—like Steven. And when he looked over the faces of the people sitting in the courtroom, my eyes followed, and we fixed on the same person: Dexter. DA Price allowed a smile to settle on his lips before returning his attention to the judge. I couldn’t remember if his name was on the list of professionals who were part of the Red Blood.

  Dexter was flanked by two broadly built men, definitely shifters. Dressed in a crisp blue shirt and dark blue pants, he personified self-entitlement and smugness. He caught my eye, grinned, and tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. Was he saying he had something under his sleeves? Mage magic wafted off him, an easy, ineffectual breeze. The fact he possessed so little was proof of the existence of universal balance. He would’ve been menacing if he’d possessed even a modicum of witch magic. Anger boiled in me as he flashed a cruel, taunting smile. He was the reason we were in this mess, and he didn’t try to hide his contempt for us. Before Price finished his argument, he glanced over his shoulder at Dexter, making eye contact again. Ethan turned as well. His eyes homed in on the mage, who responded to the sharp look with a cynical grin. Ethan wouldn’t give Dexter the satisfaction of any more of his time. He rolled back his shoulders, stood up, and gave the judge a charismatic and gentle look.

  “Unfortunately, this case is riddled with circumstantial evidence and built on a foundation of anonymous tip-offs that are by no means true. As you look at the evidence I’ve provided, you’ll see that the software used to identify my client is only seventy-eight percent accurate. The software we use did not bring my client up as a match, and it is ninety-four percent accurate. And finally, my client has no connection to the victims. Why would he do that? A person without a criminal record decides to go on a rampage and kill three strangers and a dog?”

  Attorney Price rebutted. “His alibi is thin at best. Phone records show him being on the phone at the time of the crime. Those records could prove that the murders were premeditated.” He slid a look of derision in Ethan’s direction, earning him a wolfish smile.

  “I can assure you that anything the state has is thin,” Ethan shot back dismissively. He went to work, even though he was sure his motion to dismiss would fail. He compiled all the information, noting there was no physical evidence connecting Steven to the crimes and pointing out holes in the DA’s logic and in the editing of the video. If the case went to trial, Steven’s defense would be that he’d been wrongfully accused. Ethan had said this was the best option because the burden would fall on the state to prove otherwise. If Steven had claimed self-defense, his attorney—Ethan—would have had the burden of proving it was. Ethan was convinced that would be a very difficult case to prove. Each time I looked at the video and saw the three men about to attack Steven, self-defense seemed easier to prove than him not being there. I hadn’t gone to law school, though.

  The judge did what I assumed most of the jury would do during a trial: he glanced over at Steven raking his fingers through his thick waves of hair and giving a full view of his ethereal appearance. His soft round eyes made him look innocuous. It wasn’t the face of a killer. And when he spoke, his gentle Southern lilt could round off the edges of the worst curmudgeon.

  The video was the crux of the case, and Ethan was hammering home what he and the pack wanted the world to see. “The time stamp on that video is an hour and a half before my client was arrested. You saw the video, you saw the fight, you saw the brutality of it. And yet my client didn’t have a mark on him. He wasn’t photographed with a black eye, or blood on his clothes, or injuries to his knuckles. You can try this case, and I’ll bring expert after expert to prove there was no way he was there.”

  “That means nothing. Maybe he didn’t injure himself,” Price countered.

  “And maybe my client’s a superhero with supernatural abilities. I don’t care how skilled you are as a fighter—there is absolutely no way a person could be involved in a fight with three other men without sustaining an injury.”

  “If it’s not him, then who is it?” the DA snapped in frustration.

  Ethan flashed him a smile. “That’s not my job. The city has several unsolved murders, and unfortunately, this may go down as another. I’m sorry and I regret this, but the right person should be held accountable for this, not just anyone.”

  I turned to see Dexter’s reaction. The muscles in his neck bulged as his teeth clenched. My first thought was he was disgusted with the DA, but then I noticed Sebastian, who had just slipped into a chair in the back row.

  Dexter glided out of his seat, his shifter bodyguards moving in unison with him. Sebastian rose and followed them out of the courtroom. I leaped up and trailed Sebastian, oblivious to the court proceedings. Dexter turned and gave Sebastian a sweeping, dismissive look before closing the distanc
e between them. He held Sebastian’s gaze as long as he could; it was difficult for him and his eyes wavered several times.

  “Your pack destroyed my things and cost me a lot of fucking money, and for what, one woman? She wasn’t even part of your pack. I was going to return her when I was done.”

  It took a great deal of restraint not to react, and each moment that passed pulled at my control. I was ready to snap. I wanted to punch Dexter. That was being generous. I wanted to beat the hell out of him. Pummel him until he was nothing more than a bloody mess on the ground and couldn’t curve his lips to form one of his haughty, taunting smiles because they would be too swollen to function.

  “She was our responsibility. If you think what you did was merely insulting, imagine what I will do if you keep fucking with us,” Sebastian said. He leaned in and his voice dropped, laced with threats of unbearable pain and retribution. “You really don’t want to screw with me.”

  “I don’t want to just screw with you. I want to destroy you all, and I will.” Dexter’s arrogance had to be backed by more than the two shifters standing next to him.

  He’s armed with something else.

  Sebastian was as stiff as a board, unable to move, seized by the anger he was struggling to control. Amber-drenched eyes stared down at Dexter. I felt the primal virulence from my position ten feet away. The people around us might not feel the tension the way I did, but they could see it. Sebastian’s fists were clenched at his sides, his eyes fastened on the prey in front of him, his stance easily enabling a strike.

  “Sebastian,” I whispered.

  It drew Dexter’s attention. A deviant smile kinked the corners of his mouth. “You should listen to her. Or you could attack me here.” He scanned the people standing in the hallway. One looked like a reporter; the others were ready to be smartphone journalists. “Do you think Attorney Charleston can get you out of it? You’re welcome to test how truly talented he is.”

  Dexter took a step back, but Sebastian could have easily cleared the space between them. “I guess then the Red Blood wouldn’t have to work much harder at exposing you, would they?” The mage’s eyes slowly roved over me. It made me feel like I needed a shower. He ignored Sebastian and directed his comment to me. “You know why they call themselves the Red Blood?” He rolled his eyes. “Because humans bleed red—as if our blood is another color. Foolish people with rigid ideologies are easy to incite. They have their sights on supernaturals, specifically the were-animals. It’s relatively easy to prove the existence of people who turn to animals when called by the moon.” He turned on his heel, his detail close to him, and started toward the exit. “All they need is a little nudge, and I’m in the mood to do just that. Hmm, if Steven is convicted, how long will it take for the world to pull you out of the closet?”

  The thin thread of control snapped hard—not mine, but Sebastian’s. I stepped in front of him just in time, but I wasn’t totally confident he wouldn’t plow through me to get to Dexter. And as Dexter walked away, his laugh lingering in the air like an ominous threat, it became harder to stand between the two. If we were going to be outed, I’d like it to start with Dexter being ripped apart by a wolf. No one was more deserving of such an ending.

  When we returned to the courtroom, Price and Ethan were at their desks, calendars open as they scheduled Steven’s trial. Ethan sought my face out among the crowd, his eyes gentle and placid, attempting to offer comfort. There wouldn’t be any. We were going to trial, and there was a chance Steven would be convicted.

  After the hearing, Ethan left with Price to work out a deal. I followed Sebastian back to the house. He retreated to his office and closed the door. I went to the IT room and took up a place at the door, next to Gavin, who acknowledged me with a flick of his midnight eyes in my direction.

  “They aren’t even trying to fit in,” he complained, a frown forming as he carefully regarded them. The Worgen were distracted by their computers. One of them had his legs crossed and was staring at rows of information scrolling over his large screen.

  The third largest room in the house had been converted into a workspace for them. It now had white walls, something atypical in the pack’s house. Were-animals preferred color—it hid bloodstains—and faux finishes, which concealed the multiple times the walls had been damaged in a fight or by an ill-controlled temper. Most of our wrecked walls had been the result of spats between Ethan and Josh. They weren’t known for playing well with each other or resolving their conflicts with words. Or rather, they played fine together and had discussions, but their language was punches, childish insults, Josh’s magic, and Ethan’s brute force.

  Life-size cutouts of superheroes and video game posters decorated the walls here. Gavin was right; the guys in here were geeks and wore that badge with honor. Although they’d put minimal effort into assimilating, they’d proven to be an asset to the pack and that was all that mattered. They could probably march around in Storm Trooper armor and Spock ears and get away with it.

  But they were hard at work, firing away codes and monitoring scrolling screens. Quinn circulated among them, helping them. I didn’t want to be here—I needed plausible deniability when things went wrong—and the looks they gave me over their shoulders made it clear they didn’t want me here, either.

  Quinn finally turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you need something, Skylar?” He always dealt with me with an unusual level of reverence, and I wasn’t sure if it came from my status as Ethan’s mate or as the pack’s overbearing moral guardian. Usually, whenever I entered, there would be a flurry of activity as they exited windows on their computers.

  The various screens displayed personal information on people and an impressive mapping of the Red Blood’s relationships to companies and social organization. A printer spewed out an endless list of names.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Quinn’s face tinted an odd rose color before he bit his lip. “It’s all the people who were summoned for jury duty in the past three months.” He looked down at the list. “We are checking the list against the one on the screen. More than likely, they will be in the jury pool when Steven’s case comes to trial.”

  “Is that public information?” I asked.

  “It can be found on the Web,” he offered evasively.

  I scrutinized the monitors for a few minutes while I weighed the value of the information against the questionable legality of the ways we’d acquired it. I backed out of the room, giving Quinn a quick wave, and relief spread over his face. Ignorance was my best course of action. Gavin was heading down the hall. No doubt he’d grown bored; he’d given his usual signal, which was to leave without saying a word.

  Kelly came around the corner, caught him by the arm, and then slid her hand down until her fingers met and entwined with his. Their features and personalities paradoxically contrasted with and complemented each other. Her brown hair was thick and curly; his was jet-black, straight, and so long that if he bent forward, it formed a curtain over his face. His eyes were just as dark as his hair and glinted with barely suppressed menace. Kelly’s were light brown, bright, and lively. She always wore a smile; Gavin wore a perpetual scowl. Built for stealth and speed, he was tall and lean with cords of muscle along his exposed arms. Her shorter frame was toned from years of dancing, yet she still managed to have curves. Her skin was a warm sepia, his cool and tawny.

  “How was the hearing?” she asked, keeping a firm grasp on Gavin, who looked like a caged animal just waiting for an opportunity to escape. She turned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Don’t ask her questions like that. She’ll just blather on,” he commented in a stage whisper. Even a human would have heard him.

  “Gavin,” Kelly said softly. “Rude.”

  “How is the truth rude?”

  She sighed heavily. Apparently, it was a conversation she didn’t want to have again.

  “Go on, Sky,” she urged.

  I kept my eyes on Kelly,
allowing them to slip in Gavin’s direction as I set the scene. He seemed feral, desperate to walk away, and he would have if it weren’t for Kelly. Right before I got to the part with Dexter, I stopped, uneasy because Dexter was the reason she was a were-animal. I didn’t want to be the person responsible for forcing her to relive being abducted and used as a test subject.

  “What’s wrong? Your heart’s beating too fast,” Kelly asked, concerned.

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I lied. “After the arguments, the judge felt there was enough information to proceed to trial.”

  She nodded apprehensively. I felt terrible keeping the rest of the information from her. “That’s it for now.” I looked at my phone. “I have to go. I told Ethan I’d meet him for drinks.” I felt better at least ending our conversation on something that was true.

  I’d made it to my car when Kelly called my name. I contemplated pretending I hadn’t heard her and leaving.

  “You’re doing to me what they did to you,” she said in a low, gentle voice as she approached, searching my face for the answers I hadn’t given her before. Concern and curiosity cast darkness over her face. She growled out, “Don’t do that to me.” The animal peeked through her eyes as hunter green rolled over them. Taken aback by it, she gasped an apology and took several steps back.

  Guilt wound around me; I wanted to protect Kelly, but she didn’t want me to. She was right— the pack had deliberately left me in the dark before. That was a pack tactic and something I’d rejected. It might have been strategic and even considered protective at times, but it was also cruel.

  “You’re right. I’m the one who should be sorry.” I blew out a slow breath and then told her what had happened in the hallway of the courthouse between Dexter and Sebastian. I didn’t leave out any details.

  She grappled with her emotions and wore that struggle on her face as they hardened her delicate features. “Emotions are harder now. Everything feels so intense.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, and it reminded me of the way vampires looked when they felt the need to feed. It wasn’t a vampire instinct; it was a predator’s instinct. She wanted to retaliate, strike, be the hunter rather than the hunted. Lifting her nose to the air, she frowned.