The Darkness Within (Sanguine Series: Awakening Book 1)

by H. M Reilly

  Logan stepped away from the wall as she continued, keeping her focus on the two younger men. Michael appeared unconscious and bleeding from the impact with the wall, but Bryan shifted where he leaned against a wall, groaning in pain. The look of pain on his nephew’s face almost made Logan cringe as he approached, but the effect of her energy grew, and he could feel it start to weaken him. He had to focus.

  He stepped closer to the witch, clutching the blade in his hand. A grimace pulled across his face as he pushed through the wave of energy vibrating through the air. Bryan let out another heavy groan, keeping the witch focused on him.

  “You think you can sneak up and destroy me? You have nothing on me, hunters,” she snarled. Her hands were still in the air, her fingers curved as she manipulated the energy around them. Logan stepped right up to her with the stealth of a cat and stabbed the silver knife into the witch’s side. He and Bryan let out a loud groan as the wave of energy in the air took a sharp spike. She turned to face Logan as he fought through the pain that washed over him. A wicked grin appeared on her face.

  “How did I not see you before? How did I not notice you?” she asked.

  Logan was panting, choked by the energy still hanging heavily in the air. But he lifted a hand to the collar of his shirt and pulled it down to reveal a necklace. A pendant dangled from the end of an old thread of rope. The witch hissed at it.

  “I know who you are,” she growled. “I ought to tear that necklace right off of you, traitor.”

  A crooked grin appeared on Logan’s face as he glanced at the jewel hanging from his neck. A cloudy amethyst hung from an old thread of rope. The necklace was a part of his ancient magical family history and a piece of his infamous legacy, one which tarnished his image. Many ancient witches knew about his great-great-grandfather, who first wore the necklace, and the name Eaton carried with it the association of betrayal to magical kind. Logan didn’t wish to follow his grandfather’s footsteps and kill other witches, no matter how they chose to practice their craft, but this witch was the exception. He took another step forward.

  He found the handle of his blade, pulled it out of her side with a wet sound, and lifted it to her chest. He closed the last bit of space between them and plunged it into her heart. His voice was hoarse as he spoke. “I’d like to see you try, bitch.”

  Blood spilled across the floor as she dropped from Logan’s grasp. Bryan shifted where he lay on the ground, trying to get up. The two men watched as the life evaporated from the witch. Moments ago, she had been a beautiful young woman. The husk of a wrinkled old woman replaced her now.

  Logan reached down and retrieved his knife from the shriveled corpse. There was no blood left, only a trace of a black sticky substance on the blade. He wiped it on the leg of his jeans and slipped his blade back into the holster hidden in the cuff of his boot. He pushed the body away with the toe of his boot, and he watched the remains crumble as the body rolled away.

  A sense of satisfaction swept through him. The witch who killed his growing family was finally dead, and it had been done by his hand. If only her death could bring his girlfriend and their unborn baby back. But that thought was much darker than he was willing to dive into.

  “Logan,” Bryan said. He turned his gaze in his nephew’s direction. Bryan approached Michael, still lying unconscious against the wall. Logan stepped over and crouched down, leaning close to check for his pulse.

  “He’s still alive. We’re going to need to get him some medical help. Help me lift him up, Bryan.” The two men lifted Michael from the ground and headed for the stairs. They made their way down to the first floor and out the front door. Bryan muttered about Michael being a heavy motherfucker as they crossed the alleyway and out to the street.

  “I need you to drive him to the hospital, Bryan. Tell them he tripped and fell.” They slipped Michael into the backseat of his car, where Bryan fished in his pockets to find his keys. He looked over at his uncle.

  “You sure they’re gonna buy it?”

  “There’s not a lot of blood, so they should. Just stick to the story if they ask any questions,” Logan said. “Call me if there are any problems.”

  “Okay.” Bryan hopped in Michael’s car and took off, but Logan took his time. The adrenaline from the kill was starting to wear off, and his hands started to shake. Not to mention the thoughts plaguing his mind. He was worried about Michael being hurt, and he sure wasn’t ready to lose another family member the same way he lost his dad.

  Logan wasn’t close to his family the way he used to be. At least not since he had been released from prison. As far as Logan knew, neither of his sisters knew their sons still hunted with him. If Michael succumbed to his injuries, his sister would never forgive him for allowing his nephew to hunt after much of their family abandoned that lifestyle. Death claimed enough of their family when faced with the supernatural evils of the world; he didn’t want the weight of another family member’s death on his shoulders. He still loved and cared for them, even if he needed it to be from a distance.

  Logan turned on his truck and took off, praying to whatever gods still listened that his nephew would survive.

  CHAPTER 9

  Michael was released from the hospital a couple days later. Despite the wound to his head and the hit to the side, Michael needed only a few stitches at the back of his skull and a bandage over his cracked ribs. Because of his shape when he came into the hospital, the doctor kept him an extra day to make sure he didn’t slip it into a coma. Thankfully, not too many questions were asked by the authorities.

  Michael sent a text to his cousin to let him know he had been released. As he waited outside the emergency department, sniffling with a cold, a familiar truck pulled up, and it wasn’t Bryan. He could only hope it was someone else driving the truck, but the truck stopped beside the curb. The window rolled down, and he could hear classic rock playing through the speakers. A cigarette sat between Logan’s lips.

  “Get in.”

  He didn’t speak to his uncle for most of the ride home. Music floated from the speakers. A few miles from his apartment complex, Michael glanced over at his uncle. “Bryan already at work?”

  “You might be my nephew, and I love ya, but you need to watch your ass. You’re gonna get yourself fucking killed.”

  “I knew what danger I was getting into, Logan,” he said. “I think you need to lay the fuck off. If I wanna hunt, I’m gonna hunt. If I’m gonna get tangled up with a fucking monster, I’ll handle it whether you think I can or not. I don’t need your shit.”

  “Your mother would kill me if she knew you and Bryan were hunting with me.”

  “Then why the fuck did you ask us?”

  “You die, it’s not gonna be on my watch, Michael. Get out of my truck.” Logan pulled up beside the curb.

  “Then kill these bitches yourself.” He looked over at Logan, meeting his uncle’s sharp glare, then picked up his bag and stepped out to the sidewalk. He slammed the door behind him, and Logan yelled out a profanity. He heard his uncle's truck peel out of the parking lot as he crossed the parking lot.

  The apartment was quiet when he stepped through the front door. He could smell stale pizza from a week ago sitting in the kitchen. He went down the hall and changed into sweats, grabbing a box of cold medicine from the bathroom. He took a moment to read the ingredients on the back, still feeling a little loopy from the pain killers. He swallowed a couple of the cold pills and headed back to the living room.

  He landed on the couch, pulling the remote out from the couch cushions. He flipped on the television, just to have the noise. He laid down on the pillows, pulling the blanket over him. Soon, the cold medicine kicked in, and he drifted to a drug-induced sleep.

  When Michael woke from his nap, he felt terrible. He’d started to feel sick the day Logan contacted him and Bryan for help. Now, the hangover from the pain killers and cold medicine didn’t seem to help. He ached all over, but he managed to drag himself from the couch cushions. He popped
a couple of aspirins and changed into his work clothes before heading out the door, his head spinning the whole drive.

  He skipped his usual afternoon coffee and instead grabbed himself a large chai tea before rolling into work with minutes to spare. He parked at the far end of the parking lot, just beneath the light, and crossed toward the strip mall. He went inside through the back door and heard someone call out his name. "Yeah?"

  “You’re late.”

  “Sorry.”

  Michael couldn’t stand his boss, the arrogant little bastard. He knew nothing about instruments, let alone how to tune one. The young, fresh out of business school kid had only been hired a few weeks ago, and he only had the job because his father owned the place. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two with a pitiful unshaven face.

  “It’s ok. Just don’t let it happen again.”

  Michael kept himself focused on the day's work in front of him as well as he could with the fog of sickness enveloping him. He was grateful he didn't have a difficult job. During the seven-hour shift, he sold a few guitars and even a drum kit to a kid with a dad that seemed less than enthused about the new hobby. As the end of the night drew near, a young girl came in to have her new guitar tuned and ended up leaving the guitar for a full body check.

  The shop closed at seven-thirty as always, and Michael couldn't wait to get out the door with the gnawing pain between his shoulders. He had managed to numb the pain earlier, but once the aspirin wore off, the pain had seemed to grow even worse. Thankfully, he wasn’t closing with the assistant manager that night.

  He popped a few more aspirins once he climbed into his car, waiting for the engine to warm up, then grabbed a cigarette from the pack sitting in the glove box. He headed home, ready for a nap, the one thing he’d had on his mind all day.

  A block away from home, Michael stopped by the drug store and grabbed himself another box of cold medicine. He made sure to grab a few bottles of orange juice and a box of tissues on his way to the checkout counter. The older woman at the counter looked at his purchases with her own red puffy eyes. “It’s that time of year.”

  “Yep.”

  “Rest up.”

  “You too.” She sneezed as he headed out the front door with his bag. He climbed back into his car, and his cell phone beeped with a new text message. He tapped the screen to see a new message from Bryan, glancing over the message briefly before pulling out of the parking lot. He just wanted to go home and rest on his couch.

  When Michael climbed up the stairs to the second floor, he found Bryan leaning against the railing, waiting. “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d stop by. Hang out for a bit since I have a date later.” Bryan said. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks, asshole,” Michael said. He turned and unlocked the front door, letting Bryan in. He shut the door and went down the hall to change out of his work clothes, then reappeared in a pair of sweats with his box of cold medicine, landing back on the couch. Bryan was sitting in a chair with the television remote in his hand.

  “Dude. You sick?”

  “I feel like shit. Stitches. Cast. And I think I have a cold.”

  “You been kissing Charlotte too much?” A smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

  “Whatever, man. Just ‘cause you can’t get any.”

  “Shut up. I have a date.”

  “Doesn’t mean she’ll fuck you.”

  “You never know. I could charm her panties off,” Bryan said. Michael chuckled and let out a groan, clutching his torso. Hopefully, soon his ribs wouldn’t be so sore. “Dude, if you feel that bad, maybe you should go see the doctor again.”

  “You think I have the money to go see another doctor after that trip to the ER?”

  “Go see my mom then. She won’t charge you.”

  “I thought she doesn’t do healing anymore.”

  “Not really, but she still has her apothecary or whatever,” Bryan said.

  “I’ll wait it out a little longer. See if it gets any better.”

  “Whatever, Mike. Just take it easy,” Bryan said with another glance at his cousin. The room fell quiet until Bryan flicked on the television. He flipped through the limited channels Michael had.

  Michael rose from the couch and went to the kitchen, grabbing a clean mug. He filled it with water and popped it in the microwave for a minute. Then he pulled out a box of tea and grabbed a bag, taking his things back to the living room with him.

  He passed by his cousin to the couch. Bryan glanced over at Michael with a double-take, quirking a brow. He looked at him as he placed the mug on the coffee table, letting the tea bag steep. “What’s your deal?”

  “Mike, where did you get those scratches on your back?”

  “What scratches?”

  “You have scratches on your back. They’re kinda red.”

  “They’re probably from the hunt the other night. My back has been aching pretty good.”

  “They don’t look good,” Bryan said. “I guess the doctor didn’t see those?”

  Michael rose from his seat, turning his head as he tried to see the marks Bryan spoke of, but he was unsuccessful. He turned his back and stepped over to Bryan, letting him examine his back. His back still felt sore, the muscles stretching with his movements, but he hadn’t thought it was bad. The return of his headache seemed more pressing. “What do you think?”

  “I dunno. They're pretty fucking red. Maybe you should go see my mom.”

  Bryan's mom was a healer, but not just any healer. She specialized in cleansing injuries and maladies that weren’t of this mortal world years ago but had ended up quitting when Bryan was still a kid. Michael never learned why his aunt quit the supernatural arts, but the Eaton family never spoke of their magical blood or abilities. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Shit.”

  “I dunno, Mike. I can’t tell you where those came from, but I don’t remember that witch scratching you,” Bryan said.

  Michael lifted a hand and scrubbed across his jawline in thought. Bryan was right, but where else could he have gotten the scratches? His one-night stand with Charlotte wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t think she was a supernatural creature. He wracked his mind for anything that may have revealed otherwise, but he couldn’t think of a thing. “Maybe we should call Logan and ask him what he thinks.”

  “Yeah, but we need to care of those scratches first. I don’t know how much damage these did. I don’t want to come over and find your dumb ass dead one night.”

  “Thought you had a date tonight?”

  “Give my mom a call and see if she’s home. We can always go in the morning. Unless you don’t think you’ll be ok till then?”

  “I’ll be fine, Bryan. Go on your date,” Michael said.

  Michael rose from the couch and shooed his cousin out the front door, snatching the remote from him. He locked the front door and went back to his spot on the couch. His tea had already started to grow cold, but he took a drink anyway. He leaned back on the couch, flipping on the DVD player to watch a movie.

  The next morning, Bryan arrived at Michael’s front door with coffee and breakfast in hand. As miserable as Michael felt, coffee was the perfect remedy to lift away the fog settling over him.

  They drove out to the edge of town. A white house with blue trim stood tall at the end of the cul de sac. Michael hardly noticed the car stop until Bryan slipped out. He stuffed his keys in his pocket and helped Michael out of the car. They crossed the huge xeriscape lawn to the porch, where Bryan knocked on the front door. A young, brunette teen answered the door in a pair of unicorn pajamas.

  “What do you want?”

  “Let me in, Steph. I’m here to see Mom and Dad.”

  “Dad’s not here right now.”

  “Mom is. I saw her car on the other side of the house. Just let me in, dammit.”

  “Why? What’d you and Michael do now?” she said. She eyed Michael as he leaned against a post. She held the door open just a crack, standing
in her brother’s way.

  “Don’t worry about it. C’mon, Steph, dammit.”

  “Whatever,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She stepped aside to let the boys in and crossed to the bottom of the stairs, yelling out for her mother. “Bryan and Michael are here.”

  “Thanks, Steph.”

  She grinned back at her brother as she slinked up the stairs and disappeared down the hall. Bryan led Michael down the hall to the living room, where they plopped on the couch. Michael rested his head on the back of the couch.

  “Stephanie, what did I tell you about yelling in the house?” a woman’s voice could be heard from above. “I’m told you were looking for me, Bryan.” A woman with long black hair almost down to her waist descended the stairs. She wore a long, flowing blue skirt and a blouse cinched at the waist with a light blue beaded belt. Michael saw Bryan cross the room to give her a hug.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Is everything okay, Bryan?” she said. She glanced at her nephew, lounging on the couch only a few feet away. “It’s not often you just drop by without a phone call.”

  “Yeah. I know, Mom. Sorry. Just been working a lot.” She only nodded and followed Bryan over to the couch.

  Michael sat up and smiled at his aunt. “Hey, Aunt Marina.”

  “Hello, Michael. You look terrible.” She looked up at her son and had a seat on the couch. She lifted a hand to her nephew’s forehead. “Do you have a cold?”

  “I haven’t been feeling so good.”

  “Yes, I see that. Why did you come all the way out here, though? You should see a doctor.”

  “I’ve been taking over the counter stuff, Auntie, but none of it seems to be helping.”

  “I guess you haven’t gone to the doctor yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe, you should. For my sister’s sake, I’ll drive you myself,” Marina said. She moved to rise from the couch when Bryan placed his hand on his mom’s arm.

  “Mom, Michael has scratches on his back. And I don’t think a doctor’s medication or ointment is gonna make it better.”