by Vella Day
“Get out,” he commanded.
Was this it? Had he brought her to this desolate part of town so he could kill her then dump her body? Poor Rye. A wolf without his mate would end horribly for him.
With trembling hands, she lifted the door latch while trying to devise the best plan to kill him. Running, however, wasn’t an option. He’d shift and catch her quickly, making her death painful.
Owen Chancellor popped the trunk then slid out with his gun in his hand. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but I need you to get in the back. I can’t have you see where we’re going.”
While he didn’t intend to kill her right away, riding in the trunk of a car was only slightly more appealing. “No way I’m getting in there.”
Up to this point, she’d been compliant, but this was as far as it went. Just as Izzy lifted her hand to send a blast of wind strong enough to knock him down, he raised his arm and fired. Her arm kicked to the side and the wind she’d sent blew down a tree near him, missing her captor by yards.
A second later, her brain registered the pain in her upper arm, and it sucked the air right out of her lungs. Izzy glanced down at the blood pouring out, and disbelief slammed into her. “You shot me.”
Her stomach convulsed, but she wouldn’t be thwarted. Izzy lifted her uninjured arm, needing to incinerate the bastard now. Before she had the chance to send off a burning blast, a second shot grazed her hip, buckling her left knee. She dropped to the ground.
Chancellor strode toward her and then kicked her in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe.
“Now get in the trunk or I’ll shoot ya in the belly, ’cause if I can’t have ya then no one’s gonna have ya.”
“You fucking bastard. What do you want?” She’d tried to shout but the words came out in spurts.
He bent down, picked her up, and then dumped her in the trunk. Excruciating pain traveled up her spine and nearly made her cry out. The moment the lid shut, Izzy lifted her good arm and banged on the roof, but it did no good.
*
Rye was working hard to stay focused. The call from his supervisor an hour ago had been urgent but apologetic. One of the local elementary schools had been deliberately set on fire, and he was needed to help with the blaze. What kind of bastard would do that? He could guess—a Changeling. Only why?
With only a few hours’ sleep, his energy was waning, but he’d give it his best. The hoses were blasting out water at a rapid rate, and in the last few minutes, the fire had finally lost its strength. The administrators had evacuated all of the children, and thank goddess there had been no reported injuries. The only issue now was how much of the gym could be saved.
A sharp pain stabbed him in the arm, followed by an ache in his leg. What the hell? His pulse sped up as dread slowly seeped in. Was his mate in trouble?
Frank, his supervisor, rushed over waving his cell. “Got an emergency call for you,” he shouted over the roar of the blaze and the rush of water.
If it hadn’t been for Rye’s excellent hearing and his ability to read lips, he never would have understood the message. Rye couldn’t figure out who would be calling for him on his supervisor’s phone. Not Izzy. Frank was suited up and motioned for Rye to hand him the hose.
“Thanks.” Rye slipped the cell from his boss’s fingers, turned his back to the blaze, and answered. “Hello?”
“Rye, it’s Elana.”
Had she not sounded so scared, he would have told her this was not a good time. “What’s wrong?” Please don’t tell me something has happened to Izzy.
“Izzy never showed up for our lunch date. I tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer. I had to call the station. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Tension nearly crippled him, but he tried to stay positive. With all that had been on Izzy’s mind, he prayed she’d forgotten the time of their date. Unfortunately, that didn’t jive with the sharp jab to his arm a leg that he feared came from his mate. “When did you speak with her last?”
“An hour ago.” She then explained where and when they were supposed to meet. “I’ve called her cell a few times, but it goes to voicemail.”
He turned his attention away from Elana and tried to make contact with his mate. “Izzy, can you hear me,” he telepathed. After waiting three breaths for her to answer, he refocused on Izzy’s friend. Rye’s head pounded. “Elana, call me on my cell immediately if Izzy contacts you, okay?”
“I promise, and please let me know when you find her.” Elana sucked in a breath as if she was close to hyperventilating.
“I will.”
Once more, he attempted to connect with Izzy, but again, he didn’t receive a response. His gut twisted into multiple knots, and his heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s. He rushed back to Frank and returned his phone. “I’m sorry, my fiancée has been kidnapped.” Calling Izzy his mate would not have been wise.
Frank’s eyes widened, though Rye didn’t have time to find out if it was because he hadn’t known Rye had a fiancée, or that someone he knew had been kidnapped.
“Go. We have the blaze under control. Thanks for helping out.”
Rye was grateful he didn’t have to argue about taking off before the fire was out. After leaving his suit in the truck, he rushed back to his SUV, his mind spinning. If Owen Chancellor had taken her, where would he go?
Rye rarely ventured into the hills, mostly because the Changelings lived there, but he’d have to head there now. Damn. Chancellor had sought out a black witch once, so he might try her again. Too bad Rye had no idea who she was or where she lived.
“James,” he blurted. He’d know.
The immortal had mentioned his contact had found out Owen Chancellor’s name. Perhaps that person could provide him with the locations of the black witches. Rye jumped into his car, and as he sped down Oak Avenue toward High Point Street, he telepathed Kalan.
“I need your help. I think Izzy’s been kidnapped.”
“Give me the details.” Thankfully, Kalan must have sensed time was of the essence and didn’t question his statement. Rye spit out what he knew. “I’m on my way to James’s house to see if he can help. I’ll let you know what he says.” Rye hadn’t had the time to brief his best friend about his recent meeting with Naliana’s husband. He needed to do a better job at communicating, especially with his Beta.
“I’ll put an APB out on his vehicle.”
“Thanks. I’ll contact you if I find out more.”
Rye’s tires squealed as he turned onto the road toward the lake. While it wasn’t more than two miles to his cottage, it seemed like a million miles away. Rye attempted to reach Izzy telepathically again, and after he thought he’d made a connection, all he received was what sounded like moans, and his heart pinched at the implication.
“Come on Izzy. Talk to me, baby. I know you can hear me.”
“Rye.”
Yes! His grip loosened on the wheel, but he didn’t slow in case Izzy couldn’t tell him her location.
“Where are you? Are you okay?” He finally let out a breath.
“Trun—Ow.”
He had no idea why her words faded in and out. “Izzy, concentrate. Tell me where you are.”
“Don’t know.”
“Did Chancellor take you?”
“Yes.”
“Hold on. I’ll find you.” He then broke the connection. She’d sounded weak, and he didn’t want her to waste her energy.
James’s cabin came into view. Once in his driveway, Rye jammed the SUV into park, cut the engine, and hauled ass to the front door. He pounded until his host answered.
The door opened. “Come in, Rye. Tell me what’s wrong.” The man was the epitome of calm.
Rye was barely able to get the words out. “Izzy’s in trouble. I think Owen Chancellor has her.”
James led him over to the sofa. “Slow down and tell me everything.”
Here he thought the man had super human powers and would already be aware of what had transpired. As cohe
rently as he could, Rye imparted only the most important pieces of information. “Can you ask your source for the location of their witches?”
“I can try, but there’s no guarantee Izzy is there. Seems to me this Chancellor person has an agenda we’re not even sure about.”
“I need to start somewhere.”
As if Izzy were resting comfortably somewhere sipping tea instead of being held against her will, James eased up from the chair and went in search of his cell phone. Rye wanted to shake him at his lack of urgency.
“Here it is.” James held up his cell and dialed someone. He explained what he needed and then listened for at least a minute. “Thank you.”
He returned to his seat. “There are two witches that my source said might have dealt with your stalker.” He wrote down their names and addresses. “I hope you know your way around the hills, as addresses are not well marked.”
“I’ll find it.” With Izzy’s help.
Rye ran out without thanking James. Damn. Once in the SUV, he dialed Izzy’s cell, hoping she had her phone with her, but it went to voicemail as Elana had said. In case Chancellor had confiscated it, he didn’t leave a message.
“Izzy, I’m going to find you. Hang in there.”
“Hurry.” The communication was much clearer this time. She sounded stronger, and the tightness in his throat relaxed somewhat.
“Can you tell me anything about your location?”
“In the trunk of Chancellor’s car.”
Acid burned a hole in his heart. “Kalan and I will find you. If you learn anything, let me know.”
“Rye?”
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Hang in there.”
“I’m trying, but I’ve been shot.”
With that news, Rye nearly ran off the road.
Chapter Eighteen
‡
While Izzy was relieved Rye knew she’d been kidnapped, she wasn’t sure it would do her any good. The hole in her arm seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the wound to her hip was killing her—literally and figuratively. Every bump sent spikes of pain up her spine, and from the amount of the liquid on the carpet, she was losing blood rather quickly.
Damn. Why hadn’t she thought to contact him when Chancellor shoved that gun in her back? Because she’d been overwhelmed and this whole telepathy thing was so new to her.
Rye’s comment came back to her about how she’d have improved healing powers, but if that were true, why was she still in such pain? Was it because she needed to shift first? Unfortunately, that was out of her control. What she wouldn’t give for her sister’s healing ways now.
Needing to focus on escaping, she concentrated on what she’d have to do next. When Chancellor opened the trunk again, assuming he would, she’d have to use her magic on him from a prone position, as she was in no shape to jump out and attack. Fire seemed her best solution, but her aim when she was healthy was poor at best. Sadly, shooting fire didn’t happen instantaneously, and she doubted he’d stand there while she created the heat.
If he were pointing a gun at her, she’d have to do as he said.
Izzy closed her eyes and pictured Rye sitting on the rock overlooking Silver Lake, hoping to reestablish the connection. In her weakened state, she wasn’t sure she could communicate. “Rye, where are you?”
“Trying…you.”
She wished she understood how this mental communication really worked, because the connection was so weak. The trunk opened and Izzy froze.
“Fuck. You bled on the carpet.”
The rental car company would have a field day with that. “It wasn’t my fault.”
He reached in to grab her, but she waved him off. “I’ll get out by myself.” Even if it kills me.
Chancellor aimed his gun at her heart. “No shenanigans or I’ll shoot you dead this time.”
She believed him. A door opened, and footsteps sounded. “What’s going on here?” It was a woman’s voice and hope surged.
“Isadora isn’t feeling well. Can you do the spell from there?” her captor asked.
Another spell? Her stomach cramped. She’d be helpless if her magic was taken from her again.
Suddenly, a young woman moved in front of the trunk, blocking the piercing sunlight. The backlight haloed her long black hair, but her facial features were in the shadows.
“She’s injured. We need to get her inside. I’m not doing anything until her wounds are tended to.”
When Izzy tried to sit up, she had to swallow the pain to keep from crying out. She ached in places other than where she’d been shot. Picturing Rye, Izzy pushed up and gasped.
The woman leaned over and placed her hands under Izzy’s back. “Move her right leg,” the woman commanded to the man.
With a grunt, Chancellor flung Izzy’s leg over the side of the trunk lip. Asshole. “I can do it myself,” Izzy said.
Between the woman’s supporting arm and Izzy’s sheer determination, she managed to stand, but as soon as she stepped on her bad leg, her knee buckled.
“You need to carry her,” the woman said.
He waved his gun. “No way, she’ll use her magic on me.”
“I’m too weak,” Izzy said. “My magic won’t work.” A blatant lie, but she was desperate.
The woman huffed, wrapped an arm around Izzy’s waist, and guided her toward the double-wide trailer. The outside was gray vinyl, but the twelve by ten foot porch looked to be a makeshift add-on. The lady helped her up the three steps. Why was this woman being so nice? Rumors had it that all Changelings were bad. Perhaps a few had caused the hype.
Once inside, the woman guided her to a chair. “I’ll get a towel. I don’t want blood on my floor.”
So much for altruism. The interior was sparse. What there was of it was mismatched furniture of poor quality. The only visible room was the living room they passed through and a dining room. A door off to the left probably led to the kitchen.
Owen Chancellor withdrew two pairs of handcuffs from his back pocket and leaned close. “Can’t chance you doing something.”
He yanked her arms behind her and snapped the cuffs closed, causing her to swallow a scream. Shit that hurt. Not only was her arm throbbing, without her hands, Izzy was powerless.
“Rye, can you hear me?” Crap, she forgot to focus on his image first. Staring straight ahead, she pictured how adorable he was encased in rumpled sheets this morning. “Rye?”
“I’m here,” he replied right away. “I’m sensing a lot of pain.” The worry in his voice tore her up.
He could feel her ache? “I’m okay. Chancellor has me handcuffed inside someone’s house. A woman in her mid-twenties with long, straight black hair seems to own the place.”
“I’ll find you.”
A hard slap across her face stunned her back to the present and she let out a loud grunt. Tears brimmed on her lashes, but she wouldn’t cry in front of him.
“Izzy?” Rye’s plea tore at her heart.
“I’m okay.” From the way her fear reached out to him, it wouldn’t matter what she told him. He’d know the truth.
“Pay attention,” Chancellor commanded.
To what?
The woman cleared her throat then pressed a dishtowel over Izzy’s hip wound. Another piercing ache stabbed her and her breathing turned ragged. “That should help,” the witch said. “The bleeding on your arm seems to have stopped.”
“Thank you.”
The witch stepped behind the table then lit four white candles. She carefully measured out a tablespoon of vanilla and placed the liquid in a bowl. She repeated this four times, moving her metal spoon slowly as if she feared she’d spill the precious liquid.
“What the hell are you doing, witch? Get on with it.”
The young woman glared at Owen, and Izzy swore he flinched. “You said you wanted a binding love spell. This woman does not appear to be particularly willing, so I need to take my time to make sure it holds. Yo
u’re welcome to leave, but I’m keeping my fee.”
He snarled and narrowed his eyes. “Just do it.”
A love spell? Was he kidding? Izzy could only hope this woman wasn’t experienced enough to do a good job.
The witch nodded, pulled two long pieces of different colored yarn from her pocket, along with a pair of scissors and a six-inch ruler. She spent half a minute measuring the thread, and Chancellor shifted from side to side. A few times he looked out the window, as if he expected someone to come to her rescue. Izzy thought about saying something to hurry the witch along to prevent Chancellor from harming her further, but the longer this woman took, the better chance Rye had of rescuing her.
The witch placed both threads on the table in front of her. “Sir?”
Chancellor returned. “About fuckin’ time.”
“Please pick up one piece of thread with your left hand.”
He huffed but obeyed. “Now what?”
“Repeat after me: Let this thread, unjoined and free, represent my woeful soul.”
“That’s crazy talk. My soul is not full of woe.”
The witch stilled. “You paid me to make certain this woman falls in love with you. Now do it.”
Her harsh tone shook Izzy, but the small boost of energy didn’t last. She was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. Her strength was diminishing at an alarming rate. She needed help soon or she’d die, never to see Rye again. She sucked in a sob at that horrible thought.
“Fine.” He said the words with much disgust. It was almost as if he believed Izzy’s small cry was an expression of urging.
“Sir, I cannot guarantee success if your attitude does not improve.”
“Fuck my attitude.” He waved his gun. “Finish and be quick about it.”
“As you wish.” She lifted the other piece of yarn. “Take this in your right hand and repeat after me: Let this thread represent…” She glanced at Izzy. “I forgot your name, dear.”
“Izzy.”
“Her real name is Isadora Berta.”
The witch shot her a glance, and her heart hammered. “Let this thread represent Isadora Berta. May she desire me and I her.”
Chancellor mumbled the same response.
