by Jory Strong
Grace moved into him.
His arms went around her.
She shivered, whispered, "I don't feel any different. I don't think anything happened to me while I was asleep."
She looked up at him, eyes wet, pleading for it to be true. She'd already seen too much of what people were capable of, in the time before her junkie mother overdosed and Elaine gained custody.
Caleb's throat felt raw. His chest burned.
Let me have gotten here in time.
"You still need to be checked out at the hospital. And we need to call Mom and Dad."
He turned toward Zack and noticed the markings on the ceiling and floor and walls. Christ.
Zack was shooting video with his cell, probably streaming it back to the office.
Caleb's hindbrain roused, racing his heart, pouring the urge to flee into his system. It was worse than what he'd experienced in the Satanists' temple, not as bad as the surge of adrenaline and wild pounding in his ears at stepping into the room at the bar and seeing the brass ring set in the floor.
Analyze it later. It can wait until after Grace is safe with Mom and Dad.
"How do you want to handle this?" he asked.
"We'll take it from here," a male voice answered from the doorway.
Caleb whirled, gun hand already up.
The man had both of his lifted, a badge in the left. "Agent Rivers."
He moved from the doorway. "My partner, Agent Cason."
Short hair, dark glasses, dark suit, dark tie on a pristine white shirt, they looked like they'd stepped out of casting for Men in Black.
"Operation Hellhound is ours now," Rivers said. "You'll surrender the relevant files and be debriefed."
Meaning the investigation would disappear, probably leaving no record it had ever existed. Caleb's gut said he was looking at the men who'd set it in motion, feeding it to Zack and monitoring the situation.
They had to have been waiting for the moment to reclaim it. He was betting Zack's video had been the trigger.
Zack moved toward Rivers. "On whose authority?"
"Deputy Director Bly. Feel free to contact him."
The call was short.
Zack gave Caleb a nod.
Both of them holstered their guns.
Cason held his hand out. "I'll make sure the girl gets to the hospital and your parents are notified while you and Agent Reid go in for debriefing. We'll get word out that she's been recovered."
"No." No fucking way was he handing Grace off. "If the operation is over then I'm out from undercover. I'm staying with my sister."
I'm done with not being there for her.
Rivers shook his head. "There's only one way you could have found this place. You're a dead man if your face shows up and you're identified as an agent. They'll kill you in a heartbeat if they think you've betrayed them."
Grace trembled against him, sending ache spasming through his chest. He tightened the arm he had around her. "I'll take that risk. My sister needs me."
"We can't let you do that," Rivers said.
"I don't want you to be killed," Grace whispered, and he could feel her trying to make herself let go of him.
"We compromise," he told Rivers. "I stick until we hand Grace off to my parents."
Rivers and Cason shared a look.
"We make the arrangements," Rivers said.
"Done."
Cason stepped out of the room to take care of it.
Rivers said, "Do you have an ID on this guy?"
"No." Though chances were good they'd have one within the hour. There'd be prints, DNA, other clues.
Cason came back. "All set. Agent North, Agent Reid, Grace."
Caleb kissed the top of Grace's head. "Mom and Dad are going to be so happy to get you back. Don't expect them to let you out of their sight anytime soon."
Just inside the shattered doorway he took off the Harley jacket, used it to cover her hair. "Keep your head down."
Cason tossed Caleb his jacket to use as a shield. He flung it over his head.
"Agent Snow will take you in for debriefing, Agent Reid."
"Our rides?" Zack asked.
"They'll be cleared from the scene."
"See you on the other side," Zack said, eyes connecting with Caleb's.
He left. Cason said, "We're the near sedan. I'll get the door. You get in ASAP. Neighbors are already standing in front of their houses, cell phones aimed at the action."
They followed him out. Slid into the back.
Grace pressed so tightly against Caleb that he thought her age was probably the only thing that kept her from climbing onto his lap.
The kitten's purr was a loud rumble in the car. He stroked orange fur and asked, "How's Turbo going to handle the competition?"
"He'll be fine. He's good with Merissa's hamster and Rowan's Siamese cat. He only wants to play with Milli, the five-pound Chihuahua in our acting class."
The tightness in his chest eased. She sounded so normal, so everyday. He swallowed against the sudden burn in his throat, allowed himself to believe that he'd reached her in time.
He didn't look away from her until the sedan slowed and entered a parking garage. It climbed to the fourth level. The entrance was blocked by yellow police tape.
A dark-suited agent removed the tape long enough to allow the car to pass. Cason parked, not joining them when they got out to wait.
Caleb took Grace's hand. "They'll be here soon."
"You'll come home now, for good?"
"As soon as I can. I'll be there for you from now on."
Her hand squeezed his. "You're always there, even when you're not."
They heard the car before they saw it.
A sedan identical to the others pulled onto the fourth level and was allowed past the yellow police tape.
It approached, slowed.
The back doors were opening before it came to a complete stop.
His parents emerged. Tears streamed down his mother's face. His father's eyes were reddened.
Grace was already rushing toward them.
She crashed into them.
He was only a heartbeat behind, going in easy where she'd gone hard, arms around each of his parents.
His chest burned. His throat burned. His eyes burned.
If not for Mallory…
His hand dipped into his pocket. Hours of staring at the app made it easy to shut it down.
I won't betray you.
Behind his family, the driver motioned a wrap-this-up signal.
"You should get going," he said. The news was probably already breaking—or rumor of it anyway, fueled by Tweets and posts and tips. "I'll catch up with you when I can."
His mother wouldn't separate without hugging him tightly. Neither would his father or Grace.
He waited until they were in the sedan and through the barrier before turning. Cason was out of the car, hand out. "Cell phone."
They'd find the app if they dug, but he wasn't going to give them reason to. He surrendered it. "I get it back after the debrief?"
"Yeah."
He took the front passenger seat, half expecting to be ordered into the back.
Cason twisted, making no move to start the engine. "Who's in charge now that Bastian Kerr is dead?"
The desire to protect Mallory came on strong, strong enough that Caleb's first instinct was to send them sniffing after Sabin. But if they were close enough to the situation to have shown up so quickly, then they probably knew.
Lying would destroy his credibility, and he might need it. He said, "She is."
Cason's smile was small and fleeting. "She was always our best chance. We just had to wait long enough. It's going to be hard for you to keep that promise to your sister unless the four of you disappear, and stay disappeared—or you stay under, working for us. We need people who can manage unusual talent."
Unusual talent.
The word reverberated, resonated, revealed.
The gossamer-thin denial he'd manag
ed since Mallory left her apartment fell.
Cason knew the brands weren't just symbolic. He fucking knew Mallory and the others were—weren't completely human.
Caleb's gut burned hot thinking about Grace's prison, the place other girls hadn't made it out of alive. And that burn crawled upward into his chest at wondering if Rivers and Cason would secure and use the man who'd created that room—if they got to him before Mallory and the others did—rather than turn him over to face the death penalty.
Caleb leaned back, forced himself to visibly relax. "I'm listening."
And when this was done, he'd find Mallory.
Cason laughed and cranked the engine. "More talking is above my pay grade. Recruitment is Snow's department."
* * * * *
Chapter 35
The moon dominated the horizon, orange and full and beautiful, spilling light into darkness, a Hunter's Moon.
Mallory wondered how far Spiller had gotten. There was no turning back, no turning away from this hunt.
She'd put off entering the Angeles National Forest and finding the others until she couldn't any longer. But at least she had the satisfaction of knowing Grace North had been found alive. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing there would be partial closure, for the families of the other girls, though unless Spiller's body was discovered, they'd never know he'd paid for his crimes.
She clasped the dog tag, wishing she'd heard from Matthew, wishing he'd shown up at the apartment, wishing she knew whether he'd looked up Hellhound, whether he could accept this, accept her. Chill invading, because the Reaper Lord needed to accept her choice too.
"It's time," Hayden said.
The soul jars and orbs were already placed an equal distance apart on an imaginary circle. Tonight there were no candles, no water from their sire's realm, none of the trappings of magic. Tonight power was measured by pain and blood and terror and the joyous baying of Hounds.
The men stripped out of their clothing, Sabin trying to catch her eye. She ignored him, fought a shiver as Hayden spoke over the knife and that alone was enough to fill her nostrils with the scent of pine trees and rain, to make her aware of the trapped souls swirling, frantic to escape their glass prisons.
The scent of pine trees and rain changed into that of patchouli. These souls didn't belong to the Reaper Lord.
She slashed a deep cut in her forearm, lowered her hand so blood streamed across her palm to fall onto the ground, her life pumped out with each beat of her heart.
Words flowed from her mouth, ancient, archaic commands gained in the challenge circle when her sire's leash thickened and changed and she became alpha.
She walked the circle thirteen times. It took that many to reach the end of the spell.
With the last word her blood offering turned to fire so hot it shattered orbs and jars, opening a doorway between worlds.
The Reaper Lord arrived astride the black horse with fiery eyes and deadly horn. He came accompanied by a hoard of garish clowns riding lesser creatures, the scent of Hell filling the night along with the hyena sounds of their laughter.
Motioning to her brothers and Sabin, he said, "Change them," and one by one she turned them inside out, pulling Hound forward until it overtook human form.
When it was done he indicated the second horse and she swung into the saddle to ride at his side as she'd done in Hell.
"Listen, daughter," he said, his power surging, moving over and through her, and though he didn't speak, his words took shape inside her head, manifested will and she understood their purpose.
She looked backward, the horse prancing beneath her.
Behind nightmare clowns, souls were granted form, becoming part of the hunt astride red-eyed goats.
Viktoriya and Iosif and Zinaida.
Caitlyn Lawrence and Bailey Morsey.
Maven Stone.
Amanda Edson.
The Jane Doe who'd told Spiller her name was Elizabeth Sayers.
This hunt would free them.
If it ended with death, Spiller's soul for theirs.
As the Reaper Lord had done in Hell, he passed her the silver horn.
She carried it to her lips.
Surrendered breath. Felt as though she surrendered soul with the sound of terror unleashed into this world.
The Hounds charged off, noses to the ground, baying at catching Linden Spiller's scent.
The horses and the mounted creatures behind them surged forward.
He stood no chance without a head start.
He stood no chance at all.
But then his victims hadn't either.
Branches scraped against her legs and arms, forcing her to duck and twist in the saddle.
Mile after mile they rode. The years in Hell overlaying the present, conditioning and a Hound's nature creating unwanted thrill, whispering temptation, to give in, to accept, to embrace what she was: a killer.
The moon rose, becoming smaller.
The night deepened.
Even in the saddle, the strengthening scent of their quarry reached her.
The Hounds began baying again, their voices the deep trumpeting of impending victory.
They scrambled, kicking rock and dirt and leaves behind them. They caught Spiller, surrounded him before he plunged into a ravine.
His fine clothing was torn, streaked with dirt and saturated with sweat. His eyes were wild, his breathing gasps intermixed with whimpers.
The Reaper Lord turned to her, the black satin bag marked with golden symbols in his hand. When she didn't reach for it, his head tilted in the direction of the spirit riders. "They are mine until you free them, Mallory."
She took the bag.
The horse knelt, and she slid from the saddle.
Her feet touched the ground and satin bag became black ash, falling away to leave nothing between her skin and the cold steel of the gun.
No shot fired from it would miss its target.
No shot fired from it would pass through the heart it struck.
No shot fired from it would be survived.
Conscience tried to make a final stand, a lifelong resistance to becoming a killer, a true Hound. But the sight of Amanda and Caitlyn and Maven and Elizabeth, all so much like Sorcha in appearance, drove it back.
The dog tag lay against her skin, a warm reminder of Matthew.
How did you make your peace with killing?
By believing that sacrifices need to be made for the greater good.
A sacrifice of self, and she was uniquely qualified to make the world she wanted to live in a better place.
She had never wanted to become judge and jury and executioner, but as Spiller's features began to change into that of her mother's in an effort to escape this fate, she touched a finger to the trigger.
Pulled.
The gun's recoil traveled up her arm and into her chest, cold and sharp like black obsidian, but it was met and rebuffed by love, by fear, by the belief that both would keep her from becoming an indiscriminate killer.
Linden Spiller's body dropped to the ground, his soul flying to her father's hand, mouth gaping in a silent scream.
The Reaper Lord closed his fist around it.
Garish, hyena-voiced clowns disappeared.
For an instant, the dead lived as more than body-housed wraiths.
Mallory's eyes met Iosif's, seeing thanks there, and then peace before form disappeared and spirit was freed for what came next.
The horse the Reaper Lord rode sidestepped, getting close enough that her sire's black-clothed thigh pressed to the brand, just as he'd once pressed the hot iron to her skin.
"A satisfying hunt, daughter."
She fought down the remembered scent of burning flesh, the remembered pain, the smell of patchouli. She inhaled instead to gauge the breadth and depth of pine trees and rain, the tag Matthew gave her a reminder that she wanted what her mother had with Phillip.
She looked up at the Reaper Lord, into eyes that were unknowable abyss. "A
boon?"
His smile was sharp, always and forever like the flash of a knife created for paring souls. "Claim the human as your mate if you want him, Mallory. It serves my purposes."
Refusal was her immediate response. Denial of his plan for her.
It was countered by a Hound's need for companionship, a human's need for love.
Having Matthew in her life made her stronger, not weaker.
The Reaper Lord reached down and cupped her cheek. "If he betrays you, I'll take his soul. I have no desire for my daughter to hunt in human prisons."
Her heart bounded, a fast, violent pulsing that throbbed up her neck and into his hand. She nodded, accepting his truth.
If Matthew was going to be a part of her world, he needed to accept her for what she was, a Hellhound, a Reaper Lord's daughter, a killer. He needed to understand what he risked.
Her sire's hand fell away. "Remain behind, Sabin."
Mallory shoved the gun into her waistband. "We're done here."
She turned away, thought of the debt to Rahmiel and wondered what hunt he would soon set them on now that this one was done.
Dane came to her side and she reached for the magic between them, pushing the Hound toward his center and pulling the human from it, changing him—and then, one-by-one the others.
She began walking. Dane moved in, shoulder brushing against hers. "I'm not sure you should trust Matthew. I don't think he's what he seems. I think he may be a cop."
Her heart lurched and tumbled. She slid into a lope, wondering if she was running toward the man she wanted or toward another death.
* * * * *
Caleb leaned against the Harley. The night sounds were back to normal and had been for over an hour, but the gun shot still echoed in his ears along with the baying of hounds. Both were accompanied by the sense that they had traveled over an unnatural distance.
He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't afraid. A part of him still wanted to deny this reality.
The holstered gun didn't offer a hell of a lot of comfort. There were enough of them to take him out before he could get a shot off.
He shuddered, remembering Dane's kill in the alley.
He had no warning of their approach.
One instant the moon lit a line of trees, and in the next, they emerged, slipping silently from blackened wilderness like a pack of predators.
