Before Evie could take a second glance at the spider-like man, she noticed another guy enter the scene. After steady, confident strides over the patchy ground, he took a stand next to the red-haired giant. A quick glance at him showed a blur of decorative ink. He was thinner than the others, covered in tattoos, and without doubt the oldest of the bunch. His leathered face wore lines around his small, lifeless eyes and narrow, crinkled lips.
The crisp snap of a branch announced the next man, or boy was more like it. He came in on her left, a few yards from the longhaired man. He was young. So young that Evie found herself staring shamelessly at his pale face. He had to be no more than a teen, probably about her age. She gawked at him, looking him up and down. He seemed…normal. Like someone Evie could actually relate to. She leaned forward, waiting to see if he’d make eye contact with her, feeling as if she could break through whatever barrier lay between them, if only she was given a chance. But he didn’t look at her. Just like the others, he remained a silent statue, staring absently ahead.
Her heart pounded in thunderous claps, echoing in her head. She fought to calm the quickened pace while puzzling over the strange way these men stood silently by her side—guarding motionlessly–void of expression.
When a giant puff of air escaped her lips, Evie realized she’d been holding her breath. Her chest, tender from last night’s scuffle, tightened into a knot. She leaned back against the stump, feeling defeated, and began to accept the obvious: Jocelyn Blanch was more powerful than they’d realized. Though they had known there was a chance she could get more than one soul to follow her, they’d never considered that she was capable of forming the small army that surrounded Evie now.
A quick, new jolt of fear shot through her, and again she discovered those same doomful thoughts–the part that hoped Calvin wouldn’t come. Couldn’t they just kill her and be done with it? Why couldn’t Jocelyn be satisfied with the murder of her alone, like she’d been with the others? Why this time, did she have to take more?
Evie didn’t want to die, and she could barely imagine what those dark guards would do to her if nobody showed, but was there really a choice here? She was starting to believe that her life would end one way or another; that it was inevitable. If that were the case, she wouldn’t want to take anyone else with her. She wouldn’t want Calvin to die too.
A few more moments passed before Evie heard another noise from behind; one more man had joined the ranks. She didn’t bother looking back at him. She knew it was one of them by the way the other men ignored his presence.
Loud sounds of an angry voice distracted her then. Frank was cursing over his shoulder with a wild sneer. But it wasn’t directed at her or the men by her side. It was aimed at the voice within his head.
“I am, I am,” he growled, tone strong with resentment.
Evie sensed a new press of urgency behind his words, or more accurately, behind the voice. What had suddenly made the matter more urgent for Jocelyn? Had she seen them coming? Were Calvin and Parker nearby?
How strange that she was almost pleased by the thought, Evie mused. A moment ago she’d accepted their failure–or thought she had. But there was something about the shift in Frank’s manner–the frantic way he scurried about, desperately trying to appease the anxious voice–that made Evie think they stood a chance.
After all, she’d seen both Calvin and Parker fight off several men at a time in The Loft; they were beyond defeat. Her chest rose in a certain manner of pride. The Knight brothers were strong and capable–a fierce combination. One that could, without doubt, take down this group of sorry-looking strangers.
The tan, dusty shoes that stepped before her then were familiar. Evie had seen them enough to know they belonged to Frank. She didn’t look up, just kept focused on a threadbare part of his old, beat-up shoelace while her hope for triumph grew.
There was something about that thinning part just beneath the knot–the feeble strand that looked like it would snap at any moment. Random threads hung loosely about in a tattered fray, yet the battered piece held strong. Evie used that visual to stay focused, let it relate to her position there, trapped within a near wall of demonic bodily force. She’d already doubted enough–visited the unfriendly place of despair. Now she’d grasp hope. Now she’d find faith. Just like that beaten strand of the lace, Evie would hold on.
Frank bent down and put his face close to hers. Sweat dripped off his straggly strands of hair and into his beet-red face. The sheer lunacy in his eyes made him hard to look at, but it was his putrid smell that made her cringe as she finally turned her face to the side.
His body trembled. And a new, nervous tick caused his head to dart in jarring motions. He was a stark contrast to the motionless statues at her side. With quick, rigid movements, he reached a stiff arm into the bag and pulled out the shiny dagger.
The sight of it, there within his tightly clenched fist, made her pulse pound. It raced further as he slid the blade between her body and the ropes that bound her. She noticed teeth marks on the top of his hand, confirming her memory of the prior evening. The bite marks were deep purple and topped with traces of crusted blood.
The sharp knife cut through the rope with ease, sent the twine in loose strands to the dirt. “Come on,” Frank growled. He gripped her arm with excessive force and yanked her off the ground. After scrambling awkwardly to her feet, Evie stumbled behind him toward the makeshift altar, wishing he would’ve cut the rope from her wrists as well.
Looking around the grounds might trigger a reaction from her wardens, so Evie fought the urge. But she wondered if Calvin and Parker were near, if they’d been able to track her somehow.
Rough hands from the panting beast lifted Evie off the ground and set her firmly on the altar. He pressed at her shoulders then, and Evie lay back as his force demanded, unable to fight it and too scared to try. Dressed in glowing white, she felt like some virgin sacrifice.
The jagged surface shifted beneath her, lowered in parts before it settled into an unstable heap at her back. Once Evie rested her head, Frank hobbled back toward the bag. Evie guessed he was still attending to Jocelyn’s details for the ceremony, or whatever it was that would take place next.
This may be her chance. In a desperate attempt, she took advantage of Frank’s absence by scanning the faces of the men standing guard, hoping to connect with just one, find the actual human beneath the cold, statue-like form. They were human after all.
She searched quickly, from face to face with a plea in her eyes, and was startled to see that one of them was a woman. A gasp pulled from Evie’s throat. The last guard to join the group–standing just behind the massive tree stump–was female. She was large, pale, and had frizzy hair that hung down her back.
A woman. Evie could hardly believe her eyes. A sudden thought popped into her head–maybe this was a good thing. Perhaps she could connect with her instead of the young kid. Surely another female would have some compassion, pull out of whatever spell she was under, and try to help.
That idea was erased as she took in the crazed expression on the woman’s face, the brazen look in her eyes. Desperately, Evie scanned over the others once more, losing hope as she noticed a strange similarity among them. Each one of the other guards held the same, numb look in their eyes. Not one appeared to be affected or even interested in what was happening before them; they were completely beyond reach.
She looked back at the woman once more. It was impossible to pinpoint, but Evie was certain there was something different about her. She was the only one who looked aware–no–entertained was more like it. The crazed-looking lady actually seemed to be enjoying the sight of the evil act before her: A young woman bound at the wrists, lying helpless before a possessed man and his army of dark guards.
In addition to the woman, a total of four men had joined the ranks, making the grand total six, including Frank Pilger. Evie shifted her gaze to the young boy once more, hoping he might see her–really see a fellow human being before him.
Maybe she’d discover a spark of compassion within him, tap into it.
At first Evie was hopeful, because it was plain to see his eyes had landed on her. But the pale-skinned boy wasn’t really seeing her. She may as well have been part of the rocky structure beneath her, or a piece of the surroundings. Evie got the horrific impression that life was of no value to him. That, to this disturbed follower, all manner of life was disposable, perhaps, even his own. She shuddered, realizing this teenager disturbed her the most. How had he been brought to this place? He was just a boy.
A terrible thought occurred to Evie then: Calvin would see that too, see the young, round face of this teenage boy–and it would weaken him. Surely it would cut through the calloused shield he’d be wearing, make him vulnerable. Calvin would not want to hurt this boy who looked so plain and innocent. Not to mention the woman. Would Calvin be willing to fight against–even hit–a female? The size of her belonged to a man, but that didn’t change anything. These two would throw Calvin off the most, and Parker too for that matter.
Evie studied the other dark guards as Frank scattered an ashy substance in a ring just off the altar. The first guy she’d noticed, the odd-looking giant with the flame-like crew cut, appeared almost monster-like due to the massive distortion of his skull. If this guy had a nickname, she mused, it would probably be Red. The crazed-looking woman stood next to Red, but there was no guessing at what her nickname would be; she couldn’t possibly own a friend in the world.
Next to the frightening female stood the man with long, wild ropes of hair. Spider was the only name that came to mind. Evie’s gaze moved to the thin, older man covered in tattoos. Ink, she decided. Looked like Ink had chugged a few too many bottles of whiskey.
Frank began walking back toward her, and Evie scanned the faces once more, praying that just one of them might step in and stop whatever was about to take place. More desperate than ever, she scanned over one set of eyes after the next–from the lively dark eyes of the woman, to the lifeless sets of eyes on Red, Spider, the boy, and Ink.
The sound of Frank’s heavy breathing demanded her attention and, with a bit of hesitation, Evie looked at the crazy man before her, already knowing what she would see. She was right. The unmistakable look of lust, mingled with greed, and also…entitlement. He’d done what Jocelyn had asked, and now it was time to get paid, she could almost hear him saying.
A pool of acidic heat shot up her throat, burning along the way. Frantically, Evie yanked at the twine, fighting to free her hands as the skin beneath the dry, braided rope tore and split. She ignored the pain and continued to yank and pull, straining to the state of sheer panic.
Frank Pilger watched with obvious satisfaction, strong on his square-shaped face. He was enjoying himself. But he was ready for more.
The frantic breaths felt like knives in her throat, sharpened by the fear that took over. Evie fought it, aware she could lose consciousness again if she couldn’t slow down the rapid pace of her breathing.
Forcing her mouth closed, Evie pulled in the jagged breaths through her nose and tried to breathe deeper. Frank’s gaze raked over her, pausing on the rise and fall of her chest before moving down the rest of her body. She eyed the dagger in his fist just as his other hand–hot, sweaty, and strong–clamped around her upper thigh.
Evie jerked and let out a scream, thrusting a fast kick to his gut with her other leg. Before she could even fear his reproach, the demonized man flinched, but it wasn’t from the kick. He craned his neck and shouted behind him. “Stop telling me what to do,” he screamed. “I’ll have her now. I said, I’ll have her!”
Evie’s heart pumped even harder–raw and frantic. The words were a warning, confirming the thoughts in his head. He was fighting the very voice that led him, letting his own desires come first.
Frank released her leg and smacked his palm against the side of his red, sweaty head. “No! Now, now, now,” he snarled, spit clinging to his sun-chapped lips.
The angry fight with the unheard voice continued while the deafening noise echoed off the nearby mountain wall. Frank’s explosive outburst was unlike anything Evie had seen. She was more afraid of him now, knowing he was so fiercely out of control that even Jocelyn couldn’t restrain him.
In a blink, the man’s mouth hardened into a determined line. He secured his grip on the dagger, clenching it until his knuckles turned white, and used his other hand to secure Evie’s linked wrists over her head. Frank Pilger’s sickening heat coated her body as he leaned over, hovering directly above as three steady beads of sweat dripped from his chin and splashed against her neck. His dry lips parted as his mouth opened wide.
“Who do you think you are,” he challenged, his voice booming.
Was he speaking to her or Jocelyn now?
It didn’t matter. Evie tugged harder, thrashing as she tried to yank her hands free. This time Frank groaned in disapproval, tightening his grip on her wrists mercilessly. It felt as if her bones might snap–that he was capable of crushing them like the dry, brittle twigs spread over the canyon floor.
Evie held still, unwilling to provoke him further. Her heart, in a panicked thrum of anxiety, pushed her breath in and out in a hurried rush. It was too much. Calvin and Parker hadn’t come. It was just her, and she couldn’t give up without a fight.
Desperately, she began to thrash, fighting to thrust him away from her. She tried to kick, hoping to knock the blade from his grip, but the determined man pressed his great weight against her legs, restraining further movement.
Evie struggled again to catch her breath as the familiar numbness started in her fingertips. Her inner voice began screaming in high alert, No Evie–do not pass out! Desperate to remain in a conscious state, she closed her eyes and tried to take a slow, deep breath.
Amidst the panic in her head, the utter chaos of the moment, Evie detected a quiet hum in the distance. She stilled herself enough to tune into the subtle flutter and felt her heart jump in response. Yes, something was coming–a rapid and speeding force–and with it came hope.
Chapter Forty-one
Frank Pilger’s lips curled back in a demonic smile as his knee shoved between Evie’s legs. He leaned forward, and a thin stream of saliva slid down his stubbly chin.
The faint hint of bristling leaves rustled in the breeze–a quiet force speeding toward them. Evie recognized the noise in an instant.
This sound was familiar. This sound meant he had come.
Her heart hammered out of rhythm. With her captor’s face looming just inches away, she was careful to keep her eyes from straying, unwilling to alert Frank of their company. Still, she caught sight of him as he approached–a massive blur of dark hair and strong, muscular arms, speeding like a train in their direction. Calvin.
Quicker than she could fathom, Frank was ripped from the altar. The action was nearly soundless. Evie sat up to see Calvin clutching Frank by the neck, using him to buffer his collision with the mountain wall.
The impact sent both men to the dirt where Calvin landed on his feet in a low crouch. Frank hit the ground like a sack of disjointed bones, his sweaty cheek slamming against the flat, dry ground. He lay lifeless, unmoving as Calvin glanced at Evie. The enraged expression on his face nearly made her flinch. His gaze shot to the dark guards next. Only then did she realize two of them, Spider and Red, had waken from their strange slumber and were striding in unison toward him.
Calvin turned to the approaching men, chest and elbows high, fists locked and ready. Spider took the first swing, his face hidden behind the black, knotted fray of his hair. Two muted thumps echoed over the grounds as Calvin blocked Spider’s fist, and then Red’s giant boot with his forearm. He ducked next, dodging both a deadly looking swing from Red and a high kick from the bug-like man. He escaped another blow before clocking Spider in the jaw.
A strong burst of hope filled Evie’s chest as she watched Calvin dominate, lunging a fist into Red’s gut. Yet in the next moment, just as Red’s boulder-like fist rammed
against Calvin’s face, she felt that hope escape her–replaced with a renewed sense of panic. The merciless beast struck again, thrusting a massive knee into Calvin’s stomach.
Though he hunched over at the blow, pain evident on his tightened face, Calvin didn’t slow. He straightened back up, readied his fists, and fought.
Evie had already seen Calvin in action, but it was always in the safe and altered environment of The Loft. This was different. These monsters weren’t mused beings at Calvin’s mercy. They were real. And the effects would be permanent.
The fast-moving brawl quickly took on a pattern, Calvin striking and defending in near rhythm. For each attempt he dodged, Calvin delivered a hit of his own to the two men in turn. A few rounds of that, and Calvin would receive a nasty blow, usually from the bigger guy with the red spikes and distorted head. That guy was strong, and the sound of his unearthly growl sent a shiver of heightened fear up the center of Evie’s back.
As she watched, sick with worry, Evie caught eye contact with Calvin. He held her gaze only briefly, but in that fleeting moment, an enigmatic energy passed between them, causing a flame of heat to erupt in the center of her chest. She reminded herself that Calvin could die from this battle, and the grief that consumed her at the thought was crippling.
The sound of Red’s sickening roar grew louder as Calvin slipped out of rhythm. No longer displaying his pattern of defend, strike, and defend again, Calvin took hit after hit, fist after boot, elbow, or knee.
Though her hands were bound, Evie scooted herself forward, fighting with the yards of fabric around her legs, and wedged the back of her shoes in the layered rocks. She had to do something, was determined to try, until the sound of Calvin’s voice made her stop.
“Evie,” he shouted. “Don’t move.” He straightened up, thrust a fist into the center of Red’s massive form, and threw Spider in a headlock under his weight. Red’s ogre-like body doubled over in pain. The top half of the beast seemed much larger than the rest of him, his legs suddenly looking incapable of supporting his hulking chest and colossal head.
Evie's Knight Page 31
