Throwing open his closet door, he rummaged around until he found the small rectangular box from his father. The gleaming silver Ruger he and his father used for target practice lay inside. He counted the rounds.
Enough to fill the cylinder and take Seamus down to get his head ripped off.
Chapter Fourteen
Maggie’s head pounded. The slight rocking motion encouraged the throbbing.
Suppressing a groan, she maintained awareness without opening her eyes. Remember, remember.
Seamus. Shot in the leg. Shot in the head.
He was using her to get back at Porter.
Not a surprise.
Situational awareness: Seamus was pissed, possibly feral, and gunning for revenge. But…his disadvantages included being a shifter fugitive and perhaps—hopefully—not knowing she was training to become a Guardian.
Location: The rocking motion and engine purr suggested Seamus was driving her somewhere. The rush of wind from a cracked window filtered out only some of the cigarette smoke clogging the air.
Working from head to toe, she performed a self-systems check. Clothing still on, thank the Sweet Mother. She smelled dried blood on her running leggings and shirt. Her leg should be healed, her head well on its way. Yet her leg ached as severely as her noggin. The bullets. They were still in her.
She tried to call out to Jace mentally. Her stomach twisted, she barely held back a heave.
That complicated things. She’d have to factor tenacious pain into her plans. Her wrists were bound behind her back and her ankles were cuffed. A sick notion occurred to her and she really hoped Seamus didn’t use his BDSM restraints. Because that would be gross.
Funny how the most ridiculous worries came to mind when she had more dire issues occurring.
“I can tell you’re awake.” Seamus’ deep rumble reached her ears.
Damn.
“I can finally see again after you shot me in the head,” she bit back.
“You called out, I had to shut you up.” He spoke so frankly. No big deal to him that he plugged a bullet into her brain. Business as usual.
Recovering from severe injury was new to her, expected at some point, but she supposed the first time was always a shock. Absolutely would’ve preferred complete mending. A hunk of lead still lodged in her brain—and her leg—sapped her strength, and he knew it.
Opening her eyes, the stark interior of a van sent chills crawling up her spine. If this was the same van what’s-his-name kicked it in, she’d vomit. She might vomit anyway.
Guardians do not puke from fear! Act like one, think like one. “So what’s your plan? Are you going to spill all the diabolical details, or leave me guessing?”
He flicked the remains of his smoke out the window and closed it. “Well,” increasing her dread, the van turned off onto a rougher road, taking her farther away from any civilization, “Denlan took everything from me. I can’t kill him and take it back because the Guardians are involved. But I heard the talk about you and him while I was in hiding. So I’ll take you from him.”
Maggie interpreted that to mean traitors lived in Lobo Springs and were actively plotting against Porter.
Her pounding brain said she shouldn’t care. Porter’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. Her tender heart remembered who she called out to before she was knocked out. Silly girl. Mental communication over hundreds of miles wasn’t possible, yet she’d wasted the chance to pass more information, instead calling out to the male she loved.
No wonder she was failing Guardian training despite being born to do it. She was as hopelessly naïve in her love life as well as shifter life.
“How’s it going to go down?” she asked. “You drop my body on his doorstep? Scavenger hunt to find my remains? Dismember and scatter?”
His deep chuckle bounced off the walls of the work van. “Good ideas, Mage. I haven’t decided yet. I know I want him to suffer not knowing where you are. Word is he’s been a shell of himself, nothing but work to fill his days since you decided Lobo Springs wasn’t good enough for a city girl.”
She’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her deliriously happy. One, because he should fucking suffer, too. Two, because his feeling of loss matched hers and he wasn’t dealing either.
“I want him to suffer,” Seamus voice dropped a menacing octave, “wondering what I’ll be doing to you.”
What a coincidence. That was the nagging unease eating at Maggie’s gut. She was a female captured by a notoriously deprived male.
“That would be what?” Better to know what to prepare for, but she hoped he didn’t answer.
“Use your imagination.”
***
Porter sped down the highway. He’d already been pulled over once. Waiting for the cop to saunter to the window, stroll back to his patrol car with Porter’s documents, run his information, then write up a ticket, and finally let him go had tested every ounce of patience Porter possessed.
Pushing the speed at ten over, he kept a keen eye out for any more law enforcement. The windows were rolled down so any hint of Maggie’s divine scent—or Seamus’ atrocious one—would blow through the cab.
Leaving Lobo Springs, his internal debate between flying to Guardian headquarters in West Creek or scour the countryside had remained unresolved until he hit the highway. The Guardians would be—better fucking be—out looking for her. His arrival on their doorstep would do no good if they weren’t there.
The other option of driving around the countryside sounded like a field exercise in futility, if it hadn’t been for Porter’s intuition screaming at him. He swung a hammer for a living—good honest work. Now he led Lobo Springs—an honorable position he took seriously. Being an evil dick who lived for terrorizing others wasn’t on his resume.
Say it was… What would he do in Seamus’ place?
While Porter had flown down the road, he put himself in Seamus’ mind frame. Revenge, obviously. How had he known what Maggie meant to him?
Two months and Porter had sensed no disquiet. Because those who were Seamus supporters were helping him, patiently waiting for Porter’s downfall.
He could be like a robot, just going through the motions of life, so long as she was safe and content four hours away. But he’d be worthless if he ever lost her. The sobering thought gave him insight to his dad’s last decision to throw the fight with Seamus.
Porter would hand over Lobo Springs to have Maggie back in his arms.
To keep himself from tearing away while waiting for his speeding ticket, he’d calculated. To be in the general vicinity as Seamus, if the bastard was heading back home to finalize his retribution, Porter needed to drive another hour and a half.
Recalling what lay between Lobo Springs and Freemont, Porter formulated a plan of his own. Twin Lakes was a small town the highway cut through. The only reason it was still on the map was recreation. Its name originated from the two large lakes, one on each side of the highway, but several miles off on either side. During the year, no matter the season, Twin Lakes provided equipment for every activity and more importantly, reservations for the many cabins that surrounded each lake.
If he was a soulless shitbag, he’d take Maggie to a desolate cabin, defile her as much as possible before the Guardians could track his scent, and then taunt Porter with the location of any remains he decided to leave behind.
The speedometer needle crept up. Porter eased his foot off the gas. He had another hour before he reached Twin Lakes and he’d need one hell of a strategy.
Chapter Fifteen
Maggie didn’t know any of the geography around Freemont. Her one trip to her hometown didn’t help her much. The path Seamus took shook the van so badly she knew they weren’t on the highway, hadn’t been for a while.
Rolling forward on her shoulder as the van slowed, Maggie raised her head to attempt a glimpse out the window. They were stopping for good, or for supplies. She couldn’t smell much within the van, the lead on her brain lessened her sens
es, but she sensed civilization, albeit at a lower level than a metropolis like Freemont.
Tires crunched, the van pulled to stop.
Seamus twisted in his seat, his cruel gaze narrowed on her. “If you make a sound, I’ll choke you until you shut up. And I’ll enjoy it.”
“Noted.”
He stepped from the vehicle and the familiar sounds of a cap unscrewing, metal thunking, and the rhythmic clicks of gas pumping permeated the walls of the vans.
If Seamus had been keeping low, then he’d be using cash to escape electronic tracking of a card. He’d have to pay inside.
She tested her bindings. They were solid, but she was a shifter. One of his followers must’ve smuggled Seamus’ supplies to him—an old lover perhaps? He could’ve bought new restraints, but these reeked of rough sex, and he had needed to stay out of sight. A set circled her wrists and a similar pair secured her ankles. Tapping into everything she learned working at the store, she mentally logged their details, thinking like a Guardian. Extreme bondage cuffs, fur-lined leather, with a metal lock that hooked to a ring secured by a leather strap. Seamus must’ve gambled on being around to beat or shoot her if she got out of line. He didn’t gamble on her being trained by the best for the last two months, or that she knew about these cuffs and where their weak points were. Thank The Gift Shop.
This was her only chance.
Closing her eyes, she visualized every muscle fiber contracting, pulling her wrists and legs in opposite directions. Leather snapped taut, pinching her skin.
But she felt give. With more force, she could tear the ring through the material. Stopping to make sure Seamus wasn’t coming back into the van, she went lax.
Huffing out a breath, she willed her breathing to remain steady and she listened.
The rhythmic clicks stopped, the nozzle put back on its rest, the gas cap replaced. Steps retreated from the vehicle.
Eyes squeezed shut, she concentrated her efforts once again. Joints popped against the strain. Gritting her teeth, straining until every muscle bulged, every vein stood prominent, the leather frayed around the ring until it released her legs. The cuffs were still an issue. The angles of her arms made it difficult to create enough force.
Wiggling her aching arms past her butt and down her legs, she maneuvered them in front of her. Bracing herself against the pain, she wedged a foot between her wrists to add another source of pressure.
Finally, the ring holding the lock ripped through on one side. Maggie flew back, spread eagle, stunned it actually worked.
Victory celebration later.
She shot over the passenger seat, grabbed Seamus’ matches, and unlocked the door. Rolling out and dropping in a crouch, she spared a glance around.
The rest stop was small, once she crossed the main road, three steps and she’d be in the safety of the trees. The slight breeze carried only human redolence. Even better.
From her position, she was blocked from the store by the van. She pulled her shirt off and punched buttons on the gas pump. She released the nozzle and soaked her shirt in gasoline to use as fuel for the diversion she planned. Securing the lever for continuous gas release, she dropped it on the ground a few feet in front of her. Then she kicked her shoes off, lit a match and used it to set aflame the rest of the matches in the book.
The slight tremor in her hand nearly extinguished the tiny fire. Carefully, she set the book on top of her shoes. With a hiss, the rest of the book caught fire and began to burn through the top of her shoe that rested on the soaked shirt. Her fear was that the soggy shirt would put out the flame before it caught fire or the vapors would catch too quickly and take her up with it. The time it took to set her diversion would cost precious minutes, but if it worked, she at least had a tiny chance in hell at escape.
Taking off at the fastest sprint she’d ever run, her leg screamed in pain. Her jostled brain exploded stars in her vision. Tendrils of awareness tickled her neck. Seamus saw her!
She made it across the street before she heard his shout. Digging deep, she excavated her well of speed.
An explosion shuddered the air around her. A bright blaze flashed in her periphery, followed by a heat wave that warmed her clammy skin.
Sparing a glance back, she almost stopped to jump up and down in delight. The nozzle she’d left lying next to her pile, acted like a wick for the flames to blow the pump which blew the van. Since Seamus wasn’t charging after her, he must’ve been on the other side.
The edge of the woods grew closer. She didn’t care who saw, as soon as she broke into the trees, she shed her bra and leggings and unstrapped the remains of each cuff. Plowing as deep into the woods as she dared, she shifted.
The rush of power through her body as four legs hit the ground was addicting. The adrenaline pumping through her blood added to it. Maggie’s senses were dulled, but the shift into her wolf helped define each scent. The most important one was that Seamus wasn’t pursing her—yet.
She’d utilize every scrap of shifter and Guardian knowledge she’d obtained in the last two months to keep Seamus from finding her. It was time to live up to her destiny.
***
Porter parked at the first convenience store he encountered when he reached Twin Lakes. Stepping out of his truck, he lifted his nose. The faint smell of smoke in the air clogged his nose enough that he couldn’t pick up finer detail, like whether Maggie had recently been through the area.
The wail of a siren assaulted his sensitive ears. Spinning around, he saw a fire truck turn off the highway onto a two lane road that disappeared into the countryside. It wasn’t unusual to have fire emergencies in tourist areas, especially if they involved campfires. It was a warm late spring day, a camper might’ve been up late with roasting s’mores over a fire pit.
A second siren alerted him to another truck. He watched that vehicle head in the same direction. The flashing light disappeared yet Porter couldn’t tear his eyes away.
His intuition prickled enough to prompt him to gather information on where the trucks were headed.
A buzzer sounded his entrance into the store. Cool air conditioning wafted over his heated skin. His distress over what Maggie might be experiencing stoked his core temp until he worried he’d steam in the A/C.
He grabbed the first thing in arm’s reach. At the counter, he was thrilled to see a man well past middle age. The older humans always knew what was going on around them and wanted to talk about everything, especially in a small town.
Plopping his—Porter frowned—bulbous pink lollipop on the counter, he faced the cashier, who eventually tore his gaze from the window.
“A fire bad enough for two engines, huh?” Porter kept his tone light, curious.
“Oh yeah.” The guy leaned over the counter, speaking low even though Porter was certain he’d tell his gossip to everyone who entered. “My scanner said there was an explosion at Stop ‘n’ Supply.” He pulled back. “Shame, too, because it’s the only stop for gas and essentials before you reach the campgrounds.”
“Accidental?”
The guy scanned the empty store before answering. “The 9-1-1 caller said he saw a woman start a fire by the pump.”
Blood drained from Porter’s face, taking all his excess heat along with it. “Did she escape?”
His salt-and-pepper head bobbed. “Said she took off and kept going.”
Porter vacillated between slamming his fist into the counter and grabbing the dude to hug him. “Anyone hurt?”
“The witness said a man was caught in the explosion.” He shook his head mournfully. “I hope he’s okay and that everyone made it out of the store.”
Porter hoped everyone inside the store was fine, too. The guy caught in the flames could fucking fry if it was Seamus.
It also meant Seamus had only held her for a few hours and most of it had been driving.
“Thanks, man.” Porter threw a five on the counter, grabbed the sucker so the human wouldn’t run after him thinking he forgot it, and rushed
back to his truck.
He avoided burning rubber across the highway in his hurry to get to the site of the explosion. Law enforcement would definitely be arriving in the area. He set the cruise control so his nerves wouldn’t cause him to stomp down on the gas pedal.
Holding the wheel with one hand, he thumbed through his phone to pull up a map of the area. The screen went black and the cursor kept circling ’round.
“Fuck!” He tossed it onto his seat so he wouldn’t crush the useless piece of high-tech. If Twin Lakes had shit service, no way was he going to get a signal driving farther away from it.
Gentle curves meandered through the wooded area surrounding the lake. Nothing Porter needed full concentration for to navigate.
He focused so he wouldn’t broadcast to any shifters in the vicinity. Maggie?
Grinding his teeth, knuckles white on the steering wheel, he waited.
Nothing.
Maggie!
Three possibilities came to mind. She wasn’t in the area, she was ignoring him, or she was too injured to respond. Any one of them was entirely possible.
He picked up his phone again. No signal was in the cards today.
Throwing his hand over the wheel, he leaned out his open window enough to receive the full blast of air. The stench of smoke grew stronger. He had no idea how Maggie’s scent could cut through it, or if he was even on the right road.
Finally, he spotted a sign for Stop ‘n’ Supply. Ten more miles.
A highway patrol car approached from behind and sped around him. Another good sign he was heading to the right place.
Slowing as he neared, he drew back inside so as to not attract attention hanging his head out the window.
A patrolmen stood a block away from a cluster of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars—every EMS vehicle the county possessed. He waved Porter to the farthest edge of the road and held out a hand to stop him.
Birthright (Pale Moonlight Book 1) Page 15
