She bent her knees and knocked Craig off her. He jumped to his feet before she could take his head and ran for the access door. Without a weapon, he was powerless against her. His retreat told her he knew it too. She followed him, running faster than any mere human could, and swung her blade. The tip caught his back, ripping his shirt and tearing his flesh. He rolled, avoiding the second swipe of her blade.
He grabbed her shoulders. His sharp talons dug into her skin and scraped her bone. In her alternate form, she barely felt the pinch. She wrapped both hands around the hilt of her sword and thrust upward into his chest. He groaned, and blood oozed from between his closed eyelids.
The wound might have hurt him, but it wouldn’t kill him. She needed to take his head or heart. She yanked the blade up, tearing him open. Warm blood gushed over her hands. She ignored the sensation and tugged on her sword. She didn’t get the chance to pull it free. Craig rolled them, over and over. Her head thumped against the tar-covered roof, and the blade pushed deeper into his body. She wiggled the weapon, trying to get it free. Finally, it slipped. She jerked her hand to the side and raised her arm. Never got the chance to take his head. The solid surface under her body gave way to air.
She did the only thing she could. She enclosed them in the shadows of the Hunt and let gravity take them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The sounds of life reached Trevor’s ears. A television blared behind a closed door. A man and woman argued. A baby cried. All reminded him of the risks of failure. The sluagh that was lurking somewhere in the apartment building couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone. There was no sign of it, however.
He scanned the hallway on the top floor. Empty. He walked by each door anyway, looking for damage to the locks and listening for any sign of trouble. He’d done the same on the other three floors. Nothing. The sluagh was here, though. Somewhere. The tingling in his arm assured him he hadn’t guessed the sluagh’s destination wrong.
Rowan had said it was a fresh kill. Having just died, it shouldn’t be decaying yet or experiencing the hunger for life, but its natural instinct to protect itself would be strong. Trevor cursed inwardly. Of course. The sluagh was hiding, not looking for its next meal. That was why Trevor hadn’t found it. Where would it be, though?
An empty apartment would give it the seclusion it required, but even vacant ones would be locked. None of the doors he’d passed had appeared tampered with.
He swept his gaze over the doors. All had numbers on them, marking them as apartments. None led to an attic. That left the basement. He rushed to the stairs.
The stairwell was quiet compared to the hallways. His pounding steps on the treads echoed, announcing his approach. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. An elderly woman had been leaving her apartment on the third floor with a laundry basket. He had to get to the basement before she did.
He reached the first floor without seeing her. Curses whipped through his head. She couldn’t have gotten down three flights of stairs before he had. The woman had appeared to be in her seventies, and he hadn’t been on the fourth floor that long. He didn’t bother wasting time trying to guess at her destination. He took the narrow steps leading to the basement, jumping the last few treads to the door at the end.
The muffled sound of clothes thumping in a dryer reached him. No screams. He flung open the door. Another short hallway greeted him. A door on the right boasted a sign that said Staff Only and the one at the end listed the hours for the laundry room.
Somebody would be returning for their clothes, and just because he hadn’t passed the woman didn’t mean she wasn’t on her way. The risk to those who lived in the building was too great. He couldn’t allow anyone to stumble into the room while he confirmed the sluagh’s location. If it were here, he’d lock the damn thing inside.
The swinging door to the laundry room wouldn’t have a lock, though. He ran his thumb over the doorknob for the one leading down into this hall. Smooth. No lock either. Great. Just my luck.
He slipped back into the stairwell and ran to the first floor. A metal chair sat in the entryway. He snatched it and turned to head the way he’d come. Movement caught his eye from the landing between the first and second level. The woman from the third floor slowly took the stairs with her laundry basket propped on one hip and her hand gripping the stair rail. He rushed to the bottom before she noticed him.
She’d be annoyed once she got to the basement and couldn’t open the door. Better that than dead.
With the chair propped under the doorknob, he turned his attention to the hallway. He tried the door on his right. Locked. Not a surprise; management wouldn’t want its tenants going in there. He walked toward the laundry room door. The tingles along his forearm grew stronger with each step. He was headed in the right direction.
He pushed open the door. A whiff of floral-scented air washed over him. He swept his gaze over the room. A row of washers took up one wall. Dryers lined another. The other two walls were obscured from his view by the sheets and blankets somebody had hung from a clothesline stretched across the room. He bent and looked under the space between the floral bedspreads and the floor. The only legs visible belonged to tables and benches.
Slow steps took him to the end of the “wall” of sheets. He gripped the edge of one and pulled it back. A flash of red was his only warning. The sluagh he’d been hunting jumped off a nearby table, launching himself at Trevor with his sharp teeth bared.
The sluagh collided with him, and they fell backward, pulling the sheet down with them. Trevor slammed his hand against its chest, stopping it from tearing out a section of his throat. He shoved the sluagh off him and hopped to his feet. With the blade held loosely in front of him, he waited for the sluagh’s next move. It didn’t take long for it to act. It rushed him.
Trevor sidestepped the sluagh, then jumped out of the way to avoid its next lunge. It snarled and crouched with a hand splayed on the floor. Besides its mouthful of deadly teeth, the sluagh still looked like the young man he’d been before being lured into a fairy ring. There was no spark of humanity in its blue eyes, however.
Sympathy gripped Trevor, but he knew not to let the emotion direct his actions. The sluagh wouldn’t have any for him. The man he’d been was buried deep, along with his free will. All that remained was a shell that obeyed its redcap master. With the murderous look directed Trevor’s way, he could guess exactly what the sluagh wanted—Trevor’s death.
Nope. Not happening. He had too much to live for.
Resisting the urge to rush the sluagh, he gripped the dagger and studied the undead creature, looking for a sign of how it would attack next.
The rattling of the door Trevor had blocked broke the standoff. Long, sharp nails extended from the sluagh’s fingers. It curled its hand, gouging the vinyl floor, and focused on the laundry room door. A crack of wood sounded, followed by a thump.
Somebody was coming.
Shit, shit, shit. Why hadn’t Rowan killed Craig yet? She should’ve had plenty of time to take the bastard’s head. The sluagh would’ve disintegrated if Rowan had been successful. Unless this undead creature didn’t belong to Craig. Either way, time had run out. The sluagh needed to die. It would have to be freed from its decaying tomb another day. Saving a living person from death at the sluagh’s hands came first.
Trevor did the only thing he could. He launched himself at the sluagh. It was time to end this, once and for all.
****
The impact of Rowan’s body hitting the concrete would’ve killed her had she been human. Her skull cracked and spine snapped. Sharp pain radiated through her body. She ignored it, but the loss of vision and the use of her muscles weren’t things she could overlook.
Craig rolled off her limp body and ran, shattering the veil of darkness she’d cloaked them in. Somebody screamed. Car horns blared. Tires squealed. She willed her body to heal faster. Craig couldn’t get away.
The first tingling wave of regeneration raced down her spine. The crackling
of bones mending echoed between her ears. She gritted her teeth against the pain of returning to life. The moment feeling returned to her muscles, she pushed to her feet and swayed. A quick scan of her surroundings didn’t give her any indication of where Craig had run off to. Humans were gathering around where she’d landed in the middle of the street. They blocked her view.
A woman grabbed her arm, steadying Rowan’s body. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”
“Yes.” The word came out gargled. She cleared her throat. “The man who was with me …” She coughed up blood, but swallowed it and focused on the human female looking at her with concern. “Did you see him?”
“Yes, I saw him! That jerk ran and left you here!”
“Where?”
The woman pointed toward the side street that led to the pizza place where Trevor had gone to deal with the sluagh. “That way. He—”
“Thank you.” Rowan managed to mumble the response and ran.
Rhys stepped from the hotel. His gaze landed on her. She didn’t bother waiting for him. He’d follow.
Rowan rounded the corner. Her muscles strengthened with each step she took. By the time she reached the end of the block, her body had healed.
She opened herself to her hound stationed outside the pizza place. The dog showed her an image of Trevor entering the apartment building. He hadn’t emerged yet. Her gut twisted.
Rhys fell into step beside her. “The redcap planned this.”
Rage radiated off her brother. She felt it simmering within her also. Only concern for Trevor kept it at bay.
“Craig wanted to die.” She cut a quick glance at Rhys. “At first.”
“Now, he’s running.” Rhys scanned the buildings. “He could’ve gone into any of these. The redcap knows he’s hidden from us.”
“No. He’s gone after Trevor.” The hounds she’d had stationed outside the hotel were following him, running down the alley parallel to them. “The redcap knows by now that Trevor is with its sluagh. Craig will want to finish what he started.” And if Trevor died, it would be her fault. She’d sent him off alone.
“Trevor can handle himself. Redcap or not, Craig isn’t a match for him.”
Pride welled. She couldn’t have stopped it if she tried. Trevor had wanted to win her brothers’ respect. He was going to be thrilled once he found out he’d garnered Rhys’s.
“I’ve seen Trevor working with Ian.” Rhys went on. “He’s quick, and all he needs to do is aim for the redcap’s heart.”
The elation plummeted. She’d told Trevor she had to take the redcap’s head, freeing his soul. Otherwise, he’d wind up in the very lowest level of Hell with the fairies. Nobody ever left those chambers. Arawn had designed them to be a one-way barrier. Freeing Craig’s soul landed him in Arawn’s hands.
If her father dealt with the redcap the same way he had Craig’s brother Raul, then Craig would be committed to the level right above the fairies. It was still a horrendous place, but for those incarcerated sinners, there was a chance to earn redemption. For Jen’s sake, Rowan wanted to offer Craig that. It was a long shot, one Rowan didn’t think would ever meet success, but it was better than none. Trevor knew that was what Rowan wanted. If he hesitated taking the blow that would end Craig’s life, he might die instead.
She ran harder.
A hound slammed an image into her head—Craig barreling down the street toward the pizza place. Rowan was still a block away. No. She had to get there before Craig entered that apartment building. She opened herself to the power of the Hunt, drawing the shadows to her. The shroud that had protected the Huntsmen for ages slid around her body. She was taking a huge risk. If any humans had been looking at her, they would’ve seen her form fading before disappearing altogether.
Rhys did the same, forming a veil around his body. There were no shouts or screams from the humans. The lack of a response didn’t mean they’d escaped detection, but it offered a small comfort.
Within moments, she turned the corner. Craig skidded into the alley. Her hound leapt at him, teeth bared. Craig toppled under the weight of the massive dog. The distraction gave Rowan the seconds she needed to close the distance between them.
Rhys called forth his sword. “Seek retaliation for your lover. I’m going after the sluagh.”
She wanted to tell him she would go to Trevor, but Rhys disappeared into the building before she got the words out. She focused on Craig. The sooner the redcap met its fate at the end of her blade, the sooner the threat to Trevor would be eliminated. The cloud of dust the sluagh would become once its master was killed wouldn’t harm him.
With a small wave of her hand, the veil surrounding her swept outward, enclosing Craig. She rushed him before he could run through the edges of the cloud. Craig turned and bared a mouthful of fangs. Black eyes zeroed in on her. No spark of humanity hovered in those orbs. He was crazed, corrupted by the Chaos that had eaten away at his mind.
Her blade connected with Craig’s chest, scoring a deep gash across his pecs. The wound didn’t even faze the redcap. It slashed at her with its extended claws. His sharpened nails connected with her arm, ripping muscle. She raised her good arm, aiming for the redcap’s head, and swung.
Craig ducked and rammed his head into her stomach. Her breath rushed out. She hunched, and the blade fell from her hand, disappearing before hitting the ground. The redcap took advantage of the automatic response, gripping her upper arms, but she tucked her legs and flipped them, knocking them to the hard pavement, Craig beneath her.
The sound of bone shattering reached her ears, and pain contorted Craig’s features. His grasp on her biceps eased. She threw his hold off and grabbed his shoulders.
Using the power of the Hunt to strengthen her muscles, she slammed him against the ground, cracking his skull with a sharp whack. His eyes rolled back in his head; mouth opened on a soundless groan.
The precious seconds while his body healed gave her the opportunity she needed to finish this. She impaled the claws of one hand into his chest, cracking his ribs and holding him in place while she recalled her sword.
“I will earn my redemption.”
Craig’s sloshy words yanked her attention to his face. Hazel eyes stared back at her, not black or crazed. Intelligence and determination shone in them. The male staring back at her was the one Alana had loved, not the creature Dar had turned him into. The sight didn’t sway Rowan, though. He would die.
“For some sins, there is no redemption.”
Craig’s lips curved into a small, albeit pained, smile. “You’re right, but Alana’s gift guarantees mine.”
“What gift?”
His grin widened. He jerked, arching his back and impaling himself on her clawed hand. The sharpened tips on her fingers sunk into his heart. It beat once, twice, then stuttered. She brought her sword down and severed Craig’s head from his body before his heart took its final beat.
His soul slipped free.
The dark gray orb hovered inches from her, waiting to be collected by her. She stared at the murky colors and sighed. Craig had never given the answer as to what Alana had given him. Whatever it had been, Rowan hoped Craig appreciated it. No sacrifice came without a price.
****
A puff of dust surrounded Trevor before he completed the arc. His blade met the hard floor, impaling the vinyl the same way the sluagh’s claws had done.
The sluagh was dead. Its soul was released. Rowan had succeeded.
A wave of relief swept over him. He might not have struck the blow that ended Craig, but Rowan had. It meant the same. Rowan was his other half. He didn’t need a mate bond to tell him that. Rowan’s victory against Craig was also Trevor’s. He felt the truth in that statement. He didn’t want it any other way. They would meet their battles together. Celebrate together. Love together. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.
“You’re alive.”
Rhys’s voice jerked Trevor’s head to look at the Huntsman. “Yes. Where’s Rowan?”
&
nbsp; “In the alley outside, fighting Craig.”
Trevor motioned to the dust scattered around him. “She won.”
Rhys nodded, respect in his expression. “So she did.”
Trevor stood, ignoring the blood running down his arm, and headed for the door. He needed to see Rowan, hold her. He had to tell her what he’d decided—that he would accept the Huntsman’s mark. Today. No more waiting.
He might be able to sense the redcaps and their sluaghs as a human, but he couldn’t free their souls the way a Huntsman’s blade could. That left him in a tough situation, always fighting to incapacitate, not kill. Doing so left him vulnerable, and he’d promised Rowan he wouldn’t die on her.
Rowan stood at the mouth of the alley. She hefted Craig’s headless body onto the back of her horse. Unlike sluaghs, redcaps never disappeared upon death. Using the Hunt’s horses to transport the evidence of their hunting was a necessity.
With a small caress to the horse’s mane, the mare and her load disappeared. She would have to travel with Grief to the Underworld. Craig’s soul couldn’t be released into the resting fields. It would go to Arawn’s doorstep.
“Rowan.” Trevor ran to her and enclosed her in his arms. Blood soaked her clothes and matted her hair. She’d been hurt. “What happened?”
“I fell off the hotel’s roof.” She grinned. “It’s a good thing I’m immortal.” Her smile drooped a second later. Her gaze landed on his injured bicep. She touched the skin around it with gentle fingers. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s okay. Doesn’t even hurt.” He raised her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. So many words bounced around in his head. Rowan covered his cheek before he could tell her that he loved her or that he was going to accept the mark.
“We won.”
Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) Page 23
