by Becca Andre
“Aw, she cares for you, little brother.” Henry grinned.
James growled low in his throat, the sound surprisingly malicious even without that otherworldly power.
Henry jerked the knife free, getting a grunt from James. Chuckling, Henry used the blood-smeared knife to stir one of the glasses.
Without being asked, James fisted his hand and allowed the blood to drip into the next glass, then the final one.
I offered James a paper towel, giving Henry a glare.
Henry smiled and wiped his blade on his pants leg before sheathing the knife. He caught James’s hand and brought it to his mouth.
I looked away, not wanting to watch Henry lap up his blood. There was just something so wrong about it. A violation that I suspected James had endured for a long time.
“Addie, take a drink,” George said, drawing my attention back to him.
“What?”
“Did you think we’d just drink something you made?” Henry asked.
“George saw the ingredient list; Brian watched me brew it.” It wasn’t my fault he’d slept through most of it.
“She’s not drinking my blood,” James said.
I looked up, silently thanking him for the out. “Besides,” I said to George, “even if it didn’t kill me, you wouldn’t know if it worked. I’ve already taken the Final Formula.”
Henry snorted. “Right. You’re immortal.”
“Yes. I’m also forty-two.”
Henry frowned.
“Brian, drink the potion,” George said.
“Yeah?” Brian picked up one of the glasses. “You sure?”
“You watched her brew it, right?” George asked.
Brian glanced at me, then back to George. “Of course.”
“Then go ahead.”
“It’ll be like tossing back a shot of James’s blood.” Henry made a show of licking his lips.
James stepped away from him, and I hurried to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. Odd that I’d never seen any evidence of this when I’d lived with them. Of course, James had been permitted to change form at will, so he wouldn’t have needed healing.
Brian tipped up the glass and downed the contents. “Ugh,” he gasped, dropping the glass on the floor and doubling over to cough.
My heart thumped against my ribs. It shouldn’t take effect yet. Not for an hour or more. It needed to reach his intestines before—
Brian straightened. “Damn, that tastes like skunk piss.”
“You’ve drunk skunk piss before?” Henry asked him, and got a finger gesture in return.
Henry reached for a glass. “Now?” he asked George.
“Now we wait.” George eyed me as he spoke.
I huffed out a breath. “I wish you’d said as much. It’s most potent after the blood is first added. We could have waited until you were ready to do the other glasses.”
“Hell with this.” Henry picked up a glass. “He’s fine.” He waved his free hand at Brian. Without further comment, he downed the contents of his glass. “Fuck.” He coughed a few times before slamming the glass down. “You did that on purpose.” He glared at me.
I arched a brow, but didn’t answer. He was right.
“Well?” George asked.
“I feel it,” Brian answered for Henry. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head. It must be the blood. My mixture had no other magic in it.
“He’s right,” Henry said to George. “I feel it, too.”
George studied them a moment longer and then downed his potion. If the taste bothered him, he gave no outward sign.
“I did as you asked,” I said into the silence. “Let Rowan go.”
Henry snorted, but refrained from comment when George frowned at him.
“Take them downstairs,” George said.
I released James and took a step toward George. “But you promised.”
“No, I didn’t.” George met my eyes, and I caught the faint green glow in those hazel depths. I’d seen his eyes do that once before, when he licked a quarrel tip covered in James’s blood. I hoped I hadn’t underestimated the power of that blood. If it gave his brothers an immunity against my mixture, we were screwed.
Henry caught the chain dangling from James’s collar and jerked him toward the door. “Come, dog. Time to return to your kennel. Make sure your sweet-assed bitch trots along behind.”
James fisted his hands, but I caught his forearm, hurrying to keep pace with him. As we stepped out into the hall, I glanced at the closed door to the other bedroom.
Soon, Rowan. Soon.
Chapter
19
“How much longer?” James asked, pacing at the end of his chain.
“Try it now.” I stepped away from the timber where his hasp was mounted, rotating the burning stick so the flames didn’t reach my hand. It had taken forever to char the timber where the large bolts held the hasp in place. The wood was aged and damp, making it hard to burn.
James gripped the chain in both hands and gave it a yank. A quarter inch of space now gaped between the back of the hasp and the timber.
“Try throwing your weight against it.”
“This is so frustrating,” he grumbled. “I could have ripped it out without all the burning if I wasn’t bound in iron.”
“If you weren’t bound in iron, we wouldn’t be doing this.”
He gave me a frown.
I arched a brow, and he finally relented with a snort.
He stepped closer to the timber, then, with a backward lunge, threw himself against the chain. For an instant, the chain stretched taut; then it suddenly gave way.
I pressed my hands to my mouth as the now free hasp hurled toward his face, but James’s reflexes were still lightning quick, and he managed to duck in time. The hasp slammed into the support timber behind him and clattered to the floor.
“I hope my brothers are incapacitated. They’d certainly hear that.”
“They should be by now.” Or so I hoped.
The burning stick still in hand, I walked over to the stairs where the next part of my plan waited. I’d manhandled the old still up the steps, propping it against the sealed doors.
“Let me do that.” James moved to my side and held out a hand for the branch.
“It has a fuse. I can—”
“Yes, but I’m quicker and already dead.”
I exhaled, but passed him the branch. “It’s not that dangerous.”
He raised his brows. Okay, maybe it was.
I moved over behind the support timber furthest from the door and pulled the tarp around my shoulders. Filled with moonshine, I’d made the old still into a crude bomb. I’d positioned it so it would explode into the doors and blow them open. The other option would be to set them on fire and burn our way out, but smoke inhalation would be a factor. Of course, if I’d misjudged and the still blew inward…well, I wouldn’t think about that.
“Ready?” James called.
“Light it.”
He touched the stick to the wick I’d woven with braided strips of fabric from the edges of the tarp. The old fabric ignited immediately, and he dropped the stick and ran back toward me, his chain clanking against the iron collar.
He threw himself over me an instant before a ground-shaking boom left my ears ringing. A flash of heat I felt even through the tarp was followed by a rain of wood pieces and bits of rusted metal. The old still must have been in worse shape than I realized.
As my hearing returned, I heard the crackle of flames. I nudged James. “You okay?”
He sat up and pushed away from me, resting on his haunches. His wide eyes were focused on the stairs.
I turned to look and blinked in surprise. The doors had been annihilated—alon
g with a chunk of the floor above and the walls to either side. I’d literally blown a hole in the side of the cabin.
“That was a controlled explosion?” James asked.
“Are you suggesting it wasn’t?”
James snorted and rose to his feet. “We need to move before the whole place burns down.”
“Rowan.” I stood beside James, eyeing the flames. The edges of the hole were burning heartily, leaving a shifting gap for us to pass through. Worse, the stairs were gone. A six-foot earthen wall rose where the stairs had been.
James snugged the tarp around my shoulders.
“What are—” I didn’t get to finish as he turned his back toward me, squatting a little.
“Get on,” he said.
“Won’t that make it harder for you—”
“No. I can do it. The iron hinders me, but I’m still more than human.”
I decided not to argue and climbed on his back. He passed me the chain with its cumbersome hasp that still dangled from his collar. I wrapped it around my own shoulders to keep it out of the way.
“Hang on,” he said.
I did as he asked then sucked in a breath as he sprinted toward the flames. I’d seen him vault an eight-foot fence before, maybe…
He jumped, but between my added weight and the iron, he only caught the lip of the hole.
The flames crackled around us, the heat so intense it stole my breath. Using the strength of his arms, he pulled us up until his chest was level with the top of the hole.
“Climb off.” He was breathing heavy, and the muscles of his arms stood out in sharp relief as he clung to the earthen wall.
I gripped his shoulders and struggled to do as told, using his body as a ladder. My waist was even with his head when I suddenly couldn’t move any further. The chain I’d wrapped around my shoulders had become entangled with the hasp.
Unable to move my upper body higher and not able to reach back to untangle the chain, I swung a leg to the side. My bare foot caught the lip of the hole, and I pulled my lower body up beside it while the flames crackled around us.
Suddenly the earthen wall gave. I lost my foothold and fell back against James. He grunted, sliding back several inches. We dangled over what was left of the stairs burning merrily below.
“Addie!” James’s gasp became a cough as smoke and flame enveloped us.
I swung my leg to the side again, a little further this time, and caught the lip of the hole. I twisted and wiggled, and finally managed to get my other leg beside the first. The ground held, and I pushed myself up on my hands and knees so I could untangle the chain.
Once free, I threw myself back from the hole. Choking, I doubled over, trying to get control of my lungs. I needed to get back in there and help James climb up, but I couldn’t quit coughing. The flames at my back grew hotter and hotter.
Hands gripped my shoulders and the tarp was jerked away. I straightened, turning to face my attacker only to find James standing behind me. He hurled the flaming tarp aside and without a word, pulled me into a hug. His skin was hot and streaked with soot, but no worse than my own.
“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment.
I’d finally stopped coughing. “Yes. Sorry.” I forced my raw throat to swallow and stepped back. “The chain got tangled.”
He frowned, not looking all that reassured.
I glanced up at the cabin, noting with alarm how fast the flames were spreading.
“Come on. We have to find Rowan.”
The back door was only a short distance from the burning hole I’d blown in the cabin.
“Let’s try the front door.” I started in that direction, but James stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“My brothers. Stay alert.” He stepped around me and led the way toward the front of the house. He held the chain in one hand, the hasp dangling a good foot below his fist. It would make a decent flail. I wondered if he’d use it.
We circled the house and made it to the small porch without incident. George’s big 4x4 still sat in the drive—or rather, the twin ruts that served as a drive.
James gripped the doorknob. It turned beneath his hand and he pushed the door open.
I tensed, half expecting an attack, but none came. The cabin was silent.
A trickle of smoke escaped along the upper edge of the doorframe. Damn, the fire was spreading fast.
“Stay low,” James whispered and started forward.
I bent over and followed him. The smoke was thin, but the flickering light of the flames was visible through the kitchen doorway that led toward the back of the house.
Little light reached the hall, and with both bedroom doors shut, the darkness grew more complete as we moved along.
James stopped and I stumbled into him. With a hand on his back and the wall, I managed to right myself. That’s when I heard a moan…and noticed the smell.
“It’s Brian,” James whispered.
It seemed my mixture had overcome the power of James’s blood. His brother reeked of vomit and shit.
“I can’t leave him here, Addie.”
I sighed as best I could without taking too deep a breath. I couldn’t ask him to.
“Drag him outside,” I whispered. “I’ll go to Rowan. Meet me there when you get him clear.”
“Be careful.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I patted his hand, then listened to him drag Brian away. He knew what his brothers were, and yet he couldn’t leave them to be burned alive. They didn’t deserve his compassion.
I trailed my fingers along the wall, but it was only a short distance to Rowan’s door. Sliding my fingers along the varnished surface, I found the knob. It turned beneath my hand, but when I tried to push it open, it moved only a fraction of an inch and stopped. Was the frame warped, causing the door to stick?
I stepped back and threw my shoulder against it. Nothing. I tried again, harder this time, and gained nothing but a bruise. But something metallic rattled above my head. I reached up and found a hasp with a padlock. That was new. The hasp was crooked and two of the four screws weren’t flush with the metal surface, as if it had been hastily installed.
I smiled. Even without his magic, Rowan was still a handful.
I turned and opened the door to the lab. If I could find a screwdriver, I could remove the hasp. The lab was on the back of the house and light from the fire flickered through the back windows. I ran to the nearest counter and began pulling out drawers at random. In the third one, I found a screwdriver.
“You bitch!” Hands caught my shoulders and whipped me around before the words could even register.
I found myself face to face with Henry. On instinct, I jabbed the screwdriver at his eyes.
He moved with those uncanny reflexes James displayed and swatted my hand aside. Instead of taking out an eye, I only managed to scratch his palm, but I was able to hold onto my makeshift weapon.
I wasn’t as quick, and he backhanded me hard enough to throw me into the counter. I took a kidney shot from the open drawer, but managed to keep my feet beneath me.
Henry fisted his hand around the scratch on his palm. “That’s the second time you’ve made me bleed.” He unclenched his hand and jerked his Bowie knife from his hip. “Your turn.”
I gripped my screwdriver tighter, glancing around for a more suitable weapon. In the back of my mind, I knew it was pointless. No way in hell I could go hand to hand with him. To have a hope of surviving this, I needed a potion.
Henry took a step toward me, the firelight shining through the windows caught on his blade. He treated that knife better than the women he dated, and I didn’t doubt that it had been honed to a wicked sharp edge.
“Where shall I cut first?” He took another step, then abruptly dou
bled over and started to retch.
Judging by the smell and the stains on his shirt, he was no better off than Brian.
A smile curled my lips. Maybe that said something about me, but I didn’t care. If I could give these bastards a fraction of the pain they’d given James over the years, it was worth a little more dirt on my soul.
Henry straightened and glared at me. “What the fuck did you give us?”
“It wasn’t a secret. I gave George my ingredient list.”
He lunged at me, leading with his knife.
I jumped back, but I hadn’t been ready and overbalanced myself. My feet shot out from under me, and I landed hard on my butt—which is probably what saved me. Henry slashed the air where I’d been, his momentum carrying him forward, face-first into the heavy metal hasp at the end of James’s chain.
Henry collapsed on the floor in front of me.
“What are you doing in here?” James asked. As always, James had entered the room without my awareness.
I got to my feet. “Rowan’s door is locked.”
James didn’t respond. He walked out into the hall and, with two running steps, slammed his shoulder against the door. Wood splintered and it popped open.
“I tried that,” I muttered, hurrying past him into the room. The smoke was thicker in the hall now, trickling into the back room.
The sun had set, but the evening light was enough to brighten the room, at least to my dark-adapted eyes.
“Addie?” Rowan said when I stepped into the room.
“Yes.” I circled an overturned armoire and the scattered contents from a chest of drawers, moving toward the bed. The mattress had been removed, leaving just the headboard and box spring. Rowan sat propped against the headboard. He had one hand free, but the other was bound to the bedpost.
I moved closer and gasped. Even knowing what to expect, the sight still made me queasy. They hadn’t bound him; they’d shot quarrels through his wrists. Blood trickled down the forearm he’d gotten free, but his range of motion was hampered by the quarrel through his shoulder. The other arm was pinned at biceps and wrist. One knee and the opposite ankle had been similarly tacked to the box spring beneath him, rust-colored stains discoloring the flowery fabric. But there were other stains on his clothing. How many quarrels had he pulled free only to have them shoot him again?
