Rowena's Revenge (Broadus Supernatural Society)

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “Hello, little kitty,” Cearbhall growls and I hear his little minion laugh from outside the SUV. “Say bye-bye to your poor little Elf.”

  A loud, pain filled scream comes from Rowena, along with the sound of her sliding over the glass shards, and I see her bloody body slide from the car through the window, her hands gripping onto the bent doorframe as I try to reach out to her. She’s screaming, crying, trying to hold on as blood seeps down over her forehead and into her white hair, but I can’t reach her. This God-damn seatbelt.

  Then she’s gone and her cries are mixing with the wind. No. I let it all out, rocking and jerking in my seat, pulling at the latch on the lock and trying to reach for my sword that was under the seat but is now sitting on the roof more than an arm’s length away. I let out a feral yell, giving into the dark edge that exists in my mind and letting it fuel my anger.

  I’m shaking the entire wreckage now and I see Blaine’s head shaking side to side before he snaps to, his eyes immediately glowing hazel of his wolf. He can feel that she is gone and he starts to shift right before me; his clothes bursting at the seams. Rowena’s screams echo on the wind and I look to the half shifted form of Blaine.

  “Get. Me. Outta. Here!”

  His ear piercing howl vibrates the torn metal around us and his razor sharp claws reach out, slashing through the belt. The shards of glass slice into my shoulder as I fall, but I don’t care. I’m going to cut off that bastard’s head and leave it on the road sign as a warning.

  Fuck with me and die.

  ~~~~~

  Rowena

  My head is swimming and all I can feel is the pain radiating through my left leg and head. The blood is warm as it flows down from my forehead and over my cheek. I sense that Blaine is unconscious, the pain in his head is matched in mine and I moan Penton’s name, hearing him struggle.

  What the fuck was that thing that I saw barreling over the median toward us? A van? A large truck? I have no fucking idea, and right now, I don’t care; I just want to get out of here with my mates.

  A thick, stomach churning musk floats around me as I try to get up on my knees and my leopard hisses, knowing who is near without a doubt. His laugh fills the air and he says something to Penton as I try to crawl to the other side of this mangled mess of metal and glass. I just need to get be out of this cage.

  “Hello, little kitty,” he says and I can’t help but cry out a little, his voice so close that it spikes my nerves and my leopard tries to hiss through my whimpering. His hand wraps around my ankle as I try to kick him away, using all the strength I have, not caring about the blood flowing freely from the handful of cuts I’ve caused myself and the gash on my head. His hand squeezes the already injured bones of my left leg and I scream out again, the shards of glass ripping through my sweater and jeans as he slides me out.

  The lower half of my body hits the cold, feeling the snow flow over the exposed skin at my stomach and I grab at the bent frame of the window, screaming to Penton and kicking my legs wildly as the pain radiates through my limbs. I can’t let him take me, not while both of my mates are trapped here and one is unconscious. Penton is yelling, telling me to hold on, but the pain is making me shake. My stomach is churning with nausea from blood loss as it pools under the back of my head. His white-blue eyes are begging me to hold on, but I can’t, and with a hard yank that makes me scream again, I’m out in the cold snow on my back.

  His orange eyes glow down at me through the blowing snow for only a second before I’m yanked from the ground and flying through the air, the cold biting into my lungs and nipping at my skin. The air rushes over my lips as my back connects with a tree; needles and snow falling down around me as I slide down the bark onto the ground. The rush of blood picks up over my skull and my stomach does flips as I watch the red drip down onto the perfectly white snow.

  “You were so close.” The dark, evil voice wraps around me, putting a strangle hold on my nerves and sending my heart to a breakneck pace. My leopard tries to hiss, but I’m too weak and I can feel her retreating, using what is left of her magic to try and heal me as fast as she can. It’s no use, and I sink into the snow, unable to keep myself up against the tree.

  My blurry vision clears enough to watch Cearbhall crouch before me; an accomplished, pompous smirk on his lips. I try to let out a smart ass remark and tell him to go to hell, but all that comes out is a painful whimper as a trail of blood spills over my lips and down my chin.

  “Ah, Rowena,” he smiles, reaching his hand out and cupping my cheek, pulling my pliable body up to be only an inch from him as I sway, “you were so close. Look,” he points off to the side, through the small patch of trees and past the shaking wreckage of our SUV to a large white and brown sign only about a hundred yards down the road, saying, “Welcome to Broadus.”

  “Freedom, protection; it was just about in your grasp, but the fates turned a blind eye toward you.” His hand runs almost caringly over my cheek and behind my ear before he grabs onto my hair, making me cry out as the pressure spreads the cut on my scalp apart and sends more blood gushing down my forehead.

  “You are mine,” he whispers and I hear a menacing chuckle behind him; and a humpback, Frankenstein looking freak limps up to Cearbhall’s side. His rotting smell makes me gag, and as I fall to the snow, coughing for a breath of fresh air, Cearbhall groans. “What do you want, Gandion? I thought I told you to stay out of the way?”

  “Yes, Sir, you did, but I thought you might need my help,” he snivels, throwing his head to the side and nodding toward the wreckage that still holds my now roaring and howling mates. I need them. I need to go get them, and I start to try and pull myself to them in the snow, my blood covered hands digging into the snow and gaining little traction.

  “The Elf is free,” the nasty looking thing Cearbhall called Gandion tries to whisper, but as soon as the words leave his green, rotting tooth filled mouth, I’m screaming out as loud as I can, calling for my mates.

  I see the flash of bright silver that is Penton’s sword as the wreckage that was our home for the last couple of days explodes into shards of metal, Blaine’s earth shattering howl answering my tearful screams for them. A hand wraps around my ankle again, pulling me back before a hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me up and into Cearbhall’s face as he scowls.

  His eyes burn bright orange as he looks around me, waving the hand that isn’t around my throat behind him into the woods and blurry, black figures sweep by me; a horrid, decaying scent fills the air and I know they are Ghouls going after my mates. I scream out to warn them, but it’s cut off as his finger close around my windpipe, making me cough, and I dig my fingers into his hand.

  I want this mother fucker to let me go, and I kick at him with all the strength left in me as he lifts me off the ground. I hear fighting ensuing behind me, the clang of Penton’s sword striking bone and the hair raising growl of Blaine in Berserker form making my leopard hiss in need to fight with them; to help defend them.

  “Show me your flames,” he yells, his spit landing on my cheeks as he grinds his teeth in anger. No way am I letting this asshole try and suck the life from me again, and I spit right in his tattoo surrounded eye. His nails dig into my throat and I scratch at his arm, clawing away as my flames start to spark my leopard to life and my nails elongate into claws. “Show me. Your. Flames!”

  He growls the last word, pressing his lips to mine hard as more howls fill the air. The breeze picks up and the scent of wolves, lots of them, wafts around me. Cearbhall’s tongue licks my lips before his teeth bite down hard, breaking the skin and making me cry out against his mouth as I slap his face and neck, scratching when I can gain the strength as I feel the pull of his magic on mine.

  “You took me away from him once,” I cry, slapping him repeatedly, “but I’ll get my revenge, for Helen and I, and you will die. Even if I’m not the one to kill you; you’ll die today.”

  Something hairy, moving at the speed of a freight train crashes into us, forci
ng Cearbhall to release me and I fall into a bare rose bush; the thorns cutting into the still open wounds I suffered in the car wreck. I can barely lift my head, but as I roll onto my side and into the snow, I watch as Blaine’s black Berserker form lurks over a stammering and scrambling Cearbhall.

  I see the spark of flame appear in Cearbhall’s palm and I reach out for Blaine, wrapping my hand around a small tree trunk to drag myself through the snow, calling his name. “Blaine! No!” I scream and he turns, bathing me in the hazel glow of his eyes, his snout covered in blood of the Ghouls and his teeth bared in anger. He looks over me for only a second before scooping me up and tossing me farther away into the trees.

  His howl of pain echoes on the wind as I land in a deep drift of snow and I feel the deep burn in my chest, radiating over my skin. It joins the other pain from the deep gashes and small cuts all over my skin and I scream out, grabbing at the snow to try and drag myself back. My mates need me.

  Taking a handful of snow, I drag it across my face to wipe away the blood so I can see. Before me is a war; Werewolves, Berserkers, and shifters of all kinds are fighting the Ghouls, blood staining the snow all over the small patch of trees and the road. Roars, howls, and yells fill the air. The silver of Penton’s sword glints in the meager sun as I see him go after Cearbhall, dodging the thrown fireballs with amazing agility.

  Grabbing onto the first stable thing I see, I pull myself along in the snow until I have the strength to get to my knees. My left leg still vibrates with pain and I can see my pant leg is soaked in blood, but I keep going, shuffling on my hands and knees around the trees back to help my mates. Penton’s sword is flashing in fast strong strokes as I get to Blaine’s side, reaching out for his vibrating form as it fights to stay in Berserker form through the pain of the softball size scorch mark on his chest.

  I grab his hand, tangling our fingers and hoping he feels the power from my flames I am trying to send him. His grip relaxes only a second later. The rapid vibration and stir of his wolf settles and he shifts back to human form, his breathing labored. Cearbhall’s laugh fills the air, making the hair on my arms stand on end and my leopard hisses when his orange stare falls on me.

  Penton’s sword is through the Warlock’s chest, and he is just standing there laughing as my astonished mate staggers back, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. His long, bony fingers wrap around the handle and he slowly pulls it from his body; no blood or remnants staining the blade.

  “You fool,” he chuckles, tossing the blade aside. “As I told your kitty; the only way to kill me is if you die by the hand of a loved one. I live because of the dark magic still burning within you. Your bloodline gave birth to what I am, and it is only when it is totally eradicated that I die, but that will never happen.”

  I can hear the thought roll through Penton’s mind and I cry out to him, gaining his attention. “You can’t, Penton.” His eyes meet mine and I can see the vision of him taking his own life flash through, bringing tears to my eyes. “No,” I cry, shaking my head at him as he picks up his sword.

  “I have to,” he says, and it’s like everything is in slow motion.

  Cearbhall’s magic blasts into his back and he falls to his knees, grunting in pain just as a black Werewolf leaps over him, taking the Warlock down to the snow. The green eyed wolf snaps his jaw, baring his teeth and drags his claws along Cearbhall’s chest, ripping his clothes and tearing into his flesh. The flames spark in his palms again and a wave of regret hits me, flowing from my Berserker; who releases my hand.

  Turning, I see Blaine is on his feet, already over by the kneeling and reeling from pain Penton, the silver blade in B’s closed fist. He can’t. He won’t. My head starts to shake wildly on its own and I try to get to my feet as everything seems to freeze. I can feel the eyes on my mates.

  “No,” I try to scream, but all that comes out is a cry as I try to get up; try to get to them to stop this craziness.

  “I’m sorry, Row,” Blaine says, looking right at me with a sadness that breaks my heart. “I’m sorry, Brother,” he whispers to Penton, getting a nod in return before bringing the blade down, driving it through the top of Penton’s back and out through his chest.

  I can’t breathe. My heart has stopped beating and I’m gasping for air.

  He doesn’t cry out or yell, he just grunts, grabbing for Blaine’s hand and squeezing it while I’m dying. I see Blaine clutch his chest, kneeling as Penton falls into his lap. I feel every struggling heartbeat. I feel every ripple of pain.

  I’m screaming, but I’m outside of my body. I can see everything; the entire scene. Blood covers absolutely everything and no one is moving. Pieces of Ghouls are littering the road and snow as wolves and shifters change back to their human forms. There are even vampires mixed in this motley crew. They are all standing there, watching one of my mates gasp his last breath as my other holds him.

  Do something! I scream at all of them, but no one reacts. No one even turns, and the anger, fear, pain, and loss rips through my chest. I scream with all of my might until there is no longer a sound coming out and I’m close to passing out. My flames burst to life, raging over my skin and melting the snow around me as my pain fuels them.

  They die out as I start to feel weak. I feel like tearing open my chest and pulling my heart out would be the only way to feel any relief from the pressure building, squeezing my soul, reminding me that there is now a missing piece.

  A sharp, vibrating pain brings me back to reality and I’m lying on my side in the slightly melted snow, screaming wildly as I thrash around. My arms and legs are flailing, slamming into the ground. Tears stream down my cheeks endlessly as the blood mingles with them from the still gushing gash on my head. Arms wrap around me and B’s earthy scent surrounds me. I hit and slap at his chest, letting my short human nails dig into him as voices whisper around us.

  “How could you?” I scream, beating my fists on his chest and shoulders as I feel him lift me from the snow. I don’t want him to touch me, but he pulls me close, holding me so tight that it hurts, and I feel the sobs run through his chest. Turning my face up to him, I see the tears filling his blood and dirt covered face. “How could you?” I whimper.

  “It had to be done,” he chokes and I sense people standing around us. The familiar cinnamon scent surrounds me, and I sink my head onto B’s shoulder, letting the nausea, dizziness, and loss I just suffered wash over me. Before I slip off and give into the dark recess of my mind, I hear B issue a sobbing, “I’m so sorry, Row. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  So am I, Blaine.

  The hole in my chest, where my heart was less than ten minutes ago, burns with anger and sorrow, but not toward you; no, not toward you. I don’t hate you. I hate myself, I hate Cearbhall, and I hate that fucking bitch named Fate.

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  Blaine

  February 14, 2017

  Fuck, I hate this. My life, her life, is a living hell now because of what I did. I killed Penton; her mate, my ‘brother’. I fucking killed him.

  The pain still lingers in my chest at the spot where the sword protruded from his chest, but he never cried out. He begged me to do it as he knelt in pain from Cearbhall’s fire ball at his back; he fucking begged me. As I sit at this fine, hand carved table in the kitchen of the cabin he had the Pack build while he was bringing us here, I can still hear his words running through my mind.

  Please, brother, please do it. Hurry! I can’t have him take her from me, from you, again. This needs to end, and it needs to end now. Please, brother, do it for her, he said as the fighting ensued around us, and I knew he was right. He had said something before about how he hated that the dark magic of his bloodline still lingered within him and he wished there could be a way to get rid of it. But I didn’t think it would be like this.

  Now my heart is broken for my mourning mate. Rowena has barely gotten out of bed since that day. She just lays there, staring at the ceiling or out the window facing the pond down below near the tree line
; the same pond that sits behind her sister’s house, whom we live right beside. She cries herself to sleep most nights, and then wakes up to cry some more during the night.

  I haven’t dared more than just to hold her since then, because I can feel that she wants nothing to do with me romantically or sexually right now. Most of the time when she speaks to me, which isn’t often, it’s just to ask why?

  Why did I do it? How could I? Most of the time I know I can’t give her a good enough answer, so I just walk away, which I know only makes it worse. We need to talk to get through this, but when I try, nothing that I deem worthy ever comes out, so I just don’t bother.

  Her sister, Siofra, has been by to visit every day, bringing her lunch while I work at the auto shop in town with her husband and mates, Conall, Abe, and Dyson, along with a few other Pack members. Siofra, or as everyone calls her, Fry, still holds out hope that Penton will come back, but I just ignore her when she starts talking that nonsense.

  I killed him. I drove the sword through his chest and saw his blood spill over his shirt. I felt the pain myself and cradled his head in my lap as he gasped for breath. He’s not coming back from that. This ache in my heart, and my depressed mate, are proof of that.

  A slight knock raps on the front door and I put the rocks glass of bourbon I’ve been milking down on the table and make it through the quaint little living room to peek through the side window. Standing there on the front porch is the tall as fuck, broad as hell, I-think-he-might-be-able-to-snap-me-in-half, Shamus; Rowena’s father.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask as I swing the door open, ushering in the chill of the wind and the slight snow flurries blowing around. The Druid smiles at me, nodding before stepping over the threshold and shaking his shoulders of the snowflakes.