Unleash (Spellhounds Book 1)

by Lauren Harris

  I couldn’t remember, but there was an overwhelming sense of urgency nipping at my back. Something about Mom, and the book, and keeping my friends safe….

  “No, no, no,” Krista said, and I heard the heavy tread of her boots across the floor. A moment later, she was at my side. I braced for her to push me down again, but her hand found my naked back, supporting me. I blinked, noting the colorful electric blanket we’d picked out that day had been spread over me. “Jesus, Hel. Here, let me grab a shirt.”

  A moment later, she was rummaging through the stack of clothing. She extracted my mother’s purple plaid shirt—the only button up I owned—and shook it out. Mom would have killed me if I’d come home this beaten up. She’d have nursed me back to health and then kicked my ass to Tallahassee and back.

  Jaesung made himself busy in the kitchen, back turned, as Krista eased the sleeve over my bad arm. I made a token effort at buttoning the shirt, but my fingers were too stiff and swollen.

  I watched her fingers fasten it, the flexing colors of the tattoos at her wrists, and the scrapes that could only have come from her fight with the Sorcerer.

  It hit me then that she could have died. She could have been taken hostage. Tortured. Turned into a slave or a spellhound or worse. And she had no idea how much danger she’d been in, just by being with me.

  My fingers found hers and stopped her from fixing the button just below the start of the mandala carved into my chest. Her hands were warm, or maybe mine were just frigid. Both of us were shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have—I should have just l-left before….” Words were coming out too fast, tripping over the guilt clotting in my throat. “They could have hurt you, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop them. It would have been my fault and I couldn’t have even helped. This is why I can’t stay—I have to go. I have to—” I pushed her hands from me and leaned forward, trying to get my feet under me.

  “What? No, you’re not going anywhere.” Krista caught my arms before I could stand. “Not until you tell us what the hell is going on.”

  I met her eyes, already shaking my head despite my earlier decision to tell them at least part of the story.

  “Hel.” I looked up, finding Jaesung standing at the edge of the rug, holding a mug in one hand. The other made a fist. I swallowed. He set the mug aside and came to stand behind Krista. I thought he would crouch, get on my level, but he seemed too fired up to confine himself to that calm a stance.

  “We haven’t asked you because, until today, we didn’t think it was any of our business. But if you’ve… if you’re in some kind of trouble, and you’re dragging it into our lives, we have a right to know what it is.”

  It was almost exactly what I’d been thinking earlier, before I saw them face to face and realized that, whatever I said, it would be too much for them. I’d wanted so badly to leave them, and the reason hadn’t occurred to me until this moment: I had to be the one to go, because I couldn't handle the thought of them turning me out.

  Now, though, I could feel the finality in Jaesung’s voice. If I didn’t tell them some version of the truth, they would stop trusting me. They would call the police, the real police, and I'd be shipped back to Miami, and the DEA, and Gwydian.

  I had to tell them something.

  Air wheezed over my vocal cords, making a soft, creaky facsimile of my voice. “I was in a gang. My family was…. W-we didn’t have a choice. I was three when we got grabbed and forced into it because of my dad’s boat. They-” I choked, but forced myself to keep going now that I’d started. “They made us do things. Smuggle things. People. Drugs. Whatever you can think of. They killed Dad when I was thirteen. We’ve been trying to get out forever, and we figured out how right before I came here. We had help from….”

  How to describe the Sorcerer’s Guild.

  “From the authorities. But Mom—”

  I heard Jaesung inhale. He knew this part of the story. Krista drew back.

  “She got caught in the crossfire. She died. About three days before I met you.”

  Krista’s hand went to her mouth, and I sensed the horror washing over her. I saw the moment she realized that the man who’d shoved her against the SUV tonight was a gang member. I was glad she didn’t know how much worse he was.

  “I’ve been planning to leave,” I said. “I was going to. Soon.”

  Krista lowered her hand, her voice a whisper. “Where would you go?”

  “Canada.”

  Jaesung snorted. “With a passport that says Lola Martin?”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s—that’s my Mom.” His brows drew together, and I saw him glance at my pile of stuff. He must have gone through my things for answers. I swallowed, realizing I wasn't even angry. “Look, I didn’t expect… I never thought it would take this long for my cousin to get here, but they—”

  “They got him too.” Jaesung stretched out a hand, proffering a shiny plastic rectangle. Dread rippled down my back at the sight of my phone. I looked up, helpless. His jaw twitched. “We tried to call you and heard it ringing downstairs.”

  Had he seen the picture? What messages had Gwydian left me since? I shook my head, then looked back down at my knees. “Throw it away.”

  He kept his hand extended. I tried to ignore it, but it stayed there, a reminder of Gwydian’s power over me. Over my family. Dark rings of rust-colored blood still lingered around my nails, and I remembered the feel of that knife jamming into Eamon’s neck. Eamon, whose picture was on that phone—the last I’d seen of him when he was still himself.

  I grabbed the cell and hurled it at the brick wall. The motion tore at the scabbing cuts on my chest, but I didn’t care. It shattered, plastic casing exploding in all directions. Then I was down, fists clenched over the back of my neck, fighting against the desire to scream or cry or just get up and run.

  Krista pried my fists from my hair and pulled them down.

  “You need to call the police,” she said, voice quavering. “Tell them-”

  “They already know!”

  In a way it was true. The Sorcerers’ Guild fancied themselves the magical equivalent of the police.

  I heard her swallow. “Are you in witness protection?”

  “Not officially. The police want me to work with them, but I can't.” I sat up, meeting Krista’s eyes. “I wanted to go; I was trying to leave this morning, but you….” I looked at the mattress. “I’ve never had a—I didn’t want to let you guys in. I didn’t want this place to feel like home.”

  Krista’s chin wobbled, and I saw her eyes go shiny, calling up a similar burn in my own eyes.

  “I can’t work with the police,” I whispered. “I can’t. It’s—one of them shot her. I can’t—”

  Jaesung bent his knees, but instead of crouching next to Krista, he sank onto the air mattress at my side, a hand finding my knee. He put his head in his other hand, fingers weaving into the longer hair on his scalp. He grimaced.

  “I don’t know what to do. This isn’t….” He sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Mom and I ran from my dad all the way to the U.S. My aunt gave us a place to stay or we’d have been shit out of luck.”

  “I can find somewhere else to go,” I said, wondering how I could keep Gwydian from hurting them if I did. “I’m not a stray dog.”

  “It would be a hell of a lot easier if you were,” Krista muttered. “No. Hel, we’re not kicking you out, but—and I understand why you don’t want to talk to the police—but this is a lot. Too much.”

  “No one wants to be forced into being a criminal informant,” Jaesung said.

  “A C.I.?” I said. “I’m not a criminal! Not by choice-”

  “Could they put you in jail?”

  I lifted both hands and let them drop, wincing at the pain. “Maybe. If they didn’t believe I was forced. They’d probably let me go if I spilled everything, but I’d be watched for the rest of my life. They’d probably drag me in whenever there was even the sligh
test whisper of a problem.”

  Krista and Jaesung were silent. Dizziness was taking over again, which only made it easier to feel the pressure of their fear, their expectations. The normalcy of their lives and how abnormal even this half-truth was to them.

  “I’ll talk to them,” I said. “Not tonight, but I will. I’m not letting you guys get dragged into this.”

  I wasn’t sure how I'd do it, but if the Guild was going to pin me here, I had to prepare. If his bounty hunters kept failing, Gwydian would come himself. I would have to face him. Whether I wanted it or not, Krista and Jaesung would be in danger, and I had to protect them.

  Jaesung reached for the mug and handed it to me along with half a large white pill.

  “Half an Oxycodone,” he said. “Since we’re already breaking about four laws.”

  I took it gratefully and found the will to drink about half the broth before I had to lie back down. Krista cleaned up the medical supplies and deposited them downstairs, but Jae stayed there on the air mattress, as if guarding me. Whether it was from protectiveness or suspicion, I didn’t know. My heart wanted to believe Krista’s assertion that they wouldn’t kick me out, but my brain told me it would have been better for everyone involved.

  Krista climbed the stairs without another word, and I heard the soft sounds from upstairs as she climbed into bed. I thought of Alina, and how she would have felt if my actions had gotten Krista killed.

  She would have hated me, probably as much as I hated the Guild.

  Next to me, Jaesung was still, dark eyes focused on the Target bags with all the stuff I’d bought. I sucked in my sore lip and waited for him to speak.

  “Tell me something,” he said, finally. “Anything, as long as it’s true.”

  I sniffed, the steam from the mug loosening everything in my sinuses. Guilt rippled over me. He’d told me everything—the whole wretched part of his past—and I’d given him only surface truth. Even now, I hadn’t been completely honest, and he was sensitive enough to know.

  I swallowed. I could never give him the truth he wanted, no matter how much my heart screamed at me to be honest; I could show him the truth—force him to believe it.

  But that would change his world. He didn’t deserve that.

  “I don’t know what normal feels like,” I said. It was as good a truth as any. “I don’t know how to walk into a room without looking for the exits. I can field strip a nine millimeter, but I couldn’t tell you a single movie that came out in the last five years. I’ve been too busy looking over my shoulder to enjoy two of the tamest months of my life, and I—I’m scared my life will never be anything but…” I gestured to my bruised face and shoulder. “…this. Violence. Fear. All the shit I was trying to get away from.”

  Jaesung sighed, bracing his forearms over his thighs.

  “Do you believe that?” I couldn’t tell him how much I needed him to.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, it’s obvious you have PTSD. I could have told you that after three hours.” He sighed again, finally turning to look at me. Anger still lingered around the edges of his gaze, but there was a larger sense of determination there. Seeing him looking at me like that—serious, sincere, a little unsure—sent a knot into my throat.

  “This wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You were a kid; you didn’t get a choice. I know—it’s not the same as my family, but I know how hard it is to get out of a bad situation. How scared you are afterwards, how weird and fragile everything around you starts to feel. It’s isolating. When I got here, I didn’t even speak English. But I at least had my mom. I…” he grimaced. “This isn’t coming out how I wanted it to.”

  I didn’t care. I’d stopped listening after the first sentence. My eyes were burning and my body shook hard enough to rattle my teeth. Jaesung glanced over just as I lifted a hand to cover the welling tears.

  I couldn’t quite believe that it wasn’t my fault, but just hearing it, just having someone believe in me? I hadn’t known how much I’d needed it.

  He scooted closer, and as the mattress tipped me against his side, he put his arm around my back. I was going numb with the Oxycodone, and there was only a dull ache in my shoulder as I twisted into his chest. His heart throbbed against my cheek, and all I wanted was the lie of safety in his arms.

  “Stay,” I croaked. His shirt trapped the heat of that word against my face. I didn’t care how pitiful I sounded; I had no pride left to lose. “Please.”

  He leaned his head on top of mine, but he took an agonizing few moments to nod and whisper, “okay.”

  He stood, flipped the light switch and stepped out of his tennis shoes. I made myself slide over on the air mattress and curl onto my unhurt side. He climbed in next to me. He didn’t press up close like he had before. Maybe it was uncertainty, maybe it was my injuries, or both.

  My stomach twisted, and I held my breath against the desire to cry again. I’d been so afraid I would lose them over this—certain they would run at the first hint of my real past. But they hadn’t. And that meant I had more to lose than ever. More I could protect by walking into the arms of my mother’s murderers.

  My future looked grim, no matter how I looked at it.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked. “With your life, I mean.”

  He was quiet a moment, but then his voice vibrated along the mattress. “Like, as a job?”

  “Sure. Or in general. Anything.”

  He seemed to know what I was thinking, or if nothing else, what I needed to hear. A hand found its way onto my arm, careful to stay below the injury. “For a long time, I wanted to... do my martial art.”

  I let out a humorless huff. Even now, he was so persistent.

  “But I don’t know. I love working at the rescue, and it made me think: I want to help people too. I think—and don’t freak out—but I’ve been thinking of going through basic law enforcement training after graduation. I mean, I could go into law next, but…” I felt him shrug behind me.

  It should have been surprising, but it wasn’t. Jaesung had set me on edge from the beginning. Something about him had reminded me of the Guild, and only now that he said it did I realize it was that part of them that was similar to law enforcement. That vigilant tension, the sharp eyes and quickness to act.

  With his desire to do good, he would be better than any of them.

  “That works for you,” I said. “The world needs more good cops.”

  “You mean cops who are good at their jobs or cops who are good people?”

  “Good people, but I guess both.”

  He shifted, and a minute later, his face pressed against the back of my neck. A wave of relief shuddered down my back. I wheezed out a breath, scooting clumsily back into him as his arm wound around my ribs. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “About your mom. That’s—”

  “-not the kind of cop you’ll be,” I said. There was an awkward beat of silence before his hand squeezed my arm. His legs pressed against the backs of mine, the heat of him cradling me as my body grew heavier and heavier.

  “What about you?” he murmured. “What are you going to do?”

  “Get through tomorrow.” My voice sounded distant. I was barely aware of my lips moving. “Then the next day. If I don’t die.”

  The hand on my arm rubbed back and forth. “You’re not going to die. Things will settle. It doesn’t seem like it when you’re in the middle of it, but it will.”

  “I’m scared of that too.”

  He nodded against my neck. “I know. Transition sucks. But you have us. We’re not giving up on you.”

  I remembered the mingled pity and fear in Krista’s eyes. “Kris is scared of me.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t know if she should. I should never have dragged my mess into your lives.”

  “It’s a little too late for that.”

  “I could still leave. Before it hurts too much to go.”

  The hand stopped moving on my arm. “I
hope it’s too late for that too.”

  I shivered, goosebumps rising beneath his touch. He lay there behind me for a long moment, just breathing against my skin.

  “I don’t want to make it any harder,” I said.

  He tucked his feet up against mine, the warmth of them shocking against the cuts and cold skin. He pressed his face into my neck, and when he spoke, his lips brushed against the fine hair on my nape. “I do.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I don't remember waking up, or even when I noticed the fever. My first coherent thought was that I was alone. No Jaesung stretched out behind me, no mother pressed a cool hand on my cheek. I curled in on myself, aching with an unquenchable sense of loss.

  Time jerked forward, and this time I wasn’t alone. Someone propped me up, pressed a straw to my lips and told me to drink. I smelled coconut, felt the dense curls of Sanadzi's hair against my cheek. I caught my name in snatches of shouted conversation, but it was like hearing screams underwater. I willed darkness to come again.

  When clarity returned, I woke to a room flooded with midmorning light. There was a dry, sunburned feeling to my face, but I had enough wherewithal to fumble for the cup beside my bed. Even that was exhausting. After drinking, I eased back down into sheets that stank of sweat and blood.

  Everything was stiff and aching, and large, discolored patches of gauze clung to my shoulder and chest. The inflamed skin around the edges told me the bite was infected. It wasn’t any wonder; the wound was so deep. The healing and Krista's first-aid hadn't been enough to keep it from going bad.

  I thought I recognized Sanadzi's handiwork in the neat edges of gauze. If anyone would know how to deal with infected animal bites, it was a rescue vet. Maybe she wasn't a doctor for humans, but what was good enough for the dogs was good enough for me.