Lost Paladin: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 2)

by eden Hudson

  I don’t think I’d ever seen Scout look at me like that before. Like I’d let her down or something. But then she shook her head like she was shaking it off and straightened up.

  “I tried to get out to the cabin,” she said, “but Rian’s got all the roads blocked. I thought maybe—not that you and Colt would get captured, I know you wouldn’t let that happen—but I thought Rian might be out there trying. So I had Cash do a flyover—”

  It was like listening to someone talk about a song you’ve never heard. The words were going right through my brain. I’d caught some of the names. Rian. Colt. And wasn’t Cash that crow-boy in Scout’s class? Lonely Pershing’s little cousin?

  “—and he said the Tracker had just pulled up, so I figured you guys had gotten out just in time—”

  I put my hand up. Scout stopped talking.

  Rian was at the cabin. And like the screwed-up, selfish bastard I was, I’d left Colt at the cabin alone while I ran off to fuck Mitzi until I couldn’t think.

  But if Rian had called the Tracker in, Colt obviously hadn’t stuck around. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid.

  I looked at Scout and mouthed, Where’s Colt?

  Her eyebrows scrunched up while she tried to read my lips. Probably wasn’t easy with the pole light being all the way on the other end of the parking lot.

  “Colt?” she said finally. “I thought he was with you. That’s why I wanted to find you. I thought…”

  She looked back down at the pile of clothes covering my crotch. A little breath hissed out of her lungs. It really added to the overall air of disappointment in the truck. Whatever Scout had thought, I damn sure wasn’t living up to it. Little kid crushes are a bitch.

  “Look, Tough, this is it. This is the beginning of the end. We’re about to shove it all up Kathan’s ass and light the fuse. This is what we were born for.”

  Ooooh. I nodded. Scout wanted me to be the guy who would do the right thing, the guy who would win the war, the stone-cold badass, the chosen soldier of God. She wanted me to be Colt.

  I leaned across the seat, reached over Scout, and opened her door.

  “What—?” She stared at me. “Tough?”

  I gave her a Get out nod.

  “What about everything?” she said. “When I heard that you got made, it was like an epiphany. You finally figured it out! You found a way around all of Kathan’s rules. You didn’t stay some helpless human. We don’t have to stay helpless. It was the last piece of the puzzle.”

  I popped my door, got out, and pulled my jeans on. Then I went around to Scout’s side and jerked her out. I slammed the door hard enough that the truck rocked.

  “Dammit, Tough, I get it!” She stomped her foot. “I understand why you got made! To know your enemy, you must become your enemy! Nobody else gets it, but I do.”

  I shoved her toward the street. You’re just a kid. I saw you cry for thirty minutes once when Harper used your fingernail polish. Go the fuck home.

  I went back around to the driver’s side.

  Scout went rigid. It was like I could feel the wheels turning in her brain.

  “You’re not mad at me,” she said. “This is about you being a vamp now. You can’t get enough with the blood, can you? It’s not strong enough.”

  I froze with my fingers wrapped around the door handle.

  “That’s what you need, isn’t it?” Her voice had switched tones. She wasn’t that little brat throwing a fit anymore. The way she sounded now made me think of the blues—low, moody, deep down and dirty. Sex music. “I told you I can make my blood stronger. I can do it for you.”

  I snorted. Of course she can.

  Because as soon as you think you’ve hit rock bottom, some asshole throws you a shovel.

  Ryder

  The vamp stood there staring at us.

  Colt stared back like he couldn’t understand what she was.

  I, on the other hand, had come too far to wait outside for that dipshit Rian and his foot soldier death squad to catch up. If I’m going to be forced to run four and a half fucking miles through fields and woods, there had damn well better be a payoff waiting for me at the other end.

  I knocked on the glass harder than Colt had. “How about letting us in before we get gunned down or this dumbass bleeds to death on your sidewalk?”

  That snapped the vamp out of it. She switched on the speed and was at the door unlocking the deadbolt before I could flinch. She held it open for us.

  Colt didn’t move. He was still staring at her. He started to shake his head.

  “Colt?” she said.

  “No,” he whispered. He smashed his hands flat against his ears and backed away. “No!”

  “Like hell you do.” I grabbed his arm. He kicked and punched me, but I barely felt it. At least he’d put away that sword. That I would’ve avoided. I pulled Colt into the bakery and hollered at the vamp, “Lock the door!”

  Once she got it shut and deadbolted again, I let Colt go. He dropped to the floor and scooted until his back was to a wall. There he resumed the crazy position—arms wrapped around his stomach, knees up, head down, rocking and jabbering to himself.

  “—gone, she’s gone, she’s gone, bad dog, bad dog—”

  I sighed. “Great. Back to square one.”

  “Why are you here?” the vamp asked me. “I thought… Earlier, you said—”

  “Look, honey, I kind of don’t give a fuck what you think. I ain’t driving this crazy train. He wanted to come here, so here we came.”

  A little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  “We had to haul ass to somewhere safe and this is where he picked. Ran it like he’d run it a hundred times before and could do it blindfolded and backward if he had to. So, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a question or two for—”

  “He?” The vamp took a step closer to me. “He who?”

  “The president of the United States.” I pointed my spit bottle at the nutcase on the floor. “Who the fuck do you think?”

  “Colt—”

  “Yes. Colt.” I gave her an exaggerated nod. “Gold fucking star. Now, if you don’t mind, could we get somewhere without quite so many big-ass windows and glass doors?”

  The vamp looked back and forth between my eyes. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Kathan sent his death squad to ‘arrest’ Colt.” I enunciated as clearly as possible and made a little running guy with my fingers. “We ran the fuck away from the cabin. He ran the fuck to here. Now we are here—” I pointed at the floor. “—and we need to hide.” I made my little running guy duck behind my spit bottle.

  The vamp didn’t move.

  Well, hell. I was really proud of that little running guy bit. I shrugged.

  “The sooner, the better, honey,” I said. “We’re kind of on a timetable.”

  “Colt, do you remember who I am?” she asked without looking away from me.

  Behind her, Colt pulled himself into a tighter ball. “—take her away, please, please take her, don’t let this happen, please, I can’t do it anymore, if she knew, if she knew, if she knew—”

  I snorted. “I’m no psychologist, but I’m going to say that’s a yes.”

  Tiffani

  Colt. Colt standing in my bakery, talking to me.

  Except his speech was different. An exaggerated redneck drawl rather than his more subtle country timbre. His posture had changed, too. In five years, I’d never once seen Colt stand with his back to a door. His head was almost always tilted downward at a self-conscious angle. His left shoulder was always slung slightly lower than the right. Tonight, he stood with shoulders square, one hand hooked in his pocket, the other hanging near his waist as though he was holding something. It was all different, all wrong. It reminded me of that X-Files episode where aliens had stolen human bodies, but couldn’t quite mimic their hosts’ mannerisms.

  I took a breath through my nose to see if Colt’s scents had changed. T
he smell of blood overwhelmed everything else.

  “You’re hurt,” I said.

  “Not me,” Colt said. He pointed at the wall. “Him.”

  “Him?”

  Colt took an irritated step forward, then shifted his weight back to his other foot. “Aw, for f— Are we going to do this all day? Him—the nutcase guy on your floor, my brother, Mikal’s former bitch—that him.”

  I shook my head. “What? You’re Colt.”

  “No,” he said as if I were stupid. He pointed at his chest. “I am Ryder.” He gestured at the wall. “That is Colt.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I could if you’d get with the program. When he came here, I just assumed you knew—”

  The vamp speed switched on and I had a handful of Colt’s shirt wrapped around my fist before he could finish his sentence.

  “Stop, Colt. Just stop. You are Colt.”

  “Honey, I think you need to get your eyes checked.” He shoved at my arm, but I didn’t let go.

  “This isn’t funny,” I said.

  “Do you see me laughing?”

  The same nose, the same hair, the same dark blue-green Whitney eyes, the same scents of tattoo ink and sunlight and gun oil and outdoors. His heart had even started to beat the same way it did when he was turned on.

  I gave him a shake. “You’re not Ryder. You’re Colt. Somewhere deep down, you know that. You know me. You remember. That’s why you’re here.”

  “I’m here because I’m trying to keep this dumbass alive long enough to—”

  “Ryder’s dead, Colt.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sort of on a work-release program right now—”

  “No, you’re not! Maybe you need to think you’re Ryder, so…” So what? As a coping mechanism for losing Mikal? As a way around the suicide drive of being a castoff? “I don’t know. But you’re not him. Look at your hand. Look at the burns.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off me.

  I let go of his collar, grabbed his shirt by the hem, and whipped it over his head before he could stop me. Blood trickled from a bullet hole in his side, but I made myself focus on the black letters inked across his chest.

  “Look,” I said. “Your tattoo—Colt’s tattoo. Resist or Serve. You’re not Ryder.”

  He wouldn’t look down. I grabbed his neck and tried to force him to.

  Colt hit me. A solid right to my solar plexus.

  I let him go and stumbled back a step. My lungs tried to gasp. The hit had been hard enough to restart my diaphragm’s panic reflex.

  “I’m not Colt,” he snapped. “And who the hell would want to be? You know he traded you in, don’t you? Mikal needed you gone so he would fall ass over teakettle in love with her and he traded you in without a second fucking thought.”

  Then something changed, something too subtle for human perception. The vamp instincts picked up on it the way a wild animal senses its prey is rabid and should be left alone.

  “That’s not true!” Colt yelled.

  And it was Colt. It was his voice.

  Primal panic froze me in place. Something very bad was happening.

  Colt lurched backward into a table. His hip banged off the corner, then he dropped to the floor and rolled.

  “I fought her!” His hands scratched at his face and throat. “I fought as long as I could. I tried. I—”

  Then he was different again. Colt dug a finger into the bullet hole in his side. He screamed and my stomach shuddered.

  “You loved what she did to you,” he said. “Admit it!”

  Another shift. Colt pulled the bloody digit out of his side and curled into a ball, covering his head with his arms. His voice was muffled. “No!”

  He rolled up to his hands and knees, then stood. “So all those times you got off as fast as she did were what? Accidents?”

  Colt grabbed a handful of his hair and smashed his face on the edge of a table.

  “Admit it!” Blood sprayed through his teeth onto the tabletop. “Mikal was perfect for you! You need somebody to tie you up and beat you like a bad dog. And it felt good, didn’t it? Finally getting what you deserved?” He reared back and hit his head again, his tirade barely missing a beat. “Some fucking holy soldier. You let Dad die, you let Sissy die, you’re the reason Tough’s going to Hell. I can’t believe I died for you, you sack of shit.”

  Run, the vamp instincts screamed at me. Self-preservation at all costs. The oldest wolf in the forest doesn’t get that way by fighting, he gets that way by not getting killed. Run, damn it, run!

  But I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t lose him again.

  I grabbed Colt by the throat. He tried to pry my hands off. I kicked in the vamp speed. We slammed into the wall hard enough to shake the windows.

  “Look at me.” I grabbed Colt’s chin and forced his head to hold still.

  He swung, but I caught his fist.

  “No, Colt,” I said. “Look at me.”

  “Like hell. Ain’t letting you mesmerize me.” He kicked and fought harder, but I clamped down tighter.

  “Colt, it’s me. Tiffani. Let me help.”

  He laughed. “You want to help him? Where were you six weeks ago when he was screaming his lungs out in the lunatic’s cell? Where were you when Mikal strapped him to her table and pumped him full of drugs to keep him from passing out while she played doctor? That would’ve been the time to help. You’re too late, honey.”

  I stopped myself from grinding my teeth. Felt the wrinkle appear between my eyebrows. I moved around his line of sight until, finally, I caught his gaze.

  I pushed, trying to force my way in. The bakery faded away.

  Pain.

  In fifty years as a vamp, I had never once felt physical pain when someone fought my mesmerization. But when I tried to mesmerize Colt, my mind caught on something. A barrier that cut like razor wire. My body was being shredded. It hurt. Not deadened, nerveless vampire pain. Human pain. I twisted and flailed, but I couldn’t escape. Every nerve screamed. I had to get out.

  The bakery and Colt’s face flooded back into my consciousness. I was still holding onto him. My grip had tightened until my fingertips had gone white and my nails bit into his shoulder and cheek.

  “Damn it, Colt, you know me!”

  He smirked. “I know Colt sent the last bitch who tried to fuck with his head to Hell. You ready to join her?”

  I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly.

  Blood seeped from the bullet hole in Colt’s side, soaking into his jeans, slowly stealing his life away. There was no way I could hold him down while I searched for a suturing kit, much less while I tried to close it up. I didn’t have a choice.

  Most people think that mesmerizing someone is just a test of wills, that if you’re stronger than the vampire, it can’t mesmerize you. That’s not true. It is easier to push your will onto someone who’s weak or who trusts you, but mesmerization relies on a lot more than mental strength. Cunning, determination, endurance, and imagination all come into play.

  I started to say, “If you would just trust me…”

  But Colt didn’t trust me. He couldn’t. I had abandoned him when he needed me most.

  Colt’s dark blue-green eyes glared into mine, daring me to abandon him again.

  “Fine,” I said.

  I took a deep breath and pushed.

  PART II: ALL LIES LEAD

  TO THE TRUTH

  Colt

  I’m listening to the crackling of the fire. Ryder mumbles something in his sleep that sounds like “motherfucker.” On the other side of Tough, Sissy takes a deep breath and turns over. She’s not asleep, either, I bet. Tough’s snoring right now, but it’s just a matter of time before he starts screaming. That’s why Sissy and I sleep on both sides of him. It’s easier to wake him up without getting punched if one of us holds his arms and the other yells at him that he’s okay.

  Everybody else in our army is sort of spread out around the clearing, farther away from the fire
. I know we have to sleep here because we’re the only kids, but I kind of wish me and Ryder hadn’t built the fire so close to the woods. Anything could be hiding behind those trees.

  There’s the snap of a stick breaking. I don’t realize I’m bolting up until I look over and see Sissy on her feet, too.

  I feel sick and like I have to go to the bathroom at the same time. I hate this. It’s been almost two months since the war started, but I still freak out at every sound. When is this going to get easier? If we’re supposed to be doing this, if we’re supposed to be stopping the fallen angels, if we are God’s chosen soldiers, then when is He going to make me not scared?

  I have to swallow so I can talk. “Sounded thick. Too big to be broken by a coon or…”

  Sissy nods.

  “Maybe it’s Dad,” I say. He went off that way earlier. It could be him.

  “Maybe.” Sissy picks up her sword and the .357 Principal Baumeyer gave her.

  I reach down and grab my sword, too. The Glock I’ve been using is on the other side of my sleeping bag, but that feels like a million miles away, so I leave it.

  Over past Ryder, Mr. Ives is sitting up, hooking his glasses onto his face.

  “What is it?” he asks Sissy.

  She shakes her head at him to shut up.

  We stay still and listen for more movement. I shut my eyes and try to listen harder, but all I can think of is that werewolf that ripped Mrs. Ives’s throat out and the spitting sound she made trying to scream. That was just a couple days ago. I think. Maybe it was longer, but right now it feels like it just happened.

  Blood leaks into my mouth and I realize I’m biting my cheek. I bite down in a different spot. For a few seconds, that gets Mrs. Ives out of my head.

  Then I hear it. Someone talking.

  “That way,” I say.

  “Keep an eye on Tough,” Sissy tells Mr. Ives. “If we don’t come back in ten minutes, get everyone up and move out.”

  He nods and pulls his gun into his lap.

  Sissy and I head into the trees with her in the lead. As the light from the fire gets farther away, I pick out two voices—Dad’s and a woman’s.