A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers)

by Sharie Kohler

  She inhaled a ragged breath. She shouldn’t feel guilty that the lycan who’d held her captive was in this predicament. He might deserve her pity, but she shouldn’t feel guilty. He’d heal. As much as he suffered, as bad as he looked, these weren’t mortal wounds.

  Her gaze drifted to the pistols the hunters carried, certain no ordinary bullets sat in those chambers. Who was she kidding? It was just a matter of time before they killed him with a silver bullet.

  He’s not your concern, Tresa.

  She squared her shoulders and told herself to forget the lycan. He was not her responsibility. She couldn’t save him.

  She reached for her bag, trampled and shoved against the wall, still near the door where she’d left it the day before. Had it only been hours? It felt like days as she’d sat in her room listening to Darius’s cries. She fought the urge to look back at him again.

  Klonsky reached for the handle of her bag. “You sure you’ll be okay? I can take you into town.”

  “Klonksy,” another hunter called, his voice annoyed. “Let her go.”

  “I’m fine,” she murmured, reaching to take her bag from him, eager to be free of this testosterone-charged room.

  Klonksy ignored the other hunter and dipped his head to meet her gaze. He smiled. Charmingly, she supposed, if her heart weren’t pounding a hundred beats a second. Either he was flirting with her or he was sincerely concerned for her welfare. Whatever the case, she didn’t care.

  He took her arm as if she were something delicate. As if she required escorting. How quickly his treatment of her would alter if he knew what she really was.

  She slid her arm free. “I can manage. Thank you.”

  “You heard her, Klonksy,” the other hunter called out again, his blunt features reflecting his impatience. “Leave her be and get back to the job.”

  She swallowed against the thickness in her throat. The job. The job of exterminating lycans. Mostly a good thing, except this one, Darius… he was different. She knew that.

  Picking up her bag, she moved for the door. All the while, she imagined she felt Darius’s gaze burning on her back from where he sat. A prisoner. Awaiting his execution.

  * * *

  DARIUS TORE HIS GAZE off the door through which Tresa had just departed. With his one good eye, he’d observed her clearly as she strolled out of the house, out of his grasp, without a backward glance.

  The hunter Sam stared after her with a dazed expression. Taken in by a witch. He supposed he could understand that. She’d affected him, too. She’d made him question his conviction that she was every bit as bad as her demon.

  It was tempting to forget what she was, what she had done. Lucky for him, he was practiced at denying himself temptation.

  Tearing his gaze from the door, he commanded himself to forget her. He needed to focus on survival. He’d hunt her down again later.

  The pain from the silver was a constant now. Unremitting. A deep burning in his flesh. A sting that radiated through his body. If he moved, fresh agony would stab him, fresh smoke would waft from him. He inhaled thinly through his nostrils and let his head droop and loll. Best if they thought him weak and beaten.

  He surveyed them from beneath his lashes, taking a head count. Eighteen hunters armed to the teeth. Tough odds. One fatal shot from a silver bullet and he was finished. Not that he had anything to lose. He’d be dead if he stayed, if he didn’t try to escape.

  He held himself motionless, readying for his next move, waiting for the right moment.

  * * *

  TRESA TRIED NOT TO run once she stepped outside the house, certain that would only draw suspicion. But then, she supposed a woman suffering abduction and abuse at the hands of a lycan might run. That thought in her mind, she didn’t worry when her steps quickened.

  She fumbled with the garage opener in her bag and opened the door behind which her SUV sat parked. Still shaking, she didn’t wait to let the engine warm up. She backed out and gunned it down the driveway to the road, glancing several times in the rearview mirror, almost expecting to see Darius giving chase behind her. Ridiculous, of course. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  He wasn’t going anywhere ever again.

  Her stomach twisted sickly and she struck the steering wheel with her fist.

  They wouldn’t kill him swiftly. She’d seen that in their eyes. They reminded her of other men, from a long time ago. Knights who’d invaded her home with the same mercilessness in their eyes. Heartless assassins, they carried the same stink, eager to follow commands to destroy and take life.

  A shiver scraped her spine. She shook it off and focused on the road, telling herself that one less lycan on earth was a good thing. Even if he was actually searching for his soul… searching for redemption.

  Just like you are. Like you’ve always done.

  Damnit. She hit the steering wheel again, suddenly feeling worse. He wasn’t like her. He wished her dead. If he could get away with killing her, he would have. And he would have enjoyed it. And yet even in those cursed pewter eyes, something else had glowed. Something that resembled humanity. More humanity than she had witnessed in the hunters.

  With a curse, she slammed on the brakes. The car skidded on the road, spraying snow up onto her windshield. Panting as though she’d run a marathon, she stared out at the vast whiteness.

  After several deep breaths, she put the car in reverse and backed around in a small circle, the engine revving. Once turned fully, she drove back toward her house, stopping just before she’d be visible to those inside.

  Leaving the car running, she stepped out into the biting cold, weaving like a wraith between trees until she could see the house. Biting her lip, she considered her options. Darius was strong, even if he wasn’t in full manifest. He could break free if the odds were only slightly more in his favor. He just needed a little help. Just a nudge from her…

  She scanned the snowdrifts surrounding the house, looking for something, anything. If she could create a diversion, it would shake the hunters up a bit. Maybe Darius could take advantage of the moment and make his escape.

  He’d have a chance. It was all she could give him. All she could attempt. Anything more and she risked not escaping to stop Balthazar’s new witch. If Darius couldn’t escape, then, well… she could do nothing more for him.

  Praying that Balthazar was too preoccupied with his new witch, that it was too cold here for him, that she was just too big a pain in the ass for him, she surrendered to her magic.

  She focused her attention on a tall pine tree several yards from her kitchen window, concentrating until her head ached and she began to shake, her limbs trembling.

  Satisfaction curled through her as the leaves began to shudder, snow falling from them in fat clumps of white. Pinecones dropped like nuts from the branches. Her satisfaction grew, as did the throbbing inside her head. She pushed through it, fought it, and delved deep to where the energy hummed within her core.

  Wood cracked and snapped. Her entire body was shaking now, the blood pounding painfully in her veins, but she didn’t stop, didn’t lessen her focus. The tree started to sway as if undecided. She focused harder, straining, pushing her will. Snap!

  As though a giant hand swooped down and gave it a mighty push, the tree fell hard, directly onto her house.

  She couldn’t have aimed any better. The garage and right side of her house were crushed beneath a thousand pounds of tree.

  She knew Darius was in the living room, free from the worst of the damage. Even from where she stood, her fingers digging into the trunk of a nearby tree, she could hear the shouts of men from inside. Her pulse raced, a wild tempo against her neck. Her eyes ached, trying to glimpse Darius in all that rubble, even as unlikely as that was. Her ears strained, trying to make out the shouted words. Shaking her head, she forced herself to turn away.

  If Darius didn’t take advantage of the sudden life vest she’d tossed him, then he mustn’t want to live that badly.

  With an abrupt tho
ught, she stopped and whirled around, quickly focusing on another, smaller tree. Humming energy skated over her skin as she sent it crashing over the hunters’ two SUVs—just for good measure.

  Satisfied, she sprinted through the woods, ducking beneath branches until she reached her vehicle, panting with panic. Her heart hammered against her chest so hard she feared it might burst free. The hunters weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, but Darius…

  She’d put nothing past the abilities of a lycan. He was fast. And determined.

  If he was free now, he’d be after her soon.

  She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. She wasn’t about to stick around and give him the chance to catch up with her.

  * * *

  IT WAS LIKE AN earthquake. Everything shook. The house groaned and burst, splitting at the seams, debris flying everywhere. Snow poured inside along with a profusion of branches and tree. The kitchen was gone, flattened.

  Screams filled the air. Darius added to them, kicking at the hunter closest to him, cracking his knee with a gratifying crunch. The man dropped with a sharp cry as Darius surged against his chains, ignoring the killing agony of the silver melting skin and sinew. He lunged, jumped, splintering the chair beneath him. Flinging his arms wide, he threw off his chains and slid the restraints down the rest of his body.

  Choking down smoke and debris, he covered his mouth. Somewhere a fire crackled and hissed. The air smoldered, making it hard to see his hand in front of him, but he could make out that the roof had caved in on one side of the house. Most of the screams and shouts came from that direction. Among cries of pain and pleas for help from men pinned beneath the rubble, were other urgent cries:

  “Where is he?”

  “Do you see him?”

  “Find him!”

  “Look! I think he’s over there!”

  A hunter charged him and he quickly sidestepped the attack, swiping the man’s legs out from under him.

  He moved fast, staying low, hugging the floor in case someone sent a silver bullet his way. He moved deeper into the house, into the portion that was still intact. Locating a window, he crashed through it, heedless of the glass.

  In a flash, he lost himself in trees. Out of sight, he stopped and watched the chaos left behind. Several of the hunters were outside, exclaiming over their vehicles, flattened beneath another tree. They yelled into cell phones. They had no transportation now, but there’d be more hunters soon, coming to their aid, ready to pick up his trail.

  He assessed the damage, eyeing the enormous tree sprawled over half of Tresa’s house. The tree looked sturdy, healthy. Perfectly strong enough to support the weight of snow on its branches. No sign of decay. No reason it should have fallen. How had that happened?

  Suspicion rooted in his gut. He scanned the tree line, searching for the slightest movement… the gleam of midnight hair among the foliage, the flash of whiskey gold eyes. Just the slightest sign that she might still be out there.

  Then shouts from the house drew his attention. They were swarming outside now, taking stock of their survivors. A few looked to the trees, weapons at the ready.

  He cursed under his breath and drew bitter cold air into his lungs. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t hanging around here. She was gone.

  He shook his head. And no way would she have tried to help him. More than likely, she had sent that tree crashing on them in hopes of killing them all.

  Even as he told himself this, he knew it wasn’t true. She knew no tree could kill him. It would harm the hunters. Not him.

  She had helped him.

  He didn’t want her help. He didn’t want to have to reevaluate his opinion of her. He wouldn’t.

  Grinding his teeth down hard, he took off through the trees.

  EIGHT

  Tresa’s flight to San Vista included a three-hour layover in Seattle, so she had plenty of time to formulate a plan and exorcise thoughts of Darius from her head. It helped knowing he was probably alive and well. Anything else would have left her guilty. She’d created a big enough diversion for him to make his escape. One less thing to weigh down her conscience.

  As soon as she left the airport, she checked into a hotel and made use of the phone book in her room. Cranking the air conditioner on high, she changed clothes, donning a tank top. Years in arctic temperatures had apparently left her sensitive to heat.

  With pen in hand, she began circling names. She’d decided to start by interviewing the families of the victims. Balthazar’s new witch was concentrating her killings in San Vista, so this had to be her home. And if this was her home, then maybe she knew the victims. Maybe she had an ax to grind with them.

  Taylor, Hannah and Shannan. Tresa couldn’t forget their names. Or their faces. The first one, if not all, had probably been a deeply personal kill for Balthazar’s witch.

  Just like it had been for Tresa. The first one was very personal—the grudge, the wound so deep that she would bind herself to a demon. She’d hated Etienne Marshan so much at that moment that she’d been blind to everything else.

  According to the information she’d found back home, the first victim’s name was Shannan Guzak. Seven Guzaks were listed in the phone book. She circled the name of the last one several times. Hopefully one of them was a relation of Shannan’s.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she dialed the first number. When a voice picked up, she asked for Shannan. Wrong number. She dialed the second and third numbers with the same result. At the fourth call, a man answered.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice cheerful, casual. She swallowed. “Is Shannan there?”

  Silence met her. Then the man cleared his throat. His voice came through hoarsely. “Shannan is gone… dead…”

  Bingo. “Oh, I’m so sor—”

  The line died in her ear.

  Exhaling, she put the phone back on its hook. She may not have gotten the conversation she wanted out of him, but at least she knew where to begin.

  She quickly scrawled down the address on a piece of paper and stuffed it into her pocket.

  As she moved to leave her hotel room, she spotted her reflection in the mirror. Dark smudges that resembled twin bruises shadowed her eyes. Her whiskey eyes looked enormous in her face. She hadn’t slept on the flight down. She grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder and headed to the elevator.

  Outside the hotel she paused, adjusting to the sudden warmth. She hadn’t been in a warm climate in generations without Balthazar whispering in her ear, controlling her actions, urging her into the dark. She braced herself, instinctively expecting to feel him, hear him.

  A breeze lifted the hair off her shoulders, but there was nothing else. No whisper in her ear. No dark, coiling shadow. No Balthazar.

  Locating her rental car, she climbed inside and punched the address into the GPS. Pulling out onto the highway, she thought ahead, imagining how she would subtly gather information from the dead girl’s family.

  She wasn’t exactly a people person. She’d been isolated for so long. And she never felt quite right around other people anyway. Not being what she was. It wasn’t safe to get close to anyone.

  Well, she’d just fake it. Pretend she was someone else. Bottom line, she would do whatever was necessary to get the information she needed to stop Balthazar’s witch.

  A flash of the last dead girl filled her vision, her eyes glassy with pain and fear.

  Tresa blinked and concentrated on the tail-lights in front of her. To stop that from happening again, she had to do whatever it took—even if it meant inviting Balthazar back into her life again. Even if it meant losing herself.

  * * *

  DARIUS STEPPED OUT INTO the warm afternoon. It was pushing eighty degrees in San Vista.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over his shoulder with a frown. It didn’t make sense for her to be here, of all places. It wasn’t her pattern. And if what she said was true, she was in avoidance of her demon. Considering that this was a prime climate for demons, what was
she doing here?

  He stuffed his hand in his pocket and brushed paper. On it he’d written down all the information he could remember from browsing the history on her computer. The Rose Petal Killer. San Vista University. It wasn’t much to go on, but he was betting this was where she’d gone.

  He flagged a cab, stepping back as it nearly rolled up on the curb to reach him. After opening the door, he settled inside and gave instructions for the driver to take him to a hotel.

  Leaning back in the seat, he mulled over the witch he’d hunted halfway around the world. She was a mystery. Why she was here, what she was doing, why she had bothered to save him… it all bewildered him.

  She couldn’t be trusted. That much hadn’t changed.

  Next time when he found her, he wouldn’t lose her again.

  * * *

  TRESA FELL BACK ON the bed and rubbed her aching eyes, exhausted from her meeting with Shannan’s family. It had been hard sitting in that tiny living room with the girl’s grandmother, whose too-wise eyes reminded Tresa so much of her own grandmother.

  Tresa still remembered Grandmère… all these years later. The steel gray of her hair, the pale blue of her eyes that could reach inside you and see everything.

  Fortunately, Mary Guzak’s eyes hadn’t been as discerning as they’d looked to Tresa. They’d hardly stared at her, looking somewhere else, beyond Tresa’s shoulder, seeing something else in excruciating detail. Every once in a while that gaze drifted to the photos lining the paneled wall—to a little girl, a bright-eyed Shannan posing with a soccer ball. There were several of these—all the way up until recently, and Tresa guessed that even in college she’d been quite the soccer player.

  Tresa rubbed the bridge of her nose. She still didn’t have much to go on. She’d pretended to be a college friend of Shannan’s. The grandmother had let her in… served her iced tea, but Shannan’s uncle soon arrived, his gaze suspicious. He’d hovered close to his mother throughout their conversation.

  “You went to school with Shannan?” he’d asked.