Tresa’s skin crawled. She’d obviously arrived at a solution, and if it brought a smile to Flannery’s face, Tresa knew she wasn’t going to like it.
Staring into Flannery’s satisfied gaze, Tresa was reminded that there were fates worse than death.
* * *
DARIUS SAW SIMPSON LEAVING the station. “Hey,” he called out, slamming the car door and hurrying to catch him.
Simpson looked over his shoulder, annoyance flickering across his expression when he spotted Darius. His strides increased.
Darius took a deep breath, battling to control his raging emotions. His hands flexed at his sides, opening and shutting. The beast simmered just beneath the surface, a hot slither under his skin, itching to come out.
Even if it wasn’t the full moon, he was always careful to keep himself in check, but right now that control was hard won. Darius closed the distance in barely suppressed speed, falling into step beside him. “I need to talk to you. Tresa… she’s missing. She was snatched right outside—”
Simpson shook his head. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
Darius grabbed his shoulder and forced him around. The man tried to shrug free, but Darius increased the pressure of his fingers. “I think our killer took her. We need to find—”
“Look. My partner is missing.” Simpson’s face was tight. “In my mind, that takes precedence over some two-bit con.”
“Detective Flannery?” Darius frowned.
“Yeah. She’s on duty and no one has been able to get in touch with her. It’s not like her. I’m going to track her down. If your girlfriend doesn’t show up in seventy-two hours, come back and file a missing person report.”
This time Darius let him go. He watched Simpson stalk away and get into his car and drive off. Darius stood for a moment, absorbing the fact that Flannery and Tresa were both gone. Somehow he didn’t think it was coincidental. Had Flannery stumbled upon the witch’s identity? Had the witch taken both the detective and Tresa captive?
With a curse, he headed for his car, his instincts bursting to the surface, determined to track Tresa down.
As he opened the door, a cold wind blew, enveloping him. He froze, scanning the landscape of cars. He squinted, peering hard. Something was there. He’d learn to trust his instincts. He could see nothing, but evil wasn’t always apparent.
He watched, studied the shadows more intently. Looking beyond the still shadows cast by cars, trees, a mailbox. There.
A dark shadow moved swiftly. Long and narrow, it ribboned through the parking lot, weaving around a woman holding the hand of a toddler. It advanced on Darius, slithering like the living thing it was. It wrapped around him several times, coldly winding up his body.
Balthazar.
He felt the demon circle his neck, stroke his nape. Breathe into his ear. At first it just sounded like a rush of air. Wind on his face. But then he heard it. The demon’s voice. Whisper soft.
Tresa . . .
Balthazar moved then, left him in a cold rush, rolling through the air and away from Darius.
Darius jumped inside the car and pulled out from his parking space in a squeal of tires. As incredible as it seemed, the dark, amorphous shape moved at a slow enough pace to follow, almost as though he was leading Darius. Guiding him.
Taking him to Tresa.
Darius wasn’t fool enough to think the demon was trying to be helpful. But, for whatever reason, he wanted Darius to follow him. So Darius did.
TWENTY-FOUR
Blindfolded by a sack over her head, gagged, hands bound, Tresa stumbled along the uneven ground. Flannery’s hard fingers bit into her arm, cursing her when her foot caught on something and she fell, nearly bringing Flannery down with her.
“Stupid bitch. Get up.” Flannery’s knife prodded into her back again. The blade against her flesh was very familiar by now. Its sharp point had cut through her shirt and blood slicked down her spine.
Tresa groaned as she was tugged to her feet. Really very clever of Flannery. The other witch knew that she had the gift to move objects—a gift that was useless when she couldn’t see anything. Tresa couldn’t help herself now.
“Come on. We’re almost there.”
The witch seemed confident that Tresa wouldn’t be coming back. She strained for a sound, something, any clue to where Flannery was taking her.
Darius. She knew he’d be worried about her. These last few days together had been special. She’d even begun to hope that it was the beginning of something.
She hoped he would just go, not put himself at risk by looking for Balthazar. She could face anything, endure anything, as long as she knew he was safe.
But she would never even have that assurance.
Flannery yanked hard on her arm, pulling her to a halt. “Stop. We’re here.”
Even though she had already tried to throw off the sack over her head while stuffed into Flannery’s trunk, she tossed her head again in an attempt to dislodge the fabric. It was no use.
“Hold still. Scoot your legs together,” Flannery snapped, and then Tresa felt her hands on her legs. Abrasive rope soon followed, cutting into her calves as Flannery tied her legs together.
Without vision, all her other senses intensified. The air was chillier. She smelled trees. There was a breeze. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh.
And then she heard the barest murmur on the air. It sounded like… water.
Suddenly the sack was ripped from her head and she shook her hair off her face. She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the night. She stood at the edge of a bridge, suspended over a river. Water moved swiftly below.
She means to throw me in.
She gasped and staggered back.
Not again. Not again!
But the knife was still there, gouging deep, forcing her forward. Her bound arms flailed wildly as she tried to keep her balance.
Despite the fiery pain from the blade, she reared back. Falling into the river would be far worse than any knife. She couldn’t drown. Not all over again. And since she couldn’t die by any method other than decapitation, that meant she would drown forever.
Would be stuck down there, submerged… forever.
She cried out and arched directly into the knife’s point, felt it collide with her spine. She forced her gaze wide, refusing to pass out from the pain.
The knife twisted in her back, scraping against bone.
All her concentration centered on the very spot where her nerves screamed in protest. She exerted her will, shaking from the strain of using her power. With a great gust of air, she willed the knife out of her.
“Oh no you don’t!”
Flannery’s hands shoved her in the shoulder blades—and then she was flying through the air.
She hit the water with a painful smack. Her body sank through the murky river water. The more her bound legs and hands thrashed, the deeper she sank. Her lungs burned. Water flooded her nose and mouth.
It was so dark she couldn’t see anything around her. She could only feel. Pain. Terror. A strong wave of déjà vu swept over her, confusing her, making her wonder if she was back in the river where she’d signed over her life to Balthazar.
Only she didn’t hear Balthazar’s voice this time. She didn’t hear anything but the rush of water around her. He wasn’t coming.
No one was.
* * *
DARIUS PARKED AT THE edge of the road when the shadow vanished from the path of his headlights. A short distance away, the quiet two-lane road arched over the river. Stepping from the car, Darius followed the sound of the river, a sixth sense guiding him. The river gleamed darkly beneath the waxing light of the moon, moving swiftly, the water whispering its song.
Suddenly he glimpsed a movement on the bridge and saw Flannery, but no one else. No Tresa. And no witch. Why had Balthazar led him here?
Inhaling, he picked up Tresa’s scent. She was here somewhere; she had to be.
Flannery started walking toward him, the steady fa
ll of her footsteps growing closer, crunching over the gravel.
He stepped out onto the road and faced her. “Detective?”
She stopped. “Darius. What are you doing here?”
“I was going to ask you the same. I’m looking for Tresa.”
She sent the barest glance over her shoulder, then quickly faced forward as if she regretted even looking. Why? He looked over her shoulder but saw nothing. No one.
“I don’t know where she is,” Flannery said.
And as simple as that, he knew she was lying. “What are you doing out here?”
She squared her shoulders. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
He cocked his head, remembering that Simpson had no clue as to where she was. “What about your partner? He’s looking for you.”
She was silent, tension radiating off her. No question about it; she was hiding something.
She looked left and right, almost as if she was looking for help. But out here in the middle of nowhere, who would be here to help her?
Sudden realization washed over him, and a curse burst from his lips. “It’s you.”
He’d never once suspected her. He was a lycan—he should know evil when face-to-face with it. But he had missed it with her and now Tresa was in trouble.
She released a small sigh. “Oh, very well. You found me out.”
“Where is she?” he demanded.
She clucked her tongue as she crossed her arms. “You know, you really should have known better than to get involved with a witch… lycan.”
She knew what he was. Further proof that he shouldn’t underestimate her. “Where is she?” he repeated.
“Nowhere you can help her.”
He lunged forward and grabbed her by the throat. “I’m done playing your games.”
She simultaneously chuckled and wheezed. “What are you going to do? You can’t kill me.”
With a curse, he released her.
She gasped for breath and resumed her laughter. “You can’t help her. And you can’t beat me.”
He dragged both hands through his hair, wondering how he was going to get Tresa’s location out of her.
She wasn’t dead. He knew it. Aside from being absolutely certain that he would feel it if she was gone, it wouldn’t have made sense for Flannery to kill her. Then she would lose Balthazar. She had to know that, too. Which meant that Flannery had stowed her away somewhere.
His gaze settled on the water, the surface rippling from the rapid current. And suddenly he knew. He knew Tresa was in there.
Praying he could find her, he raced down the rocky embankment and dove into the water.
TWENTY-FIVE
The agony stretched on and on. The stabbing pressure in her ears and head was excruciating. Her lungs burned, felt compressed and shriveled inside her. Her breath was gone, lost long ago. Now she simply existed beneath the water. She couldn’t die this way, so she simply suffered the sensations of drowning.
Time was lost. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
It was impossible to know.
She wished for a true death, pleaded with God to make it stop. She would go mad. There would be nothing left of her if she had to endure this much longer.
Unlike the last time, she never reached bottom. This river was deep, there was too much current. She drifted, carried along, grass and reeds stroking her as she floated.
Terror and hope mingled in her heart. Who knew where she would end up? Maybe eventually she’d wash up on a shore. Besides the pain there was the unremitting dark. So deep and penetrating it was a living thing devouring her.
The water around her suddenly stirred. Her heart rate grew wild. What else was out there? In this river with her?
Something snatched at her hair. She shrieked, the sound lost in the water. She jerked, trying to move her body away from whatever had her hair, but the tug increased. Suddenly she went tumbling back in the direction from which she was trying to escape, her bound arms pumping uselessly, trying to swim away.
Her back collided with something hard. Strong arms wrapped around her. She struggled, panicked, as she was whipped around. Then broad hands cupped her face, and she instantly recognized the way the hands held her so tenderly.
Darius.
He’d come. He’d found her.
Relief filled her, almost as sweet as the taste of air that she so desperately craved.
He swam with sure and strong strokes, holding her close as he broke through the surface, lifting her up into the air as he swam for shore. She filled her starved lungs with a sweet breath.
“It’s all right,” Darius gasped as he inhaled sharply, dragging her onto land with him. He wiped the wet hair back from her face as she panted and wheezed.
The sight of him, his dark, wet hair plastered to his head, the sensation of solid ground at her back—nothing was sweeter.
“Tre,” he rasped, working free the ropes at her wrists and ankles with feverish speed.
She shook her head, spitting up water. “You found me.”
“I’ll always find you.” He flashed a grin. “I think I told you that when we first met.”
The sound of deliberate clapping filled the air.
Tresa sat up, searching for the source.
Flannery strolled toward them, applauding leisurely. “What a dramatic rescue!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Be still, my heart!”
Darius growled, surging to his feet.
Flannery was close enough now that Tresa could see her face. And her demon-black eyes.
She reached up and tightened her fingers around Darius’s arm. “Darius, stop. It’s him.”
Darius looked down at her and back to Flannery.
“It’s Balthazar,” she murmured, standing up. The demon wore Flannery’s body loosely, with none of Flannery’s stiffness.
“Indeed. It’s me. I couldn’t leave Flannery to her own devices any longer. Things were starting to get messy. She means well, but she’s young.”
“Means well? She murdered five people!” Darius said.
“Like I said, she means well.”
Darius’s rage swelled, radiating off him like heat. Even his skin felt warmer, simmering beneath Tresa’s touch.
“Good of you to follow me, lycan.” Balthazar wagged a finger at him as if he were an errant child. “I tried to let my two girls here work out their differences, but they can’t seem to get along.”
“Work out our differences? She tried to drown me!” Tresa said.
“And you’re trying to get her arrested. What good is she to me locked away in some jail cell?” The demon sighed as though pained. “Well. That’s neither here or there, I suppose. I have a proposition for Darius.”
Her nape tingled, her skin suddenly crawling. “Darius,” she warned quietly, tugging on his arm. Balthazar’s proposition would be tempting; it always was. She looked around desperately for any way out, any escape.
On the road beyond them, a lone figure strolled, a giant hiker’s pack strapped to his back. A couple of cans dangled from it. He was dressed shabbily, and bearded. A hat pulled low over his face.
The cans clanked together and Balthazar’s gaze followed hers. Dismissing the drifter, the demon looked back at the two of them.
“What are you offering?” Darius asked.
“Darius, don’t listen. He—”
“Just a way to reverse your curse. Isn’t that what you’ve been asking for?”
Her pulse skittered at her throat. Of course Balthazar knew just what to offer. The one thing Darius wanted most.
Darius’s arm tensed, the muscles bunching under her grip. “You can do that?”
“Of course. I initiated your curse. I can undo it.”
“Darius,” she whispered. “Be careful.” No one won when they played with a demon. She knew that better than anyone else.
Darius glanced down at her, and she could see in his expression that he understood her warning. This demon hadn’t survived through the millennia by
making mistakes.
“What’s the catch?” Darius demanded, his gaze turning back to Flannery.
“Catch?” Balthazar sounded affronted.
“There’s always a catch,” Tresa snapped.
“Ah, well, reciprocation is only fair.”
“What do you want in exchange?” Darius pressed, his handsome features harsh and unyielding in the glow of the moon.
Flannery’s head cocked at a menacing angle, the movement eerie and animal-like. Then Balthazar’s demon gaze swung to Tresa. “Kill her. Free me.”
The words shocked through Tresa like an electrical current. She should have guessed this would be his price.
“Go to hell,” Darius growled.
“Aw, I know you’re fond of her, but consider it. Your curse. Ended. Mortality can be yours again. Isn’t that what you want, my friend?”
“I’m not your friend.”
Darius took her hand and started to lead her away.
Flannery’s voice reached out, stopping them with the seductive pull of her next promise. “I meant the entire curse, of course. Every lycan in existence would be no more. They would be just men. Just women. Think of the lives saved…”
Darius stared straight ahead, his expression giving nothing away, but Tresa felt the tremor that ran through him.
The prospect of ending the curse altogether… Future generations would be saved. She weighed the danger of one demon on the loose versus thousands of lycans. It seemed obvious.
She released Darius’s hand and whirled around. “Do you mean that?” Her voice came out almost a squeak.
“Tre—”
She held up a hand to cut off whatever Darius was going to say.
“Of course I meant it. Your life, and the lycan curse is ended.”
“I won’t do it,” Darius quickly said, forcing her around. “How could you think I would even—”
“How can you not?” she returned, her voice thick. “It’s not about me.” At the hot emotion swimming in his eyes, she added in a softer voice, “It’s not even about us, Darius. You can save lives… so many lives.”
“I can’t hurt you.” His breath fell raggedly. “I love you, Tre.”
A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) Page 18
