“Is this what Howards do?” she choked out. “Kill the competition?”
“This is what I do,” stated William. “And this is not, nor will it ever be, a fucking competition.”
“How many people have you killed for them?”
“I do not keep count.”
“My father was right. You’re out of control.”
“I am in perfect control,” disputed William, squeezing harder. “I do what needs to be done. My job is to protect the Howards. When it comes to their lives, I. Do. Not. Play. Games. The diary, Ms. Jordan?” His tone warned she was out of time.
“It’s over there,” Eva claimed, using her eyes to point over his shoulder.
William, surprised she caved so easily, took a chance glance. He did not loosen his grip, however.
“I do not believe you.”
“Go look for yourself.”
“So you can attempt escape? I don’t think so.”
Eva didn’t see a way out. He had her pinned so that she could not bite him. And once he had the diary he’d have no need to keep her alive.
William contemplated what to do with Eva. There wasn’t any silver. Sign of a werewolf living in the house. Without silver to immobilize Eva, his only other option was vampire blood. A bite would kill her, which he wasn’t ready to do until he’d gotten the diary. But his blood would poison her, weakening her so she could not escape.
There was also the issue of getting too close to Eva’s teeth and getting bitten; an automatic death sentence for him.
He held her firmly against the wall with his left hand, took his right hand and using a fingernail, sliced across her chest. Eva squirmed and convulsed underneath his grip fully aware of what was coming.
The act sent a shiver of pleasure washing through William.
The fear emanating off her fed the darkness inside him, stirring the monster he normally kept buried, deep.
“You’re a sick bastard!” she spat at him.
“You should take a look in the mirror.”
William sliced his arm, the one gripping her neck, and allowed the blood to drip down his arm and splash onto her porcelain skin. It seeped into her wound, pumping its way through her veins.
Eva forced her mouth closed, refusing to give him the pleasure of hearing her cry out as his poison seared her insides. Burning away her healthy blood.
The effect took hold in an instant.
Her muscles gave way underneath his fingers. Her breathing slowed and her eyes fluttered. But not until her body went limp did he loosen his grip and let her slide to the floor. He propped her on her ass, back against the wall. Her head tilted to the side.
“What are you going to do?” she breathed out raggedly. “Drag me back to Charlie… let him finish me off?”
William replied with a dead stare.
Eva tried to get up but her legs faltered. The poisonous blood raged through her, paralyzing the ability to control her muscles. She commanded her arms to move but they would not. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open.
Certain she could not escape, William scoured the room for the diary, finding it almost instantly. “Huh. It was actually where you said it would be.” He was surprised she’d told the truth.
“It’s called trust,” she rattled in slurred sarcasm.
“It’s called, you want to live.”
Something she didn’t have much longer to do.
He had the diary. He had no need for her to be alive. And she was helpless to stop him.
Her eyes followed him as he glanced through the diary, checking it was still intact with no pages missing. Nothing was, but Eva’s scent was on each page. She’d read the entire thing.
This sealed her fate, above all else.
William heard a strange hissing and looked up to see a fading ghoulish grin.
It had appeared out of nowhere and was disappearing just as fast. William darted across the room straight into a smoky eruption.
When it had cleared, Eva Jordan was gone.
William punched his fist through the wall. It caused him no pain and did not take away his anger. He should have killed her and searched for the diary after. He’d hesitated, just in case he needed to interrogate her again.
He had found the stolen diary, however because of his hesitation he’d let the one person who had read it, get away. And she was now in the hands of a Firebrand Feyk.
CHAPTER 2
Eva Jordan couldn’t believe her luck.
She’d been just minutes from death.
And here she was now, no longer within the vampire’s grasp.
Unfortunately, she’d been left nearly paralyzed by his poisonous blood. It could take a day before she regained her strength. Maybe longer.
She darted her eyes back and forth taking in her surroundings. The Feyk had brought her to the old fort on the outer shores of The Demon Isle. It was located at the backside of White Pines Mountain on the southwestern side of the Isle. Only remnants of the fort remained; it hadn’t been used in over a hundred years and was currently off limits to tourists as the path to reach it was in disrepair and too dangerous to cross.
She’d scouted out this location for her father a couple weeks ago.
Her father… dead. His lifeless eyes bulging out at her.
She’d see to it his death was avenged. The vampire thought she was the sick bastard… well now he’d witness her wrath personally.
“Welcome,” greeted a slithery voice.
Her eyes lifted to find the face. “You,” she slurred indignantly. It was the Feyk that had cast the fake pregnancy spell on her. He proceeded to pull her up and prop her against the fort wall, which she was too weak to do on her own.
“Half-dead and still filled with venom,” he punned sarcastically.
“Funny,” scowled Eva, unable to hold the pose for long.
“This is the second time we’ve saved your life.”
“How… noble… of you.” Her vocal chords were slow to react to the words she told her brain to say. “I’m sure… you want… nothing… in return.”
“We can help you,” claimed the Feyk. “Can’t cure you of the vampire blood, that will require time, but we can give you a bit of your mobility back. Get the healing process moving a little faster.”
Eva despised the way their speech slithered out of their creepy wide mouths. She supposed it was air catching on their dagger-like teeth. She also supposed it did not matter how they spoke if they could actually help her.
“What do you want… in return?” she needed to know first.
“We’ll discuss this in a few minutes. First, drink this.” He showed her a vial filled with a thick red liquid.
“What is it?”
“My my, aren’t we testy considering...”
“Fine.”
He helped her hold the vial to her mouth as she drank the contents. It was slick and slid down her throat with ease. There was no taste she recognized other than something perhaps metallic.
Within seconds, her facial muscles gained a bit of tension. She blinked a few times waking up the muscles. She was still weak, very weak, but breaths came easier. There was still no voluntary movement in her arms or legs; that would take more time to heal.
“Thanks. That is better.” Her vocal chords didn’t labor as hard in the attempt to speak.
“Manners, always a bonus,” chimed the Feyk.
Eva was pleasantly surprised that when she tried to shift her head, it did so ever so slightly. Just enough for her to properly take in her surroundings. She was surprised to see at least forty Firebrand Feyks hanging around. Each as unpleasant looking as the other with their gaunt faces, oversized toothy grins, short wiry bodies, and eyes that shouted do not trust me.
It sent a shudder up her spine. At least it would have if she had any control over that action. Instead of a shudder, she got stuck with a doubtful pit in her gut. Was this fate any better than what the vampire had in store for her?
“So what do you w
ant from me?” Eva was thrilled that it took much less effort to talk and her speech was no longer slurred from lack of muscle control in her throat.
“First, let me introduce myself, properly. I am Sir Tinkham Sickereaux... folks round my parts call me Stricker.”
“And you’re who? Firebrand number one?” she raised an eyebrow in ill-tempered question. It was about the only move she could make right now.
“I’d be a little more grateful if I were you. We did just save you from the vampire. Which I understand is an agonizing way to go for your kind.”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not in a socializing mood. I just watched my father get murdered by that vampire.”
“My deepest sympathies,” said Stricker with a bow. He stood erect again, a plotting grin on his face.
Eva shuddered. Was that a real shudder? Whatever potion they’d given her it was kicking in. Her body had not outwardly moved, but she swore there was the slightest sensation of movement along her spine.
She frowned.
The Feyk may have saved her life, but she still didn’t like them, or trust them.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we? You saved my life for a reason. The first time may have been at my father’s bequest, but why did you this time?”
“Your father charged us with protecting you. We did. He hired us to keep the Howard Witches busy while you schemed and plotted. We did.”
She lifted her brow in argument. She’d nearly been caught sneaking out of the Howard mansion because the Feyks had not kept the Howards busy enough. She kept her thoughts to herself. No need to piss the Feyk off.
“Our bargain is fulfilled,” Stricker went on. “Your father’s death, however tragic, has ended our agreement. So we’ve taken on a new job. Actually, we’ve hired ourselves. We’re pretty good at what we do.”
“And my part in your plan?”
“What we want, my shifty friend, is a certain diary of which your father spoke.”
“Of course you do,” reeled Eva bitterly. “You’re too late. The vampire has it.”
A sound of disappointment slipped out of Stricker’s mouth. “Too bad. Too bad.”
“I’m thinking I could guess why you want it.” She paused, debating what to say next. She needed to play her cards right. Make a smart deal. “You want to know where the power source is located.”
“Naturally.”
She shifted her head again, getting a better view of his face. “It might please you to know then, Stricker, that I’ve read the entire diary.”
His eyes perked up. His oversized mouth turning up in a knowing grin. “Looks like we might just have a bargain in the making.”
“What are your terms?” Eva wanted to hear his first.
“Simple. You tell us where the source is located, how we access it, and in return we will get you off the Isle. Alive and in one piece.”
Reasonable, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t get off the Isle alive on her own. At least not until she’d fully healed from the vampire blood.
“There’s only one problem,” she began.
“And that would be?”
“The diary only said where they believe the power source is located. It’s not a sure thing. And they were not certain how to reach it as there were magical protections and traps surrounding it.”
“Expected.”
Something dawned on Eva. It must have shown on her face. More control returning, but it had also given her away.
“There’s something else?” Stricker prodded.
“Possibly.”
The Feyk chuckled. “You have additional terms?”
She took a greedy breath. “I want the vampire dead. Do what you want with the Howards. Don’t care. But the vampire dies.”
“You must have something positively grand to offer. I’m sure to lose a few Feyk trying to off a vampire.”
“I can help you with that part, no need to lose your own… men.” If you can even call Feyk, men… “If you want the power source, Stricker, you’re going to have to make this deal. I want the vampire dead. And I especially want him to suffer.”
“Lucky for you, suffering is our specialty.” Stricker lifted his beady eyes in acknowledgement. “And you don’t care what happens to the Howards?”
Eva thought for a moment. Now that they knew who she was, they’d never stop hunting her. They’d signed her death warrant. She couldn’t live looking over her shoulder at every turn.
“Doubts?” questioned the Feyk. “Heart aches a little for the werewolf Howard, perhaps?”
“No,” she asserted flatly. “Not at all. Just rethinking things. It might be advantageous after all if you kill the lot. And their friends. Girlfriends. Boyfriends. Relatives. Maybe just wipe out the entire damn island.”
“You are a sinfully wicked wolf,” he replied, his tone aroused.
Eva shuddered. A small icy shudder. The smallest of spasms down her spine.
“So where is the power source?” Stricker’s bony fingers rubbed together in greedy anticipation. “The heart and soul of the Demon Isle.”
“You think I’m just going to lay all my cards on the table just like that?” she returned. “No way. Not until I can see you’re able to fulfill your part of the bargain.”
“You have to give us something,” he advised in a hardened coldness.
“Fine. I won’t tell you where it is. Not yet. But I will reveal who can get you inside the door and around the traps. He won’t be easy to reach; he’s trapped somewhere himself right now.”
“Go on,” Stricker urged.
“You need to track a thing called a Soul Hunter. There’s one stuck on the Isle.”
“Really? Here on The Demon Isle? That shouldn’t prove a difficult task. We’ve made deals with their kind before. But what does this Soul Hunter have to do with the power source?”
“It got trapped while looking for the source, years ago I guess. But it’s not the Hunter you need. It’s the man currently its prisoner.”
“Interesting… very interesting. And this man would be?”
“None other than Jack Howard.”
“Dearest Daddy Jack? I thought him dead.”
“So does everyone, but he’s not. At least according to the diary.” She made note of this fact, in case he’d forgotten that she’d read it. “Jack is a prisoner of the Soul Hunter, and he’s the only witch that’s ever opened the door that leads to the power source. The Hunter did this as well, but was caught in one of the traps. You’ll need Jack Howard if you want to succeed.” There was no point in leaving out the part where the Hunter had accessed the power source. The Feyk would find out easy enough if they spoke to it.
“And let’s just say we do free Dearest Daddy Jack. I highly doubt he’s going to just let us in and show us around out of the goodness of his heart.”
It was Eva’s turn to wear a wicked grin. The potion provided by the Feyk combined with bursts of adrenaline, energized her.
“No. He won’t,” she agreed. “However, there is something else inside he and the rest of the Howards, including the vampire, will want to get to. And that’s how you’ll get in.”
The Feyk waited breathlessly for her to explain.
“A body,” Eva explained. “The body of Jack Howard’s dead wife.”
CHAPTER 3
It was almost the Fourth of July, but rather than planning a barbecue, or deciding whether to watch the local parade, Melinda Howard stood in the basement of the mansion staring down Riley Deane. She hoped like hell the spell cast by the Feyk was removable. The spell amplified anger and rage; something Riley was focusing entirely on William, seeing him as in the way of his relationship with Melinda.
An endless spewing of hatred flew out of Riley’s mouth. She’d never witnessed anything like it and did her best to overlook the nasty things he said, knowing it wasn’t really him speaking.
“Riley, please calm down,” she pleaded for the umpteenth time. “This is for your own good, believe me.�
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They’d spent hours searching for him during the night and early morning when Melinda had thought of the quarry. A place the two of them had visited together. They had lucked out and found him there, but he’d sprung out at them as if to attack, appearing not to recognize them. Or if he did, he didn’t care.
After a minute he’d calmed down, recognizing Melinda’s face, which took him off guard long enough for them to subdue him... meaning they pounced, knocked him to the ground, pinned him down, and tied him up.
The rage somehow enhanced his strength. Massive adrenaline burst maybe? They were not sure. But it took all of them to overpower him. They proceeded to drag him back to the Howard Mansion and lock him into a secure cell in the basement.
Unfortunately, it was the same cell that William used when suffering from blood withdrawals. A smaller more condensed version of his study. This only enraged Riley even more and they’d been forced to tie him to a chair to keep him from hurting himself or someone else.
They bound his hands in front of him, palms facing each other, to keep him from using magic to free himself or attack them. If he tried, the magic would have nowhere to go to except into the opposite palm, essentially soaking it up and canceling it out. The only effective way to keep a witch from using magic. Unless you were a very practiced witch who could perform spells without speaking them. This was something that took many years of intense study.
Melinda sighed and faced him, looking for any sign of the molasses eyed motorcycle man she’d fallen in love with, but she didn’t see it.
“I have no idea if my Riley is in there somewhere, but if you are, I’m going to bring you back. Just hang in there, okay.”
“Let me go,” he responded, wildness in his eyes.
“Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”
She wondered if she kept talking to him if perhaps she could change his mind and take his rage off William. But even if she could, he’d just turn his rage on someone else. They needed to cure him.
Melinda grabbed another chair and slid it in front of him. She sat down, reached over and placed her hands on his knees.
A Stake With a View (You Are The Worst Witch! Goodbye!) (A Wicked Good Witches Paranormal Romance Book 6) Page 2
