A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (6 page)

He moved away from the bed. “Clearly, we’ll have to relocate in a few weeks to someplace more secure.”

Leave? With him? And go where? She shook her head. She didn’t even know his name. At the sudden thought, she asked, “What’s your name?” When he simply stared at her as though he wouldn’t confide that much, she flung out, “Come on. You know mine.”

After a stretch of silence, he answered, “Darius.”

Darius
. An old name. Although he couldn’t be older than she was, she knew she faced
someone nearly as ancient. He would not be easy to escape—even with her gifts. And she didn’t want to use her powers. Didn’t want to lure Balthazar back in. Nothing, not even this lycan, would change her mind about that.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Darius.”

At the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. A faintly sinister smile curled his lips. “You think you have a choice?”

An angry epithet rose to her lips. He was wrong if he thought she was some helpless female to be kept in chains indefinitely.

She shook her head at him slowly. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

His pewter eyes iced over, chilling her to the core. “Oh, I know exactly what you’re capable of… 
witch
.”

She flinched at the cruel emphasis he placed on the last word.

Without saying anything else, he turned and left the room. She stared at the empty door for a long moment, fighting back the urge to shout after him that she wasn’t this horrible being he thought her.
She wasn’t
 . . .

The words stuck in her throat. She’d have to fully believe that to say it.

* * *

D
ARIUS STOOD SILENTLY BESIDE
the bed, looking down, watching the witch sleep. He crossed his arms. He’d found her. The demon witch he’d hunted since he stumbled upon the knowledge of her existence three years ago. It was best to think of her in those terms.
Demon witch.
Not Tresa. Not female. Not woman.

Her chest rose and fell evenly. The tears hadn’t yet dried on her cheeks and an uncomfortable knot formed in his chest.

The demon witch he had envisioned in his head, the one responsible for creating the first lycan that had gone on to spawn thousands, wasn’t supposed to weep.

He cocked his head as he looked down at her. She was all too human. At least she appeared that way. He cursed softly beneath his breath and shook his head. She was an evil, soul-sucking witch. He was a fool to consider her anything less.

He walked back into the living room, fired up his computer and opened one of many research files, reviewing everything he had on demons. If she was right, he would need to deal directly with this Balthazar.

His phone rang. A glance down confirmed it was Helen.

He answered. “Hello, Helen.”

“Darius, where are you?” In addition to being his housekeeper, Helen liked to play the role of mother. Forget that he was a thousand years older than her fifty-something. He blamed it on the fact that she had stayed with him all these years, wasting her life to serve him. He had encouraged her to leave and build a life of her own, but Helen couldn’t be told to do anything she didn’t want to.

“Alaska.”

Silence greeted him on the other end. He could read her silence perfectly. She wasn’t happy.

“You’re still looking for her,” she finally declared.

“Actually”—he glanced over his shoulder as if he could see through the wall into her bedroom—“I’ve found her.”

“You found her?” Excitement laced her voice. “And did she do it? Did you make her—?

“She doesn’t know how.”

Another pause, and then a breathy, “Oh.” The heavy word said it all.

Helen knew what he was. He’d saved her from a lycan attack years ago, and he hadn’t been able to shake her ever since. She claimed she owed him her life.

“So you’re coming home?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” The anxiousness returned to her voice. “But you need to—”

“I still have time. It’s a couple more weeks until moonrise.”

“But what reason do you have for staying? She’s useless to you.”

“She claimed she doesn’t know how to reverse the curse, but I still think she’s the answer.”

“Darius,” she sighed his name, sounding tired, and he was reminded that she was getting older. “What are you doing?” Weariness weighed on her words, making him feel like he was a fool on same insane crusade.

“Look, I have to go, Helen. It’s complicated. I’ll be home before moonrise.”

She was still talking when he hung up the phone. He waited a moment to see if she would call again. When she didn’t, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His eyes ached. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep.

He cared about Helen, but she couldn’t understand his need, his desperation to… 
fix
himself. To kill the part of him that was monstrous and evil, intent only on destroying life.

Helen didn’t understand what he had been.
She didn’t know the truth about the night he saved her. That he had been tempted to join the lycans attacking her and tear her apart.

He fought the monster living inside him every day. Not just at moonrise. She thought he was good, but he was lost. As lost as that witch in the next room.

* * *

D
ARIUS WASN’T SURE WHAT
woke him. He blinked and sat up, board straight, in the chair where he’d fallen asleep, an ancient text of demonology in his lap. Every nerve was stretched taut and vibrated with alertness.

With silent movements, he set the book on the table and moved through the house, the glow from the living room lamp lighting his way. He checked first on Tresa.

She slept on, her hair a splash of ink against the white pillowcase. She looked vulnerable, her features soft and relaxed in sleep. Something unfurled inside his chest at the sight. He snapped his thoughts free with a single hard shake of his head.

The tray of food he’d brought her sat on the floor, her dinner eaten.

Satisfied that she wasn’t the reason he’d woken, he moved from her room and surveyed
the main living area. It was dark out. Black seeped through the curtains of the wide front window. Silenced throbbed all around him. The kind of silence that made someone feel like they were the only person left on earth.

He walked to the door, his footsteps a dull thud against the wood floor. He unlocked the door and stepped out onto the porch. The cold hung thick and swirling on the opaque air. He squinted, looking deep into the snow-draped horizon. The winds stirred, a distant rush on the night. Nothing moved on the ground or in the trees.

He turned to move back inside, but then stopped, inhaling deeply. And that’s when he caught the loathsome odor, sweetly bitter and acrid.

Silver
.

He whirled around just as a bullet whistled toward him. He jerked aside as it plugged the outside wall of the house.

Then they were everywhere.

They streamed from the trees. A small army, maybe twenty. Black camo, night-vision goggles secured to their faces, weapons at the ready. They charged for the house, shouting directions at one another.

He dove back inside and slammed the door
shut, seizing the moment it gave him to ready himself. He centered himself in the middle of the room, bracing for the onslaught.

The door crashed open and they swarmed inside, shouting. He faced them. This is how they destroyed his kind, he thought grimly. Using sheer volume to overpower, to beat down and conquer beasts bred to kill.

His muscles bunched tight as the intruders circled him. He waited for the worst. He imagined they would slam him with silver bullets, but they didn’t.

The shot never came, never tore through his flesh.

One hunter stepped ahead of the others and stopped directly in front of Darius. He pulled his night goggles off and smiled humorlessly. “Thought you were rid of me, didn’t you, bastard?”

Darius recognized him at once. “Sam,” he murmured. “Good to see you.”

“You remembered my name? I’m flattered.” Sam lifted his rifle higher, aiming squarely for Darius’s chest.

Before Sam could squeeze off a shot, Darius wrenched the weapon free, snapping it in his grip.

A bullet ripped into his chest. He jerked
from the force, hissing in pain. Another rifle was jabbed into his face. “Easy there. Settle down. The bullet inside you isn’t silver, but this one is.”

He growled low in his throat, but said nothing. He was lucky he was alive. Even as he stood, panting in pain, he could feel his body rejecting the bullet, pushing it free from his shredded muscle and sinew.

One of the other hunters burst into their midst. “You gotta see this!” He motioned excitedly toward the bedroom. “The animal’s got a woman handcuffed to a bed.”

Sam’s lip curled at him. “Sick fuck. You like torturing innocent women? Well, we’re going to have fun with you. See how you like it.” That said, he pulled the trigger.

Darius jerked at the second bullet to tear through him. Instead of the burn of silver, he felt only more discomfort. He swallowed a cry. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing that would kill him.

He looked down and spotted the end of a protruding dart in his chest. Not a bullet—a tranq. He seized it and pulled it clean, tossing it to the floor with a grunt.

His gaze drifted back up. The hunters’ faces swirled in front of him, blurring until their
features became indistinct smudges. The edge of his vision grayed, and then blackened. He dropped, hard, to his knees and swayed.

Sam took advantage and kicked him in the ribs. Once. Twice. He heard the crunch of bone and knew the hunter had cracked his ribs. He fell to the floor, clutching his side. He’d broken bones before. They’d heal. Not that he expected any of these hunters to keep him alive long enough for that. They’d torment him to the end, never giving him a chance to heal. Only giving him a chance to feel and breathe the pain.

The fog rolled in, muddling his thoughts. The blackness grew, spreading until he could see nothing. Feel nothing. Until he was no more.

S
IX

T
he handcuff fell free from her wrist. Tresa sighed with relief and rubbed the tender flesh.

“Thank you,” she breathed as the hunter stepped back, giving her space.

Another hunter stood at the door, staring her down as if she were a great nuisance. “You okay?” he asked gruffly. He glanced from her back to the living room, obviously more interested in whatever was going on there.

Darius
. She inhaled sharply.
What were they doing to him?

Several moments passed before the hunter looked back, settling his dark eyes on her expectantly, and she realized she hadn’t responded yet.

“You okay?” he repeated.

She nodded jerkily, feeling the overwhelming urge to inquire after Darius and see what they were doing to him. Not exactly what a victim would do, though.

His dark gaze slid over her. “Do you require medical care?”

Obviously they thought Darius had injured her.

“N-no. I’m fine. What about… 
him
? What are you going to do with him?”

His dark gaze sharpened on her, and she realized she might have sounded concerned. Which was ridiculous. Why should she care what happened to him? His assessment continued, sweeping over her and missing nothing. Not her mussed and tangled hair. Not her wrinkled clothing. The sleeve of her sweater was ripped at the shoulder. God knows what he thought Darius had done to her.

“Don’t worry. He’ll get what he deserves. We’ll see to that.” He looked to the other hunter, standing near the bed. “C’mon, Klonsky. Give her a minute alone.” He looked back at her. “Miss, we’ll be out here. Just take your time.”

She nodded as they started to leave. Klonsky’s gaze lingered on her, pitying and kind. A look that wouldn’t last if he knew what she was.

Once alone, she dropped back on the bed, rubbing the tender skin of her wrist. A heavy sigh escaped her. Male voices drifted from the
other room, accompanied by the thud of feet. What was she going to do with a houseful of hunters? What would they do if they figured out she was more than some hapless female who had fallen into the clutches of a ravenous lycan? She gulped, somehow certain her fate would be better in Darius’s hands than in theirs. In either case, she wasn’t sticking around to put their goodwill to the test.

Rising to her feet, she quickly changed clothes, her movements hurried as nervousness tripped through her. She didn’t want one of them to walk in on her half naked. Sucking in a deep breath, she moved for the door, opening it carefully. Almost instantly a hunter was there, blocking her way.

“You need something?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah… I want to leave.”

“That’s not possible at this time.”

She blinked at his matter-of-fact response. Moistening her lips, she strove for an even tone. “Look. I appreciate all of you helping me, but I’d really just like to leave you to… whatever it is you’re doing and get out of here.”

He glanced over his shoulder, almost as if checking to see if someone else was going to step in and handle the situation—handle
her
.

She followed his gaze, looking over his
shoulder. She gasped, spotting Darius strapped to a chair, silver chains looped around his body. Tendrils of smoke rose, curling on the air. He was naked from the waist up and unconscious, his head lolling, blessedly oblivious to his roasting body. Steam rose from where the silver seared into his flesh, eating deep into the skin.

Clamps bit into his chest, and her mouth dried. They meant to torture him. Her stomach roiled.

The hunter pushed her back into her room. “We’ve got our hands full at the moment. We need to be ready when he wakes up.” He jerked a thumb behind him to Darius. “Give us some time. We’ll figure out what to do with you.”

“What to
do
with me?” she echoed. “You don’t have to
do
anything with me except let me go.”

“It’s not that simple. You’ve seen things today that you don’t have any business knowing about.” He grasped her shoulder, either to calm her or push her back in the room—she wasn’t sure which.