Reckless Revenge: Book Four (Spellbound 4) (2 page)

The lycans had found me. Which meant I didn’t have much time left.

It was like that old saying,
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.
Well, now I knew for sure.

Trent blinked and his gaze, thick with blackness, became green, like an old forest in the rain. I somewhat relaxed.

On the outside, Trent seemed almost too perfect. And way too good for a middle-class girl like me. If I ever found out that he was a former boy scout, or a world-ranked chess player, or church youth leader, I was going to have to breakup with him. Who could stand that much perfection?
Yuck!
But he wasn’t completely flawless. Trent had a dark-side. A type of darkness living within him and an uncontrollable temper that scared me sometimes. He was far from perfect.

But it didn’t stop me from caring about him. Or wanting to save him from his overly broody self.

“That was close,” he said and blew out a breath. “I think it’s time I
officially
joined your team. Seems like you need someone to watch your back when bad shit is going down.”

“You mean supernatural-related bad shit?”

“Yeah, that type of stuff.” His expression changed from lighthearted to intimate, as he took me into his arms and lightly kissed me.

I pulled back. “You seriously want to help? The same stubborn guy who’d scoffed at me last summer?” I teased.

“Harsh.” Trent crisscrossed his hands over his heart, covering an illusory wound. “I suppose I deserved that.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So what happened to Skeptical Trent?”

“He’s officially left the building.”

“About time.” I grinned. “So truce? I’ll reduce my snarky comments, if you promise to rein in yours.”

“Deal.” He cracked a smile. “So, we still on for training this week?”

“Definitely.”

Trent stepped forward, closing the distance between us. He looked sexy as hell in a black leather jacket over a hooded dark blue sweatshirt and distressed jeans. The guy was a ten on a scale of Abercrombie model hotness, with eyes a remarkable bright green hue. He sported his usual bad-boy smirk, his fair skin illuminated in the dim light. That uneven smile made girls foolishly believe that they could heal his emotional scars, and that it might be a lot of fun in the process. That wicked grin of his promised you things. Naughty things. And I’d fallen for it like a satellite plummeting to Earth.

He grasped my wrist and jerked me back to him. His fingers slid up my arm and grazed the jagged scar on my forearm. I shuddered and tried to yank my arm away, but he held fast.

“From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. So you can stop feeling so shy about the way you look. That scar is a reminder of how strong and amazing and exquisite you are, Shiloh. Never hide that,” he whispered.

Then his mouth found mine again, and I kissed him back, not caring about anything else. Not even growly lycans. Just wanting to feel his skin, touch his body, and hold him close. Hopeful. Wishful. Needful. My hands combed through his wavy hair. He ghosted kisses along my neck, and warmth radiated from every place his lips touched my throat, slowly spreading heat through the rest of me. When his lips found their home on mine again, trembles of pleasure skittered over my body. A moan that seemed part lust, part torment coiled from his throat, and my knees went limp.

Oh, sweet lord.

It felt as though I was caught in the strong pull of some incredible magnet, unable to move away, unable to stop my body from responding as he kissed me. I inhaled the spicy male scent of him. It acted like a powerful drug to my senses. He kissed me until I was breathless before pulling away. We stayed in each other’s arms and waited for our breathing to slow.

“Evans’s right. Your life’s in danger now, Shiloh.” He stood back and stared down into my face. “Other than my badass fighting skills, I’ve got good instincts, and I can sense things about people. Even things they might not want me to know.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you sense about me?”

“That besides the lycan attack and grieving over your dad, you’re struggling with something. How am I doing so far?”

Ha! He’s one to talk!

“Not bad.”

He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “So? Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or not?”

“Um, I think I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one. For now.”

He nodded. “Fine. I’ll let you the off the hook this time.”

“We should go inside.” I walked up the porch steps, but paused at the backdoor. “You coming?”

“No. I’m sorry, I can’t tonight. I need to get home.” He pointed at the house. “Go inside and lock the door. And no more strolls in the backyard after sundown.”

“You got it.” I shut the door and locked it.

I walked down the hallway pursued by shadows dancing on the walls. Almost three-dimensional. Within the inky masses were luminous eyes. Red orbs. Carved faces. Spiny fingers. Otherworldly things that whimpered and blocked my path.

“Guys!” I exclaimed, almost tripping over them. “Watch it.”

The primordial creatures parted, lengthened, and morphed into three demonic figures. Kasha, Bakaz, and Zrekam whimpered like dogs. Big, round eyes gazed pleadingly up at me. If they had tails, they’d be wagging them.

A smile briefly touched my lips. “Fine. You guys can spend the night. Come on.”

They scampered ahead of me like happy puppies. I climbed the stairs behind them to my room, and sank down on the bed. I stared up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Trent was right—that
was
close.

The shades curled up at the end of the bed. The house was too quiet. My aunt was hardly ever home now that my dad had passed away. At least I had the shades for company on those long nights when being alone in the dark was the scariest thing imaginable. Made the house seem less lonely and vacant. Plus, I slept better with my little demonic buddies close by.

Not sure how my aunt would feel about that though. Not like Darrah cared what I did. All she cared about was herself.

Shifting, I checked the clock on the bedside table: nine-thirty. Sitting beside the clock was a lamp and my iPod. I inserted the tiny earbuds and cranked the volume.
Kelly Clarkson
’s “Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)” trickled into my eardrums.

I fluffed the pillows behind me and got more comfortable, my mind drifting lazily. A few weeks ago, I’d tried to stop a lycan from attacking this kid by Phoenix Lake and became the only witness still alive, so the fur gang had decided to hunt me down. But not if I could help it. What they didn’t know was—I wasn’t a normal sixteen-year-old girl. No, I was a witch with a majorly bad attitude. My sole purpose in life had become finding my dad’s killer. Now I just needed to get ready to kick some serious wolfman ass.

Pulling out the earbuds, the silence of the empty house washed over me in cold waves. I hated being alone, but in a weird way, it was also forcing me to grow up.

After putting on my nightgown and a pair of thick socks, I crawled under the blankets, but left a nightlight on in the corner. Except I couldn’t sleep, still too anxious about the recent attempt on my life. I just wanted a break from all the supernatural chaos.

A girl could dream.

Or not, since I wasn’t sleeping more than a few hours a night. The quiet one, Zrekam, crawled up to me and nuzzled under my arm. I cuddled the little demon and planted a kiss on his rough head.

A gust of wind shook the curtains and whisked through the room. I shuddered and sat up, scanning the room for any sign of danger. Heart hammering against my chest, I slipped one foot from under the blanket and let it hang between the dark space between the mattress and the hardwood floor. Tensing every muscle, I willed myself to move, the floorboards creaking as I placed both feet firmly down.

“You okay, witch?” Kasha asked sleepily.

“Yeah. I just need to stop feeling so damn edgy all the time,” I muttered.

I hurried across the room to the window and shut it. As the curtain dropped, I could’ve sworn I glimpsed a man staring up at the second-floor. Gazing directly at me. When I parted the curtains and did a double-take, there was no one there.

Just a tree swing hanging from the limb of an old oak, eerily rocking back and forth as if occupied by a ghostly child.

A yellow glow came from the single window of the garden shed in the backyard, aka the spell casting abode that belonged to my aunt—the woman, who’d pretended to be my mother. She was probably in there making voodoo dolls or plotting immoral ways to win back her childhood sweetheart, which oddly happened to be Trent’s dad.

Everyone in town knew Darrah was a witch. That all the women in my family were witches. Correction: Darrah was a dark sorceress. She was the ex-leader of a coven, the
Blood Rose Circle
, gone bad.

Backing up until my knees hit the bed, I dropped down onto the mattress. Even with the deep heartache of my dad’s death still haunting me, I needed to remain focused on my respective “revengenda” and find the killer.

I had a score to settle.

For the justly wronged to find true gratification, it could only be accomplished in one of two ways: unconditional forgiveness or mortal vindication. And I was not seeking to obtain forgiveness. When a deception cut this deep, someone had to pay.

I didn’t know why the lycans wanted to kill me or what they were plotting to do, but it wouldn’t be long until they tried again. I just had to be ready.

Because the lycan responsible for killing my dad
was
going down.

For the next week, I was distracted in school, floating through my classes and barely taking any notes. All I could think of was hunting down my dad’s killer.

On Friday after school, I stood in the doorway of my basement, framed in the illumination of the kitchen’s lights, my body casting an anxious shadow on the staircase. Darkness prevailed in the lowest level of the house. I wiped sweaty palms on my pants. Even though I’d been in the basement countless times, my body still broke in a cold sweat whenever I ventured into dark places.

You can do this, Shiloh. Stop being such a wimp.

The only light seeped from the kitchen and struck the staircase. The light fixture above the stairs had been broken for months, and now that Dad was gone, no one had bothered to fix it.

Squelching the fear that threatened to overcome me, I descended into the shadowy room. In the center of the space, I yanked on the cord to turn on the dusty overhead bulb.

The light was warm gold, illuminating an old punching bag that hung from a beam and an assortment of weapons lined up along one side of the wall, the metal gleaming. On another wall, a shelf held weights and assorted gym equipment. A grimy mirror was propped next to the water heater.

Over the last several weeks, I’d spent two hours a day in my makeshift basement gym, but it might have well been twenty-four. When I wasn’t there, I was thinking about it, preparing myself mentally and physically for the next time I faced the lycans. I continued living day-to-day as if everything was normal when it wasn’t. I continued going to school, doing homework, but everything was unreal.

Despite promises by the local police that they would reevaluate the case if any new evidence became known, the message was obvious: my dad’s death was deemed an animal attack and the case was closed.

But I wasn’t satisfied with their simple deduction. Excluding the football players, everyone who’d encountered the lycans had been killed—well, besides me, but only because I had awesome magickal skills and shades to fend them off. The other so-called feral dog attacks in town had all been regarded as accidents, too. Either they actually were tragic mishaps, or someone was targeting the football players at my school for a reason. And I couldn’t rest until I discovered the truth.

So now every spare minute I had after school, I trained my body and mind with a steely determination. Living and breathing my workouts, supernatural studies, and practicing magick. Nothing else existed for me. All that mattered was exacting vengeance on my dad’s killer.

After taping my knuckles, I started pummeling the punching bag, venting my pent-up frustration. I focused all my energy into it and unleashed fury via my fists. My dad’s recent death had left me enraged, and I needed to use that anger to destroy his murderer. Right now, I was taking it out on the punching bag.

I was so busy physically preparing for the big lycan showdown, I didn’t detect the tall figure behind me until he caught my wrist in the midst of a punch and swung me around to face him.

Instinctively, I socked him with my other fist, smashing it into his jaw. He loosened his grip, and I kicked his chest, sending him flying across the room, and crumpling onto the floor.

Instantly, I took a defensive stance and surveyed my assailant, lying face down and groaning. As my eyes caught up with my instincts, I recognized the light brown hair and firm muscular body.

I grimaced. “Oops! My bad.”

Lucky for Trent, the concrete floor was mostly covered with mats. Lucky for me, I was wearing a charcoal tank, über-stretchy capris, and sneakers, because if I hadn’t, I’d have lost some skin when I’d skidded on my knees to where he lay.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“Nah.” He kneaded his cheek where I’d hit him. “Your instincts are getting sharper. Nice punch-kick combo,
mon chéri
.”

Trent and his adorable French nicknames.

We got to our feet and I gently stroked his cheekbone, already turning red from my over-zealous attack. After planting a tender kiss on the sore spot, I turned back around to resume punching and kicking the bag.

“I’ve heard kicking ass can be somewhat therapeutic,” I said, working the bag. Jab. Punch. Kick. Jab.

Trent smiled and shook his head. “Is that, right?”

I paused in my workout to glance over at him. We both smiled. Real smiles. I hadn’t grinned like this since my dad died. It hadn’t seemed natural until now. The dividing space between us had just gotten smaller, and in a completely new way. A nice way. Trent reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He was always doing cute little things like that.

I started pummeling the bag again. Sweat dripped off my skin and my muscles ached, but I kept punching. It felt good to hit something.

“Can you stop for a minute?”

I grabbed my water bottle and took several gulps, then wiped the perspiration from my brow with a towel. “Not unless you want to train.”

His gaze raked over my tight workout clothes. “Maybe I have other things in mind.”

I shook my head. “Get serious.”

“Oh, I’m
definitely
serious. Come here.”

Trent moved forward, and his muscular arms secured me against him. His hands traveled up the sides of my torso, resting on my shoulders, then inching upward. He held my face and gazed at me, and my breath caught in my throat. His head lowered and our mouths fused hotly together, his fingers tangling in my hair. His lips moved to my throat and his face nuzzled my neck. Honestly, the electrifying kisses made me want to keep making out, but my training had to come first. I pushed Trent’s shoulder to detach his lips from the bare skin on my neck.

Leaning down, I grasped my water bottle and took another chug. “Less kissing and more training, buddy!”

He nodded and backed away, his expression changed from what I’d call can’t-wait-to-jump-your-bones to serious-trainer-dude in an instant. “After what happened in your backyard with that lycan, I think it’s time to step up your training.”

“Great idea. I’m ready.”

“What I’ll be teaching you today is a form of mixed martial arts,” he said. “Different techniques that include Karate and Kung Fu, using a combo of hitting and kicking at nerve centers and pressure points.”

“Okay...but what are you,
The Karate Kid?
” I teased.

Trent smirked. “More like his teacher, Miyagi.”

He removed his shirt, and my gaze traversed his naked upper body, taking in his strong arms, muscled chest, and ripped stomach. Training with Trent had major benefits. And he was definitely more like the
The Karate Kid
. Clothes on, clothes off. In fact, he should probably walk around shirtless always.

He demonstrated various maneuvers and coached me through several techniques, then suddenly attacked. I hit the mat
hard.

He towered over me. “Come on! Stand up.”

Stand up? I couldn’t breathe, much less stand. The basement was spinning around me. I stood…slowly. He lunged again.

Duck, kick, jump, punch, dodge.

Hours passed, and each move became more difficult than the one before. After another unexpected knock down by Trent, I lurched, hitting the mat on my hands and knees, the breath forced from my lungs.

“Get up. Now,” he commanded, holding out a hand to help me up.

Staggering to my feet, I stumbled over to the wooden table and drank one of my mom’s magickal healing potions. A few sips from the vial made most of the bruising and soreness evaporate.

We began again, Trent explaining the different ninja moves. Within another hour, I didn’t stiffen with the toss and I could even roll during the first few falls, and bounce back quickly.

“You’re doing great for someone with no former martial arts training,” Trent said. “Do it again.”

This time, he made sure the falls were harder, the pace faster. Sidestep, kick, block, punch, duck.

Breathing hard, Trent smiled with admiration. “I’ve never known anyone like you, Shiloh. You just never quit.”

“Well, duh! Time’s a-wasting, big guy. Let’s do it again.” I took a defensive stance, and yelled, “Hiyah!” as I kicked out.

He grabbed my ankle and shook his head. “Let’s work on not pulling your punches. And don’t worry about hurting me.” Trent released my leg. “When you see me expand, you contract. If I contract, you expand. Got it?”

I nodded. “Yup.”

Then I rushed him and struck out with my fist, but he quickly deflected the punch with his forearm.

“That’s good,” he said.

I swiped at him again with another strike hitting air. Damn, he was fast.

He studied my footwork. “Are you breathing? Where is your weight? Balls of your feet?”

“Shut up!”

He stopped. “I was just trying—”

I swung full force and hit him across the face. “Oops! Oh, God, you said not to hold back…”

“Owww.” Trent straightened, smiling.

“Are you okay?”

He rubbed his jaw and grimaced. “Of course.”

“You’re off your game today.”

“I know…but…”

“No
but
. I will be victorious!”

He shook his head. “Get serious. I read in one of my uncle’s books that demons worship strength and power. And insane courage.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Um, I need a quick time-out.”

“Why? I told you,
no
unscheduled breaks during our training.”

“This will just take a sec.” I stepped toward him. “First, I need to kiss the boo-boo better.”

He shook his head and grinned, but let me gently kiss the damage I’d inflicted on his jaw.

“I’m all good,” Trent said. “So, ready to get back at it?”

I gave him a mock salute. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!” 

“Cute,” Trent said, but he isn’t smiling now. “Let me ask you something, Shiloh. Um, why did you want me to train you? I mean, why are we wasting our time? If you’re not going to take this seriously? There are wolves out there hunting you down and—”

“Okay! I’m sorry. I’ll knock off the snark.”

“Good. Because I think, you should make training you’re number one priority, if you hope to fight those evil wolf bastards. You certainly can’t outrun them.”

It was actually Trent’s uncle, Anthony Evans, my mentor and friend, who’d helped me accept my fate as protector of the innocent. Evans lived with Trent and his father in a mansion dubbed Craven Manor. Since Evans was a paranormal investigator, he knew a lot about the supernatural, so we’d decided to join forces to stop the spread of evil. But it wasn’t until my dad was murdered by a lycan that I became determined to get serious about my physical training as well.

Even if Trent was kicking my ass.

“I know, you’re right. I’m ready now,” I muttered.

“Good. We’ll pick up where we left off with defense moves.”

Facing him again, I stood on shaky legs and resumed sparring with Trent. The workouts were brutal and my body screamed obscenities, but I liked the pain. Even the emptiness in my chest seemed less angry and numb.

Dodge, kick, block, hit, strike, duck.

After another two hours of let’s-throw-Shiloh-around-the-basement action, Trent went to wipe his face with a towel and slip his shirt back on. “That’s enough for today. We’ll train again next week,” he said. “My father’s actually home this weekend, so I’ll be busy, but I’ll text you later.”

Pouting, I followed him toward the staircase, slightly energized by checking out his cute butt, clad in low-slung track pants. As we reached the narrow doorway, he spun around behind me.

In one quick swoop, I found myself tossed over Trent’s shoulder. I tugged on the still damp T-shirt, playfully battering his back as he climbed the staircase. Bursting into the kitchen from the depths of the basement, Trent lowered me to the ground. My body slid the length of his until my feet touched the floor, but he didn’t let go, our bodies seemingly welded together.

I gazed up into his smoldering eyes and my breath quickened. Tangling his fingers in my hair, he gently tugged my face closer. Bending his head, our lips fused, and fireworks exploded in the kitchen. Well, inside my head, anyway. I placed my hands on his pecs, noting the rapid rise and fall of his chest, in tandem with my own hyperventilation. How I didn’t melt into the linoleum floor like a pile of girl goo was beyond the laws of physics. I stepped back to put some distance between our bodies to control the passionate urges surging within me. Urges that my hormones instinctively wanted to pursue. Lately, it seemed like Trent and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other for more than a minute or two, even during our workouts.

But when he gripped my waist and pulled me to him, I didn’t care about anything other than the fact that my entire body was tingling. I wanted to press every inch of myself against his taut muscles again. Being with Trent made me feel beautiful, unrestrained, and a little out of control.

His hands wandered from my bare hips northward, and I jerked backward, as if I’d been jolted from a deep sleep and awoke to sensory overload. Making out was one thing. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go further than that. Yet.

“You need to go before Darrah flies in on her broom,” I said, resisting the urge to kiss him again and again.

His hands traveled over my back, resting on my hips briefly. He groaned, which only seemed to merge his body with mine even more. “Are you sure?”

Pushing him away, I raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I think.”

He brushed a rogue strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering along my jawline. “Okay, but you’re driving me completely crazy, Shiloh Trudell.” Placing a quick kiss across my lips, Trent spun on his heel and left.

I shuffled upstairs to my bedroom, my body as weak as a wet noddle. After a quick shower, I changed into my PJs, and frowned at the bruises on my arms and legs. The muscles in my low back convulsed and sent a spasm coursing through my spine. My legs wobbled as I sagged onto the bed with a book. But I couldn’t concentrate.

Throwing the paperback aside with a loud
thump
on the floor, I walked over to the window. I opened the curtains and lifted the blinds, peering into the night beyond. A water ring circled the moon, and I remember my dad calling it a raven’s eye in the mist.