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STEVE’S CHEST HURT as the pull of Tom’s psychic signature brought him into the family room of their house, fear crushing his ability to breathe. The word Tom mentally belted out only meant one thing and he prayed he wasn’t too late.
The first thing that struck him was the amount of blood splatter and his heart stopped when his gaze landed on bare feet sticking out from behind the couch. He moved toward her manicured toes and everything else around him dissolved into the panic he felt the last time she laid unconscious with this much blood surrounding them.
“Jennifer!” The bellow filled the room and a crash upstairs followed. He bent, checking for a pulse and his legs gave out from under him, the relief completely draining all strength from his body for a moment. He rolled her over, ignoring the number of defensive wounds covering her arms, face, neck and chest. While her eyes weren’t focused, and her chest barely moved, life still existed and that’s all he needed. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead, sending a hefty dose of healing mojo through her. Even as she stiffened and drew in a painful breath, he stood, bolting upstairs and letting the healing power do its work.
Another crash pushed him faster and he rounded the corner in time to see shattered glass glimmering on the hallway floor along with clear liquid and red and blue specs of confetti. He slid to a stop in the remnants of Tom’s Patriots snow globe, his heart hammered in his chest and his breath came in short bursts from both the mental and physical exertion.
Nothing prepared him for the sight inside Tom’s room.
A hulk of a man circled with Tom, his face a hideous mask of anger, traversed by scars and with a nose that had been broken several times. In his hand, he brandished a blade slick with gore. From the amount of blood dripping from Tom’s elbows, Steve could only guess how badly cut he was, but at least he was still standing and fighting.
But it wasn’t the Windwalker that sent a chilling shiver down his spine, it was the sight of Raven unconscious on the floor and the words carved into her back.
Tanya’s faceless ghost screamed like a wild animal. She pushed herself up from the floor and ran toward the Windwalker, passing right through him and falling again. Her frustration filled the room drowning out Tom’s panting.
“I won’t let you hurt her again,” Tom breathed, ignoring the lunatic ranting of Tanya’s ghost.
“I’m going to save you for when she’s awake and can see my handiwork. I want her to watch you scream in agony as I rip your face off,” he snarled and slashed out. Tom parried, blocking the blade and taking another deep cut to the forearm.
“I don’t think so,” Steve said from the hallway and the Windwalker’s gaze flicked from Tom’s face to Steve’s directly beyond Tom’s shoulder. His eyes widened.
That was all Steve needed. Anger erupted in a blast that knocked the Windwalker through the wall and onto the concrete patio below. Tanya’s ghost followed leaving a sudden silence that rang in Steve’s ears.
Tom turned. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time,” he said and stumbled, his eyes rolling up into his head as he passed out. Steve caught him and assessed the damage. Tom’s forearms looked like someone played a thousand games of tick-tack-toe across the skin and his shirt didn’t look much better, however, the amount of blood soaking the fabric was a fraction of what ran from his arms.
“Jesus, Tom,” he whispered and wiped away the hair from his forehead. With another surge of energy, he pushed a jolt of healing power into Tom, taking a minute to watch the sparkles encompass his body and the wince suck through his teeth as the pain bit into him.
He stood and stepped to the open hole in the wall, glaring down at the twisted form of the Windwalker. Steve turned, giving Tom a quick glance before focusing on Raven. He checked her pulse and it beat strong against his fingertips. Her eyes fluttered open for a minute before rolling back and he leaned forward, sending just enough juice to cure her head, but not enough to wipe out the carvings in her skin.
He stood and turned, heading toward the stairwell. He stopped in his bedroom and retrieved the extra pair of handcuffs he owned and navigated the stairs more cautiously this time, trying not to disrupt any evidence. The sight of Jennifer’s unmarred skin prompted a breath of relief and he guessed it would be at least an hour before she woke.
With his heart returning to normal, he stepped in front of the sliding doors that led out back and froze with his hand on the door handle. The Windwalker was gone, but a streak of blood across the patio and onto the footpath pointed the direction the bastard went.
“Shit,” he breathed and swung the door open; barreling around the rock wall in a sprint, he caught up to the crawling criminal. With a guttural roar, he grabbed the thick black hair and yanked, marching back to the patio, dragging the Windwalker along with him.
Blind anger and murderous rage racked his body as pictures of the condition this bastard left his victims in flashed across his mind, making him oblivious to the wild slashes the man executed against his legs. Pain was so far removed that he didn’t notice the repeated stabs into his outer thigh until he stood before one of the patio’s concrete columns.
He caught the Windwalker’s wrist before the knife plunged into his flesh again and he growled; using so much torque that he nearly twisted the wrist backwards, all the bones shattered with the motion. The knife clattered to the ground.
The Windwalker screamed, and kept yelling like a banshee while Steve handcuffed him to the concrete, making sure the cuffs were uncomfortably tight before he stepped around in front of the psycho.
“I got you, you twisted fuck,” he breathed and punched him, breaking his nose again and snapping his head back hard enough against the concrete to knock him unconscious. He glanced up at the hole in Tom’s wall wondering just how that was going to be explained, but he didn’t care right now.
He’d caught the Windwalker and he wanted the world to know.
Inside, he scooped up the phone and dialed nine-one-one. “This is Special Agent Steve Williams and I’m calling from my house at 15 Roaring Sound. Tell O’Keefe the Windwalker is handcuffed to a column on my patio and he’s to get his ass to my house right now.”
“Agent Williams?”
“Yes.”
“We thought you were in Washington,” the police operator said.
“I am, now get someone to my house right now,” he said and set the phone on the counter just before the transition took hold.