19

 

 

What’s worse than killing an innocent? Killing a friend who’d saved your life more than once.

Yeah, and I was the asshole who was supposed to do just that.

It took five hours to clean up the mess the werewolves made as best as I could the following afternoon. By the time I was finished picking up the last five large black garbage bags filled with dust, plaster, broken plates, glasses, and foam from my couch cushions, Father Thomas’s hired carpenter arrived to take measurements for the new kitchen cabinets and assess all the damage.

Turns out the kitchen wasn’t as destroyed as I’d first thought. Henry, the carpenter, told me that most of it was salvageable. He only had to replace some cabinets doors, hardware, and the counter. It had me feeling a tad better, and my mood shifted slightly.

I’d left Tyrius with Kora and Grandma. I wanted both baals to watch over her. With what the werewolves did, I couldn’t be too careful or too stupid to think they might not try her place next.

My thoughts drifted to the elf, to how good his butt looked in those jeans as he prepared us breakfast. He’d surprised me that night, how he’d opened up to me and shared. I suspected it wasn’t something he did frequently. His honesty had brought us closer. And unlike most men in my life, Gareth wanted to help me. Even when he’d known I had archdemon blood in my veins, something most half-breeds and angel-born alike would consider evil, he still had wanted to help.

I was still angry that he wouldn’t teach me how to use pullomancy. But then again, he did have a fine ass.

Truth was, I wanted to be alone. I needed to think. Surprise, who knew that cleaning also was like meditation. I could be alone with my thoughts as I moved around the apartment, picking up foam pieces from the floor as I brainstormed on the multitude of ideas to get me out of this mess. I needed to focus on a solution as to how I was going to get out of Lisbeth’s blackmail. I couldn’t kill Steven, and I’d rather stab myself in the heart than kill Danto.

But, even after five hours of cleaning and brainstorming, I had nothing.

So what the hell was I supposed to do? Danto was my friend, but my grandmother was the only family I had left.

Finally, after saying my goodbyes to Henry and packing a bag with a couple of days’ worth of clothes, since he said I could come back in three days, I climbed down the stairs and stepped out into the evening air. It was half past six by the time I’d made my way down the driveway to my Subaru.

It was a sunny Friday evening, the sky a mix of deep oranges and yellows and blues. It was surprisingly warm, and I almost smiled. I was tired, dirty, and hungry from all that cleaning. Just thinking of the veggie homemade pizzas my gran had told me we were having for dinner sent my mouth watering.

A hot shower and a large glass of red wine with a slice of pizza sounded like heaven.

I pulled out my car keys from my bag and that’s when I sensed them.

I jerked as the cold, demonic energy flew through me, sending my skin riddling in goose bumps. Adrenaline hit me, making my heart thrash into my chest so hard it hurt. I breathed in the smell of wet dog and sulfur. My gaze shifted across the parking lot to the other side of the street. Standing, both with their arms crossed, were two werewolves.

I didn’t have to look very hard. Hell, just by the way they were standing in my line of sight they wanted me to see them. The male werewolf was huge, built like a wrestler in his t-shirt and jeans, and had the posture of a bear. Through his thick beard and long hair, his expression was blank as he watched me.

But the female werewolf had my pulse quickening. I recognized her from the forest as the one who had thrown my grimoire into the fire. A bitch, but a beautiful one. She was lovelier than I’d remembered, her mocha-colored skin glowing in the fading sun. Her long black hair spilled down her front in silky waves. She was in jeans too and short jacket, perfect supple clothes for a kill.

She was shorter than me—I would even go as far as call her petite—but the smaller werewolves were the fastest, and the females were all the more vicious. Her posture was stiff, her expression hard, and deep loathing flashed in her eyes. I knew that look. It was the I’m-going-to-rip-out-your-throat-and-eat-it kind of look.

Shit. They were going to kill me. And I hadn’t even showered.

Heart racing, my left hand brushed my waist and I cursed. I didn’t have a soul blade or a death blade, and I felt practically naked without them. A hunting knife was all I had, and that would do diddly squat against two werewolves.

The female lifted her chin, her nose in the air, and I swear I saw her sniff. Then her face morphed into a knowing smile that gave me the creeps. Could she smell the fear on me? Or did I just smell that bad?

I could see revenge on her small features. She blamed me for Steven’s death, her alpha. And she was right. I had killed him.

I waited, cringing. If I ran now, would I make it in time to my apartment before the werewolves made ribbons of my flesh? Or should I take a chance and go for my car, which was closer? Weres could easily break the car’s glass windows. And I seriously doubted I could outrun a werewolf. Make that two werewolves.

Damn. I should have taken Lucian’s gift.

I don’t know how long we stood there, staring at each other from across the street, with the werewolves never moving. They just stood there, staring, killing me with their eyes but never actually following through.

I took a breath. Then I took a step towards my car, my eyes never leaving the two weres. When they didn’t even flinch, I walked towards my car as calmly as I could without them seeing my body shaking. By the time I got next to my subbie, I thought my head would explode from all the pounding blood.

With a trembling hand, I jammed my key into the lock and pulled open my door. My face hot, I locked the doors and put the key into the ignition. The Subaru roared into life.

I put the car in reverse and checked my rearview mirror. The weres hadn’t moved. I don’t even think they’d blinked. What the hell? Why hadn’t they attacked? And then it hit me.

They wanted to scare me. This was a fear mongering tactic to frighten me. They wanted me to be afraid constantly, never knowing when the day would come that I would die, when they would strike. It was working.

With the car in drive, I pulled out of the driveway, passing the two werewolves who were still watching me on the opposite side of the street.

How long had they been there? Had the werewolves been across the street this whole time while I was upstairs cleaning? Had they been spying on me since the day they trashed my place? This whole thing gave me the creeps.

My phone rang, and I jumped. Fumbling with one hand on the wheel while rummaging in my bag with my other hand, I pulled out my phone. I frowned. I didn’t recognize the number and there was no caller ID. My gut clenched. It was them. Were the werewolves going to prank call me to death? Bastards. I could just hang up, but I wanted to tell them off more.

With my eyes on the road, I answered. “Screw you, dog-breath,” I yelled, “if you think you can scare me by trashing my place or with your big, wolf eyes—newsflash, bitch, it’s not working.”

“Rowyn?”

My pulse jumped. The voice was male and it sounded familiar. “Yeah,” I said, cautiously.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

My insides twisted. “Ethan? What’s going on?” I thought it strange that this angel-born, this stranger, would call me. God, I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me out because that would be awkw-a-a-a-a-rd.

“It’s Jax,” said Ethan, and the tension in his tone had me straightening in my seat.

“Hang on while I put you on speaker.” I tapped the speaker icon on my phone and placed it on my lap. “Okay. What about Jax?” I asked, slowing down at the red light and checking my rearview mirror to see if any cars were following. But the road was deserted.

Silence, and then Ethan’s voice sounded out the speaker. “He’s not himself.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” I rolled my eyes. “Then who is he?” I didn’t have time for this crap.

“He’s... he’s different,” said Ethan, his voice muffled. “I can’t stop him.”

“Look, Ethan,” I said, as politely as I could. “Jax isn’t my problem. He never was. If he’s gotten himself into trouble, find his mommy. I’m sure she can pull him out of the pile of crap he’s in, and she’ll probably be really happy about it too.” I added with a smile.

Ethan cleared his throat. “I know you’re angry with him. I know you have a history with—”

“I don’t,” I said, angry and louder than expected. “Get to the point. I’m driving.”

“I think he’s going to hurt himself,” came Ethan’s loud voice. “He’s been acting really strange and talking about death all the time.”

“So he’s a little morbid,” I said, shrugging. “It doesn’t make him suicidal. Don’t forget he’s been through hell.” Literally. “What makes you think he’s going to hurt himself?” The conversation with Father Thomas came back to me. What if some of that demon jinni imprint was making him do stuff? Jeeves had hacked into Jax’s brain like a computer virus. What if some of Jeeves was still in there? What if Jax’s mind just couldn’t cope?

“Because he’s drunk and has a soul blade pointed at his chest.”

Damn. Jax, you stupid, dumbass angel-born. What have you done?

“Rowyn?” pleaded Ethan. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything, but he won’t listen to me. You’re the only one who can talk sense into him.”

“Have you tried his fiancée?” I asked, my anger resurfacing at the thought of her pretty face, smiling victoriously at me when she was kissing Jax. “I hear she’s a real sergeant major.”

“She’s in Europe with her parents,” said the angel-born. “You’re the only one,” he said, and I distinctly heard a mix of fear and desperation in his voice. “I need your help, Rowyn. You have to help me. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

God, I hated these kinds of situations. “What can I do that you haven’t already tried? I barely know the guy. I’m sure you don’t need my help.” I shouldn’t have answered the phone.

“Please.”

Damn. He’d said the magic word. Gut wrenching, I thought about it. I didn’t hate Jax for being such a douche, nor did I have any more feelings of affection towards him. But it didn’t mean I wanted him dead, and especially not by his own hands.

Jax was a mess, and from what Ethan was saying, it was a lot worse than I’d thought. And I was a sucker when it came to helping helpless men.

I let out an exasperated breath. “Where are you?”

“1900 East 149^th street, South Bronx,” said Ethan, and I heard the tension leave his voice.

“I’ll be there in forty minutes,” I said, hanging up and tossing the phone on the seat.

And then I floored it.