Twisted

EIGHTEEN

TUCKER PERCHED ON THE highest limb of an oak and watched as the wolf absconded with Mary Ann. They left a trail of blood a blind man would spot. The wolf was unsteady and weaving, and Mary Ann limp as a noodle. She wouldn’t last much longer.

The wolf read auras, but Tucker knew the siren’s call of death. No question, Mary Ann was even then swimming out to greet the lyrical grim reaper, and nothing would stop her.

The witch’s aim had been true. Her arrow had sliced through the ward preventing Mary Ann from receiving a mortal wound. The location alone was damaging, but the blood loss would be more so.

Wards worked—until they were closed. Or burned away. Or any number of other painful things. Some people opted to get a ward to protect their wards, so that something like this could never happen, but not many went that route. What if someone gave you a ward you didn’t want? ’Cause yeah. Being held down and inked with all kinds of badness never happened.

Tucker would have snickered at his sarcasm, considering he’d told Mary Ann how ugly it was, but he was too afraid it’d sound like a sob. Only pansy-assed babies sobbed. He wasn’t a pansy-assed baby.

He was a liar.

He hadn’t been completely honest with Mary Ann. Oh, he’d run from Vlad after stabbing Aden all right—but he’d run after he’d “chatted” with the guy. Bastard had threatened him with a few wards of his own if he didn’t man up and do as he was told.

Man up. Funny, coming from a guy who looked more monster than man while he hid in the shadows, but whatever.

Until yesterday, Tucker hadn’t exactly followed the former king’s orders. He’d helped Mary Ann rather than hurt her.

He liked her. More than he should, and more than was wise.

Why’d she have to let the wolf stick around?

Tucker would have continued to resist Vlad if she’d kicked the wolf to the curb.

Because, when he and Mary Ann were alone, he was fine. A halfway decent individual. Dirty-minded, maybe, but who wasn’t? Then Riley had shown up, and boom. Vlad had made another move, and Tucker had lost the battle.

Poor Mary Ann. She was an unwanted casualty.

Tucker waited as the witches who’d just annihilated her congregated under his tree. Red Robed Bitches, that’s what he called them. They were glaring up at him, pissed that they’d failed and blaming him. Even though he hadn’t been the one to freaking fail.

“You said we’d have the pair cornered if we waited until they were inside the house,” the blonde in charge said. Marie, he thought was her name. She was a pretty thing but vicious in her determination.

Having rifled through Mary Ann’s things, he’d found the address she’d tried so hard to hide. Had known exactly where she would go, if not when. So, he’d cast an illusion when she and the wolf left the café and followed them. “That’s when I thought you were competent,” he replied. “Why didn’t you give chase?”

“And risk a draining?”

“Again I’m struck by the words thought you were competent.”

They spat expletives at him.

He shoved from the branch and fell…fell…and landed on his feet. In the center of the RRBs now, he spun, his arms splayed wide, his vibe all about daring them to try something with him.

He really wanted them to try something with him.

He deserved punishment, but then, so did they. Only difference was, he knew he deserved it. They’d be the first to tell you how righteous their cause, how they were on the holy path, blah, blah, blah.

They had lost Mary Ann’s trail after Riley warded her, but they hadn’t lost Tucker’s. Apparently they’d magically locked onto him, too, but Riley had refused to ward him, so there you go. Because of Riley’s refusal, they’d never really lost the girl. Tucker would not take the blame for that.

The fae had been trailing Mary Ann and Tucker, as well. They would have been here, extracting their pound of flesh like the witches, only the witches had…politely asked them to leave, sending the other race home to their mamas.

After that, Tucker had thrown the witches an illusion—one of Mary Ann and Riley talking, arguing, tossing out names and info Tucker had pulled out of his ass—hoping to send the little RRBs running in a thousand different directions. Of course, that’s when Vlad had called him.

Tucker…my Tucker…

Just. Like. That.

Everything had changed.

Tucker…

He shuddered as that eerie, commanding voice continued to shove its way into his head, leading him around like a puppet on a string. Wasn’t difficult to do, either. The darkest part of Tucker’s nature—the part that enjoyed verbally ripping his little brother to pieces, kicking puppies, fist fighting his friends, cheating on his girlfriend, watching the girl pregnant with his baby lose the respect of her family—that part craved the vampire’s guidance.

The other part of him was curled up in a little ball, weeping like a stupid kid, sad about all the pain he’d caused—all the destruction he would soon cause. But Tucker hated that side of himself, too, so really, there wasn’t any part of himself that he liked.

Tucker, my Tucker, finish this.

The king’s voice was stronger than before, louder, more…everything. Every day he healed a little more, and one day soon, he would be the man, the warrior, he’d once been.

Vlad had commanded Tucker to approach the witches, told him what image to show them, told him what to say and how to act. And he had. He’d done all of it. Assumed the image of someone they knew—who he was supposed to be, he still wasn’t sure—and they’d believed him and done everything he’d wanted without question.

“—even listening?” Marie demanded.

“No.”

“Argh! You were always frustrating, but now you’re just a bastard.”

“You can’t blame your failure on me,” he said. “I gift wrapped the pair and handed them to you like it was your birthday.” Just saying those words caused guilt to claw at him.

Tucker…you know what to do. Kill the witches, find the wolf and the drainer, and finish them off.

Kill the witches? Fine, no problem. Consider it done. But… You wanted the wolf and Mary—the drainer’s deaths blamed on the witches. He shoved the words out of his mind, into the air, and knew Vlad heard him. Wherever he was. If the witches are dead, how can they be blamed?

I’m sure you’ll think of a way. Now, do what I told you.

No sense in fighting Vlad. He’d come out the loser. Tucker squared his shoulders, his gaze narrowing on the gaggle of females around him. He shook his arms, just barely, but enough. The blades he’d stashed under his shirt sleeves slid into his palms. He gripped the hilts.

“Why don’t you gift wrap them again,” Marie said primly. “And we’ll go from there.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Cleary she did not like to be thwarted. She stomped her foot, saying, “Why not?”

“You’re not gonna be around to accept any more presents.” Without another word, he struck.

RILEY LEFT MARY ANN behind a Dumpster, shifted to human, didn’t care that he was naked, stole a bottle of vodka and a pass key to a motel room from the clerk at the desk, a bag from one of the guests and went back for Mary Ann. He carried her inside the empty room without being seen or dropping her. A shocker and a miracle, considering he was as twitchy as a junkie in need of a fix.

He settled his bundle on the bed as gently as he could, then ransacked the bag for something to wear.

“Don’t move,” he told her when she thrashed against the mattress.

“O…kay?” she asked.

“Yes, we’re going to be okay,” he lied.

Only thing he found that would come close to fitting was a pair of shorts that had the word Princess stamped across the ass in glittery pink. Now wasn’t the time to care about fashion—or the lack thereof. Or the fact that the shorts were too snug and he might never be able to have children. He might need to do another endless dash, and he had to be prepared.

He peered down at his leg. The arrow had been pounded out of him when he’d accidentally run into a tree, but he could feel the wood shards embedded in the muscle, cutting at him, making him bleed harder rather than heal. He applied pressure to force the shards out, grimaced, but wasn’t going to let the pain stop him. If he didn’t staunch the flow, he wouldn’t be able to care for Mary Ann.

So he doctored himself as fast as he could, using one of the T-shirts in the bag, and raced back to the bed, where he crouched in front of Mary Ann. Her skin was chalk white, the blue tracery of her veins evident. There were bruises under her eyes, and her lips were chapped. All cosmetic—until you looked at her chest. There was so much blood caking her skin, she looked like she was wearing a red sweater. Worse, the arrow still protruded from the front and the back.

“H-how b-bad?” she whispered.

She was on her side, her shoulders slumped, and her head lolling forward. She was fighting sleep, her teeth chattering. Never had he seen her this weak and helpless. And he never wanted to see her like this again.

What he did want to do was panic the hell out, but he wasn’t going to let himself. Someone needed to stay calm, and bottom line, he was the only option.

“R-Riley?”

Brutal honesty, no more lies. “It’s bad. Real bad.”

“Kn-knew it. D-dying?”

“No!” he shouted, then more quietly added, “No. I won’t let you.” He pressed his fingers into her carotid and counted the beats that jumped up to meet him. One hundred and sixty-eight a minute. God. The speed at which her heart hammered was a testament to how much blood she had lost. If she reached one hundred and eighty thumps a minute, there’d be no saving her.

He had to act fast. “I’ve got to leave you here for a minute, okay? I have to get a few supplies so I can remove the arrow.”

That’d make her bleed even more, but he couldn’t patch her up with it there.

“O…kay.” Her eyelashes fluttered, as if she were trying to focus on him but couldn’t quite manage it. He needed to go, now, now, now, but if he released her, she would fall on her face or on her back, and both options would do more damage to her already fragile body.

Moving like he was on a racetrack being timed, he propped pillows in front and behind her, holding her in that position all the while, and tucked the blanket around her legs to keep her warm. Then he washed the blood off himself and zipped out the door, stealing money from the front desk, then zooming to the convenience store across the street to gather up gauze, disinfectant and anything else he could find that he might need.

Yeah, his shorts got a few looks. When he had what he needed, he just sort of threw the money on the counter and left.

Mary Ann hadn’t moved. Her eyes were closed, her entire body shaking violently. Not a good sign. He counted her pulse again. One hundred and seventy-three beats a minute.

He was trembling as he uncapped the half-gone vodka, held Mary Ann’s mouth open and poured the contents inside. He worked her throat with his free hand, ensuring she swallowed as much as possible.

She didn’t choke, didn’t protest, hell, didn’t notice anything was being done to her. Good for her, since he was about to hurt her worse than she’d ever been hurt, but a bad sign. A really bad sign.

“You will not die on me,” he told her. “Understand?” He splashed a bit of the alcohol over the wound. Then, still trembling, he gripped the front end, breathed in and out, trying to stop his trembling, and snapped the wood in two, removing the tip.

He threw the piece on the floor, lifted Mary Ann into the light of the lamp, and studied what remained. The shaft had gone all the way through, so the wood was peeking out both sides of her. Okay. Good. The damage had already been done. The danger now was leaving shards inside her when he pushed the rest of the arrow out. Which he had to do quickly, smoothly.

Like that was possible when he looked like he had advanced Parkinson’s. Riley claimed the bottle of vodka and downed the rest in three gulps. The liquid burned a path along his throat, scalded his stomach, then blistered through his veins. He’d had to do this kind of triage before. To himself, to his brothers and to his friends. Why was he breaking down now?

He pressed his fingers into Mary Ann’s pulse. One hundred and seventy-five.

A string of curses left him, but at least the alcohol kept him from vomiting. He moved behind her. In the mirror across the way, he could see that her eyes were still closed, her expression still too smooth for what was happening. Another breath in, out. You can do this. Don’t hesitate. Just act.

He raised his arm. Lowered his arm. Come on!

Raised. Lowered. He wanted to grab the end of the shaft and jerk, that would have been easier, or should have been, but the wood was slippery from her blood and he’d never be able to maintain his grip long enough. So, he had to punch one end to shoot the other end out the other side. The thought of punching her, however…

You would rather she die? You would rather puss out than do everything you can?

With a roar, Riley balled his fist and did it. He punched the broken end with all his might. He made contact with the wood, then Mary Ann’s flesh, pushing the arrow the rest of the way through her body, and out the wound in her front. She barely twitched.

Okay. Done, the worst was done. Time for the easy stuff.

So why did he feel faint? The shaking only got worse as he cleaned and bandaged her, and when he finished, he was the one covered in blood. Again. And this was fresh. Meaning, she’d lost more than another spurt or two.

She needed a transfusion and fast. Only reason she was still alive was because she’d fed from a witch on the way here. That wouldn’t save her much longer, though. She was wheezing. The death rattle, some called it.

Riley scrubbed a hand down his face. What should he do? Carrying her to a hospital would kill her, no question. She wouldn’t survive the jostling. Being picked up by an ambulance might actually save her—if they got here at the speed of light.

What a nightmare. Now he panicked. He paced through the room, his gaze constantly straying to the phone. If he called 911, they would pick her up, but they would also hunt down her father. Dr. Gray would take her home, where any number of enemies could be waiting for her, ready to strike while she was too weak to defend herself.

’Course, you had to be alive to defend yourself, and that beat the hell out of dead.

He was decided, then.

Riley called 911, told them about the emergency—injured girl, blood loss, location—leaving out names, and then eased next to Mary Ann.

“Don’t tell them your name,” he said, hoping, somehow, that she heard him. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them your name.”

No response. Worse, she no longer had an aura. She was colorless.

She needed to feed again, or she wouldn’t make it, no matter how quickly the first responders got here. There wasn’t time to find her another witch, her preference, but there was a solution: she could feed off him.

Not allowing himself to think about his actions, or the consequences, Riley reached around her and flattened his hands on her chest, just over her now too-faint heartbeat. He’d never done anything like this, so he wasn’t sure it’d work, but he was giving it a go anyway. Maybe, as stressed as her body was, she would simply feed automatically.

Closing his eyes, he imagined the essence of his wolf-self. Deep inside, embedded in the marrow of his bones. Saw the tiny sparks of golden light that swirled there, pushed at the sparks, pushed, pushed, forcing them out of his body, through his pores and willing them inside of Mary Ann.

Her entire body jolted, and she gasped. A moment later, she sagged against the mattress, her breathing, dare he think it, evening out. Determination renewed, he continued to push, until he was sweating, panting, his own pulse rate rising. Until his muscles were knotted painfully, perhaps permanently. Until his chest felt like ground-up hamburger meat with tacks mixed in. He was raw, stinging.

How much time had passed, he wondered as he, too, sagged into the mattress. He didn’t have the strength to look around at the nightstand clock. Nor did he have the strength to switch into his wolf form, something he’d wanted to do before the emergency crew rushed inside the room.

Which they were currently doing.

The door had crashed open, but he hadn’t heard it. Couldn’t hear anything, he realized. Three human men were looming over the bed, two of them looking over Mary Ann, forcing her eyelids apart, shining bright lights into her corneas, attaching some kind of medical pads to her chest. The other human did the same to Riley. Was talking to him, maybe asking him questions, but Riley couldn’t make out the words.

The world around him was hazing over, as if a morning fog had rolled in. Then he was being lifted, settled against something cold and semisoft. A gurney, maybe. He turned his head to ensure Mary Ann was being placed on a gurney, too, but the fog had thickened, and he saw only a stretch of endless white.

Something sharp in his arm, something warm in his vein. No, not warm, burning, whooshing through him. A moment later, his eyelids were too heavy to hold open. Darkness came. He fought it, needing to know Mary Ann was okay, that they weren’t being separated. Another sting, another burn. Still he fought.

The darkness intensified. Stronger and stronger, until Riley was completely consumed. Until he couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Until he forgot why he’d been fighting in the first place.

IN A STOLEN CAR, Tucker followed behind the ambulance. Both Mary Ann and the wolf were inside. He’d watched the paramedics wheel them in. Both had been hooked to IVs already, the humans working frantically to save them. Which meant they’d still been alive. Surprising. He’d heard the grim expectation in their voices, and knew they thought they’d lose both kids before they reached the hospital.

Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t. Riley and Mary Ann had held on this long. Why not longer?

Either way, the pair had to die. Just like the witches.

The witches. Don’t think about that, he shouted to himself. He’d just relive the screams, the sobs, the pleas and then the fading groans. The footsteps as a few escaped him. The ensuing chase. Failure. Vlad’s insistence that he let the escapees go and find the wolf and drainer instead. Apparently, offing the pair was more important than offing the witches, who would be desperate to avenge their fallen friends.

Something Tucker would be punished for later. Brutally.

All too soon he realized Riley and Mary Ann were headed to St. Mary’s, the hospital where Mary Ann had been born. The hospital where Aden had been born. The hospital where Mary Ann’s mother had died.

Upon arrival, Riley and Mary Ann were quickly wheeled inside. They’d made it, survived the trek. Tucker exited his vehicle and stood outside, the bitter wind blowing around him. No one noticed him. Not even the cameras monitoring the area could pick up his image.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked Vlad, knowing the vampire would hear.

A guy in scrubs, who had been in the process of passing him, stopped and frowned, looking around. As Tucker was currently casting an illusion, the human saw only the emergency parking lot, the people walking through it and the cars ambling in and out of it.

They’re weak. Now is the perfect time to strike, Vlad replied.

Muttering under his breath, Scrubs moved on.

“You want me to…” Tucker gulped. He couldn’t say the words. Even after everything he’d done, he still couldn’t say the words. Not Mary Ann, his human side screamed. Please not Mary Ann. Not again.

Kill them, yes. Both of them. And don’t disappoint me this time, Tucker.

“I won’t,” he said, thinking, one day I’ll kill you.

Oh, and did I forget to tell you what your punishment will be if you fail me this time? No? A cruel, cruel laugh. Well, allow me to do so now. I will find your brother. I will drain your brother. After I play with him a bit. No. No! This was not happening. They weren’t doing this.

Are we clear?

His kid brother, one of the only people he truly loved. In danger. Because of him. No, he thought again, teeth grinding, but he said, “Yes, we’re clear,” and got to work.