“My children will right this wrong. They are retribution. They will win this, so they can punish you in the next game and the next.” He bared yellowed teeth. “Enjoy your final days in this life, you treacherous bitch!”
Jack clocked him for that.
The man grunted in pain, taking long moments to focus his vision. “Let’s talk about those kids, Milo. We’re goan to ring them up, inform them of our upcoming hostage swap.”
“They won’t trade anyone for me.”
“For their chronicles, then?” Aric slid the tome into a waterproof sleeve he’d found.
Milo redlined on the crazy meter, spittle flying. “Thief! You have no right to those!”
“Stay on topic.” Jack backhanded him again, rocking the man’s head to the side. “Your kids. Where are they?”
“I will never give them away!”
Jack just smiled. Though I knew Milo had earned the retribution he was about to receive, I didn’t want to watch him tortured. Especially not by Jack.
Plus the red witch would probably view it as recreation and crave similar forms of entertainment.
I caught Jack’s gaze.
“I got this, Evie. You want to wait outside?” Aric rose, book in hand. “I’ll take you.”
As we exited, Milo told Jack, “I remember your pretty sister. Vincent told me she liked to beg in French—”
His scream ripped through the night. Even as I flinched, the red witch found the sound as pleasurable as a petal’s caress.
I took a seat on a bench not far from where the petrifying Thanatos waited, giving passersby the willies.
When Milo let loose another strangled scream, Death began to pace, his spurs clinking. “If the mortal can’t control himself, this will not work. Torture isn’t as simple as one would think.” Pacing, pacing. “Does Deveaux know how to torment his victim while leaving the man conscious? Will he avoid major arteries? It’s not so easy a feat.”
“You want to go back in, don’t you?”
“The sooner we retrieve Selena for Deveaux, the sooner you return home with me.”
I parted my lips to argue, then decided not to waste my breath. I waved him away. “Just go.”
“Don’t leave this place, sievā, and keep your guard up. There could still be loyalists about.” He returned to the tent.
As I waited, Milo screamed intermittently. But I could also hear people talking about Jack, Aric, and me. A group of women gabbed about the hunter’s “hot-as-fire” Cajun accent and “steely” gray eyes. They found Aric “eerily gorgeous.”
Jealousy flared on both counts. I was used to feeling it over Jack and Selena, but not as often for Death. For kicks and giggles, I imagined Aric kissing someone else.
My claws budded.
And what did Azey North think of me? The men found me “unnerving” yet “definitely doable.” The women? “She’s so creepy.” “Did you see that vine snaking around her head?”
Still, whenever people walked by me, I smiled in greeting. They nodded politely, but couldn’t hide their nervousness.
I sighed. Just over a year ago, I’d been in high school, making friends with such ease.
Then I caught a fragment of conversation coming from the other side of the tent—about Jack. Was that Rodrigo?
Sidling closer, I eavesdropped as he told another soldier how the hunter had single-handedly ganked dozens of Baggers last night—with nothing but a tire iron.
After Jack had promised me not to take unnecessary risks?
The. Hell.
I strode over to the pair. “Rodrigo, can I talk to you for a second?” Something in my tone made the other guy scurry off.
Rodrigo swallowed. “Sure?”
“You were exaggerating about Jack. Right?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, relaxing a touch. “Some of the older guys didn’t believe the rumors about Deveaux and Baggers, so they told him to nut up or shut up. I saw him charge into a horde with my own eyes. That guy’s fearless.”
Jack had broken his promise to me—the same night he’d given it. “Thanks. Uh, carry on, soldier.”
When he wandered off with a bemused grin, I pulled that red ribbon out of my pocket.
Why did Jack feel he could risk himself like that? Maybe he did have a death wish.
By the time Aric and Jack emerged, I’d decided not to confront him. For now. We were too close to freeing Selena; nothing could get in the way of that. Not my anger, not his disregard. “Well?”
“That man could dish out the torture, but couldn’t take it, no.” Jack scrubbed a palm over his chin, his scarred knuckles bloodied. “He told us the twins are in a blast-proof bunker.”
“It’s over a day north of here,” Aric added. “High in the mountains and accessible only by horse. A place they call the Shrine.”
Milo could be lying. “Can you trust what he says?”
“Ouais. I usually got a good sense about these things, and I think he spilled some truths—in between spitting out teeth like yellow Chiclets. Just to be sure, I can confirm.” Jack unclipped a transceiver from his belt. “Got the jammers turned off, me. You ready to ring up the twins’ bunker?” I might have been mistaken, but I thought he’d asked me and Aric.
“Let’s do this.” I held my breath as Jack hailed them.
And released it with dread when we received no answer.
34
“I can’t remember when I last beheld such a show.” In the doorway of our roadside shelter—an old clapboard church—Aric stood silhouetted by lightning. Bolts teemed across the black sky.
Inside, Jack was inspecting the explosives he’d requisitioned from the army. Milo was tied up, fettered to a rough-hewn pew. So I’d joined Aric to watch the fireworks.
After pushing for miles through a brutal squall, we’d found this isolated, still-standing church and rewarded ourselves and our horses with a few hours of rest.
In the nearby graveyard, the tombstones were all crooked and scorched, as dark and foreboding as Aric’s armor. When we’d first stopped, he’d breathed in deeply amid the crosses, headstones, and slabs, so at home that I’d raised a brow. “I like churches,” he’d said with a grin. “Graveyards especially.”
Even though he’d named his horse Thanatos and he’d discovered his armor on a corpse in a bone crypt, I’d never thought of Aric as so, well, death-y.