Page 158 of Deacon

My eyes lock with my reflection.

I’m not the man I was a week ago, a month. Freya has changed me, deep inside. There’s no confusion about who I am.

John, the boy who got kicked around, is gone. Now, there’s only Deacon Ryder, a man who doesn’t question himself.

I want blood the way I needed it the night I put a stake into Henderson’s temple. I can be a gentle beast for her, but not for the rest of the world. Whatever son of a bitch fathered me put something in my veins that’s stronger than conditioning.

I’ve always wondered who he was, what he was like. Now, I think I’m looking at him. I’ve tried to change, to not be this brutal kind of man, but I always come back to myself in the end.

Numbly, I open the drawer and take out a silver chain, threading Freya’s ring on it and hanging it around my neck. Then, I turn on the shower and let it run while I take out the buzzer and run it over my head until there’s nothing left but a dark shadow.

There it is: the haunted dark eyes of the man who burnt the dead body of his brother, standing drenched in hot blood, watching the funeral pyre disappear into the sky.

Cain, left to wander the Earth.

I get in the shower and wash quickly. I’m fastening my belt and pulling a Henley over my head when I hear a faint shout from outside. My pulse spikes, and I pull on my boots and move down the stairs. Jack stands in the front door, body relaxed, rifle laying overhis thigh. He glances at me and jerks his head, disappearing onto the porch.

I follow him.

“Westin and Jensen went out,” he says. “There’s a man crossing the fence line.”

I scan the darkness, gaze fixing on bobbing lights near Deacon’s Hill. “Don’t shoot,” I say.

“They won’t,” he says. “They’re bringing him in.”

I alight the steps and watch the lights bob closer. Voices rise and fall. Three figures come into view: Westin and Jensen, a limp-shouldered man walking between them. They get closer, and I can see his hands are tied in front of him and he’s walking with difficulty.

Jensen steadies him as they reach the bottom step.

Bittern Hatfield.

He drags his head up. His skin is moonlight white and dewy with sweat.

“Jesus, you look like shit,” I say.

His chest heaves. “Can’t breathe good.”

I jerk my head. “Get him inside. He’s no good to us dead.”

They drag him into the kitchen, and I watch from the hallway while Jensen sets him down and gives him a glass of water and a shot of moonshine. Sovereign stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the porch, arms crossed. When he sees Bittern, he narrows his eyes and studies him without speaking.

“Where’s Freya?” I ask.

The kitchen goes quiet. Bittern drags his eyes to mine.

“She’s at the McClaine’s,” he manages. “She asked me to help her. I don’t know how.”

There’s a short silence. I sink down in the chair opposite him.

“Aiden put a tracker in my truck,” I say. “He trapped me.”

Bittern wipes his drenched face with his palm. “Yeah, he did. He didn’t expect you to leave so soon, but he had everything he needed with him. Ryland had his truck parked at the pull-off from the night before.”

I take a moment to digest that. Aiden disgusts me, but he’s smart. I underestimated how smart.

“So how do I know this isn’t a trap too?” I ask.

He shrugs.

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