Page 121 of Court of Evil

He looks from Shamus to me. “I’m one of you!”

“No, you’re a killer with a patch.” I grip his arm, ripping the patch off then holding it up for him. “And that patch does not protect you anymore. You are no longer a hunter, which just makes you a killer. Would you prefer to die on your knees like the weakling you are or on your feet? It’s your choice.”

“You want me dead? You’ll have to fight for it,” he bellows as he leaps at me. I sidestep him and hold up my hand to stop the others who are moving forward.

“He’s mine. Keep your eyes out for the wendigo,” I call as George turns, his gaze landing on me again. He knows I’m smarter, faster, and stronger. He’s at a disadvantage, and he recognises it.

“I hear your dad died screaming your name,” he hisses. “He was eaten, and there was nothing left. I bet it hurt.”

I know he’s trying to make me sloppy, so I rein in my anger, arching a brow. I know how my father died. It haunts me to this day.

“Did he cry like a little bitch? Beg? I bet he did. He always was a pussy. You loved your daddy, didn’t you? Loved him a little too much. It was always strange how he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. Tell me, Tate, did your daddy love you a lot? Did he love his precious daughter in all the right ways?” He leers at me. “Did the great William Havelock like little kids? I bet he did.”

My nostrils flare as Shamus’s voice fills the air. “I wouldn’t,” he warns George. “You’re just making it worse for yourself.”

“He’s right,” I agree, my voice dead and cold. “I was going to kill you quickly. Now, I’m going to make it hurt.”

I hold daggers in both hands as I head towards him. His eyes track my movements, and when I get close, I feint left then right and spin around him. Gripping the back of his head, I shove him to his knees. He struggles, but I dig my thumb into his mouth and force it open, slipping my blade inside as he screams and fights

“I hate hearing his name from your mouth,” I snarl as I rip out his tongue. “Now, I never have to hear it again.”

Stepping back as he screams, I hold his tongue up. “Now your mouth is as useless as the rest of you.” He covers his mouth, his face pale. “You can dish out pain, but you can’t take it. You’rethe weak one. Look at you. One little wound and you’re down. I expected more.” I look to Shamus with a laugh. “You tagged him red for nothing. He’s pathetic.”

He crashes into me, and I laugh as he tackles me to the ground. His fist pummels into my side, and I let him. My ribs crack, but I let him get his best shot in before I jerk my fist up. It hits him square in the face, bursting his nose as he falls backwards, and I sit up. “Is that really the best you have?”

The noise that leaves him is a mixture of a laugh and a cough, and I follow his gaze to the dagger sticking from my side. I didn’t even feel it thanks to the layers I’m wearing. “Really? This is my favourite shirt,” I snap as I tug it free and throw it at him with a flick of my fingers. It embeds in his bicep, and he makes that horrible screaming noise again as he holds up his arm.

Sighing, I climb to my knees. “This is just boring. I expected more.”

“Then stop playing with your food.” Zeev chuckles. “Play with us instead.”

“Fine.” Reaching over, I pull the dagger from his arm and grip his chin. “This is for my father.” I drive it into his eye. It doesn’t go as deep as one would think, but as he falls to the ground, writhing, I drive my boot into the handle over and over until he stops moving.

Reaching over my shoulder, I tug my father’s sword free. It seems apt that it will deliver the final blow. Hoisting George up, I grip his hair as I press the sharp edge of the blade to his neck and start to carve. His arteries burst, spraying his hot blood across my face.

It’s not as easy as one might think to cut off a head. It’s messy and tiring, but when it’s done, I pry the last string of muscle keeping it on his spine away and hold it up victoriously, just as a mighty bellow fills the air.

“That would be the wendigo,” Shamus casually remarks.

“Shit.” I glance down at the head and drop it, keeping hold of the sword. “Anyone remember how to kill a wendigo? I’m a little rusty.”

“Silver to the heart is the best bet,” Shamus answers instantly.

“Do you have any pure silver?”

“Of course.” He grins as the trees shake on the other end of the clearing and then finally part to reveal the wendigo.

“Good, we’re going to need it,” I mutter as I stare at the monster. This one is old and too far gone to care what or who is on its land. Its head lifts, scenting the blood. It’s more monster than man, which is why I can guess its age. Its huge, talon-tipped hands drag along the ground, its skeleton head lifting to show me black, soulless eyes. Fur covers its warped back and limbs. I can see its ribs protruding from its side, and I even see a flash of bone where someone tried to kill it before. This one won’t be easy.

It roars again, swinging its head to me. Of fucking course.

It barrels towards me, and I realise why—I’m covered in blood.

“It wants the blood. I’ll be bait!” I shout to Shamus. “Make sure to aim true.”

I whistle loudly when it jerks to a stop as Fang throws something at it, catching its attention again, but only for a moment before it turns to Addeus. Snarling, I grab my dagger and slice my palm. The cut bleeds, and I squeeze it, then it turns. “That’s right. You want me. I’m tasty. Come and get it, you cannibal.”

“Angel,” Shamus yells.

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