Page 57 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
My Dearest Belle,
You will remain here. You will be a good girl and wait for me to return. I have some business to tend to. If you leave, if you try to follow me, I will whip your ass so hard, you won’t sit down till next October.
Your monstrous love,
Jackson Elias Moore
Oh, god, Jack, what has he done? Where is he go?—
He heard everything. Is he going after the sheriff? Or worse…is he going to the Covenant?
Blood thunders in my eardrums as I grab my scarf and coat, fly out the back door, and head in the opposite direction toward the manor.
I need to get to Revenant.
22
It is her punishment, her destiny, to bear my child
JACK
Ifollow the sheriff up the mountain.
He drives cautiously up the narrow dirt road, the old truck’s headlights cutting through the dense fog that blankets the mountain’s base. Each bump and rut in the path jostles the vehicle, and the tires kick up loose gravel, but I can easily keep pace with him, slipping in and out of shadows like the cursed phantom I am. I absorb the shadows and become one with the trees, moving silently through the thick forest.
I am a part of the night itself. And I know every inch of these mountains. With my resurrected head thanks to taking my sweet summoner against the wall, it is effortless.
A needling sensation pricks my spine. Can I truly expect her to stay where she is? I will fulfill my vow to burn and bloody her arse if she doesn’t. Or perhaps…hmm, yes, I consider my other idea, storing it away for later.
As the sheriff slows his truck, I pause, taking in the structure emerging from the mist. The high stone walls are weathered but strong, serving as a solid foundation for the iron fences that rise above them. The iron forms spikes at the crest, a sharp barrier meant to keep citizens inside and outliers beyond its reach.
I shouldn’t be too surprised by the more modern advancements and facilities. Such a framework enables more control. I spy four watchtowers, and a growl rumbles in my chest at the militia guards with their automatic weapons.
It’s been nine years since Belle was in the clutches of this ominous place. And her grandmother helped her flee last time. If she falls back into their hands, those jaws will close around her, ripping her from me forever.
Over my goddamned, missing heart.
A large, wrought-iron double gate marks the entrance, daunting and unyielding.
Hidden among the thick pines, I observe as the sheriff reaches the checkpoint. Two bulky guards in dark uniforms stand at the gate, armed with rifles. One steps forward, raising a flashlight to inspect the sheriff.
The sheriff jerks up his sleeve, exposing his wrist. I narrow my eyes as the beam of light catches a brand in the shape of a circle—amark I’m assuming is the Covenant’s insignia. The guard nods, satisfied, and the gates groan as they swing open, the sheriff’s truck rumbling through.
I wander closer to the fence, careful to keep to the darkness, studying the compound’s main area and its mix of old-world ruggedness and modern efficiency. Beyond the high walls, the compound proves to be more sophisticated than I expected. Generators hum quietly, providing a steady stream of power to the buildings. Floodlights are mounted on tall iron poles, casting sinister shadows upon the compound. Security cameras on several walls monitor the area. Thankfully, none can catch my profile, but it would detect a blurry shadow of a man.
I can’t be caught.
Most buildings are newer, constructed with modern materials. Metal siding reflects the artificial lanterns with the eerie glow of LED lights through the windows. The combination of technology and antiquity creates an unsettling atmosphere, a clash between the past and present as if the Covenant straddles two worlds—one foot in the modern era, the other still rooted in something archaic and dark.
My gaze drifts to the western corner of the small city, about five hundred yards away. It’s like staring through a portal to the past, an era too similar to mine. It must be the original part of the settlement, though it’s more ruins. A stark contrast to the modern compound.
Time and weather have battered the old farmhouses. Their wooden boards are splintered and gray, peeling paint and exposing damp and rotting lumber underneath. Rusty tin roofs creak in the wind, and the faint sound of rooftop weather vanes turns lazily, their arrows screeching through the air.
I recognize it as the Covenant’s desire to preserve their foundation, these remnants of the past—groundwater pumps with iron handles, butter churns abandoned on sagging porches, and broken wagons left to rot. They are ghosts of a forgotten time and seem to whisper memories of a simpler but darker, more primal life. The air is thick with the sensation of patriarchal energy and old-world blood. Hoodedfigures and black magic rituals by roaring bonfires, branded flesh, and forced breeding.
Vicious possession fills me at the thought of Belle in this horrific place. I will do whatever it takes to protect my angel, my bookworm, who is everything sweet and good in this rotted world.
By now, the sheriff has parked his truck near the entrance. I watch and wait for him to advance and disappear inside the main building. Then I shadow over the fence with a supernatural grace gifted to me by the curse, though until now, I didn’t see it as a blessing.
