Page 83 of Redeemed
Connor reaches the pyre and, shifting the Princess to free one hand, starts to climb. For every toehold he finds, he loses two others to the slippery wood. The smell of gasoline grows stronger. I should have carried the Princess. I could have leapt to the top of the pile without climbing. Instead, I’m stuck watching him struggle, and I hate it.
Reaching the top, Connor stands. He settles the Princess in his arms and turns to face us. “She’s here, Betancourt. Now let David go.”
“Light it.”
One cue, three of Jacques’ minions toss burning torches at the gasoline-soaked wood. The pyre bursts into flame like it’s been hit by a meteorite.
“Connor!” The word is torn from me, leaving a wound. He stands on the top of the pyre, still holding the Princess, surrounded by smoke and flames. “Jump, you idiot. Leave her there and jump.”
He doesn’t jump, and with a giant woosh, the pyre is completely engulfed in flame. I’m vaguely aware that David runs toward the fire but someone—probably Sheena—stops him. Jacques’ allies are cheering with exultation, and Jacques himself…
Jacques has his eyes on the heavens, his hands raised. He’s mouthing words I can’t hear. He’s so intent on his spell, in fact, that he doesn’t see me coming.
This is my chance, my moment. He’s threatened everything I value. Still, I hesitate, giving in to one hundred and fifty years of doubt.
Oh, hell no.Never again.
“You bastard,” I scream, and for a heartbeat he looks at me, eyebrows raised as if he’s confused.
With no hesitation, no question in my mind, I shove the stake into his heart. His confusion turns to shock, his eyes go dark, and then, he’s gone. He’s too old and powerful to fall into a pile of dust—Buffy Summers had it wrong—so for good measure, I tear off his head.
That look of surprise will stay with me, haunting my moments of uncertainty. So be it. I want to yell at him, to tell him I’m not ashamed of who I am, that I’m man enough to stand up to him.
That I love two men above all else, and he can fuck right off if he thinks I’d give either one of them up.
Instead, I survey the debacle around me, my whole body pulsing with pain. There’s fighting, but it’s sporadic. The fire burns, but the heat and flames are already fading. Someone comes close, startling me.
The familiar scent of wolf cuts through the nightmare stink of smoke. “David? He’s gone.”
“No.” David’s defiance is like a slap in the face. “He’ll be back. He will.”
I grab hold of his hands, his warmth a touchstone in a sea of despair. “He was standing in the middle of a firebomb, puppy. I don’t see how he could have survived.”
David doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t let go of my hands, either. We’re interrupted by a trio of strigoi. I lunge at one but he dodges and keeps running. They’re being chased by a pair of vampires who make short work of them. It’s in the best interest of the other vampire sires to destroy the strigoi Jacques conjured.
Chaos surrounds us, fire and pain and Connor is gone. Brodie and Sheena are tag-teaming a couple of Jacques’ scions. Lydia has planted herself in front of Abby and Cliffe, her menacing glare enough to keep the bad guys away. Clusters of shifters on four legs keep up the battle, but many more have run away. Jacques’ troll has vanished, or else Stone chased him off, and so has Delia Packard’s vampire. Better yet, that horrible sense of evil is fraying like foam whipped off the waves.
I pull David closer. “It’s too much to hope that he’s faked his own death a second time.”
David clenches my shirt in his fists, his face pressed against my chest. “Of course he has. The copper heart has the most to lose, and all hinges on his choice.”
“What?”
“Something Cliffe said, back at Jacques’ house.”
Cliffe. The psychic lesbian werewolf. “She said something to me, too. When we first met.” I scramble through my memories. “Something about how he cannot die. I wasn’t sure if she meant Jacques or Connor.”
David lays his palm on my cheek. “Pretty sure she didn’t mean Jacques.”
He’s right about that. That awareness of my maker, the sense of him I hadn’t entirely lost even after I created a scion of my own, is gone. For the first time in one hundred and fifty years, I am alone.
But not entirely.
I rest my cheek on David’s head, holding him tight as if I’ll be able to absorb his assurance through my skin. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Connor surrounded by flame. I reach out, searching for him on some essential level. I’m not sure what I find. “Do you still feel him?”
David sighs. “The bonds of pack are so thin they’d make a spider’s web look sturdy, but he’s not gone yet.”
Yet?
