Page 6 of Bite of Passage
Only watch one episode a day.
She twisted her throw pillow to the point she worried it’d bust a seam.The image of Skarde right after he’d said her name sat frozen on the disc’s home screen.
One more time.She’d watch the episode once more.
* * *
Skarde Blackmannwasreal.
And in pain.
He knew better than to trust a witch.Petra’s blade had been poisoned, which burned with every jostle of his horse.By some miracle he hadn’t destroyed her on the spot.The Hunters had made him vow not to kill her until they’d retrieved all the demon crystals she’d collected.They worried she kept them somewhere warded.
If she wasdead, she couldn’t use the crystals.The Hunters didn’t see that as a valid option.They argued someone else might get to them.
He hissed in pain when his horse stumbled on the rain-drenched rocky path.
Daytime sleep would purge the toxin and heal the wound, but it couldn’t happen until he found safety.Several hours remained until he arrived home.About that much time remained until daylight.The toxic rays of the sun would burn him to a crisp.A nasty death.
He dismounted and walked the tired horse up the steepest part of the winding passage over the mountain.His horse could’ve carried him the whole way, but the loyal beast had trudged this same journey up and down two mountains three times in the past two weeks.The last half mile up the second mountain was the worst—narrow and now slick from icy rain.
He picked at bits of ice in the horse’s mane.“We’ll get you warm when we get home.”
Every time he decided to never do another favor for the three annoyances—Craig, Lees, and Mallory—riding ahead of him or to never take on a new, low paying mission to kill a half insane magical creature tormenting humans, fate bit him in the ass and forced him to act.
Walking instead of riding let the three humans pull ahead.They were idealistic, sometimes honorable, thrill seekers who, like him, realized there was a decent paycheck in hunting that which scared normal people.They sucked at fighting non-humans, which is where he came in.Too often, he rescued them, not that it reflected in his cut of the payout.
Hours ago, he’d stopped listening to their analysis of the ball—how each handled their tasks and what new information they’d gleaned.Little clues about the crystals didn’t matter from his perspective.All they needed to know was Petra had at least one crystal, maybe two of the three.She planned to use them to summon an army of demons.
Petra thought herself unstoppable, but he’d dealt with plenty of narcissistic, power-hungry witches in the past.He should’ve tried mind persuasion on her to get her to give him the crystals.He’d never jump in bed with her to get them.Disgusting.Witches and vampires had been mortal enemies since the inception of their species.
He’d kept to himself what he kept to himself was what the mirror sorceress said.Petra working with VanFliet made no sense.Centuries ago, Skarde, VanFliet, and Skarde’s two brothers had served in the same militia unit until captured by a vampire and turned.VanFliet despised witches to the point he had hunted them for decades until he grew bored.Why would he join forces with one?It was improbable, but Skarde wasn’t stupid enough to discount it.Still, he remained skeptical of the woman with a soothing voice and a chest straight out of his fantasies who had called to him through a mirror.
When he first saw her, he thought he hallucinated her, but then she spilled her drink down her shirt.Hallucinations would never do something so daft.Gemma had seemed as shocked as he that they could communicate.
This reeked of witch or mage magic.Both usually tried to kill him.Whenever he let his guard down around those types of magical creature, it bit him in the ass.Like Petra jabbing him in the side with a fucking poisoned blade.
Gemma.A perfect name for one so stunning, with her long dark hair, creamy skin made imperfect by many freckles, and generous lips.Although her bone structure suggested aristocratic blood, she lacked the despotic arrogance of most highborn humans he’d met.
“I haven’t been watching long, but I’m Team Skarde.I swear.You need that wound looked at.If I were there, I’d help you.”
Team Skarde?No one opted onto his “team.”Yet she seemed to care that he’d been injured—and that in and of itself was more concern than most humans directed toward his kind, even the Hunters.He didn’t need it.The wound might burn, but it was temporary.
Her compassion had to be well crafted bullshit.She was nothing more than another female trying to draw him into her web to use him.
The horse stopped with its head raised and ears back.
A raven called out.
VanFliet.
He dropped his chin and cursed.He didn’t need this delay in getting home.
The flighty horse might decide to run off if a fight ensued.He pulled the horse’s head close with the reins and whispered, “Extra dinner if you don’t ditch me.We’ll have to fly down this mountain after this to make it before daylight.”
Not that this impulsive beast could understand him.
Above him at a cliff’s edge, a shadowy figure dressed in dark clothes meant to blend with the night flapped his distinctive split leg coat to show off his long sword.A shroud of slithery creatures moved around VanFliet’s body.This vampire was a veteran of countless bloody fights, but these days VanFliet liked to play general from a distance.
