Chapter Twenty-Seven
As a rule, Devon didn’t like killing people. He had justified his occupation many times to himself over the years, but every job required a mental shift in how he typically behaved.
He and his bear were insistent that there had to be a compelling reason for a person’s demise. Devon had made that plain from the first time he had been approached by the agency. This was well before he’d met Storm, Levi, Calvin, Flint, and Python - when he was working by himself.
He and the others had become solid friends over the years, but Devon noticed that nobody ever questioned what they did or seemed to have an issue with it – except him, in his private thoughts at night.
Devon recognized everyone processed actions in different ways, and it was likely the others didn’t feel it was right to talk about it for fear of being perceived as weak, or unable to do their job, either – much like how Devon felt.
But back to that compelling reason, or more specifically, the reason Devon was driving to a town in the middle of nowhere. In all the planning and thinking Devon had done about the job, he’d never imagined he would still be in two minds about what was coming.
A lot of that had to do with the fact that Wren was sitting beside him.
Doing a job because it had to be done, otherwise countless others might suffer, was one thing.
Cold-bloodedly taking a person’s life in front of the man who was meant to be his forever had never been a situation that Devon had thought he would be in.
Storm had spoken occasionally about how he felt when he found Pax. Pax had been chained to a floor and was close to being killed. The machete was a good clue.
But Storm had said at that time that his realization that Pax was his mate, and had been taken and abused by the man he’d already been sent to kill, all came at the same time in a rush of adrenaline, where Storm knew he had to do what was done. And he did it.
Devon’s wasn’t a case of breaking in somewhere and saving Wren. He had done that, but he had purposefully put distance between Wren and that wretched snake shifter, leaving the kill to Python – a person he trusted to get the job done.
Python had an unusual way of looking at things.
He was more likely to be laughing at a mark’s face as he took his life, because that was just the type of guy he was.
It didn’t mean that Python didn’t have a heart, because he definitely did, but he didn’t seem to worry about anything in his job description.
Devon wondered if that was because Python had spent so much of his life in the Underworld.
Maybe the concepts of death were different there.
For Devon, death was a finality. Taking somebody’s life was a huge responsibility and absolutely could not be done unless the person had a pattern of behavior that wouldn’t stop.
The pastor was one of those people. The file sent by the agency showed the pastor had been selling children for at least fifty years and probably more.
The Jorgenson cult wasn’t the pastor’s first dabble in controlling populations.
Cut out the waffle, brain. Focus on the job at hand, Devon thought as the GPS dinged at him, letting him know his turn off the main road was coming up.
While Wren had been asleep on the plane, Devon had gone over the files sent by the agency and had done some research on the address and the area himself.
Google Maps showed the pastor lived in the largest house in the area - set back from the road, and private from the town of Jorgenson.
The only building in the area close to the same size was the church.
Otherwise, the only other businesses in Jorgenson seemed to be a general store, a gas station, and a fast-food outlet.
Public access to the house was down a very long driveway, surrounded by trees - not suspicious at all.
From the aerial view of the house, it was U-shaped and seemed exceptionally large - the type of house that a vampire would prefer.
Devon was well-versed in breaking into numerous places, but the size of the building meant his chances of having the element of surprise on his side were slim.
Another issue Devon couldn’t ignore was that bear shifters, as a rule, struggled to take out vampires.
He had done it before, but it wasn’t easy.
As a species, vampires were hellishly fast, they had poison in their claws, and while the whole ability to thrall someone didn’t work on a shifter, at least nowhere near as well as it did on a non-paranormal, there was still the possibility that a bear shifter could be swayed by the effect of the thrall, just long enough for the vampire to get his claws in.
Move fast. Don’t hesitate. The vampire was likely going to hear him from the moment he gained access to the house.
No one at the agency could pinpoint how old the pastor was, but if he was more than five hundred years old, he may have another skill, such as invisibility, telepathy, or enhanced strength – skills that only kicked in for older vampires.
Devon wasn’t sure if the pastor had any of them, but he needed to be aware that it could happen.
With any luck, the man has gotten complacent or lazy.
Devon had seen it before with people in a position of power over others.
They had an overriding sense of self-confidence that could be taken advantage of.
Although that could be wishful thinking on Devon’s part.
He still hadn’t formulated a concrete plan by the time he pulled into a small, hidden shoulder, not far from the pastor’s house.
There was no point in announcing their arrival by taking the car up the driveway.
It was fully dark overhead, but Devon could still see Wren’s face clearly once he’d parked the car and turned off the headlights.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here?
” he asked quietly, turning in his seat and cupping his mate’s jaw.
“The pastor’s house is about a ten-minute walk through the trees.
If you would rather stay here, just lock yourself in the car. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Wren shook his head. “I need to be with you. Call it instinct, call it whatever, but I need to be with you.”
Devon expected that. “I understand, but please, remember what I told you about vampires. The man we’re confronting is not the genial pastor you remember growing up.”
“He was hardly genial, but I do remember.” Wren nodded. “Vampires move super quickly. They have poison in their claws…”
“Please don’t forget that.” That was one of Devon’s biggest worries.
“If he scratches you at all, gets near you in any way, shift. I don’t care what you shift into, but shift into the biggest darn thing you can think of, or the smallest, it doesn’t matter.
But you need to get away and shift immediately.
That will negate the poison in the claws.
If you don’t, the poison will make you sick very quickly. ”
“I’m going to trust that won’t happen. You’ve already said you have a machete. All we have to do is sneak in, and you cut off his head, right? I don’t have to get near him.”
If you think that, then you should probably stay in the car.
But Devon made sure none of those ideas went through their bond.
He also kept all the ways Wren’s simplistic thinking could go wrong to himself.
“We keep our plans flexible for a reason, precious,” he said, leaning over the middle console and kissing Wren’s nose.
“The first step is finding out if he’s home. ”
“It’s Tuesday night.” Wren checked the time on the dashboard clock. “If things genuinely haven’t changed, we have about twenty minutes before he gets back from the church meeting. Plenty of time to find a way into the house, don’t you think?”
“I probably should’ve asked you what you remembered about his habits before we got here.” One more quick kiss and Devon forced himself to move away. “I’ll get my bag out of the trunk, and we’ll get moving.”
/~/~/~/~/
The pastor’s house had no security – the agency had already confirmed that - but as Devon picked the lock to the back door, his bear was on high alert.
Wren seemed curious about what his fingers were doing, and Devon could feel the chameleon’s presence as well, but they gained access to the house within a few minutes.
Making their way through the utility room that opened up into a huge, unused kitchen, Devon stopped to check the refrigerator. “Are you wondering what type of hot dogs the pastor eats?” Wren asked in a whisper.
“I’m looking for his blood supply. A vampire would have to have one.” Devon scowled at the shelves, empty except for a gallon of milk. “I guess he’s taking it from the source.”
“He has private meetings with individual church members every Tuesday and Thursday. Could he be eating from them then? Wouldn’t they notice?”
“Not if he’s got them under his thrall,” Devon said grimly. “Let’s get to the front door. Hopefully, we’ll catch him before he realizes we’re in the house.”
And that’s what happened. Wren was over by the grand staircase that dominated the entrance hall when they both heard the door lock turn. Devon hurried behind the front door, so he could be hidden when the door opened, but Wren seemed frozen, his hand gripping the banister.
Hide, Wren. For fuck’s sake, hide. Devon winced as he realized he was too late. As the vampire came in, Wren was the first and only person he would’ve seen.
“My goodness, how unexpected.” The pastor seemed genuinely pleased to see someone just randomly standing in his entrance hall, although behind the door, Devon was frantic. He adjusted the grip on his machete. He was only going to get one swipe, and he was determined to make it count.
The vampire clicked a light switch by the door, and the area was flooded with soft light.
“Little Wren, is that you? You’re the last person I expected to see this evening.
Look at you, all fancy in your suit and boots – a far cry from the wretched little urchin you were at fourteen.
Have you come back to me? Did that snake throw you out, or did you finally realize your worth and kill the no-good idiot? ”
“I brought you a present.” Wren coughed and straightened his back. “I brought you a present as payment for what you did for me.”
“A present, for me?” Devon couldn’t see the vampire’s face as he was staring at a broad back and slender neck.
The vampire’s blond hair was cut close to his head.
“Don’t tell me you’re still on the crazy religious train everyone else around here won’t get off of – thinking that you owe me something and all that bullshit.
Honestly, it’s getting so tedious. Well, what is it? What did you bring me?”
Devon could scent no fear coming from the vampire, but the disdainful tone he used with Wren, treating him and all the people who likely worshipped him and paid for the extravagant house as if they were nothing, was the push Devon needed.
“He brought me,” Devon growled, his bear lending him strength as he moved forward, his machete swinging before the pastor had a chance to turn around.
The pastor’s face still had its shocked expression as his head fell to the floor.
Determined to make sure the vampire was truly dead, Devon kicked the head, rolling it farther away from the slumped body.
“He won’t get up, will he?” Wren crept forward. “Do heads reattach in paranormals?”
“Not in vampires, no.” Devon let out a long breath as he let the hand holding the machete drop to his side. “You took ten years off my life when you didn’t hide. I thought you’d tuck yourself under the staircase.”
“I was doing what you said about being flexible. It worked out better this way.” Wren was still studying the body. “By focusing on me, the pastor wouldn’t have thought to look for you until it was too late. It made sense in my head.”
He’s not wrong. “Thank you…I think. We need to get out of here,” Devon said, reaching into his pants pocket for his phone. “I’ll text Cyrus to let him know the job’s done. The cleaners will be in here within an hour, and we can’t be here for that.”
“They need to look for a basement,” Wren was looking around as though a door with a basement sign would be visible in the hallway.
“Is that where you were held when you were taken?”
“No, I didn’t come here. Maybe an attic? I was thinking about what you said about the blood supply.” Wren rubbed the side of his neck. “I don’t know how much blood a vampire needs, but I’ve just got this feeling…”
“We can’t stay and look, that’s not what we do.
Absolutely no one can know we were here, and we’re not allowed to take anything from the scene, including people.
I’m texting Cyrus now.” Devon started tapping out a message.
He wasn’t sure if the cleaners would find anything, or anyone, but he respected Wren’s intuition the same as he did his own.
“I promise if anyone else is here, they’ll be safe, as will the rest of this town from now on. ”
“Okay. That’s good. Someone needs to check.” Wren dropped his hand and nodded. “I feel a bit woozy, lightheaded.” Devon stepped over the dead body as Wren swayed on his feet. “Is that normal?”
“You probably just need some fresh air.” Finishing his text to Cyrus and hitting send, Devon wrapped his arm around Wren’s waist. “Let’s get back to the car.”