Chapter Four
In which we find Luna is brave and resourceful but fails utterly as a seamstress.
Kai / “Wallace…”
The night is filled with the symphony of screams and the desperate scrabble of the lambs racing to escape the wolves.
No one escapes the Dark Games.
Sucking in a deep breath, I spin my bat again. The chilly night air feels good on my sweaty skin, and the howls from the other Lords make me tip back my head and roar with them. We are a pack of wolves, slavering, greedy, and ready to rip or tear each other in half just as eagerly as we do with these lambs.
That fierce lass, though, I’ll catch her and keep her safe. No one that clever deserves what she’ll get with one of these arseholes. I’m an arsehole too, but she’s better off with me.
I herded them in the right direction toward the boathouse, and she lights up when she sees it, pulling the redhead along with breathless encouragement.
Good. They’ll be safe for the night.
Mother. Fucker.
Deacon is already there, eagerly striding over to her and her sobbing friend. Stepping into the shadow of a thick bush, I hear her speech, calling him a “Little rich bitch and a pussy who has to pay for sex.” The words roll effortlessly off her tongue, and I have to stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from applauding, because that is some epic shite.
He is a little bitch and the truth hurts. His knuckles are white, gripping his whip handle, and she takes off like a shot before he can use it on her again. Her redheaded friend makes it safely to the boathouse, and I sigh. Good. She’ll be safe there for the rest of the hunt.
My lass, she’s not hiding. She’s no helpless lamb like the others. Nor is she a wolf like me. She’s a fox.
And she’s gonna to be mine.
“Feels like Déjà vu ,” I murmur, running parallel with her again through the trees. I can see her fury, her narrowed eyes, and her muscled arms pumping as she jumps over bushes, skirting fallen trees.
She trips, falling to her hands and knees. I wonder if she’ll stay down, cry, and surrender. No, she’s up, cursing under her breath and saying something about a deer.
Deacon pops up like a freshly summoned demon.
He rushes into the little clearing after her, he must have taken the shortcut by the generator outbuilding, the sneaky feck.
He cracks his whip, the vicious tip of it ending right in front of her face, and she growls like a cornered dog. He does it again, the whip wrapping around a tree branch instead of her as she sidesteps it, swiftly seizing the end of the whip and trying to yank it from his grip.
A bold, graceful move. I nod in approval.
Unfortunately, it’s a mistake. He yanks on the handle and sends her to her knees, wrapping his whip around her throat as she curses him, pulling desperately on the leather.
“Did you know,” Deacon gloats, “that there’s two hundred and six bones in the human body?” He tightens his grip as she growls, arching her back and thrashing wildly. “And I’m going to break every one of yours. After I fuck you.”
“Oh, please, pencil dick.” She’s choking on the whip, trying to pull it loose, and her voice is nothing more than a rasp. “It’s not like you can get it up anyway, right? That’s why you play little boy games in Daddy’s mansion. Fuck you.” Her face is an alarming shade of red, but her eyes are still spitting fire.
There was no specific plan to kill Deacon at that moment. I just had to.
It only takes three long strides to reach them. I’m nearly silent, and Deacon’s too far into his fantasies of rape and torture to hear me. My bat swings over his head, pressing against the front of his throat with my hands on either end as I jam my knee into his back. It should take less than sixty seconds to crush his windpipe.
His grip loosens on his whip as he throws his head back, trying to knock me off him. He’s a strong fecker, but his muscles come from the gym and he’s been spending too much time terrorizing people smaller and weaker than he is. He looks up, his eyes wide behind his red leather mask, and I smile grimly.
“Tonight’s your night, motherfucker. You’re a dead hunk of meat.”
Deacon growls with fury, throwing his entire body against me, violently arching his back, trying to break free from my grip. I chance a quick glance at my little fox, who’s angrily yanking his whip away from her neck and looking like she’d like to use it on us both. Deacon nearly gets loose, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling the bat harder against his throat.
“Fuck- y…” Blood stains his teeth red and wets his lips, veins throbbing violently in his neck. “They’ll k- kill you.”
“No one’s going to miss you,” I grin under my demon mask, “not even your brother. We’ll bring in a new Lord, and you’ll be forgotten. But I’m sure your Daddy will bury you under a tombstone so huge that they can…” My thighs tighten against his ribs, I can feel them bowing inward. “See. From. Space.”
Every tendon in my arms and shoulders is on fire, slowly strangling him with the bat. It’s caving in his throat, but it’s too slow. I’ve got to finish him off before one of the others spots us.
“Knife! He’s got-”
White sparks shoot across my vision as Deacon jams a knife into my thigh, trying to twist it, but his aim is off.
My fox stumbles to her feet, the whip dangling from her hand as she staggers over and tries to hand it to me.
“Wrap it around his throat,” I grunt, ignoring the throbbing agony from my leg. When she does, I pull my bat loose and twist it into both ends of the whip.
It only takes two rotations of the bat before I hear the distinctive crunch of his neck snapping.
I twist it one more time. To be sure.
Falling back on my elbows, I shove him away with my foot, gasping for air. My fox is slumped on her knees, staring at his body. I can tell the instant she thinks about running, her eyes darting to the knife in my thigh and over my head in the direction of the beach.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say harshly. “I can still catch you with this knife in my leg. You’ve just helped me kill one of the Lords of Chaos. Do you have any idea of what they’ll do to you? You’re going to do exactly as I say, and you’ll stay alive.”
“I’m thinking that killing one of your own isn’t going to work out for you either, asshole,” she snarls.
Grunting in amusement, I reach out my hand. “Take off your shirt.”
“Hell, no!”
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I shake my head irritably. “Don’t take this personally, but you’re not looking that good right now. I need it for a tourniquet.”
There’s a moment to enjoy her outrage before she looks down at her cheap tank top. “It’s all I have.”
Growling under my breath, I gesture angrily with two fingers, and she reluctantly pulls it off, leaving her pretty breasts covered in a plain black sports bra. Grabbing a nearby stick, I twist the tank top into a tourniquet just under the knife; the irony of recreating Deacon’s method of death is amusing in a sick way.
Pulling my bat out of the noose around his neck, I take a second to look at him, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly up at the towering trees.
I should feel something.
Satisfaction that I finally put this evil feck out of everyone else’s misery. He was the most vicious of us, the cruelest. He lived for the pain he caused. But looking at the slowly cooling lump of meat, I just feel… blank.
A shout to our right makes the lass jump, letting out a little yelp as I grab her upper arm. “Get moving.”
“Shouldn’t- shouldn’t you pull that knife out of your leg?”
“And leave blood all over the scene? Not feckin’ likely,” I growl. The gardener’s cottage is the closest structure, and since I’ve taken it over as my own, I know there are first aid supplies there. The old man who tended the perfect boxwood shrubs and rose garden is long gone. All the support staff fled the island or were driven out when we took over. Temporary workers come in for the games after signing an NDA thicker than the Bible.
The little cottage looks ridiculously out of place, a tidy building with blue shutters. Even long neglected, flowers are still growing in the boxes under the windows. Despite the quaint exterior, there’s a biometric panel that requires my handprint to open it.
“Go in.”
My fox glances away, no doubt trying to find an escape route. I respect her stubbornness, but I haul her inside, slamming the door and listening to be sure the locks engage. She stands in the middle of the tiny main room, staring at the knife sticking out of my thigh.
“There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” I say, leaning against the table. “Go get it.” She’s still glaring at me like she wants to tear a hole in my throat with her teeth, but she obeys me, fetching the kit and hurrying back.
“How do we do this?” she asks, chewing her lip nervously.
I could easily do this on my own, but hearing her say “we” gives me a jolt of satisfaction. “I’m going to give you the gauze. Fold it into a thick pad, and when I pull the knife out, you slap the gauze on the wound.”
She’s pale, her face dirty and scraped, yet still a bonnie thing. I can see her eyes closer now, a warm blue with little specks of gold ringing the pupil. “Yeah,” she says, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay.”
Bracing myself, I yank the knife out and a river of blood pours from the wound. She’s quick, pushing the gauze against the cut.
“Good girl,” I say, teeth gritted. “Hold it there.”
“You’re going to need stitches,” she says. “I think I saw bone when you pulled the knife out.”
Stifling a groan, I know she’s right. “Cut my jeans off that leg. I need to look at it.” The sight of blood isn’t bothering her that much because she’s eyeing the razor-sharp scissors like they’re a potential weapon. “Stop fucking around!” I snap. Cutting the denim free, she pulls the cloth down my leg so I can get a better look. She’s not nearly as afraid of me as she should be because she glares at me as she presses the gauze to my thigh. “I’ll hold the bandage,” I say. “Find the suture kit.”
After the chase, the beating, the stabbing, and the murder, this is the thing that sets her off. “I don’t- I can’t even sew on a button,” she stammers, “this is-”
“I’ll do it,” I say sharply. It’s not like it’s the first time.