22. CHAPTER 22
I spent the evening trying to isolate my senses, but it’s harder than it seems and there weren’t a ton of options inside a cozy apartment. Not sure how much progress I really made. I wish I could have more time to strengthen and practice. But after yesterday’s events, I know my time is running out.
Wyatt pulls up in front of my complex, and my stomach tightens. Fuck, I don’t want to do this.
He squeezes my thigh reassuringly. “You got this.”
I nod and step out of Wyatt’s sedan, swinging a duffle bag over my shoulder, and lean in to give him a quick peck. He pulls away from the curb and drives off, and I make a show of cheerfully waving.
My grip tightens on the duffle strap, trying to hide my trembling fingers. He’s watching me; I just know it. I don’t know from where or how far off, but he’s definitely watching me. Forcing the smile to stay on my face, I jog up the steps to my apartment. He has to think I’m heading home like normal and not expecting him to be following me. He can’t see me rattled or freaked out.
I dig my new key out of my pocket and step up to my door. They replaced the lock a few days ago, but I haven’t been back since.
Don’t turn around, don’t look behind you, just act natural.
I take a deep breath. None of my senses are screaming that anything’s off. But one night of practice is more of a joke than help.
With shaky hands, it takes a few tries to get the key in the hole, but with a calming breath, I turn the key and push the door open. I step into the darkened living room, and movement flashes from my right. Just as the door closes, I’m struck on the side of my head.
I groan, dropping the bag and moving my hands to the throbbing pain radiating down the side of my face. My fingers touch wetness, and tingles race down my neck.
The darkness crowds me, hiding my attacker. It must be Patrick. How the fuck did he get in? I would feel marginally better if I could at least see him. Blinking the spots from my vision, I’m looking for the source when I’m struck again…
The force is so strong I’m thrown back into the wall behind me with a hard thud. I slide down to the ground as a dark form hovers above me, and then everything goes black…
Ohh. Fuck. Ugh.
My head’s pounding like a toddler on drums. Acid burns up my throat as my stomach convulses. Oh, this isn’t good.
Metal scraping across glass grates on my sensitive head. I cringe and blink to clear my blurry vision. The moon’s risen enough, shining a path through the living room. Patrick’s crouched, rummaging through my duffle bag. Not good at all.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, and I’ve lost part of my element of surprise. I was supposed to stun him.
How long was I out?
The streetlights were just turning on as we made our way over here. So hopefully not too long.
But then, where’s Wyatt?
My tongue presses against the gag stuffed in my mouth as my wrists twist between rough rope. The rope I brought here. Fucking great.
Nothing’s going as planned. I knew something like this would happen, and it’d all be my fault. But now Wyatt’s coming and won’t know that things have gone wrong.
What am I going to do?
I must’ve grunted or made some kind of noise because Patrick looks over at me.
“Oh, good, you’re awake. Now the fun can begin.” His malicious smile raises goosebumps along my arms.
“I was so close to capturing you in Phoenix, but then you took off, like the bratty little reject daughter you’ve always been. And then, I hit a snag. But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. You know why?”
I grunt around the cloth stuffed in my mouth, shaking my head to keep him talking. I focus on the ropes while he’s semi-distracted by his own ramblings. If I can just get them loose enough to slip free, maybe we won’t be too far off plan.
My thumb wiggles and slips into the knot, jiggling and jerking it looser. He’s so arrogant, still using the same tying techniques. I learned how to escape this one when I was a teenager.
“Whatever they did to me strengthened me. You’ve always bested me or escaped. Your advantage for being born this way, unlike me. But not now. No, they really gave me the edge now.” He pulls out the butane torch, eyebrow arching. “We can have some fun with this, I’m sure. Guess it’s time for you to finally pay for all you’ve done to this family.”
Wyatt’s fiery rage shoots through our bond.
Did he hear that? Is he close enough to be listening? But if so, where is he? Shit, Patrick’s supposed to be injured and restrained. Not me. What are we going to do?
I lean from side to side, trying to look around Patrick to spot Wyatt, but Patrick’s large form is all I can make out. All the leaning does loosen the ropes though. I could slip free, but I have no advantage right now. And if he’s stronger than me, I have no chance. I need a distraction. Wyatt’s close, but where?
Patrick pulls a butcher’s knife from the duffle bag. “Naughty, naughty girl. I always knew you were nothing but trouble.”
My heart’s racing as I lock eyes with him, the gleam of wickedness within them sending chills down my spine.
I’d barely made it around the block, Teagan’s worry a constant itch throughout my body despite her trying to mask it. I was just going to circle a few times until she gave me the cue through the bond. But that didn’t happen…
Pain and discomfort nearly blinded me, and I made an immediate U-turn. And not a moment later, everything disappeared. Everything. Her constant feelings of love and longing for me. The more recent itchiness of unease. And the suddenly sharp pain. My heart clenches. What the hell’s happened to her?
My foot pushes harder into the pedal, and I whip into her parking lot, throwing the car into park. I’m panting and sweating as I sprint up her fire escape. The front door is too obvious. We need some level of surprise here.
I slow as I reach the top and climb over the rusty metal railing to her porch. The old wood creaks under my weight.
I pause at the slight flicker through our bond. Oh, thank goodness. Relief swells through me. Then her emotions cascade into me, swirling from pain to anger.
Stay focused, my love. I’m coming to help you.
I crouch next to her glass door, peering inside. The man’s digging through her bag, and she’s tied and gagged. Damn, this is not what we wanted.
His voice faintly reaches me. “Whatever they did to me strengthened me. You’ve always bested me or escaped. Your advantage for being born this way, unlike me. But not now. No, they really gave me the edge now.” He pulls something from the bag, but I can’t see what it is from my viewpoint. “We can have some fun with this, I’m sure. Guess it’s time for you to finally pay for all you’ve done to this family.”
My blood boils. All she’s done? What the hell? She told me he was unhinged, but this guy’s a wacko.
I just need to get him away from her and this window, so I can enter and still be somewhat of a surprise. I twist the knob on the balcony door, and it turns easily. That’s how this creep got in here, isn’t it? We changed the front door lock and knob but didn’t even consider this one. My rage rises with my blood pressure, and my fangs lengthen.
I grab a clay potted plant and pull a rope from my book bag to tie around it. After dashing across the small space to the other side, I stand on the railing and loop the rope over the railing of the balcony above, aiming it right at her bedroom window. I place the pot on the edge of above me before stepping down, carefully carrying the other end of the rope.
“Naughty, naughty girl. I always knew you were nothing but trouble.” Patrick’s evil words snap the last of my patience. Getting back into position on the other side of the balcony, I stand tall and yank the rope.
The pot free falls from the floor above, and my breath catches. The seconds tick by in slow motion, and then the rope jolts and the pot swings towards the window. Glass shatters, the clay pot smashing through her bedroom window. I turn the knob noiselessly. Waiting.
Patrick’s head whips to the bedroom. “What the hell?”
He stands with a butcher knife in hand and heads towards the bedroom.
Once he’s out of sight, I pull the door open and slide inside with a machete in hand. Teagan jumps to her feet, the lax ropes dropping to the ground around her, and lunges for her bag of weapons. I bolt next to the wall beside the hallway, machete pulled back and ready. Tingles race up arms, and right when his footsteps near the opening, I swing out with all my might.
The blade cuts deep, lodging in his torso. He grunts, and I try to yank it free. The machete barely budges, but my hold slips from the warm blood coating my hands.
His lips pull back in a fang-y grimace and he thrusts the butcher knife forward. I moan as a searing pain pierces and spreads across my abdomen. My hands instinctively press against the growing wet spot on my stomach while my senses swarm with the agony. The room blurs and distorts, sounds muffled as if I were underwater.
He clutches my throat, his nails digging into my skin, and lifts me off the ground as if I weigh nothing. His fingers constrict, cutting off my air supply. My bloody palms fumble with his grip, useless against his strength. Teagan’s horror beats through our bond. My lungs are burning, but I can’t loosen his grip. I can’t get any more oxygen. My eyes blur. Patrick chuckles, squeezing harder.
My vision narrows to a pinpoint. Teagan rushes over and pulls the machete out of Patrick’s stomach. He grunts and his grip around my throat eases a fraction. I suck in a gulp of air and push against the wall for leverage. He turns and backhands her across the face. She flies backwards across the room, hits the wall so hard something crunches, and she drops to the floor.
My fury explodes at the sight of her unmoving body. I squirm and kick out, but he just presses me more firmly against the wall. All my efforts are useless against his strength and speed. His grip around my throat tightens, cutting off my oxygen off completely.
Shit. What if we aren’t a match for him? Are we going to die here? My panic rises and I frantically struggle, clawing at his hand. My blood coated hands slip and slide over his, but his fingers don’t budge.
He leans in close and sniffs me then glances back at her unmoving body. I can barely see her as my peripheral vision darkens.
“Is this why you smell different?” Disgust coats his voice. “It was a pain in the ass trying to find your trail, and now I think I know why.” His fingers retract enough for me to take a gulp of air, my throat and lungs burning as oxygen leaks into them. My toes barely brush the carpet. Not enough to get any leverage. “You take my mate, then have the audacity to claim one for yourself.” He shakes his head in disbelief and presses me against the wall. “I’ll have to right those wrongs as well.”
Blurring with speed, Patrick strikes, his fangs sinking deep into my neck. The immediate prick I’m used to, but normally it fades into euphoric pleasure. Not this time. No, this time it’s more painful than anything I’ve ever lived through. Well, Hope dying in my arms was worse. But physical pain…this takes the trophy. Liquid poison burns from the bite and up my neck, behind my eyes, into my temples and the base of my skull, beating in time with my heart. I scream in torment, the fiery misery sinking lower, past my lungs, past my stomach, and into my legs. Every muscle in my body stiffens, holding me captive in agony.
Am I being burned from the inside out? Is my skin peeling off? My jaw clenches so hard blood fills my mouth.
I want to be worried about Teagan. Or fight him off. But my body’s locking up, everything tensing and trying to live through this searing torture. My fingers dig into his arms to dislodge him, but he doesn’t move an inch, only bites deeper, sending stronger waves of fire through my veins.
I try to kick my legs out, but they ignore the command, twitching pathetically in the air. I try to lodge my arms between our torsos, and they refuse—aside from my fingers tightening around his wrists worthlessly. The poison pulses deeper, all my organs catching ablaze.
I thought I was going to die from lack of oxygen, but this is so much worse. We have no chance of getting out of this. I can’t even get my body to follow my directions. My thoughts get cloudy as the scorching paralysis takes me deeper.
Teagan’s scream barely breaks through my torturous haze, and Patrick’s mouth gurgles against my throat. He dislodges his fangs, turning to look at Teagan, and immediately drops me. I slide down the wall, pressing a hand to the gushing wound on my throat. Teagan’s retreating, and there’s a knife through the base of Patrick’s neck. He growls, reaching for the blade.
She lunges for the discarded machete, but he’s still faster. He reaches it first and kicks it out of reach. It slides, painting the carpet pink, and stops within reach of me. She backs away as he finally pulls the blade free of his neck. My fingers ache like pins and needles are stabbing through their tips, but I still grip the machete’s handle.
I just need to stand, but my legs are too wobbly. They shake harder as I try to pull them up and under me, but they refuse to support my weight and I drop back to the wall.
Patrick wraps an arm around Teagan’s throat, hulling her back against his chest. My vision turns red as he licks up the side of her throat. Somehow, through numbed legs, I kick out hard. He trips over my feet, releasing Teagan, and falling to his ass.
Teagan rushes forward, ramming a knife into his heart with one hand and snatching the machete from me with the other. She spins, slicing his throat, and Patrick groans reaching for the knife in his chest.
“Secure his hands.” My voice is a rough whisper through my bruised throat.
She grabs two smaller knives and stabs them through his hands, pinning him to the carpet. I scoot away from him as his movements become sluggish.
Blood soaks out from under him, the carpet becoming the darkest maroon I’ve ever seen.
So much for her deposit. I feel like my brain’s short circuiting. I might work in an ER and be good under pressure, but treating patients differs vastly from inflicting this kind of carnage. What have we done? Am I a monster just like him now?
“Grab the rope. We have to hurry before he starts healing.” Her voice is stern and confident, pulling me from my scattered thoughts.
Moving almost on autopilot, I secure his feet. Then I dislodge the blades from the floor and secure the rope around his wrists. She steps up to me, stuffing a gag in his mouth.
“Can you help me carry him to the bathtub?” She looks freaked out, but she’s moving with determination.
I’m shell-shocked and can only nod in response. I’m doing what she’s asking of me, but I’m not processing this well at all.
I bend and grab his feet while she lifts his shoulders, and we hobble with him into the tiny bathroom. His bright ginger hair blending in with the blood coating us all. We swing and drop him into the tub. He lands with a grunt and squirms against the restraints.
Tegan jogs back to the living room, returning with two jugs of vodka. She uncaps both bottles of alcohol and pours them on his wiggling form.
I follow his bloody trail back to our bags and retrieve the butane torch. He’s completely saturated by the time I return and silently hand the torch to her. She pauses for a moment, just looking at me.
How am I feeling? Hell, I don’t even know. Whatever it is, she’s picking up on it through our bond.
I don’t do this. I save people. I don’t murder them. Can I even be a part of this? Can I watch this happen? My instinct is to help people in need. Can I watch his life end without stepping in? Even if I know in my gut this will ultimately save Teagan? I want to be strong for her. But I… I don’t think I can do this.
“You don’t need to be here for this. This is my deal, my burden to bear. Why don’t you go dismantle the fire alarm and open some windows? Maybe even repack our bags and clean up whatever you can. Just leave the blood. The Ambassadors will handle that.”
I nod and turn away. I wish I could help her more. But I physically can’t watch someone die at the hands of another like this. Even a piece of shit like that. It’s not in me. Even though I think he deserves to die, it can’t be by my hand.
Sadness. Grief. Loss. My feet slow with the sourness of her emotions filtering through our bond, distracting me a little from my own discomfort. The sourness shifts to bittersweet as new, stronger emotions take over. Determination. Confidence. Freedom. Hope. We’re doing this so we can have a safe life together. So, she can have the home and family she’s never had. I try to stay focused on that, but my hand still trembles as I remove the batteries from the fire detector.
The screech of windows opening around my apartment pushes me into action. I can do this. I flip the safety button and turn the knob on the barbeque torch. A stream of flames shoots forward, igniting the trail of vodka and following it.
Patrick squirms harder, his cries muffled by the gag in his mouth as the fire engulfs his body. I pause, turning the torch off and watching the flames spread. The heat from the blaze blows my hair back. Is this really happening? My heart races as his struggles grow more frantic with the growing fire. I run to the hall closet for the fire extinguisher just in case I have to control this mess. Returning to the bathroom, I freeze in my tracks as Patrick’s piercing scream fills the air, the sound echoing off the walls. My stomach clenches at the sight of his growing agony, but he caused this. He’s never been an affectionate parent but he could have forgotten about me and left me alone.
His furious eyes lock onto me, and a deep growl reverberates through the air, causing me to flinch and press my back against the wall. I hold onto the fire extinguisher tightly, trying to steady my trembling hands.
He takes a gasping breath, body freezing, and his eyes go wide in shock. My breath catches in my chest while I watch his fury shift. In a matter of seconds, he went from the enraged person I’ve grown to know to…tranquil. I’ve never seen the peaceful look in his eyes. He looks like a completely different person. His head lolls to the side and his gaze catches mine.
“Thank you.” His rough whisper sends goosebumps up my arms despite the heat. He closes his eyes, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
He thanked me? For killing him?
The fire grows as all of Patrick’s movements stop. I puff out a harsh pant, expelling the air that was trapped in my lungs. Is this really over? The billowing flames consume his body and the entire tub, the pulsing heat filling the tiny room.
I frantically call Bridget’s number while keeping a watchful eye on the growing fire.
Bridget answers after two rings. “Hello.” Her voice is sharp.
“I need immediate emergency cleanup.”
“Address and type of incident.”
“I just texted the address. Apartment fire, lots of blood, and remains of a Vanamisch.” I bite my lip.
“One second.” Her words are clipped and short. This cleanup bill will be even worse than the last, which I still haven’t paid off. But it’ll be worth it to not have to run anymore.
I turn on the fire extinguisher when flames start climbing the wall. His movements have stopped, but I’m not chancing it by dousing the body. I’ve survived burns and wounds in the past. He very well could too.
Her voice cuts in, and I shut the extinguisher off. “A crew will be there in under ten minutes. Make sure the door’s unlocked and stay out of the way.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
She hangs up on me.
My eyes stay glued to the black, crispy mass in front of me. The smell of burning flesh is noxious. I lean over the tub to crack the window for some ventilation, sucking my stomach in tight as I half expect him to grab at me. But he doesn’t move a muscle. This nightmare has finally ended.
I call out to Wyatt, “Can you unlock the front door? A cleanup crew is on their way.”
“Okay. Are you all right?” Concern comes through his tone and our bond.
“Yeah. I just need a minute.” I step back as the flames start to recede, my back pressing against the wall. Sliding down to the floor, I hug my knees to my chest. Oh my god. It’s really over.
My mind wandering with my emotions. I’m technically an orphan now. How can it feel like a loss when I never knew my mom and my dad never wanted me? I never had it to begin with and yet I still feel the loss of opportunity. The finality of it all, heavy like a weight on my shoulders.
But he also thanked me, like he was relieved.
I’m also free. Finally. Some small part of me thought I’d be on the run my whole life. Even after meeting Wyatt and becoming mates, I didn’t think I’d actually be able to stop running. But for the first time in my life, I’m free. Joyful tears trail down my cheeks. I can have a home. A life.