23. Blood Runs Thickers
Blood Runs Thickers
Isaac
Blood dried between my fingers, leaving them sticky and cool. A soft breeze wove between the trees, making me sway with the branch I was bound to.
With enough force, I might snap that branch, pulling it to the ground and letting it take me with it. The real problem was the chain between my hands. It was built for this—to restrain a beast.
Running wouldn’t be impossible, but fighting might.
There were two wolves a distance away. One leaned against a tree, spitting dark streams of tobacco into the dirt. I recognized the other. The kid who ambushed Tara.
He stood rigidly, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the surroundings like he was expecting an attack.
He should be—if I had remembered the cell phone sitting heavily in the pocket of my jeans. Cady insisted we needed them. She was right.
A door slammed nearby. I turned as far as my hanging position would allow. The faintest scents carried from the building that was just out of sight, and I was reassured when Tara’s was one of them.
She was safe, at least for now.
The larger man leaning against the tree spit another mouthful, wandering back in my direction just as Jacques appeared in the shadows. He wore a clean suit, his hair fixed, looking exactly as he did the last time I saw him.
Except for the jagged scar across his throat. An ugly reminder of what Saul did.
Hearing my brother recount the failed killing was one thing. Seeing the evidence of it was another.
Despite everything, I grieved for what happened to him. For what became of us.
“Jacques,” I rasped. “Long time no see.”
“Isaac,” he purred in that ridiculous accent. “This isn’t how I pictured our reunion. Unfortunately, you Barbeauxs are all cut from the same cloth.”
I smiled, blood coating my teeth. “Takes one to know one.”
He didn’t return my smile. “Saul always talked about protecting family. But in the end, he only protected himself.”
“And what you’re doing right now, that’s pure altruism?”
Jacques eyed me, lip curling. “I thought you of all people would understand. I thought we wanted the same things.”
“I just wanted off that damn bayou,” I told him. “But that was before I realized what I had.”
“Have you grown so sentimental in your old age?” His laugh was sharp and cruel. “Or is it because of Tara? Eli found a mate and you decided you needed one too. Even if she already belonged to someone else.”
“She doesn’t belong to you,” I snarled. “You don’t care about her.”
“What would you know about what matters to me?” He stepped closer, taking hold of a thick stick from where it leaned against the tree. It was coated in my blood.
Jacques prodded one of my wounds, and I gritted my teeth. “All that power, and you chose to live in the dirt. You could have had the world in your hands.”
“I never wanted the world,” I gasped, my vision blurring as he twisted the stick deep into a wound at my ribs. “I wanted to be something that I’m not. We can’t change what we are.”
“So, you do understand.” He relented, dropping the stick to his side and flicking a cold, assessing gaze over me. “We live with demons. But we can control them. Use their strength for our gain.”
I sucked in a breath, pushing the pain from my focus. “What is there to gain, Jacques? How far can we really go before we’re discovered—hunted down like dogs? You and all these other strays you’ve been feeding.”
“That’s what I plan to find out.” The end of the stick found a fresh wound near my hip and I couldn’t hold in my snarl. “We could have done this together. Saul’s betrayal wasn’t yours. I knew that.
“But you had to take what was mine. All the women in the world, and you took her.” The tip pierced my skin, fresh blood welling from my side. “You had no right!”
“I didn’t take her,” I growled. “She ran from you, and you couldn’t let her go.”
“She has what’s mine!”
“Nothing she has will ever be yours.”
Jacques smiled darkly. “And she’ll never be yours, either.”
I swung my legs out, kicking at his head. Jacques was swift, dodging with ease.
Flecks of my blood sprayed across him, dripping from the side of his temple. He wiped his hand through the moisture, glaring at the red stain on his fingers for a beat too long. Quietly, so soft that I barely heard, he murmured, “I would have forgiven you once, Isaac. Not anymore.”
To the big mutt standing nearby, Jacques snarled, “Larson! Her thirty minutes are up.”
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” My shoulders burned. I drew them down anyway, pulling violently against the chains. “Get back here and fight me, you coward!”
Jacques froze, his back to me. He glared over his shoulder, eyes flashing with his beast as he warred against it. His control was solid as steel, but I knew how hard it was to resist a challenge.
“If you want her, fight me for her.” I spat a mouthful of blood. “Or do you think you can’t take me? You always were the smallest Barbeaux.”
Jacques roared, turning back to me and lifting the stick. He swung. Again and again until pain swallowed everything. Red coated his white shirt, his hair falling out of place, and still he continued.
“This—" I groaned. “Doesn’t—" My head whipped to the side as the stick hit my face. “Make—" Another blow to my temple, and suddenly everything was fading again. “You—" My chin fell to my chest, and the last word barely made it over my lips before I lost consciousness. “Powerful.”