Chapter 21 Reed
Reed
The howls of the Baptiste beasts echo from the north, slicing through the pine trees. Light has bowed, surrendering the forest black except for the moonlight that shimmers through.
Cooper looks at me, his bright blue irises making my chest burn hot. It pains me to let him go. To let him be a blonde distraction. But I know it's the only way we'll survive against their numbers.
"Run, Cooper," I say, forcing the words from my lips. They taste like dirt and coagulated blood. "I'll follow behind. Whatever you do, keep that watch on."
He smiles—a grin like he knows something I don't, a flicker of that maddening recklessness even as the Baptiste's pierce the serenity of the forest. "But Reed," he pauses, glancing toward the mausoleum. "Tell me one thing."
"What?" I ask, my patience thinning to barbed wire. Every second we dilly dally is a second closer to being surrounded. The snarls grow louder with each moment we waste.
His eyes lock with mine, a shallow breath puttering from those pink lips. "If I die… will you lay me to rest with the Quinns? I've never felt more at home than I have in the short time I've spent with you and your family."
His question hits me like a strike to the breastbone, so much more devastating than if he asked me for love.
Love is fickle, a fleeting feeling that can evaporate into the mist of the moon.
He's accepted his death. And that means so much to me I could spend an eternity being tortured by our rivals if he got to survive tonight.
He's asking for a legacy. A final proof that the broken pieces of him finally fit somewhere. The Quinn legacy of righteous murder and questionable decor is the sanctuary his soul has been searching for in this fucked up universe.
The barbed wire of my patience snaps.
I shove him against the rough bark of the tree and wipe the sweat from his forehead. My hand grasps his jaw, raising his eyes to meet mine, embracing his frantic pulse.
"Listen to me," I rasp, the words being summoned from the depths of my darkness. "You don't get to ask me that. You don't get to hand me your soul for safekeeping before you run off into the forest for a little joy stroll."
My forehead presses against his, our breaths frosting the air together in harmony.
"If you die," I whisper. "I will not lay you to rest. I will piece you together. Bring you back to life. No matter what I have to do."
He lets out a shallow breath, his lips touching mine in a heart-shattering reverie.
"I love you, Cooper Larson," the words spill from my lips before I can stop them.
The howls and snarls drown out to the beat of our hearts. A moment frozen in time as the world stops around us.
I've never said those words before in my entire life.
The thought shakes my skull like an earthquake. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not supposed to love. I'm supposed to hunt. Inherit. Own. Not surrender myself to the weakness of human desire.
Then his lips open as sweet as lilac honey. "I love you too, Reed Quinn."
I should want to throw up every drop of stomach acid. But his words swarm me, circling my brain like dozens of silly bees. They are an answer to what I have been missing. To what I've needed my entire life. A true purpose—my completion.
I was wrong. I wasn't hunting him. He's been hunting me this whole time. And fuck, consider me trapped.
A blonde with a strategic death wish and the eyes of a fallen angel has successfully bagged the most dangerous wolf in the forest. And God, I want him even more than I thought livingly possible.
The snarls of the Baptiste fade from a threat to an annoyance.
A profound, seething irritation settles in my bones.
I should be spending tonight banging the first love of my life.
Not slaughtering a bunch of wannabee serial killers with terrible execution and the body odor that would make a dumpster weep.
Cooper's hand brushes my neck as branches snap and the first few snarling Baptistes stumble from the trees. I want to be sucked in under his spell and embrace the supernova burning in my chest where my cold, dead heart used to be.
White-hot irritation incinerates my professional hunter's calm.
These filthy, maple-doused bastards just interrupted the most important moment of my life.
Desecrating a moment that should be serene.
The lingering echo of my first I love you still hangs in the air and they trampled all over it with their reeking arrogance.
My eyes lock with Cooper's. The understanding in his gaze is instantaneous. He knows this is no longer a game. No longer a consensual chase. Tonight will be bloody and disgusting.
"Run," I command, the word sharper than the scalpel in my hand.
This time, he doesn't dilly dally. No flirtatious quip or daring glance back.
His survival instincts have been honed by our twisted courtship.
He's a blonde flash, sprinting to the East toward the rapids of the river.
Good. Those woods are endless wilderness with small caves and ravines littered throughout.
Let the moose and skeletons bear witness as we slaughter every Baptiste dumb enough to set foot on our land.
I turn my attention back to the interlopers as more snarls rise in the distance. The scent of rot and onions is suffocating, even for me.
The lead brute is Louis Baptiste, the eldest son.
A man whose reputation for sadistic indulgence is only outstripped by his profound lack of hygiene.
His beard is a grotesque bird's nest, of old chunks of chicken and gnarled knots.
In both of his meaty fists, he sports glinting daggers, ready to meet a foe.
"Quinn," Louis grunts, his voice an infuriating snobbery. "Long time. No see," he says, as a slow smirk spreads across his face, exposing a yellow picket fence of his rotting teeth. "My mother sends her sympathies. She heard you've gone soft. Playing doctor in the city. Playing house with a stray."
He gestures towards the pines where Cooper disappeared. "It won't be a merciful night. But for the pretty blonde boy? We'll make it quick. After we've had our fun." His smirk widens, cruel flames flickering in his piggish eyes. "We'll howl in Jacques memory."
The threat ignites a feral rage deep inside my guts, pouring gasoline on the fire that's ready to consume me.
The world narrows to the three pulses in front of me.
My vision tunnels to the highways that would slice their carotids.
The Baptiste on the right-side looks slow, harboring a vacant stare, like his mother drank too much with him in the womb.
Thin upper lip. Smooth ridge beneath his nose.
Prime example of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.
He'll have the slowest reaction time. His eyes can barely focus on this conversation.
"Your mother always did overestimate her children," I say, my words oozing with my own arrogance, as the smirk disappears from his face. "You interrupted me during a very important conversation, Louis. I was in the middle of claiming what's mine."
I take a single step forward, my breath frosting the air against his beard.
"So, here is my counter-offer," I purr, the calm in my voice a stark contrast to the violent rage tremoring in my muscles.
"You tell me which one of you volunteers to get skinned first, and I'll consider sending the rest of you back to Quebec with expedited Fedex shipping.
A final gift to show your dear maman what happens when rabid dogs trespass on private property. "
I crack my neck, a predator readying for the bloody feast. "Or I can just start with you. Your choice."
Louis opens his mouth to snarl a retort, but my feet pounce before he can mutter a sound. Fate was decided the moment he threatened Cooper.
I don't go for Louis. I'll save him for a one on one. It'll be kind of beautiful to watch his blood splatter through his gnarled bird's nest.
I pivot on my heel, a blur of black with the night and close the distance with the slow one on the right.
His dull eyes widen at last registering a threat, but his instincts are terrible.
His brain is still trying to send the signal to raise his dagger when my left hand snaps out, gripping a handful of his greasy hair and yanking his head back, exposing the pulsing, vulnerable column of his throat.
The scalpel in my right paints a beautiful crescent from ear to ear, exposing all of his vasculature to the night. A masterpiece of a lethal stroke.
A hot, arterial spray paints the frosty air in a shimmering crimson arc.
It splashes across Louis's horrified face.
The man tries to scream, but his vocals cords are slashed.
The only sound that penetrates the air is a wet, gurgling sound, his hands fluttering uselessly toward his neck as his life pumps onto the frozen ground.
He sinks to his knees, like a puppet with its strings cut.
I release his hair and let his body thump against the frosty grass, my gaze locked back on Louis. I flick the scalpel, splattering a few more drops of his brother's blood onto the front of Louis's jacket.
"Disappointing," I say, my voice flat. "I was hoping he'd put up more of a fight. Your mother really should have produced better stock."
The other brother stares, frozen in shock, his own dagger trembling in his hand. Louis wipes the blood from his eyes with a furious and jerky motion his face transforming into a mask of rabid and unadulterated hatred. The game is truly over now. The feast has begun.
"And you," I snarl, shifting my gaze to the shaking third wheel. My smirk widens from ear to ear. "You look like you're about to be sick. Don't worry. It will be—"
A sharp, panicked cry cuts through the woods from the East. Cooper's voice.
My head whips toward the sound, every nerve on fire. The hunter's calm shatters, replaced by a single imperative.
Cooper.
Louis sees the shift, the crack in my shell. A triumphant and blood streaked snarl twists his face. He thinks he's found a weakness.
He has no idea he's just unleashed the real monster.