Chapter 35 Ghost
The uncomfortable feeling in my chest only tightens.
It’s another half-hour before the truck pulls off the highway, following a long, winding back road.
There’s nothing left but the road, which narrows and then narrows further, until the truck is crawling between the trees, branches slapping against the side mirrors.
It’s getting harder to see, so I fly lower.
I typically feel an acute lack of nerves when I’m on missions.
Now, though, the nerves are loud, in their presence alone.
Andrea slows the truck, and I slip through the trees, finding a place to perch. Close enough to watch. I wish I knew where they were headed in advance so I could’ve scoped it out first. I don’t trust this. I like contingencies, plans.
The headlights skim across a field, highlighting a wired, rusted fence that looks like it leads out to a cow pasture.
There’s a flat concrete pad at the base, with an open vestibule like an old bus stop shelter tacked atop it.
No lights, no movement. Andrea parks at the edge of the empty dirt road and kills the engine.
She opens her door without a word, Mona does the same. I watch and wait to see if she does as she was told. Mona steps backward, she and Andrea circling the truck in opposite directions, putting Andrea near the engine and Mona at the truck bed at the back. They continue, too slowly.
Get in the car, Mona. Just get in and drive away.
Her fingers grip the driver’s side door handle. The rusted door swings open—one second passes. Two.
This is why I work alone. Why I meticulously plan every detail, why I’m The fucking Ghost. Because when I’m this guy—the besotted mate who can’t process what’s wrong until it’s too late, who misses the important fucking details after two seconds too long, I’m no longer The Ghost, but a fool who’s going to get his mate killed.
The rusted truck door should echo out into the silence. I should be able to hear that truck door creak, I’ve heard it a dozen times before.
But I hear nothing.
There’s a void of sound.
And as a strong gust of wind ruffles my feathers, I watch in horror as it passes right over them, without effect—as if they are inside a ward. Mona has one foot in the truck when it happens.
Just a flicker at first. Then witches materialize, surrounding them. I lose sight of my mate in the swarm of bodies. Wings tucked tight, I dive toward the earth as the witches close ranks, forming a wall, chanting in unison.
“You promised!” Mona shrieks. The words echo in my ears as I pierce through the ward’s invisible boundary and plunge into the void.
There, at the heart of the circle, stands Deidre, draped in a crimson silk dress, reeking of ancient magic while her sycophants chant around her.
There’s a thud, then another. The witches form a circle like a committee of vultures around a writhing mass on the ground.
I hear Mona screaming Andrea’s name. Andrea thrashes against her captors, her struggles futile against their magic.
I plummet from the sky, my talons piercing a witch’s eye socket with a wet pop before tearing through bone.
Blood sprays across my feathers in a hot mist before I go for the next witch.
“Oh, good, Ben is here!” Deidre snarls. “Darling, if you want your mate to live, you’ll release my witch.”
I drop the witch currently hooked in my talons, though he’s dead and missing half his face.
He lands with a wet plop, like overripe fruit.
My bones crack and reform as I shift back to human form.
A woman beside me looks at the man in horror, as if I’ve killed her mate.
Confirmed when she lets out a guttural scream and launches at me.
Deidre whips her magic like a lasso, harnessing the woman who’s sobbing against the invisible bind.
“I know, Hana, I know. Remember why we do this. Remember what’s at stake.
” There’s vulnerability in Deidre’s voice, and the sobbing woman slowly shakes off the pain and takes her place back by the priestess’s side, shoulders hunched, rage pouring off her.
I stand taller, watching the scene play out. These witches are more than just followers to her.
“You aren’t going to kill Mona,” I tell Deidre.
“Well, no, that’s true. But ask Silas how much fun I can have with a wolf while keeping them alive.” She glances around, as if she’s expecting Silas and Mona’s other mates. When she doesn’t see them, she lifts an eyebrow, then eyes Mona.
Mona snarls and snaps her teeth. The witches have us surrounded. I should have known it wouldn’t be this simple. Andrea is in a crouched fighting stance, lip bleeding. She’s a little dazed from whatever spell they hit her with, but she’s still ready to swing.
“You said you were going to be here, waiting with the shifters!” Mona shouts. “That was our deal!”
“Hmm, yes, well, you said you weren’t going to bring your mates along. Looks like we’re both liars.”
“I didn’t tell him! I didn’t know he was here! Please, you have to let them go!”
Mona uselessly thrashes against the witch’s iron grip. Deidre pays her no mind, fixing her gaze on me instead. There’s no mistaking the glint in her eyes—something tells me she’s pleased I’m here.
“So. What do we do with you?” she says slowly. “I suppose you’d like to stay with your mate?” She asks, raising one eyebrow.
“You are not taking her anywhere,” I hiss.
Three witches zap me with magic. I throw up a shield, but I’m a second too late, and it lashes at my skin, making me hiss. Deidre laughs.
Mona keeps arguing, struggling, begging. Finally, Deidre grunts. “I’m not a monster, sweetie. You’re right, we did have a deal, but you broke your end of the bargain.” Deidre’s eyes are still tracking me.
“Ben,” she addresses me.
“Name’s not Ben.”
“Right… What is it they call you? The shifter boogeyman? The Ghost?” She knew my name wasn’t Ben. She’s known all along who I am. At least since we escaped their attack in Canada, after I locked her and that weak-ass witch in the house.
“Ghost’ll do,” I drawl.
She hums. “Any relation to Tali of the Westward Coven?”
I try to hold in my reaction, to not show her what hearing that name does to me.
But she sees it. “Ahh, yes… you’re Tali’s famous son.
Born a shifter… turned out you were also a witch.
How fascinating. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your father.
But your parents were warned of the consequences of their actions.
The fault lies with them. Shame what happened to him, though. How is your mother these days?”
“Do not speak of my mother,” I hiss.
“Yes, well. Someday, perhaps, she and I will meet again. Personally, I had no connection with the Westward witches, but my dear sister Tracy had a lover in their coven, so I’m not sure she’ll forgive so easily.
Before you returned and killed them all, they made sure we all knew what an abomination your mother and father created.
That’s what they called you, anyway. But now, looking at you… my, my. You are something else.”
The shadow of my life as The Ghost reaches farther than I realized.
Another wall between me and Mona, between me and anything resembling normal.
The ledger of my past keeps growing, full of names I’m not even aware of.
I catch Tracy’s eyes on Mona—calculating, cold—the way you look at something you plan to ruin.
All because I apparently killed someone she loved, someone whose face I don’t even remember.
How many others are out there, waiting for vengeance, plotting the moment they’ll finally come face-to-face with The Ghost—or, worse, his mate?
“Leave him alone!” Mona yells. So pure, my girl. So small, stacked against all this power, and still she fights.
“Tell you what,” Deidre says to Mona. “Since we had a deal and all—even though you broke it—I will allow your mate to join us down below.”
I throw magic out of my hand to the nearest witch, then leap for Mona.
As though a vat of acid hits his skin, he begins screaming.
But just before I can snatch Mona, Deidre grabs her and, with magic and her slimy fingers, chokes my mate.
Mona claws at Deidre’s arm, kicks her legs, making awful gagging noises.
“Cutting off her oxygen juuust enough to make her feel like she’s dying.
And with her shifter healing, she will continue to stay alive.
Have you ever tried to hang a shifter? Same thing happens, far less effort.
Perhaps I should have Tracy tie up a noose.
Eye for an eye and all that. You killed her lover, she’ll torture yours. I do love poetic justice.”
I throw up my hands and, with all my fucking effort, keep my voice level. “No need. I won’t fight you. Please, just let her go. Please,” my voice breaks at the end.
“As I said.” The door opens behind her. Three witches pick up Andrea, who’s knocked out again. I follow, while Deidre continues speaking, as though we’re just having a casual conversation.
“You have a choice, Ghost. You can come with me willingly. I’ll even let you bunk with your mate. Or you can fight me and see what happens.”
The guys are coming. The tracker will probably stop working when I drop below. Deidre hasn’t noticed it. But even if they lose the signal, Kendrick will know our last known location.
“There’s no choice,” I tell her.
She leans close and whispers, “There’s a good boy.” Her fingers trail down my arm, making my skin crawl. I can’t help but think about what she’s done to Silas.
My last thought, as I follow the witch and two wolves into the underground silo, is that I hope Silas arrives in time to exact his vengeance on her, because the line to kill the fucking witch is getting longer.