…
Mockerie didn’t remove the knife from her collarbone until the shooting began full bore. At that point, he raised both the tip and his head and snapped at Satyr. “What’s going on out there?”
Satyr remained under the level of the windowsill. “What do you think? It’s what I knew would happen if we waited too long. It’s Hunt.”
“Hunt against how many of our people?”
“Not enough,” Satyr said through his teeth. He extinguished one of the lamps. “You don’t know the bastard like I do.”
“No, I don’t.” Mockerie held Melia in place by planting a hand on either side of her face. “Move and I’ll break your neck,” he warned. “Slowly. Where’s AJ?” he asked Satyr.
“Outside. He took off when the shooting started.” Satyr picked up a rifle. “Hell with it. I’m going, too. I’ve had enough of Johnny’s crap. This ends tonight.” When he reached the door he saw a man with a gun to Johnny’s head. He fired and the man dropped to the ground. “Hunt’s mine,” he shouted into the deafening noise. “Whatever else happens, he doesn’t die!”
Had he just killed one of his own men? Melia’s breath hitched as Mockerie brought the knife blade up under her chin.
“Rowena’s eyes,” he murmured. “Or close enough to them for me to visualize her. She was a beautiful woman, my Rowena.”
“Was.” Melia swallowed with difficulty. “I take it she’s dead.”
“As dead as dead can be. By my hand.” Something changed in the visible part of his face. Was there contrition in his expression? Regret? Love?
Whatever it was, it quickly gave way to fury. “She betrayed me. I never thought her capable of so much deceit. We had a son together…” He trailed off, then seemed to collect himself. “I don’t think of the boy all that often. Maybe I should direct some of my energy toward him and not dwell on what I should have done to her.” His tone sharpened. “I showed her mercy. A moment of weakness on my part. She truly was such a beautiful woman…”
Melia couldn’t see much, but she felt his stare on her face. “Mostly around the eyes,” he said softly and traced the outline with a gentle finger. “You’re very beautiful, too, Melia. Something stirs inside me when I look at you.” A smile crossed his mouth. “Can this be compassion I’m experiencing? Surely not. Bloodlust, that’s my thrill. Satisfying it. I have moments, Melia Rose, but at the heart of it, I’m a vampire. Blood is my orgasm.” His tone altered. “Most of the time.” He trailed the knife across her throat, brought the tip up, and turned it. He examined the spot of red and gave a short laugh. “Ah, Rowena, if you could see me now.” His mouth contorted suddenly. “But you can’t, and I’ll never fall victim to a woman’s wiles again.” Lowering his head, he offered Melia something approaching a sexy smile. “Oh my dear, I am looking forward to this.”
An explosion rocked the building. The knife flew away from her throat as Mockerie stumbled sideways.
Melia didn’t hesitate. Scrambling from the table, she ran for the only weapon available to her—the single kerosene lamp still burning on the counter.
“Ah, feisty.” On the floor, and with blood at the corner of his mouth, a smile split Mockerie’s face. “I like it.”
“Then you’re going to love this,” she said and heaved the lamp in his direction.
Smoke had already filled the room. A line of flame joined it. Through the billows of black, she watched Mockerie’s still-smiling face slowly vanish—just like the Cheshire Cat. The last thing she saw were his teeth, suspended briefly in the thickening air. Then the smoke swallowed him up and he was gone.
Johnny!
Spinning, she squinted at the door. Pappy kept weapons stashed, she remembered. A cupboard next to the window held dog food, gumboots, and three shotguns. Old but always in useable condition. Choosing one of them, she ran out the door and into the night.
“Johnny!” she shouted his name into the darkness. But the cacophony outside was too loud, aided by a resonant clap of thunder that joined the mix. “Shit!”
“You said it, doc.” AJ caught her from behind. He was panting heavily in deep, ragged breaths. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he shoved the barrel of a gun into her neck, below her ear. “Too bad for you, it’s the last thing you’ll ever say.”
And wheezing out a laugh, he squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Nineteen
Someone killed a man whose rifle had just been pointed at Johnny’s head. It could have been a stray bullet that did the job, but Johnny didn’t think so. A moment later, he was sure of it.
Satyr ran toward him, waving a gun and shouting. Shaking off the dizziness that continued to cloud his brain, Johnny regained his feet, glanced at the place where he’d left Laidlaw, and took off in the opposite direction.
He’d circle back to Pappy’s shack; he had to. Mockerie was still there, and so was Melia.
“No way do you win this, Johnny!” Satyr yelled. “If I have to shoot every one of your limbs, then so be it. Whether you die fast or slow, I don’t care, just as long as she’s first.”
The shots just kept on coming. Johnny saw red flashes of gunpowder wherever he looked. A spray of bullets seemed to be going back and forth across the clearing.
“Your men are shooting at air, Ben,” he shouted above the barrage. “Why the show of force?”
He kept an eye on the burning shack. Getting back there was paramount. But Satyr wasn’t foolish enough to let him do it. He planted himself behind a bush between Johnny and his destination, and he kept right on firing.
“All I have to do is keep you busy long enough for Melia to die.”
Johnny eased sideways. “What about Mockerie?”
“He can take care of himself. His agenda, my agenda. It’s possible for them to work together. And they will. You’re going to see Melia dead before I kill you. And I’m going be watching your face when that takes place.”
Was the shack burning on the inside? The smoke had grown so thick, Johnny couldn’t tell.
He’d circled around just far enough that he could see the bush Satyr was using for cover. “Gotcha, bastard,” he whispered and, raising his Glock, took aim. The distinctive click behind and slightly to his right stopped him. “Fuck!”
“You know it, pal.” The guard who had him in his sights raised his voice. “Got him, boss. He’s all yours if you want him.”
“Toss your weapons, Johnny,” Satyr ordered. “All of them.”
Johnny complied. The guard with the rifle grunted. “He’s unloaded three, Washburn. Check him for more.”
Rough hands patted Johnny down, chest to ankle. They swung him around to face his captors—two of them, muscled and mean. Smiling because, well, because they were muscled and mean.
The bushes rustled in a nonexistent breeze. Pandemonium continued to unfold around them. Smoke billowed from the shack, thunder shook the ground. It was reminiscent of an apocalypse to Johnny’s mind. Not quite biblical, but dramatic enough to please even the Satyrs of the world.
The man who’d frisked him gave Johnny a shove as his nemesis approached.
“My, my,” Satyr crowed. “Isn’t this a humble sight. Look at the shack, Johnny. It’s going up in flames.”
“And taking Mockerie with it.”
“Absolutely not. I guarantee he’s not ready to die yet.”
“Or let the woman he came all this way to torture die, either?”
Johnny saw Satyr gnash his teeth. “If she doesn’t perish in the fire, I’ll put a bullet in her head myself right in front of you.”
“And face Mockerie’s wrath before the powder burns settle?”
“He’ll understand.”
“The hell he will. You can’t win, Ben. You never look for pitfalls or potential disasters, unpredicted outcomes. You focus on one and only one goal and miss the external forces that could drop in and crash your party.”