Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Nineteen



Izzie didn't see the crossbow at first, and even if she had, it wouldn't have registered. Wright rarely went anywhere without his favorite weapon—it was just as much a part of him as were his arms and legs. Never had she been on its business end, and while staring down the aged killer was frightening in its own right, a part of her felt she had been here before. Though he hadn't had the crossbow the night they met, she was no stranger to the look in his eyes. She had seen what was the last sight for many, and she had watched him fire without flinching.

Still, she couldn't give way to panic. In a way, she felt oddly calm.

"I thought you left town," Izzie said.

Wright's face didn't change.

"We's closed," Connor snapped, blinking out of his stupor. "Get da f*ck out."

"I thought you were dead," the hunter said, his voice soft and lethal. His eyes never left Izzie's. He slid a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sleek familiar dagger. "Lose something?"

Izzie's throat tightened. "You know me." She held up her hands. "Butter fingers."

"Actually, that's not you at all." He let the blade fall to the floor. In the motion, she likewise caught sight of the cross Harrison had given her—the ghost she'd carried for so long—around his neck. She didn't know where she'd lost it, though guessed in the same place she'd lost her dagger. Apparently in her absence, Wright himself had grown somewhat superstitious. She couldn't imagine why else he'd claim something he swore had no power.

"Zack . . . ."

"What the f*ck have they done to you?"

"Nothing she didn't want done," Ryker spat.

Her vampire's arms tightened around her middle. Izzie hadn't even realized he still held her until that moment.

Wright's gaze shifted briefly to the place where Ryker's hand rested against her belly, and he resumed aim with the crossbow. "Perhaps you are dead," he said softly. "The Izzie I knew would never let one of them get that close."

"And the Zack I knew didn't stay in one place when he thought someone was a lost cause."

"I thought you were smart enough to come back."

Izzie shrugged. "Not my fault. And not Ryker's either, so you can put the goddamn crossbow down."

"Oh right. 'Cause you're one of his now."

"I'm mine now."

"Ah." Wright's eyebrows shot skyward. "Is that what he has you thinking?"

Ryker pulled her closer. "Just 'cause you filled her head with useless shit doesn't mean the rest of us make a habit of it."

"Oh, is that it?" Wright nodded. "So it's all on me now? They get in your head and they have you turning against one of your own?"

She rolled her eyes. "This is ridiculous."

"Yes, I suppose you think so." Wright spared Ryker a quick glance. "So let's hear it."

"It?"

"The reason your fanged whore doesn't get an arrow through the chest."

A snarl rushed through the vampire's throat. "Try it."

Wright studied him for a beat, then shrugged, taking aim. "Well, if you insist—"

"Put it down," Izzie snapped.

"In a room full of enemies? Did you know me at all?"

"Enemies?" Ryker repeated. "You're the one holding the weapon, friend."

"And you're the one holding my—"

Ryker growled again and his hold around Izzie's middle tightened. "Your what?" he demanded.

"Ooh, look at this." Wright cocked his head. "Somebody is jealous."

Izzie licked her lips and drew in a sharp breath. Despite the comfort his presence provided, perhaps it wasn't in her best interest to have this conversation while entwined with her lover. "Ryker," she whispered. "Let me go."

She felt his hesitation, and though she sensed he wanted to protest, his arm dropped without a fight. Her flesh ached with the absence of his, but at the same time she could think more clearly without him against her.

Wright wouldn't hesitate to pull that trigger. Not a blink. Perhaps if she distanced herself from Ryker, the nature of their relationship wouldn't be so obvious and therefore less of a threat.

"The night we fought," Izzie said, "I came out to find Ryker. To warn him."

Wright scoffed. "Warn him."

"You targeted him without reason."

"He knew my name," her old friend snarled, casting Ryker a derisive glance. "They don't know our names, Izzie."

Ryker snarled. "Look at me like that again, boy, and it'll be the last thing you see."

"Try it," Wright responded. "Please."

"It's not like I was handing out business cards," Izzie retorted. "I told you Prentiss knew. He knew before he grabbed me. Before any of this."

"And which one of these f*cks is Prentiss?"

She sighed. "The real bad guy, Zack. We're all on the same side in this room."

"At least one of the a*sholes in this room has fangs. That makes him no friend of mine."

Connor grumbled. "Ain't no one gonna call me names in me own house."

"Can tell a lot about a man by the sort of company he keeps," Wright replied. "And I believe I'm the one holding the crossbow."

"Dammit, I was kidnapped!"

"And then you were set free."

"Not by Prentiss, you a*shole. Where the hell do you think I've been these past few days?" Izzie stared at him, chest heaving, and she'd be lying if she said the puzzled look on Wright's face didn't provide her a gratified rush. Her head became light and the words tumbled out without review or reserve. "The lights went out and I woke up in a f*cking cell in the middle of God knows where. They stripped me, bound me—"

"Who did?"

"A human, Zack. A man named Insen Briggs. He had me and Ryker caged like animals, conducting experiments—"

Wright redirected his attention to Ryker again. "You?"

"Yeah," the vampire agreed slowly. "I was one of the caged ones."

"And I'm supposed to believe you didn't touch her?"

"No. You're supposed to believe if I did, it wasn't my idea." Ryker paused. "And she enjoyed it."

"Ryker!" Izzie hissed. "Not exactly helping."

"Didn't know I was supposed to," he replied, flashing her a disarming grin. The look in his eyes reassured her even if his words did not.

She did her best to share his ease. "If you want to remain alive, I'd advise toning it down."

Out of the corner of her eye, Izzie saw Connor twitch.

Wright must have seen it as well, for his attention quickly shifted and the arrow found a new target. "And where the f*ck do you think you're going?"

"To get Bessy," the bartender replied.

"Bessy?" Wright repeated.

"His pride and joy," Izzie supplied. "We were talking about her before you came in."

He frowned. "And she's here? This Bessy?"

Connor nodded. "In da other room. She prob'ly scared. Lemme tend to 'er."

It likely should have occurred to Izzie before what exactly Bessy was, but for whatever reason her revelation didn't arrive until that second. And for that reason she purposefully looked to the ground. She knew if she met Wright's gaze he would know. He could always see what others could not.

Instead, she looked at Ryker, and he looked back. And she saw love in his eyes.

She had to get him out. If Wright pulled the trigger he would not miss. That was one guarantee, and something she refused to allow. Ryker couldn't pay for the crimes of another. Not when he had done so much. Not when they had shared so much.

Not when she felt the way she did.

"I can't believe you."

Izzie glanced up, meeting Wright's cold stare. "What?"

"What you turned in to. It took so little, didn't it? After everything we've been through. Everything I taught you—"

"Everything you force-fed her," Ryker murmured.

Wright's upper lip curled. "The f*ck you say?"

"You heard me." The vampire scoffed. "Oh, I know the tale. Tell me when I get something wrong. You lost someone. Someone special. Child. Wife. Sibling. F*ck, maybe all of the above. Not the nicest way to learn we exist, but it's the same old f*cking song. So you harden. Become a shell of yourself. A person who barely resembles the man you were before. And several years after you've made a small but modest dent in our population, you meet her. A girl who's lost and afraid and seen better days, and in her you see herself. So that's what you try and do. Make her you. Model her into what you've become so you won't be lonely." Ryker paused. "Here's the rub. You can mold and shape and teach her all those life lessons you wished you knew in the beginning, but she didn't come into this with your grudge."

"And I suppose you know what she came into this with?"

"Killed her father. With that dagger." Ryker waved at the blade on the floor. "And she killed two human men to free me."

Wright's nostrils flared.

"And that," Ryker continued, "was before I knew exactly how good she felt."

The words were the trigger. Izzie knew all the signs. Knew the way Wright's brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, knew the way his shoulders squared and how his hands caressed the smooth surface of his weapon. She knew them all just as surely as she knew herself. Just as she understood what her body was doing even before it acted. Just as she understood why.

Wright fired the crossbow, his aim perfect. And she was in the air, flying for the empty space before her vampire. And she understood right then—too late—what it was. The strange feeling in her chest. The need coursing through her body, the fiery connection she felt with Ryker, how he erased time and pain. How she'd felt safer with him than she had with anyone, and to what lengths she would go to preserve it.

Love. This was what love felt like. She loved him.

It was fast. The arrow pierced through flesh and bone, and though she surfed through an ocean of protesting screams, she understood the fall wouldn't kill her.

She landed in Ryker's arms, her eyes absorbing his fury and despair, the tear-strained screams ripping through his throat.

I love you.

He would save her. She knew he would. He would understand. He would know what she wanted.

He would know.



* * * * *



If Ryker had felt pain before, he didn't remember. He couldn't feel for the pressure in his chest, the sensation of being torn strand by strand down the middle, of bleeding from the inside out. Izzie lay dying in his arms, Wright's arrow protruding from her body, blood pooling out her chest and leaking from her mouth. Her eyes remained on his, blinking, fading, her light dimming to a weak glow. He was losing her.

A dry, hollow cry erupted off his lips. He hissed and snarled, his fangs bursting into his mouth. He looked at Wright—ready to attack, scream, rip him limb from limb—but the man's face, wrought with agony and shock, halted his bound. The crossbow clattered to the floor.

"She . . . ." Wright's voice was thick. "Izzie?"

Connor chose that moment to return to the room, his sawed off Winchester aimed at Wright's head. "Meet Bessy," he snarled. Then his face fell, his gaze wide. "Whut 'appen'd?"

"The f*cking bastard got trigger happy." Ryker's voice was between a roar and a sob. He looked back to Izzie, whose breaths were coming slower and shallower. He had done this. He'd let jealousy get in the way—let his words and his need to claim her shadow all. He'd gotten her killed, and for nothing. "It wouldn't have killed me, you silly girl," he whispered. "Takes more than that, right? Remember?"

"She jumped," Wright said numbly. "She jumped."

"You shut your mouth!" Ryker screamed. "Couldn't just let her go? Couldn't let her lead a life she wanted? She gave you everything!"

He had no idea whether or not Wright heard him. It didn't matter. Ryker's decision had been solidified the moment Izzie moved. The moment she fell into his arms. Perhaps it had all led to this. Perhaps this was what she wanted. He didn't know.

Either she'd made the choice or she'd given it to him. Regardless, this was his fault. He'd goaded Wright into firing. He'd made this happen. And he wouldn't let her die.

Connor shifted uneasily in the doorway. "Ryker—"

"Shoot him if he moves." Ryker lifted Izzie's throat to his mouth, licking her sweet skin and shuddering. No. He couldn't let her leave him. Not like this. She had to know he wouldn't let her go. "I love you," he murmured. "Forgive me."

"No!" Wright shouted. He moved to reload the crossbow, but Connor kept Bessy level.

"You blink an' yer toast," the bartender growled.

"She wouldn't want this!"

"Don' tink she wanted a chest full of arrow, neither."

Ryker had only been selfish once before and it had nearly killed him. Izzie had what Caroline did not—she knew him, knew what he would do, knew to what lengths he'd go to save those he loved. She had to.

Izzie's lips moved and though she didn't speak, he could have sworn he heard her sigh in completion as his fangs sliced into her flesh.