Twisted

EIGHTEEN

TUCKER PERCHED ON THE highest limb of an oak and watched as the wolf absconded with Mary Ann. They left a trail of blood a blind man would spot. The wolf was unsteady and weaving, and Mary Ann limp as a noodle. She wouldn’t last much longer.

The wolf read auras, but Tucker knew the siren’s call of death. No question, Mary Ann was even then swimming out to greet the lyrical grim reaper, and nothing would stop her.

The witch’s aim had been true. Her arrow had sliced through the ward preventing Mary Ann from receiving a mortal wound. The location alone was damaging, but the blood loss would be more so.

Wards worked—until they were closed. Or burned away. Or any number of other painful things. Some people opted to get a ward to protect their wards, so that something like this could never happen, but not many went that route. What if someone gave you a ward you didn’t want? ’Cause yeah. Being held down and inked with all kinds of badness never happened.

Tucker would have snickered at his sarcasm, considering he’d told Mary Ann how ugly it was, but he was too afraid it’d sound like a sob. Only pansy-assed babies sobbed. He wasn’t a pansy-assed baby.

He was a liar.

He hadn’t been completely honest with Mary Ann. Oh, he’d run from Vlad after stabbing Aden all right—but he’d run after he’d “chatted” with the guy. Bastard had threatened him with a few wards of his own if he didn’t man up and do as he was told.

Man up. Funny, coming from a guy who looked more monster than man while he hid in the shadows, but whatever.

Until yesterday, Tucker hadn’t exactly followed the former king’s orders. He’d helped Mary Ann rather than hurt her.

He liked her. More than he should, and more than was wise.

Why’d she have to let the wolf stick around?

Tucker would have continued to resist Vlad if she’d kicked the wolf to the curb.

Because, when he and Mary Ann were alone, he was fine. A halfway decent individual. Dirty-minded, maybe, but who wasn’t? Then Riley had shown up, and boom. Vlad had made another move, and Tucker had lost the battle.

Poor Mary Ann. She was an unwanted casualty.

Tucker waited as the witches who’d just annihilated her congregated under his tree. Red Robed Bitches, that’s what he called them. They were glaring up at him, pissed that they’d failed and blaming him. Even though he hadn’t been the one to freaking fail.

“You said we’d have the pair cornered if we waited until they were inside the house,” the blonde in charge said. Marie, he thought was her name. She was a pretty thing but vicious in her determination.

Having rifled through Mary Ann’s things, he’d found the address she’d tried so hard to hide. Had known exactly where she would go, if not when. So, he’d cast an illusion when she and the wolf left the café and followed them. “That’s when I thought you were competent,” he replied. “Why didn’t you give chase?”

“And risk a draining?”

“Again I’m struck by the words thought you were competent.”

They spat expletives at him.

He shoved from the branch and fell…fell…and landed on his feet. In the center of the RRBs now, he spun, his arms splayed wide, his vibe all about daring them to try something with him.

He really wanted them to try something with him.

He deserved punishment, but then, so did they. Only difference was, he knew he deserved it. They’d be the first to tell you how righteous their cause, how they were on the holy path, blah, blah, blah.

They had lost Mary Ann’s trail after Riley warded her, but they hadn’t lost Tucker’s. Apparently they’d magically locked onto him, too, but Riley had refused to ward him, so there you go. Because of Riley’s refusal, they’d never really lost the girl. Tucker would not take the blame for that.

The fae had been trailing Mary Ann and Tucker, as well. They would have been here, extracting their pound of flesh like the witches, only the witches had…politely asked them to leave, sending the other race home to their mamas.

After that, Tucker had thrown the witches an illusion—one of Mary Ann and Riley talking, arguing, tossing out names and info Tucker had pulled out of his ass—hoping to send the little RRBs running in a thousand different directions. Of course, that’s when Vlad had called him.

Tucker…my Tucker…

Just. Like. That.

Everything had changed.

Tucker…

He shuddered as that eerie, commanding voice continued to shove its way into his head, leading him around like a puppet on a string. Wasn’t difficult to do, either. The darkest part of Tucker’s nature—the part that enjoyed verbally ripping his little brother to pieces, kicking puppies, fist fighting his friends, cheating on his girlfriend, watching the girl pregnant with his baby lose the respect of her family—that part craved the vampire’s guidance.

The other part of him was curled up in a little ball, weeping like a stupid kid, sad about all the pain he’d caused—all the destruction he would soon cause. But Tucker hated that side of himself, too, so really, there wasn’t any part of himself that he liked.

Tucker, my Tucker, finish this.

The king’s voice was stronger than before, louder, more…everything. Every day he healed a little more, and one day soon, he would be the man, the warrior, he’d once been.

Vlad had commanded Tucker to approach the witches, told him what image to show them, told him what to say and how to act. And he had. He’d done all of it. Assumed the image of someone they knew—who he was supposed to be, he still wasn’t sure—and they’d believed him and done everything he’d wanted without question.

“—even listening?” Marie demanded.

“No.”

“Argh! You were always frustrating, but now you’re just a bastard.”

“You can’t blame your failure on me,” he said. “I gift wrapped the pair and handed them to you like it was your birthday.” Just saying those words caused guilt to claw at him.

Tucker…you know what to do. Kill the witches, find the wolf and the drainer, and finish them off.

Kill the witches? Fine, no problem. Consider it done. But… You wanted the wolf and Mary—the drainer’s deaths blamed on the witches. He shoved the words out of his mind, into the air, and knew Vlad heard him. Wherever he was. If the witches are dead, how can they be blamed?

I’m sure you’ll think of a way. Now, do what I told you.

No sense in fighting Vlad. He’d come out the loser. Tucker squared his shoulders, his gaze narrowing on the gaggle of females around him. He shook his arms, just barely, but enough. The blades he’d stashed under his shirt sleeves slid into his palms. He gripped the hilts.

“Why don’t you gift wrap them again,” Marie said primly. “And we’ll go from there.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Cleary she did not like to be thwarted. She stomped her foot, saying, “Why not?”

“You’re not gonna be around to accept any more presents.” Without another word, he struck.

RILEY LEFT MARY ANN behind a Dumpster, shifted to human, didn’t care that he was naked, stole a bottle of vodka and a pass key to a motel room from the clerk at the desk, a bag from one of the guests and went back for Mary Ann. He carried her inside the empty room without being seen or dropping her. A shocker and a miracle, considering he was as twitchy as a junkie in need of a fix.