Tempted

Stevie Rae admitted to herself that Zoey and Sister Mary Angela might have been partially right in their mini counseling session with her, but that didn’t make what they’d said any less annoying.

Okay, sure, she’d overreacted, but the guys putting the bodies of the Raven Mockers in the trash had really jolted her, and not just because of him. Her eyes slid over to the shed that sat silently beside the green house.

What they had done with the bodies of the Raven Mockers had bothered her because she didn’t believe in life being devalued—any kind of life. It was a dangerous thing to think you were godlike and could decide who was worthy of life and who wasn’t. Stevie Rae knew that better than the nun or Zoey ever could. Not only had her life, well, actually, her death been messed with by a High Priestess who had begun believing she was actually a goddess, but Stevie Rae had once thought she had the right to snuff out lives according to her own needs or whims. Just remembering how it had been when she’d been caught up in that anger and violence made her feel sick. She’d left those dark times behind her—she’d made a choice for good and light and the Goddess, and that was the path she was staying on. So when anyone decided a life meant nothing, any life, it upset her.

Or at least that was what Stevie Rae told herself as she started walking across the abbey grounds, heading totally away from the garden shed.

Keep it together, girl… keep it together… she kept repeating over and over as she detoured quickly down the ditch and into the tree line, heading directly for the bloodstains she remembered all too well. She found a thick, broken branch that still had a bunch of twigs attached to it, and lifted it easily, glad for the extra strength that came with her new status as fully Changed red vampyre. Using the branch like a broom, she brushed over the blood, pausing every so often to toss another broken branch, or once, a whole side of a collapsed holly bush, onto the telltale crimson pools.

Following her earlier path, she turned to her left, away from the street and back onto the nuns’ lawn, staying inside the fence. She hadn’t gone far when, just like before, Stevie Rae found a big splotch of blood.

Only this time there wasn’t a body lying on top of it.

Distracting herself by humming Kenny Chesney’s “(Baby) You Save Me,” she hurriedly brushed over the bloodstains and then followed the trail of drops she knew she’d find, kicking ice and branches over the evidence, as the blood path led her directly to the little garden shed.

She stared hard at the door, sighed, and then turned away, walking around the shed to the green house. The door was unlocked and the handle turned easily. She entered the building and paused, breathing deeply and allowing the scents of earth and growing things, mixed with the new spice of the three horses that were temporarily housed there, to soothe her senses, as the warmth of the place thawed the icy dampness that seemed to have penetrated into her soul. But she didn’t allow herself to rest there long. She couldn’t. She had business to take care of and not much time before dawn. Even if the sun was going to be shrouded by clouds and ice, it was still never a comfortable thing for a red vampyre to be caught outside, exposed and vulnerable, during the day.

It didn’t take Stevie Rae long to find what she needed. The nuns obviously liked the old-school way of doing things. Instead of a system of modern hoses, electric switches, and metallic thingies, the sisters had buckets and dippers, watering pails with long, perforated nozzles made for gently showering baby plants, and lots of tools that were obviously as well used as they were well cared for. Stevie Rae filled a bucket with fresh water from one of the many faucets, grabbed a dipper, a few towels from a clean pile she found on a shelf used to store garden gloves and spare pots, and then, on her way out, she paused near a tray of moss that reminded her of a thick, green carpet. She stood there chewing her lip indecisively as instinct warred with her conscious mind, until she finally gave in and pulled up a long row of the moss. Then, mumbling to herself about not knowing how she knew what she knew, Stevie Rae left the green house and returned to the shed.

At the door she stopped and focused her attention—keyed all of her keen, predator-like ability to sense, smell, see anyone, anything lurking around. Nothing. No one was outside. The sleet and the late hour were keeping everyone tucked safe and warm inside.

“Everyone with any dang sense,” she mumbled to herself.

She took one more look around, shifted her load so she had a free hand, and then touched the door latch. Okay—okay. Just get it over with. Maybe he’s dead and you won’t have to deal with this great bigassed new mistake you made.

Stevie Rae clicked the latch down and pushed open the door. Automatically, she wrinkled her nose. It was jolting after the earthy simplicity of the green house, this little building that smelled like gas and oil and musty crap, all mixed with the wrong scent of his blood.

She’d left him at the other end of the shed, behind the riding mower and the shelves that held lawn care stuff like garden shears, fertilizer, and spare sprinkler parts. She peered back there and could vaguely make out a dark shape, but it wasn’t moving. She listened hard and didn’t hear anything except the ice spitting against the roof.

Dreading the inevitable moment when she was going to have to face him, Stevie Rae forced herself to step into the shed and close the door firmly behind her. She made her way around the mower and shelves to the creature that lay at the far end of the shed. It didn’t look like he’d moved since she’d half dragged, half carried him there a couple of hours ago and literally tossed him into that back corner. He lay crumpled in on himself, curled into an awkward fetal position on his left side. The bullet that had torn through the upper right side of his chest, had ripped through his wing as it exited his body, utterly decimating it. The huge black wing lay bloody, shattered, and useless along his side. Stevie Rae also thought one of his ankles might be broken, as it was horribly swollen and, even in the darkness of the shed, she could see it looked bruised. Actually, his whole body looked pretty badly battered, which was no big surprise. He had been shot out of the sky and the big old oaks at the edge of the abbey’s property had broken his fall enough for him not to have been killed immediately, but she really had no way of knowing how badly he was wounded. For all she knew his insides were as broken as his outsides looked. For all she knew, he was dead. He sure looked dead. She watched his chest and couldn’t be 100 percent certain, but she didn’t think she saw it rising or falling with his breath. He was probably dead. She kept staring at him, unwilling to move closer, and unable to turn and walk away.

Was she batshit crazy? Why hadn’t she stopped to think before she’d dragged him in here? She stared at him. He wasn’t human. He wasn’t even animal. It wasn’t playing God to let him die; he should never have been born.

Stevie Rae shuddered. She continued to stand there as if she was frozen by the horror of what she’d done. What would her friends say if they found out she’d hidden a Raven Mocker? Would Zoey turn away from her? And what repercussions would this creature’s presence cause with the red fledglings, all of the red fledglings? As if they didn’t have enough dark, evil things to deal with?

The nun had been right. He shouldn’t evoke pity in her. She was going to take the towels and stuff back to the green house, go inside the abbey, find Darius and tell him that there was a Raven Mocker in the shed. Then she’d let the warrior do his job. If he wasn’t dead already, Darius would take care of business. It would actually be putting the bird guy out of his misery. She let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in relief at her decision, and his red eyes opened and met hers.

“Finish it…” the Raven Mocker’s voice was weak and filled with pain, but it was clearly, absolutely, undeniably human.

And that was it. Stevie Rae realized the reason she hadn’t called Dallas and the rest of them when she’d discovered him. When he’d spoken before and told her to kill him, he’d sounded like a real guy—one who had been hurt and abandoned and scared. She hadn’t been able to kill him then, and she wasn’t able to turn away from him now. His voice made all the difference, because even though he looked like a being that shouldn’t be possible, he sounded like a regular guy who was so desperate and in such pain that he expected the very worst to happen to him.

No, that was wrong. He didn’t just expect the very worst to happen to him, he wanted it to. What he had gone through was so horrible he couldn’t see any way out of it except through his own death. To Stevie Rae, even though what he’d been through was largely of his own making, that made him very, very human. She’d been there. She understood such complete hopelessness.