Page 98 of Deadly Lineage
Without moving the gun from my head, McCallister released the fingers gripping my skin. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could hear his words. I’d heard similar from Pops over the years and understood enough to realize McCallister was weaving a spell.
Pops moved, but it wasn’t in time. Whatever McCallister did threw Franklin across the room, slamming his body into thewall. I heard Franklin’s head smack against stone and his gun clatter to the floor.
“Franklin!” I screamed, my throat raw and my heart pounding with fear. I leaned forward, desperate to get out of McCallister’s hold. Pain exploded, spiderwebbing through my brain from a singular impact point. I didn’t have time to wonder if I’d been shot, if I was dying, or if I’d ever see Franklin or Pops again. Darkness engulfed me and blessed silence eased my agony.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Franklin
Fuck.My head felt like it had been hit by a jackhammer.Scratch that, it wasstillbeing bombarded with the blasted thing. I groaned, the sound of Boone’s frantic call far away and muffled. A second sound filtered through the pounding static—Holland’s near-feral growl. I couldn’t make out the words. Honestly, I wasn’t certain if they were words or some type of archaic language I had no hope of understanding.
I gripped my head, pulling my hand away nearly as quickly as a fresh wave of pain radiated from where I’d touched. My hand didn’t come away wet, so at least I wasn’t bleeding. Head spinning, I tried pushing up onto my hands and knees, but a heavy hand on my back stopped me along with a whispered, “Don’t move. Not yet.”
I blinked past the searing pain. Bright lights flashed in my vision, and I was positive I had a concussion. Hell, if that’s all slamming my head against the wall caused, I’d count myself fortunate.
“H-Holland,” I muttered.
“I don’t have much time. Can you understand me?”
“Yes, but—”
“We’ve got one chance.” Something cold and metal slid into my hand. “I’m going into that circle.”
I tried shaking my head but that only made the world spin more. “You can’t. He’ll—”
“Shut up and listen. The sigils on the floor can be disrupted with nonmagical blood. Your blood. McCallister will be too busy with me to notice you. Play dead until you get an opening.”
“What? I—”
Holland pushed me flat against the floor.
Something else pressed into my hand alongside what I’d figured was a knife.
“That’s a pain charm. It won’t heal you, but it will take away the pain and allow you to act. Now, stay down,” he ordered before the pressure eased.
I lay there, shallow breaths barely making my chest rise and fall. I couldn’t exactly play dead, but I could play unconscious. My thumb worked across the charm he’d shoved into my hand and I pressed down, activating it. The relief was immediate, and I barely held in my sigh. My tense muscles relaxed, helping my ruse of unconsciousness.
I kept my eyes closed but my ears open. Listening, I realized I hadn’t heard anything from Boone since he’d screamed my name. My heart raced. Boone wasn’t the silent type. If he wasn’t speaking now, there was a reason. Christ, I really hoped that when this was all said and done, Holland left a piece of McCallister for me to flay.
“I’m here. Now, release my son,” Holland said, and I knew he’d stepped into that hated thing on the floor. Had McCallister used some type of bait to get his other victims into the circle? Or had he knocked them out and dragged them here? Maybe his victims weren’t solely based on connections. Maybe he’d chosen them because they were young and weak. Most likely it was a combination of both.
Nikodemus Holland was neither of those things. A whiff of sleeping dust wouldn’t have done jack shit to him, and that was assuming McCallister could have gotten close enough to use it in the first place.
“I don’t believe you’re truly that naïve,” McCallister taunted.
“Of course not, but it never hurts to ask.” Defiance rang through Holland’s words. “So, you’ve got me where you want me. Is that it or are you actually going to do something with this abomination you’ve scrawled across the floor?”
“Erasmus was right. Youarearrogant.”
“Erasmus is always right,” Holland said with pride, never once contradicting the statement.
I could imagine the frustration seeping through McCallister’s obvious obsession. “We’ll see how arrogant you are after I’ve taken what I want. You’ll fall just like the others—screaming until your throat is raw and your heart can no longer take the pain.”
“Promises, promises,” Holland continued taunting.
With an inhuman growl, McCallister began reciting words in a language I didn’t know. Even with my eyes closed, I could tell the room got brighter. Within a few seconds, Holland released his first scream. The sound tore through my chest. No one with that much pride should make such a wounded sound.
