Page 112 of The Tracker's Revenge
Damien?
No. That was impossible. I’d seen him die. But if not Damien, who?
Oh, witchlights!Blaze wasn’t a cat at all. No wonder he’d never behaved like a proper pet. Panicked, I tried to remember all our interactions. I’d always been nice to him, right? Did he hate me for treating him like an animal?
“You might feel you have an advantage...” Mekare’s eyes roved around in a circle as he assessed every one of us. Three werewolves, an ancient vampire, and a Copper Mage... the tables had really turned.
“And maybe you do,” the witch admitted. “But you won’t catch me alive. You’re weakDark Donna.” She pronounced the moniker with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “You’re a shadow of your old self, and you’ll be dead soon.”
Bernadetta’s face twitched, registering an edge of fear. I watched her closely, trying to read between the lines. There was an undertone to the witch’s words, a truth that couldn’t be denied. And that was when it hit me, the Dark Donna was sick, which could only mean one thing.
She had consumed rhabo.
Holy shit!
Mekare laughed, a deep, throaty sound that came out forced. Even if she thought the vamp’s health was compromised, the witch was still afraid of her.
“You’ll pay for your betrayal. Both of you,” Bernadetta said, her fierce voice ringing with promise. “Hand over the Unholy Vessel, and I may consider dispatching you quickly.”
Practically shaking, Stephen took several steps back, his ass scooting right up against the wall. Then, he leaped and dashed toward the door, but before he made it past the threshold, Eric fleeted there and blocked his path. Stephen backed away, inching his way back toward Mekare. She whirled on him and kicked at his ribs.
“Get away from me, you coward,” she spat. “I’ve wasted my time with you. You’ve outlived your usefulness.”
He yelped, legs thrashing. He frantically scanned the room, his attention stopping on me. Suddenly, his ears drew back, and his tail curled inwardly. Moving as if he had a cork stuck up his butt, he headed it in my direction.
“Toni, don’t let them kill me. Please, help me.”
I let out a short bark that sounded like a laugh. “Help you? Help YOU?! After all, you’ve done? Damien is dead because of you.”
Stephen shook his head. “No. It was Mekare. Not me.”
He inched closer, so much that I could practically taste his fear, his cowardice. A killing instinct washed over me. He needed to die, to pay for what he’d done. I bared my teeth, ready to rip his throat out.
“Please, Toni. She... Mekare, she has the Unholy Vessel, not me. It’s always been her.”
Before I could move a muscle to attack Stephen and exert my revenge, the Midnight Witch moved in a fluid attack, the jade dagger tight in her hand, and stabbed her weapon right through Stephen’s shoulder blade, accompanying the attack with a burst of magic.
Stephen growled in pain, throwing his head back and twisting. Mekare pulled the blade out, a sparkle of glee in her dark eyes. Stephen collapsed to the floor, his legs becoming useless under him. He lay there, blinking a few times, then his gaze drifted toward mine. There was a plea in his expression that was impossible to miss.
A twinge of pity rose in my chest, and I hated myself for it. He didn’t deserve it.
“I’ve n-never even killed anyone,”he projected the sad thought, and I couldn’t tell if it was regret or repentance.
Either way, it didn’t matter. He might not have killed anyone directly, but he sure was responsible for the deaths of many. That he’d never wielded the weapon in his own hands meant nothing.
I took several steps away from him, neither relishing his slow death nor allowing my pity to take over. Instead, I turned my attention to the witch and the scene in front of me. A tiny smile twisted her lips, and when I glanced at Bernadetta, I found that she, too, wore a similar expression.
“I must thank you for doing that,” the Dark Donna said. “I believe everyone here held a grudge against him for one reason or another. Even you.” She glanced down at Blaze, who still stood at her feet, sitting in that placid way cats have, heavy on his haunches, front paws aligned perfectly, and tail wrapped around his bottom.
Increasingly labored breaths came from Stephen. The metallic scent of blood saturated the air, and I still refused to look at him again.
“Now, it’s your turn,” Bernadetta said. She gestured toward Jake and Eric.
And the wolves began advancing toward the witch.
