Cold Hard Secret (Secret McQueen) (28 page)

“Dad, Mercy has to go.”

“No…” she whispered.

“Say goodbye.”

“Give your mother a kiss for me,” he instructed.

“I’ll give her something.” My gaze never left Mercy’s face. I watched her crumble under the weight of unexpected emotion. Of all the things I could have done to her, there was no way she could have expected me to use love as a weapon.

“Love you, Mer-mer,” Sutherland said.

I held the phone up, showing her the shattered screen. “Anything you want to add?”

She shifted her attention to me, and behind the tears I could see her fury building up, firing all her synapses at once. “I love you too.”

I ended the call and tucked my phone back into my pocket.

“I’m going to count to ten, and you’re going to run out of here. You’re going to run for the woods. After ten, I’m coming after you, and we’re going to finish this thing. Understand?”

The shotgun trembled in her hands, and I knew she was fighting the urge to blow a hole in my face right then and there. I couldn’t blame her. If I had the upper hand with a weapon, she’d already be dead. But I didn’t like the way she held her finger right on the trigger. If I shot her now, she’d take me down with her.

“Now run,” I told her.

And she did.

Chapter Thirty-Four

My werewolf half thrilled at the chase.

As I blitzed through the barn after—admittedly—less than ten seconds, the others were still reeling in the wake of Mercy’s similar exit.

“Go get
Grandmere
,” I shouted to Desmond as I passed.

Holden had come down from the loft and was pummeling the hell out of some poor schmuck’s face.

“Make sure my brother is safe,” I added, hauling ass for the front door exit.

Outside, the cool air greeted me like a slap. My breath was stolen by the sudden shift in temperature, and I took a moment to compose myself as I scanned the fields, trying to determine which way Mercy had gone. Randomly, I thought how proud Lucas would be of me for taking this course of action. This was how real wolves settled their grudges. One-on-one, to the death.

We weren’t using the others as pawns anymore.

By the time the sun streaked the sky purple in a couple hours, one of the McQueen women would be lying dead on the forest floor, and this whole ordeal would be over at last.

Away from the deafening noise I’d been surrounded by in the barn, being outside was like stepping into a soundproof room. It was so quiet I could hear the thump of my pulse in my ears, and each breath I took sounded ragged and forced.

Footfalls rustled the grass, moving away from the Syler house and towards one of the big empty parcels of land beyond it. If she ran about three more miles, she would cross the border into America, that’s how close we were.

Stealth no longer mattered.

I took off running behind her, pausing only when the sound of my own crashing footfalls blotted out hers and I wasn’t sure which way she’d gone. Within minutes the farm was out of sight and I was tearing through the woods, trying to maintain my speed while bare branches clawed at my face and roots conspired to trip me.

Here, only the sound of the odd leaf or snapping twig told me I was still going the right way.

When the sound of running stopped, I skidded to a halt, bracing myself against the nearest tree branch. I wasn’t out of breath so much as I was tired from fighting the elements with each new step. My bullet wound was starting to bleed freely, something I wasn’t altogether accustomed to. Normally the skin would have begun to stitch itself together by now.

Another fun side effect of silver bullets.

I let my eyes adjust to the surrounding area the best I could, but it wasn’t exactly like having night vision. I could make out shapes better than a human might, but Holden could have read an eye chart down to the last line from a hundred yards away.

Why couldn’t I have inherited
that
vampire trait, instead of needing blood to survive and being allergic to sunlight?

Evolution baffled me.

I squatted down, knowing her night vision was no better than mine. If she decided to take a shot in the dark—literally—she’d miss my head and give away her location.

Unless she decided to aim for my chest, in which case I’d be screwed either way.

Scanning the darkness, I tried to pick up any signs of motion or hints of where she might be. It didn’t occur to me to look upwards until she landed dead on my back, knocking us both to the ground.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she snarled.

Funny, wasn’t that exactly what Peyton had said to me? Nice to know how many of my enemies regretted their missed opportunities to do away with me.

“Which time?” The retort lacked finesse this time around, so to punctuate it I punched her across the cheek with enough force to send her reeling. Brute strength was one area where I could outclass most werewolves. “You’ve failed to kill me
a lot
.” Thinking about Brigit lying dead in my arms, I stoked my own rage. I’d softened the slightest bit when Mercy had shown emotion in the barn. I empathized with a woman who’d lost the man she loved.

But Mercy didn’t deserve my empathy, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve my forgiveness. Thinking about Brigit made a pellet of pure white-hot loathing blossom into something greater inside me. I felt alive, recharged, and the world around me was painted red.

Without thinking, my fangs were out, and the bloodlust had taken over.

Kill,
the monster inside me commanded.

My rational brain—the part of me who might normally struggle against that kind of instruction—had nothing to say about the matter.

Mercy collected herself quickly after the punch and came for me again, only this time she was demonstrating a neat little trick of hers. Something she’d passed down to me.

Her hands had shifted form, creating a freakish and terrifying hybrid of human and wolf. Her fingers were long and jutted at bizarre angles, with hair on her palms and knuckles, and deadly sharp claws protruding where her fingernails had previously been. She slashed at me with those claws, and in spite of my efforts to backpedal, she managed to get me across the chest.

Deep, red gashes appeared over my skin, and when they didn’t hurt right away, I knew I was in trouble.

“I’m going to finish the job tonight,” she snarled.

She might, too, if she kept at it like this. I was lucky she’d gotten me in the chest. It was ugly, sure, but if she’d gone for my arm, I’d be a sitting duck. At least now I still had the ability to pick up and use a weapon.

My sword had fallen when she knocked me over, but my gun was in its holster and easily accessible. I used to keep it tucked into my jeans, but since getting the holster, I’d run into far fewer issues where I couldn’t reach the weapon in a time of crisis.

I pulled it out and fired without taking time to aim perfectly. Mercy spun backwards, howling. The bullet had struck her right in the shoulder, and if the silver worked quickly, she would soon have one less claw to attack me with.

Staggering to my feet like a drunk, I scoured the ground looking for my sword. The gun was great and all, but if I was going to kill Mercy, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. If ever there’d been a villain in my life who might pull the horror-movie twist of coming back to life after she was supposed to be dead, it would be Mercy. I didn’t feel like having to kill her twice. Once would be more than enough to suit my purposes.

My wayward sword had landed about five feet away, and I moved towards it, realizing with each step that my injuries had started to take their toll. Between the bullet and the new chest wound—which was healing, but taking its time about it—I was in rough shape. I needed to finish this now, otherwise I wasn’t sure I’d maintain the better odds.

Mercy lunged at me again, grabbing my hair with her good arm and driving me face first into the nearest tree. I turned in time so my cheekbone broke instead of my nose, but the pain receptors in my brain couldn’t tell the difference.
Ow,
was their response.

Jerking my elbow back, I repaid the favor by landing a blow right on the bridge of her nose. She started bleeding immediately, whereas my injury would hurt internally for the day it took for the bone to reset. I was going to be bruised like a prizefighter for most of the next day.

She tried to claw at me again, but I grabbed the branch overhead and kicked out with both feet, planting my heels on her chest and sending her flying back into the tree behind her. I dropped to the ground and dove for my sword, struggling to get back to my feet once I had it. There wouldn’t be any cool kick stands with how I was feeling right now. I was lucky to still be standing at all.

Considering I’d kicked her into a hundred-year-old tree, Mercy got back into a standing position pretty quickly. The arm on the side where I’d shot her hung limp, and she was breathing hard. I put one hand to my side, and when I pulled my fingers away, they were slick with wet blood.

Awesome.

“Just stay down,” I wheezed.

“Die already.”

Maybe we had a few things in common after all. A stubborn unwillingness to be killed was chief among them.

“Fine. Don’t take it lying down. Whatever. It’s going to end the same way regardless.” My threat lacked a menacing punch thanks to the way my voice hitched up from pain with every other word. At this rate neither one of us would walk out of here tonight.

She took a step towards me and her knee gave out, sending her lolling to one side before she regained her footing. If I was in better shape, I’d be delighted to know how weak she was. There wasn’t a lot of fight left in her. Too bad there wasn’t a lot of fight left in
me
either.

Any last words?
I asked myself.

Was there anything I desperately wanted to say to her now that I had her right in front of me?

“It didn’t have to be like this, you know.” I edged forward and kept my gaze locked on her, worried her pitiful state was all part of an act. That would be right up Mercy’s alley, to pretend she was injured only to come at me full force when I got too close.

Except the shot I’d landed on her shoulder couldn’t be faked.

“Pretty words won’t change anything, kid.” She spit on the ground, the foamy red blood glistening in the moonlight.

“I never wanted anything from you. I never asked you to love me. You could have lived your life and let me live mine.”

“You’re an abomination. You shouldn’t have a life to begin with.”

This old song and dance again. Sometimes I wondered why she’d let me live long enough to give me to
Grandmere
if she’d thought I was such a monster. Was it her first and last maternal act?

Abandoning children
was
something she excelled at.

“And Ben? He’s no abomination, but that didn’t stop you from turning your son into a monster.”

Mercy leaned against the tree beside her and smiled softly. Her dark brown curls were wet at the bottom where they’d been soaking in her blood. My own blonde ones probably looked much worse.

“He’ll be fine.” She coughed.

“Do you know what I did to Peyton?” I tested my grip on the sword, making sure I wouldn’t drop it when I needed it most.

“Since you’re still alive, I assume you killed him.”

“Do you want to know how?”

“Not really.” The claws on her useless hand had shifted back to normal, leaving her with only one set. “I’m done talking to you.”

“Good.” I lifted the sword and called on my vampire speed, bursting forward with the blade level. It slid through her neck as though she were made of paper and pinned her to the tree behind her.

Mercy’s body thrashed, and she swatted at me with her claws, slicing into the arm of my jacket and through to the skin beneath.

“Just
die
,” I snarled.

“…ou…irst…” she burbled, blood pouring from her lips.

Pop.

I didn’t see the gun because it was still in my holster, but I hadn’t bothered with the safety and I’d left it with a bullet at the ready. All she’d had to do was angle the gun inward and pull the trigger.

Like the claw wounds on my chest, I didn’t feel the bullet right away. I took two steps backwards, and her fingers fell away from the gun.

Even with a sword jammed through her neck, Mercy stared right at me and smiled.

I wanted to watch her die.

Sinking to the ground, I propped myself against the nearest tree just as the searing agony from the new silver bullet joined in chorus with the one before it. I needed to get the bullets out. Needed to get inside to protect myself from the sunrise that would be coming all too soon.

She stared at me, and I waited.

As my vision started to turn fuzzy and black, a new light came. Not a light calling me up to heaven, but the blue-white shimmer of the dead. All around us the ghosts of Buck Syler’s victims rose, dozens upon dozens. I couldn’t make out their faces, only the distorted female shapes. They grouped together, surrounding Mercy and staring down at me.