Reckless Revenge: Book Four (Spellbound 4) (18 page)

“Got it. Quick and confident. While trying to see in the dark.” I didn’t bother disguising the sarcasm.

Trent’s feet shuffled across the floor. I could sense him nearby, shifting his weight on his heels and waiting to strike. I inhaled deeply and my eyes narrowed on my target. His outline glowed a little brighter, as he crept around me.

My fists flew toward him, but Trent ducked and weaved. He tried desperately to block attack after attack, but I landed dozens of kicks and punches on his upper body. He finally smiled again when he managed to grasp my ankle and flip me onto my back.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching down to offer me a hand.

Getting to my feet, I complacently smiled. “Yup. Bring it on!”

With a smirk, he lunged. Dodging his attack, I pirouetted and landed a solid kick in his stomach. The force of my strike caused him to stumble backward, hitting the far wall.

I couldn’t deny that I was enjoying this newfound ability, and I remembered how I’d always wanted to be able to do that as a child. Being able to see in the dark totally rocked!

He turned the overhead light back on. “Damn, Shiloh. That was awesome.”

Before I could respond, my cell phone beeped. I went to the table and picked it up. The text was from an unknown number. I couldn’t move. The words glared up at me and a ragged breath caught in my throat.

I reread the text of doom:
YOU’RE DEAD, BITCH. SOON.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. My skin prickled. Trent moved closer, and our eyes met. He snatched the phone out of my trembling hand and read the ominous message.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m good,” I said hoarsely.

“Do you think it’s Carter?”

“Whoever it is, they’re getting antsy for a showdown.”

With shaky fingers, I texted back:
Who is this?

The message displayed that it was sending. And sending. Then the screen lit up with the words:
Message Failed
.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

My hands shook, holding tight to the phone. If it was a fight they wanted, soon I’d be ready.

On Friday night, I found myself seated beside Ariana on the bleachers, watching the football game. I was telling her about the threatening text message I had received when another loud cheer gained my attention. I turned my head to peek further down the sideline. The Giants had kicked off to Marin Prep, but my mind wasn’t on the football game.

Even the cheering of the crowd after every pass, run, touchdown, or tackle by the Giants was nothing more than background noise. I scrutinized the players in awe and dread at the team’s aggressive yet outstanding performance. They were unbeatable tonight, swift and strong. None of our football players appeared fatigued or had any injuries, while some of the Marin Prep players were carried off the field on stretchers.

What more proof did we need that they were lycan hybrids?

With a quick sweep of the field, my gaze settled on Coach Ramírez who was hollering at three players on the sidelines. His hand tightened around the cane.

A burning sensation similar to intense indigestion struck my gut, accompanied by a strong urge to destroy him.

“Damn, it’s chilly.” Ariana rubbed the sleeves of her navy hoodie under which she wore a long striped shirt with capris. Strong winds whipped around us, lifting Ari’s curly blond hair, and biting my cheeks. The sky was pale blue, the sun low. Now that autumn had arrived, days in Marin County would be obscured by afternoon fog and frosty breezes that blew in from the Bay. I shivered, too. My black cardigan, thin purple tee, and low-rise jeans didn’t keep the chill from penetrating my skin.

Regina Ramírez was sitting alone and scrutinizing the game with keen interest. But she wasn’t shivering like the other spectators in heavy coats. No, she had on a sleeveless blouse and a skirt. Her legs bare, but in serious need of a wax. Her clothes resembled thrift-store-finds, and I guessed that Daniel’s family must’ve really been suffering financially. Still, it didn’t give Coach Ramírez a reason to kill my dad or Kayla or hurt people.

It was the beginning of the fourth quarter and the score was twenty-one to ten. Marin Prep was losing, and they’d just gotten the ball back. Their quarterback threw the ball over the middle, but the Giants easily intercepted it again.

“Come on, focus!” Carter yelled from the sideline.

“Get into position!” Daniel’s deep voice boomed from the field.

The center snapped the ball back to Daniel. Carter took off down the field, with only the safety covering him. Daniel threw the ball just as he was about to get sacked and Carter made a one-handed catch, stumbling into the end zone. Touchdown. The spectators went wild.

“Oh, no,” Ariana mumbled.

I turned my attention away from Carter, who had his helmet tucked under his arm in the end zone, to Coach Ramírez running onto the field toward Daniel, who was still on the ground.

Coach Ramírez beckoned Carter over and they both wrapped Daniel’s arms around their necks and helped him limp off the field. The entire crowd clapped out of respect.

Once Daniel was seated on the bench, Carter snapped back on his helmet and ran onto the field with the rest of the kicking team. The kicker kicked the ball through the goalposts, earning the extra point.

The Giants defense held Marin to three and out, so they had to punt. Then someone called a time-out. After being checked out by the trainer, Daniel put on his helmet and popped off the bench. As he passed his dad, Coach Ramírez lightly thumped Daniel’s helmet.

“Move it! I want to see some action out there!” Coach Ramírez yelled and hit Carter’s helmet too before sliding his headset back over his ears.

Time was running out. The first two plays Carter had some trouble, but by the third play, he got a first down.

“Hike!” Daniel yelled and the ball was snapped back to him. The receivers ran down the field, and Daniel fake pumped the throw before turning and throwing the ball in Carter’s direction. Just as the ball left his hand, he was hit hard by a defensive lineman that resembled the Hulk. The ball soared through the air, landing perfectly in Carter’s hands. He ran, evading the defense, and dove into the end zone. The spectators went wild again. I’d seen enough.

I nudged Ariana. “Time to go.”

We pushed through the crowd and out to the parking lot, where we hopped in the Jeep to drove across town.

“Where are we going?” she asked, fastening her seatbelt.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Coach Ramírez’s house.”

My best friend stared at me like I just said that I was a fan of book burning. Now that I thought about it, I really needed to find some new reading material. It had been way too long since I’d consumed a good book. But
nothing
in the horror genre.

“Are you nuts?” she shrieked. “We can’t break into their house!”

“Yes, we can,” I said, not hiding the irritation in my voice. “They’ll be at the game for another hour. We have plenty of time for a quick look around. We need proof, and there’s only one way to get it.”

She grunted. “By breaking and entering?”

“All we have is Daniel’s half-ass confession and my eavesdropped conversation between him and the coach. My word against theirs. I need solid proof of who killed my dad. Besides, don’t you want to clear Daniel’s name? He’s still a suspect in Kayla’s murder, and it’s not fair for him to take the fall for something his dad or Carter might’ve done.” I took my eyes off the road and glanced at my best friend, her plump face awash in the blue glow of the dashboard clock. “We’ll be in and out before anyone even gets home. I promise.”

She chewed on a lock of pale hair. “Uh-huh. I forgot you’re a regular criminal now. Animal clinics, mortuaries, and now my crush’s house—what’s next? You want to knock over a liquor store on the way home?”

“Nah. Maybe tomorrow.”

Her shoulders caved in defeat. “Don’t know why I let you talk me into this stuff.”

“Because that’s what best friends do for each other.”

“You’ll owe me one.”

“I know.”

I parked a block away and armed Ariana with a flashlight. As we crept toward the Ramírez’s Tudor-style home, I took in the rustic cottage with its decorative stonework. Totally normal. I snorted. Geez, what was I expecting? A wolf den?

We entered the yard through the redwood fence bordering the property. Everything shadowy and quiet.

Ariana pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt, hunkered low, and took off across the lawn. I crouched as well, cursing myself for not thinking to wear a hat or hood, too. Girl was smart. The more one was disguised, the less likely one could be picked out of a lineup.

Tires crunched over gravel. My heart hit my throat and Ariana yanked me roughly back against the wall of the house. We stood there, not moving, not breathing, the cold wind radiating chills through our clothes and into our bones. Then headlights flashed between houses and the grumble of a car engine faded into the distance. Not until I was enveloped in absolute silence could I find the will to breathe again.

By the time we got to the porch, I was breathing hard. Not from the sprint, but from the certainty that at any minute floodlights were going to flash on and the coach would be waiting to do a citizen’s arrest. But nothing happened. The house was quiet as a tomb.

I gripped the doorknob and mumbled a quick incantation. The door unlocked and creaked opened. Stepping into the hallway, I glanced from left to right. My eyes quickly adjusted to the dim rooms. Ariana followed me into the living room.

Streetlight seeped through long, thin windows, lengthening the shadows. Our footsteps caused the floorboards to creak and groan, amplifying the emptiness. Somewhere a leaky faucet dripped.

Ariana tugged on my sleeve. “What’re we looking for?”

“Not sure. Any type of clue linking Coach Ramirez and Carter to the murders.”

“Can we turn on the flashlight? I can’t see a thing—
Ohhh!”
Ariana tripped over the cord of a lamp, almost knocking it on the floor. I gripped her elbow to steady her.

“
Shhh.
You’re making too much noise,” I whispered.

Switching on the flashlight, we searched the whole house. Nothing. Only one door left in the kitchen, and I wasn’t too eager to go through it.

“Where do you think it leads to?” Ari asked.

“Either Hell or a secret dungeon,” I whispered.

“Do I even need to comment on how stupid this is? Wandering into a dark, creepy basement without any weapons, Shi?”

“We’ll be fine.” And silently prayed that I was right.

Pausing with my door on the handle, I stared at my patent-leather boots, imagining I could see past them into the yawning underbelly of the house. Furniture would be stored in there and other old things that gathered dust in hollow areas. I uttered a shivery sigh. It had to be done.

We eased downstairs and stood blinking in the dimness. Moth-ridden sheets covered the two windows and moonlight peeked through the holes. The flashlight bobbed before the sword of light landed on rusted shackles attached to concrete walls.

Moving further into the room, I lifted one of the heavy chains and dropped it, the dense metal clanking when it hit the floor. I grabbed a dangling cord, and the faint circle of light from the bulb hanging from the ceiling shone on a stained mattress. Old blemishes, reddish brown and stiff. Blood. Tufts of fur. Must be where they chained the newlings until they could handle the
shift
.

A soft moan had me jerking around, the light from the flashlight striking the dull gleam of steel.

James McMillian, a varsity football player from school, was shackled to an adjacent wall by steel bands. Eyes closed. Head dipped downward. Tousled brown curls damp and sticking to his face and neck.

Sharp angular bones were sheathed in hairy skin and solid rolling muscle, his body a concerto of moonlight and ivory, rawhide and steel. The chains pulled his arms over his head, causing the muscles of his bare chest and shoulders to stand out in sharp relief. Thin, pale fingers curled around the links above the manacles.

I rushed forward and bent to examine the chains.

Ari hurried to James’s other side, then crouched and touched his cheek. “James?”

He stirred, lifted his head. His eyes blinked then found focus. “Help…” he rasped.

I pulled out my switchblade and worked on the lock. I didn’t want to use magick to unlock his shackles, unsure if exposing my powers in front of him was a good idea.

Ariana ran back upstairs and returned a moment later with a glass of water. She held it to his lips. James sipped the water and coughed.

I managed to unlock one wrist. His limp hand fell to the mattress.

“Why are you chained in here?” Ari asked. “Who did this to you?”

His head swung in her direction. “Coach found me. Worried I was going to expose them. I’d been hiding from the pack at my parents’ boathouse since I left the hospital. But they’re smart and tracked my scent. They already caught me once and that’s when I overheard their meeting, and afterward I tried to warn Shiloh. I escaped again while they were out hunting. But this time when the pack found me, they locked me up in here before I could get help.”

“Well, help has arrived,” I said. Working the blade in the other latch, I moved it around until I heard a click. James was free.

Without speaking, Ariana and I each lifted an arm over our shoulders and dragged James upstairs into the kitchen. We put him on a chair and glanced at each other.

“You’ve found evidence. The shackles, the fur. A chained James McMillian. Now can we please get the hell outta here?” Ari pleaded.

Headlights splashed into the room, and we ducked behind the counter. My heart jumped into my throat.

“Shit! Someone’s home,” Ariana whispered and glanced at James. “Can you run?”

He nodded and stood on trembly legs.

This was bad. I beckoned with one hand for them to follow me out the backdoor. Halfway across the yard, I tripped and fell, scraping my knee. Ariana helped me stand and I limped as fast as I could for the back gate. Before going through it, I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of a dark silhouette standing on the porch.

I whipped my head back around, searching for James, ready to tell him to hurry, but he had vanished. I hesitated, wanting to search for him. No time. He was on his own. Maybe he preferred it that way.

I shoved a frozen Ariana and said, “Run!”

We slipped through the gate and sprinted for the Jeep. I cranked the ignition, and tore out of there, taking the turn too fast and causing the tires to squeal in protest. The odor of burnt rubber filled the cab. Once on the straightaway, I floored the accelerator, and the Jeep shuddered, but maintained speed.

The streets were cloaked in profuse fog. Trees and houses whizzed by, and then just the blur of towering redwoods on each side of the road.

I peered into the gloom ahead, ready to brake sharply if the menacing shape of a wolf suddenly emerged from the darkness. The Jeep raced along the road.

“Slow down! You’re driving like a maniac,” Ariana said, her face pale and her voice high-pitched.

Dammit. Now, we had no evidence and no James as a witness. Too bad I hadn’t taken any pictures with my phone of the Ramírez’s creepy basement. More like a spooky dungeon for hybrids—future Wardens.

Around the next corner, a lycan waited in the road.

Damn, damn, damn.

I stepped on the gas, intending to run the sucker over. The lycan’s gold eyes narrowed, then it charged the Jeep, howling like the possessed.

“Shiloh!” Ariana screamed. She lurched across the cab, grabbed the steering wheel, and twisted it to the right, narrowly missing the giant wolf. The headlights illuminated a telephone pole directly in front of us.

I jerked the wheel back in the opposite direction. The Jeep swallowed asphalt as it flipped and came hurtling downward. In a heartbeat, everything around me splintered as sound and glass and pain filled my head. The world rolled and we revolved with it. Road. Sky. Trees. Stars. Pavement.

Then everything went black.

I stirred and blinked. My vision blurry. Yellow light trickled into the Jeep from the streetlamps. I hung upside down, the seatbelt keeping me anchored in my seat. My head hurt. My neck stiff. My stomach lurched, but the pain was forgotten the second I glanced at the passenger seat.

Ariana was gone.