The Chosen (3 page)

But Hunting wasn’t something one elected to do. He didn’t get a choice in the matter. It was his birthright. He’d been trained since he could talk about what Darkin were, how to defeat them, and how to defend innocent bystanders against their attacks.

He couldn’t help but muse about how the shifter sitting on his lap didn’t quite measure up to his idea of the ruthless, depraved monsters he hunted.

 

 

In the heat of the afternoon when everything fell silent, a rattling from the creosote bushes up ahead caused the horse to raise its head, perk up its ears, and come to a sudden halt. It whickered, an uncertain, unhappy sound. Both China and Remington peered into the desert scrub.

“Sounds like a snake,” Remington muttered.

“But it doesn’t smell like one.” China’s body turned hard and tense against his.

He reached for his hip holster, pulling out his revolver and cocking it in one quick, smooth motion. Darkin, shifters and vampires in particular, had a keen sense of smell. If China said it didn’t smell like a snake, then in his Hunter experience it was likely something far worse.

Amorphous forms, fast and dark, came streaking out of the desert. The shots of black smoke caused the horse to rear. Demons?

Remington did his best to hold the reins in one hand and his gun in the other and maintain his seat in the saddle by gripping his thighs tight around the sides of the horse. China held fast to the pommel. The rattling turned to hissing as the forms coalesced into solid matter. Boots and dusters, beefy shoulders and craggy, scaled olive-green faces with yellow, vertical-slitted eyes. Black forked tongues flicked from openings where their mouths should be.

The six creatures were shaped like men, but Remington knew they sure as hell weren’t human.

He did his best to get Joe to settle down before he and China got knocked to the dirt, or worse still, knocked down, then trampled. The animal huffed and snorted, its nostrils flaring. Its soft brown eyes were now liberally surrounded by white as it shied and sidestepped backward from the creatures surrounding them in a loose circle.

China had gotten even stiffer, if that were possible, her back now ramrod straight. If the horse and the Darkin were scared, they were in deeper shit than he’d first thought. He’d never seen anything like this described in Pa’s Book. “What the hell are they?”

“Viperanox. Snake demons. Usually you don’t see them this far north of the border. The Indians down in Southern Mexico thought they were gods, but they’re just Rathe’s rustlers.”

The hissing of the strange creatures garbled into words Remington could understand. “Give usss the map.”

China spat in the dirt. “Go to hell, you bastards. You know the way.”

They exchanged quick glances, a few of them hissing and barring sharp, dagger-length fangs. One moved in to grab the reins from Remington. He didn’t hesitate. He shot the creature point-blank in the forehead, knocking it backwards into the dirt. It writhed and shrieked, its scaled hands pressed hard to its face. The creature twisted in upon itself until it was once again dark, undulating smoke that sank into the earth.

China turned in his arms, her gray eyes fierce. “What the hell are you waiting for? Shoot them all!”

That was easier said than done. He was down to only three more of Marley’s special bullets, and there were five, now very pissed off, viperanox left.

Remington squinted against the glare of the sun and popped off another three shots, taking down three more of the scary as hell snake demons that were after their asses. Joe skittered sideways and whinnied as the remaining viperanox tried to pull China from his back. China growled and kicked at them.

Remington grabbed hold of the pommel with one hand, his arm braced around China, and spurred Joe into motion. The horse didn’t wait to be told twice and took off at a full-out gallop. The hisses and snarls of the viperanox faded for only a moment as they turned into two dark streaks of smoke hot on their heels.

“Get this damn bracelet off!”

He hesitated for only a moment. He knew it disrupted her ability to change her shape. “Know something you can shift into that can fight these things off?”

“Hell yes.”

He slowed Joe to a stop and grabbed her wrist with the bracelet. His brilliant inventor friend Marley Turlock had created a tumbler lock in the bracelet. Only Remington knew the precise arrangement of numbers to unlock it. As he rolled the last tumbler into place and gave a slight push to the hidden button, the bracelet opened, falling from China’s wrist.

“About damn time,” she muttered as she massaged her wrist. The hair around her face was damp with sweat. “Get off the horse and hold him; otherwise he might run off.” Her no-nonsense tone brooked no argument.

They both slid off of Joe’s back as the dark twin, sidewinding, sulfur-tainted smoke trails surrounded them. The viperanox began reforming into their solid snake-man bodies as China began to shift.

Remington had seen a shifter make the change a time or two, but never without fear for his life, so it wasn’t as though he’d paid all that much attention. She blurred, like liquid being poured across a watercolor painting, her form becoming indistinct and at the same time larger and darker. He didn’t have time to stare. He cocked his revolver, his gaze locking on the two circling snake demons. The viperanox froze, baring their fangs; at the same time a powerful and vile stink like nothing he’d ever smelled before made Remington’s eyes water and bile rise up the back of his throat. What the . . . ?

A deep, throaty growl from beside him reverberated straight through him from spine to navel and caused him to throw a quick glance in China’s direction. He jerked back, shocked by the sheer size and malevolence of the hellhound beside him. Black as sin and the size of a buffalo, it was far larger than any of them. A string of saliva dripped down from one of the hound’s bared canines, which were the length of a dagger in the grizzly bear-sized maw; the saliva caught the light and glistened before it dropped and was absorbed by the thirsty desert floor. Red eyes glowed like embers, and a ridge of dark hair along its back completed the hound’s malevolent stance.

Joe whinnied in panic and thrashed his head, trying to pull back away from the triple threat. Only Remington’s grip on the horse’s reins kept it from rearing up. Miss McGee hadn’t been kidding when she’d told him to hold onto the horse. Holy hell. He’d had no idea shifters could change into other Darkin forms. He’d only seen them change into animals or impersonate people they’d touched before.

The hellhound, ears pressed back tight against its massive skull, advanced on the viperanox. Its growl, a hot, stinking sulfur wind, rumbled low and deep, vibrating straight through Remington’s chest. It lashed out, snapping at the snake demons, biting one in half, the black gore nearly indistinguishable against the blackness of the fur. The other viperanox dashed beneath the hound and sunk its fangs into the inner side of the hound’s hindquarter, piercing its thigh. The hound howled—an ungodly roar that echoed against the mountains—and kicked back, flinging the viperanox twenty feet out into the desert.

China bounded over to the snake demon and squashed it beneath her massive paw, its innards oozing black into the sandy soil. She bit off the head for good measure and flung that in the opposite direction. Remy didn’t wait for her to change back. He figured if she bit off the head she had good reason. The same that applied to rattlers might well apply to viperanox. He pulled a machete gauntlet Marley had made him from his saddlebag, slipped it on his hand and forearm, and stalked over to the top half of the snake demon she’d left behind.

It reared up, one arm clawing at him as it hissed. Damn thing was still dangerous. Remy lopped off the head, letting it roll to the ground. “Never did like snakes,” he muttered.

“That so?”

He glanced over his shoulder. China was limping toward him, a trickle of scarlet dripping down her leg. “Damn it. I knew it! That thing got you.” Considering she’d just been a hellhound only a few minutes before, he was frankly surprised her blood ran as red as his own. Most Darkin had black blood.

She shrugged, then winced, turning slightly so he could see the rip and twin gash marks on the inner part of her thigh. “Looks worse than it is.”

“You really aren’t good at lying, you know that?”

“That’s not what I hear from most people.”

He gave her a sly smile. “I’m not most people.”

China sat down on a rock, stretching her injured leg out in front of her, gripping the upper part of her thigh so tight her fingers turned white. She blew out a harsh, slow breath and was shaking.

“Those damn things have poison like regular vipers?” he asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice. She was in shock, her body already shutting down.

She nodded, then squeezed her eyes tight. Her skin had turned unnaturally pale and waxy, a sweaty sheen glistening on her face. His worry increased. She was not doing well, and they both knew it. The sun beat down on them from above, and Remington wished there were some way to find her shade. Heat made poison move more quickly through the bloodstream.

“What do we have to do?”

“Suck out the poison,” she said between gritted teeth.

Not what he had planned. Not even close. Somehow his well-laid plans of in, out, nice and quick, had all been effectively blown to hell. His boots scraped in the dirt as he crouched close by her, gently nudging her knee aside with the back of his hand so he could get a better look at the wound. Her breath came in shallow pants laced with agony.

He pulled back the torn pale brown leather. Twin jagged slices in her skin ran red with blood. The open gashes were far enough apart he couldn’t do both together. The one closer to her heart was also farther up the inside of her thigh.

He swallowed hard. The sweet, musky, distinctly feminine scent of her invaded his airspace. Definitely not what he had in mind in this position with a female. He glanced up at her. “This’ll just take a minute. Grip on my shoulder if you need to.”

She let out a harsh bark of laughter, her skin now greasy with pain and her pupils slightly dilated. “I’ve heard that bef—”

Her words were cut off by a grunt, as he placed his mouth on the creamy silk of her thigh and sucked hard. She sunk her fingers deep into his shoulder, bruising him. The thick, hot, metallic blood laced with something horribly bitter filled his mouth. Remy spat it out and quickly took another draw on the wound, then swiftly switched to the other puncture.

Her body shook, but from pain, not from pleasure. Remy had the dark thought cross his mind that he was sure Colt would be far more welcome than he would in a similar situation. He sucked on the wound until there was no more bitter tang. Satisfied he had removed everything he could, he wiped her blood from his cheeks and chin onto the sleeve of his suit. At least the suit was black, so the blood didn’t show. “I think we got it all.”

Remington rucked the bottom edge of her shirt out of her pants and tore it away, leaving her midriff bare.

“Hey! What do you—”

He put a finger to her mouth and found it softer to the touch than he’d anticipated. “I’m going to use it as a makeshift tourniquet and bandages for your thigh.” He quickly tore and twisted the fabric, putting it into place and tying it tight. “That should hold you until we can get to a town.” They were between Bisbee and Tombstone. Not a hell of a lot lay in between.

China’s loose blond hair blew in the warm early evening breeze, sticking honeyed strands of it across her very enticing lips. She lightly brushed her fingers through his hair, starting at his temple, causing an electric jolt through his system. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Call me Remington. Since there’s more than one of us, I’d hate to think you were talking to me when you meant Colt.”

The soft warmth in her eyes slowly evaporated, turning cold. There were purple smudges of color beneath her eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. The poison, even though gone now, had taken its toll, and she was weak.

“Do you think you can still ride?”

“Darkin heal quicker than you think. I’ll be fine, as long as the poison is out.”

Remington nodded. There were plenty of things he could have said, but he held his tongue. The moment had been awkward enough for both of them. There was no reason to make more of it than it was. And yet, something still nagged at him—a small, persistent voice in the back of his head that itched and annoyed like a mosquito bite. Why had she fought against the other Darkin? And what exactly had she and Colt done when they’d been together?

He clenched his jaw until his teeth ached, determined not to say something he had no business saying.

It helped in heated arguments in court to be cool, calm, and collected. It helped as a Hunter to maintain a level head and disciplined control, even in the heat of battle with things that could scare the living daylights out of ordinary folk. Remington drew on every ounce of that ability now to refocus himself and his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

“Let me help you up.”

 

 

China slipped her hands into both of his and unsteadily stood, putting her weight on her good leg. Her injured leg still burned, a slow fire crawling through her veins. She sincerely hoped Remington had gotten out all the poison. The last thing she needed was to become paralyzed from the stuff and die as her lungs ceased to function. Viperanox were nasty creatures.

“Those weren’t no ordinary bullets you shot at them viperanox. I’ve never seen one disintegrate like that from a gunshot. What do you have in them things?”

“Powdered bone, ash, gunpowder, bit of silver in the casing. The usual.”

She quirked one brow. It didn’t sound like anything she’d heard of before and certainly nothing you could buy off the shelf. “That’s usual?”

“It is if you’re a Hunter who works with Marley Turlock. He wouldn’t have us load with anything else.”

That only confirmed what she’d known all along. First, Hunters were dangerous, and second, they couldn’t be trusted. Just as Rathe had said.

She was certain she’d hear about tearing apart those creatures later. Most Darkin didn’t go after one another. It was an unwritten rule among the children of the night. But there were exceptions. Apparently she’d become one, now that she was clearly no longer on Rathe’s good side—if he actually had one. He wouldn’t tolerate her working with the Chosen. Message received loud and clear. But that didn’t mean she planned to listen, especially since she now had the opportunity to get her hands on the
entire
Book of Legend, not just a single piece of it. Rathe would have to take her back into his fold then.

“Why did they come after you?”

“They were after Diego’s map,” she hedged. She wasn’t about to trust another Jackson simply because he’d pulled her from jail and sucked poison from her thigh. Now that she wasn’t in such blinding pain, the image of his dark head against her thigh made her insides squirm a bit. She didn’t want to imagine what other skills Remington Jackson had with regard to that part of a body.

He peered at her, his clear blue eyes fixed on her in an unflinching stare. “No. The map was just an excuse. They wanted you. Why?”

China shrugged. “How should I know? Just because we’re all Darkin doesn’t mean we get along like some big happy family.”

Remington’s face hardened, the strong line of his jaw ticking as the muscles worked. “There’s something you’re not telling me. And as long as you’re working with me, you need to be completely up front.”

That was one way Remington and Colt were alike. They both could sound so damn imperious at times—givin’ orders like they owned the whole damn world. “I’m not working for anyone but myself.”

“You still have a tendre for my brother, don’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed. The fact that he’d been able to tell that Colt had crossed her mind bothered her. “I don’t have a single tender part of me, not for your brother, and certainly not for any other man.”

Remington closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, before locking gazes with her. “You can’t paint all us Jackson brothers by the same brush.”

“Why not? You’re all Hunters, ain’t you?”

His strong hands spanned her waist and lifted her up into the saddle. She flinched as her sore thigh settled against the hard leather. He climbed up behind her, his chest broad and firm against her back. She was so damn worn out, both from the massive shift and the fight, that she wanted to sink back into him. But she didn’t let herself. Not now. Not when she was vulnerable.

“That’s like my saying all Darkin are the same—and I know enough about your kind to know that’s patently false.” His words were hot against her ear.

China steeled her resolve, seeking some way to put a wedge in between them, regardless of their sitting body against body in the saddle. She latched onto the first thing that came to mind she could needle him about. “You like those big fancy words, don’t you?”

The planes of muscle pressed against her flexed slightly, growing more tense. “Words are my weapon of choice.”

Good. She’d found a soft spot that irritated him. She deliberately prodded it again. “Don’t you ever get tired of using dollar words when penny words could do?”