Trent: Her Warlock Protector Book 7 (11 page)

“Norine! You came!”

It was so odd seeing her here and “off duty.” She looked so tiny in just jeans and a t-shirt, and also younger with her auburn hair flowing freely. Wild almost.
 

“Of course! I’ve heard from other parishioners what a great time this is. Although the funnel cake display looks like it’s not warmed up yet.”

Elaine offered a sly smile.
 

“You have a voucher. As soon as the batter’s up and frying, I’ll be able to get you any treat you want.”

“Great, but what I wanted to do was talk to you about the farm attack.”

Elaine frowned at the suddenly serious tone.
 

Norine looked left and right.

“Look, I’m not supposed to do this but someone came into confession and talked about the crime.”

Elaine’s eyes went wide. “What? You know who did it?”

“I’m torn, but you’re a friend, and I’ll ask for forgiveness later. But we need to discuss this in private.” She nodded her head toward the parking lot. “Maybe my car?”

Elaine nodded, took off her apron, and grabbed her jacket. She kept up with her friend’s quick strides. Norine’s quiet was disconcerting, but she was breaking the sanctity of priest and church member privacy. It was humbling. Norine stopped at her sedan.

“You have to tell me everything,” Elaine said.

“Like you’ve told me everything, witch?” Norine asked, blue eyes cold as ice.

“What?”

Norine threw something in her face––something acerbic that reeked of almonds. Elaine fell heavily to her knees even as Norine’s chant rose above her. She was muttering something in Latin that Elaine couldn’t follow. Elaine’s muscles went slack, and she flopped to the ground at Norine’s feet.

“Uhhh” was the only sound that escaped her throat.

“We’ve have been looking for you,” Norine said, as the world faded to black.

• • • • •

“She’s special, you see,” Efrim Blackhawk said.

Trent was torn between being impressed with Elaine’s father’s boldness or annoyed. While he admired Efrim for trying to lay the law down, despite the fact that Trent had fifty pounds of muscle and five inches on him, Trent opted to roll with the annoyance. After all, Elaine was chortling up a storm across the way.

“Sir, believe me, I know,” he added, keeping his eye on Elaine. “She’s one of a kind.”

“You’re really smitten with her, aren’t you?”

“That’s an old-fashioned way to put it.”

The older man sighed and stopped posturing.
 

“Just because her mom and I didn’t work out, doesn’t mean I don’t love her. It doesn’t mean I can’t recognize it when someone else loves her either.”

“Wait, weren’t you over here to give me the ‘If you touch my baby girl, I’ll bury you where no one can find you’ speech?”

“Son–”

He had to swallow his amusement at that moniker from Efrim. At best, there was probably ten years difference between their true ages. Maybe he was finally beginning to get some of the perspective MacCulloch or Worthen. Maybe one day, centuries down the line, everything would seem quaint.

“Sir.”

“Son, I’m not naïve and she’s twenty-three and not impressionable anymore. Naturally, I also have my own shotgun. That disclaimer goes without saying.”

Trent chuckled at that. “Then I’ll take it under advisement.”

“You’d better.” Efrim poked a finger in his chest. “She’s special, and I mean that literally, but you already know that don’t you?”

Trent blinked at him. “Sir?”

Efrim shook his head and put a hand on one of Trent’s shoulders, turning him aside and leaning close.

“My mother was gifted. She saw and understood the world in a way only a few of our tribe ever could have. It was a once in a generation gift that passed me by, but I know that Elaine’s like that. She has abilities that I can’t understand. I saw how that responsibility weighed on my mother, ate into her even with the Council of Elders to help her. You’re like her, aren’t you?”

“Gifted as you put it?”

“Almost magical,” Efrim added in a knowing tone. “Son, she needs guidance with this and I just can’t help her. I wish my mother were here but she’s not. I’m glad she has you.”

Trent struggled to keep the smile on his face. If only Efrim knew he’d be dropping her off at the Atlanta coven, that he couldn’t commit to a relationship. He shook the older man’s proffered hand.
 

“Sir, I’ll make sure she’s protected and has all the guidance she needs. Believe me on that.”

And that was mostly the truth. The Atlanta coven could care for her. He knew that. So what if his inner wolf was snarling in disgust? So what if his own heart was cracking in two? It was what was best for both of them in the long run. It had to be.

“Good,” Efrim replied. “She’s been hurt before but by one of her own. I think you can help her be who she should be, and I’m glad for that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think Sam and Elliot are fighting over primo booth space.”

Trent chuckled to himself as the other man hurried away to stop a dispute. However, the laugh died in his throat when he glanced back to the stand and realized that Elaine was missing.

“
Elaine?
”

He rushed to the abandoned funnel cake stand. Opening up his senses, Trent caught the scent of hay and freshly cut grass mixed with the wolf musk that marked Elaine. She’d headed toward the parking lot. Following the scent led him to the empty space where a car had once been.

“
Damn it
.”

“Hey, city boy,” Floyd said from behind him. “Have you seen Elaine?”
 

“No,” Trent said, whirling toward him. “I was about to ask the same thing. Why?”

“The sheriff had more questions for her. I know she was supposed to help with the festival, but he says it’s urgent. They think there’s a breakthrough.”

“Oh really?” Trent asked, eyeing the hulking man.

“Yes, really, lieutenant.”

Trent didn’t even wait for the other man to lunge, just dove out of the way and worked quickly to free the dagger from his boot. The Knights had been here all along, waiting for the right time to grab Elaine.

Floyd lunged at him again and Trent hissed as the other man’s blade sliced through the skin of at the side of his abdomen. Warm blood welled from the wound, as Trent dropped to his knees. The Knight lashed out again with a fierce uppercut to his chin. Trent spit blood and rolled with the impact, away from the other man’s blade.

Staggering to his feet, Trent leapt for Floyd. He plunged his dagger into the other man’s shoulder. His inner wolf howled in rage and satisfaction as the giant shuffled drunkenly from the impact. Trent stabbed him again, deep in the other shoulder. Blood was flowing freely from both, the copper scent assaulting his nostrils. Despite everything, Trent’s mouth watered, but he forced his beast aside.

Not now.

He needed information, not the kill.

Dodging a frantic lunge from the other man, he twisted around and pressed his blade to the other man’s throat.

“Where is she?” he demanded, drawing the edge close enough to draw a rivulet of red from Floyd’s neck.

“Nowhere, warlock.”

Trent’s heart stopped beating. Floyd had to be lying. She couldn’t be dead. The Knights loved their torture sessions.
 

“You lie!” Trent shouted, digging the knife deeper until blood was welling liberally. “Tell me now.”

“She’s in Birmingham, monster, and that’s all you’ll ever get from me. She’ll be dead by the time you find her.”
 

Then Floyd did the unexpected. He savagely pressed his throat against the dagger, slitting his own jugular. He fell to the ground as the wound gaped and spurted.

Shocked, Trent staggered back, but then screamed in rage and frustration.

ELAINE WOKE TO darkness. Disoriented, it took several minutes to realize she was hooded. Beneath her, she felt something hard to which her arms and feet were bound. As the blood rushed to her head and dizziness set in, she realized she was lying at a steep angle, her feet above her. She squirmed, trying to get her arms free.

Water poured over the shroud, soaking it until she coughed. It ran up her nose, burning her sinuses. She closed her mouth, but not before water had rushed down her throat. With a wild spasm, she coughed, lungs aching with the inhaled moisture. She tried to turn away, but the onslaught of water followed her. She couldn’t breathe.

Just when she thought she’d pass out, the cloth was yanked up her face. As she sputtered and tried to catch her breath, she blinked back tears.

Norine gazed down at her.
 

Elaine barely recognized her friend. She was dressed in a black velour cloak adorned with a red cross of equal lengths. But it wasn’t the odd attire that filled Elaine with dread. It was the maniacal glint in her eyes, burning with hate and disgust.

“You’re a Templar!”

Norine laughed, a low and throaty sound.
 

“Witches never were the brightest. I’m a cleric who works for the Order. Floyd and I were looking for you, after hearing about the powers of the Medicine Men and Women of your tribe.”

Elaine swallowed hard while her inner wolf howled in rage.
 

“It’s why you wanted to ‘help’ by taking my grandmother’s books and journals.”

“All witchcraft must be stamped out, regardless of origin.”
 

She scooped a dipper into the baptismal fountain just below Elaine’s head.

Oh Goddess, no. Not more drowning.

“You’re my friend,” she pleaded. “You’re my priest.”

Norine’s eyes burned with fury, hard as sapphires.
 

“You made your choice when you sided with demons and monsters.”

“I’m not sorry about who I am, but you don’t have to do this. Please,” she begged, bucking against the board. “Just let me go. Trent and I will just walk away.”

Norine snickered. “That will be hard to do.”

“Why?” She asked, her throat as parched as the Sahara.

“Because Floyd is very efficient at murdering pesky Magus Corps members who try and save foolish novices. Trent won’t be his first.”

“He’ll lose. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Norine nodded. “Maybe I don’t.” With that she yanked the cloth back down. Elaine sputtered, trying desperately to suck in precious air. “Now, tell me what you know about Trent, the Magus Corps, and the coven you were destined for.”

Elaine wanted to shout “Go to hell,” but water flooded her face. The soaked cloth pressed against her lips, her eyes, and dripped up into her nose. Her lungs burned with the need to breathe, but she didn’t dare open her mouth. The water kept coming, even as she thrashed. There was no escape. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her chest wanted to explode.

Trent’s face flashed in front of her, as her thoughts slowed. They had run. They had made love. They had flown. And now that would never happen again. As consciousness began to ebb, Elaine called out to the Goddess. With everything in her, she sent her remaining power up into the sky.

• • • • •

Trent didn’t care about the wound or the blood staining his car. He needed to get to Birmingham, though he already knew it had way too many churches in which Templars might hide. Elaine could be anywhere.

Grinding his teeth, Trent pulled off the road at the outskirts of the city proper. He swerved into a scraggly patch of dirt and weeds, with bushes that’d be tall enough. Hopping out and ignoring the wound, Trent struggled over behind the bushes. The change was slow, but eventually he stood on shaky paws. Rearing back his head, he took deep breaths and tried to find her scent. But there were too many smells of the city, too much exhaust, and oil and gas.

Oh Elaine, I won’t give up. Goddess, please!

As if answering his prayer a beautiful russet hawk circled above him. It wasn’t that the bird itself was familiar, just the way it cocked his head at him.

Elaine?

The bird screeched and angled toward downtown. Trent wasted no time following. The raptor led him north and finally stopped outside of an old, condemned Catholic Church in a run down part of town. Not that Templar clerics kept to one branch of faith or not. He assumed that Floyd’s accomplice had long ago scoped out and chosen an area that would suffice. It was good he’d already changed forms because any attempt to shift on hallowed ground would never work. Goddess, it was beyond him how this hawk had even led him. Whether the Goddess had heard his plea or Elaine had managed a level of control over animals few shifters witches ever had he didn’t know. What he did know was that Elaine was there. He could smell her and hear her heartbeat fluttering weakly.

Baring his teeth, he burst through the doors.
 

Elaine was strapped to an inclined wooden board, her head covered in a thick black hood. The cleric was dumping a bucket of water over her and screaming.

“Tell me more about the Magus Corps! Tell me about your wolf!”

Trent let out a loud howl.

Though startled, the cleric dropped the bucket and laughed.

“The puppy is here,” she sneered. “Good. I’ll get the information from him.”
 

With that, she kicked the board’s gears and Elaine splashed down, her head completely below the surface of the water.

Enraged, Trent lunged at her, but she was ready. The cleric launched holy water at him from the fountain, disorienting him. It stung his eyes, and he heard the metal tang of a sword being drawn. Though she might have temporarily blinded him, his hearing was unchanged. He leapt and twisted in the air. With a vicious chomp, his jaws closed on her throat. With a quick shake of his head, her neck snapped, and the cleric grew still in his grip.

Trent spit her out.

Rushing to the table, even his preternatural hearing failed to detect a heartbeat.
 

Goddess no, he couldn’t be late, not now.

Not after everything.

Baying toward the sky, Trent closed his eyes and concentrated. Everything went slowly, as if each individual strand of fur had to suck back into his body, and each cell had to reshape itself. Still he was able to change, something that shouldn’t have been possible on hallowed ground.