Bethany's Rite (13 page)

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but she didn’t want to talk. Was
tired of thinking. The strain from the emotional intensity she had fought all
day screamed for a release. She needed a moment of oblivion. A chance not to
think anymore about what could have been or should have been.

She reached for him, pressed against him. The look of
surprise in his eyes was quickly engulfed by a heat that made her pussy throb
in anticipation.

Angling her head to cover his mouth with hers, she pushed
her tongue past his lips and ran her fingers through his hair, scraping her
nails over his scalp. Wyc hauled her onto his lap, and she continued to lick
and probe the inside of his mouth, humming in pleasure when his tongue battled
hers for dominance.

She fought his advances, daring him to push harder. Nipped
at his bottom lip when he did. This was what she craved. Heat and lust. Passion
that burned away the need to think about anything beyond the moment.

Her hands slid under his jacket, exploring the tightening
muscles of his chest and shoulders. His erection hardened against her thigh.
Intentionally, she wiggled to rub against it and scored his nipples through his
shirt with her fingernails.

A sound of hunger, low and thoroughly male, burst out of his
throat when she reached down and squeezed his cock through his jeans. He
clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her off his lap to stand in front
of him. He stood and backed her against the side of the house.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hooked a leg around
his thigh. Bringing her hips forward, she ground against his swollen cock. He
pushed her back enough to give him room to slide his hand between her legs,
tracing the center seam of her jeans back and forth over her pussy until he
located the distended nub of her clit. She moaned and dug her nails into his
upper arms when he moved the seam side to side over that sensitive button.

“I want to fuck you right here,” Wyc ground out, his voice
hoarse and his breath hot against her ear.

“Yes.” She rocked her hips in sync with the strokes of his
hand. “Do it.”

With a grunt of ultimate frustration, Wyc jerked away and
pulled her toward the back door. “I’m not putting on another peep show for my
cousins. I want you to myself.”

They were halfway through the kitchen when a siren ripped
apart the quiet in the house. Suddenly, Wyc was running, dragging Bethany up the
stairs and pushing her into the room they shared.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The warning signal. Slayers have been spotted on the
property. Keep the door locked and don’t come out. I’ll come for you when it’s
safe.” Wyc whipped off his shirt.

“But—”

He stopped her words with a glare as he tore out of the rest
of his clothes. “I mean it. Stay in this room. I can’t protect you if I don’t
know where you are.”

Before she could answer, Wyc, in all his naked, furious
glory, was out the door, banging it shut behind him. Bethany yanked it open and
saw Wyc change from man to
kyltar
. The deadly black cat turned its head
to look at her over its massive shoulder and let out a terrifying, fang-baring
snarl.

She slammed the door and locked it. Rooted in place, she
stared at the door, at the pile of Wyc’s clothes. Wyc hadn’t turned on the
light when he pulled them inside the room, the gloom broken only by what
moonlight managed to slip past the panels of heavy curtains.

From outside the house, a scream, animalistic and enraged,
pierced through her fear-induced daze. Unable to stop herself, she moved to the
window. There were no trees blocking her view as they had all been cut away,
leaving a protected line of sight around the house. But beyond was a thick
forest that could shelter not only the perimeter guards, but those that hid
from them as well.

A black blur disappeared into the darkness at the edge of
the forest. Wyc? She had no way of knowing. Off to the right, Rordyc jumped
down from the side of the porch, ran across the yard and vanished into the
trees as well. Movement close below caught her eye. Jordyn, crouched down in
the deep shadow of the house directly below her window, pulled some sort of
small, walkie-talkie from his belt and held it to his mouth.

The siren cut off. Jordyn didn’t move. Nothing moved for
what seemed like ages. She scanned the length of dark woods, waiting for Rordyc
to reemerge. Hoping to see the terrifying form of a black
kyltar
materialize.

Pounding on the bedroom door startled Bethany. She jumped
and spun around to face the threat, but didn’t move from her spot beside the
window.

“Bethany,” Myrra’s voice commanded, “open the door. We’ve
got to get you out of here.”

Bethany walked to within two feet of the door. “I’m supposed
to stay right here,” she said.

The door rattled. “We’re running out of time. Wyc wants you
moved. There are more Slayers than he thought. We’ve got to get you to a safer
place.”

Bethany opened the door. Myrra reached in and grabbed her by
the arm.

“I’m going to show you how to get out of here, and then
you’re going to have to make a run for it.” She led Bethany down the back
stairs and through a side door that exited by the garage. It was at this point
where the trees grew closest to the house.

“The attack is focused on the other side of the house, so
you’ll be safe if you hurry.”

“Shouldn’t I take a car? Where am I supposed to go?”

“The vehicles have all been disabled. Go straight through
the woods until you hit a lake. Follow the lake around to the left and you’ll
come to some cabins closed for the season.”

Myrra pressed some folded bills into her hand. “Once past
those, you’ll eventually come to a town with a bus terminal. Get on the first
departing bus. Leave a message for Wyc at the ticket counter to let him know
which city you’re traveling to. If all goes well, he’ll be waiting for you when
you get off the bus.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?”

Myrra let the silence hold for a beat without answering.
“Then you’ll be free.”

Another scream tore at the night like the one that had first
drawn her to the window. Though still on the other side of the house, this time
it sounded much closer. Myrra shoved her forward, out the door. “Run!”

Bethany needed no further inducement. She ran, jumped,
tripped and fell, scrambled to her feet again to keep running until her lungs
couldn’t draw in air fast enough and her side burned with every labored breath.
Branches, twigs, bushes tore at her clothes, face and arms. Roots and rocks
snatched at her feet and legs.

She came upon the lake so suddenly, she nearly plunged into
it. To her left, she could just make out the silhouette of a house not too far
down the shoreline. Staggering onward, she didn’t allow herself a moment to
rest until she reached the first cabin.

With one hand on the corner of the building, she bent at the
waist and took a deep breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement
along the same path she had followed by the lake. She turned and straightened.
The animal passed through a patch of moonlight. Large and closing in on her.

For a moment, seeing it move toward her on all four legs,
she thought Wyc had come for her. It jumped up on a rocky outcropping, paused
and lifted its head to sniff the air.

Bethany’s heart stopped. Not Wyc. Not anything she had ever
seen before, even in her nightmares. This animal was covered not in silky, dark
fur, but a splotchy, rough hide that reminded her of a rhinoceros. There was no
elegance to its movement, only compressed evil tightly wound through its
powerful frame.

The Slayer flattened it ears against its triangular head,
turned and looked in her direction. It snapped its jaws together and Bethany
heard the sharp retort of teeth on teeth before it leapt from the boulder and
headed in her direction.

Wyc took the pair of jeans Myrra handed him and yanked them
on. He glanced around the kitchen. Rordyc had a gash down his right arm that
Shyrana was bandaging, and the back of Amdyn’s shirt had been ripped to shreds
by a Slayer’s claws. Fortunately, the damage was to the fabric and not the skin
underneath. Cirryc and Kayn were, as of yet, still unaccounted for. Jordyn and
his team were checking the boundaries and resetting the perimeter alarms.

“I got ‘em,” Jordyn yelled through the backdoor. Wyc pulled
the door open and held it as Jordyn and Cirryc carried Kayn into the house
between them, his arms flung over their shoulders. The side of Kayn’s face was
covered in blood, and he kept losing the fight to hold his head up.

“I told you I can fucking walk,” he growled.

“Guess that little bump to his head didn’t alter his sunny
disposition,” Rordyc said.

“Fuck you,” Kayn responded as Jordyn and Cirryc lowered him
to a chair.

“Sorry, my dance card’s all filled up.” Rordyc winced as
Shyrana tugged sharply on the gauze she had used to bandage his wound. She
smiled sweetly at him.

“The perimeter’s secured,” Jordyn said, cutting through the
banter, “but I’m missing a man. I have a unit out looking for him.”

“Wyc, go check on Bethany,” Amdyn said. “Once we’re certain
everyone’s all right, we need to go over this attack. Slayers are sent out in
teams of two, not packs. I want to know what the hell is going on here.”

Wyc had already been on his way out of the kitchen before
Amdyn started talking. As soon as he’d heard the perimeter was intact, his first
priority was his mate.

“Bethany?” He flipped the light on in their bedroom. It was
empty. “Everything is fine, you can come out now.” He checked the bathroom. The
closet. Under the bed. Nothing had been disturbed. No sign of forced entry or
struggle. Nothing broken or missing. Except Bethany.

But no Slayer had made it past the inner perimeter. None had
made it close to the house. Neither Jordyn nor Myrra had reported any security
breach.

“Wyc?”

He spun around at Myrra’s voice. She was standing in the doorway,
a worried look on her face.

“She’s not here. She must have gotten frightened and is
hiding somewhere else in the house,” he said.

She shook her head. “She’s gone. I’m sorry. One of Jordyn’s
team found her footprints by the garage.”

Wyc blinked the red fury from his gaze. “They’re not hers.”

“She’s the only one who wears tennis shoes.”

Wyc’s hands balled into fists. He moved to walk around
Myrra, but she stepped into his path. “Move.”

She laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Bethany knows
that her Guardian isn’t permanent. That the spell is close to its end.”

“She wouldn’t leave.”

“Really? And what’s given you that impression?”

Wyc was surprised at the bitterness in his captain’s voice.
She rarely showed emotion at all, and never anger. The worse a situation, the
calmer her response.

“Because,” Myrra continued, “I’ve been under the impression
that she’s fighting you at every turn. Has she once said she wants to go to
Ilyria? Told you that she’s willing to accept you as her mate?”

Wyc ground his back teeth together. No. Just this afternoon,
while fighting the antidote, Bethany had sworn she would never go to Ilyria
with him. He had thought she was speaking out of her pain, that she had come to
accept, at least in part, who she was and what that meant.

“She doesn’t belong in Ilyria, Wyc.”

“She belongs to me,” he growled.

Myrra’s fingertips grazed the dragon tattoo. “Not for long.”

He knocked her hand away. “With me. Wherever I am. Guardian
or no Guardian, Bethany is mine. Now get out of my way.”

She took a step back. “There are others who would gladly
serve you and Ilyria by taking you as their mate. Others who truly love you.”

Wyc stopped and turned back to her. “Captain Lansyr, there
is no one else
I
will take as
my
mate. Is that understood?”

Myrra immediately stiffened and focused on empty space over
his shoulder. “Yes, sir. I was out of line to suggest otherwise.”

The edge of his anger diminished fractionally. Myrra had
been with him for years. He could trust her with his life. He had. Any overstep
on her part was out of her care for him. She wasn’t the first to imply that he
was operating a little left of center since Bethany had been found.

And, he understood the personal emotion at the core of her
concern.

“Myrra.” He waited until she met his gaze. “Never did I
allow your sister to think I would take her as my mate. Under any circumstance.
Never.”

A tense moment passed as they held eye contact, weighing the
truth that stood between them. Myrra nodded. Acceptance settling on her
features.

“She headed toward the lake. Do you want me to go with you?”
she asked.

“No. After the last dozen years, tracking her down with less
than an hour’s lead will be a piece of cake.” He left Myrra standing in the
room and headed back to the kitchen. He wanted to talk to Jordyn’s patrol.

The tension in the kitchen was thick as Mississippi mud when
he entered. Jordyn, Cirryc and Shyrana were gone, and Amdyn’s expression was
set hard as granite.

“How’s Bethany?” he asked.

“She’ll be fine once I catch up to her.”

“She’s not here?” Amdyn’s sharp question set an alarm off in
Wyc.

“What’s wrong?”

“A Slayer is missing. We took down eight, but Jordyn’s team
could only find seven.”

“Shit!” Wyc rushed from the kitchen, tore off his jeans, and
with a roar of fury that echoed through the mountains, relinquished complete
control to the beast within.

Bethany tried the cabin’s door. Locked tight. Ran to the
next cabin. This one was locked as well, but the door rattled loosely in its
frame when she hit it. She battered against it with her shoulder and wood
splintered.

Glancing backwards, she could no longer locate the Slayer,
lost in the shadows of the night. But she could feel its approach. Sixth sense,
Mystic intuition—whatever you wanted to call it, it was working overtime to deliver
the countdown of her impending death.

She slammed her shoulder into the door again, and this time,
the wood gave. The door popped open, and she fell into the tiny cabin. Bethany
shoved the door closed, but found she had broken the only lock. Refusing
herself the time to indulge a cry of despair, she looked around for something
to fortify the door with.

The choices were few. Set up in the design of a honeymoon
cottage, there was only the large, rustic log bed, a small dinette set and a
loveseat in the corner.

Opting for the loveseat, she dragged it across the floor
and, putting all her weight into it, jammed it against the door. Once the
barricade was in place, she scanned the room for a possible weapon.

Suddenly the door shuddered with a loud bang as the Slayer
crashed into it, forcing the sofa back and opening the door several inches.
Claws reached in and scraped the inside of the wall before she was able to push
the loveseat back and get the door closed.

Bethany angled her body to use as a lever with her feet
planted against the footboard of the bed and her shoulder wedged against the
loveseat. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and shifted to better
cushion her shoulder for the next onslaught.

This time, when the Slayer attacked the door, it didn’t
budge.

She needed something to defend herself with. Nothing was in
reach, and she couldn’t leave her wedged-in position without risking the chance
of the Slayer getting through the door.

The knife Kayn had given her. It was still in her pocket.
She dug it out and turned it in her hand to find the button that would release
the blade.

The window over the dinette set exploded. Bethany screamed
and instinctively jerked away from the blast of shattering glass. The knife
dropped from her hand and spun under the couch.

Snarling and swiping, the Slayer burst through the pane amid
the rain of glass. It landed less than a foot from her and went into an
uncontrolled skid over the broken glass until it collided with the wall next to
the door.

The only alternative to trying to get past the Slayer was
the bathroom. Bethany half crawled, half ran into the tiny room, closing the
hollow plywood door behind her. She flipped the light on to discover that there
was no lock whatsoever on this door.

She boosted herself up onto the sink, braced her shoulders
against the mirror and her feet against the door. Wiping her hand across her
face, it came away wet. Tears she’d cried but been too scared to notice.

There was a gentle scratching along the edge of the door,
moving from the top to the bottom. Then a sniffing at the crack between the
floor and the door, followed by a low, grating purr.

Abruptly, a huge paw broke through the center of the door,
right between her feet. Particle board fractured, and splintered slivers
cannoned at her chest and face. She shrieked and kicked at the seeking paw with
one foot while trying to keep the door shut with the other.

The paw withdrew. Then returned with another crash, widening
the hole. A claw snagged on her tennis shoe. For one terrifying second, her
foot was yanked through the hole to the other side, and her desperate grip on
the sink slipped as she was pulled forward.

Bethany wrenched her foot back through the door, minus her
shoe. The momentum of her action threw her off balance. She fell off the sink
and landed on her side across the toilet.

The door snapped open, and the Slayer’s body pitched into
the tiny room. It lunged at Bethany but the paw it had pushed back through the
door caught on the jagged wood and brought it up short.

Lunging into the tub, Bethany slid the plastic shower door
along its track until it slammed shut. She hunkered down in the rust-stained
porcelain and jammed her hands against the flimsy metal handle to keep the door
in place.

The Slayer rose up on its hind legs, but the ceiling was low
and it couldn’t get more than a paw or its snout over the shower door. It
clawed at the handle, but the curved design precluded purchase by anything
other than fingers hooked around it.

Bethany’s shoulders shook with her sobs as the Slayer began
a relentless, steady pounding at the door. Throwing its weight behind every
thrust, the animal began to make progress in weakening her final stronghold.
The plastic held, but the metal frame started to bend.

The constant, brutal thud of malevolent animal against such
a flimsy wall of defense tore at her sanity. The frosted white shower enclosure
blurred reality and sharpened the imagination every time the massive beast
lunged against it. The terror of shadow and sound consumed Bethany’s senses.

With a loud crack, the door broke from its frame and Bethany
was crushed beneath the weight of the Slayer, less than a quarter inch of
plastic between them. Her screams echoed loud in her own ears, equaled only by
the snarling fury of the animal on top of her. It clawed at the edges of the
door, trying to reach her trapped beneath the sheet of plastic.

Abruptly, the animal let out a horrific, ear-splitting
scream and disappeared. The weight, the noise, the shadow—gone. Bethany didn’t
move. Didn’t breathe. One moment it was crushing her into the cold bottom of
the chipped and stained bathtub, and the next it had vanished.

Her body demanded air and she sucked it in as quietly as she
could, slowly becoming aware of the ringing in her ears. As the bell tone faded
away, scuffling noises close by sent a new wave of fear crashing over her.
Before she could react, the saving sheet of cheap plastic covering her was
ripped away.

Wyc looked down at Bethany. Her auburn hair pooled around
her head like dried blood, her eyes were wide and glassy with fright, her skin
had a sickly, fish-belly paleness to it and her body was curled into a tight
fetal ball. He had never seen a more welcome sight than the rapid pulse at the
base of her neck.

He squatted down, and she pushed herself to a sitting
position.

“Where’s the, the animal?” she asked. Her voice was shaky,
and her eyes kept darting around him.

“Dead.” He ran his hands over her arms, torso and legs. “Are
you hurt?”

She looked down at her hands, flexed them, bent her knees.
“No.” With one hand on the side of the tub and the other on the wall, she
stood. When she released her support, her hands visibly trembled.

The relief at finding her alive was replaced by undulating
waves of anger that grew with each passing second that proved she was truly
alive and unharmed. Images, both real and imagined, streamed through his mind,
feeding his fury. Bethany, with her head thrown back, crying his name in
ecstasy. Swearing at him that she’d never go to Ilyria and then pitching forward
in agony. Reaching for him on the porch. The broken window in the cabin. The
broken bathroom door, snarls and scraping noises coming from within, her tennis
shoe lying on its side, torn and muddy.

The
kyltar
had been given its full release to scent and
track Bethany. It hadn’t been hard. Her trail had been fresh, but the
overlaying trail of the Slayer had been stronger. Having the two of them mixed
spurred the hunt as nothing else could do. Slayers didn’t waste time playing
with their prey. They tracked to kill, and killed immediately.

Deep inside the
kyltar
, Wyc had automatically logged
the scents, sights and sounds that came through the beast’s senses. A streaming
blur of information. The sharp scent of pine, the flash of moonlight on the
lake, the startled flurry of a bird’s wings. The smell of Bethany’s fear close
to the cabin, the few jagged points of a shattered pane still stuck in the
window frame, demoniac snarls ricocheting off the tiny bathroom’s vinyl walls.