Holocaust (The Deadwood Hunter Series Book 3) (7 page)

“Brilliant!” Lucy cooed. “We have a volunteer.” She faced the crowd, her smile suddenly slipping. “You! Shackle him!” she barked, pointing at the nearest hunter.

Lexia stood frozen on the stage, staring at Derrick being shackled. Her fingers curled into her palms, the bite of her nails drawing blood. Every part of her longed to do something; stop this crazy stunt.

Easy, Lexia, remember you are supposed to be following her.

Go away, Maura!
Lexia growled into her mind. For the first time in a long time, she wished she could be in sole control of her body.

Her pulse boomed through her skull, the whoosh of blood muting every other noise in the room. She didn’t realize Lucy was talking to her until she felt every pair of eyes in the room on her.

“Maura?” Lucy snapped, the set of her mouth and redness of her skin an indication she’d been waiting for an answer for a while.

“Sorry, Mother, what did you say?” Lexia asked.

“I said, you will be carrying out his punishment.” The smile on Lucy’s face told Lexia all she needed to know, her expression showed every bit of horror she felt.

I can’t do this!

Allow me.

Lexia breathed deeply, and with the rush of air that left her lungs, Lexia left her mind. She retreated within the deepest depths, allowing Maura to face what she could not.

“Certainly, Mother,” Maura answered.

She took the whip, and for the barest of moments, she didn’t want to do this to her friend. The thought left as quickly as it came, but for one fleeting moment, Maura felt something.

Derrick passed out after the thirty strikes of the whip, his back a blooded mess, drops scattered around him with each flick of the whip. When Maura was finished, she walked out of the room, not caring what her mother thought. Her steps were quick and light as she made her way through corridors, each blending into the next.

Maura had a violent almost uncontrollable urge to kill, but not kill just anyone. She wanted,
needed
to kill her mother. Maura didn’t like to be manipulated. She didn’t like anyone getting the best of her. Her fist shot out connecting with the wall as she let out an enraged scream.

“Why did I even do as she asked? Why do I care what happens to them? I am Maura. I feel
nothing
!” Her words echoed around the empty corridor.

Smudges of blood coated her knuckles, the only evidence of her outburst, the skin having already healed.

“This is your fault, Lexia. You are tainting my mind, making me care about things I shouldn’t,” she hissed.

Lexia surged up within her mind, her voice a shot of pain behind her eyes.
What
do
you care about then? Why are you even here if not to serve Mother?

Maura’s anger and frustration suddenly left as Lexia’s question repeated in her head.
Why are you here?
She stood for a minute thinking of the things she’d never thought to think of before. Asking questions she’d never had the urge to ask, and then the answer came to her.

“I’m here because you created me. You needed me. I’m here to keep Lincoln safe,” she whispered.

Maura felt Lexia shrink back, sensed her retreat back into the hidden depths of her mind she’d created to disappear in. Lexia couldn’t face the truth. She couldn’t face the fact she’d created the monster inside of her, or that she had allowed Maura to take control.

No come back? Very well, shall we go and see Derrick? I suppose he’ll be at the infirmary by now.

Chapter 9

Derrick had tried to hang on for the entire punishment, but when the thirtieth lash slashed into his already mangled flesh, he’d succumbed to the blackness that called. His next thought was only of pain, but a sound drew him back to consciousness, if only for a minute.

“Lex?” he croaked, forcing his eyes to open a crack.

Her head lifted from her knees. She greeted him with the saddest of smiles and the purest of blue.

He tried to move his arm, his every instinct to comfort her, but with each flex of his muscle, fresh pain infiltrated his body, clouding his mind and threating to drag him back under.

Her tear-filled eyes widened. “Derrick, don’t move. You need to rest and heal.” Her hand clasped his, squeezing. “Go back to sleep,” she murmured.

How he wished he knew how to help her. He wanted to tell her not to cry, that none of this was her fault. Yet all he managed was a garbled gasp and then darkness descended once more.

It was a day later when he awoke. His eyes opened easier this time, though felt stiff. He scanned around as far as he could without moving his head, finding Lexia leant against the wall. Her hands slack with sleep, her head tilted forward on top of her bent knees.

“Lex?” he croaked.

When her head lifted, he was greeted with the cold gaze of Maura. “No.” She climbed to her feet, her joints cracking and popping as she moved. “I do wish Lexia would take better care of our body,” she moaned, pressing her hands to her back and stretching.

“Don’t talk like that!” Derrick hissed, his pain momentarily forgotten.

“Like what?” Maura replied, seeming genuinely interested.

“Like it’s your body too. You are the monster hijacking Lexia’s mind.”

Maura smiled. “Wrong. Lexia created me, remember? To save her precious Lincoln, and now she hides away because she can’t deal with the consequences of her actions.”

“I’m going to find a way to get rid of you!” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Yes, yes, not the nicest of ways to talk to me, after I was so nice to go along with the little deal you made. Maybe next time I won’t be so inclined.”

Hearing the light steps of her feet, Derrick strained to see her, but the door slammed signaling her departure. Suddenly weary, Derrick closed his eyes drifting back to sleep, his mind on the woman he was so desperate to save.

It took three days for Derrick to heal enough to leave the infirmary. Neither Lexia nor Maura visited him again. It was Belinda who waited outside when he walked through the door.

“Derrick, you’re okay?”

“I’ll live. Fill me in,” he said, setting off knowing she’d follow.

“Right, straight back to work then?” she asked, jogging to keep up.

“Yes, I’ve already been out for too long as it is.” He couldn’t waste any more time. He needed to be near Lexia, keep her safe because she seemed to be cracking further each day.

“Well, nothing has happened really. Usual training. Lucy hasn’t sent anyone off site, no raids, just boring compound life.”

“Has Lucy been around?”

“Yes…I think. I’ve seen her maybe once. Why?”

“No more unexpected punishments?”

“No, like I said, boring life. Everyone is pretty freaked out about what happened. No one has stepped out of line.”

“And Le- Maura?”

“Holed up in her room, mostly. She’s only left for her training sessions.”

“Let’s go find her then,” he instructed. His walk through the compound consisted of many stares, some even cowered away from him, or quickly passed by as if just being near him, could mean receiving punishment.

His pace was determined, his outlook strong, yet his body ached with every movement; his skin still stretched tight and sore. Derrick saw again how cunning Lucy really was. He had a large following of hunters who trusted him and saw him as a leader. But now, they saw the fifty lashings he’d received. They saw an elite punished for stepping out of line. Lucy was very clever. She’d planned this, which meant she had other plans. Plans he feared were far worse than fifty lashings.

Chapter 10

Every morning Lincoln woke, he told himself, ‘this is the day. This is the day I sober up.’ He climbed out of bed with every intention of not touching the bottle, but then it hit him, hit him square in the chest; a pain with no equal.
She was gone and she was never coming back.

It didn’t help that he still felt her. Though it had been a flicker at first, with each day, it grew. Lexia had become restless. Though the darkness was still there tainting their bond, something had changed. He just didn’t understand it.

So he numbed his pain with alcohol. Swilling the amber liquid around, Lincoln told himself he’d ‘just have one.’ Yet before long, he was looking for answers at the bottom of the bottle.

He knew he should be stronger. Lexia deserved stronger, yet he couldn’t pull himself from the destructive path he was heading down. “Looks like I’m more like you than I first thought, David,” Lincoln said bitterly to the ceiling. Staggering around his room, feeling the first fire of his anger taking hold, Lincoln kicked the edge of a safety deposit box, half hidden under his bed.

It was one of the many things left behind by his grandfather; he’d not opened it, thinking it contained more attempts to lure him into human life. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the box, like he’d done many times. Today though, the effects of the alcohol still lingered, and some part of him wanted to come out of hiding. Lincoln opened it – the key was already in the lock. It just needed turning. With a click, the box opened and what was inside surprised him.

Pictures of his father when he’d been young, laid within; various shots of him with his mother and father before everything had gone wrong and Nathen had been taken from pack land. Seeing the photos hurt more than he’d expected. He’d never met his grandmother. She’d died before he was even thought of. What hurt the most was seeing his grandfather in a different light, not only younger, but happy. From the moment Lincoln had moved in with his grandfather, he’d sensed his sadness, but in these photos, none of the events that would have eventually destroy David Turner had taken place.

Dropping the photographs back into the box, Lincoln picked up the letter, but found it addressed to his father, Nathen, not himself. Opening it anyway, Lincoln read the words:

Nate,

So much has happened in our lives, and I must admit I haven’t handled them well. Losing your mother broke me in a way you can never understand.

“I understand, Grandfather. Dad would have, too, in the end,” he whispered, before carrying on.

But I owe you an explanation. Too late I’m sure, but I need to try and explain the reason why I had to leave the pack. Why I took you away from the home and life you loved.

I suppose I blamed our ways for your mother’s death. When she’d first fell ill, she refused to see the human doctor, and by the time she’d been diagnosed with cancer, it was too late. The humans said there was a slim chance chemo would work, but she refused treatment, choosing to live out her days surrounded by pack. I understood why she chose, what she chose, but I could never accept it. I was angry with her for not trying. I still am I suppose. I hold such anger inside of me, a rage fuelled by the loss of my mate. I needed to direct that rage somewhere. I directed it at pack life, blamed it for her death.

Many wondered why I still lived, why I didn’t join my mate in death. Partly for you, but partly because I was stubborn. I was mad at her, and for that I held on and left pack life behind.

I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, son, but you must know this one thing. I am very proud of all you have done, for the life you have created. I tried very hard to keep you in the human world, but I always knew deep down; pack was where you belonged.

One day, you’ll be alpha, and one day, you’ll have a son of your own, and although I won’t show it, I am happy for you, son.

David.