Vengeance Borne

Vengeance Borne

A Sentry of Evil Novel

Amanda Bonilla

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
©
2013 by Amanda Bonilla

Ebook ISBN: 9781625172501

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address
Nancy Yost Literary Agency
.

Acknowledgments

This book wouldn’t be possible without the hard work of one person, my agent, Natanya Wheeler. You seriously rock my world and I don’t know what I’d do without you! Thanks also to my awesome crit partners Windy Aphayrath and Sarah Bromley, and kick-ass beta reader, Chelsea Meuller.

As usual, any mistakes are my own, and to all of the locals out there reading this book, I had to take a little creative license with my fictional McCall. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Dedication

To my grandmas, Mary and Eula who were the inspiration for Trish.

“I’ll never pause again, never stand still,

Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine

Or fortune given me measure of revenge”

-William Shakespeare

Chapter 1

WHEN A BANSHEE sends a message, you’d be stupid not to listen. And tonight, her wail was low and mournful, carried to Jacquelyn’s ears above the din of No Business Tavern’s house band, the cavorting drunks, and her own silly laughter.

Time to get to work.

Despite her best friend Libby’s protests, Jacquelyn ushered her out the door to her Tahoe where Evan, Libby’s husband and tonight’s DD, waited with the engine running. His punctuality was a godsend. Nothing rounds out a night with your BFF like demon slaying. Especially after you’ve got a few vodka sodas—with a twist of lime, of course—in your system. Tonight had been one of those requisite “let’s drink to your recent breakup” sort of adventures with laughter, dancing, and a few shenanigans involving a dare, three flaming shots of tequila, and a bartender named Earl. Jacquelyn took the shots rather than smooch with Earl, and for the record, she hated tequila. Though she needed a girls’ night out, the evening ended with her feeling even worse about her split with her ex, while Libby out-drank an entire Hot Shot crew fresh off the fire lines at a burn up north, earning her official bad-ass status. She totally deserved the accolades, too. That girl was seriously impressive when facing off with Jose Cuervo.

It was time to call it a night, but no matter how badly Jacquelyn wanted to jump into bed and sleep off the vodka sodas that sent her just a bit past tipsy, she had to hit the bricks and get to work. Not her day job at the coffee house. Her real job. The one where she hunted the nasty things that go bump in the night.

Demon slayers don’t get a night off. And why was that? Didn’t demons want a night off every once in a while? Jacquelyn supposed there was something behind that old adage – no rest for the wicked. It really spoke to the work ethic of evil beings.

“You need a ride to work tomorrow, Jax?” Libby asked from the front seat as Evan pulled into her driveway.

Buffy Summers had it easy. At least her pals knew about her part-time gig as a destroyer of evil
.
Jacquelyn’s were doomed to remain blissfully ignorant of her nocturnal activities. “Nah, I’ll ride my bike,” she answered as she stepped out of the Tahoe. “I need the exercise.”

Libby shook her head sending coils of ash blond curls bouncing around her face. “You’re insane. If you ever see me riding a bike to work, assume my body’s been taken over by aliens. Your car’s been out of commission for six months, Jax. You training for a biathlon or something?”

“I’ve got to keep my body in tip-top shape, Libs. The forces of evil are everywhere and I lead a double life as a demon hunter and purveyor of otherworldly justice.”

“Riiiight.” Libby gave a too-loud, drunken chortle. “Okay, well, call me if you change your mind. Later.”

Jacquelyn smiled. Yep, Buffy had it easy. “Later, Libs,” she said before shutting the door.

Without a glance backward, she headed for her house. She kept her pace slow; the ground felt as if it were slipping out from underneath her, though it took effort not to charge through the front door. Another mournful wail meant for her ears only pierced the night and slid down her spine in an icy shiver. A beacon, or more to the point, a warning. Once inside, she quickly changed, throwing on a pair of heavy-duty cargo pants, a long-sleeved black tee, and her favorite pair of Docs. She slipped a holster over her shoulder and loaded the clip to her 9mm Glock with silver bullets, disengaging the safety before she slid the weapon home. If she met up with a hostile—and from the sound of the Banshee’s cry, she would—Jacquelyn didn’t want to have to fiddle with flipping a damned switch before she unloaded the clip into some nasty creature’s chest.

From under her bed, she produced a worn wooden box. She carefully lifted the lid and removed a long silver dagger, its hilt encrusted with jewels. The blade warmed her skin as she sheathed it at her side, obviously anxious to be put to good use. Magic. Always ready. Always hungry. After a lifetime of training and five years as the local hunter, Jacquelyn still couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Armed and ready to go, she left her house prepared for a hunt.

A twinge of guilt tugged at her chest. Damn it. Though she had no problem handling the situation on her own, she really should call Finn for backup. But going out on a hunt with her ex just didn’t appeal to her. Not in the least. Not when their breakup had been so….what? She couldn’t even get a bead on her own feelings. And that, right there, was the problem with dating a Bearer. You never knew if your emotions were ever truly your own.

As if he’d known she was thinking about him—and odds were damned good he had—Jacquelyn’s cell played a muffled tune from her pocket. She dug the phone out and swiped a finger across the screen, holding it to her ear without so much as a “hello.”

“You think you can just go out on your own, huh?”

Finn. The consummate know-it-all, and always
sooooo
overprotective. It was a wonder he didn’t escort her to the bathroom every time she had to pee.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Finn.” She infused her voice with innocence. “I’m just about to hop in the shower.”

“Liar.”

“Why would you say that?” A sound to her left drew Jacquelyn’s attention and she slowed her pace. Released the snap on her shoulder holster. A rabbit hopped out from the cover of brush and her hand eased off the butt of the Glock. She whispered into the receiver, “Are you implying that I’m not big on showers, Finn?”

“It’s been five years, Jax.” Finn didn’t sound like he was in the mood for smart-ass banter. Bummer. “And you’re still trying to bend the rules.”

Five years? Felt like five thousand. Finn had been with her every moment of those five years, too. He hadn’t left her side since the day she’d been assigned to the territory that encompassed two counties and the small towns of Cascade, Donnelly, McCall, and New Meadows. Which made her question his insinuation that she was lying about needing to shower. Obviously he thought she smelled good without one.

“I don’t need you for this one, Finn. I’ve got it handled.” More times than not, these hunts ended before they even began. If she had to guess, tonight’s excursion would be the equivalent of chasing off the neighbor’s dog after catching it eating out of your trash can. She didn’t get a sense of a big bad in the area, and her intuition was normally spot on. No need to ask for help shooing off a minor annoyance.

“Like you handled that rogue vampire last year?”

Shithead. He just had to throw that one in her face, didn’t he? “I can’t help it if he had that whole Lestat vibe.”
Oh, man
. If ever she’d considered letting a vamp bite her, it was that night. Of course, it had been her own fault that she’d met his gaze. One look and the vamp had compelled her into volunteering as a midnight snack. Though, honestly, if he’d quoted a few lines from Anne Rice, Jacquelyn probably would have volunteered without being compelled. Fortunately, Finn had followed her out that night too and saved her ass.

He snorted through the receiver. “If you like the broody, emo type.”

“As opposed to the controlling, overprotective type?”

A pregnant silence answered and made her wish she could take the words back. Sure, his controlling nature had, in part, spurred their breakup, but it wasn’t fair to throw it back in his face. As her Bearer, Finn had no choice but to be overprotective. It was encoded into his goddamned DNA. “Sorry,” Jacquelyn said under her breath as she followed a path down a small embankment. “That was below the belt.”

“You have to quit punishing yourself, Jax.” Great, Finn had shifted into compassionate mode. He was coming at her with a barrage of emotional artillery tonight. “You can’t take on the world alone. Going out and getting your fool head knocked off isn’t going to change the past. The only person who hasn’t forgiven you is
you
.”

What gave him the right to proclaim that she’d been forgiven by anyone? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Finn.” Right. He knew exactly what he was talking about, and maybe that was the other problem with their relationship. He knew too much about her.

“It wasn’t your fault, Jacquelyn.” Finn didn’t call her by her full name unless he was getting down to business.

“I dropped the ball, Finn.” How many times did they have to rehash this? “If I’d paid better attention… stayed closer… something. He wouldn’t have died if I’d—”

“What?” Finn cut her off. “He was your partner, yes. But he shouldn’t have taken the lead. He rushed into the building without you. Ryan got himself killed that night. Period.”

True. But did it matter? Six years ago, before she’d been transferred to McCall, Idaho, she and her first partner, Ryan, had been out on a hunt that went wrong. He’d charged into a building after a Brimstone Demon without waiting for her to secure the area first. What they hadn’t known was that there was a pair of demons in that building and Ryan was killed before he even realized his folly. She should have made him wait for her. He broke protocol and Jacquelyn was in charge. But she’d been too green and not yet assertive enough to command. No way would she lose another partner ever again.

“If I’m not guilty of negligence, then why was there an inquiry?” When word of Ryan’s death made it to the ears of Jacquelyn’s superiors, they launched an investigation as to whether or not she should keep her position as Waerd—appointed protector from ghouls, demons, and their ilk—of that territory. And Jacquelyn took her job very seriously.

“They never would have sacked you and you know it. You’re special.” She really hated how his voice filled with wonder whenever he spoke of her
Waerd
ness. Why were all Bearers so melodramatic?

“Not special, Finn. They’ll never forget that he died on my watch. I’m
condemned
. And if I don’t at least try to do a little good in this world, I’ll never be anything more.”

“Where are you?”

Besides being her own personal Jiminy Cricket, Finn was insufferably well-practiced at distracting her. You’d think she would have learned her lesson after five years. No doubt he was stringing her along, keeping her engaged in conversation so he could access the GPS on her phone and pinpoint her location.

“I’m headed your way right now.” Finn’s tone screamed concern. Yep. He was totally tracking her. What a butthole. The sound of his truck engine roaring as he switched gears echoed in Jacquelyn’s ear. Damn it. He was already on the road.