Threescore & Tequila (Toil & Trouble Book 4) Read online

  “Wait.” Carly’s fingers dig into my arm as I glance down at the photos again, a sudden spark in her eyes. “I have an idea.”

  “Goddammit, Carly—”

  “One sec, bruin!” She runs inside and out a moment later, a piece of paper in one hand, pulling a bit of charcoal from her pocket with the other.

  She whispers something soft and low, her fingers dancing over the paper. The writing doesn’t look English or German or like anything I’ve ever read. But it starts to glow, a vivid emerald green. Carly ends with a flourish, hastily blowing on bright lines, like you do to dry ink. But in this case, the glow fades until the curving lines and dots are grey again.

  My nerves are screaming and I’m ready to run off without whatever she’s concocting, but just as I decide to try it, she looks up. Those blue eyes with their touch of green are fierce enough to freeze me in place.

  “When you get clear of that dungeon, use this. It’s a spell to bring you to the closest place that is friendly to you. I can’t make it specific, but it’ll be somewhere safe. Just pinch the edge, got it?” I nod as she folds the paper and rolls it into a tight cylinder, pulling the tie off the end of her braid to secure it. I stick the impromptu scrollwork into my pocket and tighten my fingers on the photograph. The sound of Jett crying still rings in my ears, but that’s not how I choose to picture her.

  I picture my witch fighting and kicking ass—beating the living shit out of whatever is hurting her.

  Because that’s what I want to see when I arrive.

  Vaguely, I hear Ana saying something as the first tug comes, low down and so faint I wonder if I’m imagining it. Then I look down and see Jett’s face on the photo in my hand. Laughing. Happy.

  Falling in love. With me.

  One more chance, baby. Please. Stay alive long enough to give me one more chance.

  I promise I’ll make it fucking count.

  There is a wrenching yank that feels like it’s smashing all my bones at once as the porch steps disappear from under my feet.

  20

  Last December

  It’s my bedroom, but I’m not alone. Stephen is next to me, naked, warm and solid, his heart racing just as fast as mine.

  When I catch my breath, I turn toward him. He’s staring at the ceiling, a deep line between his brows.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Just wondering when you took the chains down.”

  “Ha.” I’d smack his shoulder, but I can’t work up the energy. He wanted us to go to his place. I said no.

  More like hell no. While I’m not shy, the idea of his bruin buddies and their extra-sensory bullshit tuning into the Jett and Stephen Cinemax experience is a total turn-off. So I brought him home.

  I’ve never brought anyone home. It’s the middle of the afternoon. Carly and Ana are out Yule shopping. Seph is at the bar. I set a couple of spells along the perimeter, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got another hour or two to ourselves. I wonder how long it will take him to recover.

  Before I can finish the thought, Stephen rolls over and slides inside me.

  Deep.

  Damn. For a second I can’t breathe. Now granted, it’s been a while since I got horizontal with anyone. But I like sex. I like it a hell of a lot.

  I just don’t remember ever liking it this much.

  “Fuck, furface,” I gasp. “I thought you’d need a minute.”

  He smirks. “Never let it be said I kept a lady waiting.”

  “I’m no lady.”

  “Not right now, you’re not,” he agrees before pulling back and then sinking deep again, nice and slow until my gasps turn into moans. “Because what I really want right now is you on your hands and knees, ass in the air.”

  “I think I can accommodate that request.”

  But minutes later, with his body covering mine, the feel of his teeth against my shoulder sends a shard of ice straight into my heart. Lev liked to bite. He used his teeth on me more than his knife.

  “Stephen.” I’m trying not to panic, but I can barely breathe. I’ve been here before. Pain ripping deep, tearing hot, hotter than the blood pouring from my body. “Don’t.”

  His only response, a low, rasping growl, makes me start to shake.

  Instantly his mouth leaves my skin.

  He speaks. Soft, urgent words, but I don’t register them. I shake my head and just bury my face in the pillow, trying not to hyperventilate.

  He reaches for my shoulder, I can feel it, but I shy sideways before his hand can make contact. “Just . . . just don’t touch me right now.”

  Stephen pulls out of me with a snarl, turning around to stretch out on the bed. The loss of him leaves me cold and empty. It’s quiet for a long time. Then his voice breaks the stillness.

  “Even humans bite during sex, Jett. I’m not a monster. “

  “I know that.”

  “Then stop treating me like one!”

  I blink and lift my head from the pillow. Stephen gets out of the bed, his throat working.

  We look at each other, me holding my breath and Stephen’s massive chest rising and falling so fast I’m worried he’s going to hyperventilate.

  “I am not him.”

  “Stephen.” I close my eyes at the hurt in his voice, wanting to reach out but unable to. “I know that. I do. But this, everything you want from me . . . it’s not possible. I’m not sure anymore what I felt for that . . . other bruin. But I did trust him. Completely.”

  I feel his warmth before I hear him move. Then his hands cup my shoulders, his breath against my ear as he pulls me off the bed and into his arms. “Jett. You don’t have to trust me completely. Not yet. Just enough to give us a shot, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Why?” I say, just miserable and angry enough to spit out the truth. “I won’t ever love you, Stephen. Surely you’ve figured that out by now.”

  “Because I’m a bruin?” The sadness in his voice damn near breaks my heart.

  Because I can’t, I want to scream at him. Because I’m incapable of that kind of trust anymore.

  “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just can’t.”

  21

  Stupid bruin.

  Bruins.

  Fuck them.

  Fuck them all. They only make me hurt.

  Images spin in my head, dark and confused. Stephen.

  I need you, furface.

  I come to slowly in bits and pieces. All of them hurting. I’m still on the floor. My wrists are bound behind my back. My sword and sheath are gone. Something tight and cold constricts my throat. A collar. Attached to a chain. I follow the shiny links up to the profile I saw before I passed out.

  Shit in a handbasket bound for hell.

  The bruin above me isn’t the one I want. Or the one I was expecting.

  “You’re dead.”

  “Obviously you’re wrong.” Lev smiles down at me. “But I’m curious, if not me, who were you expecting? Surely not Viktor?”

  “I thought . . . Anton.” My head isn’t working right, fuzzy, slow and painful.

  His delighted laugh hurts my ears. “Anton? Oh my dear sweet witch, you killed Anton ages ago.”

  “No.” I can’t breathe, staring, as he moves closer. “I killed you.”

  He gives a little bow. “Not quite. But thanks for falling for my act.” He claps softly, the sound echoing eerily through the stone chamber. “When you escaped, I had an inkling you’d be back. You were quite a bloodthirsty little thing, even then. I took the precaution of capturing a replacement almost immediately. She put a spell on Anton one night while he was sleeping. It made the idiot look and act like me. Poor mindless fool wasn’t in control of anything at the end. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I made myself scarce and waited.”

  He gives me a pleased look. “Less than two months for you to come back, I was quite impressed. I watched you do it, you know. Kill my brother. It was quite the show. I brought back what was left of his body after you were through. Thanks for being
so accommodating and not going after his soul, sweets. You’d have known right away he wasn’t me. It was the one thing that I was concerned about.” I stare at him, my stomach shaking. I hadn’t wanted anything to do with Lev’s filthy soul. But now I am wishing I had finished the job properly. “But once you were fooled, I was able to inherit my father’s title and money and rest assured you’d be off my back until I was ready to deal with you properly. Father was devastated at ‘my’ death. Shocked me, I wasn’t sure he’d notice. The bastard never really recovered, but Mother took it with her usual aplomb.”

  I bet.

  I think over what he said, my mind slow with pain and panic, those bastard companions of hell. “So, what? You’ve been killing witches ever since? Never been able to work it out, have you? I told you it was impossible.” But I have a very bad feeling even as the words leave my mouth.

  He smiles again, slow and evil, his teeth yellow in the lamplight. The sight of them makes my stomach clench. He’s still handsome, still striking, but the twistedness inside him is beginning to show through. “Ah, but it has. See, I realized I set the bar too high when I went after you first.” He tsks lightly. “You were far too strong. So I started over, started small. Quite literally. Children.” He looks pensive and my stomach knots. “Just one or two a year, of course. From all around Europe. That didn’t go well either. People do seem to notice when children vanish. Even witches. So I moved up to teenagers. That turned out to be damn risky, too. One teenage witch is not exactly like another, some of them were disturbingly strong, even at that age. After one almost escaped, I decided to start doing my homework, looking for witches that were easy marks. The half-bloods, the weak, the inexperienced. I’ve gotten rather good at the screening process these last few years. But I had to widen my field, move on to new hunting grounds. America brought me my first real success.”

  “How many have you killed, you sick fuck?”

  “Well none, actually.” He smiles at my confusion. “I mean, yes, their bodies are done for.” An indifferent shrug. “But it wasn’t me who did it. Their souls are quite safe.”

  He kneels down next to me, his voice a conspiratorial whisper as he brushes my hair back from my temple. “I finally realized soul magic was the key all along. Once I started making them steal each other’s, it all became quite clear. You should’ve heard the last one beg. It was very sweet.”

  “Not Fiona? You sick shit, if she’s dead . . .”

  He blinks, as if surprised I know the name. “No. Dear Fi-Fi is still intact, right next door, in fact. But I think she’s gone mad. Taking Julie’s soul was a bit too much for her soft heart. But once you take hers, we’ll be back full circle. And once I kill you, I’ll have your power, all their power, at last.”

  I shake my head, unable to wrap my head around what he’s saying. Poor Taika. “How?”

  He yanks me to my feet, the collar digging into my throat.

  “We’ll get to that in a bit. First, I’ve been dying for a bit of fun.”

  That’s when I notice the bed taking up the other half of the dungeon. It’s an enormous four-poster, as much of an ancient ruin as the castle above. Lev smiles as my eyes widen. “I’ve got it all worked out. You’re going to marry me before I kill you, Jett. Nice and proper with a priest I’ve been keeping upstairs for the occasion. We’re going to consummate the wedding right here.” He waves a hand. “Several times. I want at least one legitimate heir with witch blood before I kill you. Homemade experiments, you could say. Just in case I require something more after I’m done with you. Best get comfy. You’re going to be here awhile.”

  He drags me closer to the bed as my mind races. Marriage? Okay, Lev was never right in the head, but obviously years of kidnapping and torture have driven him completely round the bend. “How the fuck do you expect to get away with this?”

  “You forget who I have on my side.”

  “My family knows where I am by now, Lev. It’ll mean war. Even Viktor won’t condone this shit. He can’t.”

  “Won’t matter. Once Viktor finishes his business with your sister, your family won’t be a problem.” He laughs. “The poor sap’s been dying for an excuse to get your sister back here for years. I’m giving him one. It’s perfect.”

  “Viktor wants Ana back?” I stop in my tracks, startled into laughing out loud. “He dropped her like a hot potato. Your cousin jilted my sister in the worst way imaginable. Have you forgotten?”

  He stares at me blankly for a moment as if losing the thread of the conversation, then shakes his head. “Be that as it may, he’s always loved her.”

  Lev’s hold on reality is absolutely gone.

  “Since when do you believe in love?” I sneer, trying to keep him talking, to keep from getting any closer to that bed.

  “I don’t.” Lev shakes his head some more as he drags me forward, his bare feet silent against the stones. I try to fight him, but I’m still so weak from the gas my resistance doesn’t even register. “Love is stupid. Surely you’ve learned that by now. After me.” The flash of his smile makes me ill.

  “I didn’t love you.”

  “Didn’t you?” He looks amused. “Such a willing little bundle you were. When I saw you at Viktor’s engagement banquet, I knew you were the one. So sweet, yet sassy.” He lifts a hand, running the back of it from my temple to my jaw. I toss my head, but the collar keeps me still.

  “I like what you’re done to your hair. And the tattoos.” His eyes slide over me, slimier than the cold, damp breeze that licks against my skin. “Edgy and oh so intriguing. I can’t wait to uncover them all. And taste them.” He grins again, flashing those teeth. Lev was always too scared to rape me, but he found other ways of getting inside me. Ways that hurt. Ana healed my scars, but she couldn’t reach them all.

  “I’ll kill you first.”

  He laughs. “Please. I’ve had lots of practice subduing witches in the last hundred years, Jett. I’ve perfected my technique into an art. The gas was only the beginning. I expect your head is clearing now but not for long.” He jerks his head at a sideboard next to the bed. Icy fear stabs through my insides at the row of needles lined up, tips gleaming evilly in the flickering light of the torches. “You can’t cast in here, your sword is gone. No spellwork. And not even the badass you’ve become can fight biology. Face it, you’re never leaving here again. At least, not alive.”

  The drug still has me weak as a kitten, unable to resist as he pulls my arms up and fastens the cuffs to some kind of winch that stretches them above my head, effectively lashing me to the headboard. “Now I don’t have to worry about getting my soul yanked out before I finish enjoying you. It’s been so long, Jett. Did you miss me?”

  “Like a raging case of herpes.”

  He’s watching me, his face rapt as one hand rubs over his crotch. For fuck’s sake. The ice inside me starts to spread.

  “You touch me and this time I’ll skin your floppy little dick,” I promise through my clenched teeth.

  He yanks me forward, skimming his lips down the side of my face before nipping my earlobe hard enough to make me flinch. “Empty threats,” he purrs, making me want to gag as he straddles me, his weight sickening. “Face it, darling. You’re helpless.”

  Just like before. Like I swore I’d never be again.

  He leans over for one of the preloaded needles on the sideboard. “One of these will have you in la-la land for the next twelve hours. We can have a lot of fun in twelve hours.”

  For the second time in my life, I’m in total panic mode. Without my magic or sword, I’m about to be fucked in more ways than one.

  He laughs, then presses his lips right against my ear. “This is going to be such fun, sweets. At last.”

  Something inside me screams all right, but my lips are frozen as his hand slides down to my hip. The only sound is in my mind.

  And the word that forms is Stephen’s name.

  22

  I smell copper. Thick and cloying, coating my lungs and maki
ng it difficult to breathe. I know it’s not blood. Or rather my bear does. I also know Jett is close. The scent of roses and honey is unmistakable, but wrong. Mingled with something that smells like medicine and burns my nose.

  I’m in what looks like a cavern at first glance, then I realize it’s a dungeon. A dungeon with thick, iron chains embedded in the walls, hanging down, their bottom links trailing into what looks like pools of half-dried blood. Something inside me goes cold and still. Bloody chains.

  By all the gods . . .

  There’s a shadow beneath one iron hook. It doesn’t look human until I see the pale outline of one arm held upright by a rusted cuff fixed to the wall. I take a step, close enough to see it’s a woman. She’s small and filthy and so still. My heart stops. Then I realize her matted hair is far too long to be Jett’s and also faintly reddish in color. I kneel next to her, putting two fingers to that frail, trussed-up wrist. There’s a pulse. Faint and rapid as a bird’s, but it’s there.

  She stirs, her eyes opening. They’re cloudy with pain and hunger and the blankness of a person who’s been terrorized so much it almost acts as anesthesia. As soon as those eyes clear, though, she yanks backward. The rattle of her chains goes off like a series of gunshots against the stone walls.

  “Shhh,” I whisper, but it’s too late. She screams. A curse comes from a dark, arched doorway hidden in the shadows. A man’s voice, full of impatient glee. “Wait right here. I need to have a quick chat with the neighbors.” There is a laugh that raises the hairs on the back of my neck, then the sound of a mattress creaking. Footsteps approaching.

  I leave the girl and head swiftly for the doorway. There’s no point to lying in wait. Whether she means to or not, the prisoner will give me away. I listen until the footsteps get close enough, then I dive under the arch in blind attack mode.

  One fist connects with a jaw or cheekbone, giving a satisfying crack that stings my knuckles. My other hand hits ribs, which crunch nicely. There is an oomph as whoever that sick little laugh belongs to goes flying. I catch a glimpse of him in the flickering lights of the candelabra overhead. Some blond dude. Big guy. A shifter by the smell.