Revenge and the Wild(89)

The cut on Alistair’s throat wouldn’t kill him, but just a few more pounds of pressure would mean his life.

“You don’t think I’ll have Cain do it, do you?” James said in a teasing voice.

“I do.” Tears poured down Westie’s face. “Don’t hurt him, please. I believe you.”

James brought his finger to his chin, twisted his face in thought. “No,” he said, drawing the word out, “I don’t think you do. Cain, please do the honors. I’d like to show Nigel we mean business so he will see what I can do to his precious daughter if he fails to provide our machine.” James winked at Westie. “And I’ve been wanting to watch that prick bleed since I arrived. After all, he’s not good enough for my big sister.”

Westie screamed when more blood spilled from Alistair’s wound. She pulled the trigger. The gun Alistair had fixed for her didn’t fail. Unfortunately, her aim did. With a painful howl Cain dropped the knife on the ground and brought his hand to the side of his face, where blood leaked down his cheek and onto his shoulder. Everyone was frozen, waiting for something to happen, to see how badly he was hurt. Westie looked at Alistair. He was wild-eyed and stiff, but alive.

When Cain moved his hand, part of his ear was missing. He screamed, a loud and ferocious siren that sent chills up Westie’s spine. Cain bent for his knife again and put it to Alistair’s neck, but before he could do anything further, he was yanked off his feet. Westie gasped. She was in too much shock to scream, or move, or do anything at all. It took a moment to register what had happened, but when it finally did, she wept.

Costin held Cain against a tree by his neck with one hand. No one had seen or heard his approach. Thunder cracked from above, and the wind rustled the trees. Costin’s long hair whipped like a horse’s tail behind him. He was slight compared to Cain, but vampires were stronger than humans and faster than they had any right to be. Cain clawed at Costin’s gloved hands. For the first time since Westie had met Costin, she saw his aloof mask crack to reveal the threat that he was. He was more snake than bear in his predatory ways, tall and poised to strike.

No one spoke or made a sound at first. Cain’s eyes had bloomed with fear, but they soon creased and a smile moved his lips. “What are you going to do?” he taunted. “Oh, right, nothing. If you kill me, you’ll melt under the Wintu spell.”

Westie looked at Lavina and Hubbard. Their frightened stares and slack mouths showed they weren’t as confident in their son’s safety as he was. The vein protruding from Costin’s forehead led Westie to the same conclusion.

Westie finally found her voice through the confusion. “Don’t do it,” she shouted at Costin above a crack of thunder. He whirled around to face her, fangs bared. She reeled back. Though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, the look on his face frightened her all the same. “If you kill him, you’re as good as dead.”

The malice in Costin’s eyes softened only a little.

“I don’t get it,” Cain said, his teasing tone warring with the nervous twitching of his lips. “Here I was, about to cut Alistair’s throat. It’s obvious how you feel about Westie. You could’ve had her all to yourself.” Cain’s grin fell flat. “And now you have nothing.”

Costin looked back at Cain, considering the young man a moment. “Which, I suppose, means I have nothing to live for.”

Costin opened his mouth, lips curling away from his fangs.

“Costin, no!” Westie yelled at him.

Cain screamed. His mother and father joined in to form a trio. Costin sank his teeth into Cain’s neck in a frenzy of violence, slashing at skin, snapping vessels, tearing tendons, crushing bone, exposing the inner workings of his neck.

Cain fell from Costin’s grip and crumpled on the ground, eyes open but vacant.

Westie watched Costin through a glimmering fall of tears. He stood proud, looking back at her, his chest out, chin up, lips pinched together, but he couldn’t hold it for long. As the skin of his face began to smoke and bubble, a scream punctured his lips. He fell to the ground and writhed in the dirt, kicking at the rocks around him.

Westie was screaming, frantic. The Fairfields, the mayor, and her long-lost brother were temporarily forgotten as she ran to Costin and dropped to her knees beside him. She tried to soothe him, but his pain had gone beyond hearing words. In her desperation she looked for Alistair. He’d been helping in Nigel’s surgical rooms for years. Maybe he could tell her a way to stop Costin’s agony. She knew, of course, the only way to do that was to put him out of his misery. But she also knew, after being in the same position before with Alistair, that she didn’t have what it took to be humane.

She found Alistair right where he’d been standing when Cain had nearly cut his throat, also staring at Costin. He had the same bewildered look she’d had moments before, as if trying to comprehend what had happened.

“Alistair,” she called to him. His eyes met hers when he heard her voice. “We need to—”

Her words stopped when Lavina stepped up behind him, knife in hand. “Look out!” Westie shouted.

Lavina raised the knife, the blade catching the last of the day’s light, underscoring its sharpness. Without thinking, without breathing, Westie reached for her sword, heard the hiss as she unsheathed it from her scabbard. Using all the strength of her machine, she flung it sideways, letting go when her arm was extended. The sword spun two full revolutions before it reached Lavina, severing her head from her shoulders. The head hit the ground and rolled to a stop at Hubbard’s feet, looking up at him. Lavina’s body swayed a moment before it fell.