Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (107)

“I don’t care about James Cove. He was so strange . . . and poor. Why would I want a farmer? He’s more now than he ever was then and all thanks to my master.” A sharp spear of smoke wavered in front of me. “You talk too much. Let’s make it hurt more. What do you think?”

The spear shot through my shoulder. I screamed in agony as it pulsed and twisted.

It was then I realized I was going to die.





GHOST


I swore, crawling through the dirt. All I heard were the sounds of animal shifters panicking and my brothers rushing to my side. Something roared. I looked down to see the demon blade lodged in me, slowly killing me. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding Blythe. It took her. A fucking Baphomet. Wolfgang dropped to my side, cursing.

Spitting out a wad of black blood, I said, “We have to find her. Leave me, find her.”

“We’re trying.” He lifted me to my feet. “We have to get you to a healer immediately.”

“No, just her, find Blythe.”

“Judas and Onyx are on it. And the moment I drop you with a healer, I’m gone. I won’t stop until she’s safe, do you hear me? But you can’t fucking die. Not like this. Not with a goddamn Baphomet spear.”

The poison spread like a web, like it recognized its master’s name. I cried out, my knees failing. I sent out a wave of blue smoke to look for her. Find her, I commanded it.

My vision was impeded my speckles of nothingness. A voice rang in my ears. “I don’t know if I can save him. Historically, my magic has not worked on any of the cursed of Ash Grove. But if he’s her Claimed, he should be able to find her.” Marcelene looked at me with a judgmental stare even now. She was dressed as a classic witch, purple pointed hat and all.

“How,” I managed.

She sighed, looking to my wound and paling. Where had she come from? How was I under the willow tree. I was losing consciousness. “You don’t feel her?” she asked, her wise violet eyes assessing my wound.

Onyx appeared in a blaze of green, kneeling opposite Wolf. Oh, I was lying in the grass now.

“I don’t feel her,” I said.

Onyx put a hand on my chest as Wolfgang cradled my head in his muscular lap. And then it flashed, like a speeding train, the imagines flooding me. Fluorescent, flickering light, packs of cigarettes . . . Blythe, hanging by blood chains. And the fucking Baphomet. I’d only been shackled by blood chains once and it was excruciating. And meeting a Baphomet . . . Fuck. Only the worst devils could create those foul beings.

Then I was back. When I opened my eyes, Judas was standing at my feet, wide-eyed. He ran a hand over his head. I’d never seen him look afraid before. What does a Devil fear? I wondered, feeling my sentience slip in and out. “Did you all feel and see that, too?” Onyx asked.

Wolfgang answered, “Yes. The gas station.”

“What the fuck? How did you—”

“How do you think, asshole?” Marcelene said, exasperated. “Now shut up while I finish this spell.” Cranky ass crone. The poison exploded in my chest like a tiny bomb. My body shook, trying to shift into demon form, but it didn’t matter. I was dying. I was going to die without ever telling Blythe I loved her. My death would come with the awareness that I’d found my Claimed only to fail her. Sorrow pressed into me, and for the first time in hundreds of years, I felt the urge to cry.

Judas spoke in a rumble. “Death is here.”

“What?” I asked, feeling something tingle in my blood as the witch chanted a spell. More witches gathered around us now, kneeling, waving crystals on silver strings. Even the vines of the willow trees swayed with them. “You don’t mean?”

Judas replied, “A Reaper.”

“Blythe’s stepfather, or the one who inhabited him—”

Onyx interrupted, “We thought he was a demon. They were all demons.”

Wolfgang pieced it together out loud. “We can’t see him or find him. He’s silent. Judas senses death. The Baphomet is a Reaper.”

I argued, “Reapers don’t exist anymore. They’re the most powerful beings there are. Like a thousand legions of demons put together. They’re death incarnate. Pure death.”

“Yes. The Reaper is here. I feel it,” The Devil spoke, and his word was always final. He would know.

I swore. “My Claimed is with a goddamn Reaper?”

“Our Claimed,” Onyx interrupted.

“Yes,” Wolfgang agreed. “Ours.”

Judas only crossed his arms, still looking alarmed.

“What the fuck?” I asked, sitting up on my elbows, the pain easing a bit. A crone opened an eye long enough to roll it at me before continuing her chant. They were saving me. Reluctantly, but hell, I’d take it.

Onyx said, “We all saw her when we touched. Only Claimed matches can do that. Polyamorous groupings aren’t impossible. We’re her Claimed and she’s ours.”

“Fuck no,” I spat. “No. She’s mine.”

Yesenia’s overeager voice strained somewhere in the distance. “I turn my back for one moment and all hell breaks loose. If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. I’m so sorry—”

Marcelene interrupted her granddaughter, addressing me, “You’re not healed, but you’re good enough to get to her. Being mated is the strongest magic that exists. It’s love magic, the deepest thing across all worlds. If you’re each her Claimed, you need to touch and think of her and her need for you. That will get you there. I’ll throw in some energy to help. Though, I’m sure with Judas back, you don’t need it.”