Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(64)

“Alride was bled out. Which means someone plans on doing some pretty dark magic to tap into his powers.”

“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” The knife lifts a couple of centimeters away from my skin. “And this dark magic. Is it something your boyfriend is planning on doing?”

“No. Goddess, no.”

The knife is back. “You sure about that?”

“Declan didn’t kill Councilor Alride and neither did I.”

“I thought you didn’t know who killed him?”

“I don’t. But it wasn’t Declan.” As I say the words, the last little doubt that haunted me drops away. I don’t know where Declan was last night and why he came home scratched and bloody, but he wasn’t here.

“I’m sorry, but I’m just not as certain as you are. Maybe if we could talk to Chumomisto, we’d be convinced, too.”

My entire body recoils at the thought of telling them anything about Declan, or where to find him. They must feel my resistance, because the knife disappears—only to be replaced by John’s hand stroking slowly down my arm.

My throat tightens and my heart beats wildly inside my chest as I begin to panic. I jerk away, but he follows me. Continues to rub his hand up and down my arm in a way that is so much more terrifying than the knife to my throat.

I know he’s doing it on purpose, know he’s going there to bring back memories of the rapes Kyle committed, but rationalizing it doesn’t make being touched by him any easier to handle. Because while I wasn’t physically raped by Kyle, every time I relived one of those women’s attacks, it certainly felt like I was.

John’s hand trails up my arm to the back of my neck. I know I shouldn’t react, but before I can stop myself, I shrug him off. He grins and brings it right back. Only this time, his fingers creep up my scalp, tangle in my hair, and tug until my head is tipped back and my face is only inches from his.

“Tell us more about Chumomisto and I’ll stop.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, you’re going to end up getting much more closely acquainted with Larry and me.” He reaches out with his free hand and swipes at a trickle of blood running down my neck. Then lifts the finger to his mouth and licks my blood off it as his other hand tightens in my hair.

I lose it completely. Screaming, I jerk away from him, ignoring the pain of pulled hair. He follows me, trying to keep his grip, but I lash out and catch him in the nose with the heel of my hand. At the same time, I drive my booted foot straight into his groin.

He sinks like a stone.

But I’m not free yet. His hand is still tangled in my hair, dragging me down with him, and Larry is right there, too. Frankly, I’m not sure which one of them looks more pissed off, and I brace myself as Larry cocks a fist and plows it straight into my jaw.

Pain explodes through my skull, knocks my head back so hard that it smacks right into the wooden edge of the couch. Dazed, I look up just in time to see Larry’s fist coming at me a second time. If he hits me again, I’m done. I know it—already the cartoon birds are circling around my head.

Ducking just as his fist comes toward me, I spot the discarded knife lying next to me on the floor. I grab it in my left hand and slash out at Larry with it. I catch him right across the upper thigh and he screams as blood spurts everywhere.

“You bitch!” John growls, his hand once again tightening in my hair. I don’t let myself think. Instead, I jerk the knife through my hair, chopping off inches of hair and making some powerful slices into his fingers as well.

It’s his turn to howl and before he can recover, I’m lashing out at him again, driving the knife straight into his bicep. Then I’m clambering to my feet and running full tilt for the door.





Twenty





Once I make it out of the room, I turn right and keep running. I don’t know where I’m going, don’t know if I’m heading toward the exit or if I’m just getting myself deeper into the tunnels. And I don’t care. All that matters right now is putting some distance between them and me.

I think I have a couple of minutes—I’m pretty sure I sliced into Larry’s artery and I’m hoping John will stop to save his life instead of immediately coming after me. But I’m not sure, so I lay on the speed. If he catches me now, I know there’s no way I’m getting out of here alive.

The hallway I’m in dead-ends in a few feet and I’m going to have to go left or right. Again, I don’t know which way to turn, but I don’t want to take the time to puzzle it out. So I turn left and hope for the best.

I hear footsteps behind me now, John calling my name as he pounds through the underground passageways looking for me. I keep running, praying that I’ll run into a staircase, an elevator, anything that might get me to the surface.