Page 35 of Love the Way You Lion (Rise of the Resistance #3)

The Cat and The Bird Go On A Hunt

DELILAH

W hen I told Taurus we were going to have a blast working off this tension, I wasn’t kidding.

I need blood, and I need it to run down the walls.

Sari has always been a cunt, and as much as I hate that word, this time she’s let the darkness inside of me loose in a way that is dangerous not only to the wicked but to anyone in my path. The Beast and I are in concert; we want vengeance and we don’t give a flying fuck who dies.

I’m not used to that feeling.

My recent kills of choice have been tied to research on crimes going unpunished, as if I’m some avenging angel of justice. It’s a patently comic book stance, but it helps me deal with the rising bloodlust as it conflicts with what is left of the human side of me.

That tie broke tonight, and I am struggling to fight it. I shouldn’t care; Christ knows the humans wouldn’t. Humans are capable of much more violence than faith gives them credit for .

I don’t remember when I stopped considering myself human.

Closing my eyes, I focus on targets I’ve identified in the past month since Wilde died, knowing that I have a few that are both wicked and large enough to sate the desire to maim in my soul.

When I remember the intel about the cartel and their clever hiding spot, it makes my lips curve over my large fangs with anticipation.

This will do.

Turning to Taurus, I tilt my head. “I know a place that we can go. Come with me and we’ll feast, my love.”

His grin is evil as he runs his eyes up and down my body. “That all, love of my heart?”

Chuckling throatily, I shake my head. “Not if you’re an awfully bad boy, darling. You’ll want to see this.”

Snorting, he takes my hand, lifting it to his lips and nipping each knuckle playfully. “Minx, I don’t know how to be any other way.”

I yank my hand back, crossing my fingers and stretching my arms out, cracking my knuckles and shoulder joints simultaneously. “I promise you’ll walk funny for a week, you arrogant fowl. Follow me.”

With that, I smirk and disapparate, leaving him to find me via our mating bond.

Letting out a deep breath, I smile as I appear in the old German style rectory building of the church near my hometown.

Taurus doesn’t know how close we are to where I grew up.

Since the Winter Incident, I stopped bringing those I care about near the horrors of my past. I’m wary of this area on the other side after the Beast and my magickal awakening, because I worry about being tracked by echoes of a torturous past.

I don’t want her to locate me.

However, I know that heroin is a problem in both my home state and most of the ones that touch it.

High poverty and low education populations are breeding grounds for drug epidemics, and this rural area is no exception.

The farming and manufacturing communities have been decimated by the economy and technology, leaving desperate people in their wake.

A simple Google search and a little digging around the top layer of the dark web helped me find the rumors that plague this place. It was abandoned financially by the Church—gee, who would have thought the holy rollers would be so cruel to the poor—and it got bought by a cartel member.

Again, religion fails the people it should serve, only to get saved by evil.

The agreement that the church and its staff continue its mission while allowing the cartel to operate from one of the unused buildings in secret must have felt Faustian to the nuns and priests, but self-preservation is another hallmark of humanity.

I lick my lips, listening to what sounds like a choir practice as I wait for my mate. A discordant sound makes me wince and I growl—the super ears of a predator are even more sensitive to bad music than a normal human.

“A church, my little tail feather? Seems on the nose, don’t you think?”

I laugh again and turn to wrap my arms around him. “Or perhaps just ironic enough?”

He smirks down at me before dipping his head to kiss me with a hunger that promises to be delicious. “Your wish is my command, love. Always.”

Pressing against him, I move my body in a way that is unmistakable. “Then let’s show the pious what true evil looks like.” I pull away, noting the glazed look in his eyes before I turn on my heel and stride to the wide wooden doors as if I’m entering a throne room.

I can feel him watching me as I stop. Tilting my neck back and forth to crack it, I drop into a fighting stance. A spinning kick has the old wood splintering and falling out of the frame as I call, “Yoo hoo, any bodies home?”

A nun that appears to have survived the bloody Crusades appears, her full habit odd for the hour.

Her lips purse as if she is used to unwanted intruders, and perhaps in this drug decimated area, she is.

That and a cover for the drug runners may be the reason that her supplicants are having choir practice at eleven thirty in the evening on a weekday.

“The church is not open for confession, my child, despite activity inside. You will need to return tomorrow.”

Laughing, I throw my head back, allowing the Beast to shimmer forward.

My claws extend, my eyes widen and shift, and my body fills with power that mirrors the rage in my soul.

I know these people are not responsible for Sari trying to cause pain within my family’s relationships, but they are not clean either, so I feel the balance in the Universe will be restored.

“Sister, I am not here for redemption. You cannot redeem those who sell their souls. I’m here for vengeance.”

Turning to my mate, I grin. “Winner is on top.” Leaving him to gape, I sprint past the nun with her mouth hanging open towards the sound of the offending choir with malice in my eyes .

How dare they butcher one of my favorite Handel pieces?

Taurus must be dealing with the door nun because he doesn’t appear, and that’s fine with me.

I round the corner of the old stone building, scenting my way to the room where the women are struggling through the familiar bridge.

I continue to crack my neck as wrong notes and unintentional harmonies make my gut curl in revulsion.

When I locate the room, I don’t even bother to banter with the women.

My ears hurt and my anger is overflowing like a river in a monsoon.

Diving into the choir with a snarl, I swipe at the most offensive soprano first, drawing blood as I hit her shoulder.

The others scramble away, trying to climb out of the pile of bodies, trampling on one another.

Yanking her up by her neck, I grin fangily. “A minor fifth? Really? I should kill you twice for that.”

Done talking, I dart my head in and rip her throat out, noting the sound she makes almost hit the right note this time.

Drinking deeply, I toss her aside when she goes limp.

I turn to the rest of the choir, ignoring the blood on my face and clothes, as I stalk towards the first cowering group.

“Can any of you hit the note correctly?” I ask, pretending to look as if I might spare the one who can.

A willowy blond stands, jutting her chin out. None of these women are dressed in a habit like the one at the door. Being younger, they must follow less strict guidance than Brunhilda out there. “I can,” she says, her eyes alight with confidence.

I chuckle darkly.

Even a nunnery has a head mean girl. Bravery in humans only goes so far, and I can promise that it’s not stretching out right now. This is pure ego and dominance. This is the girl that most of us deal with our entire life .

Sometimes, the Universe is kind.

“You can? That would be most pleasing.” I look at the group she’s huddled in, knowing that it’s her gang of lackeys. “Can she? Are you willing to bet your lives on it?”

They look at one another, stupidly unsure if they should be afraid of me or her. That is a BIG mistake, as the hooker once said. The other small groups of women look at me and a brunette mouths the word ‘no’.

I grin; I like her. Smarter than the others—a better survivor. I might send her to a friend if she doesn’t piss me off. I know a religion far more suited to someone with a pair of ovaries like that. Maman would love to train a thing like her for the bar at her place—balls and brains.

“Come on, ladies!” I growl. “Answer me truthfully or die.” They’re going to die anyway, but since my husband’s not here yet, I can play with them a little longer. “Can she hit the note?”

The group of four similarly well put together women—for nuns in training, I mean, because vows of poverty shouldn’t include the quality of makeup they’re sporting—finally give in and nod in unison. “Yes.”

That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Clapping my hands in gleeful anticipation, I turn to Bitchy McBibleHo and smile beatifically. “That is excellent news! Piano wench! Please go back to the beginning of the bridge. Accompany our virtuoso here.”

I stand, putting my hands on my leather clad hips, feeling my tail swish like the agitated kitty that I am. My fangs are itching to rip this little snot to pieces and the hunger for blood in my soul burns my belly.

The music begins, and I sigh, loving the sound of the piano as the girl sings. Her voice trembles at first, but her ego can’t take going easy, so she warbles in a strong operatic style she had to have learned from a classical program.

It takes one to know one.

Unfortunately, this environment did not challenge her enough and her upper registers and ear have suffered. Her pitch wobbles fairly quickly, and it’s not related to the stress of this situation. Her expression says that she can’t even hear the variation in her notes versus what Handel wrote.

What a shame. The Magdalene Mean Girls were incorrect and now they all get to die much more painfully than I had intended.

Imagining Sari’s face on the unfortunate woman's body, I dart forward, knocking her to the ground and as I slash and slice. Ironically, her pitch is better as she screams. I might be onto something here: death choirs. Quite groundbreaking, if I say so myself. Pulling her guts out, I hold them up to the whimpering cadre that were her friends. “I said to be truthful. You might be the worst nuns I’ve ever met.”

They look like they’re going to make a break for it when the shadow of my mate darkens the door.

He takes in my bloody, gore covered form and his face brightens.

“Oi, love, you started without me. I had a welcoming committee with a suspicious amount of weaponry for a church.” He looks at the cowering choirs and beams. “That’s two to four, love. Your arse is mine.”

Rolling to my feet, I smirk, shaking my head.

“The evening is young, my love.” Winking, I pounce into the crowd of idiots who supported their friend, using claws and fangs to rip, tear, and shred mercilessly.

He heads for another group in the back corner that seems intent on running through a door they pried open while I was distracted, and I stop, lifting my head. “ Wait ! ”

Snarling, he turns to me with yellow eyes. “Costing me kills, love. Hurry it up.”

“Not the short brunette with the green eyes. Looks Irish. I have plans for her. Everyone else is fair game.” I send him a mental stroke and go back to feeding. I’ll need the energy if I’m going to be running through this enormous maze of a bloody medieval church.

I fucking hate when they run.