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CHAPTER THREE

JAXON

F uck, fuck, fuck, fuck . This is bad.

This is really bad.

I pull out of the Bandit’s lot and park my car on the little dirt road across the highway, hoping the fans of palm leaves hide me well enough that the red-haired woman won’t notice me waiting for her. I need to know where she’s going. I need to stop her.

Don’t kill her .

The Unnamed’s command is loud. It’s been loud, blaring in my head from the moment she walked through the door and I looked up, my eyes drawn first by the bloody red of her hair and then by the lush curves of her body and the gauzy, vintage sundress wrapped around them. Every single atom in my system erupted at the sight of her, and my fingers twitched and I had an onslaught of images of all the ways I could pose her corpse after I was finished, turning her from one work of art into another.

But it all came crashing down with a single command.

Don’t kill her .

Don’t kill her, but why did everything feel like she was marked by my gods? Why did the winter sunlight in the windows twinkle and flash around her as she strode across the diner like the gods were blessing her? Why did my skin thrum when she came and sat behind me? Why did she smell like dying roses and dark incense, my two favorite scents in the whole world?

It made no damn sense.

And then it got worse.

She had a picture of the sigil of the Unnamed, but it’s not just any picture. It’s the picture of the one I painted for Sawyer right after he revived, right before he blew up his whole damn life for that human girl, that survivor he fell in love with. Edie. The one I said might have been chosen for him by the gods.

And maybe she was, if her friend is striding into Bandit’s glittering like a fucking angel from on high right when I happen to be there,

Still, I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it. The gods are telling me I can’t kill her. Even if I didn’t listen to them and did it anyway, Sawyer would dismember me if he found out I killed his girl’s friend. Dismember me and spread me in six different states so it would take decades before I could pull myself back together.

But I can’t just let her go. Not if she knows what the sigil looks like. Not if she’s sniffing around and investigating Edie’s disappearance, which was supposed to look like her death. Sawyer explained the whole thing to me and our friend Ambrose because he was clearly pleased with himself for pulling it off.

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, staring through my windshield. The palm blocks most of my view, but it does let me watch Bandit’s entrance. When that red-haired woman comes out, I can follow her to wherever she’s going, and then?—

Do something.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t stay in there long. Probably fifteen minutes. I was hoping she’d take her time, maybe keep chatting with Maggie, because that would give me the space to think of a plan. The best I come up with is kidnapping her. It doesn’t anger my gods, and I don’t think it’ll anger Sawyer, either. Much.

I’m still not fully convinced, though, not even when I catch the fiery flash of her hair through the spiny green palms. She steps through the door, the marsh wind blowing her dress up around her thighs, and then vanishes out of my view.

I turn my car on and ease down to the end of the road, catching her just as she climbs into her own car—a dark blue Honda. She pulls out to the driveway and then turns left. Heading toward Pellerin.

I count to five and follow her.

I’ve never liked tailing people, especially not on the narrow, two-lane highways that wrap around the marsh like old scars. There isn’t enough traffic, and anyone with a healthy sense of safety—like a woman traveling alone, looking for her missing friend—will notice you pretty quick. Still, I do my best, hanging back, keeping my eyes focused on the glint of her silver bumper. I wonder where she’s going. Pellerin? It’s the closest thing to a town around here, even though it’s small, the population only about 1,500 people. Everything else is the marsh, and people who live in the marsh like their space.

The highway stretches out, flat and straight, no curves or trees to hide me. She’s almost certainly seen me by now, although she might not do anything about it until we reach Pellerin. Once we hit those first few signs of civilization, the little neighborhood roads and dusty old strip malls, though, she’ll start wondering why I’m still behind her.

So what happens if she keeps going south, heading deeper into the swamp?

I curl my fingers around the steering wheel, heart pounding. My Guardian is nearby, watching me without saying anything. Holding me back from killing her.

“I can’t let her go,” I mutter.

My Guardian doesn’t have a response.

She’s speeding up, pushing 70 even though the limit here is 55. She’s definitely noticed.

That’s when a thought comes to me, sparking out of nothing like it was delivered by my Guardian itself. This stretch of highway is lonely. We’re still at least twenty minutes out from the edge of Pellerin. If there was a car accident, it’s unlikely anyone would drive by?—

Don’t kill her . This doesn’t come from my Guardian but from the Unnamed, shouting in the thorny language of the Abyss.

I scowl and respond in kind. “ I know. Message received.”

Then I press my foot on the gas.

My car’s engine roars, and I jerk forward, my own speed picking up. The redhead’s car glimmers up ahead. I glance at the speedometer. 70. 75. 80.

Every nerve in my body sings, and I brace myself, pulling my muscles in tight. I’ve died five times. Let’s just hope this won’t be the sixth.

Her car gleams in front of me, glowing like a target.

I pull into the opposite lane like I’m going to pass her. I am going to pass her. I press harder on the gas. 90. 91. 92…

But I swerve over too early, slamming my foot down on the brakes and jerking my steering wheel to the right. My entire car turns diagonally, slicing across the front of her bumper with a terrible metallic scream. Everything goes shaky, and my bones rattle around in my body and my Guardian howls at me and my car plows into the grassy ditch on the side of the highway. The airbag explodes in my face.

I’m alive. I’m not even hurt. Hunter’s privileges. I just have to cross my fingers that she’s okay, though. Okay-ish. Okay enough that my gods and Sawyer won’t take turns dragging me into the ground.

I spill out of my car, leaving the engine running, my legs wobbling from the adrenaline. Her car’s twisted sideways, the silver bumper laying in fragments on the asphalt, the hood smashed up like an accordion. Through the windshield, I see the balloon of her airbag. The driver’s side door is still closed.

I stumble over to her, swiping my hair out of my face. The wind’s blowing in from the north, and it’s got a chill on it. Cold front’s coming.

I see her hair before I see anything else, just like when she walked into Bandit’s. It splays against the window like blood. For a minute, I think it is blood, and my pulse quickens. But no. The color’s not quite right. Neither’s the texture.

Also, she stirs inside the car.

I move quickly. The driver’s door is crumpled, but I’m strong enough to wrench it open. The redhead leans sideways, catching herself on the steering wheel. Then she looks up at me.

“You,” she says, dragging the word out. She’s bleeding, a small line of crimson across her forehead. Nothing major. Her eyes are dazed, though. I’m about to make it worse.

I don’t say anything, just tangle my fingers up in her long red hair. It’s silky against my skin, and I like that, although I try not to think about how I like it. Her dazed eyes go wide, and she reaches up for my wrist. I’m too fast for her, though.

I slam her forehead against the dashboard. Just once. Just hard enough to knock her unconscious. I can still feel her heart beating.

She slumps forward, and I pull her out of the driver’s seat. I’m a gentleman about it. I don’t touch the places I want to touch, tempting though it is. I keep telling myself she’s not dead, that she’ll wake up in a few hours, maybe less, and look at me with those big brown eyes. I don’t know how to deal with living girls. Especially pretty ones like her.

I set her down gently next to the car, propping her head up against the tire. Then I crawl into it to grab her purse. Her ID. Anything else she might have that identifies her.

When I do, I see a picture on the dashboard. I recognize the woman immediately.

Edie. Sawyer’s girl.

I swipe that too and slide it into the redhead’s purse for safekeeping. I also pull her wallet out so I can look at her driver’s license. I want to know her name.

Charlotte Careta.

I sit with that for a moment, her name buzzing a little in my thoughts. Then I slide her ID into place and check the back seat. Nothing there.

I pop the trunk and crawl out of the car. The redhead— Charlotte —is still slumped against the car. Still breathing. Blood still pumping. I can’t stop myself from reaching over and touching her silky hair again, tucking it behind her ear. Then I go around to check the trunk.

There, I find a suitcase, which I pull out. Maybe she’ll hate me less if I bring her things to her.

Then I load everything up in my car. Charlotte I lift in a fireman’s carry, draping her over my shoulder so her hair falls down and tickles the top of my ass. I grip her by the waist, pressing my fingers into her flesh. She’s so warm. So much warmer than what I’m used to. It’s like I’m carrying an armful of fire.

My cock’s been hard since I rammed her car, but it’s only now that it becomes a distraction, straining against the inside of my pants. I’m surprised how much I like it, her soft heat. All the movement coursing through her body, like she’s filled with a million butterflies.

Why the hell would she fuck a freak like you?

It’s another of the gods, a cruel one I rarely traffic with. It’s not wrong, though.

I lay Charlotte down in the back seat of my car, tugging the skirt of her dress down to her knees so she knows I didn’t do anything while she was out. I do let my touch linger a little, though. On the bottom of her thigh, right above her knee, spreading my palm so I can feel her heat and her blood. My cock throbs, and I close my eyes and soak her in, imagining what it would be like if she did want to fuck me.

She doesn’t .

I yank my hand away. Readjust her hem. Look at her for a moment, admiring the outer stillness that hides the riot of movement inside her.

Go . My Guardian’s voice surges up, louder than the others. Hurry .

I slide into the driver’s seat, throw the car into reverse, and slam backward out of the ditch with a squeal of tires and spray of mud and grass.

And then I drive me and Charlotte into the swamp.