Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

The air rushed out the cottage, as if it couldn’t wait to escape in the presence of the thing inside. It was filled with a thick mix of anger, evil, and death, and the force of it so strong that for several seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. Whoever—whatever—the stranger might have once been, he was now little more than flesh controlled by the spirit who had both ended his life and was now extending it.

And that spirit was foul.

Aiden stepped into the cottage, his gun aimed at the utter darkness to the right, and his stance wary. “Keep your hands up and don’t move, or I will shoot.”

Another scream was the only reply, and a heartbeat later, Aiden followed through with his threat. Two shots rang out, the sound echoing harshly across the silence. Then he swore and leaped sideways, away from the door and me. A flash of pale skin followed his movement and the smack of flesh against flesh and heavy grunts began to punctuate the air.

Aiden’s grunts, not the creature’s.

I flicked the flashlight on, desperate to see what was going on. The powerful beam banished the darkness and revealed Aiden fighting a monster of a man. It also revealed a woman lying naked on the double bed that rested against gable end wall to my left, a look of horror frozen on her face.

My gaze flicked back to the two men. Aiden’s teeth were bared and his arms thrust out straight as he battled to keep the stranger away from his throat. Though his sweater hid the charm I’d given him, its force burned across my senses, a clean, bright energy that was barely keeping the darkness at bay. The fact that the charm was active suggested the stranger wasn’t only punching Aiden in an effort to break the lock of his grip, but also reaching for Aiden’s soul.

I quickly created a spell to force the stranger from him, but didn’t release it. Given the fierceness of Aiden’s grip on the monster, there was every chance the spell would affect them both. The last thing I wanted was to break the current status quo in the stranger’s favor.

I swore and swung the flashlight around, looking for some nonmagical means of distraction. From just under the edge of the old wrought iron bed came the gleam of metal.

Aiden’s gun.

The creature must have torn it from Aiden’s grip, because I doubted he’d have lost it otherwise. I quickly placed the flashlight just inside the door so that it spotlighted the two men, and then dove for the weapon. Aiden must have caught the movement because, even as I twisted around, ready to fire, he bucked hard to unsettle the stranger’s balance and, at the same time, heaved him upright.

As he released him and fell back, out of the way, I fired. The first one missed. The second one didn’t. It blasted into the stranger’s upper chest, and he howled in response. Again, it was a sound of fury rather than pain, but one that was abruptly cut off as Aiden’s fist smashed into the stranger’s face, flattening his nose and sending blood and gore flying. Another blow followed, and the big man’s head snapped up and back. As he began to topple backward, I released the spell, tore him from Aiden, and flung him out the door. Aiden scrambled upright, grabbed the gun from me, and followed.

Two more shots echoed, and then silence.

I ran to the doorway. Aiden stood on the shoulder of the road, his gun raised and body tense. The big man lay facedown on the other side, his outline barely visible through the wall of white between us. I couldn’t see if he was breathing or not, but he certainly was moving. It was little more than a series of jerks and shudders at first, and reminded me somewhat of a broken marionette being slowly brought to life by a determined puppet master. Which, given the situation, was nothing more than the truth.

“How the fuck is that even possible?” Aiden said, as the big man’s body heaved upright. “He’s been shot six times, including two into his fucking knees. At the very least, he should be rolling around in agony, not climbing to his goddamn feet.”

“As I keep saying, I’m no expert when it comes to these things.” Nor did I ever want to become one. I swung the pack around and grabbed the silver knife. The thick fog swirled around it, and blue fire flickered briefly along the blade—a reaction that confirmed this fog wasn’t natural. “Stay here while I try to stop this thing from escaping.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.” I hesitated. “If the host attacks, go for a head shot.”

I had no idea if even that would actually stop the big man, but it should at least make him pause. Which, in turn, should give me enough time to shove the knife into his chest and pin the spirit.

Which was at least one too many shoulds for my liking.

I carefully moved forward. Just as I reached the halfway point, the spirit must have sensed me, because, without any sort of warning, the big man was in the air and arrowing straight at me.

I reacted instinctively and threw myself sideways, out of his way. Gunshots bit across the night, but if they had any effect it wasn’t obvious. I’d barely caught my balance when the big man’s fingers latched on to my sweater and yanked me backward. I slashed wildly with the knife, catching my arm even as I severed two of his digits. Blood spurted over my sleeve as blue fire began to crawl across the remains of his hand, but he didn’t release me. Instead, he gripped the blade with his other hand, wrenched it from my grip, and tossed it away from us both. The agate charm came to life, burning fiercely against the darkness gathering around me. I swore, twisted fully around, and kneed him as hard as I could in the balls. He might be little more than dead flesh controlled by a spirit, but there were some things that remained instinctive.

The pain of crushed nuts was one of those things.

As he doubled over, I hit him as hard as I could with both hands, breaking his grip on my arm and forcing him away from me. As he staggered backward, failing for balance and screaming in fury, another shot rang out. The man’s head exploded, showering me in blood, bone, and brain matter. My stomach heaved but I bit my lip, fighting for control as I raced toward the fiery glow of the knife.

But even as I picked it up, the soul eater fled, and the big man crumbled to a lifeless, bloody pile in the middle of the road.

Almost immediately, reaction set in. I stumbled over to the nearest tree and was totally and violently ill.

Aiden appeared beside me a few minutes later. He tucked a couple stray strands of hair away from my face, his fingers so warm against my cheek, and then offered me a bottle of water. Once I’d rinsed out my mouth, he handed me a dampened handkerchief. I wiped the bloody remnants of flesh and bone away from my face, but the feel of them lingered. My stomach heaved again; I swallowed heavily and somehow managed to control it.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“No, I’m fucking not. You need to get a proper witch here, Aiden, because I can’t do this—” A hiccup cut the rest of my sentence off, and the tears started to flow.

He didn’t say anything. He just gathered me in his arms and held me tight. And lord, it felt so damn safe, so damn comforting, tender, and right, that it only made the tears flow harder.