Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

For a split-second it all connected—hearing Brandt and Raelyn talking about the Whitney Death Prophecy on their way to the bakery, knowing I couldn’t kill Tough, and realizing what I’d have to do to push him into killing me. Somewhere along the way I’d heard that castoff talking about the lines of power and remembered Ryder telling me where he’d gotten that first bottle of Southern Comfort. Then it had just been a matter of getting Mikal to come after me.

From the beginning, it should’ve been hopeless. One more failed plan, one more dead Whitney. I never should’ve made it this far. I wished to God I hadn’t.

Mikal jerked away from my lips. Her black eyes were wide and terrified. She dropped the gun and grabbed me. Her fingernails cut into my shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Colt?” Blood ran through her teeth.

The howling of tortured souls. Hell coming for Mikal, my Mikal, my burning angel.

I held her close. The sword hilt dug into my hip. Her cheek brushed against mine, so soft. The heat of her skin felt like a blowtorch on my blistered hand, but I didn’t let go.

“Mikal, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t let them take me,” she begged. She was crying. “Please, Colt—”

But I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t save her.

Tough

Desty and I got to the entrance hall just in time to see Colt pull Mikal’s flaming sword out of thin air and ram it through her stomach and out her back.

The lights in the mansion exploded and greenish-blackness took over. Wind like a tornado tore through the place, and louder than anything else, this sound like a million fingernails scratching low and high E from every direction.

Desty held her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. I hugged her against me, hoping she couldn’t tell I was scared sick, too.

Then they came. They ripped and tore and clawed at Mikal. Colt tried to fight them, but they wouldn’t touch him. They dragged Mikal away from Colt and into the blackness.

Hearing Mikal scream was worse than knowing Desty was going to leave me, worse than watching Mikal beat Mom to death, or getting stabbed through the Adam’s apple with a stake. All those things would end, eventually. Mikal’s scream was going to go on forever, even after time ended. My ears stopped hearing it when Hell closed around her, but the sound kept playing back in my head.

Something to look forward to.

The wind died and the green-black darkness burned off like fog. Colt was on his knees, face on the floor. One of his hands was burnt and blistered. He kept whispering to himself, but the only thing I could make out was, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Desty pulled away from me.

“We’ve got to go before Kathan gets back,” she said. “Get Colt. I’ll get the truck.”

I grabbed her hand. She was white and shaking so bad she was probably giving off a hum on some frequency.

“Don’t touch me.” She stepped back and hugged her arms around her stomach. “Just…get Colt.”

Desty ran for the door.

I dodged the sunlight shining in and grabbed Colt by the shoulders to pull him up. He took a swing at me, but I twisted both of his arms up behind his back. I had to drag him to the door.

Come on, dammit. This wasn’t going to work if I had to fight him all the way to the truck while I was on fire. You got to help me, Colt.

“I sent her to Hell,” Colt said.

You’re even, then, I told him. Just haul ass when you see my truck, all right?

“She’s gone. That was the plan—get rid of Mikal. That was— No, if that was the plan, then why— What the fuck did I do?”

Outside, I heard Desty jam the gears and I winced, but she didn’t kill the engine. She threw gravel up on the steps stopping, then I heard the truck door closest to the mansion open.

“Come on,” she yelled.

As soon as I jerked Colt out into the sunlight, I caught on fire.

Everybody says it’s the primal crow magic that makes vamps freak out about fire, but I’d like to see a human stay calm while their skin cracks and curls up and their muscles drip off their bones like melting plastic bags.

I hit the side of the truck. Someone grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me into the floorboards. A second later, the sleeping bag from behind my seat smothered the fire. Whoever invented flame-retardant material really ought to get a medal or something.

The driver’s side door slammed. Desty threw the truck in gear and we spun out. I could hear Colt rocking on the seat beside her, talking to himself.

“Shit. Mikal? Bad dog, bad dog, bad dog!” He was hitting himself.

I could hear Desty trying to stop him and drive at the same time. I started to move.

“Stay still if you can, Tough,” Desty yelled over Colt. “If you’re not careful, the sleeping bag might come off and you might ignite again.”

But she couldn’t get him to stop and he started fighting harder.

Hell with this. I was about to push the sleeping bag off when Colt went still and his heartbeat calmed down. Even the way he was breathing changed.

“It’s okay, honey girl, I got Colt. You just worry about getting us out of here.”

Frostbite shot down my spine and something inside me tried to get small and hide. That was Ryder. As sure as my soul was fucked for all eternity, that was Ryder talking.

Desty

The woods surrounding the cabin made for plenty of shade, but I sat in the grass and leaned against the flat tire of Colt’s Explorer, slow-roasting in the sun. Shut my eyes and stared at