Vengeance Borne

By Amanda Bonilla

"Fans of dark urban fantasy have something new to look forward to...there is a gritty edge to this promising first installment that makes it a very compelling read." –Romantic Times Book Reviews


“Amanda Bonilla knows how to keep you on the edge of your seat...she’s a must read.” –Amanda Carlson, author of the Jessica McClain urban fantasy series.


Fated to Hunt…
As the local hunter, and a ward of the Sentry, a secret organization dedicated to eradicating the forces of evil, Jacquelyn has been protecting the small town of McCall, Idaho for the past five years. The hours are horrible, the pay is nonexistent, she has to work with her jealous ex-boyfriend – and forget about quitting. She’s in for life.


Destined to See…
When a rugged drifter comes through town, Jacquelyn immediately knows what he is – an Empath who can read emotions and sense what others are thinking – even though it’s clear the handsome stranger has no idea what, or how powerful, he is…


A Town in Peril…
When people in McCall start turning up dead, viciously ripped to shreds as if by a wild animal, Jacquelyn knows better. Furies are loose in Idaho and hell-bent on exacting revenge. But against whom? And for what purpose? Jacquelyn has until the full moon to stop the Furies’ killing spree and save the people of McCall, figure out how to work with her ex – oh, and there’s a handsome stranger in town who’s in desperate need of some schooling…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Apr 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094458021

Amanda Bonilla

Amanda Bonilla is the author of the Shaede Assassin and Sentry of Evil urban fantasy romance series. The debut novel in the series, SHAEDES OF GRAY, was nominated for Best Urban Fantasy Protagonist of 2011 by Romantic Times Magazine. Amanda lives in rural Idaho. She's a part-time pet wrangler, a full-time sun worshipper, and only goes out into the cold when coerced. She also writes romantic suspense as Mandy Baxter and paranormal romance as Kate Baxter.

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©2022 Amanda Bonilla

Published by Scribd, Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

To my grandmas, Mary and Eula who were the inspiration for Trish.

"I’ll never pause again, never stand still,

Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine

Or fortune given me measure of revenge"

-William Shakespeare

1

WHEN A BANSHEE sends a message, you’d be stupid not to listen. And tonight, her wail was low and mournful, carried to Jacquelyn’s ears above the din of No Business Tavern’s house band, the cavorting drunks, and her own silly laughter.

Time to get to work.

Despite her best friend Libby’s protests, Jacquelyn ushered her out the door to her Tahoe where Evan, Libby’s husband and tonight’s DD, waited with the engine running. His punctuality was a godsend. Nothing rounds out a night with your BFF like demon slaying. Especially after you’ve got a few vodka sodas—with a twist of lime, of course—in your system. Tonight had been one of those requisite let’s drink to your recent breakup sort of adventures with laughter, dancing, and a few shenanigans involving a dare, three flaming shots of tequila, and a bartender named Earl. Jacquelyn took the shots rather than smooch with Earl, and for the record, she hated tequila. Though she needed a girls’ night out, the evening ended with her feeling even worse about her split with her ex, while Libby out-drank an entire Hot Shot crew fresh off the fire lines at a burn up north, earning her official bad-ass status. She totally deserved the accolades, too. That girl was seriously impressive when facing off with Jose Cuervo.

It was time to call it a night, but no matter how badly Jacquelyn wanted to jump into bed and sleep off the vodka sodas that sent her just a bit past tipsy, she had to hit the bricks and get to work. Not her day job at the coffee house. Her real job. The one where she hunted the nasty things that go bump in the night.

Demon slayers don’t get a night off. And why was that? Didn’t demons want a night off every once in a while? Jacquelyn supposed there was something behind that old adage – no rest for the wicked. It really spoke to the work ethic of evil beings.

You need a ride to work tomorrow, Jax? Libby asked from the front seat as Evan pulled into her driveway.

Buffy Summers had it easy. At least her pals knew about her part-time gig as a destroyer of evil. Jacquelyn’s were doomed to remain blissfully ignorant of her nocturnal activities. Nah, I’ll ride my bike, she answered as she stepped out of the Tahoe. I need the exercise.

Libby shook her head sending coils of ash blond curls bouncing around her face. You’re insane. If you ever see me riding a bike to work, assume my body’s been taken over by aliens. Your car’s been out of commission for six months, Jax. You training for a biathlon or something?

I’ve got to keep my body in tip-top shape, Libs. The forces of evil are everywhere and I lead a double life as a demon hunter and purveyor of otherworldly justice.

Riiiight. Libby gave a too-loud, drunken chortle. Okay, well, call me if you change your mind. Later.

Jacquelyn smiled. Yep, Buffy had it easy. Later, Libs, she said before shutting the door.

Without a glance backward, she headed for her house. She kept her pace slow; the ground felt as if it were slipping out from underneath her, though it took effort not to charge through the front door. Another mournful wail meant for her ears only pierced the night and slid down her spine in an icy shiver. A beacon, or more to the point, a warning. Once inside, she quickly changed, throwing on a pair of heavy-duty cargo pants, a long-sleeved black tee, and her favorite pair of Docs. She slipped a holster over her shoulder and loaded the clip to her 9mm Glock with silver bullets, disengaging the safety before she slid the weapon home. If she met up with a hostile—and from the sound of the Banshee’s cry, she would—Jacquelyn didn’t want to have to fiddle with flipping a damned switch before she unloaded the clip into some nasty creature’s chest.

From under her bed, she produced a worn wooden box. She carefully lifted the lid and removed a long silver dagger, its hilt encrusted with jewels. The blade warmed her skin as she sheathed it at her side, obviously anxious to be put to good use. Magic. Always ready. Always hungry. After a lifetime of training and five years as the local hunter, Jacquelyn still couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Armed and ready to go, she left her house prepared for a hunt.

A twinge of guilt tugged at her chest. Damn it. Though she had no problem handling the situation on her own, she really should call Finn for backup. But going out on a hunt with her ex just didn’t appeal to her. Not in the least. Not when their breakup had been so….what? She couldn’t even get a bead on her own feelings. And that, right there, was the problem with dating a Bearer. You never knew if your emotions were ever truly your own.

As if he’d known she was thinking about him—and odds were damned good he had—Jacquelyn’s cell played a muffled tune from her pocket. She dug the phone out and swiped a finger across the screen, holding it to her ear without so much as a hello.

You think you can just go out on your own, huh?

Finn. The consummate know-it-all, and always sooooo overprotective. It was a wonder he didn’t escort her to the bathroom every time she had to pee.

I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Finn. She infused her voice with innocence. I’m just about to hop in the shower.

Liar.

Why would you say that? A sound to her left drew Jacquelyn’s attention and she slowed her pace. Released the snap on her shoulder holster. A rabbit hopped out from the cover of brush and her hand eased off the butt of the Glock. She whispered into the receiver, Are you implying that I’m not big on showers, Finn?

It’s been five years, Jax. Finn didn’t sound like he was in the mood for smart-ass banter. Bummer. And you’re still trying to bend the rules.

Five years? Felt like five thousand. Finn had been with her every moment of those five years, too. He hadn’t left her side since the day she’d been assigned to the territory that encompassed two counties and the small towns of Cascade, Donnelly, McCall, and New Meadows. Which made her question his insinuation that she was lying about needing to shower. Obviously he thought she smelled good without one.

I don’t need you for this one, Finn. I’ve got it handled. More times than not, these hunts ended before they even began. If she had to guess, tonight’s excursion would be the equivalent of chasing off the neighbor’s dog after catching it eating out of your trash can. She didn’t get a sense of a big bad in the area, and her intuition was normally spot on. No need to ask for help shooing off a minor annoyance.

Like you handled that rogue vampire last year?

Shithead. He just had to throw that one in her face, didn’t he? I can’t help it if he had that whole Lestat vibe. Oh, man. If ever she’d considered letting a vamp bite her, it was that night. Of course, it had been her own fault that she’d met his gaze. One look and the vamp had compelled her into volunteering as a midnight snack. Though, honestly, if he’d quoted a few lines from Anne Rice, Jacquelyn probably would have volunteered without being compelled. Fortunately, Finn had followed her out that night too and saved her ass.

He snorted through the receiver. If you like the broody, emo type.

As opposed to the controlling, overprotective type?

A pregnant silence answered and made her wish she could take the words back. Sure, his controlling nature had, in part, spurred their breakup, but it wasn’t fair to throw it back in his face. As her Bearer, Finn had no choice but to be overprotective. It was encoded into his goddamned DNA. Sorry, Jacquelyn said under her breath as she followed a path down a small embankment. That was below the belt.

You have to quit punishing yourself, Jax. Great, Finn had shifted into compassionate mode. He was coming at her with a barrage of emotional artillery tonight. "You can’t take on the world alone. Going out and getting your fool head knocked off isn’t going to change the past. The only person who hasn’t forgiven you is you."

What gave him the right to proclaim that she’d been forgiven by anyone? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Finn. Right. He knew exactly what he was talking about, and maybe that was the other problem with their relationship. He knew too much about her.

It wasn’t your fault, Jacquelyn. Finn didn’t call her by her full name unless he was getting down to business.

I dropped the ball, Finn. How many times did they have to rehash this? If I’d paid better attention… stayed closer… something. He wouldn’t have died if I’d—

What? Finn cut her off. He was your partner, yes. But he shouldn’t have taken the lead. He rushed into the building without you. Ryan got himself killed that night. Period.

True. But did it matter? Six years ago, before she’d been transferred to McCall, Idaho, she and her first partner, Ryan, had been out on a hunt that went wrong. He’d charged into a building after a Brimstone Demon without waiting for her to secure the area first. What they hadn’t known was that there was a pair of demons in that building and Ryan was killed before he even realized his folly. She should have made him wait for her. He broke protocol and Jacquelyn was in charge. But she’d been too green and not yet assertive enough to command. No way would she lose another partner ever again.

If I’m not guilty of negligence, then why was there an inquiry? When word of Ryan’s death made it to the ears of Jacquelyn’s superiors, they launched an investigation as to whether or not she should keep her position as Waerd—appointed protector from ghouls, demons, and their ilk—of that territory. And Jacquelyn took her job very seriously.

They never would have sacked you and you know it. You’re special. She really hated how his voice filled with wonder whenever he spoke of her Waerdness. Why were all Bearers so melodramatic?

"Not special, Finn. They’ll never forget that he died on my watch. I’m condemned. And if I don’t at least try to do a little good in this world, I’ll never be anything more."

Where are you?

Besides being her own personal Jiminy Cricket, Finn was insufferably well-practiced at distracting her. You’d think she would have learned her lesson after five years. No doubt he was stringing her along, keeping her engaged in conversation so he could access the GPS on her phone and pinpoint her location.

I’m headed your way right now. Finn’s tone screamed concern. Yep. He was totally tracking her. What a butthole. The sound of his truck engine roaring as he switched gears echoed in Jacquelyn’s ear. Damn it. He was already on the road.

"Pshshshsh… You’re… crrshshsh… breaking… blsssttt... up, Finn. Gotta go." She hit the end button before he could get a word in and turned off her phone. Let him try to track her with the GPS disabled.

Another baleful shriek rent the night air and she took off at a run. Her house wasn’t far from the highway, and from the sounds, she estimated her prey’s location to be no more than a few hundred yards away, in a vacant forested lot not far from the old tree nursery. The landscape company had abandoned the location a couple of years ago but most of the trees remained, leaving the perfect amount of cover for some nasty little creature to lie in wait for its next victim. She cut across Warren Wagon Road, slinking through a couple of yards—shortcuts were handy sometimes— before veering back onto the main highway, backtracking toward the town proper in the direction that she’d heard the Banshee’s cry. Finn was right. Going out alone wasn’t always a good idea, but she didn’t sense anything super dangerous so she wasn’t too concerned. She could take care of the situation herself; Jacquelyn didn’t need Finn and his magic emotion meter to help her tonight. Besides, she didn’t have time to wait for him to show up. The wail was more of a forewarning. Like a message meant only for her that said, You’d better hurry your ass up, hunter, or someone’s going to die a horrible death at the hands of a monster.

For centuries, Waerds and Bearers had teamed up as a force against the supernatural baddies that walked the earth. Jacquelyn never really liked the ancient term that described what she was: a warrior, protector, and weapon against evil. She tried not to buy into the propaganda, though it was pretty tough when she grew up surrounded by people who reminded her on a daily basis what her purpose was. Jacquelyn wasn’t exactly human, but she wasn’t one of the supernatural beings she’d been tasked to hunt either. According to the Sentry—the world-wide organization who owned her ass until the day some creature managed to put her down—Waerds were humans with a little extra kick. Hand-picked and blessed by Fate to protect innocent lives. Or something like that.

And yeah, okay, there were things about her that were a little off. Like the fact that her bones were pretty tough to break, she had a stellar metabolism, was stronger than your average NFL defensive linebacker, packaged in a five-foot-three frame, and she could sense the otherness in a supernatural being from a mile away. There were other things, her speed, reflexes, fighting skill… She wasn’t one of them, though. The things she hunted. Jacquelyn refused to think of herself as anything but human.

The Sentry didn’t fuck around when it came to recruitment and retention. They watch, wait, and collect Waerds straight from the cradle. For eleven years Jacquelyn was taught to fight, to use and manipulate magic, and to hone and rely on her senses before she was cut loose and thrown out into the field. But just because the Sentry let her leave didn’t mean they still didn’t own her. Once they get their hooks in you, you’re in for life. She doubted that any government in the world operated as efficiently, no military as diligent. The Sentry was a nation unto itself, super-secret, super-hardcore, and suuuuuper serious about their business. Conspiracy theorists would shit a brick if they could get their hands on just a sliver of the information in the Sentry’s possession. Like, for instance, who’d really been on that grassy knoll the day Kennedy was shot.

Jacquelyn veered from the main highway, deeper into the woods just outside of town. Her skin tingled, the air becoming dense, almost tight, with every step. If she’d pulled up her big girl panties and allowed Finn to come along, she would’ve found her quarry by now. Going out alone was her way of asserting her independence from their previous couple status. An I don’t need a man! declaration. She couldn’t deny now that it would have been handy to have him along, though. After all, he was the tracker. Sort of like a Garmin, but programmed to steer her toward evil instead of the nearest mall. But it was too late for coulda, woulda, shoulda. She was here now and Finn wasn’t. Whatever she stalked wouldn’t wait for her to gather the troops before it decided to kill.

A pungent tang burned her nostrils and caused her eyes to water, followed by a metallic tang on the back of her tongue that threw Jacquelyn’s taste buds into overdrive, like she’d sucked on a dirty penny. As if evil would ever taste anything but vile. From out of the brush, a body emerged and her heart sank into her gut. A Changeling. Which just so happened to be her number one least favorite evil doer. She shouldn’t have been so freaking impatient. Would it have killed her to act like an adult and wait for Finn? Damn it. This was the one entity she doubted she could take on alone. But if she didn’t at least try to stop the beautiful embodiment of evil smiling at her like a prom queen, someone would die tonight.

Hell, it might even be her.

2

MICAH MARINESCU GAZED up at the soft blue light of the digital clock on the high-tech rearview mirror of his RV. If not for the Now Entering Idaho sign four hundred or so miles ago, he wouldn’t have even realized he’d crossed the Washington border. In the dark, he couldn’t make out much of the landscape. The last sign of civilization was a small community called New Meadows eight or nine miles back, but now the winding canyon road he traveled was nothing more than a dark blur. Shadows of tall mountains stood sentinel over miles of rolling hills, stands of pine trees and aspens, and a small creek that wound its way alongside the highway. But as the trees began to thin Micah noticed the speckled glow of lights indicating that civilization wasn’t too far ahead. Didn’t look big enough to be a respectable city, maybe a little bigger than the town he’d just passed. He was too tired to keep driving, though and he needed a stretch of relatively flat ground to park his motor home on. Blinking back the sleep tugging at his eyelids, he looked out as far as the RV’s headlights would allow, searching for a suitable place to stay for the night. Somewhere flat and quiet where the sound of semis as they roared down Highway 55 wouldn’t wake him.

From the corner of his eye, a flash of tan caught Micah’s attention and a burst of adrenaline shot through his bloodstream. He stomped on the brake pedal and the back end of the motor home swerved into the opposite lane of traffic. A frightened doe slid on the pavement, obviously as panicked as Micah, her hooves unable to gain footing. She stumbled away from the oncoming vehicle, jumping high and bucking once before she skittered off into the tree-line and out of sight.

The gas-guzzling monstrosity squealed to a stop, rocking back and forth like a rowboat teetering against gentle waves. Rowboat, yeah right, he might as well be driving a submarine. The highway canyon didn’t seem wide enough to accommodate two lanes of traffic, let alone a twenty-five foot motorhome. And if the steep grade was any indicator, he was willing to bet that if he’d drifted another foot to the right, his ass would be plummeting down an embankment with a hundred foot drop. High tech and fancy or not, he’d never get used to maneuvering the damn thing. Micah sat, his arms braced against the steering wheel in an unyielding, elbow-locked grasp. Thank God there hadn’t been any other cars on the road. He could have killed someone. Hell, he’d almost killed himself. His racing heart began to slow its frenzied pace, and the sound of blood rushing through his veins reduced to a low thrum in his ears. Legs, weak and jittery, barely held his feet down against the brake pedal as he let out a shuddering breath.

Damn it, he should have pulled over to rest hours ago. Micah rubbed his eyes and his vision cleared. In the crooked view of the headlights, a narrow lane jutted to the left of the highway toward the trees and away from that wicked drop off. He maneuvered the motorhome off the highway and found a clearing at the end of the dirt road that looked like it was set up to accommodate campers. Perfect.

After a shitty parking job, he blocked the tires so the damned thing wouldn’t roll and headed back inside. Micah shuffled to the rear of the RV and flopped down on the bed at the back end of his new rolling residence. Though his eyes were scratchy and heavy with exhaustion, his mind was slower to settle. As he wandered toward full-sleep, his last conversation with his mother ran a loop in his mind. She always could get under his skin. But he refused to feel guilty for leaving. It was the only way he’d gain any sort of clarity.

You can’t run from who you are.

Again with the embrace your gift speech. Micah’s mother missed her calling. She should have been a motivational speaker. Not so much interested in your opinion at this point, Mom.

A string of angry Romanian assaulted Micah’s ears as his mother rearranged the cut flowers she’d brought in from her garden and added water to a tall vase. So, what? You sell everything you own, buy ridiculous house on wheels and desert family? It won’t stop the feelings, Micah. Leaving will not end the dreams.

Why did he even come here? He should have just left a note in the mailbox like he’d planned. Of course his mother would throw a fit over his leaving. And yeah, maybe it wouldn’t fix his problems. But one thing was for damn certain: staying in Bellevue wasn’t doing him any good. I need to get away. I’m not abandoning you or Dad. I just need some space. Family was important to his old-school Romanian parents. They lived within a fifteen-mile radius of Micah’s various cousins, aunts, and uncles. And even he hadn’t strayed too far, putting down roots just thirty minutes away from where he’d grown up.

What you find out there, Micah’s mother jutted her chin to indicate the world at large, you won’t find here?

Clarity? Focus? A peace of mind he’d never known? You know how it is for me, Mom. I need to be away from people for a while.

She sighed, turning her attention back to her flowers. He knew she wouldn’t argue with him on that point. For as long as he could remember, Micah had struggled in the company of others. He couldn’t explain it. He just felt too much. Knew too much about the people around him, sensed their discomforts, happiness, anger… Their emotions were his, swirling around inside of him until he felt as though his body would burst at the seams from the fullness of it. Shit, he hadn’t had a girlfriend or even a casual relationship since college. Why bother when you didn’t need verbal confirmation to know that she’s just not that into you. He sensed his partners’ emotions. Known when one girlfriend had cheated on him, knew the moment another had decided that their relationship wasn’t going anywhere, and it had still been three agonizing weeks before she finally decided to dump him.

Micah’s mother let out an aggrieved sigh. Great. She was about to play the guilt card. Those pills you take won’t stop dreams, Micah. You’re special. Embrace your gift, please don’t run from God’s blessing to you. She sniffed as if about to cry. If you leave it will break my heart.

Oh, the theatrics! Nice, Mom. And I don’t take the Ativan to get rid of the dreams. Yes, I do. They’re to help me sleep. They’re to knock me the fuck out. And they calm my anxiety. They keep me from ripping my beating heart from right out of my chest.

They are excuse, she intoned in her thick Romanian accent, pointing an accusing finger.

Whoa. According to Romany superstition, you only pointed your finger if you were cursing someone. Mom meant business. It’s a moot point. I’m weaning myself off of them. Sure he was. Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Maybe you’ll make it true.

Why fight the visions, Micah?

Why? Micah shook his head. He couldn’t even form the words to answer his mother. Because they scared the ever living shit out of him, that’s why. Because when he closed his eyes, his mind was filled with visions of someone else’s life, and he had no way of knowing if what he’d seen was a portent of the future, or a highlight reel of someone’s unfortunate past. When he was eight years old, he dreamed that Jimmy Preston had been hit by a car. The next day, his mom told him that Jimmy was in the hospital with two broken legs and broken arm. Some idiot had run a stop sign and plowed right into him. And his freshman year of college, he dreamed about a woman who’d been killed in one of the dorms. Turned out it happened a couple of years back, she’d fallen from a fourth story window during a party.

His visions a gift? Micah didn’t think so.

I won’t be gone forever, Mom. That he knew of. He’d sold off everything he owned, closed his practice. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t be coming back. The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed solitude. Time to understand himself before he could begin to understand anything else.

Make sure you’re not, son, his mother said, sad. Make sure you come back.

Jacquelyn double-checked the clip on her 9mm before sliding it from the shoulder holster. The silver bullets stacked inside would be more than effective. Sure, a regular bullet could do the job, but she liked the added oomph of the silver. The Changeling’s outer body was no more immortal than hers. An unfortunate part of tonight’s hunting expedition. The body had become merely a shell, holding the Changeling’s ethereal form. The person who had once inhabited that body was dead and gone, expelled by the creature’s magic.

The dagger at Jacquelyn’s side vibrated with energy as if reminding her of its presence. Dry heat soaked through her pants and warmed her skin. Magic was never cold. A smile lit up her face. She’d need the dagger’s magic after she drove the creature from the girl’s body. It was the only way to kill a Changeling once it left its host behind. Every Waerd carried one. And Jacquelyn loved her dagger.

A stillness consumed this forested area on the outskirts of town where the Banshee’s cry had led her. Like air sealed vacuum tight, the atmosphere sat stagnant, dead. She knew the feeling well. She’d felt it too many times to recount. Elbows slightly bent, hands wrapped firmly around the grip of her Glock, Jacquelyn lined up her thumbs side-by-side, marrying them together to ensure a steady shot. She brought the gun up and aimed it at the Changeling’s forehead. The creature looked like she’d stepped right out of a frat party and onto this empty stretch of dirt and dry grass. The girl couldn’t have been older than eighteen when the Changeling stole her body. Pink satin corset, black leather micro-mini, hair perfectly coiffed, and lips sporting some of L’Oreal’s finest. Jacquelyn’s gaze wandered to the Changeling’s feet. Seriously, stiletto heels? How did she even walk out here on the uneven ground?

One shot; all she needed to decimate the body and release its inhuman squatter. A clean kill. Painless and quick. The girl wouldn’t have to suffer… Stop. The command resounded in Jacquelyn’s mind spurred by years of conditioning to look past the illusion to see the creature beneath. There was no girl. No person. Just a shell, a body without a soul. She had to quit thinking of this body as human. It wasn’t. Not anymore.

C-can you h-help me? The Changeling had its damsel in distress impression down to a tee. I was looking for a party that was supposed to be out here somewhere, but I got lost. A single tear spilled from her eye, running in a dark mascara smear down her cheek and she brushed it away with her hand. Sorry, she sniffed. I’m a little freaked out. I’m pretty sure there are wolves or something out here! Thank God you came along.

Wolves? They weren’t that far from town. Seriously, she needed to work on her delivery. Despite the Changeling’s painful impersonation of a vapid sorority chick, Jacquelyn’s arm lost some of its tension and her elbow bent further as the gun dropped a fraction of an inch. The voice, so human, spoke to her conscience, stealing a little of her conviction.

I’m really scared. The girl crept a tentative step closer. Can you help me? Please?

Not a person. Not a person. The words rang in Jacquelyn’s mind, but her eyes played against her senses and instinct. Changelings had always been the hardest for her. The juxtaposition of evil encased in innocence was tough for her to reconcile. To ignore the deception and realize a monster lived in the guise of a once living human being tore her heart in two.

Jacquelyn stumbled backward, tripping on a fallen branch. But still, the Changeling walked toward her, the down-turned mouth flipping over into a sweet smile. I’m so lucky you came along. I don’t know what I would have done out here all night. And I’m super cold. She laughed. I’m not exactly dressed for chilly weather. Can you give me a ride back into town?

The gun seemed to drop by itself. Jacquelyn stared into the glistening tear-filled pools of