Blood of the Wicked Read Free Page B

a witch hunter saving a witch just to kill her himself. Unless he was a real freak of nature.
    Or didn’t recognize her in her disguise.
    Short red hair, no makeup, street clothes designed to blend; it was a far cry from the vamped-up brunette bartender he’d met. The alley had been dark. He’d seen a woman in trouble.
    Could she stake her life on a witch hunter’s good intentions?
    Would she be heading to her own death if she did?
    No. It was still a risk, and the laughing joker hadn’t killed her. That didn’t mean she was safe. She’d just toppled the first domino of her baby brother’s worst prophecy. Christ. Shit.
    She wasn’t going to die, damn it.
    Jessie casually draped her hand on the armrest, her thumb resting on the door release. The second he slowed down, the moment she saw her chance, she’d be gone.
    “Don’t even try it.”
    “Try what?”
    “We’re going sixty. In half a minute, we’ll be on the carousel. You’ll be a smear if you jump, and I’m not slowing down.”
    What was he, psychic? Her temper spiked. “I’ll take my chan— Let go of me!” His hard, cold fingers were implacable as he gripped her forearm.
    “I didn’t haul you out of that bastard’s rape fantasy to lose you to asphalt,” he said flatly.
    Jessie’s teeth clicked. “I don’t need a hero,” she gritted out. “Let me go.”
    He did, but only so he could put both hands back on the wheel. “Stay fucking put.”
    Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Her lip throbbed, but the small pain was going to be the least of her problems if the jump out of a moving vehicle didn’t kill her first.
    Steeling herself, she reached again for the latch on the door.
    “Your friend was right,” he said. “You’re a better blond.”

Chapter Two
    H er hand froze near the handle. Silas kept his gaze on the road, but his peripheral vision was perfect. He saw her eyes swing to him.
    Jesus, felt her eyes on him.
    Fury snapped over his skin like a live wire; it barely salved the sheer agony lancing from his toes to his hip. He’d have to sweat it out, even as every angry fiber of his being wanted to turn the truck around and slam it into the overeager son of a bitch who’d laid his damn hands on her.
    Who Silas had paid to lay his damn hands on her.
    His fingers tightened on the wheel. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Jessica. Even after seeing you with the black hair.”
    She hesitated, a fraction of a second, before she eased back from the door. “Yeah, well.” She smiled ruefully. Tightly. “We like to change it up. Sometimes the men in there get . . . grabby.”
    Fuck . His back teeth clenched. It did nothing for his headache, either.
    Headlights of oncoming cars cut through the dark cab like a searchlight, and he saw her wince as she touched her bloody lip with the back of her hand. He fished out a handkerchief from the same pocket he kept her photo in. “Here,” he said tightly, at least a semblance of civility.
    She chewed over her options as she stared at his hand, her mind clearly working. Hell, he could practically smell the smoke. She was probably planning another escape.
    He let her, eyes steady on the road. The traffic speed on the carousel didn’t leave any room to jump, not if she valued her life. He could drive all damn night, if he had to.
    God knew there was enough road for it. Fourteen years had passed since he’d last taken the New Seattle carousel, but looking at it now made him feel like he’d never left.
    The winding highway wrapped around the towering city, ramps connected to each level like the legs of some kind of strangling centipede. Only the natives knew how to navigate the damned thing, and it annoyed him that he still remembered what ramps circled where. Little enough had changed.
    A drive through the littered streets of the lower city levels had been enough to make that clear. The desperately poor survived in the deeper levels while the sickeningly rich lived smug and happy topside. The only