Chapter 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 of 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.