Ruler [Blood Magic, Book 3]

Chapter 4: No Negotiation

I escorted Lucia home, or at least as close to her building as I dared. If her mother spotted me, it would only make things worse and worse definitely wasn't what she needed. Despite that, I couldn't stand to turn my back on her and start home either; I was too afraid of what might happen in those precarious moments after she slipped out of my sight, danger could be lurking around every corner. So I took refuge in the same shadowy, trash-strewn alleyway where the rogue sorcerers had plotted their assault and watched her until she slid her key into the lock and disappeared safely through her front door.

Returning to the familiar environs of her neighbourhood had done little to soothe her terror. And yet, no amount of cajoling would convince her to tell me what the mystery caller had threatened to do to her. She just implored me again and again that whatever I did, I needed to be careful. That was the important thing. Not the rest of it. I assured her I would be, though "careful" was the last thing I wanted to be. I wanted to find whoever had seared this fear into her soul and make them sorry they ever tried to get to me through my best friend. I wanted to make them pay, and for it to be painful and ugly and messy.

It was a good thing Bruce wasn't home when I got to the apartment, because there was no way I would have been able to hide my seething fury from him. It felt as if it was clawing its way up out of my chest with each breath I took and sooner or later would explode forth, causing me to lash out and hurt whoever had the misfortune of being in my vicinity. It was a coiled, hissing rattlesnake - alive and incapable of placation.

You want a fight, assholes, I thought. Well, you are going to get one.

But first I needed to figure out who was screwing with us - who wanted me this time.

I sat down at my laptop and thumped my foot impatiently on the floor as I waited for it to wake up. Sure enough, the draft message had been updated again.

YOU ARE NOT ONE OF THEM; YOU NEVER WILL BE, it read.

I glared daggers at the screen, imagining them shooting through the network of cables and impaling whoever was on the other end.

Was it you who threatened Lucia? I typed, my fingers slamming down so hard on the keys that if Bruce were home he'd probably be able to hear my typing from the living room. I hit save and waited. If this was anything like last night, I'd be staring at the screen for hours before I got a reply. And dammit that wasn't fast enough. But what else could I do?

I glanced sideways at my backpack, which I'd abandoned at the foot of my bed. No, there was no way I had the patience to do homework. I'd probably just end up tearing my textbooks into tiny fluttering shreds. What I needed was some catharsis, an outlet for the anger that roiled within me like the churning waters of an ocean during a hurricane. I needed release, and in this apartment there was only one place to find it. I shed my hoodie, but didn't even bother changing into my workout gear before heading into the gym.

Bruce's boxing dummy was standing in the corner. I hoisted it up onto the mats and dragged it into the centre of the room. It would make a suitable target. I retrieved a studded mace from the weapons rack and took a swing at the thick leather bag. It landed with a satisfying thud that ricocheted all the way up my arm. I raised the weapon again for another hearty swing. It felt just as good as the first. Soon I was pummelling the bag over and over, letting it absorb my rage into its pliant skin, barely pausing between attacks and barely noticing when the weapon began to shred the leather itself.

It was only later when I collapsed in a spent heap on the mats, mace still gripped firmly in hand, that I realized I'd all but destroyed Bruce's dummy. Bits of its innards spilled out from where the leather had been torn and shredded by the heavy steel weapon. Bruce would be impressed, but also likely a bit pissed. Whatever, I thought. Let him bill my father.