Horsemen's War (The Rebellion Chronicles #3) - Steve McHugh Page 0,1

I wasn’t sure how to take back what I’d just done. I wasn’t sure how to stop the anger and hate inside of me, how to burn away the pain that had all but consumed me.

“Did that make you feel better?” Tommy asked as he hurled a large piece of wood a hundred meters into the fields beyond.

“Don’t you ever say her name,” I snapped, feeling the warmth of the hate return to push aside the pain.

“Mary Jane was your wife,” Tommy said as he strode back toward me, shrugging off his coat and dropping it onto the snowy ground. “I know her death hurt you, but it’s been sixteen years. Everyone involved in her murder is dead. You killed them.”

“I said, don’t mention her name,” I seethed.

“We found the soldier,” Tommy continued. “We found him without his tongue, his eyes, his fingers, his toes, lips, and several other parts you’d removed. He didn’t even look human. You think Mary Jane would approve of that? You think she would be standing beside you, telling you this is a job well done?”

I threw another punch, and Tommy caught it in midair as if he were catching a child’s toy.

“Mary Jane was a good woman,” he said, pushing my arm away. “You disgrace her memory with every life you needlessly take.”

I threw another punch, this one wrapped in fire, but Tommy growled, low and mean, and struck me in the chest with the palm of his hand.

I smashed through the barn doors and crashed into one of the beams inside before dropping to the floor. I charged out, leaping over the blood, directly into Tommy, who had turned into his werewolf beast form. He caught me one handed and threw me aside into the fence that surrounded the barn. I wrapped myself in air magic as I bounced along the frozen ground into the field beyond.

Dirt and snow rained down around me as I got to my feet, ready for Tommy, who was methodically walking toward me.

“I don’t want to do this,” I shouted at him.

“Then stop,” he said sadly.

I created a blade of fire in one hand and extinguished it. Tommy was my best friend. I wasn’t going to fight him. I just needed to get away; I needed to finish what I’d started.

“Mary Jane would be disgusted at what you’ve become,” he said.

Blind rage took over, and I charged Tommy, trying to drive a short blade of fire into his chest, but he punched me in the jaw with enough strength to spin me in the air but not break every bone in my face, which he certainly could have done.

“You’re not doing this for Mary Jane,” Tommy said as I spat blood onto the snow and took another swipe at him, cutting him across the chest.

“Stop saying her name,” I screamed at him.

Tommy backhanded me across the face, and I felt my entire head ring from the impact as I hit the ground once again.

“You’re meant to be my friend,” I snapped at him.

“Yes,” Tommy said. “And that’s why I’m here. You need saving from yourself.”

“Liar,” I said, spitting blood onto the ground once more. “You’re here to stop me from what I have to do. What needs doing.”

“You’re delusional,” he said softly, even through his werewolf mouth. “You’ve lost yourself to pain, anger, hate, and hurt. You think that if you somehow drench yourself in enough blood, you’ll either make up for your wife’s death, or you’ll just become numb to it all. But it’ll never be enough, Nate. Not ever. You know this.”

“You think beating me senseless will do the trick?” I shouted.

“I’d hoped to talk,” Tommy said with a sigh.

“Why do they get to live, and Mary dies at the hands of some piece-of-shit English soldier while I’m not there? Why, Tommy?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy said softly. “I wish I did. It’s not fair. It’s not right. But neither is how you’re dealing with it. You can’t stop the hurt inside you by hurting everyone else.”

I threw another punch at my best friend, but he caught my hand again, dragging me toward him, where he enveloped me in a hug, taking us both to our knees.

“No, Nate,” he whispered softly. “No more.”

“Why is she gone, Tommy?” I screamed to the heavens. “I miss her so much,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“I know,” he said, his own voice cracking and tears running down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

I cried then, for the first time since Mary Jane’s