by Bella Jacobs
I spin to see Luke standing behind me with his jean jacket in one hand and a gun in the other. Without wasting a second, he tosses the jacket to me and jerks his head to the door behind him. “We’ve got to go. Now. The others are outside.”
“But, he wasn’t trying to hurt me.” Tears rise in my eyes as I shove my arms into the jacket and do up the buttons with shaking hands. “He was in trouble. He said he was being forced to do this, that—”
“People will say anything to stay alive. If you’d given him two more minutes, he would have been ripping your heart out.” Luke grabs my upper arm and drags me toward the door. “Now, move, princess. None of us have the fucking time for this.”
“No, we could have helped him, or learned from him, we—”
“People are dead,” Luke cuts in, his voice harsh and low. “Kids are dead, lying in the dirt next to their fucking stuffed animals. That shit was fighting for the wrong side, and now he’s dead, too. That’s the way war works.”
“It wasn’t your choice to make.” I force the words out through a tight jaw and the tears filling my eyes. I can’t think about the kids or I’m not going to be able to make it to the truck without being sick. “I believed he was telling the truth, that he was forced into this attack against his will. And if that’s the case, he was as innocent as any other victim who was killed tonight.”
“And now he’s dead.” Luke releases my arm with a jerk. “But if you want to run back in there and cry for him, go ahead. I’ll tell Kite you care more about the freak who killed his people than getting your chosen-one ass to safety.”
I balk at his caustic words even as a sharp wave of relief courses through my chest. “Kite’s okay? You’re sure?”
“He’s in the fucking car,” Luke says, turning to leave without another word.
I watch him go, anger and pain and sadness so deep my heart feels like it’s been hollowed out by dynamite pulsing through me. And then I force my feet to move. I hurry barefoot across the blood-smeared planks, step over the brightly colored pillows where people sat to watch the dancing mere hours before, and race after Luke to a black Hummer idling at the base of the stairs.
I see Dust in the passenger’s seat, Creedence behind the wheel, and Kite bursting out of the back to usher me inside—relief and grief mixing on his face—and don’t know what to feel.
We’re all here, the mission is still in motion, and the future is still something we might be able to save.
But at what cost?
Innocent people died tonight for the crime of offering us shelter and friendship. Kite lost family and friends. Mothers lost their children, husbands lost their wives, and the Samish nation will never be the same after tonight.
As Creedence speeds out of the village, I can’t help but feel responsible, a sentiment echoed by Dust as he softly announces, “We don’t ask for help again. From here on out, it’s the five of us. That’s it. No more lives at risk.”
“We can’t be sure they were after us,” Creedence says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “It could have been a random Kin Born attack.”
“Those things weren’t Kin Born,” Luke says, his deep voice vibrating with rage. “They were lab made, and they were absolutely here for us. I found this on the first one I killed.” He holds up a scrap of pink fleece that I recognize immediately. “It smells exactly like her.”
It’s mine, a piece of the snuggly I’ve had for as long as I can remember, since before I came to live with Hank and Abby.
The monsters were sent for me. And they found me, along with dozens of innocent men, women, and children who died because I was too stupid to realize how much danger I was in.
Mind spinning in miserable circles, I brace my elbows on my knees and hang my head, fighting the urge to vomit as Creedence speeds down the back road leading off the reservation.
Chapter 32
Wren
We drive until morning and then onward through a gray day filled with oppressive clouds that refuse to give rain. The leashed potential energy presses down on us as we streak north toward places unknown except to Dust, who promises to explain when he’s authorized to tell us more. Luke invites Dust to go fuck his authorization, Kite insists keeping us in the dark isn’t protecting anyone, and Creedence casually asks for a show of hands to see how many people would like to kick Dust off the island.
“And maybe you, too, Luke,” Creedence continues. “What the hell were you up to last night? I tried to find you when the dancing started, but you were MIA for hours, right up until the fighting started. Then suddenly, there you were, back in action. Almost like you knew something was about to go down.”
Luke leans forward, bracing his arm on the back of Dust’s seat as he replies in a too quiet, too calm voice, “If you want to accuse me of something, then do it, cat. Otherwise, you can take your passive-aggressive, holier-than-thou shit and shove it up your ass.”
“All right,” Creedence says, his voice menacingly pleasant. “What are you hiding? Are you on our team or are you working for the enemy?”
“Where was I aiming my gun, you smug fuck?” Luke growls. “That ought to tell you something.”
“Stop, both of you.” Dust says.
“I don’t know. I think Creedence has a valid question,” Kite murmurs from my left, speaking up for the first time in hours. I glance over to see his dark eyes still puffy from the tears he shed on the way off his people’s land. “Where were you?”
The muscle in Luke’s jaw twitches as he shifts his gaze Kite’s way. But after a moment he says in a soft voice, “I went for a run. All the happy family shit when the only family I’ll ever have is dead…” He shakes his head. “It was painful. So I ran up the coast and did a little rock climbing to blow off some steam. That’s when I saw the headlights coming in from the south, from that secret road you said only a few people are supposed to know about. I ran back as fast as I could and grabbed a gun from the armory, but by the time I got close to the longhouse, those freaks were already laying waste.”
“You killed three of them. You saved a lot of lives getting there as fast as you did,” Dust says, still trying to play the peacemaker, though he clearly feels awful.
We’re all blaming ourselves, and as far as I can tell we’re all right.
If we hadn’t gone to the reservation, twenty-one people would still be alive, including Helena’s big sister. Kite got a text from his mom about an hour ago. All his sisters are safe, but he lost an uncle and a cousin, and the tribe at large lost ten more men, six women, and five children. One night, one mistake, one act of kindness gone awry cost his people more than we can ever repay, even if our mission is successful.
Which is a big “if.”
I’m not ready now, and I may never be. Sure I can heal insanely fast—I’m already back in decent shape after my first fight—but no place feels safe. We have no idea who we can trust or who betrayed our location, and even Dust, the man who is supposed to have the plan, is shaken. We stopped an hour ago for Creedence to run into a discount store to buy clothes, water, wet wipes, and first aid supplies to tend to our wounds. Dust took advantage of the break to call his contact, the one to be approached only in the case of a life-threatening emergency, but he or she didn’t answer, and they still haven’t called back.
Something is wrong.
Everything is wrong.
The world is upside down and inside out, and it seems absurd that so much of life continues as normal. We still have to stop and get gas another thirty minutes up the road, and Luke still insists that we find something to eat and force it down our throats, and I still have to use the bathroom because I’ve been drinking water nonstop since we got on the road.
Turns out turning into a pillar of flame makes a person really, really thirsty.
We drag out of the car and head toward a faded gas station with a sign advertising “live meal worms” taped in the window, which has obviously seen better days. Luke refuses to make direct eye contact as he asks,
“Peanuts or almonds, princess, what do you want?” Dust offers to accompany me to the restroom, Kite insists he’ll do it, and Creedence rolls his eyes and says, “She can take a piss by herself, Prince Charmings. The door to the bathroom is right by the coffee machine. Both of you can stand there and wait for her.”
Grateful for a few minutes of privacy, I use the facilities and then stand in front of the sink in the sparse, but clean, ladies’ and let the water run until its hot. Doing the best I can with hand soap and a few paper towels, I wash my face, arms, and hands and run damp fingers through my wild hair.
But when I’m done, I don’t feel any cleaner.
I feel broken. Wrong. And for a split second I wonder if maybe the movement is right. Maybe shifter powers should be suppressed. If there weren’t any shifters in the world, then maybe the people who lost their lives last night would still be alive.
“Unless a human monster with a gun decided to open fire in their church,” I mutter to my reflection. “Or a movie theater. Or their school.”
It’s true—there are monsters loose in the world without a drop of supernatural blood in them, and they do just as much damage, if not more. The answer isn’t taking magic and trust and hope away from the people who deserve it. The answer is pushing back against the darkness until it has no choice but to go underground.
But how, when evil is so powerful, so relentless?
When our enemies have no morals, no limits, no line they won’t cross in order to achieve their desired end and all we have are full hearts and a longing to build a better world?
Destruction is easy. Creation and preservation take time, focus, passion, and hard work. And setting things on fire isn’t going to help change the world.
It’ll only help burn it down.
I lift my hands, staring at the tiny broken blood vessels beneath the skin on my palms, stomach knotting as I remember how close I came to taking a life. The most terrifying thing was how easy it was to give in to the bloodlust roaring inside of me. It was like kicking a ball downhill—one small choice and then momentum took over, carrying me away so fast there’s no longer any question of whether I’m capable of violence.
Now it’s just a matter of figuring out how to control my power and my rage, of finding a way to choose the kindest path forward even when showing mercy feels impossible. But that’s what separates the light from the darkness—the ability to do impossible things.
Hate can wreak massive havoc, but only love can work miracles.
Love…
I close my eyes as a wave of love washes through me so intense it leaves me breathless. Lips parting in a silent cry, I press my fist to my chest as love and pain and regret slam into me again and again, until my ribs feel like seaside cliffs battered by an angry ocean. Fighting to pull in a deeper breath, I stagger toward the bathroom door, my vision so blurred with tears that it takes three attempts to turn the lock.
I tumble out into the gas station, head whipping to look around, but Dust and Kite aren’t waiting by the coffee station the way they promised, and Creedence and Luke are nowhere to be seen. Bracing myself on the shelves as I hobble down the chip aisle, I call out mentally for Kite. I send waves of longing through the air, hoping the bond we solidified last night might help him sense my distress, but I can’t be sure my message is getting through.
I’m too overwhelmed by the emotional onslaught rolling me over and over, sucking me under like a riptide and dragging me away from the shore of my Self. I don’t know who these feelings belong to, but they aren’t mine.
They’re coming from somewhere else.
Someone else…
As I round the end of the aisle and the parking lot comes into view, I instantly know whose pain this is.
I also know who’s responsible for alerting our enemies to our location, and that the blood of all those dead shifters, those innocent people and sweet children, is truly on my hands.
Chapter 33
Wren
If I hadn’t broken the rules and texted Carrie Ann, none of this would have happened.
My friend betrayed me.
Betrayed all of us.
Outside, Carrie Ann stands in front of a white and brown-striped van with her hands held up in surrender, a nasty bruise blossoming on one side of her pale face, and tears streaming down her cheeks. Kite, Creedence, Dust, and Luke have her surrounded, but they aren’t close enough to touch her, and I know instinctively that they aren’t the ones who hurt her.
She feels responsible for the bruises, like she earned them, like they are the least of what she deserves for aiding and abetting an evil man.
Pushing hard on the door, I emerge into the bright morning, the gentle kiss of the sun on my face an abomination that makes me flinch. There should be nothing good and sweet in this moment, in this world where people you’ve given your heart prove your love means nothing to them.
“I never meant for this to happen,” Carrie Ann is hiccupping between sobs as I plod slowly across the gravel lot. “I swear to you. I never knew he was going to try to kill Wren or hurt so many people. He said he just wanted to bring her in for some tests, that he finally had everything he needed to help her get better.”
“What’s his name?” Dust demands. “How many people does he have working for him?”
“You can’t trust her,” Luke growls, slashing a hand through the air. “She betrayed Wren once, and she’ll do it again. This could be a trick to slow us down long enough for her boss to catch up. We have to get rid of her and get out of here.”
“Killing crying women in parking lots is a good way to get arrested,” Creedence observes softly. “We’re already causing a scene. The best thing we can do is take this discussion somewhere private.”
“There’s no time,” Carrie Ann says, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “We cut the electricity at the house and stole the portable radar, but—” She breaks off, her eyes going wide as her gaze locks with mine. “Wren… Oh Wren, I’m so sorry.” Her bottom lip trembles and her hands shake as she threads them together in silent supplication. “I know you can never forgive me, but I came to help you. I promise.”
I rear back, swallowing hard and shaking my head as another wave of love-pain-regret slams into me with enough force to make my head spin. Almost instantly Kite is beside me, taking my hand.
The moment his skin kisses mine, the emotional onslaught fades, but only a little. It’s still strong enough to make my bones vibrate, to make it difficult to focus as Kite explains, “It’s our mate bond. You can channel my power on your own now, even when we’re not touching. So you’ll have to learn to control it on your own, too.”
I swallow hard. “How?” I ask, praying it’s something I can figure out fairly quickly. Facing Carrie Ann is hard enough without feeling her every emotion magnified inside me.
“Visualize a wall,” Kite murmurs. “There’s a wall made of glass between you and Carrie. You can still see what she’s feeling but the wall blocks the energy, the same way real glass keeps out the wind and the rain.”
My tongue slipping out to dampen my lips, I try to do as he’s instructed, mentally erecting a large pane bracketed by a wooden frame, but my wall is thin and breakable, shivering under the weight of the agony flowing from my friend and from…the van.
“There’s someone else in the van,” I whisper to Kite, not wanting to alert Carrie Ann that we know she’s not alone. If she’s planning an ambush, we need to be one step ahead.
Kite nods and squeezes my hand. “Are you going to be okay by yourself while I check it out?”
“I’ll have to be.” I clench my jaw as his fingers slide from mine and he eases away to the right, presumably to circle around and approach the van from behind.
My glass wall shudders at the loss of support, threatening to break, but I force more attention into the visualization, firming it up as I tell Carrie Ann, “Answer the question. Who are you working for? What’s his name and what does he want with me?”
&nb
sp; Her face crumples, but after a moment Carrie Ann sniffs hard and words rush from her lips. “Dr. Martin Highborn. He runs the Elysium Institute.”
Dust curses, and my blood goes cold.
“That’s the doctor who’s killing shifters,” I murmur. “The one who was going to operate on me if Kite hadn’t taken me first.” I see Dust nod out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my focus on Carrie Ann, who’s sobbing even harder now.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “I swear, I didn’t.”
“Then who exactly did you think he was?” I ask, voice hard.
Carrie Ann sniffs, making a visible effort to pull herself together. “I knew he was a scientist and researcher, but I thought he worked on Meltdown viruses, like he tells everyone else. I didn’t even know shifters existed until a few days ago. I was part of the other things he does on the side. I think his father used to be in the military or special ops or something.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, but he’s got a lot of really sketchy friends. They’re the ones who picked me up off the street years ago. I thought they were going to kill me, or sell me or something, but instead they brought me to Dr. Highborn. He took care of me, Wren. He was good to me. He helped me get healthy, and then he… He sent me to you. As a spy,” she adds, guilt thick in her voice. “For the first year, all I did was send him monthly reports on your health, your mental state, things like that. I didn’t see the harm in it. He’s a doctor and he helps people. He helped me. He saved me, and I… I thought he was going to save you, too.”
She rolls her shoulders back as she stands up straighter. “But the past year he’s been different, manic and angry all the time. And then last night… I was supposed to stay in the guesthouse—I’d already gotten punched in the face by one of his goons for spying—but I crept across the lawn after dark anyway. I watched the monitors in his office while Highborn and his thugs did what they did to Kite’s people…” She trails off with a shudder. “It was so horrible, Wren. So, so horrible. And that’s not who I am. I refuse to be a part of that kind of senseless slaughter.”