Quinn stopped short of saying Evalle would willingly help the Medb. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about a fucking vision. No bloody way she’d do that.
He took a couple of hard-won breaths, struggling to figure out how much to tell Tzader before he passed out.
Tzader was Maistir and had to act upon anything he was told.
Quinn wouldn’t put him in a tighter spot with unconfirmed information.
When? Tzader asked.
Don’t know. Quinn swallowed down the nasty taste in his throat. Could be now or months from now . . . just don’t know.
What about Conlan being the traitor? Tzader asked.
Quinn questioned what to tell Tzader for a nanosecond, but much as he hated to use the vision against Conlan, there was no way he could shield this information. Evalle had only been mentioned in the vision, not present at the Medb meeting.
Quinn said between panting breaths, Saw Conlan with the Medb . . . discussing how to breach Brina’s castle.
Sure it was Conlan?
Yes. Had the scar on his right cheek . . . like the one Conlan got in training . . . last month. Quinn heard disappointment in the silence. His stomach felt as though a rabid badger had climbed inside.
Tzader pulled out his cell phone. Got to lock up Conlan.
Quinn nodded and regretted the move when he almost puked. He clenched his teeth and said, But a vision isn’t hard evidence. VIPER can’t hold him long, maybe not a whole day.
I know. We’ll do what we can to nail down answers fast. Based on what you saw we can also justify hunting for Evalle as part of our traitor investigation.
Quinn was actually glad that they couldn’t find her right now until he had time to think on that vision some more. Time to convince himself that Evalle was not going to be the key to the Medb capturing . . . and killing Brina.
But Kizira had shared with him that she was revered as one of the greatest Medb precognitives.
Was there any way Larsen had altered that vision?
Quinn shuddered at recalling her inside his mind.
She’d been in a future vision, which meant she couldn’t get inside his mind now, right?
But what about that spirit that had killed the troll?
Quinn gave up thinking. If he could take his head off and shove it in a deep freezer right now, he would.
Conlan slumped in the chair with a whimpered groan.
Tzader had finished one call and was dialing another one. He glanced over and caught Quinn watching him. “Don’t know which you need worse, a doctor or a healer.”
“No, just rest.” Quinn had no idea how long it would take this to pass though.
“Like hell. You’re bleeding everywhere, Quinn!”
“Get Conlan a healer . . . I can’t be unconscious . . . you gone . . . deal with Alterants . . .” Quinn groaned at the effort every thought took, but he needed Tzader to understand.
“Take it easy. I know what you’re saying. I’ll call in a healer to meet Conlan at headquarters. You don’t want to be around anyone you can’t trust while you’re vulnerable and I’m out dealing with the Alterant problem. As soon as someone takes Conlan to VIPER holding, I’ll get you to your hotel.”
All Quinn could say was, “Yes.”
Calmer now, Quinn clutched his head in his hands. He never allowed anyone to know where he stayed except Tzader and Evalle. He didn’t want to waste a minute of Tzader’s time, but he doubted he’d make it to the hotel room on his own.
A thud hit the floor. Probably an unconscious Conlan.
Quinn whispered, “What about finding Evalle?”
“Soon as I get you two settled, I’m calling the one person who might find her faster than us.”
“Who?”
“Isak Nyght and his black-ops boys. Much as I despise bringing him into the loop, I think he’ll locate her before we can.”
Tzader never panicked, but he was clearly hitting a defcon level of worry to unleash Isak Nyght to hunt Evalle.
Quinn and Tzader had figured out that Isak had an interest in Evalle, which meant he didn’t know she was an Alterant.
Because Isak’s first priority was killing Alterants.
EIGHTEEN
Evalle hurried across the uneven concrete, where weeds sprouted through the cracks, glad her leg had healed so she didn’t limp anymore. She kept an eye out for any movement in the wasteland of dark shadows that stretched between her and the door to the elevator she had in sight.
Sirens whined in the distance. Everything was normal at home. She could use some normal. In a few minutes, she’d be inside her underground apartment with Feenix, food and her bed.
Storm had offered her food and a bed, but not in that order based on what she’d read in his eyes. Or maybe she’d just misread him. They’d only known each other a few days and she had no plans to do anything with him, or any man, that involved taking off clothes. She should explain to him that he was wasting his time if that was any part of his motivation for sticking close to her.
She expelled a long breath and headed to the elevator that would take her down to her apartment. When she reached the door to her living quarters, she opened it slowly, listening for Feenix. He normally heard her coming and raced into the living room to meet her.
She had to be prepared or she’d end up knocked out if he collided with her.
Where was he?
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Houseplants filled corners and anywhere else she could shine a grow light on them. Her ratty furniture hadn’t been reupholstered by elves during the night.
She moved quietly through the room in case an intruder had somehow overridden her security system, which was unimaginable. An intruder would need kinetic ability and the code, which she changed daily, to breach her system.
Only Tzader and Quinn knew the access to this place.
When she neared the kitchen and heard soft grunting sounds of concentration, she relaxed.
Feenix was safe.
One step into the stainless steel galley-style kitchen and she started smiling at the picture of Feenix sitting on the floor humming to himself . . . until she realized what he was doing. “Not my new pots!”
Feenix jumped up into the air, wings flapping and wide eyes flashing as bright as two orange turn signals. He made a strained honking noise.
Smoke curled from his nose in advance of blowing fire that could take out a concrete wall.
“Whoa, baby. Calm down. I didn’t mean to yell.” She knew better, but the only thing left of two pots from the set Quinn had just given her were the two wooden handles on the floor.
Feenix finally settled on the island countertop. His eyes drooped with worry. He tucked his wings and turned his head to look down at the mess on the floor, then back at her.
She glanced over at the box of scrap metal she’d left him that was only half eaten. He hadn’t been hungry, just mischievous. But she couldn’t lock up everything that looked silver when she was gone.
Or she’d be missing a stainless steel stove and refrigerator next.
She asked in a calmer voice, “What happened?”
His worried gaze searched the room for an answer, which might be tough, since his vocabulary was so limited. Then he smiled, as if he’d found the perfect word. “Ith a accthident.”
Good call. He’d only been here two days when he’d startled her and she’d dropped a drinking glass, shattering it. He’d gone into a panic flying all over the place, making scary noises.
The blasted sorcerer must have tortured him when anything had gotten broken, which had to have been often, since Feenix tended to be clumsy.
When she’d finally gotten Feenix to come down to the ground, she’d spent an hour soothing him. She’d explained how accidents happen and it was okay when they did.
She was not up to explaining the difference between misbehaving and an accident right now. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
“Yeth.” He chortled and flapped his wings,
dancing back and forth in his version of happy feet.
She made a quick sandwich, ate, then carried Feenix to her bedroom, smiling as he counted from one to eight followed by ten then nine. He almost had the numbers right.
Leaving the lights off, she put Feenix on the bed and stretched out next to him. She’d shower later. When she closed her eyes, a whirl of images spun through her mind of Storm appearing in the jungle and Storm holding her while she teleported . . . and kissing her.
But that last kiss stayed with her, the one where he’d whispered, “Sweet dreams.” As if his deep voice, dark eyes, and firm lips had hypnotized her until all she could think about was kissing him again.
Her breasts ached, too.
Had he caused that?
Men didn’t affect her this way.
Why him?
She wouldn’t deny the feelings he stirred up in her body, but she would have killed a less resilient person in the tunnel today when she’d shoved Storm across the tracks.
When he’d plastered his body against her in the subway she’d tried not to react. But she’d been attacked in the dark. Shoved up against a wall and . . .
Her arms rippled, ready to change.
She closed her mind against the memories until her breathing settled down. She focused on Storm’s kiss and felt herself melt.
But Storm wasn’t a man who would be satisfied for long with kissing. She might not have had relationships—had never dated—but she knew where Storm thought things between them were heading and doubted she’d ever be able to open up that part of herself to anyone.
She should tell him the truth, that she couldn’t give him what he wanted, what any man wanted from a woman. She’d allowed him to touch her more than anyone else ever had, but some lines couldn’t be crossed again in her mind.
And as an Alterant, she was forbidden from anything even remotely close to mating.
Even if she was willing to take the risk and could handle the idea of intimacy, sex could trigger a violent reaction, far worse than today’s. She might shift and kill someone who tried to have sex with her.
Storm would have to understand that moving beyond a kiss required a level of trust she was incapable of giving. In fact, just thinking about it required too much effort until she got some rest.
Darkness filled in around her thoughts.
She’d almost fallen asleep when a voice whispered, “Trust is nourishment for a starving heart.”
Evalle sat straight up and opened her empathic senses.
There was no one in the room except her and Feenix.
She might have been dreaming, but it was the same female voice she’d heard while hunting the Kujoo. Except the last time she’d heard the voice inside her head, not spoken out loud.
NINETEEN
Isak Nyght sat on the edge of his desk. He watched through the glass observation window between his office and the attached hangar, where six men loaded ammo into specialized weapons he’d designed.
He flipped the cell phone in the air, then caught it again and again, amused over the voice mail he’d just cleared.
Tzader Burke wanted something from him?
Isak had checked up on Burke, wanting to know who this guy was before he decided if he’d return the call or not.
His national defense contacts in Washington, D.C., had explained a few minutes ago that Tzader was connected high up the political food chain in D.C. So was Isak, because they knew he hunted nonhumans. Correction. He killed nonhumans, like those inhuman Alterants that turned from human to beast.
This yellow smog crawling just above the ground in cities was triggering the change.
Which meant he had bigger targets than Tzader Burke.
His contact had actually warned him to be careful, adding that word had reached D.C. that Tzader was not happy about the Nyght Raiders being in the Southeast, specifically Atlanta.
Tough.
Isak answered to no one and had his own ties higher up, but he only called in those favors for something significant.
Nonhumans were significant.
He could handle Tzader Burke without calling on D.C.
Isak punched the call back number, curious more than anything.
When the call connected, Tzader answered, “Hello, Isak.”
How had he known who was calling? Isak blocked all form of ID on his phones. “What do you want, Burke?”
“To know if you’ve seen someone.”
Isak grinned. “What makes you think I’ve seen anyone you know?”
“Because your Nyght squad misses very little that goes on in the city. I know you’ve been hunting in Atlanta.”
“Then you know I don’t hunt humans. You got a non-human you want to tell me about?” He waited through a short silence. “No? Guess there’s nothing to talk about.”
Tzader made a growling sound. “I see you earned the nickname ‘prick’ honestly.”
“Now you’re trying to flatter me.”
“You can tell me what I want to know, or I can make it difficult for you to hang around Atlanta.”
Isak said, “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got better ways to waste my time. File a missing person’s report with Atlanta PD if you’ve lost someone.” He started to slide his thumb over to end the call when Tzader said, “I’m looking for Evalle Kincaid.”
This time the silence was on Isak’s end. How did Tzader know Evalle? Isak’s contact had indicated that Tzader handled special projects for D.C. but not exactly what those projects were.
“Still there, Isak?”
“I’m here. What do you know about Evalle?”
“More than you can imagine.”
Isak extended and closed his trigger finger. Did Tzader know that Evalle talked to demons? The first time Isak had met the woman a demon had been preparing to eat her. He’d blasted the demon into bite-size chips. Why would Tzader call him unless he had some inkling about Isak’s relationship with Evalle, a strange one at that. He’d had to kidnap her just so they could have dinner together.
Isak asked again, “How do you know her and why’re you looking for her?”
“Can’t share that. I just want to know if you’ve seen her on any of your surveillance equipment.”
“Not in a few days.” Truth, but Isak wouldn’t have told him even if he had seen Evalle.
“Heard from her?”
That pretty much confirmed Tzader knew Isak and Evalle were acquainted well enough to talk on the phone. “Not a word.”
“If you see her or hear from her, let me know.”
“We’re back to why should I?”
“Her safety depends on it. That’s all I can share and not put her at further risk.”
“I suppose I can let you know if I run into her,” Isak said flippantly.
“Let me be clear. I’m asking for intel if you care about her safety. Other than that? Stay. Away. From. Her. Your ability to continue breathing depends on not crossing me when it comes to her.” Tzader hung up.
Isak brushed the Off button on his phone and lifted the radio on his desk. He called up Laredo Jones, his right-hand man, who was in the hangar with his team. When Jones answered, Isak said, “Bring the team to my office. We’re going hunting.”
TWENTY
Night had overtaken Atlanta when Evalle rode her motorcycle away from her apartment and turned on Marietta Street, heading toward Grady Hospital to find her favorite Nightstalker.
A pocket of yellowish haze hung low over the sidewalks.
She’d never seen a fog like that.
Sirens screeched on the east side of downtown.
For a city that normally bustled with nightlife at nine in the evening, downtown roadways were eerily empty. She stopped at a cross street, just short of entering the fog that was translucent enough to see through.
The sulfuric stench burned her nose.
Reaching out empathically, she encountered hostility unlike anything human. Her beast stirred, interested in the battle.
That was
new and something she needed to avoid.
She snatched her senses away from the misty cloud and searched for another route.
A new patch of fog had begun filling in the street behind her, floating her way.
Trapped.
Her palms were damp. That fog was not natural.
Could she hold her breath and drive fast enough through the yellow cloud in front of her and reach clear air without shifting into her beast form?
If I sit here another minute I’m not going to have a choice.
Sucking in a deep breath, she rolled on her throttle and raced ahead but slowed when visibility dropped to ten feet in front of her. She couldn’t risk hitting a pedestrian, with so little line-of-sight distance.
Fifty feet into the fog she started seeing fallen bodies, no . . . pieces of bodies. What had attacked them?
Across the street on her left, a teenage boy wearing a hoodie and carrying a backpack rushed along in the same direction Evalle rode. A woman in a business suit walked just as quickly toward him, both obviously in a hurry to get through the fog. But when the woman reached the boy, the woman slowed as they almost passed each other and swung her briefcase, knocking the kid sideways.
Evalle’s lungs were crying for air, but she hit her brakes. She’d have to breathe if she got involved in that fight.
The kid jumped up and shoved the woman against the granite wall of the building along the sidewalk.
Crud.
Shoving down her bike stand, Evalle yanked off her helmet and gasped for air. Sulfur burned her throat. Her beast sent a tremble through her body. Before she could dismount, the woman had coldcocked the teenager.
As Evalle rushed over, the woman just walked away casually, as if she’d only stopped to ask directions of a passing stranger. When Evalle reached the young man he turned out to be in his early twenties.
She coughed from the sickening sulfuric air and bent down to give the kid a hand, asking, “You okay?”
He shoved up and swung a fist at her.
She caught his arm. “Whoa. Stop it.”
“Screw you. Get your hand off me or I’ll kill you.” He swung another punch she knocked away. His eyes were crazy wild.
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