He moved in the opposite direction of the scent he'd caught that accompanied the noise.
Vampire.
They would not recapture his precious cargo.
They began to move away in battle formation, the Alpha at their back, his half-formed hands at the ready, the Rare One in the arms of his second.
*
The feral moved from his discovery with precision and energy, the meal he'd consumed affording him the speed and agility that would be necessary to find the female.
He knew he should never have left her. She had escaped him. Judging by the tracks in the rock cave he'd found, she had wiggled out. Her small frame had allowed maneuverability.
The feral ran hard, smoothly evading every obstacle, his form perfectly suited for the environment in which he traveled.
He hit upon her scent and stopped short. It had changed.
She was sickened by something. He scented deeper. She had drunk water and had the sickness that humans were susceptible to. It was not possible for him to be affected. He moved forward, scenting the many nuanced odors which preceded him.
He welcomed the challenge of their presence. There would need to be many to keep him from the female.
Mine, his mind said.
Mine.
****
Scott stopped suddenly. His hands went to the hard planes of his stomach. “What is it?” Jen asked, her breathing labored, they'd been near-running since they'd discovered Julia's disappearance.
Scott felt a dull pain in his guts, bowels and a burning in the back of his neck. He described it to Marcus and his father replied.
“She's sick and that's what you'd feel,” his tone ominous, knowing.
Scott wanted to get moving but Marcus explained briefly, “A soul-meld is more than a pairing of Singers. It's an awareness of each other,” he made his hands collide, the fingers lacing together. “She has encountered,” he waffled his hand back and forth, “something and is ill.”
Scott's teeth clenched together. This was just getting better and effing better.
“Well...” Brendan began. “She's sick alright and the Were have her again.”
Scott's eyes locked with Brendan's, sweat running down between his shoulder blades, chilling as his skin dampened in the cool night air. Then Brendan said the thing that made Scott's blood run cold, “The feral is out there,” he lifted his nose to the air, pushing a good amount of an invisible fragrance right underneath his nose with his palm, “vampire and werwolves.”
“Wait! Flag on the play!” Jen yelled, throwing a flag on an imaginary football field.
They all turned to her. Jen planted her hands on her hips. “What... more werewolves? The feral and...?”
Brendan nodded. “Yeah, I'd recognize wet dog anywhere. And the red feral... he's his own tomato. The vampire, well... we know what they smell like.”
“Shit,” Scott responded definitively and began jogging in the direction they'd been heading, impatient to get to her.
“Scott!” Marcus yelled after his son.
Scott whirled around. “No! I'm not waiting another second. It's already been too many seconds.”
The siblings all looked uneasily at each other, following Scott.
He couldn't think until he had Julia safe. His change of heart was breathtaking in its completeness.
*
Julia moaned, the constant rocking motion waking her. She wished she hadn't awoken. She looked up into a pair of eyes she hoped to never see again.
Tony. It didn't matter what form he was in, she'd recognize his stench anywhere.
She swore he grinned when he saw recognition dawn on her face.
Julia tried to struggle in his grasp but was too weak by far to do anything.
“Stay still,” he said in a low growl, “you're sick.”
Julia felt hot tears she couldn't afford to lose run down her face.
Helpless again. Grief crashed into her like an earthquake. It shook the very foundation of her soul and nothing but despondency remained.
Tony looked down at the flushed face of the Rare One. He could scent her displeasure at being held by him coming out of every pore of her body. Even if she'd been well, she couldn't have fought him. Except for her gifts she was helpless. Helplessly female and ill in an intoxicating mix that made his perverted heart speed. He could feel the presence of the Alpha at his back and didn't care.
Tony had never been one to follow rules.
He'd have her, squirming and fighting. It'd be amazing. He crushed her against himself and she made a pain sound, trying to beat at his chest weakly.
Scott felt a great hopelessness well up inside him that was so foreign to his nature he interpreted it for what it was.
Julia.
And on the top of it all, fear, discomfort and pain.
Someone was hurting her as she succumbed to illness. Scott's hands clenched into fists of rage. Fists which knew how to deliver punishment. And they would.
Soon.
Scott increased his pace to a sprint. His Singer strength, endurance and speed were on a par with the Were... and the vampire. His siblings and parent followed in a rainbow blur of colors, their hues mixing inexplicably as they drew closer to Julia. Their familial footprint as they advanced into battle was formidable.
Dangerous.
William and the others chased the trail laid by the Were as they ran, Julia's scent mingled with theirs. Her scent was off. Now that he had shifted back from raven form, his senses seemed almost dulled, even though he knew they were a hundred times more sensitive than those of humans.
He sped, every thought, every fiber of his being, trained to overtake them and rescue Julia.
The feral watched those of his kind take the female... sickened and unable to defend herself from the one Were which he hated most. The one who had taunted him. Given him hose showers that had bruised his skin with the force of the spray.
Given him prey that was spoiled or infirm.
Yes, he would know his foul odor anywhere.
A tingling rush of fighting adrenaline surged through him.
The feral charged from the left, crashing out of the brush, thinking two thoughts simultaneously:
They were nearly nose-blind to have not scented him this close. His step faltered for one half a second when he recognized the female Were he'd harmed in his pen, traveled with them. A moment's peace touched him as he realized she was whole and well again.
That peace fled as he barreled into the Were which led, his talons slicing the neck as he launched a counterstrike, one to four.
Joseph spun too late as the assault came at his third from the front and couldn't believe he hadn't scented another Were this close. It was completely unexpected. He growled at his sister, “Run!”
She would be crushed by the red, every protective instinct Joseph possessed punching to life, his reaction automatic.
Adi ignored her brother and ran toward where Tony held Julia, the feral having ripped three holes in the leading Were's vulnerable neck. As he dropped from the killing blow, his blood blanketing the forest like a carpet of crimson, Adriana leapt. As her arms were outstretched, Tony casually tossed Julia to the ground.
She landed in Adi's embrace and they fell together on the soft forest debris.
The feral met her eyes for one moment and she cringed backward, scooping Julia closer in her arms.
Her brother and Tony circled the red. His coat shone like fire burnt down to embers, and she knew they would kill him.
It made her chest tight to think it. Adi shook it off. What was wrong with her? He was feral.
He had hurt her.
But deep within, something stirred and responded to him, against every precept and instinct.
Adriana did not wish for his death.
She turned her attention to Jules. She was burning up, moaning and thrashing. Adrianna forced her human form to return, as difficult as it was to change to half-wolf, it hurt more to go back to human so quickly, a
brutal energy siphon. But she didn't want Jules to see her and be afraid.
Adi held Jules in her arms as the feral and werewolves circled each other just as the vampire entered the glade and a troop of Singers broke out of the forest opposite them.
Oh shit! Adi thought... we'll never make it out of here alive.
Julia opened her eyes just then and her fevered stare latched onto Adriana. “Adi...” she said weakly.
“I'm here, Jules,” she said, wiping sweaty strands of hair out of her face.
“Don't let them... hurt me...” Julia said.
Never, Adi thought, rolling the small bundle that was Julia into her embrace and standing without effort.
After all, she was a werewolf.
She faced off with the vampire and Singers, her grin looking like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
An apt comparison.
CHAPTER 31
reckoning
Scott stared at the female werewolf that held Julia.
Their queen.
His... and growled. He didn't know where that primitive utterance had come from but he rolled with it instinctively. He saw the vamps at the same time the werewolves went after the big red guy.
Lots to do here. Scott was always game, his body practiced and ready for violence.
It moved forward of its own volition.
William saw the group of Singers and paused. His nostrils flared and he recognized something about the one which led, his scent was slightly different. William was a runner. He was bred to recognize the Rare Blood in Singers. Julia was pure. But this one, he had enough quantum for William to respond, every tracking instinct tingled inside him, even as Julia was in his sights.
Who was he?
William would soon find out as the one he stared at launched himself with the speed of a Singer who was trained, seasoned and in the prime of his life, his direction aimed for Julia.
Julia rose to consciousness as if swimming from the bottom of a pool but without the benefit of alertness. She was in a fog, the fever stealing her cognitive reasoning, making her slow and thick-feeling.
She watched the scene unfold from the cradle of Adi's arms.
Scott came toward Julia in a flash of brilliant color, the tailwind of colors behind him she intuited as the rest of his family. From Julia's left William and the vampire tore toward her, the feral howling in misery, the tone of it told her all she needed to know.
He drove to get to her, kept at bay by Tony and Joseph.
But maybe not for long.
Julia made the most difficult decision of her life but she knew it would solve the current problem instantly. Her mind sought what it needed and when she found it... the metal flashed in the gloom of the forest, making its way to her as if by invisible strings.
She grabbed the hilt of the stolen weapon, her telekinetic ability bringing it to her in a rush of surprise to all. The supernaturals in the forest stilled their movements.
The desired effect was instantaneous.
Marcus watched his utility knife, that he routinely wore at his hip, come unlatched and spin away from his body, lurching toward Julia.
Hilt first.
Julia caught it in her hand, flicked it open, held it to her own throat and screamed hoarsely, “Stop!”
Adi looked down at Julia. “No!”
“Let me down, Adi,” her voice steady.
Adriana did, Julia sliding down the front of her body and swaying on her feet, her head swimming with pain and vertigo.
Julia looked at William, as still as a statue. “Do not,” he whispered. “None of us wish for this end, Julia. This is not the answer.”
Scott stopped breathing when he saw the metal gleaming against the pale throat of the Queen of the Blood Singers. The fibers of his being pulled taut to the breaking point while his soul shrieked inside him. He made a move to step forward and Julia gaze shifted to his. “Don't even try it. I know you hate me,” she hissed, her strength ebbing, her hand shaking from the strain of keeping it steady.
The fibers of his being cinched tighter in discomfort, her safety in jeopardy by her own hand. Scott stood poised to launch himself at her the moment her attention wavered, the pain of not touching her unbearable. It was unlike anything he'd ever known. Every bruise, every battle wound... nothing compared.
Julia backed away from all of them, her back touching the trunk of a tree. They stood, all eyes tracking her progress, knowing that a false move could end her life. Then what would they have? What would she be?
Dead is what.
As the tears began to flow, Julia realized that nothing good had happened to her since Jason's death. Her lower lip trembled and her hand shook as she determined that this was the best answer for her after all. She was tired.
So tired.
Joseph and Tony saw her expression first as they were the closest. But it was the feral who acted, his half-wolf form slipping off him like water sheeting off glass.
He sprang forward, human again for that moment.
The moment of truth.
Julia saw him and her heart stalled in her chest.
She dropped the knife, all thought of death forgotten.
It speared the earth at her feet and she staggered forward without thinking.
****
Kent
Cynthia thanked the nice lady with the sad eyes for the room, nodding in all the right places when she told her it was but a transitional respite. Blah, blah, blah. Cynthia got it. A place to lay her head on a pillow, none of the creatures in sight. They couldn't have followed her all the way to the outskirts of Seattle. She breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in what felt like forever.
She opened the door to the dark room and saw a bunch of plaster repair and the evidence of damage all over the place. The lady turned to her, the chain that hung off her glasses catching the light. “Don't mind the mess, we're doing a touch of remodeling.”
Cynthia looked around her. Looked like more than a touch. The window looked the worst. She walked over to it, seeing the remnants of hand-blown glass, wavy and warped, encased in a solid wood frame. Hairline fissures scattered about the center were taped so they couldn't splinter further. She turned her head and saw the old lady's face in profile. “What happened?”
The woman shrugged her shoulders, hauling the shawl she wore more firmly around her hunched shoulders. “We're not sure. But there was a young woman who stayed here a few months past...” she looked down at her sensible shoes, the pantyhose an unnatural tan color and suddenly looked up, guilt and a muted horror, contained like a stuffed sock riding her eyes. “She uh... we think she was taken.”
Not much of a shelter! Cynthia thought, looking at the damage of the room more closely. She asked, “By who?”
The woman shrugged, backing carefully out of the room and giving her a nod as she left, closing the door softly behind her. Conversation closed.
Cynthia looked at the windowsill more closely.
Her chest tightened in a gut clenching clutch of pain, her breath leaving her body.
She traced the marring left in the wood of the sill with a hand that shook so badly she grabbed it with its mate to steady it. She gave a shaky exhale.
It wasn't who took the girl.
But what.
Cynthia snatched her hand back. She looked outside, beyond the glass and the unkempt yard below to the forest. It was dark and quiet.
A perfect hiding place.
For them.
Cyn backed up until her legs hit the mattress and sat down. She stared at the window. It looked like she might have escaped one horror for another.
Breaking her stupor, she rummaged in her backpack until she found what she was looking for. She laid down on her back, her finger running over the one photo she had, a habit of comfort these almost two years past. She never missed a night without looking at them.
It was Vegas. Just the four of them: Jason and Jules, she and Kev.
Before.
She looked a
t Jules, dressed up for once, Jason's arm slung comfortably around her shoulders, like it belonged. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, hot and unwelcome as she looked at Kevin. When they ran down her face she didn't wipe them away, but pressed the photo against her chest.
Her heart.
She missed them so much, she felt like her heart would never stop breaking. That's why her chest hurt so damned much all the time. A crack that wouldn't mend.
Her heart broken in shards inside her.
Cynthia covered the photo with both hands and put her head to the side of the pillow, stifling her sobbing from the other inhabitants of the women's shelter.
*
Truman looked at Alexander, their eyes meeting a final time. “I can't believe this. I know you're telling me all this but I can't...” Karl tapped his head.
“Wrap your head around it? Yeah, tell me about it!” Alexander responded, nodding.
Karl Truman fought the habit to take his small note pad out of its home in the upper pocket of his button down and clasped his hands together instead. “So they're...”
George Alexander nodded. “They're big suckers, standing on hind legs,” he made his palm flat and put it a foot above his head, “that makes these guys about seven feet.”
Truman whistled. “So, they're dexterous?”
“Very. They had no difficulty pawing through this apartment, turning knobs, unlatching windows. No,” he paused, not a hint of humor in his voice, giving Truman the full weight of his eyes, “they used the doors and windows, they have higher reasoning, no doubt.” George tapped his temple.
Truman paused, thinking about his words instead blurting just anything out. “How high?”
Alexander paused for a beat. “Maybe like us... maybe,” he scratched his head and turned his back on Truman, pacing off to the window, gazing at the forest that stretched interminably beyond their position, “... they are something else.”
Blood Singers (Blood Series, #1) Page 25