Forester cocked his head to the side again in that birdlike fashion. “Why do you even care?”
“Because they got me fired, turned into a werewolf, and they very nearly killed Miranda.” Each word became more guttural, until Darren had to force out the last.
Forester’s eyes widened and his smile grew broader. He looked absolutely delighted.
“How wicked!” he said. “I underestimated her.”
Her?
Shit. Darren was past sure now. Mrs. Ford was behind it all. Scott was going to go ballistic.
Darren was going to rip her throat out with his teeth.
“I see you’ve found the answers you sought,” Forester said. “How about you help me with mine? The werewolf who bit you. Where is he?”
“You’re too late.” The words grated against the back of Darren’s throat. “He’s already dead.”
“That’s a problem.” Forester glanced at the table. “We’ll figure something out, though.”
“There is no ‘we’,” Darren growled. He’d never felt his shoulder blades actually press against each other. His arms felt longer, too.
“Oh, don’t be that way.” Forester smiled and came a few steps closer.
The idiot was almost in Darren’s reach. Darren wondered which was faster—the elf’s teleporting ability, or Darren’s werewolf reflexes.
“Let me guess,” Forester said. “The intrepid ‘Jack’ and his lovely assistant rescued you from the beast, but not before you were bitten. Now, they’re trying to convince you that you’re cursed. A monster. Does that sound about right?”
Darren felt a muscle in his jaw start to twitch. Forester’s three hearts glowed brightly—one in the center of his chest and two on his sides. Darren could see the veins and arteries connecting them, hear the whoosh of blood circulating in Forester’s body.
Whatever this guy was, he was close enough to human for Darren to kill. He’d knock Forester to the floor and step on his chest, then rip out his side-hearts before stepping harder. Till he popped.
Darren imagined the floor covered in blood. He wondered what color it would be—and smiled.
Forester smiled back. “Relax, dear friend. You aren’t alone anymore. I know how your kind hates that. Let me teach you about your gifts. Your strength, speed, and heightened senses.”
Darren would accept Forester’s help—as he practiced using all those skills to rip the guy’s head off. He needed to get closer to make sure he could catch Forester before he teleported away.
“Humans have such narrow perceptions,” Forester said. “You’ve moved beyond them now. In a few hundred years, you won’t even remember what it was like to be one of them.”
Miranda stepped forward, putting her closer to Forester. Too close.
“A few hundred years?” she said. “Is Darren immortal now?”
“And suddenly I have your interest.” Forester’s mouth pulled in what should have been a smile, except for the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Why don’t we make a deal?”
Miranda shook her head. “I know better than to make a deal with a fairy.”
“You could at least hear me out,” Forester said. “Darren will change and bite you—under my supervision so he doesn’t get carried away—and you can stay young and…” he sort of grimaced, “‘beautiful’ forever.”
Darren growled. He couldn’t stop himself. There was no way he was biting Miranda. No way he was turning her into this.
Instead, I’ll watch her grow old and die.
His skin started to crawl. He couldn’t lose her. But he couldn’t have her either. She had felt like…home. Like a connection, when Darren was floating in a sea of chaos. There had been moments when it was the only thing holding him together. And he was going to lose her.
Unless he changed her. And Forester could help.
No.
The air whistled past Darren’s ears as he launched himself at Forester, arms extended to grapple him. Their chests collided and Darren grabbed the back of Forester’s coat to hold him in place. He went in for the kill, but his teeth clacked together where Forester’s neck had just been.
Darren stumbled forward, holding nothing but tattered pieces of Forester’s coat in his…claws.
He didn’t recognize his hands. His skin was dark gray, his fingers distended, with sharp points sprouting from their tips.
A series of loud staccato pops hit his ears. He looked at the source of the sound. Outlined in red, Darren could make out Jack, holding up his gun.
Bright bursts of light nearly blinded Darren as he watched Jack fire round after round at nothing. He was keeping his back to the wall, firing directly in front of him and to the side away from Miranda—keeping her safe.
Forester appeared next to Jack, on the side closest to Miranda. He must have predicted the safe zone.
The moment Forester appeared, he backhanded Jack viciously. Jack was lifted into the air and hit the wall hard, then landed on the counter below it and rolled to the floor.
Forester grinned at Darren, then vanished again.
The fairy reappeared standing on a counter near the swords. He grabbed one from the wall—one that gleamed silver even through the red clouding Darren’s vision. Then he vanished again.
Shit.
Miranda was still in the room. Where was she?
Darren turned, a sound coming out of him that was more roar than growl. The red haze rippled on his left just before Forester reappeared at Darren’s side. Darren was able to leap out of the way a fraction of a second before the silver blade would have reached him.
Forester kept swinging, his face pulled in a broad smile. He was laughing while he tried to cut Darren to pieces.
The speed Forester had mentioned was kicking in, but Darren didn’t know how to control it. He jumped and hit his head on the ceiling, the wood paneling cracking from the impact.
Forester was too busy laughing to deliver a killing blow. His laughter ended abruptly as Miranda swung her skillet at him.
He caught her arm before it could connect. “You humans and your iron. You think you can best me when a werewolf can’t? Ridiculous mortals.”
Miranda let out a yelp of pain and dropped the skillet as Forester shook her arm. Rage burned through Darren’s guts, through his muscles, soaking into his bones. He grabbed Forester’s shoulder before he could even think and felt sinew tear beneath his grip.
Forester grunted and let go of Miranda. Darren lifted Forester into the air and slammed him onto the table, then grabbed his throat and started to squeeze. His huge elf-eyes bugged out of his head.
As he clawed at the table, his hand touched the gun Jack had loaded for Darren—the one with the silver bullets. Forester knocked it to the floor. He kept flailing, then suddenly slapped his hand onto the back of Darren’s.
Pain arced through Darren, his skin burning. He let out a yowl and leapt back, shaking his hand. Forester vanished. The coin he’d been holding against Darren’s hand fell to the ground.
Darren was going to kill Forester. Find him and kill him. For using silver. For touching Miranda.
Miranda…
Darren wheeled around, looking for her. He had to be sure she was safe. She was standing behind him. The gun Forester had knocked from the table was at her feet.
Had he changed? Was she facing the monster Darren had first seen in that dark grocery store?
She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open.
Yeah. Probably so.
She ducked down and picked up the gun, pointing it at him as she rose.
She had defended him, offered to help him. Whatever he had turned into was bad enough that she was going to put him down. Part of him wanted to let her.
Part of him wanted to rip out her throat.
He forced himself to stay still. He didn’t let himself close his eyes. He wanted her to see that he was sorry while he was still able to feel remorse. His teeth felt strange, and he didn’t think he could manage words that wouldn’t frighten her
.
Except she didn’t look frightened anymore. She stared at him calmly, then lifted her hand and made a motion like she wanted him to sit.
If she thought she could treat him like a dog just because—
“Darren.” Her voice was level. She lifted her fingers, her lips forming words, numbers, as she matched them with her gestures.
3…2…
He waited a beat after ‘1’, then ducked. She opened fire.
He heard Forester scream, heard the bullets hit flesh, smelled the bright scent of fresh-cut clover. And then Forester was gone. Darren could sense it.
Miranda had saved him.
The relief that crashed through him left him light-headed. She still believed in him. At least for now.
Miranda dropped her gun and turned away. She was heading toward Jack. To Jack.
She didn’t belong with him. She belonged with Darren.
He gripped the table and flung it out of his way. It crashed against the wall, the heavy wood splintering from the impact.
Gratifying.
Darren picked up two of the chairs and threw them against the wall, delighting in the way they practically disintegrated. There were only five more chairs to destroy, but then there was the building.
He could sense his power, just beyond his periphery—sense a strength he hadn’t fully embraced. All he had to do was let go. The thickness he’d felt in the air earlier had all but vanished the more he had let the change sink into his bones.
“Darren.”
He managed to hear the small voice over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He could hear the heartbeat that went with it. Two heartbeats. Humans.
Wasn’t he human too?
Not anymore.
He picked up another chair and threw it after the others. It wasn’t as satisfying. He needed more. Something softer. With blood…
“Darren.”
The voice intruded on his thoughts again. It wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Please fight this. I know you can fight it. I know you’ll win.”
Miranda. She was still in the room—watching Darren toss furniture around like a child throwing a tantrum.
What am I doing?
He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. Another voice cut in. Harsher, irritating. Male.
“He’s too far gone. Shoot him before he turns completely. Shoot him or we’re both dead.”
Darren felt a growl build in his chest, rumbling out through teeth that still felt strange in his head. Miranda’s scent flowed around him. He felt her stand right in front of him. She probably didn’t want to miss.
“Touch me,” she said.
How could he without slashing her skin? Without breaking her bones? He opened his eyes and saw that her hands were empty and open at her sides.
“It’s going to be okay.” She spoke with such conviction… And she backed up her words with action. She pressed her cool hands to his cheeks, making soft, soothing noises.
He could smell her fear, sickly sweet, but there was another scent woven through it. Like the first breath of spring after a long winter.
Faith.
“It’s going to be okay,” she repeated.
He couldn’t help but believe her.
Chapter Eleven
Miranda was pretty sure she was going to throw up. Her head was pounding, her skin felt electrified, and she wanted nothing more than to run screaming from the room.
Well, almost nothing.
She wanted to help Darren. He was fighting so hard to hold on to his humanity. He was stuck half-changed. His pupils were huge, his teeth… She couldn’t think about his teeth. The muscles of his face and neck had distorted and his skin was ashen gray. But he was still Darren.
“Deep breaths,” she said. “Slow your heart.”
As if her own wasn’t pounding so hard that every beat felt like being punched in the chest. She had to calm herself down, too. She took the same deep breaths, felt a fear that she saw reflected in his eyes.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said.
She’d better double-check that. The future was a fluid thing, every choice feeding into it. They’d gone through some significant events since the reading she’d done earlier.
She left one hand on his face, making sure he kept staring at her. It seemed to help him center himself. She let the other hand drop to his and very carefully slid her fingers across his palm.
His claws had looked sharp. She didn’t want him to nick her. Jack had said only bites could change people, but she didn’t want to risk—
His future hit her like a tidal wave the moment his fingers gently closed on hers. Clear as crystal, bright as sunlight on snow.
The fog was gone, and she sensed the wide horizon of decades—centuries—ahead of him. Whatever was heading their way, he was going to live. He was going to live for a very long time.
She smiled and felt herself laugh. At least there was that comfort. She hadn’t doomed him when she’d let him be bitten. She had saved him.
She saw Darren running through a forest in his wild form. There was no other word for it. He wasn’t a monster lurking in the shadows. The sun was shining overhead.
Another werewolf cut through the trees near him. Then another and another—four dark forms weaving in among the trees, lost in the bliss of the hunt.
She sensed their target close at hand and prayed it wasn’t a human. When the biggest werewolf launched itself into the air, landing on a huge buck, she let out a sigh of relief. It snapped the deer’s neck with a smooth and powerful motion, riding it to the ground.
The others caught up and began to…eat.
The ground was stained crimson, but she wasn’t repulsed. It was almost like watching a bizarre nature documentary. And then Darren looked at her. Not in reality, but in the vision. He stood straight and walked over to her, as if he could see her. He held out his clawed hand and she took it in hers. In her own clawed hand.
Shit.
She was going to turn. That’s what the fog meant. Not death, but transformation. The end of her human life and the beginning of…something else.
“The Veil,” she murmured. “The Fairy Veil.”
“What?”
Darren’s voice helped pull her from the vision and back to her senses in reality. His eyes had returned to normal, as had the rest of his face. Aside from the somewhat terrified cast to his expression, he seemed fine.
She laughed and threw her arms around his neck.
“It really is going to be okay,” she said.
At least for them. If some sort of apocalypse was coming—zombie or otherwise—they would at least survive. The world wouldn’t burn like in her vision. Trees and animals would still be around.
She wasn’t sure about the rest of humanity.
But she would do her best to save them. She was certain Darren would help.
“I’m still alive over here,” Jack said. “In case anybody’s wondering.”
She pulled away from Darren, but he held onto her hand tightly. The possessive glare was back in his eyes.
“Jack needs our help.” She pulled on Darren’s hand, urging him to follow her.
Jack was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Blood trickled from his nose. He was holding his ribs with one hand, and winced when he coughed. She fell to her knees beside him.
“What do we do?” She looked up at Darren, but Jack waved her off. He was holding a phone in his hand.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ve already called in reinforcements. And you need to be gone when they get here.”
“More fairy-fighters?” Darren said.
Jack laughed, then coughed again. “You could say that.”
He pointed to a cabinet and said, “Darren. Top row, far right. You’ll find a small iron box. Get it.”
Darren hesitated for a moment, but then headed toward the cabinet. Jack turned his head toward Miranda.
“Get my g
un,” he said. “That one there. It’s still loaded with silver.”
Miranda let out a frustrated breath. “You can’t seriously still be thinking of—”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Darren said. “I’d rather have you holding it than him.”
That was a good point. She quickly rose to her feet, scanning the ground for the gun. It had fallen a few feet away. By the time she retrieved it, Darren was already squatting next to Jack. She joined them, doing her best to keep the gun out of Jack’s reach.
“This is a magical tracker.” Jack held up the silver coin briefly. He took the box from Darren and dropped the coin inside, then handed it to Miranda. “Keep it sealed. Iron blocks the Foresters’ magic. They won’t be able to track you.”
“‘They?’” Darren said.
Jack nodded. “Forester is what we call elves. They tend to live in wooded areas that they’ve turned into Raths. That’s where they’re strongest. I snapped a couple of pics of the coin. I’ll see what we can find out.”
“So suddenly you’re helping me?” Darren said. “I thought I was a lost cause.”
“I did, too. Until you pulled yourself back from the edge. Twice.” Jack shook his head. “I’ve fought a couple of rogues in my day. Lost some good friends to them, too. We’d track them as humans and try to kill them before they fully turned. I have never seen one come back from a transformation like that.”
“Did they even try?” Darren said.
Jack smirked at him. “I never asked.”
“That elf—the Forester—he was working really hard to convince me to side with him,” Darren said. “Which means werewolves don’t always side with the fey.”
“That’s a really good point.” Miranda’s excitement was building. Jack seemed to be softening toward Darren, and his argument would further their cause. “If all werewolves are vicious killers, why would Forester need to convince Darren to join him?”
“All werewolves are vicious killers,” Jack said. “It’s instinct. It can’t be overwritten.”
“But maybe it can be redirected,” Miranda said. “Forester called the werewolf who bit Darren a traitor. Maybe he was killing the fey instead of humans.”
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