Slash gives a look at the Were, and the Reds, including the new Alaskan Red, Zeke, jogging to his position.
“What is it?” Julia whispers, suddenly feeling the weight of silence that surrounds them. This, where Jacqueline once reigned, is the first region headquarters Julia has ever been to, other than her own.
She swallows the lump of sadness suddenly lodged in her throat. The one that Marcus put there, the same one she gets thinking of Scott, the sole survivor of Tony’s massacre.
In truth, Scott survived only if Tom Harriet and his goons didn't kill both him and Lucius. She breathes through the painful thought of Scott being expunged from this earth. Julia can't imagine the world without him in it. Julia doesn't know what that sentiment means for her—or for Jason.
“It's all about the recon, babe,” Jason says, laying a kiss on her forehead.
She leans against him, her body fitting perfectly against his.
A whisper of an exhale slides out of her tight body. “Right,” she says, and even to her own ears, she sounds unconvinced.
Jason cups the back of her head with his hand. “I don't blame ya—it's been a thing. This whole entire last week has been nothing but one calamity after a-fucking-nother.”
I agree. Though Julia doesn't bother saying it out loud. There's really no need.
Julia’s tension remains, though she knows she's safe in Jason's arms while the Were file through the house.
Her eyes meet Jacqueline's. Julia stalls when she sees the slight swell to Jacqueline’s belly.
“Hang on,” Julia says, walking toward her.
Jacqueline turns to her.
Domi's silver eyes glitter at Julia, and she decides she won't be unnerved by it. Barely.
“Hey,” Julia says a little breathlessly, her hand straying to where her stomach wound was a day ago.
“Hello,” Jacqueline replies in her smooth voice. She glances at Julia's palm on her stomach. “How does your wound fare?”
“It's okay, I guess.”
Jacqueline frowns. “That's more evasion than reply.”
Julia gives her a crooked smile. “Can't pull much over on you.”
“No.” Jacqueline gives a minute shake of her head.
“It feels weird to be your friend now,” Julia blurts then almost covers her mouth.
Jacqueline nods. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Domi moves behind her, lifting her dark hair away from her neck so he can lay his palm at her nape, and though Julia doesn't think she's aware, Jacqueline tips her jaw into the small embrace. Domi's eyes soften at the gesture.
Oh, my word, there's some stuff going on there.
Stay on task, Julia. “I noticed you're looking all pregnant.”
Their eyes catch and hold. Jacqueline glances away first. “Yes,” she says in a low voice, “Domi postulates there's an accelerated pace of gestation.”
“Ah. Okay,” Julia replies slowly, looking from one to the other. “Is this normal? I mean, for a fey baby?”
Domi lifts his chin. His navy hair, like midnight liquid, gleams as it slides over his shoulders. Not a hair is out of place. They've battled and haven't showered or eaten. Everyone is beat, yet Domi looks as fresh as a daisy—except for that healing scar at his throat.
Julia tears her eyes away from the scrutiny of his neck and he smiles at her blatant curiosity. She feels her cheeks heat. Nice, Julia.
She glances at the Were moving in and out of the house then looks back at Domi and Jacqueline.
“No,” Domi says in a voice so melodic, it doesn't sound natural but like spoken music. “We think the babe is special.”
“Of course it is,” Julia says, giving Jacqueline a tentative smile.
“What Domi means is that the genetics of the baby are dictating some unusual beginnings.”
Julia stares at Jacqueline. “You mean, like some kind of one-of-a-kind kid?”
Jacqueline smiles so suddenly and naturally, it startles Julia. Sadly, the woman smiles so infrequently that the expression sits oddly on her face. “I forget your way with words. But yes, we believe the baby will be… very unusual.”
“He will be fey, Were, vampire, Singer, and angelic,” Domi says with a casual lift of his shoulder.
“Oh, well, no big deal then,” Julia says with a small laugh. “Like Heinz 57, guys.”
They give identical puzzled expressions, and Julia laughs again. “You guys. Okay, are we sure all that mingling of cool genes is the reason for Jacqueline to have a speed pregnancy?”
“It is conjecture,” Domi admits.
Jacqueline rubs her cheek against his fingers, and his shoulders relax. “It sounds like the right fit, as you would say,” Jacqueline says.
Their eyes meet again. It is what Julia would have said. Jacqueline's intuition is uncanny.
“Are you sad about going back to faerie?”
Jacqueline's eyes round, and she grips Domi's hand. His eyes harden, his irises unpolished diamonds.
Whoa.
“No. I can be who I was meant to be in the mound, near the sithen. Without it, I am the Jacqueline of old.”
Don't want that.
“Hey, Jules,” Jason says from behind her, his eyes wary on Jacqueline, and for good reason.
“All's clear. They're rounding up the rigs now.”
Julia turns to say goodbye for the moment to Jacqueline, but her dark eyes stay locked on the old headquarters where she formerly reigned. Silent tears are streaming down her face.
Domi turns Jacqueline to face him, lightly gripping her shoulders. He passes one hand over her face, and when it comes away, he cups his palm beneath her jaw.
Her tears fall in perfect teardrop formation, tinkling together inside his palm in hardened clear gems.
“What? What did you do?” Jason asks. The awe in his voice matches Julia’s feelings.
“Tears are precious in faerie. We do not waste emotion. Some can be collected.”
Jacqueline gives him a tremulous smile, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth to stop the shaking.
“That's the coolest thing I've ever seen,” Julia says under her breath as Jason takes her hand.
Domi gives a small shrug. “It's a parlor trick.”
“No,” Julia say, meeting his eyes, “You took her sadness and made it your own.”
Domi says nothing, assenting to the truth of the words through lack of reply.
He pockets the jewels of Jacqueline's sadness, and she places her hand over where they lay.
*
The car ride is terrible. The black, unmarked SUVs are luxurious, built to last, and anonymous. They riot through the night like oil-slicked bullets.
But Julia knows what awaits them at the Region One headquarters—emptiness.
The voices of the children will be absent. Scott and Lucius are unaccounted for. The beautiful lake that is filled with swans, is now surrounded by a mass grave.
Her only consolation is that the murdering jerk-off is dead. But what's happened to the Greenes? And what about Reagan? Delilah?
Julia can't sleep on the way home. Tumultuous thoughts spin inside her brain on an endless cycle. Wedged between Adi and Jason, she leans her head against Jason's shoulder. The men have the door, as they so succinctly put it. It was super-funny to Julia when they said the women would be in the middle and they should ride on the outside, in case of disaster.
Uh-huh. Adi said it best: “Me, Tarzan. You, Jane.”
Slash scowled. Then had brightened when Adi scolded him.
Men.
They broke every speed limit and stopped for gas only once. The Were moved around outside, and Tharell lay gagged and bound in the back of one of the SUVs.
Julia swore she could feel his eyes on her through all that disastrous metal that he hated so much.
Domi threw up. Even with Jacqueline and his unborn child offering a buffer of sorts, the metal of the car was too much for him.
They finally arrive and everyone pours out
of the vehicles after they park in the gigantic circular drive in front of the Victorian.
Warm lights don't illuminate the windows.
The house stands like four corners of stark in the middle of grief. A symbol of what was.
Julia stays in the car. She looks at the training barn, then away. She remembers when Michael made the pile of manure to contain Scott and a smile hovers on her lips without becoming.
Scott.
Julia shivers at the thought of her soul-meld. Guilt and indecision shake her to the core. Getting out of the rig is accepting that she's back, in charge of a new beginning with a future that’s completely unknown.
She doesn't know if it's the beginning she wants.
Jason comes back to the SUV and leans against the open door. He braces his biceps against the door frame and leans in. “What are you doing here, looking all sad and shit? We're here. Let's clean up, eat some grub.”
Jason reaches forward, cups her chin, then slides his fingertips from her temple to her jaw. She catches his hand as it retreats.
“Come on, Jules,” Jason says, pulling her out of the vehicle.
She follows, his hand warm in hers.
Julia ignores the ache that plagues her belly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tessa
“Holy mother of the moon, that was a damn mess back there,” Tessa says, throwing her eyes to Tahlia then back at the road.
Tahlia's as quiet as the tomb.
“Hey listen, honey—I'm just running blind here. You gotta give me something to go on.” Tessa heaves a sigh, flipping her wayward braid out of the way. “I mean, who do you belong to?”
Tahlia's fingers worry at her borrowed shirt that’s at least two sizes too big. She's a wisp of a girl. Dark skin and hair frame eyes so deep a blue, they're almost violet. The shock of her curly hair misses frizzy by a millimeter, but her exotic blend is obvious. She’s unique for a Were. There are Were of every race, but it's very rare for a mix. And a mix as lovely as this girl—Wereshifter—is unheard of.
“Tell me something,” Tessa pleads.
Tahlia seems to decide something, though her face is like carved stone. “I am of the Lanarre.”
Lycan royalty. Good gravy. “What?” Tessa shrieks, gripping the wheel to maintain control and not run the car off the road.
Tahlia winces. “That is why I said nothing.”
Tessa narrows her eyes on Tahlia. “I understand some of the protocols. You're a whelp.”
Her chin lifts in the first defiance Tessa's seen out of the girl. “I am of age.”
Tessa flicks her eyes over Tahlia once, shifts her eyes to the road, then comes back to her. “No way.”
A light blush spreads across the girl's cheeks.
“You would be held by human guardians while traveling away from the pack.” The Lanarre often bred humans to act as their guardians from one generation to the next.
Tahlia inhales a shuddering breath that sounds both hollow and grief stricken.
“What?” Tessa breathes, automatically lifting her foot off the accelerator.
“They were murdered.”
Something doesn't make sense. And we’re going to flesh it right out.
“A rogue Were…” Tahlia’s wide eyes move to Tessa in apparent apology.
Tessa dismisses her trepidation curtly. “It's okay. I know what I am.”
She sighs in relief then continues, “He came and slaughtered everyone in the rented domicile where we lodged.”
Hotel.
“You speak strangely,” Tessa interjects.
“I speak as I am meant to.”
Okay. Wrong tactic.
“Go on,” Tessa encourages, rolling her hand in a circle.
“My human guardians were allowing me to watch the television.” Her eyes spark. “It is strictly forbidden,” she admits in hushed tones.
Unreal. Talk about living in a bubble. But Tessa remains rapt, saying nothing.
“The guardians are just extraordinary humans. They do not share our senses.”
Tessa nods. Of course not.
“We had the television turned up quite loud for my guardians benefit.” That made sense as what humans thought was the correct volume would sting a Were's sensitive hearing.
“I—” Tahlia wrings her hands, which bleed to white under the pressure.
Guilt, Tessa realizes.
“Don't,” Tessa interrupts, putting her hand over the girl's. “There was nothing to be done, nothing you could have done.”
She bites her lip, and fat tears fall straight from her eyes to her clenched hands.
“I needed to use the restroom and excused myself to—ah!” She tears her hands from underneath Tessa's and covers her face. “I listened and did nothing!” she yells.
Tessa grits her teeth against Tahlia's shame. She empathizes. Tessa pulls over onto the soft shoulder, letting the old car idle.
She takes Tahlia's hands into her own. “Listen up, Tahlia. There's no way you could have done anything but get dead.”
Tahlia nods reluctantly. “I understand.” She bites her lip. “But it does not make it any easier to suffer the truth. They are still gone from this earth, Tessa.”
“You saved me, and I didn't matter.”
“Everyone matters,” Tahlia answers softly.
They share a look and a sudden laugh.
“You know how to make short work of Weres,” Tessa says.
A tentative smile graces her full lips. “They were not of good intent. And my animal does what I cannot.”
“No shit?” Tessa says, and the girl's eyes bug. She gives Tahlia a speculative look.
“You know, you're kind of sheltered.”
Tahlia shakes her head. “Not really. My duty is set. It has been ordained since my infancy.”
Tessa wracks her brain for memories of the fabled Lanarre, but all she comes up with is that they are the elite of the Were, all Alphas. Anyone born a Lanarre is automatically an Alpha.
“What duty?” Tessa asks.
“My duty to the Lanarre,” she replies slowly, as if Tessa is a dim-witted child.
Tessa relaxes in the seat, giving Tahlia steady eyes. An idea, an ugly one, forms in the back of her mind.
“What were you doing out of the safety of the Lanarre, traveling with your human guards?”
“I was traveling to meet my chosen.”
Oh, my moon.
“What chosen?”
Tahlia tries to put a blanket over her disgust of Tessa's lack of knowledge. “Are the ways of the Lycan so diluted that the packs no longer know how we came to be? Our history.”
Tessa shrugs. “I guess not.” She was usually too busy running from Tramack to concern herself with Lycan history.
Tahlia makes a noise in the back of her throat. “My chosen is the male who will be my mate.”
Tessa gulps back disgust. “You're telling me this is some kind of arranged marriage?”
Tahlia lifts a shoulder and eyebrow simultaneously. “Were do not marry, as you know.”
“Right,” Tessa acknowledges, “but to mate a male Were—”
“Lanarre,” Tahlia corrects.
“Uh-huh. Sight unseen? Do you have a choice?”
The girl’s delicate brows pull together. “Why do I need one? He is my chosen.”
Repeating it over and over again doesn't make it a great plan in Tessa's view. “What if he's a sadistic pig?” Tessa asks.
A laugh erupts from Tahlia’s throat. “Are you having me on? You are very negative, Tessa.”
Yes, yes I am. It kept her butt safe for more years than she could count. And this arranged mating thing? It stinks to high heaven.
“I have a question of you,” Tahlia says.
Tessa hikes her eyebrows. “Shoot.”
The girl gives a slight frown. “May I smell you?”
Tessa's chin juts back. “I guess—but weird.”
“Humor me.”
She sounds so old for a whelp.
Tahlia leans close, rising to her knees as she moves in, then takes a whiff of Tess from neck to crotch.
A human would blanch at such a gesture.
If asked, it's not an exceptional thing among Were.
But of all the things the girl could ask about, she chose scenting.
Tahlia sits back against her heels.
“You smell of him.”
Huh? “Who?” Tessa searches her face in the growing shadows. She sees everything. The time of day or night doesn't matter.
Gooseflesh rises at the expectation of the revelation.
“The one who murdered my guardians.”
Fuck. Her heart sinks.
Tessa knew she should have drowned that crazy Were in the ditch.
She leans away from Tahlia, collapsing against the back of the driver's seat.
Now who's the guilty one? If she had followed her instincts, Tahlia's guardians would be alive. And according to her gruesome testimony, a lot of other innocents would be, too.
Tessa closes her eyes.
“Tell me why the murderer of my human guardians scent is all over you.”
“I should have killed his ass when I had the chance.”
“Tell me,” Tahlia commands intensely.
*
The women sit in the silent car when the last word from Tessa echoes within.
“That is an awful tale.”
“Not as bad as me letting that screwed up male live.”
Tahlia draws a painful sounding inhale. “You could not have known.”
Tessa shoots a sharp look at Tahlia. “He almost killed you.”
A slight smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “There would have been a wrath unlike any the Lycans would have known at my death.”
Do I hear a smug note to that comment? Tessa searches Tahlia's face. No, she stated it like fact.
Maybe it is.
“I am the princess of my people.”
High Alpha female.
“Oh, shit,” Tessa breathes in reply.
Tahlia nods. “Yes.” Then, she says, “You have very colorful language.”
“Yup.” Tessa turns to her, ignoring the relevance of that last. “Do you want to mate with this guy?”
“Drek?”
Tessa nods. “Is he the… prince of something.”
Tahlia's lips curl. “High Alpha male.”
Angelic Blood (#5): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) Page 5