by Laken Cane
“No.”
She stood beside Strad’s crouching body, her stare on the alpha. It was difficult to tell his age—the cracks and wrinkles of his stressed skin made his appearance that of a very, very old man. She figured when he’d had time to soak in some water and relax, he wouldn’t look quite so ancient.
She nudged his head with the toe of her boot. “Dude. Can you talk?”
His head bobbed on the water, and he kept his thin, veined eyelids closed. As the water of the lake slid into his ears, something black and viscous was pushed out.
“Jack, go call Ellie. Have him send transport to take these two back to the Annex. We can question them there. They have tanks.”
The alpha groaned and his eyelids fluttered. “No,” he said, his voice weak. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. If you take me out of Wormwood, they’ll kill me.”
He wasn’t wrong, but she really didn’t care if they killed him.
She knelt beside Strad. “I want to know about Megan Smith. I want to know about the lab where she’s being kept. I want names, and I want locations. Give me some answers and I’ll leave you and what’s left of your people alone.”
“Yes. Okay. Give me a second to—”
“I’ve heard there’s a broker,” she interrupted. “Is that you?”
“No. And I’m hardly high enough on the food chain to be told where any of the labs are. Sometimes I take the humans in when the broker brings them here for safekeeping before they can be moved.”
“Safekeeping,” she said. “Safe-fucking-keeping.”
He flinched. “I do it for my people.”
“What does the broker do for you,” she asked, her anger nearly choking her. “Bring you dried fucking fish food?”
“We have to survive. And in order to survive in a human’s world—”
“Fuck you. I don’t care about your problems. I care about the girl.” She shot out her claws. “Where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know. I swear, I don’t know. The broker doesn’t tell me where he takes them. He leaves them here for me to watch, then comes back to get them when he’s ready to move them.”
“Them. How many have there been? All girls?”
“Six...seven. Maybe a dozen. I lost count. Yes. All girls.”
“What’s the broker’s name?”
“Johnson. He COS.”
The fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck, as though Johnson were there, watching. “I know who he is.” She sat back on her heels and pushed her palms against her eyes. “I need to know where he is.”
“You’re not asking the right questions,” the berserker said, handing the chains over to Jack. And then, before she could blink, he pulled a blade and thrust it through the underside of the pike’s jaw. “Where is Johnson?” His voice was calm.
His stare was not.
Colley flopped in the water, his mouth opening and closing as he fought for air. His eyes rolled back into his head. “Uh, uh,” he mumbled. “Gah…”
“I know where he is,” someone said.
She and Strad whirled around, Strad jerking the blade from the pike and readying it to fling at the new threat.
Epik stood there, his hands up, his bare body covered with new wounds. “I know where he is. Let my master go and I’ll tell you everything.”
Chapter Twenty
Rune straightened and retracted her claws. “Crew, meet the fuck who shoved me into the well. Epik, meet my friend Jack. That big guy standing behind you, ready to take off your head, is Raze.” She pointed her chin at Strad. “And this is the berserker.”
Any of her crew could easily have pinched the malnourished boy and killed him. Jack narrowed his eyes at Epik and slowly cleaned his bloody blades on his pants. “I will kill you for what you did to Rune—right after I kill your master and have him for my supper.”
Rune lifted an eyebrow. “A little over the top, Jack,” she murmured.
He shrugged and grinned at her.
“Tell me what you know, Epik,” Rune said. “If your information is good, I’ll let Colley go.”
“Swear it,” he said.
“I swear.” Her reply was so quick and glib she wasn’t sure he’d believe her, but he didn’t seem suspicious.
“She won’t keep her word,” Sean Colley said, his voice hoarse and weak.
Rune strode to him and kicked him in the head. “Shut up, asshole.”
Epik held out a hand. “Don’t…”
She shook her head. “How can you want to protect this piece of trash, Epik?”
“Protect,” the pike alpha said, and snorted.
She ignored him.
“He’s what I need.” Epik looked at the ground. “Dr. Johnson is in Reverence, Kentucky.”
“That’s in Eastern Kentucky,” Rune murmured. “I’ll need an address or directions to his house.”
“I don’t know the address but he lives in a big yellow house on Pine Road. He took me there once for punishment. I stayed for two weeks.” He shivered.
“Hmmm.” Strad narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard of that town. Take us a couple hours to get there.”
“People are not going to be happy with you, Epik,” Sean muttered. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“What else you got for me, Epik?” Rune asked, ignoring Colley.
“You’d better destroy the labs.” He looked up through his eyelashes at her, a spark of malice in his eyes. “Someday they’re going to figure out how to trap you and take you in. You really don’t want to be taken to the labs.”
She almost stepped back. She couldn’t decide whether Epik was a victim or a lunatic. Maybe he was both. “What’s your problem, little dude?”
From the water, Sean Colley laughed. “Oh, if only we had the time.” But there was fear in his laugh.
She turned to him, shooting out her claws. There was no reason to keep him alive.
“Yes,” he said. “Kill me. I’m dead anyway and at least you’ll make it quick.”
“You swore,” Epik cried.
Shit.
She strode to the pikes and sliced through the silver around their necks. She held onto Colley as the other pike sank beneath the water and disappeared. “I’ll be back for you,” she promised.
He curled his lip, then flipped and followed the other pike, shifting as he went. When she turned back to Epik, the boy was already gone.
“When do you want to leave?” Strad asked, striding with her to the gates.
“Go grab some lunch. I’ll report to Elizabeth and let you know.”
“What are you doing?” Raze asked, when she opened her passenger side door, grabbed a box, and turned to go back inside Wormwood.
“I need to check on Gunnar.” She hefted the box. “I have candy. I’ll meet up with you all later.”
Strad stared at her for a long moment. “Be careful.”
“I will,” she said, and slipped back through the gates as her crew drove away.
She loped through the graveyard, watching for Gunnar. Ten minutes later there was still no sign of the ghoul, so she stopped running and sat down on a rock to wait.
If he was in Wormwood, he’d know by then she was there. He’d find her.
And if he didn’t show up in a few minutes she’d leave the candy on the rock and hope like hell he hadn’t left the cemetery for good.
Two minutes later he slipped up behind her. “Your Horror.”
She turned with a relieved grin but the grin changed to a frown when she got a good look at him. “You’re still not completely healed?”
He brushed his fingers over his face and glanced away. “I am healing.”
She tossed him the box. “I brought you a present, sexy.”
Usually Gunnar waited until he was off by himself before he ate the Baby Ruth candy bars. This time, he opened the box, gazed at the two dozen bars inside, then took one out and unwrapped it.
He ate it as she watched, his eyes closed, his thin, ravaged face lit
with delight.
“Good?” she asked, smiling.
He nodded, then tossed the empty package into the box and took out another bar. He began to devour it.
“Sorry it took me so long to bring it to you, Gunnar.” Watching him eat, she got an idea of how addicted he really was to the candy.
He stopped chewing and frowned. “It is not right that you apologize. You’ve softened and that is not good for you. Not in this world.”
She scratched the side of her nose. “Fuck you, ghoul.”
He smiled, and the first spark of the old Gunnar shone in his eyes. “Better,” he said, then continued eating his candy.
“You have anything interesting to tell me?” she asked.
“I do not.”
“Is the assassin still around?”
“I have not seen him.” He didn’t look at her, and she wondered if he had already begun his move to another graveyard.
The thought caused her breath to catch.
“I’ll see you again soon.” She paused. “Don’t go anywhere if you have a choice. Okay?”
“Go away, Highness,” he said, politely.
All was not right in Gunnar’s world. She trotted away, leaving him with his candy and his fears.
Outside the gates, Cruikshank was waiting.
He leaned against the front of her car, his ankles crossed, and nodded hello when he saw her.
“Are you fucking crazy?” she asked him, unable to believe the reporter was standing there in front of her with Owen and Strad gunning for his ass.
He shrugged. “Your two thugs are being kept busy right now.”
“How do you know?”
“I have a radio, Rune. I have it turned always to your channel. You or your crew gets called out, I know about it.”
He was sick. His pale cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were lusterless. His fingers shook when he lifted them to brush his unkempt hair out of his thin face.
She frowned and opened her car door. “Stay away from me, Cruikshank.”
“I told you. I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Wanting to hurt me is not a good enough reason to risk your life.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what his motives were. Asking him wouldn’t get her answers.
“I warned you about Owen,” he said, the wet his dry lips. “I did that.”
“So?”
“I’d think you’d pay me back for the information.”
“You want fucking money?”
“No. No, I don’t want fucking money.”
“Do you want to die? Because that’s something I can do for you.”
“Maybe,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”
She dropped her fangs, suddenly and unreasonably hungry. She left the car door open and strode toward him.
“I’ve gotten addicted to your blood,” he said.
She almost tripped. “What did you say?”
“I’m addicted.” The second time his words were whispered, but no less real. “I need you to…” He shook his head and motioned helplessly. “Fix me. I need my fix.”
“That’s not possible.” She’d never fed him, and she’d never bitten him.
“I’m getting more and more desperate. More and more sick. It wasn’t bad at first, maybe because I’d gotten such a tiny amount. But it grew. Every day.”
“What the fuck are you addicted to?” she asked him. “It can’t be me.”
His attempt at a smile was pathetic. “I’m sorry. I’m too tired to keep chasing you, too tired to keep trying to think of ways to make you feed my addiction.”
She clenched her fists. “I’m not feeding you, dude, and the only way I’m going to bite you is if I eat you after. Believe me. You wouldn’t like that.”
“I was there when Jeremy was cutting you. I was there.” He rolled his hand into a fist and hit the hood of her car. “Your blood splashed into my eye.”
He listened to her shocked silence for a moment, then gave a terrible giggle. “A tiny little drop. Into my eye! What are the chances?” Quickly, he sobered. “I was the one recording that shit, Rune.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
But then he glanced at something behind her, and his face paled further. “The end,” he muttered.
She shot out her claws and turned in a crouching whirl. Owen stood a few feet away, a blade in his hand. “I knew you’d show up sooner or later,” he said to Cruikshank.
Cruikshank said nothing.
“Owen,” Rune said, withdrawing her claws. “I’ve got this.”
He blanked his face, but a cold darkness slid through his eyes.
“Owen,” she repeated, her voice sharp. She waited until finally, he looked at her. “I said I’ve fucking got this.”
“Do you?” Owen put his stare back on Cruikshank, as though looking away might somehow release the reporter and he’d lose him once again. “Are you going to kill him?”
“I…” She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Cruikshank. Jeremy. Cutting, watching…
Damn him. Damn him.
“Fuck,” Sam whispered.
“Then you don’t have this,” Owen said, and he went after Sam Cruikshank.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gunnar was right. She was becoming soft.
And right then, as she watched one of her men handling something she should have handled, she hated her softness.
She didn’t want it.
But Owen wouldn’t have listened to her, no matter what she wanted. Owen was gone, lost in his killing zone, and she would have to fight him to have a chance at bringing him back.
He paid no mind to the injury she’d given him. With her crew, injuries were often pushed aside. Ignored. They had to be.
“Owen,” she said, once, barely aware she’d opened her mouth.
Owen tossed Cruikshank the blade, then pulled his gun from its holster and threw that to him as well. “Do your best, bitch,” he said. “You shouldn’t have fucked her up.”
He stalked Cruikshank, his face dark, his hair flopping over his slender shoulders but all she could really see was an image of herself tied to the bed and her blood flying into Cruikshank’s face as Jeremy sliced her up.
She put the back of her hand to her mouth when she unintentionally released a sound a little too close to a sob, then shoved her other hand against her stake wound. The pain in her chest sharpened in response to the pain in her mind.
Sam’s bullets flew wild and pinged off Wormwood’s gates, and finally he threw the gun at Owen’s grimly smiling face and held up his hands. He seemed to have forgotten he still held a blade, but it didn’t matter. It was not a fair fight. Cruikshank was not a fighter.
He, as Jeremy had been, was better suited to hurting the restrained and helpless. Or watching as they were hurt.
And Owen was a stone cold killer.
He pursued the reporter, his hands empty of weapons, his face blank, throwing hits that wouldn’t disable Sam, but would prolong the agony of his death.
But Cruikshank wasn’t Owen’s responsibility. He was hers.
She shuddered and dropped her fangs, reaching deeply for her monster and shaking off the emotions and memories of a different time.
She refused to cower and cry while one of her men destroyed her enemy. She ran at Owen and even though he had to have caught a glimpse of her coming, he had no time to react.
She shoved him—not nearly as hard as she could have but he hit the fence anyway and slid to the ground. “Sorry baby,” she said, her voice growly and rough. “But I told you I’ve got this.”
Her monster smiled.
Cruikshank backed away, his blade still firmly in his grip, the look in his eyes changing from terror to hope. He thought she was going to save him.
“Why?” she asked him. “Why wouldn’t I kill you?”
“Because I have your blood inside me,” he said, gently. “Because we are linked by my brother. By your need.”
“Hmmm,” she said
. She walked to stand before him, almost curious. “Your reasoning is skewed.”
“But I’m right.” He glanced behind her to where Owen stood waiting, and he looked a little less sure. “He’s the one you need to kill. He’s the one with secrets he doesn’t want you to discover.” He offered her his blade, as though she had no other way to kill Owen. “Go on.”
She laughed, breathing a sigh of relief that her monster hadn’t melted into a puddle of gooey softness. She was still Rune. She was still a warrior. She did not shrink from doing what needed to be done.
“I can end your suffering,” she told him, “but I can’t feed you to do it.”
With Cruikshank would go the last of that part of her that needed someone to make her pay for who—and what—she was.
She would always, as Lex had said, find the silence through violence and sex. But she was finished beating herself up.
“Feed me,” he whispered, “and I’ll tell you what else I discovered about Owen.”
She shook her head. “You know I won’t.”
He dropped his blade and spread his arms. “Kill me then, because if you don’t, I’ll be one more desperate man causing you no end of pain. Also,” he went on, “it’s fucking miserable. You’re worse than a zombie, Rune.”
He didn’t want to live with his addiction, and she couldn’t allow him to anyway. He was right—he’d cause her constant pain to get what he needed. He knew he could do that by hurting the ones she protected.
She scooped the blade from the ground and thrust it into his heart, unwilling, for some reason, to impale him with her claws. Maybe it was just too personal.
His blood seeped onto the thirsty ground and she watched it go, shocked that the moment was a little sad.
The end of Sam Cruikshank.
The end of anything that had remained of Jeremy Cross.
She felt Owen beside her. They stared at each other for a long moment, something unfamiliar passing between them. Something new.
And she had no idea what it was.
He leaned over to pull his blade free, wiped it on Cruikshank’s shirt, then slid it into his belt. “I’ll take care of the body.”
“We’re okay,” she said.
“Yeah, we are.”
Still, she didn’t move. “Are you the good guy or the bad guy?” So ridiculously simplistic, so crucial.