by Laura Hall
I’m coming, Dad.
Reckoning
One
We drove for hours, switching highways and roads seemingly at random. At one point, we stopped at a convenience store for food and ice for my ankle. The next stop wasn’t made until just before nightfall and was a mega-giant retail store. Katrina went inside alone and came out with two overstuffed duffel bags. They went into the trunk and we hit the road again.
I dozed and woke with a jolt in the darkness. Lifting my head off a hard shoulder, I blinked at the man it was attached to.
Ethan smiled and touched the side of his mouth. “Bit of drool, there.”
“Ugnh,” I replied, rubbing my face wearily.
We were parked outside a nondescript two-story motel, the kind found on back roads across the country, that generated just enough income to stay open but not enough to update to the current century. Directly in my line of sight was a flickering neon sign proclaiming COLOR TV and beneath that, POOL. Said pool was visible inside a gated courtyard, and looked like it hadn’t seen water in a decade.
The front passenger door opened and Mal ducked his head inside. “We’re all set. Room 104, ground floor around the corner.”
I followed Ethan out of the car into bone-deep cold. At least it wasn’t raining. My ankle, which had been mostly numb for the last hours, began throbbing at the combination of temperature change and renewed blood flow.
Before I could gain my bearings, I was swept up into strong arms. “This isn’t necessary,” I hissed, wiggling in protest.
“Indulge me.”
A smile played on Ethan’s lips, but his eyes were shadowed with fatigue. Remembering that he’d carried me through the forest, I immediately felt like an ass.
“Sorry. Thank you.”
Fortunately, our destination wasn’t far. We crossed several empty parking slots, veered around a corner, and found Katrina waiting outside an open doorway.
“All clear,” she said and disappeared inside.
“Does she work for you?” I asked Ethan as he carried me inside.
He grunted in amusement. “Not even close,” he said cryptically and angled toward one of the two beds.
Katrina stopped him before he set me down. “Bring her to the bathroom first. We’ve got to do something about her hair.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, but dye won’t take.”
She held up a pair of scissors.
I wasn’t attached to my long hair. Not in a vain way, at least. But after losing most of it due to my Ascension, its length had become synonymous with my grueling road back to normal-ish life.
The sensation of air on my neck was disconcerting. I also barely recognized myself.
“Are those my cheekbones?”
Katrina chuckled. “You’re lucky I dropped out of cosmetology school once.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t electrocute you.”
Our laughter was interrupted by a short knock. Mal leaned through the doorway. He took one look at me and his jaw dropped. I pointed a warning finger at him.
“Careful what you say.”
He smirked. “It looks good. I was afraid she was going to shave it.”
I touched the shoulder-length strands. “We bargained. At this length I can fit it under a wig or hat.”
“Makes sense,” he said with a nod. “Ethan went to pick up food. After you shower, we’ll sit down and have a chat over dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, then turned to Katrina. “Will the talk include what you actually do for a living?”
She grinned and turned to pack away the scissors and comb. “No, but feel free to keep asking.”
“Clandestine government operative?”
“Nope.”
“Member of a supernatural interest group?”
“Negative.”
“Alien invader?”
She laughed. “Take a shower, Fiona. See you in a bit.”
When the door was closed and locked, I turned on the shower. It was a far cry from the luxurious stall at the Prime’s compound, with a weak flow, chipped tile walls, and spots of mildew on the peeling ceiling.
The squalor was a relief. This was normal. Real. My time in Seattle felt further away by the moment, the events of the past week increasingly surreal.
Hot air pumped through a grate on the floor beside the sink and the water was scalding, but neither did much to combat the chill seeping through the seams of the bathroom’s small window.
I was shivering by the time I turned off the water, and dried and dressed with alacrity in dark jeans and a hoodie. After towel drying my hair, I hustled into the more pervasive heat of the bedroom.
My companions looked up from a circular table littered with takeout Chinese food cartons.
“Where’s the fire?” teased Katrina around a mouthful of chow mein.
I limped across the room and slumped into the final chair, between Ethan and Mal. “Just cold, and maybe a little on edge.” I glanced around the table. “Aren’t we worried the Prime will follow us?”
Ethan shook his head. “If he could find you, he already would have. You didn’t drink any of his blood, did you?”
I choked on a wonton. “No. Gross. Definitely not.” He raised a speculative brow and I flushed. “I, uh, fed him once, when the Liberati wounded him. Other than that, there was zero exchange of bodily fluids. Got it?”
He fought a smile and finally coughed into a napkin. “Yes, got it.”
“Wounded the Prime?” asked Katrina with a low whistle. “I’d heard a rumor, but figured it was PR lies. How did they manage that? He’s basically indestructible.”
I shrugged, unable to answer, but Ethan said, “Theoretically, if they catalyzed a weapon with vampire ether extracted from very powerful blood, they could breach his defenses. Even so, it’s strange. I’m not aware of any missing masters who possess an ounce of the strength necessary to match Connor Thorne.”
Disquiet slithered through me. I looked at Mal and found him staring back at me.
“What?” asked Katrina, glancing between the two of us.
Mal pushed his carton of food away. “Gabriella. Connor’s mate. He’s also her sire. She disappeared eight years ago and they’ve long suspected the Liberati.”
“But—” I looked around the table, feeling like a kindergartener in high school. “If she’d had Connor’s blood, why couldn’t he find her?”
Katrina murmured, “Alchemy. The Liberati are known for their snatch-and-grabs. They also vanish like smoke.”
Ethan grunted. “If they did take Gabriella, the attack on Connor makes sense.”
Mal and Katrina both nodded, but I was still confused. “What do you mean?” I asked.
Ethan faced me, but instead of wearing the slightly patronizing look I was used to, he spoke normally, as though we were equals. Partners, even. My opinion of him went up substantially.
“At most, Fiona, the Liberati can power two, maybe three alchemical tools from a supernatural’s ether before the process kills them. A weapon capable of affecting the Prime . . .” He shrugged. “It’s likely they channeled all of Gabriella’s ether into one weapon, meaning to kill him if they had the chance. They failed.”
Mal grunted. “They might have succeeded if Fiona hadn’t been there.”
Ethan nodded, shooting me a speculative glance. “So I heard.”
I didn’t correct them, despite Connor’s confession that only removal of his head could kill him. I doubted he wanted that information bandied about.
“You’re saying Gabriella’s dead, then?”
“Of course. It’s been eight years.” Ethan frowned at the look on my face. “What have they told you?”
“It’s not what they told me, it’s something my mother said.” I put down my chopsticks, no longer hungry. “She told the Prime I would bring Gabriella back.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “That’s utter bullshit. They must have misheard her.”
There was another interpretation, of
course, but I kept it to myself. “Frankly, I don’t care about Gabriella. I care about finding my dad.” I looked at Mal. “Did you tell them about my vision?” He nodded.
Katrina gave me a small smile. “It must have ended right before I burst in with a shotgun and flamethrower.”
I gaped at her. “Who are you?”
She flipped blond hair over her shoulder and gave me a coy look. “CIA.”
My uncle snorted. “People in the CIA don’t say they’re in the CIA.”
Katrina laughed. “I wouldn’t know.”
I glanced at Ethan, who wore a faintly amused expression as he listened.
“What about you?” I asked him. “Whose orders are you following?”
“My own,” he said, flashing a quick smile. “My contract with Prime Kilpatrick ended the night of the gala. I’m currently acting of my own free will, and I must say, it feels fantastic.”
“Been a while, huh?” asked Mal wryly.
Ethan grinned. “Years.”
I bit my tongue on asking why, if he was free to do whatever he wanted, he was helping us. Ignoring the memory of his pointed flattery, I decided that for now, I would simply accept that he’d aligned himself to our cause. Maybe he had noble intentions. Maybe he didn’t. But if he helped us get my dad back, I didn’t care.
As for Katrina, I was pretty confident she worked for the government, her bartending job a cover as she kept an eye on me. If the Primes had known about me since Census, there were bound to be others equaled informed. She was either FBI or CIA, or some other acronymic agency. And once again, I found I didn’t care.
Dinner wrapped up and Katrina cleared the food to make space for a map, purchased after it became clear that the complex spell protecting the car from my surges didn’t extend to handheld electronics. With a ballpoint pen, she traced highways south through Oregon, across the bottom corner of Idaho, and into Nevada.
Without being asked, I closed my eyes and focused on Rosie.
“She’s sleeping,” I said, disappointed. “Looks like any roadside hotel.”
“Do you have a wide-angle lens option?” asked Katrina. “Maybe there’s a brochure somewhere, or a map?”
“With red arrows pointing toward the lair of the Liberati?” asked Ethan drolly.
I sighed, opening my eyes. “No. I can see maybe five feet in every direction, but the lights are off.” I narrowed my gaze on Katrina. “No infrared ability, either.”
“That’s okay,” said Mal. “We know she’s in Nevada, so we have a direction. She’s three days ahead of us, at most, with no idea we’re on her tail. We’ll catch up and with luck, she’ll lead us right to Frank.”
I nodded and began methodically tearing a paper napkin to shreds.
“We’ll get your dad back, Fiona,” said Ethan.
I looked at him. “Did Mal tell you what else was in the vision?”
He nodded. “You saw me in a cage and I was yelling your name.” He winked. “Clearly, you were about to bust me out.”
My gaze pinged around the table. “We’re out of our minds, you all know that, right?”
Mal reached across the table, then paused when he remembered he could no longer touch me. He traded a look with Ethan, who took the hint and gently pried my hands apart, scattering bits of napkin across the table.
Keeping my hand in his, he said intently, “I don’t know your mother well, but in our brief time together she taught me a little about her gift. She said that when she sees the future, it seems fixed, the events unavoidable. The truth, though, is that the only time period that can’t be changed is the past.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured. “And I hope you’re right.”
“Me too. I don’t think I’d enjoy being in a cage.” He gave my hand a final squeeze before standing. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Sleep reminded me of dreams, which reminded me of Connor. “What about dreams? Can the Prime find me that way?”
Ethan frowned. “Sometimes I forget how powerful the bastard really is.” Then his expression gentled, and he shook his head. “If you haven’t ingested any of his blood, he can’t find you. As for dreams, I’m positive it was only possible due to proximity. Until meeting him in Los Angeles, had you ever dreamed of him?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll be safe in sleep.”
Two
Ethan was wrong.
I stood on a familiar coastline, on a narrow patch of sand between rock and sea. The ocean was strangely placid, a soft, eerie green, while the sky seemed oddly leeched of color. There was a metallic quality to the air, and a thinness like very high altitude.
“Did you leave because of me?”
I closed my eyes tightly, unwilling to turn around. “No. I left because the opportunity presented itself to take action. To rescue my dad.”
“You trust Ethan Accosi, a stranger who spelled you without permission, more than you trust me?”
His voice was closer now, coming from just behind me. The tone was deceptively mild—I could feel his anger, his frustration, pounding against my spine.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Face me, mo spréach. Let me see you.”
Bracing myself, I turned, and lost what little air was left in my lungs. His eyes were black, his fangs extended, and his aura more pronounced than I’d ever seen it. Dark wings, dense as new smoke, twitched and writhed beyond his shoulders. He wore the last clothing I’d seen him in, soft cotton pants and nothing else. I, likewise, was back in my pajamas and robe of this morning.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Why, what?” I squeaked.
“Why don’t you trust me?”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed, shrill and borderline crazy-sounding. “You know, right after we met, my uncle called you one of the scariest fuckers out there.” I waved a hand manically. “Wings, Connor. You have wings.”
He frowned in confusion, black irises fading to emerald and fangs retracting. “It’s just my aura.”
I had the sudden urge to scream, so I laughed more instead. “Don’t you get it? I’m not yours. Not your possession, your employee, or your woman. Unless I was actually a prisoner at the compound, you really have no say in what I do. Or who I choose to trust.”
His gaze lifted above me, to the sea beyond. “Strange,” he said in a vacant tone. “I almost gave my resignation to the president today. I was drafting the letter when I heard Declan’s howl of alarm. I knew instantly you had chosen to leave, to not trust me.”
I choked on a sharp inhale. “Whoa, stop—what? Your resignation? What are you talking about?”
His gaze dropped, pale green now and boiling with emotion. Sadness, hurt, confusion . . . I took a step back from the visceral impact.
“I was going to shed the rules you railed against. I would have brought you your father.” His lips curved, wry and not at all humored. “I would have destroyed them all for you.”
The dreamworld didn’t change, but it still felt like the world pitched sideways. Or maybe it was my heart, plummeting from my body to the sand at his feet. Tears filled my eyes and I blinked them back.
“That’s not fair,” I breathed. “You can’t say shit like that.”
He blurred and was suddenly before me, his palms trailing over my shoulders, fingers grazing my neck and tangling in my hair.
“I like it short.”
“Connor—”
He kissed me. Hard and without restraint, forcing my mouth open with his and capturing my tongue.
I didn’t stand a chance.
When his arms locked around my hips, lifting me up and closer, I took his waist captive with my legs, his hair with my clenching fingers. He tasted like rain. Like cool, clean water after a thousand years of drought.
How had I resisted this?
Never breaking the seal of our mouths, he lowered us to the sand, now soft as the finest bedding. Our feverish kiss slowed, becoming sultry and
deep. Electricity snapped around us, brighter and brighter, until his back bowed and a low groan tore from his throat.
“Am I hurting you?” I gasped.
In answer, his full weight settled between my legs. There was no mistaking my effect on him. His lips trailed down my jaw to my throat.
“I want to be inside you, mo spréach.” Fangs pricked my skin and he rocked against me. “In all ways.”
The words brought my charge to an aching crescendo. I writhed helplessly against him, seeking friction, wanting more. All of it, sans clothing. Not in a dream but in life.
My thoughts were focused and few. All of him. I want him. Mine. Small bolts of lightning streaked into the air, vanishing into the opaline sky.
His tongue traced my vein and he whispered, “Do you know why they call the bite of an Ancient the Kiss?”
“Please, Connor.”
I felt his lips curve. “You’re going to surrender. This once, for me to remember forever.”
“Please—”
He struck. I cried out in relief, in sheer triumph, as I shattered in his arms . . .
—as the world shattered around me—
. . . and I jolted upright in a hotel bed, with dawn barely visible beyond dingy curtains.
Katrina blinked at me from the other side of a blanket barrier, built between our sides of the bed to prevent accidental contact.
“That sounded like some dream,” she whispered.
I jerked my head toward the other bed, releasing my breath at the sight of Ethan and Mal, both sound asleep. My hand rose of its own accord to my neck, fingers shaking as they found two tiny puncture marks, already almost healed. They pulsed lightly, in time with my heart, in time with lower parts of me.
“Was that who I think it was?”
I turned back to Katrina, gulping air in an effort to find calm. I nodded shortly. “Please, don’t say anything.”
Her brows rose, but she nodded. “He’s not coming after us, then?”
In the aftermath of pleasure, I felt hollow and raw. Like a scar I hadn’t known existed had reopened inside me.