She found a D.C. news channel and stopped on it, watching contemplatively as the newscaster talked about something stupid that a bunch of idiotic politicians were trying to get passed through Congress. Then she sat up straighter as a photo of Damon—one that looked like it’d been pulled from a driver’s license—flashed on the screen beside the reporter’s head. She snatched the remote from the bed beside her and turned up the volume.
“…In one of our top stories tonight, a man is missing after his home exploded last night, sending debris over his quiet neighborhood in the heart of D.C. As first responders and emergency personnel continue to search the rubble of his home, D.C. police and federal agents have requested for people to be on the lookout for forty-eight-year-old Damon Hartley, the owner of the home, in an effort to check on his wellbeing. So far, no one has been found in the debris, and the investigation into the cause of the explosion continues.
“This wasn’t the only explosion to rock the D.C. night. In addition to Hartley, police are searching for twenty-eight-year-old Zachariah Lawrence after his apartment exploded yesterday evening. Lawrence has gone missing after the explosion and fire that engulfed the apartment building and displaced eighteen families…”
“Merde,” Angelique muttered, scowling when the screen displayed a photograph of Zachariah next to the reporter’s head; it was a slightly older photo—his hair was shorter. She muted the television as the shot cut to an overhead drone view of the decimation that used to be Damon’s house and tossed the remote onto the bed. Just what they needed: Damon’s face plastered on televisions all around the country and probably on the Internet, too.
“Did I hear some French swearing in here?” Damon said, and Angelique startled. She hadn’t heard the water shut off while she’d been glued to the television and, as a result, hadn’t heard Damon enter the room, either. He stood outside the bathroom door, wearing the jeans she’d bought him and nothing else, still towel-drying his dark hair. Her heart skipped a beat at the view. Had Damon been hiding that under his stoic suits for the entire time she’d worked for the U.S. government? He certainly didn’t look forty-eight. He looked like he made CrossFit his bitch on a daily basis.
She was staring. She needed to quit staring. It really wasn’t professional behavior to ogle one’s half-naked boss. She cleared her throat.
“Yeah, I was swearing at the television,” Angelique said, turning her attention back to it. The screen had cut to a sports reporter. “They’ve got your face plastered all over the news.” She scowled. “The police are looking for you and for Zachariah so they can do a welfare check, since your homes blew up last night.”
“They can keep looking,” Damon commented. He tossed the towel back into the bathroom and grabbed the t-shirt he’d left in there. He pulled the shirt on, covering the expanse of skin that had been on full display—thank God, Angelique couldn’t help but think; it was far too distracting uncovered—and sat down to put on his socks and shoes. “Dead guys don’t stop by for welfare checks.” He gave her a cheeky grin, something she’d have thought would never have crossed his face, and laced up his tennis shoes. “But if they’re already slapping my face on the TV, that means we’ll need to move further out from D.C. Any ideas where we could go?”
Angelique hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we should track down where Zachariah and Ashton went,” she suggested. “Not join up with them,” she rushed to add when he opened his mouth to protest, “but follow them at a safe, discreet distance. That way, in case they need backup, we’re available to jump in and help. The ace in the hole, so to speak.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Damon acknowledged. “Especially considering what they’re likely to face in the coming weeks.” He stretched and rubbed his hand through his still-damp hair, disheveling it more than it already was. “In the meantime, we need to pick a direction and roll. And I need food.”
“We can’t exactly waltz into a restaurant for a bite to eat if you’re all over the news,” Angelique pointed out.
“I’m aware,” he replied. “And I’m not proposing we do. I’m fine with drive-thru.”
Angelique nodded and stood, scooping her keys off the table by the door. “Sounds good. Go do something with that mop on your head. I’ll gather up our stuff and put it in the car.” He retreated to the bathroom, and she grabbed the Walmart bags with the supplies she’d bought, the pistol she always kept on her or within arm’s reach, and the light jacket she usually wore and slipped out of the room to the parking lot just outside the door.
Her SUV was parked three spaces down from their door, the closest she could get it after getting back from her supply excursion—who the hell parked in front of hotel rooms that weren’t theirs?—and she scanned her surroundings as she walked to the vehicle. There didn’t seem to be any movement in the lot, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t there. If anything, the likelihood of something being in the parking lot watching her was higher than not, considering how still everything was. It was unnaturally motionless, and it was enough to set her on edge.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something was definitely watching her.
Angelique didn’t look around any further, deciding to play it cool and walk to the car. She opened the rear cargo door and dumped the bags inside. Acting as if she was rummaging in the bags, she lifted the spare tire compartment and pulled free an extra pistol magazine, this one loaded with silver bullets. She had no idea what was creeping in the shadows of the cars, but she could rule vampires out, at least: they couldn’t go out in sunlight. Considering the things Zachariah and the others had faced in the past several weeks, it could be anything from werewolves to demons.
Angelique looked toward the room’s door, debating whether to get Damon for backup. She didn’t necessarily need the backup, but it was always nice to have when it was an option. Damon had been out of the field for a while, though, and he was probably rusty, so dragging him directly into the line of fire created a risk not to her but to him. Instead of fetching him, she grabbed a second pistol, loaded it with silver bullets too, and left the cargo door open as she crept along the side of the vehicle. She tucked one pistol in the back of her pants’ waistband as she moved.
There was a low growl between two cars in the row directly across from her. It wasn’t the growl of a dog, more like that of a wolf. Well, I guess it’s a werewolf, then, she thought, pausing at the front of the car to scan the row ahead. A werewolf she could deal with; it would be difficult but doable. She’d handled plenty of those over the past several years she’d been involved in The Unnaturals program.
As Angelique walked forward, her pistol raised in a two-handed grip, the growling intensified. She didn’t ignore the sound so much as shunt it to the back of her mind, where she could listen for the subtle changes in tenor that indicated it was about to launch an attack. It lurked between a sports car and a large pickup truck, sticking to the shadows, like it was stalking or tracking her more than planning an attack.
She spotted the shadow of the beast between the vehicles and took aim, intending to shoot. Before she could, the animal turned tail and ran, disappearing into the trees lining the other side of the highway.
“Well, that wasn’t weird or anything,” Angelique commented, lowering the pistol before someone saw it. Never had she seen a werewolf choose to run from a potential fight before; they almost always charged when they saw an opportunity. She wondered if something had spooked it and almost laughed at the suggestion. She didn’t think there was much of anything that could scare a werewolf.
“Something wrong?” Damon asked behind her. She turned and saw he stood beside the SUV, an eyebrow raised in question.
“There was a wolf,” Angelique said. When his expression shifted to a frown, she clarified. “A werewolf. It didn’t engage. It hid in the shadows until I saw it, then it took off. Went into the woods there.” She motioned to the woody area across the street.
“It didn’t try to kill you?” he asked. Sh
e shook her head. “That’s not right. There’s no way a werewolf is going to ignore its baser instincts.”
“Not unless there’s an Alpha wolf somewhere nearby,” she pointed out.
They exchanged a look, Damon’s as worried as hers felt stressed.
“In the car?” Angelique asked.
“Yeah, good idea,” he acknowledged, and both of them raced to the vehicle. He threw himself into the driver’s seat as she skirted to the back of the SUV, slammed the cargo door shut, and scrambled through the passenger door that Damon had opened for her.
“Can I ask why we’re not staying to fight the thing?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt.
“Because I’m good, but under these circumstances, I’m not that damn good.”
“I don’t like this,” Zachariah said, shaking his head as he paced the length of Marie’s above-shop studio apartment. “It’s a terrible idea all around.”
“Well, it’s the best I’ve got,” Jax snapped. “If you can think of a better one, I’m all ears.”
Jax had just spent the past thirty minutes making a sketch of the house Scott was being held prisoner in and hashing out the idea he’d had when they’d checked out the building’s surroundings. It wasn’t a bad idea; it was an absolutely terrible idea. Not for him, of course: he could handle just about anything. So could Riley, by the looks of it. But Ashton? He had limits. Physical limits, not emotional ones or skill-related ones. And what Jax proposed would put Ashton at an unnecessary risk that Zachariah wasn’t willing to accept.
“I just think it’d be the smart thing to do,” Jax said. “It doesn’t involve him climbing stairs, but he’s still of use while we’re going in to save your friend.”
“Saying that if he’s not there he’s not useful is a terrible argument,” Zachariah protested.
“I’m not saying that at all,” Jax countered. “I’m saying we should have backup, and he’s the only one available to offer it. None of my men are willing to risk their necks for someone they don’t know, and you’re lucky I have a motivation to stick mine out there. So this,” he waved his hand, indicating the four of them, “is all we have.”
“Zach, I’ll be fine,” Ashton said. “If I stay on the main floor, I’ll be able to watch everybody’s backs in case someone comes into the house while you’re searching. It’s actually a good plan, not a bad one. I don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”
“Can I talk to you?” Zachariah demanded.
“You’re already talking to me.”
“Alone?”
Ashton sighed and motioned to the doorway, indicating for Zachariah to lead the way. He did, casting a dirty glance at Jax as they went into the hallway and shut the door behind them. He didn’t like Jax. It wasn’t hatred so much as total disdain for the man and everything he represented. He didn’t like anything about him: his werewolf-ism, his abandonment of his job, his insistence on being the one in charge on this when Zachariah thought the leadership role in this belonged to Riley. Scott was her partner, after all.
Once the door shut behind them, Ashton gave him a look so irritated that Zachariah almost took a step back from the sheer force of it. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back, forcing himself to stand up to Ashton’s mood, and said, “What?”
“What the hell is wrong with you lately?” Ashton demanded.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied.
“You’re acting like a shit,” he snapped. “You’ve been acting like one since we’ve gotten to New Orleans.”
“Oh, come on, give me at least a little credit,” Zachariah protested. “I didn’t start acting like a shit until that guy showed up.” He jabbed his finger at the closed door to indicate Jax. “We can’t trust him. I feel it in my gut. And my gut has never steered me wrong. And that feeling? It only got worse when he admitted he was a werewolf.”
“A werewolf who was turned into one against his will,” Ashton said. “Something that I’d think you would at least commiserate with. He has as big a vendetta against werewolves as I do, maybe even more so, since I wasn’t actually turned.” He rubbed his right shoulder as if it pained him and added, “I don’t think he’s going to hurt us. I think he genuinely wants to help us.”
“And why would he want to?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Ashton said. “Maybe because he used to be an agent like us? Maybe he feels some sort of kinship with us because of that.” He shrugged. “People have weird motivations for doing the things they do, and most of the time, those motivations are personal. He has his reasons for helping. So long as his goals continue aligning with ours, I have no problem using him while we can.”
Zachariah shook his head and leaned against the wall, dropping his head against it to stare at the ceiling. “I just don’t want to work with him any longer than absolutely necessary,” he admitted. “I can’t handle the idea of him getting you killed.”
Ashton leaned beside him and slid his hand into his, squeezing it reassuringly. Zachariah tried to suppress the little smile that tweaked at the corner of his mouth; he was sure he failed miserably. “I’ll be fine,” Ashton said. “I promise. I’m not quite as rusty as you think I am.”
“I know you’re not,” he said. “I just…I guess I’m not quite over what happened with you and Ananael and all that shit. I can’t imagine having to sit back and watch it happen again. Or worse.”
“It won’t,” Ashton said. “I promise it won’t. I’m not dying anytime soon, Zach.” He turned to face him, still leaning against the wall, and Zachariah mimicked the motion. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“The usual, probably,” he admitted. “You know me. I always have to have a meltdown at some point after an assignment, and I didn’t get it after that demon business in Alabama.”
“We’ll play catch up after all this,” Ashton promised. “You can have double the meltdown, and I’ll deal with it this time.” He sighed and added, “I don’t think I’ve given you an apology for my behavior over the past few weeks.”
“I wasn’t expecting one, because you don’t owe me one,” he replied. “I’ve never been possessed, so I can only imagine what it was like, and I’m betting not good. I guess it’s to be expected that you’d have a breakdown after that.”
“It was…unpleasant.” He raked a hand through his hair and looked past Zachariah at the apartment door. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now. We’re supposed to be discussing Jax’s plan.”
Zachariah sighed and massaged his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “It’s not a bad plan,” he acknowledged. “I’m probably just overreacting. Regardless, we have to get Scott out of there.”
Ashton nodded. “Hopefully we won’t end up in the same bind we were in last time we dealt with werewolves.”
“Seen any warehouses around?”
Ashton laughed and shook his head. “Thankfully, no. With any luck, it’ll stay that way.”
Ashton smiled at him, and Zachariah was overcome with a sudden surge of emotion. He brushed his free hand over Ashton’s cheek, feeling the coarse beard under his fingertips, then dragged him in for a soft, almost hesitant, kiss. Ashton’s smile widened against his mouth, and he hooked an arm around his waist and tugged him even closer, practically crushing Zachariah against him, one of his hands wandering up his shirt to rest on his lower back. Zachariah nipped lightly at his bottom lip, accidentally breaking the skin, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, he licked the droplet of blood that had oozed from Ashton’s lip away. Ashton pulled back and rested his forehead against Zachariah’s, asking, “What brought that on?”
Zachariah shrugged, savoring the coppery tang of the blood on his tongue and the slight hint of Ashton’s emotions that it brought with it. It spoke of contentment, happiness, all those warm, fuzzy feelings they didn’t get to indulge in very often. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I just felt like I needed it.” He stroked the other man’s
beard again, feeling oddly affectionate and protective, and resisted the urge to rest his head against Ashton’s shoulder and go limp or suggest they make a run for it and live in the wilderness somewhere. “This beard still feels weird,” he commented, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. “Why’d you keep it?”
“It was something different. I needed a change of pace.”
Zachariah sighed, long and low and slow, and forced himself to step back from Ashton’s grasp. They’d been in the hallway too long, and it was only a matter of time before either Riley or Jax came hunting for them and found them indulging in a bit of PDA. The idea of it made him feel vulnerable, a state he wasn’t willing to let anyone but Ashton see him in. He straightened his clothes and offered Ashton his hand again to tug him away from the wall. “Shall we go join the others and prepare to launch our rescue mission?”
“By all means.”
Scott didn’t feel right, and it had nothing to do with his broken bones.
The odd, indescribable feeling had begun around thirty minutes before, by his reckoning, starting with an uncomfortable, burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, like an ulcer but somehow worse. Over the span of ten minutes, the feeling had intensified and become unbearable, topping out his pain tolerance and moving right on past it. It had radiated throughout most of his torso until he’d begun to sweat and shake, until he’d spiked a fever and felt like vomiting. He wanted to curl up, to escape inside himself like a wounded animal, desperately so, but Brandon and his cronies had left him zip-tied to his chair in a basement that seemed to be getting chillier the longer he was in it.
He coughed, a harsh, breathless expulsion of air that felt as dry as the Sahara, and squirmed in his chair again, hoping the plastic wires binding him had magically loosened. No such luck. Not that he’d really expected any.
“Fuck, Riley, where are you?” he whispered, tugging at the zip-ties, though any strength he might have had left had already been worn out of him from previous attempts to break his restraints. He thought she’d have busted the doors down with guns blazing by now. But there’d been no sign of her; if she had attempted a rescue and been captured, he’d have already known about it. Brandon wouldn’t have been able to resist gloating about it and parading her in front of him.
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