by Aliya DalRae
What she hadn’t told the asshole who had just stranded her, was that she was also hoping to catch a glimpse of the monster who had killed her heart. Her hatred for the Vampire, Raven, was off the charts. The Clowder was trying to go through all the legal channels, do things by the book, but that wasn’t good enough. She wanted the bastard to suffer, and then she wanted him dead.
Kythryn watched her breath steam in front of her and realized her indecision was getting her nowhere, leaving her with nothing but cold feet. That asshole had managed to drop her about halfway between her car and home, so home it was.
After checking to ensure no one was watching, Kythryn slipped behind the dumpster, pulled off the sweatshirt that still held Malcolm’s scent, and triggered the change.
Within moments, she transformed into a sleek black cat, much smaller than Malcolm’s had been, and leaner too. She’d often teased him about being a fat cat. He’d said he wasn’t fat, he was buff, and at least he wasn’t a pussy cat. She’d laughed at the time, but the memory drew a yowl from her throat as she sniffed the shirt she’d tucked away for later retrieval.
Kythryn ran through the parking lot and out to Route 4, then headed north toward the Clowder community and her home. In this form it would take her a couple of hours to reach it, but it was better than confessing what she’d been up to.
A car came screaming from behind and Kythryn had to jump into a ditch to avoid becoming fresh road pizza. Gods, this was ridiculous. How had she let herself get here? No self-respecting cat would have let a Vampire sneak up on her like that. It was embarrassing.
And while she mourned for Malcolm, the unrequited love of her life, she had to admit she liked the way Harrier had looked at her when she’d returned his giant clown clothes.
Right before he drove off and left her half-naked in the cold. Asshole.
When her sister died, Kythryn had tried to comfort Malcolm, but he was all about running away. She was there when they forced him to change and had held his head when he vomited from the pain of it. She had been there for him, taken care of his house and his bills, made sure that when he came around he would have something, and someone, to come home to. But he had turned to the human instead.
She really had been seeking some kind of closure, or whatever psycho-babble bullshit artists were calling it these days. She thought if she talked to Jessica, she might be able to let it go.
But that damned Vampire had to go and interfere, with his stupid sweat pants that smelled like moonlight and musk, and his stupid golden eyes that looked like sunshine in the dark.
Another car sped by, spraying Kythryn with freezing slush. She stopped long enough to shake the offending snirt from her fur, then continued on toward home.
Chapter Thirty-Six
M ason stood behind Merlin at what the male had dubbed his “wall of information.” The Tech Room was Merlin’s personal pride and joy, and the wall consisted of fifteen monitors, three rows of five. Displayed before them was everything from Compound security camera feeds to whatever techno-magic Merlin was working on with his numerous devices.
As Merlin toggled between the screens, searching for the information Mason had come to discuss, the Warlord’s mind drifted. Christmas was in a few days, which put the Vindicta ritual mere weeks away. The subject that dominated his thoughts. He had hoped that Raven would have himself under control by the time it rolled around, would be able to take his own punishment, but it didn’t look like that would be happening any time soon.
Nox still planned to stand in for his brother, reiterating that he had his own sins to atone for. It was a noble sacrifice, but that still left the Primeval. He would have to come up with a sentence for Raven that the Court would accept—something short of death for his Warrior. But one disaster at a time.
And that wasn’t why he was here.
Merlin was doing a rundown on all the places where they’d found bodies with the strange, child-sized bite marks on them. The murderers were averaging one a week since Thanksgiving, giving them a total of five corpses so far. They were certainly doing something to decrease the homeless population in Fallen Cross, but Mason doubted the humans would approve of these methods.
The problem was, they never fed in the same place twice. They were stashing the bodies in discreet, out of the way spots, sites humans would tend to avoid, guaranteeing that the Legion would be the ones to find them.
It seemed like they were laying out a map specifically for the Legion, and Mason didn’t like it. It felt calculated and wrong.
Merlin pointed to one of his many screens. “Do you see it?” he asked, and Mason leaned in to study the map more closely.
“It looks like a geometric shape of some sort, triangles? Maybe a star?”
Merlin nodded. “Exactly. I think they are trying to send us a message, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out.”
Mason agreed. Whatever it was, it was not striking any chords with him. “Unless it isn’t complete. Do you think they’ve finished?”
“Doubt it,” Merlin said, biting on an ink pen. “Whatever message they’re trying to send, you can bet there’s more to come.”
“So what, we wait until they kill more homeless people? That’s not something the Primeval is going to be on board with,” Mason pointed out, and Merlin shrugged.
“I just read the signs, Warlord,” he said and grinned around the pen in his mouth.
“Every single one of you is a pain in my ass,” Mason muttered, and Merlin’s grin widened.
“Yeah,” he said, spitting out the pen and turning to face his leader. “But you’d be lost without us.”
That was true, Mason thought, but he wasn’t about to let them know it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
C hristmas was an uneventful affair. Alex and Piper came over Christmas Eve for our annual get together where we exchanged gifts and, in past years, drank lots of spiked eggnog. I wouldn’t let them abstain on my account but watching them drink all that yumminess without me was depressing. I reminded myself that I was doing what was right for the baby, and then I threw up the smoked ham sandwich I’d scarfed down earlier.
My friends spent the night but were up and out early so they could get to their own family celebrations, leaving me to prepare for my own.
Patrick and Maggie invited me to their place to celebrate with the Pack. It was interesting, to say the least. The wolves were a raucous crew, teasing and harassing each other relentlessly. They were a tight knit bunch, though, and it was nice to see what Patrick had been able to accomplish in his years as their Alpha.
Allie was in her element, of course, sporting a sparkly pink dress that accented the icy blue of her eyes. She bounced from huddled group to huddled group, carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres to all the guests and generally playing hostess to the crowd.
Everyone loved that kid, and I was no exception. She was an old soul, preferring to cater to the adults rather than run around outside with the other wolves her age. She reminded me so much of myself, and I wondered what my own child would be like.
It was an enjoyable day, and I indulged myself consuming copious quantities of food and non-alcoholic beverages. The adults passed around gifts to each other as the children decimated the haul underneath the tree. By the end of it, I was exhausted. I gave Patrick and Maggie a hug and a kiss, squeezed Allie with a promise that we would get together for a spa day soon, and said goodbye to the rest of the Pack.
By the time I got home, I could barely keep my eyes open, and I slept well into the next day.
~~~~~
T he New Year arrived without much ado. Again, Alex and Piper joined me at my house and we ate snacks and played games as we watched the ball drop in New York’s Times Square. We toasted with sparkling cider, and I was asleep within moments after the big event. Alex and Piper quietly cleaned up and were gone when I woke on the sofa several hours later. I was one helluva hostess.
I’d been reading a lot about babies, what to expect and all that
, so I knew that my fatigue was nothing unusual. Still, it was out of the norm for me. Here it was, the first week of February now, and I was barely functioning. If it weren’t for Alex helping me in the shop, I wouldn’t even be making a living.
According to the internet, things were going to get better soon. Once I hit the third trimester, the nausea was supposed to ease up and I would regain some of my usual energy. Supposedly. I wasn’t sure how much I really trusted all of that. Besides, they were all talking about human babies, and mine was most definitely not human. Not completely, anyway.
Allon was taking good care of me, as far as the prenatal stuff went. He was kind enough to do home visits so I didn’t have to chance running into Raven (who, according to Harrier, was still being an ass), and he assured me that everything was progressing as it should. He even brought a portable ultrasound machine so I could see what the little peanut looked like. For the record, it looked like a little peanut.
I was restless, but according to Allon everything was smooth sailing. Then again, he wasn’t the one throwing up.
Our last visit had been a little over a week ago, and he had repeated his assurances, saying that everything I was experiencing was normal. Still, something felt off. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, just an odd sense of angst, or expectation. It could have been a vision trying to find its way out, but they had been practically nonexistent from the moment I conceived. I hadn’t had a vision in over three months, and I was surprised how much their absence bothered me.
I tried watching television, but I couldn’t relax. I was on my feet, pacing back and forth between the living room and the kitchen, mentally reaching, trying to wrap my psychic fingers around whatever it was that was making me feel so out of sorts.
I was staring out the kitchen window when a bright streak of lightning lit the night sky, followed quickly by a deafening BOOM. I jumped a mile. Seconds later a veritable deluge struck, the icy rain beating a thunderous tattoo on my house’s metal roof.
Usually, I found the sound soothing, but not tonight. Tonight, it set my last nerve on edge, had me flinching at every clap of unseasonable thunder.
I wandered back into the living room, grabbed the clicker and stood behind the sofa, channel surfing. I stopped on the food channel, my not so secret guilty pleasure, but not even the Butter Lady could distract me today. Switching off the television, I threw the clicker on the sofa cushions and turned to watch the rain streaking down the bow window.
Leaning against the back of the couch, I frowned. Something bad was going to happen. I may not be getting a full-on vision, but the message was coming through loud and clear.
And I had no idea what it was I needed to prepare for.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
T he first cramp hit me from out of the blue, sharp and tight and it took my breath away. It startled me, but my body had been doing so many strange—and not altogether comfortable—things since the pregnancy started. My first instinct as the pain eased was to ignore it.
I decided a cup of cocoa was in order. Icy rain continued to beat against the windows as I headed to the kitchen to pop a pod into the new Keurig coffee maker Piper had given me for Christmas. I made it as far as the front door before the second pain had me clutching my belly. I tried to breathe through it, to tell myself it was one of those fake contraction things you hear about on the soap operas. If I’d bothered to research the entire pregnancy I would have known that three months was way too early for Braxton Hicks.
The pain had barely subsided, I’d almost gotten my breath again, when the third one hit, harder, stronger than the first two combined, and I felt a wetness that shouldn’t be there. I stumbled to the bathroom, unaware of the bloody footprints I was leaving behind me.
When I realized what was happening, I knew I needed help. I grabbed the bag of maxi pads from under the sink, stuffed two into my ruined panties and reached in my sweats pocket for my phone. It wasn’t there.
Another cramp had me doubled over and stumbling back to the kitchen in search of my phone and some much-needed help. There was no respite between this pain and the next, nor the one that followed. I fell to the floor and curled into a tight ball, trying desperately to make it stop, to end the agony, and to halt the inevitable loss I knew I was suffering.
My last thought before losing consciousness was of Malcolm. I had liked the idea of being able to give him a legacy, a little piece of him that would live on, but it looked like I was going to screw that up, too.
“I’m Sorry, Malcolm,” I whispered as another cramp tore through my body. “I’m so sorry.”
~~~~~
H arrier was out on patrol when the first pain struck him. Those two Vampire kids were still alluding them, and there had been two more bodies found stashed in various places throughout Fallen Cross.
Mason was apoplectic. With Raven off rotation it had fallen upon Harrier to take over the search when the Soldier, Martin’s, investigation stalled. How two children were managing to hide from them in this small town and leave a trail of bodies while they were at it was a frustration Harrier wouldn’t tolerate for long. Probably why Mason had saddled him with this posh assignment.
When the second pain hit, Harrier’s cell rang, and he knew it would be one of two people.
He glanced at the screen before answering. “Rachel.”
“She’s in trouble, Harrier!”
“I know,” he said, catching his breath.
“Can you get to her?” His sister was crying, and Harrier understood. If Jessica was experiencing pain powerful enough to break through the mental barriers they’d erected, then the girl was in some serious shit.
“I’m on my way,” he assured her, disconnecting and tapping in another number.
“Martin. You’re on your own. I’ve got an emergency to deal with. No, thanks, I got this. Just find those damn kids.”
~~~~~
R aven was relaxing with a cold beer after another rigorous workout with Nox. His brother sat on the sofa, his own beer in one hand, the television clicker in the other. When he stopped on a rerun of Man vs. Food, Raven growled. Nox gave him a sideways glance but hit the button to continue his search.
The pain came from nowhere, deep and low in his stomach, like a thousand knives stabbing him repeatedly in the gut. He was so surprised, he dropped his beer, the contents spilling over the carpet in a foamy river as he doubled over, arms wrapped around his middle.
“Brother?” Nox was at his side in an instant.
Raven breathed through it and the pain was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Are you alright?”
Raven nodded, shook the hair out of his eyes and reached to retrieve his beer bottle from the floor. He brought it to his lips with a shaky hand and drained what little amber liquid remained. Once steady, he rose and went to the kitchen to retrieve a towel to mop up his mess.
When the second pain hit, he threw in place another layer of psychic protection. There was only one reason he would be feeling this, and with Nox still manipulating his emotions, he simply wasn’t interested.
Grabbing another beer from the fridge, he glanced at his twin, who was watching his every move through narrowed eyes. Raven wagged the bottle, a silent question, and Nox nodded that he needed another. Raven grabbed a second beer, went back to his chair, and handed the extra to his brother. Nox continued with the scrutiny as Raven cleaned the soggy carpet.
When Raven growled again, Nox reluctantly returned his attention to finding something good to watch on TV.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
H arrier could smell the blood from the driveway, that honeysuckle and wine combo that was specifically Jessica’s. By the scent of it, she’d spilt enough to have him approaching the house at a sprint, mentally turning the door locks as he ran.
The scene in the kitchen nearly drove him to his knees. There was blood everywhere, scarlet footprints leading to and from the bathroom, smeared bloody handprints along the walls and appliances. A
nd there on the floor, in an ever-expanding pool of blood, was his niece. She lay curled in a tight ball and she was barely breathing.
After a quick phone call to Allon, Harrier scooped her into his arms and carried her to the Hummer.
“Hang tight, little one. We’ll have ya better in no time at all.”
Harrier didn’t remember the trip from Jessica’s house to the Compound, and the transfer from the Hummer to Allons’ waiting gurney was a blur.
Rachel was there when they exited the elevator outside the clinic, her contorted face streaked with bloody tears. She grabbed Jessica’s hand and talked softly to her as they rushed the girl to the emergency room.
Harrier made to follow through the double doors, but Allon placed a hand on his chest and shook his head before rushing to Jessica’s aid. Harrier complied, his heart in his belly. He fisted his hands as the clinic doors closed in his face, leaving him standing in the hallway, helpless and alone.
~~~~~
R achel stood aside as Allon took action. There were two aides there to assist, recruits from the Soldiers’ ranks who had a proficiency in the field as medics. One worked to remove Jessica’s clothing and check her for injuries, as the other took her vitals. Meanwhile, Allon had washed up, donned a pair of latex gloves and was pressing Jessica’s stomach.
The doctor stepped away as the first aide rolled a machine to Jessica’s side, fiddled with it a bit, and then squirted some type of gel on her abdomen. He then retrieved a wand of some sort and began to drag it through the gel. When Rachel looked at the machine, strange images appeared, shades of grey that meant nothing to her.
Allon examined the screen, his expression less than encouraging. He gave a grim nod to the aide, who removed the wand and stepped away. He then glanced at Rachel before shifting to the foot end of the bed to check Jessica. Blood had already pooled on the sheets between her legs, and it was obvious what was happening. A quick exam had Allon shaking his head.