The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1)

by Jessica Meigs

  Zachariah knew. He kept that fact to himself. “So what are you proposing we do?” he asked. “Track him down? You don’t even know his name. I wouldn’t even know where to start. And why me, anyway?”

  “You’re tough. You’re strong. And you have a better chance than most to hold your own against anything that comes our way. And because I needed someone with access to the Agency,” Elise explained. “Someone who could help me narrow down the search to figure out which bastard has Chloe and to help me get her back.”

  “And in order to do this, you condemn me to live as something I hate,” Zachariah said. Elise gave him a startled look, and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Don’t let on for one second that you had no idea how much I hate your kind. After what your former consort did to my—did to Ashton, there’s no way in hell I would ever want to either be one of you or help one of you.”

  “But you’re going to help me anyway, aren’t you?” Elise asked. “I know your kind just as well as you know mine. You eat mysteries for breakfast. You like digging into the unknown and learning all of its secrets. It’s your thrill in life.”

  “Yeah, against my better judgment, I’ll help you,” Zachariah said. “Though believe me, I don’t like it.”

  “And meanwhile, we need to get your strength up,” Elise said, sitting up straighter. She brushed a stray lock of his hair away from his face, and he fought the urge to cringe away from her. “You need to feed.”

  “Feed?”

  “On blood.” She rose from the bed and held a hand out to him. “Come on. I’ll show you how.”

  “Oh hell no,” Zachariah protested. “I am not attacking and feeding on an innocent person. No way, no how. You need to find some other way, because it’s not happening.”

  Elise studied him with a thoughtful look, tilting her head to the side as she examined him. He stared back at her unflinchingly, determined to stand his ground. He hadn’t had a choice in the matter of becoming a vampire, but he would have a choice in this.

  Elise sighed and held her hand out to him again. “Come here,” she said. “You can feed from me. It’s not as good as human blood, but it will do in a pinch.”

  It hadn’t been the answer Zachariah was looking for—if anything, he’d hoped that she would say something like, “Okay, no need to drink blood at all! You’re a special vampire who doesn’t need it!”—but he supposed that her offer was better than nothing. It would, at the least, prevent him from hurting an innocent human being, and some small part of him felt like Elise deserved to be used as his personal drinking fountain.

  Before he could second-guess himself, Zachariah stepped forward, standing close enough to Elise that the scent of gardenias filled his nose again. He breathed in deeply, taking the scent into his lungs, and touched a lock of her hair, twisting it around his fingers. She brushed her fingertips against a spot on her neck, where he could make out the faint beat of her pulse, slow and almost imperceptible against her porcelain skin.

  “Right here, Zachariah,” Elise murmured. “But not too deep. Otherwise, you’ll get into the muscle and not get enough blood flowing to sate you.”

  Zachariah nodded and hesitated, nuzzling his nose against the curve of her neck. His gums ached, as if his sharp fangs strained toward her skin, toward the blood beneath her skin that he could smell underneath the flowers. He slid his hand up her arm, grasping her bicep and holding her in place, and then drove his fangs into the soft skin of her throat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riley fumed as Scott eased the car back into the parking garage across from the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian late that same evening. Scott could tell by the way she jerked her black gloves onto her hands. After lunch, Riley’s mood had swung from one extreme to the other as she’d worked herself into another fit of anger over the meeting with Ashton that morning. The sun was setting, casting shadows over the museum and into the parking deck. Scott hoped it would set faster; he wasn’t sure how much longer he could deal with Riley while she was in temper-tantrum mode.

  They’d stopped at a retail store to gather supplies, and they’d even picked up dinner: a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza that waited on the backseat. Scott hoped they were well prepared for their after-hours excursion into the museum.

  “This is such bullshit!” Riley exploded. “Tell me why we’re going in there again? The box isn’t real!”

  “We do what we’re told,” Scott said. “That’s how the Agency has always worked. It’s what you signed on for. And it’s a little late to have a problem with following orders, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “If someone with Internal Affairs heard you say that, they’d start an investigation on you so fast your head would spin.” When Riley didn’t answer, Scott decided to let it drop. “How’s your side?”

  “It’s fine,” Riley muttered.

  Scott didn’t believe her. He’d seen her taking painkillers just before they’d headed for the museum. He waited until she put her hair into a ponytail before speaking again, deciding at the last minute to drop the bombshell he’d been sitting on. “I have some inkling of what Zachariah was working on before he got captured,” he said, turning the car’s engine off with a quick twist of the key.

  “Oh yeah?” Riley’s interest sounded piqued. “How’d you figure that out?”

  “Something about Ashton’s mannerisms,” Scott said. He pushed his door open and slipped out of the car.

  “Well? What’s your theory on what he’s working on then?” Riley prompted when he didn’t elaborate right away.

  Scott leaned over to look at her across the car’s dark interior. “Zachariah was investigating something to do with you.”

  Riley’s expression changed. She looked stunned, like she’d been sucker-punched in the gut. “You…you…what?” she stammered, shaking her head. “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “Ashton slipped up,” Scott said, motioning for her to get out of the car. He dropped his keys into his pocket and shut his door, waiting for her to join him at the rear of the car. She grabbed her backpack and slipped out of the car, shrugging her bag onto her back. “He looked at you when he said it was classified,” Scott told her. “You were too busy ogling the security footage, but I was looking right at him when he did it.”

  “But…what would he investigate me for?” Riley asked, her voice rising in pitch and volume, echoing off the concrete walls and floor and ceiling. Scott caught her wrist in his hand and made sure she was looking at him before motioning for her to keep it down. She blew out a breath and pulled her wrist free before repeating in a low, hissing voice, “Why would he investigate me?”

  “I don’t know, Riley. You tell me,” Scott said, keeping his eyes on her face. “I don’t know you well enough to guess for myself. I just know that, for all intents and purposes, it looks like he is. Or was. Ashton’s mannerisms implied as much.” He studied her, trying to gauge her reaction. Her expression exuded confusion, her eyes wide with bewilderment. Scott had never seen such a perfect example of cluelessness in his life. But underneath the turmoil in her gaze was a hint of something that resembled fear. He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to her, lowering his voice in a manner that he hoped would indicate that he meant business. “Riley, is there anything you’re not telling me that I need to know? Anything at all?” Scott asked, his hand finding her wrist again. He felt a compulsion to try to help her, to at least give her a chance to explain for herself before he ended up finding out something on his own that would do nothing but disappoint him. She hesitated, opening her mouth and closing it without uttering a sound. She looked at where Scott still grasped her wrist but made no move to pull it free. Then she shook her head.

  “It’s nothing,” she tried to assure him, but he saw right through it.

  “Riley, are you in trouble?” he asked. “Look, if you are, tell me what it is so I can help.” He shouldn’t have been making the offer, but he did anyway, if only so she’d be more wil
ling to trust him. And he suddenly found himself wanting her to trust him, and he didn’t know why.

  “Why would you want to help me?” Riley asked, interrupting his train of thought. Even in the darkness of the parking garage, Scott could see her arch an eyebrow in suspicion.

  “Because I’m a nice guy,” Scott said. “Because I used to work for Internal Affairs and learned how to work the system to wiggle people out of trouble with them. Because you’re too talented to let your skills go to waste over something I could’ve helped you with if you’d just told me about it.”

  Riley pressed her lips together as she mulled over whatever was going on in her head. Then she asked, “Can it wait until after we deal with this?”

  Scott studied her as the sun sank fully below the horizon. Riley stared back at him, her brown eyes wide and pleading. He huffed out a breath through his nose and nodded. “Okay, fine. Let’s get moving. Because the minute we get back to the hotel, you’re going to give me the full rundown of what you did that could possibly make Zachariah feel it necessary to investigate you.”

  Riley looked nauseous at the idea of spilling her secret, but Scott was determined to get it out of her, even if he had to utilize his government-taught skills of persuasion to force it out of her. Blowing out another breath, he opened the car’s back door, retrieved his Taser, and nodded to Riley.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “You take the lead. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Riley’s demeanor relaxed at the suggestion, and she shifted into that blank agent-mode that Scott had witnessed on her once before. She led him to the elevator and down to the ground floor of the garage. Once they were at the bottom, they tied bandannas around the bottom halves of their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed, and put black baseball caps on their heads. Riley slipped into the lead and hurried across the short expanse of street, sidewalk, and grass between them and the employee entrance on the side of the building. Scott followed, the Taser gripped in his hand, and leaned against the wall beside the door, testing the knob. It was locked, as he’d expected, so he nodded to Riley. She pulled a lock-pick kit from her bag and took a knee, starting to work on the lock with a gleam of intense concentration in her eyes.

  As she worked, Scott kept his eyes on their surroundings for any approaching security guards and tried to not watch the focused look in Riley’s eyes that he found so oddly attractive. They hadn’t gotten the chance to do a proper stake-out, thanks to the urgency of the assignment and Ashton’s pushiness, so he didn’t know if security patrolled the outside of the museum. As such, he didn’t want to take any risks.

  It took Riley moments to pop the lock, and Scott felt every one of them. Every second she spent with her tools jammed in the lock was a second that Scott was convinced would be the one during which a guard would walk around the corner. And then it would be over. No assignment. No box. No weapon. And every bit of Ashton’s wrath. So when Riley eased the door open a crack and the early night wasn’t split by the shrill cry of an alarm, Scott let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The tension in his shoulders rolled off of him like water.

  “Ready to roll?” he whispered. Riley held up a finger, indicating for him to wait, and fished a roll of clear packing tape out of her bag. Pulling the tape slowly so it wouldn’t make noise, she measured out a piece and tore it free, then folded a corner on itself before pressing it to the doorjamb so the door wouldn’t catch when it closed. It was a simple but effective way to ensure the exit would be open to them when they were ready to leave, and Scott nodded his approval.

  “Now we’re ready to roll,” Riley said, and though she kept her voice low, it exuded confidence. She stuffed the tape into her bag and pulled out her own Taser, gripping it in her gloved right hand. She hooked a foot into the cracked door and edged it open, wide enough for Scott to slip through. He slid into the dark interior and moved to the wall alongside the door to let Riley in behind him. She mimicked his actions, closing the door behind her, and the little light that had come in from outside disappeared, swallowing them into darkness.

  Scott let his eyes adjust to the darkness, listening for the presence of anyone in the room besides them. All he could hear was the sound of Riley’s breathing two feet to his right. His own breath, trapped between his skin and the bandanna, felt hot against his face. Once he could see better in the dark room, he looked at Riley. She stood pressed against the wall, letting her own eyes adjust.

  “Anything?” Scott breathed to her. Riley’s gaze fluttered across the room, and she shook her head.

  “Nothing,” she whispered, motioning with her head toward the other side of the room. She stepped away from the wall and lifted her Taser in a two-handed grip. Scott followed her slim form across the empty break room they’d entered, slipping around tables and chairs. When they reached the exit door, Riley cracked it open and peered into the dim hallway beyond. “Clear,” she hissed, and they made their moves.

  The hallway was quiet and brightly lit enough to make Scott nervous. They eased down the hall, searching for the curator’s office. They were almost at the end of the hallway when Riley put her fist up alongside her head and then pointed to the door on her right. Scott smiled as he read the black lettering on the frosted glass: Anita Gentry, Curator.

  Riley took a knee at the office door and began to pick the lock as Scott stood guard several feet away. He faced the open end of the hallway where a set of double doors that led to the museum’s public areas were propped open. He watched the doorway as the click of Riley working brushed against his ears, the sound amplified by the tension in the air. Scott could hear her swearing under her breath, but before he could tell her to shut up, the sound of footsteps on the marble flooring met his ears.

  “Fuck,” Scott hissed. He looked over his shoulder to Riley. “Hurry the hell up. Someone’s coming.”

  “I’m trying,” she snapped. She glared at him, and in her moment of distraction, one of the lock-pick tools slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. The sound echoed off the ceiling and walls, and Riley cringed. “Sorry,” she hissed.

  “Who’s there?” a man called from the end of the hall.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Scott breathed. He pushed the tool toward Riley with his foot and turned to the hallway entrance, lifting his Taser as the figure of a man stepped into view. He was in his mid- to late-sixties, thin and spindly, with a shock of grayish white hair. He wore one of the museum’s security uniforms, with a walkie clipped to his belt and a mic on his shoulder. A nightstick hung at his side. He looked old enough to be someone’s grandfather. Which was why, as the man moved down the hall toward them, Scott felt terrible for what he was about to do.

  “What are you doing here?” the man demanded. He continued toward them, within range of Scott’s Taser, and Scott raised the weapon to point it at him. The man had his own Taser, but he didn’t seem inclined to use it. That only spelled good things for Scott and Riley. “You’re not supposed to be in here! I’m going to call the police!”

  “What, he hasn’t already?” Riley murmured. Scott ignored her and adjusted the aim of this Taser, training the red laser dot onto the man’s chest.

  “Stop right there, old man,” Scott ordered, mustering his most authoritarian voice. The man zeroed in on the Taser in Scott’s hand and stopped, bringing up his own to point it back at him. “We’re not here to cause trouble,” Scott said. “We’re just here for information, and then we’ll be on our way. But we can’t have anyone knowing we’re here and trying to interfere, so…” He shrugged. “I’m sorry about this.” With reluctance, Scott squeezed the Taser’s trigger.

  One of the two cartridges inside it dispensed with a snap, and the probes darted from the weapon. With a soft thunk, they embedded into the man’s chest. Scott activated the electrical current, letting it flow. The guard shook and jittered before collapsing onto the floor.

  “I didn’t want to do that,” Scott said. He moved toward the man, the Taser still trained on
him out of ingrained habit. The man was semi-conscious, but the last thing Scott and Riley needed was him calling for help. “Toss me that tape you brought,” Scott said to Riley. He knelt beside the man and divested him of his Taser, walkie, and nightstick. Seconds later, Riley’s tape rolled across the floor and bumped to a stop against his shoe. He wrapped a liberal amount around the man’s wrists before putting a piece across his mouth. Then he stood, grabbed the man under the arms, and dragged him to the office door. “You have got to hurry up and get that door open,” he said. “We need a place to stash him out of sight.”

  “Patience,” Riley muttered. “I’ve almost…got it.” The last two words came out in an excited gasp of air. Riley turned the knob, and the office door swung open with the soft shush of wood against carpet.

  “Finally,” Scott sighed out.

  “Shut up.” Riley stepped into the office and cleared it with a sweep of her Taser, and then she moved back into the hall. She gathered her bag and tools and the weapons and radio Scott had taken from the security guard. “It’s clear. Come on.”

  Scott followed her into the office, dragging the guard along with him. Once they were inside, Riley shut and locked the door, and Scott hauled the old man to the other side of the room. He settled him onto the carpet and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. His pulse was steady and strong and so, reassured, Scott left him there and returned to Riley’s side to help her begin the search.

  “This is not going to be easy,” Riley murmured as she stared at the sight before them. Scott folded his arms, taking in the view, and nodded in agreement.

  Filing cabinets. An entire wall of filing cabinets. Five drawers each, all unlabeled, all packed with dozens of files pertaining to hundreds of artifacts. They stared at a proverbial haystack, and somewhere in it was the needle they desperately needed.