The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1)

by Jessica Meigs

  “What kind of help?” Riley asked.

  Scott waved her question off and asked his own. “What kind of warning are you supposed to give us?”

  Zachariah swallowed and stepped forward, sliding his sunglasses off his face, revealing his golden eyes for both of them to see. “I’ve been turned,” he explained. “After you left headquarters, an elder vampire showed up on the scene, and she did this to me.”

  “Why?” Riley asked, taking a step forward to get a better look at him.

  “That is a long story I don’t have time to get into right now,” he admitted. “I’ll have to explain that later. But the reason why I’m here is that I believe there’s a possibility that she—and others—might know where you are. She could have picked up the information from me when she drank my blood. It seems that’s an ability that vampires have under certain circumstances. We can’t risk her having found out that information from me and intercepting you.”

  “What do you need us to do?” Scott asked, pulling away from Riley and going to their suitcase, removing a fresh change of clothes from it.

  “You two need to change rooms at bare minimum, but I’d prefer if you changed hotels,” he said. “There’s some shit going down, and I’m worried that your location has been compromised. Moving might alleviate my mind and take some of the potential for heat off. Just don’t tell me or Ashton where you’re going once you figure it out. Just clear out at nightfall.”

  “Why not sooner?” Riley asked. Unlike Scott, she made no move to get dressed. Instead, she stared at him like she was trying to see through his skull to read his mind.

  “Because that’s where my need for your help comes in,” Zachariah said. “I need you to hide me for the day.”

  “Okay, no problem,” Riley agreed.

  “No, you don’t understand,” Zachariah persisted. He glanced toward the curtained windows, trying to judge how much time he had. Not nearly enough. “If you get caught sheltering me, you will get in deep shit with the Agency. A vampire is considered one of the enemy, and you’re not to do anything that actually helps me. You’d be committing a form of treason, aiding the enemy instead of turning him in. I’m not asking you just to help me. I’m asking you to go against the Agency too. You of all people know what that can lead to, Scott.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Scott agreed. “If Internal Affairs taught me anything, it’s that nearly every punishment the Agency metes out involves a bloody, sticky end.” He finished changing his jeans, zipping and buttoning them before adding, “Look, I don’t know how Riley feels about it, but I’ll help you, even with the full knowledge of where that could lead. You might be a vampire now, but that’s something that’s happened against your will. Besides, with as much as seems to be going on, I’m pretty sure we could use your expertise. And, in the end, you’re still one of us.”

  Zachariah’s breath caught in his throat, he was so relieved to hear Scott’s words. He didn’t dare say so out loud, though. He merely turned his eyes onto Riley, waiting for her response. Her eyes met his, and to his surprise, a small smile graced her face. “What he said,” she said, nodding her head in Scott’s direction. “A lot of shit’s gone down, and right now, we’d probably be dead if you hadn’t intervened in that fight. Saving my life? That’s enough to get you in my good book right there. I’m not bailing on you because something bad happened to you—especially when it happened because you were trying to help me. The least I can do is help you in return.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’ve been in trouble with the Agency plenty of times. What’s one more on the record?”

  Zachariah slumped against the desk as relief flooded through him. “Thank you.”

  “What did you expect us to do, turn you out?” Riley asked, raising an eyebrow before flopping onto the end of the bed. “You saved our lives. At the very least, we should return the favor at least once before considering other alternatives.”

  “I didn’t know what you would do,” Zachariah admitted. “I just know that if you’d told me no, I was probably going to die, and I don’t want to before I do what I need to do and stake the hell out of the bitch that did this to me, regardless of her reasons.”

  “Right on,” Riley said. “Show that bitch who’s really boss, Zach.”

  “Don’t call me Zach.”

  “Why not?”

  Zachariah ignored her question and focused on Scott. “I need a place to get out of the sun. I don’t have long, and while I don’t know for sure what will happen if I get caught in it, I do know that Eli—that the woman who did this to me slept in a room with no windows, so I’m sure sunlight is all bad.”

  Scott’s eyes flickered over the hotel room. “The bathroom.”

  “Perfect,” Riley agreed. She sprang to her feet and went to the windowless room. “Not comfortable, but at least it will keep you out of the sun.”

  “I can handle discomfort,” Zachariah said. He crossed the room and stepped into the smaller, tiled bathroom. “I’ve been in this job longer than I care to admit and slept in less-than-savory places. If I can handle that, then I can handle this just fine.” He sat on the edge of the bathtub and began to strip off his gloves, sniffing the air cautiously. “Has someone been bleeding in here recently?”

  “Me,” Riley spoke up. “That fight we got into with those vampires. I got hurt. Nothing major, and Scott has already taken care of it.”

  Zachariah sighed. “That’s going to make staying in here sheer torture,” he admitted.

  “That bad?” Scott asked.

  “It’s like waving chocolate in front of a pregnant woman and telling her she can’t have any of it,” Zachariah answered. He shrugged out of his leather coat and folded it, setting it, his gloves, and his sunglasses on the counter by the sink. Then he changed the subject. “What have you found out about the weapon?”

  Scott and Riley exchanged a look that, to Zachariah’s eyes, clearly meant they’d learned next to nothing. Scott cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable as he admitted, “We, ah, we stole a file from the Smithsonian last night but got attacked by the guards and had to bail.”

  “Scott got Tasered,” Riley announced with more glee than the statement warranted. That earned her a dirty look from Scott.

  “Anyway,” Scott said with unnecessary emphasis, “we brought the file here, but we haven’t had the chance to look through it yet.”

  “Well, I suggest you get on with examining the file and that you do it very soon,” Zachariah said, starting to untie his boots. “I’m about to get some sleep, and when I wake up tonight, I want to know that you’ve made progress on this. Don’t make me regret requesting for you to be transferred to The Unnaturals division. Believe me, I do not handle regret very well.”

  ~*~

  An ugly scowl appeared on Riley’s face as the bathroom door swung closed behind her. The woman didn’t speak, though; she strode across the hotel room and began pulling a change of clothes free from the suitcase. Scott waited until he heard Zachariah fasten the bathroom door’s lock and jerk the shower curtain closed before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  “We really messed this one up, didn’t we?” he commented. He picked Riley’s backpack—Linus, he reminded himself—up from the floor and set it on the desk. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to go through it to find the folder, though; he’d learned the dangers of going into a woman’s bag soon after he’d married Amy. Going into an Agency operative’s bag spelled trouble from all angles.

  “I didn’t screw up,” Riley snapped. “I don’t screw shit up. A good agent does precisely what she needs to do when she needs to do it, and not a moment sooner. Last night wasn’t the time to be digging through a bunch of paperwork when you were injured.”

  “I wasn’t bleeding to death,” Scott said. “Sure, I was sore and had two little cuts on my back, but that’s bound to happen when you get Tasered. It could have waited. I’m an agent the same as you. We’ve been through the same training program, and I can take at least as much pain a
s you can.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want us to dig into it right then,” Riley said. She sat on the edge of the bed and began pulling her shoes on, lacing them and avoiding his gaze.

  “Then what did you want us doing?”

  “Precisely what we did and what we almost did,” she said. She stood and smoothed her clothes out, then picked up the shirt he’d left on the bed and threw it at him. “Give me my bag.”

  Tension seemed to crackle in the air, and Scott blew out a breath, not daring to argue. Riley was putting off vibes that suggested that if he even tried to start a discussion with her about the night before, she’d probably bite his head off, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. He merely caught the shirt and passed the bag to her wordlessly. He finished dressing as she dislodged the museum’s file folder from whatever other crap she had in the bag. It was bent and wrinkled—thanks to her using the bag itself as a weapon in their scuffle with the security guards—and she opened it and smoothed it out as she flopped down onto the edge of the bed. She pulled a battered sandwich from her bag and started to eat it as she began to thumb through the folder’s contents. Scott joined her.

  “There’s a lot of irrelevant shit in here,” Riley said around a mouthful of sandwich, pulling papers out and setting them aside. Scott picked up a few and looked them over. They were forms for some type of artifact loan program, dated and signed by the museum’s curator and by the receiving party, the actual filed request stapled to each of them. He wondered how many there were and started counting as Riley set the older ones aside. There were an unusually large number of them—though Scott would be the first to admit he didn’t know the first thing about museums and the ways they normally operated. He reached thirty-two before backtracking and studying the forms themselves, flipping pages and frowning.

  “There are an awful lot of these logged as loans to the same person,” he observed as he checked another form. “A Jacob Lawson.”

  Riley stiffened and dropped the folder as she grabbed the papers in Scott’s hands. “Jacob Lawson?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. She squinted at the signature on the bottom of the paper before tossing it aside and grabbing for another.

  “Do you know someone named Jacob Lawson?” Scott asked.

  “Do I?” Riley repeated. “He’s my fucking handler.”

  “Zachariah?”

  “No, Brandon Hall,” she said, waving the paper at him. “That’s his cover name for when he’s on assignments. He never uses his real name anywhere outside of the Agency. And this?” She jabbed a finger against the page in her hand. “This is his handwriting. I’m one hundred percent sure of it.”

  “Where are the most recent forms?” Scott asked. He snagged the folder and flipped to the back, finding the most recently dated form and looking it over. His shoulders slumped as he held it up for her to see. “Jacob Lawson,” he confirmed. “He returned the loaned item the day before we were assigned to The Unnaturals. Maybe he gave them a fake and they didn’t realize it.”

  “But why would he do that?” Riley asked. “What does he stand to gain from it? Why does Brandon even need it?”

  Scott frowned as he thought over the possibilities, trying to put the assorted puzzle pieces together. It was impossible; they were missing key pieces. Their transfer to The Unnaturals was certainly one of them, along with the investigation into Riley. Maybe even Riley’s past assignment with the departed Kevin Anderson. Perhaps even the murders of twenty-seven agents. Zachariah being turned into a vampire. And now this: Brandon Hall’s approved loan request for the very artifact he and Riley had been tasked with retrieving. Something was going on.

  And it all pointed to a good possibility that Brandon Hall was working against them.

  “Son of a bitch,” Scott breathed, shaking his head as he stared at the paper. Jacob Lawson’s signature stared back at him, as if it were mocking him. “Brandon never wanted us to investigate who was involved in the murders of twenty-seven agents. Brandon knew exactly who was involved. And I’d put my money on it that it was him.”

  “So what do we do?” Riley asked. Her voice trembled, and Scott looked at her in concern. She was shaking slightly, her hands curled into fists, a sickening mixture of horror and confusion written across her face. He fought the compulsion to reach out and take her hand and comfort her. They were past that point. It was time to get serious.

  “We’re going to track down the son of a bitch and find out what the hell is going on around here.”

  ~*~

  Ashton hadn’t slept the night before, and he was feeling it. His head ached, and his eye was tired and bloodshot. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but he knew that sleep wouldn’t come. His brain was too busy to allow for rest. Especially after seeing Zachariah in the condition he was in.

  So instead of trying, Ashton did what he usually did when he couldn’t sleep: he researched. Clicking to the database of books and journal articles and files The Unnaturals had at its disposal, he dug in until he found twelve books that related to vampire folklore; then he copied the titles and authors onto a piece of paper, intending to go to the library on the other side of the workstations and retrieve the books so he could get started.

  Something slammed against the outside of his office door. He startled, and his pen skittered across the page, leaving a black line across one of the titles. He grimaced and looked up as someone began to pound on the door.

  “What the hell?” Ashton muttered. He dropped his pen and got to his feet, limping to the door, unlocking it and wrenching it open. “What?” he snarled before his eye registered that he was looking at Angelique.

  The woman looked exhausted to the point of breaking. Her brown eyes were heavy with the need for sleep, and her dark skin glistened with sweat. Her breath stuttered in her chest, and her hand clutched a machete. Ashton looked at it and realized it was Zachariah’s. He’d have known that silver-edged weapon anywhere.

  “What happened?” he demanded, ushering the woman inside and shutting the door. He bolted it once more and turned to face her. She’d moved to Zachariah’s desk as he locked the door, and she stood in front of it, a hand pressed to her chest as she tried to breathe properly.

  “I found the coven,” Angelique said.

  That was all it took to bring Ashton’s full attention to her. “Where?”

  “Two blocks nearly due east of the Smithsonian’s main offices,” Angelique answered. She cleared her throat and slouched against the desk, closing her eyes and gathering her thought. “It’s…substantial.”

  “How many?” Ashton demanded. “I need details.”

  Angelique huffed out a breath and circled the cherry wood desk, slouching into the chair. In any other circumstances, Ashton might have pitched a fit and told her to get out of Zachariah’s chair. But not this time. “Give me a moment, okay? Let me get my head on straight and I’ll tell it from the beginning.”

  Ashton leaned against his own desk and crossed his arms, watching the woman as he counted to sixty in his head. When he reached the number, he let out a sigh. “Well?”

  Angelique rolled her eyes and began her report. “I hightailed it out of here, loaded up, and was on the hunt within twenty minutes of you giving me the assignment,” she said. “I started at the Smithsonian’s main offices, since that was the only lead we had, and worked my way out from there. It was late yesterday evening when I found a likely candidate. It was a five-story brick apartment building that appeared abandoned, and the windows were painted over black from the inside.” Angelique rubbed both hands over her face and slicked her black hair back, smoothing her palms along the sides of her head to push away the hair that had fallen loose from the ponytail she’d put into her hair. “Once I found it, I managed to get across to the rooftop of the building across the street, and I watched the apartments to learn what I could.”

  “And what did you find?” Ashton asked when she’d fallen silent and stared into space for far too long.

  Angelique shifted in
her chair and pulled a notepad from her back pocket, tossing it to him. He flipped the cover open as she replied. “Evidence of an extensive coven housed in the building,” she said. “Quite a few familiars, too. I actually lost count of those.”

  “Poor bastards,” Ashton muttered as he scanned Angelique’s notes. “They’re so fucking deluded.”

  “Can’t change human nature, Ash,” Angelique said. Ashton scowled at the nickname.

  “Don’t call me that,” he muttered. He flipped a page over and redirected the conversation back to where it needed to be. “How many vampires did you see?”

  “Too many,” Angelique answered. “They all came swarming out as soon as the sun set, and I couldn’t count fast enough to account for an exact number without being seen. No more than one-fifty, though.”

  “Elders?”

  “Just one,” Angelique said. She paused, looking uncomfortable, and shifted her gaze away from Ashton. He could guess what was coming next. “And…Zachariah.”

  “How did he look? Was he okay?”

  “He was alive, if that’s what you mean,” Angelique said. “Whether he was okay or not…” She trailed off and sat forward in her chair, dropping the foot she’d draped over the arm of the chair onto the carpet with a thump. Ashton felt her studying him from across the room, and he gritted his teeth. “But something tells me you already know what I’m about to tell you. You’ve seen him already, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Angelique snorted. “For a spy, you sure are terrible at lying.”

  Ashton rolled his eye. “‘Out of practice’ is more like it. What did you see?”