Blood Bond

by Heather Hildenbrand

  George laughed. “It’s fine. I haven’t seen a single cop. I can see a lot farther than I could yesterday, especially since everything’s so flat here.”

  He was right, at least about the landscape. In the distance, the purple haze of mountains rose against the horizon, but here, and for miles ahead, the highway stretched flat and infinite. Ours was the only vehicle in sight. I tried not to think about the other reason his vision had sharpened.

  A sign up ahead advertised a junction for routes 93, 50, and 6. I scanned the map I’d used to mark our route. “You want Route 93,” I told him.

  He veered left and took the exit for the new highway.

  “Your mom called while you were sleeping,” he said.

  Something about his expression made me pause. “Did you answer it?”

  “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

  “George! She’s not supposed to know you’re with me.”

  “I pretended to be Alex,” he said, “but she knew it was me. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her anything about where we were.”

  I glared at him. “What did she say?”

  “She knows you’re not with Alex. They all do.”

  I bit my lip. I’d known they’d figure it out sooner or later. I’d just hoped it was later. As in, we’d be there already. I checked the map, calculating. “We should be there in a couple of hours,” I said. “Did she say anything else?”

  “She sounded pretty pissed off. And worried. She asked how I was feeling. I told her I feel great, because I do. For some reason, that made it worse.”

  “Of course it did. It means you’re going to change soon and that she knows all about it. I can’t believe you answered. We agreed two days ago that we wouldn’t answer, remember? What if she has some way to triangulate the call or something?”

  He chuckled. “You watch way too many movies.”

  “You don’t know my grandma. What else did she say?”

  “That she’s worried. Your mom called Alex to check on you and he spilled the beans. I guess she basically threatened to kill Cambria if she didn’t tell them where you were.”

  “And did she? Tell them, I mean?”

  George glanced at me. “What would you do?”

  I sat back. “They know.”

  “You think?” His tone was sarcastic.

  “Has Wes called?”

  “No.”

  That worried me. I’d been expecting a call hours ago. I was too afraid to call him, scared I’d interrupt a secret meeting or ruin his cover. Something in the road caught my attention and I bolted upright in my seat. George was fumbling with the iPod again. It took me a moment to find my voice.

  “George, look out!”

  He whipped his head around and slammed on the brake.

  Up ahead, straddling the yellow lines marking the center of the road stood a man and a woman.

  “What the hell? Move!” George eased up on the brake to keep the car from fishtailing. The man and woman didn’t move as we careened closer. They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring straight at us, no expression on their faces. I squeezed my eyes shut as I braced myself for impact.

  None came.

  A moment later the car skidded smoothly to a stop. I opened my eyes. The road in front of us was empty. I whirled and stared out the back windshield. I could see the skid marks left by the tires, but no man, no woman.

  I looked back at George. He was watching me with an odd expression.

  I glanced down at myself, trying to figure out what he was looking at, and caught sight of my hands. Fur, soft and thin, like down on a puppy, covered the back of arms and trailed down my fingers. My nails, which had been rounded and clear, were sharpened to points. I screamed, shoved open my door, and ran.

  George was on me in three seconds.

  We went down in a tangle of limbs. My claws scratched at George’s bare arms as he wrestled me still. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated against my ear. He folded himself around me, his hands gripping my wrists hard enough to cut off blood flow. I forced myself to stop struggling against him.

  “This isn’t happening,” I said, only now realizing I was sobbing.

  George held me without a word. By the time I quieted, his shirt was streaked with tears and I was out of breath. I pulled back and stole a glance at my hands. The soft fur had disappeared; in its place was smooth skin, rounded nails.

  “You want to tell me what just happened?” George asked when I’d managed to sit up.

  I pulled my knees into my chest, blinking back the last of the tears, and looked around.

  “They’re gone,” he said, answering the question before I could ask. “Now tell me what the hell just happened to you.”

  “I told you before, I’m turning.”

  “I know what you said, but seeing it … So, you can be either one?”

  “It’s slightly more complicated than that.” I gave him the quick version about how my inner wolf had only recently decided to emerge, with no real way to control or contain it. “I think Jack or Wes said something once about having both inside me, but that my Hunter side was more dominant than the wolf. I guess that’s not the case anymore.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  “It’s not like there’s a whole lot of precedent for this sort of thing.”

  “What about Wes? Isn’t he both?”

  “Yes, but his wolf side was already dominant, and as for a Hunter,” I shrugged, “how would he tell if that side was taking over, except that he felt strong and fast in a fight, or extra-sensitive to a nearby Werewolf? He already feels all of those things simply from being a Werewolf.”

  “I don’t understand, though. Why is it so bad if you shift? Wes is a wolf. A lot of your friends are. I will be. Is the idea so revolting?”

  “It’s not that. If I’d been born with the ability, I’d be fine with it. It’s the fact that it’s happening now. I shouldn’t be able to shift like this and if I can—” I stopped, drew a breath. “If I can, it means all of those things Vera thinks about me are true. I’m different, special. And I have no idea what to do with that. I just wish I knew how to control it.”

  “That couple in the road, the ones from your school, I think they triggered it somehow.”

  “You recognized them?”

  “I saw them in the clinic at Wood Point. They were unconscious. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with them. What do you think they wanted?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you know them?” he asked.

  I nodded, suddenly exhausted. “Their names are Douglas and Sandra Lexington. They’re hybrids.”

  “How did they get out here? I thought they were at Wood Point, or with your people or whatever.”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense, but I know it was them. They’ve been reported missing for a few weeks, but CHAS had to know Kane had them in the infirmary that night.”

  “Do you think they escaped?”

  “Maybe.” I shivered. It was cooling down with the coming evening.

  “We should get going,” George said, pulling me to my feet.

  “George, before we go, and no matter what happens when we get there, I want to say thanks.”

  “Thanks for what?”

  “For listening and—”

  He held up a hand. “Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  He shushed me and scanned the darkening desert. A few yards away sat the car, still parked on the shoulder, the passenger door hanging open the way I’d left it. No other cars had passed by since we’d been here. George was silent a minute longer, slowly turning side to side to take in our surroundings. I did the same, but there wasn’t much to see. A few patches of sagebrush cropped up here and there where the dirt became heavier than the grainy sand. There was no sign of water, greenery, or more importantly, cover for an enemy.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “What?” I strained to pick up something, anything, but there was onl
y wind.

  “I don’t know. It was more a feeling than a sound, but I swear it was—there,” he hissed, jerking around to face the desert stretching out before us. He squinted into the grayness. “Something’s out there.”

  “I don’t feel anything.” As soon as I said it, faint goosebumps washed over me. “I take that back. Werewolf, let’s go.” I grabbed George’s wrist and marched toward the car.

  “Where is it?” he asked, craning his neck to see behind us.

  “Somewhere,” I said, waving an arm, “back there, I think. We’re not waiting around to find out.”

  “But it might be the Lexingtons again.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing.” He didn’t answer. “George, they stood in the middle of the road like they had a death wish, either for themselves or for us, and then disappeared into thin air. I never even felt them nearby. Does that sound like they want to be friends?”

  “Good point.” We reached the car. He held out the keys partway and hesitated. “But we could check it out at least. I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”

  I softened. “When you turn, there’s no guarantee you’ll be on my side.” I said it gently but I could tell the words had an effect. He nodded and handed me the keys.

  *

  Wes called an hour later. I released the death grip on the steering wheel and grabbed for the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.” He said the words between heavy breaths and my heart rate accelerated.

  “What happened? Did you get the drive?”

  “No, something … came up.”

  Anxiety curled in my gut. “What exactly came up?”

  “The girl, the one I supposed to meet, she wasn’t there.”

  “What do you mean? Like, had the day off?”

  “No, I checked into it. She was fired the day before I arrived.”

  “For what?”

  A car door slammed in the background followed by the sounds of an engine turning over and revving. “No one knows. I found an address. All of her stuff is there, but no one’s home. No one’s been home for a while according to the neighbors.”

  The anxiety twisted into fear. This wasn’t good. “Could it be a coincidence? Maybe she went on a spontaneous vacation? Or went to stay with her mom. If I got fired, I’d be upset and maybe—”

  “I don’t think so, Tara. Her toothbrush, her car keys, everything is there.”

  “Someone knew you were coming,” I said. “They knew what she was going to give you.” It wasn’t a question.

  He didn’t answer me directly, which told me he suspected the worst. “Are you guys there yet?”

  “Not yet. We’re close. There was a delay.”

  “What happened?” The worry in his voice made him snap the words out.

  I told him about seeing the Lexingtons and my near-shift. “You need to get to Astor’s as fast as you can,” he said. “No more stops, do you hear me? No matter what.”

  “All right.”

  “And remember what I said about the threat being the trigger. Keep your cool.”

  “Okay.”

  “But not if you’re attacked. If that happens, listen to me very carefully: let it loose. The wolf, whatever’s inside you struggling to get out, let it. But only if you’re attacked, all right?”

  I nodded until I remembered he couldn’t see me. “Got it,” I said.

  “Good. I’m doubling back. I’ll be there in a day.”

  “Wes, it’s way too far to be there—”

  “A day. Call me when you get there.”

  I promised him I would and we hung up.

  “It’s going to be all right,” George said quietly.

  I shot him a look, knowing my expression reflected my panic. “You know, the more people say that to me, the more I realize how wrong it sounds.”

  He didn’t say anything else.

  Chapter Eleven

  George’s fingers tapped against his knee to the beat of Linkin Park. “…’cause beyond every bend is a long, blinding end. It’s the worst kind of pain I know,” he sang, his head bobbing up and down. “Weep not for roads untraveled. Weep not for sights unseen. May your love never end, and if you need a friend, there’s a seat here alongside me.” His foot tapped out the beat against the floorboard, manic energy radiating from him, his muscles bunched and flexed with the movement.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Huh?” He looked over at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “I’m good.” He went back to tapping.

  I frowned. He’d been antsy the past few miles, like he’d downed a case of Monster. I wasn’t sure what had triggered it, maybe nothing, but it couldn’t be good. I pressed my foot harder against the gas pedal and watched the speedometer inch upward.

  The song ended but the tapping continued in the silence. The sound of Bon Jovi’s “Always” filled the speakers.

  “Hey, our song,” I said, my tone falsely cheerful. Maybe I could distract him. “Remember that letter you wrote me before I left for Wood Point?”

  “Uh-huh.” He kept singing and tapping.

  “That was really sweet.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “George, are you listening to me?” I reached over and touched his arm. He flinched so suddenly, I swerved.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” His eyes blazed with barely controlled fury. I sucked in a breath. His eyes were brighter than normal, somewhere between a very human white and a distinctly hybrid yellow.

  “George—”

  “Let me out. I need to get out. I want out!” He clawed at the door handle as if he couldn’t remember how it worked. When it didn’t open, he twisted toward me, his back pressed against the window. “Let me out,” he whispered.

  I slowed and veered onto the shoulder. By then, he’d gone back to fumbling with the door handle and locks. He managed to roll the window down in short, awkward bursts. I watched as he wiggled out of the opening and fell, face first, onto the ground.

  “George!” I got out and ran around the car.

  He pushed to his feet and straightened in front of me, his hands fisted at his sides. “Get away from me,” he growled. His eyes were wild and glowing. Thick hair sprang up on his arms and legs. It poked through the back of his shirt as he turned and bolted into the desert.

  I hesitated for only a second before following. This was George. And I’d made a promise.

  Darkness hung like a heavy coat over my face. I couldn’t see my hands in front of me, much less George. I followed the sounds of his labored breathing and his footsteps as they pounded against the sandy terrain.

  Slowly, the ground underneath my feet changed. It became harder, packed dirt instead of loose sand. I stumbled as my feet caught on low-growing plants. I brushed up against something hard as I raced by. A fallen tree. The bark left a scrape on my shin.

  Shadowy shapes sprang up in front of me—narrow trunks and leafy branches. The scent of lilac and nectar filled my nose. George’s footsteps became louder as he crashed through brush and branches. Where had all of the trees come from? Everything we’d seen up until this point had been nothing but open desert with the mountains forever framed in the distance, never getting any closer, never fading out of sight.

  Up ahead, yellow floodlights glowed, throwing everything into an eerie pool of light. Leafy branches and exotic greenery spanned every direction. My foot landed on something hard and I glanced down. A stepping stone. And then another. A path?

  Just ahead, George let out a grunt. It sounded heavy, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, and was followed by the crash of branches. The gray outline of his body slunk to the ground. I raced forward.

  “George,” I called. I pulled up short at the sight of him, groaning and rolling side to side on black asphalt. A thick hedge bordered by granite stone separated the exotic forest behind us from the hard surface stretching in front. I followed it to its end, several yards away.

  A house, enormous and sleek, loome
d up out of the darkness. Soft yellow spotlights aimed strategically against the stone lit the structure. I stood on what must’ve been the driveway, a circular path with a fountain in the middle that trickled a steady stream of water from its spout. A sidewalk leading up to the massive double front door was lit in white pathway lights. The numbers mounted above the door read 1183.

  We were here.

  I knelt in front of George. He was holding his knee, still rolling side to side. The groaning had stopped but he looked pained.

  “George?” I said softly. “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t answer, just continued rolling and writhing, seemingly lost in his own world. His lips moved in silent mutterings, and his eyes were closed. It scared me to imagine what color they’d be once he opened them.

  “George, we’re here,” I said softly. I touched my hand to his shoulder and he reacted. In a lightning move, he rolled away onto all fours and growled at me. His eyes blazed bright yellow.

  “Back off.” A snarl rose from deep in his throat, twisting his features.

  I resisted the urge to retreat. Instead, I straightened, adjusting my stance to be ready if he attacked.

  “Stand up,” I said.

  He snarled again, but he stood. As soon as he was on his feet, I swung. I put everything I had, all of my weight and training, behind the punch. My fist connected. George staggered sideways. I braced myself, ready to hit him again if necessary, but his eyelids drooped and closed, and he crumpled. I bit my lip against the agony of my throbbing knuckles and walked in circles. After a moment, the pain dulled to nearly bearable.

  I eyed the massive double front door of the mansion across the way. Butterflies danced in my gut at the thought of ringing the bell. I glanced down at an unconscious George. I didn’t have a choice.

  It took me several minutes to drag George close enough to ring the bell. I couldn’t leave him in case he woke disoriented and ran off, and I couldn’t carry him. Being an all-star athlete and a Werewolf hybrid definitely made a person solid. I ended up dragging him by his shoulders and the scruff of his shirt. I propped him against the house and then pressed the doorbell before I could change my mind.