So, she was going back and that was that.
Alana turned to see Miguel finally exiting the front door. A black duffel bag was thrown over his shoulder. He looked good, dressed in black with his dark hair tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her. He smelled of cologne and aftershave.
He stopped beside her and she smirked at him. “Are we ready to go?"
"More or less,” Miguel said in his thick accent. “Get your stuff."
Straight to the point. Alana had to admire that. She hefted up her own luggage and followed Miguel to his black SUV. The hulking vehicle seemed to take up almost two spaces. It was the perfect sort of ride for an intimidating hit-man kinda guy like Miguel. She could see him kicking ass in it.
Miguel unlocked the SUV with a press of a button. He pulled open the back door and threw his duffel bag into it. Alana tossed the rest of the luggage into the back.
She climbed into the passenger seat and adjusted it so she could lean back with her legs crossed and propped up on the dashboard. Miguel's gaze traveled over her long legs. She wore tight blue jeans with a light blue tank top that cut low over her breasts. She knew she looked good and liked it when it was appreciated.
She smirked at Miguel, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he turned to the steering wheel and put the key in the ignition. He started it up and pulled it into reverse. He said nothing as they left the parking lot and turned onto the main street.
He still hadn't said a word when they reached the Interstate. Alana sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked out, watching the cars as they drove by. It wasn't until he made their first turn off that he spoke.
"When we get there, we have to act fast. You think you can do it?"
"I can do it,” Alana said, turning her attention to him. She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It doesn't take that long for men to fall all over me."
Miguel chuckled and shook his head. “I'm not talking about that. I don't doubt your wily abilities for a second. No, I want you to find out where this Jason guy is. His address must be there."
"I don't know. They all act as if he's dropped off the face of the earth."
"And if he has,” Miguel continued, “there would be something pointing in the direction he had gone. What do you know about him?"
"I know he killed Simon."
Miguel turned to her and she knew he shot her a look behind his dark shades. “That's not much to go on."
"Well, it's pretty much all I fucking have.” Alana sighed. “All right, I know he's married to Rose and before that, he was a loner. Did things alone. He has no family that is known of and no associations to the PRDI prior to meeting Rose.” She stopped there, leaving out the part about how he was alpha male. Miguel knew only so much about what she was. She wasn't about to tell him about werewolves and the other assorted creatures that resided within the walls of the PRDI.
For all Miguel knew, it was just an association meant to research the unusual, but as to how unusual was left unsaid.
"It's not much to go on,” Miguel said again. He fell silent, concentrating on his driving. Alana sighed again and looked outside the window. The sun was rising over the trees in the distance. Morning was here. A new day beginning.
"It's not much, I know,” she said, “but it will be enough. I'll find out where he is, and if not, I'll kill Rose and he'll come running back."
"Dios mio. That plan failed you twice before. What makes you think it will work this time?"
Alana chuckled. She leaned forward, pulling up the leg of her jeans. Around her ankle was a holster, and in that a small handgun. It wasn't the caliber she preferred, but it was perfect for what she needed.
She took it out and held it, admiring the way the rising sun glinted off the metal. “Oh, I think this will get the job done."
"So, subtlety is out I take it?"
"Fuck subtlety,” Alana laughed. “I'm going in, getting what I can on Jason. And if I have to, I'm using this little baby to blow a hole in that fat cow's head.” She patted the gun.
Miguel shook his head. “That'll pose some problems."
"Yeah, so? I'm tired of fucking around and trying to do all this secretive shit. I'm not used to that."
Miguel made a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a cough. “You are one crazy bitch."
"More than you'll ever know,” she said, replacing the gun in its holster and pulled the cuff of her jeans back down.
"You're going to be the death of me, chica, I swear it."
"Oh shut up and drive. You're getting paid aren't you?"
"Not enough,” he muttered, but she caught it.
"I'll pay you double.” She looked away from him and toward the window. “I have to do this, Miguel, and I need your help. Just shut up and drive."
He did. He didn't say another word as he drove toward the PRDI. The rising sun made the sky pink and red and they drove straight into it, heading into a new day.
And this day would see the end of Jason and Rose, Alana knew it. She smirked to herself. This was indeed going to be a new day.
* * * *
* * * *
Amelia Barnett awoke with a jerk, startled out of her coma like state. The last thing she could clearly remember was being summoned in her astral form to the girl who called herself Aurora. She remembered the conversation and the revelation that her younger sister, product of a union with her mother and a full-blood werewolf stepfather, had a daughter. That daughter was the one she had gone to before, thinking it was her sister. It made sense now. The girl looked just like her and had the same essence of power her sister once possessed.
But with this revelation came a whole new set of problems, none of which she could concentrate on now. There were other things she needed to figure out.
Like just what had happened and where she was now.
She didn't remember falling asleep and becoming so vulnerable, but she remembered the prick of the needle and the stunned look on Jason's face. Suddenly, she understood. She had been tranquilized.
How long she had been out of it, she wasn't sure, but it had to be a while. Her intuition told her it was day, sometime in the early morning. A few hours had to have gone by.
When she opened her eyes and was immediately greeted by a blinding ray of light, she knew it was definitely morning. She groaned and threw an arm over her head. Her limbs felt heavy. She knew it was an effect of whatever drug they had injected her with. Experience told her it would wear off in a short time. She just hoped it was short enough.
She opened her eyes again and lowered her arm, this time avoiding glancing toward the sunlight that came in from her left. Colorful spots danced before her eyes, and it took a moment before she was able to clearly see where she was and what was going on.
They were in the back of something that looked like a van—or more appropriately—an ambulance. It was crowded with people and what appeared to be medical devices. Glass rattled in a cabinet against the wall. She didn't want to know what was in it.
She was sitting in an awkward position on a bench-like chair, with Jason unconscious beside her. His head slumped forward and his mouth was slightly slack. She knew in a moment the drug would wear off on him too and he would be awake.
And when that happened, the aftermath wouldn't be pretty.
Her head throbbed suddenly and Amelia groaned, lifting her hands to the side of her head. She knew this pain. It was Samuel Quenten.
Through the intense headache, she heard his laughter surround her. He was inside her head.
Amelia, you know I don't like it when you run. It upsets me and makes my work so much more difficult.
"Damn you, Quenten,” she said aloud. The pain inside her head increased and she cried out, doubling over in her seat. Quenten's laughter became louder.
"Get out of my head."
The pain was gone a sudden moment later. She gasped, glaring in Quenten's direction. He sat near the f
ront of the vehicle, on another bench-like seat. Beside him, one of his armed goons crossed his beefy arms over his chest. The man's face was hidden in a bush of curling facial hair, almost far too much for a normal person. Two more nearly identical goons sat in the front, their hulking muscles pulling their tight t-shirts even tighter over their arms.
Quenten looked less than presentable. His normally slicked back hair was unkempt and his eyes were blood-shot, but his grin was the same, just as evil and unforgiving.
Amelia shuddered just to look at it.
"You won't get away with this,” she said, knowing the threat would sound empty. She had to say something to keep from trembling uncontrollably. Sounding brave had to account for something. Maybe Quenten would believe it.
Or maybe not. He started to laugh again.
"Amelia,” he said, his voice booming in such a small, confined space. The vehicle lurched as the driver took a turn and Amelia braced herself, not letting her gaze waver from Quenten. He tapped the side of his temple with two fingers.
"Amelia, you're lying. You know I can read every little bit of what you're thinking. I've already gotten away with it."
She swallowed hard and broke the stare. She looked to Jason, who was still out of it. She hoped he would wake up soon.
Quenten followed her gaze and scoffed. “You think he'll be able to help you? I doubt it. I tested his blood. He's strong, but he lacks any control over his abilities. He is, however, the specimen I've been looking for. I suppose I have you to thank for bringing him here."
"Damn you.” Her voice trembled, all bravery gone. Quenten chuckled.
"You did bring him here. You see, I know a lot more than you think I do. I know who he is."
Amelia blinked in confusion. The van lurched again and she grabbed hold of her seat. Jason slumped forward, falling out of his seat and onto the floor. He lay face down and didn't budge. Amelia looked up at Quenten and his victorious grin once more.
"Oh yes, I know he's your son. I didn't know this at first, but I had some time to look at the blood sample I retrieved earlier. I found that his DNA matched yours. There was a common link there, in the witch gene.
"And the werewolf gene—I found that to be most interesting. How flawlessly it combined with the witch gene, forming a new breed—"
"It's nothing new,” Amelia spat, narrowing her eyes at him. “There have been others, others born."
"Yes, but genetically engineered to be the perfect specimen? I don't think so. You see, Amelia, that's what I've been trying to do. I've been trying to combine the blood of vampire, of werewolf, of witch, trying to find the perfect combination."
Amelia couldn't say anything. Quenten took this opportunity to continue.
"I've studied this for years, working and tinkering and finally, finally succeeding.” His victorious smile faded to a sneer. “Or so I thought. My earlier attempts failed. I used a combination of werewolf blood and vampire blood, but they didn't take.” He glanced to the stoic goon at his side.
Suddenly, the goons’ hairy face and their super strength and speed were explained and Amelia knew.
"You ... used these men for your experiments?"
"Yes, but as I said, it failed. They retained some ... qualities, but it was an overall disappointment. Not my best work."
"And then you did them on yourself?” Amelia ventured, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer or not. She tried not to think of all the experiments done on her. She gulped.
Quenten's grin spread over his face again and he nodded. “In a sense, yes. It's easier to combine witch blood with a human's. It blends well. Adding the others is tricky.” He gestured to the unconscious Jason. “His blood, I know, will work wonders. It is already blended. According to my research, there will be very few complications."
"Why are you doing this?” she asked. Tears had risen to her eyes. In her attempt to save herself and others, she had doomed her son. She couldn't help but feel pity for herself, but she forced it away. Feeling pity for herself, or for anyone else, would not get them out of this situation.
She fought back the urge to cry and forced herself to look directly into Quenten's bloodshot eyes. There was malice there, for sure, and a shiver went down her spine. She wanted to avert her gaze, but found she couldn't. She didn't want to leave herself open to his psychic attack, but it was impossible.
He had her ensnared, already and she couldn't fight it.
"Do you really want to know why, Amelia? It's simple. Power. That's all.” He looked toward the goon at his side and shook his head. “It's what all men want, for as far back as history goes. Kings and warriors. They wanted power, over their fellow man. And I want nothing less."
A familiar buzzing began in her ears and a dull pain started to throb. He was scanning her mind.
"Stop it,” she demanded. Quenten didn't, and that didn't surprise her. The pain increased and she tried not to wince. He smiled at her displeasure.
As he continued to leer at her and continued to scan her mind. She couldn't even use her abilities to fight him. She was still too weak from the tranquilizer.
A sudden jolt of pain ripped through her head and she couldn't help but scream out loud. She let go of the bench to grip her forehead. She winced, grinding her teeth to bear it.
Quenten's laughter rang out. Amelia tried to open her eyes to look at him, but she saw nothing but red from the pain.
An instant later, the pain was gone. Amelia panted and gasped. When she looked up at him, Quenten was no longer in his corner. He had stood up, rather shakily in the jostling vehicle. He opened the cabinet and removed a tray.
Amelia had a hard time focusing, but once she could, she was horrified to find that the tray was filled with vials. Empty ones rolled around, clanking against the ones that were filled with dark blood. A few empty syringes and other medical paraphernalia lay on the tray with them. Amelia gulped. He didn't have to guess what they were for.
"Keep it steady,” Quenten shouted to the driver of the vehicle. It was a ridiculous request, but Amelia saw the driver nod in compliance. If the van stopped jostling, Amelia didn't notice. She braced herself on the seat and stared in horror as Quenten grabbed the syringe.
Amelia knew her only escape would be to jump from the moving vehicle. As her eyes turned to her right, she saw the back door. Maybe she could grab Jason, pull him with her...
"Don't even think of it,” Quenten warned. Amelia looked back to see him gesture to his goon. The hefty man stood, hunched over as he stepped his way over Jason, toward her. The van rocked and Amelia knew she only had once chance and it was now.
Before the goon reached her, she lunged forward and grabbed hold of the handle. She pulled it down, but it didn't budge. She had only a moment to wiggle and jerk it, before the goon grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.
Now, she fought. She tried to kick and hit at him, but for all her efforts he didn't flinch. He threw her back down onto her bench unceremoniously, where her shin hit the seat and started to throb.
The goon planted himself next to her and she glared at him, then at Quenten. He had already uncapped the syringe and gestured to his goon. The hairy, burly man looked to Amelia once with warning in his beady eyes. She was about to move, but then she found she couldn't.
Only her eyes could move and they turned to Quenten. The grin on his face said it all. He was holding her there against her will, using the ill-gotten powers now in his blood. And with some of the drug still in her system, she wasn't sure if she could fight it.
But she had to try.
Closing her eyes, she felt her own power surging through her blood. She exhaled through her nose then began to focus all her thought and energy on blocking Quenten's persuasion.
She felt a push from her mind as she forced her energies outward. Quenten faltered. Though his power was great, he was still inexperienced when it came to using it. She pushed again and broke Quenten's invisible, psychic hold on her.
She went into action
immediately. She lunged for the door again, this time using a psychic push to unlock the door. She didn't have time to grab Jason. She acted on instinct.
"Hey,” the goon shouted gruffly and charged after her. His body crashed into hers, just as the door loosened. It flew open and harsh daylight streamed in. Amelia shrieked, grabbing hold of the handle with both hands to keep from falling out.
The goon fumbled forward, tripping over Amelia's prone body as she lay half in, half out of the van. He hit the pavement and rolled. Amelia didn't see much else. She was trying hard to keep herself from meeting the same fate.
The van swerved as Quenten shouted. Amelia looked over her shoulder just in time to see Quenten huddled back in his seat. The goon from the passenger seat was making his way back, trying to step over Jason as he made his way to her.
Amelia turned back toward the road. It was empty, save for the fading speck of the goon lying on the asphalt. She could jump now and roll. It would hurt, but she would be out of the van. Then she could run for it.
But to where? What if the van turned around? She couldn't outrun it. And what about Jason? She was out of ideas.
But she didn't have to worry about what to do next. She turned back to see the second goon heading right for her, but not before Jason's hand shot up and grabbed the man by the ankle. He fell forward, his face smacking on the floor.
"Don't even think about it,” Jason said darkly, his voice barely a growl. Amelia watched as he gathered himself up, untangling himself from the goon's arms and legs.
"Impossible,” Quenten said, stunned. Amelia somehow managed to pull the door shut. The lock snapped shut and she leaned against it. The goon was on his knees just as Jason was on his feet. He stood with his spine curved. He turned toward the goon and Amelia caught the first glimpse of Jason's were abilities. His eyes were golden and feral. She took in a sharp breath.
A low growl issued from his throat as he stared at the goon. The hairy man stared back, his teeth clenched in a yellow grimace. Jason didn't hesitate a moment longer. He lunged at the goon, shoving him back. His strength and speed were amazing.
Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4] Page 23