Another Kind of Dead dc-3

by Kelly Meding

  “He was,” I said. So David had told her the details of our plan. Just great.

  She nodded as though my two words explained everything. “We got the trickster secured in my vehicle. Milo was closing up the cabin. The rest of us were in the yard. The hounds attacked out of nowhere. We didn’t know they were there until one jumped on Felix.” She cast a look over her shoulder, at her wounded Hunter. “Our bullets didn’t affect them much, so we retreated to the cabin. David covered us while Milo and I dragged Felix inside.…”

  Milo took over the story where she fumbled for words, fuming as he relived the incident. “The hounds were going after the cars, so we thought we’d have time. I could hear the trickster screaming in the SUV, but we couldn’t get to him.”

  The trickster was dead, which meant his enisi was no longer a useful hostage.

  “The hounds each took David by a leg. We got half of him inside.” Milo blanched. “He died pretty fast.”

  A thick lump stuck in my throat. “Felix?”

  “He’s hurt bad. They shredded his back all to hell, and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Milo inhaled sharply, his eyes gleaming. “The hounds were breaking the windows and trying the door. The bastards knew what they were doing, too, because we spent all our ammunition missing them. Gina and I barricaded ourselves as best we could.”

  “No cell service,” Kismet said. “The landline is out, too. Every once in a while, they’ll hit a wall to remind us they’re outside.”

  “They destroyed all the cars,” Wyatt said. “They knocked ours into a tree.”

  Milo gave me a pensive look. “Good thing you’ve got your little teleporting trick, huh?”

  I didn’t feel so lucky. Another Hunter was dead—worse still, he’d been my number one suspect. “Kismet, did you report the apprehension of the trickster before the attack?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t test the landline?”

  “No.”

  David had to have used it to call Kismet, so it must have been tampered with afterward. Were the hounds that smart? Or had David really been playing us, setting Kismet’s team up to die, giving Axon to the hounds on a platter? Had the hounds turned on him by accident?

  Was I grasping at fucking straws?

  “So no one else knew you were coming up here?” I asked. “And no one except David knew about the trickster?”

  “Tybalt knew we were coming here, but not about the trickster.”

  Tybalt knew.… Nope. I derailed that line of doubt before it even began. No fucking way. “How long do you think it’ll take him to worry?”

  “Morning, maybe. He’ll probably call in and see if my location is on the books. When it’s not, he might alert someone.”

  “Might.” Less than twelve hours to find Thackery. “I can’t sit here overnight and hope on might.”

  “No shit,” Milo snapped. “Felix needs a hospital, or he’s going to die.”

  Shame silenced me. Two lives hinged on a very small time frame.

  “How are you for weapons?” Wyatt asked.

  My hands flew to my waist. At some point, I’d lost the roofie gun. Perfect.

  “We have three guns but no ammo,” Kismet said. “Two hunting knives of ours, plus a few different knives from the kitchen. I found a shotgun in the closet, no shells. Everything else is in what’s left of the car.” And every Handler’s official vehicle had a hidden cache of weapons. A cache we needed—and soon.

  “Is it just the two hounds?” Wyatt asked.

  “From what we can tell, yes.”

  As if they knew we were discussing them, a heavy body slammed against the front door, shuddering the sofa. Kismet jumped, as on-edge as I’ve ever seen her. A groan rang out over the steady pounding of rain on the roof. Milo bolted to the mattress. He crouched next to his friend and took his hand, speaking too softly to hear. I didn’t envy him the fear and anguish of watching a beloved partner die—emotions with which I was all too familiar.

  “There’s no attic in this place?” I asked. “Nowhere else useful things could be stored?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “It’s an out-of-season hunting cabin that was closed up until fall when we brought you here.”

  I clenched my fists, then winced as the healing bones in my right wrist protested the action with white-hot shrieks. The bandage was soaked, my clothes were soaked, Wyatt was soaked, and we were all royally screwed.

  “What happened to you two?” Kismet asked.

  Wyatt fielded the question, filling her in loudly enough for Milo to hear. I knelt next to him. Felix’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. His lips were pressed so hard they were white. Pain creased his forehead and furrowed his brow, and he squeezed Milo’s hand so tight I expected to hear bones snap. Above the pallor, two roses had sprouted on his cheeks. Sweat beaded on his skin. I gently pressed the back of my left hand to one of those roses of color—hot. Not good.

  “Guess if that was you, you’d be healing by now,” Milo whispered. The words would have stung had there been any ire in his voice, but I heard only sorrow and didn’t reply.

  “Wait a minute,” Kismet said once Wyatt reached the part where we’d fled the city. “You think David Moreau, who found his Handler’s dead body a week ago and who is lying on the floor in pieces right now, set you up?”

  “It’s a theory, Gina,” Wyatt replied. “You said you didn’t find out about our plan until David told you, and you didn’t call anyone to inform them, and I believe you. He’s the only person—”

  “No.” Milo’s bark attracted everyone’s attention. He looked up at Kismet, his face a queer mix of dread and fascination. “David wasn’t the only person who knew about you guys stealing the goblin-hybrid. You’re all missing the obvious.”

  I stared, not following his train of thought at all, and willing him to just say it and end the suspense. It was Wyatt who supplied the answer. “Boot Camp,” he said, gazing down at me. I met his onyx eyes, cowed by the sudden fury I saw in them. “Erickson, or someone at R&D. You said you heard somebody coming right before you teleported out. They knew almost immediately that Token was gone.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said. Putting the pieces together still wasn’t my strongest suit. “And?”

  Kismet made a choking sound, obviously coming to the same conclusion as the men in the room. “You think someone in R&D told Thackery you stole Token, and Thackery guessed at what you wanted him for, don’t you?”

  My insides quivered, and I felt faint. Absolutely impossible. Accepting their theory meant accepting that someone inside Boot Camp was a traitor. Or playing both sides, which amounted to the same damned thing. I couldn’t look away from the blazing fury in Wyatt’s eyes.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s exactly what I think.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, cracked the top off, and gulped down half of it before taking a breath. The cold liquid spilled into my empty, roiling stomach and did little to calm it. But my mouth was soothed, my lips less parched. My brain more able to correctly process thoughts and participate in planning our escape.

  Priority one was killing the hounds and getting the hell out of Dodge. All other discussion of traitors and backstabbing had ceased in favor of pondering that particular problem. The simplest fact remained unchanged, taunting us: all the weapons we needed were outside, at least twenty feet from the cabin, trapped in the twisted remains of Kismet’s SUV. Anyone who tried going outside would be attacked. I’d briefly entertained the notion of teleporting to the car and testing my luck, but I didn’t dare broach the idea. The storm continued raging, screwing with my control, and even if I did manage to materialize in the correct place, I’d have to somehow get to the weapons before the Hounds got me.

  No, no one was going outside.

  A warm hand pushed a lock of damp hair off my shoulder. I offered Wyatt the water. He finished off the bottle and cringed, probably as seasick as me.

  “I wanted to ask,”
he said, keeping his voice low. “When we teleported in, did you feel …? I don’t know, could you tap into …? How did …?” He couldn’t quite figure out the question he wanted to ask.

  “I think we shared our taps,” I said, turning to face him. For the first time, I noticed a darkening bruise on his cheek, probably from the crash into the tree. “When I was struggling to get us into the cabin, I felt your power. It gave me what I needed to get us here.”

  Curiosity changed to wonder. “I didn’t know Gifted could do that.”

  “Maybe no one’s ever tried.”

  “Or tried during a thunderstorm when our energy is amped up.”

  I nodded, then froze as an impossible scenario became suddenly less so.

  Wyatt took a step closer. “Evy, what?”

  “I just had the wildest idea to get the weapons cache in here with us. You can use the power of the storm, have me as a backup battery, and summon it right into the cabin.”

  His eyes unfocused as he considered my suggestion. I could almost see the hamster wheel going. He smiled proudly. “I think that just might work. But it’s risky.”

  “So’s sitting around all night hoping to be rescued.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He spun around. Kismet and Milo were still sitting with Felix, giving us room. She looked up when Wyatt walked toward them. “Which window’s got the best view of your car?”

  Kismet pointed at the refrigerator. “There. Why?”

  “We’ve got an idea, so just bear with us a minute. And you might want to take Felix into the bedroom.”

  She seemed poised to question him. Instead, she stood up, and she and Milo began dragging the bloody mattress and its burden into the other room.

  Wyatt and I pushed the fridge a few inches to the right, just enough to give him a peek outside. Two of the panes were broken, the rest cracked, but the frame was intact. Rain blew inside, peppering his cheek. He peered out, then jumped when something roared. We shoved the fridge back into place.

  “Okay, I can see where it is,” he said, wiping the water from his face. “Are you sure—”

  “Yes, I want to do this.” I squeezed his arm. “Phin and Felix are counting on us.”

  “Guys?” Kismet asked from the bedroom doorway. “What exactly are you up to?”

  “We’re getting those weapons,” Wyatt said. “Close the door.”

  She acquiesced without argument. I shoved the coffee table into the corner, giving us a completely open space. We went to stand by the cold fireplace.

  “I’ll need my hands free,” he said. “Maybe if you’re behind me?”

  I circled to his back and looped my arms beneath his, up and around to clasp his shoulders. My breasts pressed hard into his back, and our heartbeats hammered together, speeding faster with the strength of the storm.

  “Tell me when to tap in,” I said, resting my chin on his shoulder. Power crackled through him, and I felt his tap as keenly as I’d felt it before, energized by the electrical output of the thunderstorm. Wild and unpredictable and laced with the scent of ozone. My nose tingled.

  “Now, Evy.”

  My emotional trigger was easy to find, and the input from the Break surged through me like a lightning strike. The hairs on my arms and neck stood straight. Faint tremors traveled between our bodies, tiny sparks of power being shared through our connection. I pushed that power forward, feeding everything I could into Wyatt’s Gift.

  He made a noise—not quite a groan, but nothing pleasant. I held on, fighting my own Gift’s attempts to break us apart and send us flying elsewhere. I concentrated on the wood floor beneath me, the walls around us, the exact spot on which we stood. We weren’t leaving; we were bringing something to us.

  The air snap-crackled. Thunder broke overhead, and the rumble seemed to last forever. Over and over, growing louder, until it broke again in a deafening clap. I squeezed Wyatt tighter, pressing my face into his shoulder. Just held on as raw power coursed through me and into him. My throat hurt, and I realized too late that I was screaming.

  So was he.

  A sound like a cannon shot rattled the walls, and the pressure in the room changed as air displaced. Wyatt collapsed, and I fell with him, afraid to let go until I was certain it was finished. His tap was gone. I no longer felt power from him. I let my tap go, and the surge of storm energy ceased, leaving me shivering and cold. Drained like a wrung-out sponge.

  I opened my eyes and blinked away the dryness. Stared over Wyatt’s shoulder. The entire rear half of Kismet’s SUV was in the middle of the cabin, dripping with rainwater, a twisted hunk of metal and tires and broken glass. The stink of motor oil joined the already rank smells inside the cabin.

  “Holy fuck,” Kismet said from the bedroom door. “You did it.”

  “We did it,” I said. “Wyatt?”

  Nothing.

  I pulled out from beneath him and gently rolled him onto his back. His chest rose and fell. Blood trickled from both nostrils and stained his upper lip and chin. He was paler than his complexion had any right to be. I checked his pulse with trembling fingers—weak, but steady.

  “Is he okay?” Kismet squatted on his other side, her green eyes wide.

  “He just needs to rest.”

  She left and returned with a spare blanket and pillow. It wasn’t an ideal spot, but I tucked the pillow under his head, careful not to jostle. He’d have a big enough headache when he woke up. My own head was throbbing steadily, but I ignored it in favor of seeing to him. He’d always taken care of me. I wiped his face with a corner of the blanket, kissed his cheek, and stood.

  Dizziness nearly toppled me, so I stood still, trying to get my bearings.

  Kismet and Milo were attacking the remains of her car, attempting to get at the rear compartment. I wandered into the bathroom and shivered as I remembered the last time I’d walked out of it. Had it been only that morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

  I rummaged in the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of ibuprofen. I dry-swallowed three. As I closed the cabinet, I caught my reflection—dark circles stood out beneath both eyes like identical shiners. The cuts from the glass had healed, but my healing power couldn’t seem to stay on top of the wear and tear of using my Gift. Unless it was from something else—something like the petri dish my body had become for Thackery’s benefit.

  My blood had the potential to fight off vampiric parasites. Too bad it couldn’t heal the wounds of others. I’d have gladly offered a pint to Felix if it meant saving his life. I didn’t want any more Hunters dying because of their association with me.

  In the main room, they’d managed to clear a path wide enough for Kismet to climb into the wreckage; sometimes being five foot two and gymnast-fit had advantages. She was passing weapons out to Milo, who dutifully piled them on the floor. Guns, clips, knives, a short sword, throwing stars, silver spikes, a few grenades—we might just have a chance at killing those hounds.

  “That’s all I can reach,” Kismet said. She wiggled her way back out of the wreck, clothes damp, and ran a hand through her short, red hair. “Now we just need an attack plan.”

  “We can’t fight them hand to hand,” I said. “Our best bet is the guns.”

  “Agreed. We’ve got frag and a-c clips, plus three flash grenades.”

  “Flash won’t do much in this weather. We may want to wait a little longer for the storm to move out. The wind and rain will make it too difficult to aim.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “I know, but we’ve seen the heart of the storm. I can feel the change. Give it half an hour to die down.”

  She nodded, then started arranging the weapons. I’d expected more of a fight.

  Wyatt was still out cold. His pulse beat a little stronger, and his color was better. I sat with him for a few minutes, watching him sleep. How I’d ever believed the trickster had been this man next to me, I didn’t know. The visual had been perfect, but even shape-shifters can’t replicate a person’s heart and soul. Ca
n’t replicate a smell or taste. I pressed my lips to his forehead and inhaled. So familiar, so completely him.

  “Wake up for me,” I whispered.

  He didn’t.

  “Do you really think someone at Boot Camp is responsible for this?” Kismet asked.

  “I don’t want to,” I replied, “even though it makes sense. Look at the hounds outside. Someone had enough time to warn Thackery that we had Token, and I’m positive Thackery’s smart enough to have anticipated how we’d use him.”

  “Why work with someone like Thackery? His research is unnatural.”

  “Roofie rounds.”

  “What?”

  I gazed up at her from my crouched position. “We do research similar to it at R&D, don’t we? We have frag bullets that can pierce gargoyle hide and a-c’s that make even the strongest vampires bleed out. Could you imagine the power we’d have if we could inoculate humans against a vampire’s bite? Eradicating the Halfie problem would make our jobs so much easier, and no one else would have to suffer like Alex did.”

  Kismet looked at the ammunition box in her hands.

  I dropped my forehead onto my palm. The power to save other people from Halfie infection could be coursing through my veins, hiding in my blood. Or Thackery’s theory was full of shit, and I was getting my hopes way up.

  “So you … what?” Kismet asked. “You agree with this possible traitor?”

  My head snapped up, cheeks blazing. “Not even a little fucking bit. The research could be helpful, but it’s no excuse for turning on us.”

  “Doing what you think is right isn’t reason enough to turn against the people you work with?”

  I started to blast off a retort, then snapped my mouth shut. She wasn’t talking about this mystery person at Boot Camp. Her intense green eyes gazed at me, hard and piercing, daring me to answer. Goading me into denying I’d done the exact same thing.

  Dammit, I hated being called on my own mistakes.

  A groan saved me from answering. Wyatt was blinking at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and trying to sit up. I pushed him back down.

  “Did it work?” he asked.