by Elle Thorne
Youngblood’s smile dropped, his expression turned earnest. “I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
“Damned straight you won’t.” Griz laid law down, then looked at Krisztián. “Who did that to your face?” He turned to Youngblood. “You?”
“Nah, he was like that when I found them at her cabin.”
“I thought you found her at Razorpeak.” Griz crossed his arms over a massive chest.
“I did.”
“He did.” Ciara said at the same time. Then added, “That was where he first saw me.”
Griz turned back to Krisztián. “Your face?”
Ciara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did that.”
“Wait. What?”
Ah, hell. This was getting way too complicated. “A case of mistaken identity,” Krisztián clarified. Lied. Whatever.
“Right.” Ciara said and didn’t sound the least bit convincing.
“Riiight.” Griz wasn’t buying what they were selling. He shook his head and seemed to be giving up on the semantics.
“It’s already mostly healed.” Krisztián gave her a pointed look, hoping she could read into it that he’d forgiven her for what she’d done to him.
“We don’t need to delve into that at the moment,” she declared. “I’d like more information about skilljacks. And how they don’t exist, but they do.”
At the moment? Does that mean she’s open to discussing more about her ordeal with Griz? Out of his peripheral vision, Krisztián noticed those who’d remained on the porch were still there, except for Mae, who’d slipped inside. He turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
Youngblood cleared his throat. “This wouldn’t be coming to light if Dunn wasn’t missing. It’d still be our secret. And—”
“Who? You said our. Our who?” Griz asked, beating Krisztián to it.
His lips thinned. “Those who are skilljacks.”
“Vague,” Ciara accused.
Youngblood turned a hard look in her direction. “That’s rich coming from an intuitive. Your kind keep to their own kind. They ostracize any of their kind who dares intermingle, mate, or marry with a different race of paranormal. Intuitives have secrets on secrets. And—”
“How dare you,” she uttered, her tone dangerous.
“That’s a low blow,” Krisztián agreed.
Griz was silent, his eyes appraising Ciara’s accuser.
“You deny that’s true?” Youngblood countered.
Her jaw was tight. “There are reasons why intuitives do what they do. Eons of persecution and judgement.”
“You think skilljacks have escaped unscathed?” Youngblood scoffed.
“Look, Youngblood,” Ciara began.
“Slate, please,” Youngblood insisted. “Call me Slate.”
“I’m not quite sure we’re at the level of friendliness where I’d call you that.”
“Ouch,” Youngblood murmured with a rueful smile.
Conversation came to a halt as Mae Forester approached carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and several sweating glasses filled with ice. “Thought you could use something. All that talking is bound to dry out a body.”
“Much appreciated.” Griz jumped up to help Mae. He set the tray on the table and gave her a quick pat on the arm.
Mae waved as she headed back to the porch. “Dinner’s at six. If you’re not done, maybe you all can take a break at that point.”
“Will do,” Griz said, pouring tea into the glasses.
“Thank you,” the rest added in unison.
“As I was saying, ”Youngblood grabbed a glass and picked up the topic again, “still, it’s the absolute truth that my kind have been persecuted by all kinds.”
“Maybe that’s because your kind steals what doesn’t belong to them,” Ciara reminded him. “Like skills, powers, whatever. And then you leave them in a very special version of hell.”
Griz rubbed his jaw, a contemplative expression crossing a face that even at rest was frighteningly formidable. “Is that what happened here? You did that to my cousin?”
Youngblood’s eyes widened just a bit, surprise registering. “Your cousin?”
Ciara stared at Youngblood over the lip of her glass. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. Why else would you seek me out to ask me to get you in touch with Griz?”
“Because I’d heard your name in connection with his. I wasn’t aware of the familial thing.” He turned to Griz. “I didn’t mean what I did. I had no idea—” He stopped short, clamping his mouth shut with an audible clack of his teeth.
“Finish that,” Griz instructed.
“I can’t.” Youngblood made patterns in the condensation of his glass, figure eights, over and over again.
“I’ll clarify it,” Ciara said, placing her tea down. “It’s the elephant in the room, so you may as well know about it.” She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. “When Youngblood took my powers, something happened to me.” She paused, more fidgeting. Looked down. Then back up. Seemed to keep her eyes anywhere but on Griz’s face.
Krisztián asked, “Want me to?”
She gave a terse nod.
“She partially shifted. My guess would be, into a bear.”
Griz squinted. “How—Wait. That’s not possible.”
“Why not?” Krisztián asked. “She’s descended from a bear shifter.”
Ciara did a doubletake, clearly surprised he knew this.
“No, that’s not what I mean. Yes, she’s descended from a bear shifter. But partially shifted? That doesn’t happen. We can’t control how much we shift at will.”
“I wasn’t controlling anything at will,” she insisted hotly. “I didn’t start it. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t reverse it. No. Control. At. All.”
“Still, never heard of a partial shift.”
“Why do you think that happened?” Youngblood asked.
“Not sure,” Griz said.
“I’d appreciate it if we’d stop discussing me like I’m some science phenomenon.”
Griz put his hand on hers. A hand so large it covered both of hers. “I’m sorry, cuz. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“If the intuitive community hears about—”
“They won’t,” Griz assured her. “Guaranteed.”
“Absolutely,” Krisztián added, taking a long draw off the tea, nearly finishing the glass off. He wiped the cool condensation across his forehead to ward off the day’s heat.
“I won’t say a word,” Youngblood affirmed. He drew a cross over his heart. “I swear.”
“We should look into this more, Ciara. Off the radar, of course. With no names or specifics mentioned.”
“We’ll see,” was the only response she had. “Can we get back to the topic of Youngblood’s brother?”
“Slate, please,” Youngblood insisted.
“We’ll see.”
Krisztián held back a smile. That seemed to be the phrase of the moment for Ciara.
“Okay, so what we know so far.” Griz brought them back to business. “You’re a skilljack. Dunn’s missing. There’s a bounty on his him.”
“Who put the price on his head?” Krisztián asked. “That might shine a light on the situation.”
“True.” Griz nodded. “But what else don’t we know, Slate?”
Slate shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Ciara inhaled sharply. “So there’s more?”
“Yes. Well, Dunn has… He’s not a skilljack. He’s…”
Krisztián already knew this wasn’t going to end well. He could tell from the tone in Youngblood’s voice.
“What is it?” Griz’s eyes narrowed. His brows drew down. The scar on his face was fearsome.
“He’s a deathbender.”
“Keep talking.” Griz waved for him to continue, face stoic.
Meanwhile, Krisztián wondered what the hell a deathbender was.
“He can subvert death.”
Ciara leaned closer. “What’s that even me
an? Subverting death?”
Youngblood’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “My brother can die for someone. He takes their death. Absorbs it. Dies for them.”
Krisztián was motionless, stunned. “Dies for them? He dies? Then that’s that? So maybe he’s dead?”
“No. Perhaps I’m not explaining it clearly. He absorbs their death. They live. He dies. Temporarily.”
Mind blown. Seriously, mind blown. Krisztián shook his head; disbelief crowned his thoughts. “So your brother can’t die?”
“He dies when someone else is dying. That way they live. But he comes back. And yes, he can die. Cut his heart out. Decapitate him. Both of those can kill him. Permanently.”
“Why have I never heard of this deathbender thing? What’s it like? Have you witnessed it?”
Youngblood nodded, then raised his torn and bloody shirt—Krisztián would have to get him a new one from his suitcase in the B&B—to reveal a scar that traversed his chest, punctuated with a series of healed bullet wounds. “I was dying. Even with shifter healing and how hard it is to kill us, I’d lost too much blood and couldn’t have healed even if I’d shifted to hibernate heal. My brother took my death. When I came to, he was lying dead, next to me, on the ground.”
“Jesus,” Griz whispered.
“Then what happened?” Ciara was practically sprawled on the table, her eyes wide.
“We collected his body. We were going to give him a proper burial. Embalm him, all that shit. Until one of our uncles pulled me aside and said we had to wait. I didn’t understand why. He said, give it a while longer. So we left him in his bed at the house. Told the funeral home we’d contact them when we were ready.” He shrugged. “That gained us a few weird looks. But still…” He glanced away, half-turning his body.
Krisztián waited patiently while Youngblood seemed to take the time to get it together.
“My uncle and I sat vigil. Less than forty-eight hours later, Dunn gasped, then opened his eyes. His body was stiff, so he couldn’t get up just yet. I wondered maybe that rigor mortis had set in. Or maybe his blood needed time to flow? I’m not sure how that shit works. All I know is he was hellaciously sore for a few days, super stiff, then, a couple weeks later, he was his old self. And I was still alive.”
Griz rested both palms on the table. “That’s a helluva story.”
“Honest truth.”
“Your brother’s one of a kind?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, how did my uncle know?”
“That would be a question for your uncle, wouldn’t it?” Krisztián asked. It seemed obvious enough to him.
“Would have been, but my uncle’s dead. He perished in a fire after being shot.”
“Why didn’t Dunn save him,” Griz asked.
“Dunn wasn’t around. Neither was I. Another shifter told me about his death.”
“How did you know I was in the other room? You weren’t supposed to hear or see me.”
Youngblood frowned. “I have my ways.”
Krisztián fought the urge to punch Youngblood for not answering her.
Ciara seemed unfazed, though. “So, how did anyone else find out about Dunn’s special abilities?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t widely known. Nor were mine. I mean, they didn’t take me to Razorpeak to learn more about my skilljacking. They didn’t know about it. Still not sure what exactly they think I can do. I’m pretty sure I left before they could figure it out. They brought me in to ask about Dunn.”
“Well, they probably know about your skilljacking now,” Ciara surmised.
“Maybe. I didn’t exactly tell them I did that to you.”
“So, they won’t be following you here?” Griz flicked at a bead of sweat his glass had left on the table. “I don’t want trouble brought to this valley. Especially not the kind that could involve Razorpeak types.”
“What kinds of types are those?” Krisztián needed to know more about this.
Griz steepled his fingers, then answered. “Razorpeak houses government types. Supernatural types. Some affiliated with the Shifter Council—the primary governing body of shifters in the U.S. But at the same time, there are others who could be found in the periphery of Razorpeak. Like underground sorts. Criminal sorts, as well.”
“Which type or group was interrogating you?” Krisztián asked Youngblood, though keeping an eye on Ciara, because he was aware she might have known the answer to this. She avoided eye contact, though he wasn’t sure if it was deliberate.
Youngblood huffed. “Not sure. But I do know the name of the agent in charge. Victor Saizon.”
Ciara’s eyes narrowed, making Krisztián wonder what she was thinking.
Chapter Thirteen
Ciara rubbed her temples. Something strange was happening to her. She had never felt this before. There was an occasional roaring in her ears—no, in her mind. It wasn’t the kind of roaring you heard from the ocean. It was definitely the roar of a wild animal. A predator. And that wasn’t all that was going on.
It felt like her brain was being scored by large claws. Like her mind was being kneaded and clawed with talons. She dropped her head, rubbed her forehead.
A hand on her shoulder drew her attention, but she didn’t raise her head.
“Are you okay?” Krisztián’s voice.
She nodded slightly. “I’m fine,” she tried to assure him. But she realized how strained her voice sounded.
The roaring had happened shortly after she’d reverted to her fully human form. The kneading on her brain had started on the drive to Bear Canyon Valley.
Griz put his hand on hers, stilling her in the act of rubbing her scalp. “Something’s going on with you. Something you haven’t brought up.”
“I—” She raised her head.
Whatever she’d been about to say was interrupted by a dark Rubicon Jeep flying into the parking lot, tossing gravel and pebbles, and jarring to a sudden stop.
Out stepped Victor Saizon, his tie gone, suit jacket removed, and white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing massive forearms on the bear shifter and Agent in Charge of the task force of combined agencies of humans and paranormals—the PFI, Paranormal Federal Investigation Bureau.
His gaze was locked on Slate. Long strides brought him closer to the table where all four were sitting.
Griz rose to his feet. “Victor. Long time. You seem—”
“Griz,” Victor didn’t let him finish. “I’m here to talk to Slate Youngblood.” His eyes were still fixed on Slate. He’d barely given Ciara and Krisztián a glance.
“I don’t have anything to say to you, Fed.” Slate stood, his hands fisted at his side.
“Not a fed. Not anymore.”
Ciara paused. This entire case, situation, whatever, was so odd. From the way it was handled initially—keeping Slate in a soundproof room so she could not hear their questions—to losing her skills—ahem, having them stolen!—and then turning into a creature from hell, then to Slate’s showing up on her doorstep. Next the talons scoring her brain, and now Victor Saizon says he is no longer a fed?
Ciara’d had enough. This didn’t involve her. She had no interest in pursuing whatever Slate Youngblood’s issue was. Not one bit. She had her own problem to deal with. She winced at the pain in her mind and shook her head, hoping that would alleviate it, at least a little. It didn’t. It was like having a cadre of bees buzzing around, stinging.
Krisztián leaned closer, lowering his face so he could look into her downturned face. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so. My head hurts. Maybe…” She made a decision. “I’m going inside to take a shower.” Something, anything, to cool off her head. Make the insistent buzzing would go away. She put her palms flat on the table and tried to rise, only to find herself faltering.
“I’ll walk you in.” Krisztián put a hand on her arm to steady her.
As they made their way toward the porch, she exhaled. “I’m not sure what is happening to me. It seems to be getting worse
.”
“What is it? What does it feel like?”
“My head. It feels like something with long claws is shredding the inside of my skull. There’s this intermittent loud roaring.” She stumbled. “It’s messing up my equilibrium. It’s messing up my thoughts. And it’s getting worse. Has been since the talons and fangs left and my skills returned.” She paused. “Wait.” She turned toward Slate, Griz, and Victor and studied the three shifters, then she looked at Krisztián. “I don’t have my skills back. Not fully. I can’t read their auras. I can’t tell… I can’t anything.” She bit back a sob. This was not good. She’d be limited in her ability to be hired for jobs if she didn’t have that specific skill set.
“This has got to be connected to that bastard Youngblood,” he ground the words out.
She shook her head but stopped when she realized it didn’t help the pain. “I don’t think so. When he gave my skills back, I could read auras. For a while.” She struggled to remember when the ability went away, but couldn’t as she hadn’t needed it. If she didn’t need it or call on it, the skill lay in the background of her mind, dormant. “It has gone away sometime since then. Sometime.” She realized she was babbling and snapped her mouth shut. Why was this happening? How was it connected to the roaring and the constant grating pain in her mind?
Mae met them at the front door, opening it as though she knew they were coming. Maybe she’d been watching from a window or someone else was and had told her she and Krisztián were coming in. Either way, Mae’s mien was one of pure concern after taking a look at Ciara.
“What’s going on?” Mae took Ciara’s face in her hands and studied her eyes. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“I need a shower.” She felt weak. “Maybe something to eat.”
“Come on, I’ll take you upstairs and set you up with a room.”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Between us, we’ll find something for you. Don’t worry.” Mae looked at Krisztián. “There are some of your Draecenguard in the kitchen. They were asking about you. Especially Salvatore.”
“I’ll go check in.” Krisztián smiled. “Take care of Ciara.”