Nash pushes Serena back behind a wall of thick-bodied soldiers. “There, you see?”
“What does Gillis have to say about any of this?”
“Gillis doesn’t have anything to say about this. He’s not the one in charge here.”
The earth shakes as Storm paws the ground. Even Nash has the brains to look ashen for a moment. “I’m about through speaking with you, Nash.”
Margot’s mourners had been staring slack-jawed at the volleys between the men. But now, as Storm’s power gathers, his eyes roiling like a mad beast, they begin to back away. One soldier with a trembling gun shouts something as Storm tosses his antlers. A gun explodes, the shot cracking through the air like lightning.
Storm places himself between the bullet and us. It pierces his shoulder. Blood spurts in a crazy torrent. He lets out a bellow, loud enough to rattle the dead, and for one long moment everyone freezes.
Then the mourners scatter like hens, squawking and scrabbling as they flee through the headstones. Nash’s men shout among themselves. Guns explode in the air. And, though white-faced and trembling, Nash holds his ground. An angry, defiant frown pulls at his features, making him look like a stubborn child. Telltale sweat drips down his face. He mops at it as he starts shouting commands.
“Storm,” calls Jared, “what do you want me to do?”
The leader of the True Borns turns blazing eyes on us. “Get her out of here,” he snarls. “Take her to number three directly. Don’t go to one.”
Jared gives a curt nod. “Understood.” He carefully pries my fingers off his shoulders and jokes, “Careful, Princess. I’m precious cargo, you know.”
It’s only then that I realize that I’ve been digging into Jared’s shoulders. A red stain covers his arm. Storm’s blood, I realize, feeling faint. And then the jeweled red of the sniper’s laser gun sight travels up to Jared’s forehead and locks between his eyes.
“Jared, look out!” I screech and throw myself against him as the air splits and thunder rolls from the arc of the bullet. We fall to the ground and roll slightly to the left over the uneven dirt and grass. Though I’m on top, the air still whooshes from my lungs. I stop moving for a moment, wondering, through the haze of pain, whether we’re alive.
Beyond us, a soldier sways, his face a ruined thing, then topples. The bullet found a home, then—just not in us.
Jared looks at me, primeval rage etched across his fine cheekbones. Can’t be dead if he looks like he wants to tear something into pieces and eat it. My heart slows, relaxing with the knowledge that he’s still alive.
Storm, though, might not be as lucky.
Another bullet rips through Storm’s other shoulder as he advances on the line of knock-kneed soldiers. Storm lifts his head. The sky splits with the sound he issues, the very air shaking with his power.
The lines of Storm’s body begin to blur, and he seems to loom larger than himself as he reaches out and grasps the gun that wounded him. He rips the metal with his hands. One half he throws at the line of soldiers. It takes out one man, the head bending with a sickening crunch, and he falls. The other he hurls into the graveyard, amid the scattering mourners and gravestones. The line of soldiers backs up a few paces. Storm stands still and paws the earth, his antlers glowing like an unearthly beacon. Then he charges the line of men like a mad minotaur, while above the sounds of a rising wind and fray, Nash screams, “Stop it, we need them alive!”
I’m too caught up in what’s happening, the terrifying force of Nolan Storm, to move. Jared says something I don’t hear as Storm grabs the nearest man in two hands, picking him up like he’s nothing more than kindling. He hurls the soldier at his comrades, many of whom scatter while others fall, pinned beneath the man’s weight.
Suddenly the earth moves, and I’m no longer splayed across Jared’s body but beneath it. “Shhh.” His warm breath tickles my ear as I struggle. My fists pound his flesh uselessly. “Seriously, cut it out, Princess. I can’t save you if you’re wriggling like that.” He pulls back and traps my fists on either side of my head. Something about his voice, the strangeness of his eyes, stops me.
“How dare you,” I murmur. “I saved you just then.”
Jared chuckles, a warm, rich sound that jogs me all the way to my toes. “That you did. So why don’t you let me return the favor? We can go halfsies on this one, all right?” He flashes a dimple at me, the lines of his cheekbones so arresting I can barely think. He’s trying to distract me so I don’t panic, I reckon. But the din around us is maddening. And we’re in mortal peril. I nod, hoping he’ll let me up.
Jared, though, is no fool. “Promise me you’re not going to fight.”
I let out an angry whistle of a breath. But a second later, I nod again. Jared flashes his teeth. “That’s my girl.”
He pulls me up to a half crouch, one hand on my arm and another on the small of my back. I make a point of landing on his foot as hard as I can as I right myself.
Jared leans down and rubs at his toes. “Ow! What was that for?”
“Miserable, arrogant cat,” I mutter to myself. Then, for his benefit, I toss out, “That’s for calling me a ‘girl.’”
Another burst of dimples as his nose quivers and he starts to lead me through the winding row of headstones. “Duly noted, Lu.”
But just as Jared pulls me to relative safety, something—someone—catches my eye. A blur of slick hair, a square, strong jaw covered in its low beard. And the reflective glare of black leather gloves.
“Jared, wait!” I work to free my hands from his. I’m no match for him, though, and end up struggling uselessly. “Please!” I screech.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I thought I saw—” Though when I turn back around to look, the face has disappeared.
Just like a Fox, I think to myself. A Fox going to hole.
What is my father doing at Margot’s funeral?
25
“Did you see him?” I feel sick at the thought. My father. The man who betrayed us.
Jared doesn’t answer, just winds me through narrow, dirty alleys. We’re in a part of town I’ve never set foot in before. His attention flickers over me briefly before it goes back to scanning the street with the fine and professional intent of a merc. I can tell he’s cataloging the environment with more than the tools of a professional gun, though. Jared Price was born to kill.
He could have been killed, that small voice reminds me. No matter how deadly, Jared could have died tonight. It doesn’t matter if I don’t think we can be together. If something happens to Jared… Bile rises in my throat, burning and itchy. I stop to fight back my racing brain.
“See who?” Jared murmurs.
“Lukas Fox. My father.”
The True Born stops mid-stride. “What did you say?”
Here the buildings are shorter than in other parts of town, built more of brick than stone. I lay my hand on the brick, faded with age and moss. It’s rough under my hand, like a cat’s tongue, and covered with graffitied eyes. Two joined as one.
Only just one now, my mind corrects. The ache in my chest intensifies. I rub at it, though I know it will never really go away.
Jared’s fingers steal across the flesh of my hand. “Lu,” he says patiently. He looks around one more time before he backs me up against that brick wall. His fingers tangle in my hair, frame my face. But he won’t let me go, holding me with the intensity of his blazing gaze. “Tell me.”
“Saw him as we were leaving.” My voice rattles out in unrecognizable, raspy gasps.
Jared tilts his head. His body is so close, so close, the heat rolling from him in waves. And until I feel that basking warmth I have no idea how cold I am. Just being near him makes my body break into shivers. I wrap my arms tighter against my belly, the thin cloth of my mourning coat stretching meanly over my shoulders and elbows.
Gently he takes my face in his hands. One finger traces the soft skin of my bottom lip. He looks…hungry. “You’ll have to
fill me in on the details when we get to our destination.”
I swallow, fighting against the sensations stirring in my gut. “Which is where exactly?”
“Can’t tell you. Top secret.”
“Why?”
Jared’s lips quirk up. “Just in case. Besides, you’ll have to see it to believe it.”
“Fine.” I study the street. The rubble of a broken-down city is strewn everywhere. Across from where we stand, the husk of a car sits at a curb, one door rusted open, as though waiting for someone. Unease creeps up my spine. “Let’s just get there.”
It’s quiet. Too quiet. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my brief association with the True Borns, it’s that quiet is dangerous.
Jared soothes a strip of hair from my face, studying me as though looking for bruises. But my cuts are under the skin, so deep they can’t be fathomed. I turn my face away, just in time to see a dog-size rat poke its quivering nose out from behind a beat-up box. I make a face. Jared pivots, then lunges at the beast with a hiss.
The rat makes a high-pitched squeal and runs away.
“They’ve been known to take down small children,” Jared says, matter-of-fact.
He didn’t need to remind me. Gorged on Plague victims, Dominion’s rats are the stuff of every Upper Circle kids’ nightmares. I shiver and wrap my arms tighter around me. “Can we get out of here now? Please?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Jared smiles, his lips settling over his back-to-human teeth.
I trace the red circle drawing one last time. Its coarse texture feels chalky under my fingers. Jared tips his head out of the alley to conduct a final sweep. I expect him to signal to me and tug me out into the street.
Instead, he flattens himself against the wall, pinning me back with an arm.
And then I hear what he must have: the heavy tread of feet on cement. Coming directly for us.
…
I try not to whine as Jared pulls me deeper into the rat-infested alleyway. He shoves me behind a Dumpster where he discovers a hole in the side of the building. Wedging the Dumpster far enough away, he leans down and takes a good look at what’s in there.
“Time to discover your new castle, Princess,” he teases under his breath.
“I am not going down there first,” I argue. “There are rats.”
Jared gets that stubborn tilt to his chin I’ve learned to hate and admire. A dimple flashes, but I’d as soon say he’s not amused.
“You know what’s on that street, Princess? I hear at least forty soldiers. A squadron. Do you know what squadrons do? They fan out and search nooks and crannies like this godforsaken alley.”
“You think they’re looking for us?”
He stares at me, hard, as though wondering where I’ve left my brain. “When’s the last time you heard of the army being called up to do anything?”
My awareness of the situation suddenly shifts. Questions buzz through me like a blanket of flies, but there is one certainty here that I can see from Jared’s face.
These soldiers are hunting for us.
Jared takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s brief, just the softest touch of his lips zinging against mine, striking me with an electric spark. A second later, he’s pushed my head into the hole, and I’m falling, arms akimbo into the void…
And landing on a hard dirt floor.
I roll over onto my side, a slight twinge in my wrist, moments before Jared lands beside me, on two feet, like a cat.
Jared takes in the basement with the alien eyes of a predator. Even in the dim light I can see his nose twitch before he sneezes. All I smell is dirt and decay overlaid with the scent of mold. But at least there are no rats. Jared takes a step closer. Instantly I’m engulfed in his smell, cinnamon and sweet and a hint of the woods.
Just stop, my mind shouts before I shake the thought away. This is not the time to turn moony over Jared Price—especially since I have made up my mind to let him go.
“What do you see?” I think I feel something crawl up my finger, and I shake it off.
“Ghosts and rats.” He snorts. “C’mon, there’s a set of stairs two feet to your left.”
I shiver involuntarily and swivel my head to see, but there’s nothing except a wall of deep, dark black. He takes my hand in his, rubbing my fingers between his flesh as slow heat curdles in my stomach. I straighten my back.
“I can walk.”
Jared snorts again, though this time in amusement. “I know you can walk, Lu,” he tells me suddenly. “I bet you could walk through fire. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.” I blink against a sudden rush of tears. No one has ever said anything so kind to me before. “And you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” He gentles a finger through a strand of my hair. I imagine an insect he’s flicking away. “I know today has been more than hard on you.” There’s an uncomfortable silence while Jared’s eyes glitter on mine, and I think I can see the line of his jaw tighten. “I need you to stay strong, though. We can’t let them win, Lu.”
The words are so simple, so softly spoken, but they hit me with the force of a punch. He’s right. Whatever unfinished business lies between the True Born and me, whatever I’m afraid of, rats or soldiers, needs to be put aside for now. It’s more than a matter of survival. It’s a question of doing what’s right. For Storm. For Jared and me.
For Margot.
I nod and twine my fingers through his, liking the steady hum of his blood through his flesh. His fingers feel at home holding mine, as though despite all our differences, our flesh recognizes each other’s. Jared’s breath hitches. Outside, we hear boots strike the ground like hammers. He straightens, and I think I catch the slight curve of a smile lighting his face.
…
We pass the day in a round, tin-roofed hut in a poor section of Dominion, listening to the rain drum down with light staccato fingers. No more than six feet across, the hut has thick gray concrete block walls scribbled over with colorful graffiti. The streets smell of dead things and weeds and the iron-tinged rain that falls from the sky in light sheets. Occasionally we see a haggard, soaking Laster with bushy white hair and beard push a cart past the entrance of the hut. I’m surprised he never attempts to seek his shelter beneath the tiny roof, and I say so.
Motioning me away from the entrance, Jared pats the hard-pressed dirt of the ground beside him. He snorts. “That guy? He wouldn’t be able to fit his cart in here.” Then he sobers. “Lots of the Lasters don’t like being in enclosed spaces.”
“Enclosed,” I repeat woodenly. The sensations pooling through my body distract me as Jared takes my hand and rubs his fingers over my knuckles. He flips over my hand and traces a light melody on the sensitive skin of my wrist. “Why?”
The corners of Jared’s mouth flip into a grimace. “Some think that the Plague is like one of those ancient sicknesses you’ll have studied in school. Spread through the air. They believe that the close quarters of being inside spread the disease and bring on death.”
My heart stutters in shock. I lick my dry lips, feeling unsure of myself. I’d heard that theory, of course. But not its consequences. “Do you believe that?”
Jared shrugs. A shock of his golden hair falls over one eye as he takes up tracing something on my arm. “Doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“It matters to me.”
The creases next to Jared’s eyes crinkle delightfully as he looks up and smiles. It’s as though the sun has come out. “I knew you’d see things my way eventually, Princess,” Jared teases. “But to answer your question: I know the Plague doesn’t spread that way. Still, if a man believes that a life spent outdoors and away from others will keep him alive, who am I to argue?”
I mull this over. “So you’re saying that you think faith keeps him healthy?”
“No.” Jared rolls out the word, stretching it as he holds up his fingers and trails them lightly down my face. “I’m saying he likely thinks so. And who am I to interfere with how he lives
and dies?”
Something fierce grips my belly and holds me. My eyes burn with unshed tears as I think about our broken world, the devastation of the Plague, and how many lives it has ruined. “What if it could be fixed?”
“What?” he says softly, just seconds before his lips come down, soft and sweet, like a question mark. He tilts my head and brings his lips down again, this time the hunger licking at us both. I moan into his mouth, and his hands freeze on my face. “Gods, Lu, you’re going to be the death of me.”
I grab at the hand that holds me still. “Don’t say that,” I whisper fiercely. “Don’t ever say that.”
Jared’s smile twinkles. “Careful, Princess. You might give the impression that you care about me.”
I know it’s not right. I know I need to push Jared away, for his sake. But suddenly I can’t hold myself back any longer. “Shut up, True Born,” I tell him imperiously. And then I chase his lips with my own through the end of daylight and rain.
…
The “safe house” is squat and brick, with a rickety, falling-down fence and weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement. All along the street are rusted tin cans, broken boxes flattened by rain, the rubble of broken asphalt and glass. We arrive just before dawn. The streets are quiet, still slightly damp, and smell a bit like motor oil. There are no cars on this street. Most of the windows and doors have been boarded over.
“What happened here?” I whisper as Jared punches a code into the Identi-pad. The door opens with a snick, and a thick miasma of dust assaults us. I cough and cover my face.
Jared tugs me over the threshold and secures the door behind me before saying a word. “This was one of the early neighborhoods.”
“Oh,” I say, looking around me.
When the Plague first started, it flamed through whole sections of the city. Originally, no one knew what it was. But those who survived the purges to their families, gaps appearing in generations like punched-out teeth, took their gear and relocated, leaving whole neighborhoods deserted. Some, they say, moved out to the country where the fresh air was thought to be more wholesome.
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