The guy is sitting up, talking and moving and wondering whether he’s actually alive. The obvious answer should be that he’s mocking me.
But the look in his eyes is unmistakably terror, and there is only one reason he’d be asking this. One reason he might think he was sitting up, conscious and yet not alive. With that, I get the answer to my question, one I hadn’t considered because it doesn’t quite make sense. It’s the only logical solution, though.
I don’t confront him with that. The guy is freaking out, and I would never be so cruel. I’ll get my answers later. He needs his answers first.
“Are you breathing?” I say.
His gaze locks on mine again, and his eyes narrow with a flicker of the Mason I know.
“You’re breathing,” I say. “I can hear it. I can see your pulse from here. But if you need reassurance, hold your breath.”
He doesn’t do that, but he does pause, getting a grip long enough to realize I’m right. He is breathing. He is alive.
His whole body goes limp with an exhale, and his fingers dig into the grass, as if to steady himself.
“You didn’t die and come back as a vampire,” I say. “That’s what you were afraid of, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps breathing, deep ones, as if needing to hear them, reassuring himself as he calms down.
“You’re a hereditary vampire,” I say. “Not a vamp yet, but you will be after you die. You’ll rise again for your second life.”
He just keeps breathing. He’s not interrupting through, so I keep talking.
“That should have been the obvious answer,” I say. “But from what I understand, you don’t know if you have the gene until you die. Is there some advance I don’t know about? A test? That should be possible with DNA.”
“You like to talk, don’t you?” Mason says. There’s no snap to his words. His head is down, hair hanging as he catches his breath.
“Not usually,” I say. “My sister’s the chatty one. But if you get me on a subject that interests me, I’ll make an exception.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You know you have the marker. That doesn’t explain the secondary powers, though. Hereditary vamps don’t get any powers until after their natural death. But you have a vampire’s speed. Also the brooding. You’ve got the brooding down pat.”
“Ha-ha.”
“I believe, having saved you from death—sorry, from undeath—that I deserve an answer to my question. From the way you reacted, you’re obviously in no hurry to begin your second life.”
He grunts. Then he pushes his hair back and straightens. “Yeah.”
“I presume that means yes, you’re a hereditary vampire. As for how you know that and why you seem to display secondary powers . . .”
He sighs. Leans back, arms braced on the ground, gaze fixed somewhere else. “Yeah, I’ll turn when I die. Yeah, I’m in no fucking hurry for that to happen. Yeah, I know what I am. A lab rat.”
“Lab rat?”
“Genetically modified supernatural.”
“The Edison Group?”
His head whips my way.
I continue. “I know about Project Genesis and Project Phoenix. Genesis was about minimizing side effects. Phoenix was about resurrecting extinct supernatural races. Neither included vampires, though.”
“Valhalla.”
“Project Valhalla?” I consider that. “Valhalla being the Norse afterlife. I’m guessing that branch has something to do with eternal life, which would logically involve vampires. You’re only semi-immortal, but it’s as close as we get in our world. I know that’s one danger vampires face—amateur supernatural scientists experimenting on them to unlock the key to invulnerability and semi-immortality.”
“Yeah, well, the Edison Group aren’t amateurs. I’ll become a vamp when I die, and I have some of the secondary powers now. As for what else will happen? I have no idea. That’s the joy of being a second-generation lab rat. Especially when all the first-generation ones escaped before they could be tested. Thanks, guys!”
“You can’t blame them.”
He snorts and pushes to his feet. “Enough chitchat. If you can point me in the direction of camp, I’ll get my not-yet-undead ass out of here.”
“Hold on. You were dead, Mason. You’re covered in blood. What happened?”
“I got hit, remember?” He points to his nose, but his gaze shunts to the side.
“That’s much worse than it was earlier.”
He shrugs. “Something hit me from behind.”
“And bloodied your nose? That’s on the front of your face.” Before he can respond, I say, “ You called, ‘What the—?’ and then you bellowed in pain. That means you saw something and then you got hit.”
“I’m fine now, and I just want to get back—”
“To the camp you couldn’t wait to escape? Sorry, saving your life grants me an all-access pass to answers.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“You can give me answers or you can thank me. I suspect you’d rather stick to answers. You saw something, and you got hit in the face, but that wouldn’t stop your heart. It also doesn’t explain why your trail ends fifty feet that way.” I point. “And why you ended up dead on the ground over here.”
“What?” His brow knits. “No, I got hit right here . . .” He trails off as he looks around.
“This isn’t the same clearing,” I say. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know, like I said. I spotted something flying at me. A person? An animal? It was a blur, and I thought it was you. I turned, and before I could see what it was, something hit me from behind, and I slammed face-first into . . .” He shrugs. “Something. I don’t know what.”
“Can you tell me—?”
“Christ, has anyone told you how annoying you are? You’re a werewolf. Go be the strong, silent type. Very silent. Please.”
I draw my knees up, arms around them. “You died, Mason, and we need to discuss—”
“You’re not a werewolf at all, are you? You’re some kind of shifter who turns into an annoying yappy dog.”
“You’ve had a scare. A huge scare, one that you consider embarrassing. Then you thought you were dead, and your response to that was even more embarrassing, not at all in keeping with the tough-guy persona you’re working so hard to perfect. To recover, you’re insulting me. I understand that. I won’t accept it, but I understand it. If you must compare me to a dog, I’d suggest you go with pit bull. I have questions, and I’m not letting you go until you answer them.”
He bristles, shoulders squaring. “Yeah?”
“Yes, and if you’d like to turn that into a physical threat, please feel free. Attacking me went so well for you the last time.”
“I don’t know what happened. For all I know, the Edison Group planted a goddamn genetic time bomb in me. When I turn eighteen, it’ll explode and turn me into a vamp.”
“That doesn’t explain how you ended up fifty feet away.”
He throws his hands up. “Maybe I turned into a bat and flew.”
“Vampires don’t—”
“I know that. If they’re going to screw with my genetic code, might as well give me one cool power. But no, I’m sure I’ll just become a regular old vampire. You get super-strength, super-senses, the ability to change into a wolf. I get to live alone for hundreds of years, just me and my chalice of blood. What a deal.”
I’m opening my mouth as a stick cracks, and I turn sharply.
“Oh, thank God,” Mason mutters. “Saved by a psycho killer in the forest.”
I creep forward, but whoever’s coming is making no effort to stay quiet. I hear several sets of footfalls and the low murmur of a male voice I vaguely recognize. Then someone answers in a voice I’d know anywhere.
“Kate,” I whisper, exhaling in relief.
I motion for Mason to wait, and I jog to meet my sister. As I round a tree, I see her walking with Holly and Allan.
I’m opening my mouth to greet them when I notice movement in the trees. Someone’s following them. Stalking them. I tense, ready to charge.
Then I see who it is. The guy from the cabin. The one I’d caught watching Kate. Rage fills me, and I charge before he can disappear into the forest again.
“Logan,” Kate says, grinning. Then she sees my face. “Uh, Lo?”
I tear past her. The guy freezes. He wheels, as if to flee, and I leap, taking him down.
Chapter Fourteen
Kate
I’m tracking Logan through the forest. As I do, I give Elijah a few tips. At one time, no Pack wolf would have helped an outsider, even one as young as Elijah. In fact, Pack wolves used to hunt them for sport. Ah, the good old days, when werewolves really did earn their rep as brutal thugs.
The Pack hasn’t done anything like that in decades. We’re always on the lookout for good recruits, especially someone like Elijah, young and lacking werewolf-family ties. So in helping him, I might be cracking open the door to recruitment. Either way, answering his questions is the right thing to do. The Pack won’t offer a lifetime of free wolf-tech support—you gotta sign up for that—but we’re the experts. The more Elijah knows about werewolf life, the less likely he is to get into trouble in the future.
As I track, it quickly becomes apparent why Logan is out here. He’s following his cranky roommate. I have to sigh at that. From everything I heard, the guy is a total douche, but that won’t stop Logan from worrying that he’s driven his roommate into the cold, heartless forest, where he’ll be devoured by rabid foxes.
Elijah wonders whether it was the other way around—the roommate followed Logan, who might have just headed out for a post-dinner stroll through the woods.
“That Mason guy isn’t just a jerk,” Elijah says. “He’s creepy. I got seriously bad vibes from him. Made my hackles rise.”
I point out that the roommate’s trail seems older, and I show Elijah how to tell that. Allan and Holly wander off to check out a flowering tree. I’d follow, but Elijah holds me back with questions.
Once they’re gone, Elijah says, “Are you really okay with the fake-girlfriend ruse? I realize I screwed up back there, springing it on you, and I get the impression maybe you and Allan . . .”
“We made out a few times.”
“Uh . . .”
“We were thirteen. I haven’t seen him since, so this is a little awkward, but he’s being cool about it, and I really am fine with the fake-boyfriend thing. Like I said, I’m not looking for a real one. I’ll take the make-out sessions, though.”
“Uh . . .”
I sock his arm. “I’m kidding. I’m not going to insist on quasi-sexual favors in return for helping you. I’m told that’s wrong.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You are . . .”
“So awesome I render you speechless? Thank you.”
“We are going to need to do more than just say we’re dating, though, so . . . if you really are on board with . . . the rest.”
“The occasional semipublic make-out scene? I’m there. Also for any necessary practice sessions.”
He smiles and opens his mouth to say something, but I see Holly and Allan ahead, deep in whispered conversation. Holly notices us and stops talking. Allan opens his mouth, spots us and closes it. He smiles, and it’s an easy smile, but I can tell we’ve inadvertently interrupted a private conversation. Nothing flirtatious—I don’t catch any hints of that between them—but definitely not for our ears. Spellcaster stuff, I guess.
The four of us continue walking, and I am relaxed in a way I haven’t been in years, at least not outside my Pack. I’m with people who know what I am, and I’m being my weird self, and they’re cool with it. Add in the fact that I’m walking through the forest as evening falls, drinking in the smells and sounds of unexplored territory, and I am giddy with joy.
The only thing that would make things even better would be if I can convince Logan to sneak out for a run tonight. We could invite Elijah along. He can’t Change, obviously, but if he doesn’t know other werewolves and his dad died when he was five, it would help him to see us in wolf form and know what to expect. It would also help to see us willingly Change when we don’t have to—proof that as hellish as the transformation is, it’s worth the pain.
Logan will agree to let Elijah come along. My brother is all about education, and no one is more generous or patient. He’ll enjoy meeting Elijah, and I’m sure they’ll get along. Everyone gets along with Logan.
I’m already planning the excursion when I hear my brother’s voice. He’s talking to another guy, presumably Mason. As I change direction, Elijah says, “I’m going to detour here for a sec. Gotta take care of some business.”
“Trees need watering?” I say.
He chuckles. “Exactly.”
“Catch up, then.”
We keep going. Allan says something, and Logan must hear him. He appears through the trees, jogging our way. I lift a hand in greeting. Logan slows, as if he’s not sure it’s us. Then he breaks into a run.
“Logan,” I say. Then I see his face, hard with rage as he barrels toward us. I stop short. “Lo?”
He tears past me. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong when I see Elijah walking toward us. He stops, his gaze fixed on Logan, his mouth opening.
Logan lunges at Elijah.
“Logan!” I shout.
My brother knocks Elijah to the ground. I race over. Elijah lies there, winded, staring up with a gasped “Wha—?”
“I saw you this morning,” Logan growls. “Hiding in the woods by that cabin. Spying on my sister. Now you’re stalking her?”
“Whoa!” I say. “No, he’s with us, Lo.”
Logan’s head swings my way, mouth opening. Then he stops. His head drops closer to Elijah, and he inhales.
“Werewolf?” His hand bunches the front of Elijah’s T-shirt. “You’re a werewolf?”
“What?” Allan says. “No, Elijah’s a half-demon.”
“The shirt is a lie,” I say. “Yes, he’s a werewolf. I brought him to introduce—”
Logan hauls Elijah to his feet before I can finish. “You’re a werewolf, and you’re stalking my sister?”
“Logan,” I say sharply, “he’s with us.”
My brother’s face only hardens more. “Now maybe, but he wasn’t when I saw him at the cabin.”
I frown at Elijah. “You were at the cabin? Ah, okay, that makes sense. You didn’t recognize me at a glance. You’d seen me earlier.”
I turn to Logan. “He’s not stalking me. I kinda stalked him—figuring out what he was up to after dinner. I discovered he’s a werewolf, and he’s going to explain why he’s here, but I wanted to find you first. Now, please let him go. The caveman-brother routine really doesn’t suit you.”
“Yes,” Elijah says, though gritted teeth. “The fact I’m not fighting is a sign of respect, not submission. If you want to throw down, just say the word.”
Logan actually hesitates, and I say, “Lo!”
My brother grumbles as he releases Elijah, who mutters, “Well, someone’s trying to fill Clay Danvers’s shoes. Here’s a tip. Try talking first. If that fails, then toss your weight around. Some werewolves do understand the concept of civil conversation.”
Logan only grunts, and I try not to stare at him. Elijah is right. Logan’s acting like Dad, and that’s not my brother, at all.
I shake it off and peer at the clearing where I’d heard Logan. “Were you talking to Mason, the ex-roomie?”
“Yeah, he’s . . .” Logan turns to the empty clearing. When he realizes Mason has fled, his sigh sounds more like himself. No snarl of anger. No cursing. Just a put-upon sigh.
“That’s what I get for saving his life, apparently,” Logan says, and then calls into the emptiness. “You’re welcome!”
“Saved . . . ?” I say. “What?”
Logan waves a hand toward the empty clearing. “Something happened. Mason’s hea
rt stopped. I found him without vital signs, so I conducted CPR.”
“You saved his life?” I throw my arms around Logan’s neck. “Oh my God, that’s amazing!” I pull back and look at him. “Wait, you brought him back from the dead, and he just walked away?” I head for the clearing. “You guys wait here. This asshole is about to die twice in one day.”
“It won’t work,” Logan calls after me. “He has the hereditary vampire gene. When he dies, he’ll come back as a vamp.”
I turn slowly. Logan looks around at the others, staring at him.
“Uh, yeah,” Logan murmurs. “That probably wasn’t my secret to share. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let him know I tattled.”
“You save the guy from early vamp-hood and he walked away. Now you’re worried about pissing him off?” I turn to Elijah. “Elijah? Forget the guy who just knocked you down. Meet my real brother.”
I expect Logan to smile, maybe a little sheepishly, but he looks uncomfortable. I hurry on. “Okay, so vamp-boy is gone, and we’re all grateful for that. He did not strike me as the life of the party.”
Elijah mutters, “Guess I know why he made my hackles rise.”
“Yep,” I say. “Mr. Predator Competitor. It’s instinct. Now, since he’s gone, on to the question of you, starting with why you’re here.”
Elijah sighs. “It’s a long story.”
“Good thing we aren’t in a hurry, then.” I plunk down on the grass. “It’s a gorgeous night for campfire tales. I don’t suppose anyone brought a lighter.”
“I have fireballs,” Holly says.
“And I’m going to be the responsible one,” Allan says, “and point out that if we build a fire, the counselors will see smoke, and we’ll all catch shit.”
“Spoilsport.” I point at Elijah. “You. Sit. Talk.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kate
Elijah lowers himself beside me, his fingers grazing mine as I lean back on my arms. It’s only a quick and unintentional brush, but Logan notices, and his eyes narrow. Even after Elijah is settled in—with his hand a good six inches from mine—Logan mentally measures the distance like a teacher at a middle-school dance.
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