by Bella Jacobs
Wren: I love you like family, too, sweets. And I promise I’ll tell you more as soon as I can. But right now I have to go.
Carrie Ann: Okay, but you have to tell me one thing first! Kite isn’t involved in this, is he? He didn’t show up for work this morning, and his roommates said they haven’t seen him since Thursday afternoon. The police thought he might be the one who took you, but I told them that was crazy. He’s not that kind of guy.
Wren: No, he isn’t. And no, he didn’t take me.
Got to go. Take care of the kids for me. Tell them I’m sorry I let them down.
Carrie Ann: No, I won’t tell them that. Because you didn’t let them down—you were taken from your home against your will—and you’re going to be back here changing lives before you know it. You’re going to get out of whatever crazy mess you’re in, and now that you’re well enough to move out of the family homestead, we can get our own place together. It’s going to be epic!
You and me, single ladies taking Seattle.
Just wait and see.
And don’t lose hope on me.
You know that’s the one thing a girl can’t ever afford to lose.
Wren: I know. Love you.
Take care of yourself, okay?
Carrie Ann: I will. And I’ll take care of you, too, any time you need me. Reach out as soon as you can, babe, and I’ll be there.
Chapter 21
Wren
Smearing tears from my cheeks, I delete the text record and block Carrie’s phone number. By the time I’m finished, Kite is by my side. He takes the cell and then my hand, lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to my knuckles in silent apology.
I force a smile and fall into step beside him as we walk hand in hand back to the car. My life is crazy right now, but it isn’t Kite’s fault.
Or my fault. Or the fault of anyone I know, really, not even my parents.
If I hadn’t been hidden in a human family, Atlas would have tracked me down when I was a baby and killed me the way he did all the Fata Morgana children before me. I would never have had the chance to grow up, let alone get a degree, do good work, make dear friends, or find out what it feels like to fall for an incredible man.
I pause at the edge of the parking lot, tugging lightly on Kite’s arm. He turns back to me, curiosity and affection mixing in his expression, making me feel as cozy as a cup of hot tea on a winter morning.
“Can we keep everything that happened out there just between us?” I whisper. “I mean, I’m sure secrets are going to be hard to keep as we move forward, but…”
He squeezes my hand. “I would never tell anyone about anything that happens while we’re together like that,” he says with a quiet intensity. “It’s too precious to me. Too private.”
I bite my lip, blinking fast against a sudden wave of emotion as I lean into his side, wrapping my arms around him as I say, “Me, too.”
I want to tell him that it was my first time doing most of what we did together and how much it means to me that he is so gentle and patient and generous with me, but Creedence is slinking across the pavement and is probably already within ear shot. So I settle for a quick squeeze, which Kite returns before stepping away.
“Hello, young people,” Creedence says, playing up the old man act again. “How was your walk?”
“Good,” Kite says. “Where are Dust and Luke?”
Creedence’s brows lift as he jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “They decided to head into town and hit the hardware store early.”
“But I thought it wasn’t open?” I ask, confused.
“Oh, it’s not,” Creedence says, pleasantly. “But Luke is apparently very handy with a lock pick, and Dust is apparently not a fan of listening to other people having fun while he’s left out in the cold, so…”
My cheeks go from cool to burning hot in two seconds flat.
“Yeah, we could hear.” Creedence shrugs. “We’re shifters, Slim, we’ve got excellent hearing. But it’s not a big deal, nothing to be embarrassed about. Wouldn’t have mentioned it, in fact, except I thought you would want to know. Just so you could be a little quieter next time if you’re hoping to keep your private life private.”
I nod, wishing I weren’t so horrifically inexperienced. I can’t imagine ever being as laid-back about sex as Creedence apparently is. But I appreciate him not making this any more uncomfortable than it has to be.
And how quickly he changes the subject.
“So, I think we should hop in the car and be ready to roll when those two get back.” He reaches for the driver’s side door. “Even if we don’t know where we’re headed, it’s not smart to stick around a small town for too long. These people will definitely remember a pretty girl and four strange dudes hanging around Main Street if they’re questioned by the police.”
“We’re clear to head up Fidalgo Island way. I heard from my mom,” Kite says, opening the back door for me. “The tribe is going to put us up in the cabins we used to rent out to tourists back in the day. The state made us close them down when high tide got within twenty feet of the campground, but we’ll be safe as long as there isn’t a bad storm or a tidal wave.”
“That’s comforting,” Creedence says as we all pile into the car. “Not a fan of the water, myself.”
“Because you’re a cat?” I tease.
“Because my old man taught my sister and I how to swim by throwing us in the deep end of a swimming pool in Vegas.” Creedence slips the key into the ignition and the engine purrs quietly to life. “Needless to say, that didn’t go so well, and he and his buddies were so drunk it took them a few tries to fish us both out again. To this day Fiona won’t even take a bath.”
He says it all in his usual, laid-back way, but I can tell this is a painful story. There’s something in his shoulders as he pulls around to the front of the restaurant, a stiffness that usually isn’t there.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That sounds traumatizing.”
Creedence casts a quick grin over his shoulder as he pulls to a stop under a tree at the edge of the lot, just barely in view of the rest of Main Street. “It was. Will you hold my hand if I get scared near the water?”
“I will,” I promise seriously, though I know he’s trying to deflect attention with a joke. “Be happy to, in fact.”
I don’t remember anything about my childhood before going to live with Hank and Abby in a warm and loving home, but I know those wounds can haunt a person long after they’ve grown up and left the abuse behind. Half of the scars on the kids I work with are on the inside, damage to their souls and psyches from abuse that took place when they were too little to know how to process the terrible things that were happening to them.
So often, they blame themselves for the trauma, either because their abuser made them believe it was their fault or because their child’s mind embraced the logic of “if something bad happened to me, that means I must be bad. I must have done something to deserve it.”
It’s actually more empowering to think that way.
To think that there is a logical cause and effect at work, and that one’s future behavior can be modified in order to keep those bad things from happening again. The truth—that evil is loose in the world and that it preys on the weak at random and at will, and often there’s nothing that can be done to stop it—is so much more traumatizing.
Or at least I used to believe there was nothing that could be done…
Now I have a sliver of hope that things can change, that the runaway train barreling toward the certain painful annihilation of humanity can be stopped.
I just wish Fate had picked a tougher customer to lead the charge.
Yes, I’m getting stronger every day, but I’m still just one scrawny, sheltered girl who’s never had to fight a day in her life. At least, not with my fists. I fought to survive, to keep going while the virus inherited from my addict mother…
My brain stutters and my thoughts screech to a stop.
“My mother wasn’t a
drug addict, was she?” I blurt into the silence, breath rushing out as I shake my head. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. How dumb am I?”
“Give yourself a break,” Kite says, laying a hand on my knee. “Your entire world has been turned upside down and dumped out on the floor. It’s going to take some time to pick it all up and make sense of the pieces.”
“Who was she?” I ask, still feeling foolish. I’m a counselor; I should be quicker than the average person to realize I’m clinging to outdated stories. “And my father? Does anyone know?”
Kite shakes his head. “I don’t know. We’re all told as little as possible, to make it easier in case we’re captured and interrogated. The less we know, the less we can be forced to reveal to the enemy.”
“Dust knows more than most of us,” Creedence offers. “You could try asking him. Assuming he’s in a better mood when he gets back than when he left.”
“And my sister.” I nibble on my thumb as new pathways appear in my mind, narrow roads that could lead to a completely revised version of my personal history. “She wasn’t sick, either.”
Kite shakes his head and gives my knee another squeeze.
But his touch isn’t comforting this time, and the realization breaks my heart. Not only did Scarlett have to fight the same pointless, agonizing war I’ve battled my entire life, but she died before she could be rescued, before she knew what it feels like to be well and free.
It’s so sad.
It’s also…enraging.
For the first time since the truth started bursting through the strained seams of my life, the rage crouched deep inside of me turns its red eyes Hank and Abby’s way. Maybe they were simply ignorant or doing what they were told. Maybe they were poisoning us out of love.
But it doesn’t matter if they killed her with love or with hate—my sister is still dead.
My sister is dead, and I will never know who she could have been if she hadn’t been tortured and then sent away when she turned to street drugs to escape the suffering.
It makes me burn with anger, a hot fire that roars to life inside me, spreading through my veins and whooshing into my chest like the flames leaping into a forge as a blacksmith pumps his bellows.
“Whoa.” Kite pulls his hand away from my leg as if I’ve burned him, and Creedence curses as he jumps out of the car. I have split second to realize that something’s seriously wrong before the seat beneath me bursts into flames.
Chapter 22
Dust
I pride myself on excellence in all things.
If I don’t excel at something initially, I keep at it until I achieve mastery, or I abandon the pastime, leaving it for those with more natural ability.
Life is too short to settle for mediocrity.
So I do not play tennis. I do not write code. I do not touch paints, colored pencils, or pens because I have the artistic aptitude of a monkey wearing a blindfold and no wish to torture the eyeballs of my friends or family, let alone the public at large.
But I am a skilled marksman—months of drills with Celeste and the other resistance leaders ensured that I rarely miss my target—and I can take just about any machine apart and rebuild it from the lug nuts up.
But I can’t rebuild a vehicle that’s a smoldering hunk of metal, and I’m beginning to think my skills as mission leader are as deeply fucked as our getaway car.
Abandoning the roaring inferno that’s bound to attract the wrong kind of attention, we toss Luke’s recently removed ankle bracelet into the flames and flee north on foot, moving fast enough that we’re miles outside of town by the time the sirens begin to wail behind us.
Still, it was another close fucking call. Too close.
Nothing is going as planned, and spending an entire day hiking definitely wasn’t on the agenda. It’s soon late afternoon, but we keep moving deeper into the woods—hoping to avoid detection by the human authorities until we can reach a town where we can hop a bus or a taxi bound for Fidalgo Island—and I’m wondering how long I can keep my four cold, hungry, and, in Kite’s case, slightly singed, compatriots motivated to move forward.
Kite knows what’s at stake in a visceral way—we’ve both lost people we love in the fight against the Kin Born, including Sierra, Celeste’s lover, just a few days past—but Luke is an apathetic participant at best. And though he’s doing what he’s told and appearing to toe the party line, Creedence gives off the distinct impression that, all in all, he would rather be getting declawed without anesthesia.
And Wren…
I glance her way, at her bare legs sticking out of Luke’s massive jean jacket and the dejected droop to her head as she sloughs through the leaves in the too-big sneakers that thankfully survived the fire that burned away the rest of her clothes, and my chest aches. I knew extracting her from the cult wouldn’t be easy, but I’d hoped for a smoother transition than this. So far she’s been shot, chased off a bridge, dragged naked from a burning car, and forced to flee the authorities twice in less than a few hours.
It’s time to raise the damned bar.
I don’t want to simply keep her alive; I want her to feel liberated, empowered, maybe even excited about the future. Yes, it’s going to be a dangerous and challenging fight, but we have the chance to change the world, to give the next generation of both shifters and human beings a better place to live and love and grow old without fear that there won’t be a world left for their grandchildren. I want Wren to feel the intoxicating promise of the future we can create together. I want her strong and hopeful and delighted by the powers that are coming online for her faster than even the most optimistic projections.
Instead, she looks about five seconds from sitting down in the dirt, dropping her face into her hands, and crying her eyes out. She’s miserable and ashamed, and I can’t seem to think of anything to say to make this better.
At least not anything I feel comfortable saying in front of the other men.
If only I could have a moment alone with her, just a few minutes to connect the way we used to. I know we’re older now, different people in so many ways, but deep down I’m still that boy who would do anything for his best friend.
For his Snow, his Wren.
But she’s not mine anymore, and she might never be. She could very well decide to choose Kite as the only man for her and give the rest of us our walking papers.
Embracing the possibility of taking multiple mates is a lot to ask of a woman who was raised to believe she would be married one time to one man and anything else would be a violation of the promises she’d made to the movement. It’s part of the pledge the Church of Humanity made us say every morning before class—Lord keep me strong and pure of heart, body, and mind, so I may better serve you, humanity, my one true husband or wife, and myself.
I got out of the movement over a decade before she did, and it still took time for me to adjust to the shifter community. The freedom, the lack of shame, the focus on the gifts and consequences of the present rather than the imaginary treasures or punishments waiting in the future—it was all a lot to get my head around at thirteen.
Maybe that’s all she needs, too—time.
If we can just get to the bear kin lands where we’ll hopefully find that time without anyone else getting shot or catching fire…
At least things can’t get worse.
No sooner has the thought drifted through my mind than thunder rumbles in the distance—a long, low, sky belly-growl that doesn’t bode well. Kite pauses, turning to meet my gaze over the heads of the other three.
“Is it coming this way?” I ask, silently praying for a break in our shitty luck.
Kite’s mouth tightens as he cocks his head, listening as the thunder comes again. After a moment, he nods. “It is. We’ve got ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if we’re lucky.”
Balls, I silently curse even as I calmly point Creedence’s way. “Creedence, you and Luke head up to the ridge and see if you can find anything that might serve as shelt
er. We’ll keep going straight and meet up with you in no more than eight minutes. That should give us time to find cover before the storm hits.”
“Should we split up?” Kite asks, casting a suspicious look Luke’s way. “Isn’t it more important that we stay together?”
“It’s more important that we aren’t killed by falling tree limbs or a flash flood,” I say, circling my arm, signaling for Creedence and Luke to get moving. “Let’s go. If we’re separated, we meet up in Anacortes by the marina tomorrow.” I meet Wren’s gaze for a quick beat. “You okay to run?”
Wren nods. “Lead the way, I’ll follow.”
I motion to Kite. “Call out if you see anything. A hollow tree or even something with a big enough root system to offer shelter if the runoff starts rolling down fast from uphill.”
“Got it.” Kite pauses to usher Wren gently in front of him—as attentive as he’s been since the moment I pulled her from the car, making it clear he isn’t holding a grudge for his burned hand, presently bandaged in a strip of Creedence’s T-shirt.
I should be pleased that she’s bonding with one of her potential suitors and that he’s clearly so smitten with her—the sooner she forms mate bonds, the sooner she’ll be strong, centered, and prepared for battle—but I can’t help the bitter taste that rises in my throat every time he touches her.
Logically, I knew from the moment I took this mission that, if everything went as planned, I would eventually be sharing Wren. But I secretly assumed I would be the first to form a connection. I know Wren, I’ve cared about her since we were kids, and I’ve watched over her for years, using the charmed coin I gave her to make sure she was still alive and fighting back against the poison.
