The Betrayer (Crossing Realms Series Book 3)

by Rebecca E. Neely

  She was alive. Barely.

  The clan had discussed, argued, and in the end, they’d decided to leave sooner. Oddly enough, it’d been Dev who’d supported the change. As Curtis had predicted, he was starting to come around, slowly.

  Now, shortly after midnight, they proceeded single file across deserted streets, licks of dark energy smiting the night. Nick led the group, with Dev behind him, then Saxon, Jordan and lastly, him. Moonlight cast silver over the blond dreads escaping Jordan’s watch cap. They crept along the row of turn-of-the-century brick buildings housing everything from costumes to restaurants, breweries to bakeries. Many of the stores had been looted, their windows smashed. Glass crunched beneath their feet.

  Debris and human bodies littered the streets, the victims of the Second Rebellion’s dark energy bombs. Annihilated by the waste, the utter sacrilege, Curtis recoiled as a pair of raccoons scurried for cover at their approach.

  Nick held up a hand, halting them momentarily. Crouching beside the remains of a scarred Oldsmobile Cutlass, they huddled together. “We are Keepers. We will guard the humans again,” he whispered fiercely. “These victims will not be forgotten.”

  Curtis and the others nodded soberly, understanding what Nick left unspoken. The devastation was a stark reminder of a future they’d fight against until their last breath. For now, they couldn’t expend the time or the energy to guard humans. Because of the bombs, unknown numbers of humans were high on dark energy and could be as dangerous as Betrayers. The clan didn’t have time for an altercation, nor could they afford to be injured and forced to use precious Vitality energy to heal themselves.

  Rising hurriedly, the clan once again fell in line. Like the raccoons, they too, were scavengers of the night, Curtis reflected. Cars, their front ends crumpled like accordions, lay scattered on sidewalks and streets alike. They wound their way around the wreckage, then darted past a pickup tilted drunkenly on its side. Fires burned in the distance, pumping smoke into the humid night air. Every step brought them closer to the manhole cover at the intersection of Penn and 21st Street.

  Grimly, Curtis realized in some ways, Keepers had become as vulnerable as humans, and they’d returned to the city the same way they’d left. Under cover of night. On foot, their faces darkened with grease paint, clad in black. This time, they had a plan. A team. This time they were fully wired with a host of human gadgets, including ear pieces, mikes, and synchronized watches. They were also armed with Flint that may or may not work, Jordan’s uber hearing, and the capacity to manipulate the Vitality to stay under the radar of the brood.

  Jordan’s command of her ability continued to improve. The fact she’d been able to hear Magpie in the great room at the house reinforced that. But it would require all of them to execute the plan they’d formulated.

  To Curtis, re-purposing the Vitality still felt foreign and unnatural. Strangely, it wasn’t unlike the way he’d dialed down his energy when he and Jordan had been at the reno. Doubts still scraped at him about consequences, known and unknown. For that reason, and for their overall safety, he’d insisted they limit their time on this mission. He’d tried and failed to produce a scenario with the aid of his computer on the residual effects. And, as it’d been since Jordan had barreled into his life, the trusty logic that’d always guided his thinking kicked him in the teeth. How could choosing what seemed so obviously a course for disaster feel right?

  Following the others, he turned left at the corner near what had once been a popular diner. The stench of rotting flesh, fetid in the July heat, smothered him. Gagging, coughing, they broke into a run. A few steps ahead of him, Jordan tripped and fell. Curtis jerked to a halt, almost stumbling himself. Kneeling, he gripped her arm, ready to yank her to her feet, then froze.

  And gawked at what remained of a man’s face.

  Perhaps only a few days ago, this thirty-something human had been in his prime. Now, terror twisted his features.

  Maggots fed on his cheek and nose. His right leg contorted in an odd angle. Jordan whimpered.

  His stomach turning, Curtis hoisted her up, his only goal to get them both as far away as possible.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.” Together, they plowed through the carnage and raced the last fifty yards to their destination.

  Nick and Dev hefted the cast iron manhole cover aside. With Nick in the lead, one by one they slipped through the opening in the street and descended the ladder’s metal rungs. Dev entered last, pulling the cover back in place. As he’d done in the tunnels beneath the warehouse, Curtis marveled at the gritty real estate some thirty odd feet below street level. A single bulb, mounted on a nearby wall, offered enough light for them to see as their eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  “Is everyone okay?” Nick asked gruffly, taking stock of the group. “Then let’s do this. Ready, Jordan?”

  “Ready.” She squeezed Curtis’ hand then released it. Her face glowed in the amber light.

  Pride in his mate coursed through Curtis.

  Nick nodded. “Let’s get into position.”

  With Jordan in the lead, Curtis, Nick, and Dev followed, leaving Saxon to guard the manhole entrance. As they forged deeper into the tunnel, Curtis estimated its height at eight feet. Its much narrower diameter forced them to walk single file. He prayed they could accomplish what they needed to in the four hours he’d allotted them, with a two-hour window built in for unseen circumstances. If they exceeded that, the clan would come for them. Getting to the manhole entrance had already eaten up thirty-four minutes, according to his watch.

  It was three quarters of a mile to the entrance leading to Abel’s base—a fallout shelter beneath an older block of city buildings. Dev and Nick would station themselves in quarter-mile increments from the entrance, and one another. Curtis would accompany Jordan all the way to the shelter entrance, where he would wait for her return.

  Again, using his watch, Curtis tracked their distance. In minutes, they reached the first quarter-mile mark.

  “This is my stop.” Nick nodded at each in turn. “Godspeed.”

  And then there were three.

  With the next light source too far away to be much help, Jordan, Curtis, and Dev groped their way through the tunnel, each step leaving Nick further behind. Overhead, water ran in steady rivulets, soaking their hair and clothes. Mud sucked at their shoes. Suddenly, the ground shot downhill. Curtis lost his balance, slid, then fell into Jordan. Dev helped them both up.

  “It goes downhill for about another thirty feet,” Jordan told them.

  “I could use my phone light to guide us,” Curtis suggested.

  “No,” Jordan whispered fiercely. “I know the way. Trust me.”

  Slowly, cautiously, they reached the bottom, the depth plunging them into complete darkness.

  “How much further?” Dev asked.

  “Another fifty yards,” Jordan estimated. “Then we’ll start going uphill.”

  Blindly, they battled their way over every inch of that distance. Stale air clogged Curtis’ lungs. How the hell did the brood exist in this environment? And was it really smarter not to have a flashlight? They could injure themselves or be ambushed by Betrayers. Squelching his thoughts, he reminded himself he trusted Jordan.

  By touch alone, he identified what felt like brick, at other times, what he guessed might be terracotta—layers of human’s industry and progress. Always, there was dirt, caking his hands, smearing his clothes, and slowing their every step.

  Finally, a dim light shone in the distance. Another thirty yards yielded dry ground. Running, they reached the next quarter-mile mark.

  Dev nodded at Curtis and Jordan in turn. “Good luck to both of you. Get in. Get out. I’ll be waiting right here, ready to return to the network.”

  And that, Curtis thought, mig
ht come close to an apology.

  Adrenaline and anxiety warred in him. He massaged Jordan’s hand. “Ready?”

  “No,” she murmured, and closed her eyes.

  “Jordan. Talk to me. What is it?”

  “It’s Magpie,” she stammered. “I know where she is.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Tapping. Panting. Can’t breathe. Ache. Cold.

  Jordan . . .

  Swimming her way to the surface of the murky energy surrounding her, Jordan clung to the sound of Magpie’s voice.

  “What did you hear?” Curtis asked, his misgiving evident.

  “It’s Magpie. She can’t hardly breathe. Or move.” She hiccupped a sob. “There’s a compartment beneath Abel’s desk. That’s where she is. I’m certain of it. Only a few of the brood knows about it. She’s suffocating. Dying.”

  Curtis stared. “You think Abel is the one who tried to kill her.”

  Her thoughts ricocheted like gunfire. “Has to be. No one else would put her there. Of the few who do know, who would risk Abel’s wrath? No, it was him.” She paced, trying desperately to put reason to madness, to squelch the terror piercing her like barbed wire. “Why would he do this? She’s the only one who’s ever loved him.”

  “Calm down,” Dev said quietly. “Think. If Abel did try to kill her, it may give us insight into his state of mind. You say they’ve been together for years. If she’s as loyal to him as you say she is, and he’s the one who’s done this . . .”

  “Then it’s possible he’s becoming paranoid.” Curtis finished the thought. “Look what he’s already done, with you, your father. Field testing the Similitude. The portal.”

  “He’s more dangerous than ever.”

  “And more likely than ever to make a mistake.”

  “Which means our chances for taking him down are better than ever,” Jordan concluded.

  “Now you’re thinking.”

  Maybe Curtis is right about Dev. She opened her mouth to thank him.

  Dev halted her with a quick shake of his head. “I know, Dreadlocks.” One corner of his mouth tilted in a lopsided smile. “Get out of here, you two. Time’s a-wasting.” He receded into the shadows to man his post.

  Curtis and Jordan bolted through the tunnel. In less than seven minutes, they arrived at a metal door, studded with rivets. Arched, rusted, it might’ve belonged on a submarine—the entrance to the tunnels leading to the fallout shelter.

  Panting, Jordan gripped Curtis’ hands. “We can’t leave without Magpie. We have to get to her,” she whispered.

  “We will. My parents are already in position, waiting for our call. We’re going to get her out. Emphasis on ‘we.’ Do not go after her alone. Hear?”

  Jordan knew he was right. She also knew, for the first time in what felt like forever, she could depend on someone other than herself. “Yes.”

  Curtis pulled her into his arms. “We haven’t been apart in almost five days. I don’t want you to go. And I know you have to.” Pressing his palms to her cheeks, he laid his lips on hers.

  She tasted his heat, his desperation, as surely as he must sense her own. Basking in his nearness, their energies melding, she drank him in, along with the assurances he murmured in her ear. As she absorbed the energy he lent her, she fell harder for him.

  “You come back to me, do you hear? We have unfinished business.” Slowly, he released her, offering a smile.

  “Yes, we do.” She breathed in his scent one last time, certain she would carry it in her heart like a shield into battle.

  “If you’re not back in forty-five minutes, I’m coming for you.”

  Afraid to speak, she traced his jaw with her finger, committing the curves and angles of his face to memory. Everything they’d done had led to this moment. Now, it was all on her. The portal. Magpie. She couldn’t let them or herself down.

  Before she lost her nerve, she turned, wrenched open the door’s latch, and stepped through the crumbling threshold. The second the door shut behind her, she broke into a run.

  As she’d done all her life, she trained her attention on the battle. Only this time, instead of compartmentalizing her emotions, she used them, along with the training the clan had given her. In tandem with the Vitality, she channeled its strength inward.

  And became undetectable to the brood.

  Invisible.

  Increasing her speed, she aimed to reach Kemp’s anteroom in less than ten minutes.

  The darkness, the silence permeating the tunnels like a tomb, struck her as never before. For days, months, years, she’d lived here. Memories inundated her. The happy hours she’d spent with her father. How she, a mongrel, had tried to fit in and failed. But that was in the past. How drastically her life had changed, in so short a time.

  Betrayers clung to the shadows, hiding. Keepers embraced the light, in every way.

  Now, so did she.

  The dips, the turns, the dead ends—Jordan knew them all intimately, as she did the odors of earth, mildew, and damp. Revulsion rose in her. Never again, as long as she lived, did she want to be underground again.

  In the distance, dark energy throbbed and receded.

  Jordan flinched. It’s the portal. Has to be.

  Dredging deep for courage, she jogged past the crumbling cinder block wall. Halfway there. Every step she took was one further away from Curtis. But closer to all of their futures.

  The enormity of her task mounted, slowing her steps. Sweat coated her back. Grime permeated her pores. She’d nearly rid herself of her knee-jerk response to mistrust, recognizing it for the emotional and physical burden it was. The brood and Abel had cultivated that, as they’d instilled in her the stronghold of discipline. If she, the Betrayer turned Keeper, could order and control her thoughts, she could succeed.

  Once more, her steps quickened, and in minutes, only thirty yards stood between her and Kemp’s anteroom. Here, the tunnel narrowed and sloped upward, forcing her to crouch or hit her head. Panting, she crawled through.

  Voices echoed in the distance.

  Her adrenaline pumping, Jordan slid into a narrow crevice in the wall of the tunnel, checked her watch. What if she ran out of time? Didn’t find Kemp? And Magpie . . .

  The voices grew louder. Footsteps reverberated in the enclosed space.

  Jordan shrank inside the crevice, willing herself to disappear.

  She squeezed her wrist, gathering courage from the tattoo emblazoned there and imagined Curtis beside her. Holding her breath, she peered around the edge.

  Betrayers. Aldwin and Garrett. Both held mid-level brood positions.

  Both stood inches from her hiding place.

  “I ain’t playin’ with you again tonight.” Aldwin guffawed. “You cheated me outta two aces.”

  Garrett poked him in the chest. “The hell I did. If you weren’t so lousy at cards, that never would’ve happened.”

  “Enough,” Aldwin returned. “Can’t be late.” They hurried along the tunnel.

  Right past me.

  They hadn’t detected her Vitality energy.

  The re-purpose was still working.

  Regardless, Jordan waited another precious two minutes to be certain she was alone. Easing herself from the crevice, she raced through the passage. A soft yellow light filled the space perhaps twenty feet ahead. Slowing, she listened.

  The page of a book, being turned. She heard its distinct sound.

  Kemp.

  Her footfalls silent on the hardened earth, she crept a few feet closer.

  Almost there.

  She jerked to a halt, fear almost rooting her to the ground. If Kemp decided he should kill her, as he’d been sent to do in the warehouse, she’d be forced to fight back. She gulped. Never again did she want to hurt anyone. Betrayer
, Keeper, or human.

  But she’d do what she had to do.

  Hastily, she again consulted her watch. Twenty-four minutes before Curtis came for her.

  Her mate.

  She released a breath, the swift certainty of that truth resonating in her bones.

  Galvanized, she stepped forward.

  Out of the shadows.

  In profile, Kemp sat on a wooden bench scarred from use, a book propped on one thigh. He shifted, the bench creaking with his movement. Tracing a finger across the pages, his lips mouthed the words as he read. A single candle burned beside him. She knew he’d retreated here many times to nurse a broken heart and to escape Abel’s demands.

  “Kemp?” She whispered, but the sound was deafening to her ears in the enclosed space.

  Whirling around, his eyes widened. His face blanched. The book fell from his hand and clattered to the ground, forgotten.

  “J-Jordan,” he stuttered. “You’re alive.”

  Chapter 23

  Kemp sprang from the bench and backed away, stumbling on the book. “Oh, my gods,” he managed, and burst into tears. “I thought you, oh my gods. I left you there. In the warehouse. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Shock and relief nearly had Jordan sagging against the tunnel wall. Judging from his reaction, Kemp wouldn’t try to kill her. Or would he? Too much had changed for her to be certain. Cautiously optimistic, but forcing herself to remain suspicious and alert, she moved closer. “I know you are.”

  “What are you doing here? He’ll kill you. He’ll kill me. How are you still alive?” His eyes lit on the stones around her neck. He sucked in a breath, and Jordan thought he might choke. “How is it not—”