The Savage Grace

by Bree Despain

  Slade didn’t say a word. I slammed his door. Ignoring the twinges of pain in my ankle, I bolted down the street toward the decimated warehouse, knowing I was on my own. I broke through the crowd—someone tried to hold me back from the building, but whoever it was wasn’t strong enough to stop me—and got as close to the fire as I could.

  “Dad! Talbot!” I shouted toward the building. Of course, there was no response.

  I stood absolutely still, the heat of the fire baking my face, and used all my concentration to let my senses guide me to where they might be. The ground underneath my feet shifted like it would during an earthquake. Talbot had said he was in the corridor between the Depot and the warehouse. That meant they had gone in through the secret underground club in the basement of the abandoned train station next door.

  I ran down what remained of the alley between the two buildings and came to the thick metal door that led to the Depot. Normally, I’d need a key card to open it, but the explosion must have fried the sensors because the door was unlocked. I pulled it open. Heavy, black smoke mixed with concrete dust smacked me in the face. I choked and sputtered, then pulled off my jacket and used it to cover my nose and mouth as I ran through the doorway and navigated my way down through the blackness of the stairwell. I passed the entrance to the empty club, and opted for the second door that I had never walked through before—which I realized now must have been the secret entrance to Caleb’s lair all this time. It looked like it was normally guarded by a similar powerful electronic lock system as the one outside—but the door stood almost wide open now.

  I hoped it had only been left open by Talbot, and not blown open by the force of the blast. Could anyone survive an explosion that strong?

  I stood silently again, willing my pounding heart to quiet, until a faint sound reverberated in my sensitive ears. A low, airy noise accompanied by a high-pitched wheeze. Almost like a cough.

  Someone was alive in the corridor!

  I entered the pitch black of the hallway. Even with night vision, I could barely see anything in the thick smoke. I held my jacket over my mouth and nose with one hand, crouching low to stay out of the worst of the smoke, as I made my way through the dark of the corridor toward the source of the noise. I coughed into my jacket, grateful for the noise of it to help block out the howls of the wolf inside my head. It feared the fire even more than I did. It screamed at me, Turn back, turn back! I pushed forward instead.

  It felt like it took an hour to traverse the corridor, but I knew it had been only a few minutes. I finally came to the end, only to find my way blocked by a flaming wooded beam that had fallen from the ceiling, cutting off the end of the corridor. Rolls of flames curled and lapped at what remained of the corridor above me. My lungs burned and ached, and my inner wolf grew more frantic. It’s not worth risking your own life. They’re all dead anyway. Turn back! Just when I thought the need for fresh air was going to force me to retreat, I saw something move behind the fiery barricade.

  I willed my power into my eyes, and through the smoke and flickering flames I saw him. He was collapsed against the wall at the end of the corridor, just on the other side of the barrier—with what looked like my unconscious father in his arms!

  I lowered my jacket just long enough to scream his name, “Talbot!”

  “Grace,” he choked out. “Help me.”

  My muscles surged with adrenaline. I forced power into my good leg. Don’t! the wolf shrieked as I sent a kick into the burning wood beam, flames licking at my pant leg. It cracked, splintering from the impact of my foot. One more kick broke it completely, sending cinders swirling around me. Run away! Get out of here! I used my jacket as a shield as I passed through the opening in the barrier in order to get to Talbot. I pulled my father from his arms.

  “The smoke … too much.” Talbot coughed. His head lolled back.

  “Stay with me! I can’t carry both of you.”

  I pulled Talbot against my side. He clutched at my arm for support, and I tried to concentrate all my supernatural strength into my muscles as I hitched my large father up in my arms. But the lack of oxygen must have been getting to me, because he felt like a giant, limp rag doll—his dead weight almost crushing me.

  Dead weight … No. I didn’t know that. He’s just unconscious, I tried to tell myself.

  I took three lumbering steps, carrying my father and practically dragging Talbot at my side. I could barely see anything with the smoke stinging my eyes, but I could hear Talbot gagging and wheezing next to me.

  “Marcos?” I asked, with the realization that he was missing. “Where’s Marcos?”

  Talbot shook his head.

  At first I was confused, but then I knew what he meant without his saying it out loud.

  Marcos was dead.

  I didn’t have time to react to this revelation. A loud cracking noise above my head warned me that another portion of the corridor ceiling was about to fall—and it would come down right on top of us. I pushed all my emotions into my powers and made a run for the exit with my father in my arms and Talbot trailing behind me. My left ankle throbbed, threatening to break for a third time in a week, and just when I didn’t think I could go any farther, Brent, Ryan, and Zach appeared at the end of the corridor. I blinked at them through my smoke-stung eyes, wondering if this was a miracle or a mirage.

  “Help,” I gasped.

  The boys approached slowly at first, like their own inner wolves were physically trying to hold them back from the fire. Then, with what looked like a burst of unified courage, Ryan and Brent grabbed Talbot, and Zach took Dad from my arms. Together we pulled them from the corridor, just as the ceiling caved in behind us.

  LATER

  Four cop cars and three large fire trucks cordoned off the street outside the burning building. Their red-and-white flashing lights mixed with the yellow-and-orange flames, creating a garish portrait in front of me as I watched through the open doors from the back of an ambulance. My breath fogged inside an oxygen mask that sent clean air down my burning throat and into my aching lungs.

  Dad was in the next ambulance over. I couldn’t stand not being able to see what they were doing to him. Why hadn’t they left for the ER already? I suddenly remembered seeing in a TV show once that paramedics can’t move the ambulance if they’re using a defibrillator. oh, no! I clawed at the mask and pulled it from my face. I’d started to climb out of the vehicle when the paramedic who had looked me over grabbed my arm.

  “You can’t go yet, miss.”

  Without thinking, I pushed him away—harder than I’d meant to—and he stumbled into the gurney I’d just left. “I need to be with my father,” I said, and staggered out of the truck.

  “No, miss”—a fireman tried to stop me—“go back.”

  “He’s my father!” I pushed past him toward the other ambulance.

  “Let her through,” a female paramedic shouted. “She’s needed.”

  The woman waved me over. I followed her around the big open doors of the ambulance and almost lost my footing when I saw the scene unfolding inside the back of the truck. Two paramedics worked over my unconscious father, who lay so still on a gurney, strapped to a backboard. One held an oxygen mask over my father’s face while the other prepared an IV. Dad had absolutely no reaction to the needle the woman stuck in his arm. I tried to imagine that he was just sleeping. Tried not to think about how he looked barely alive.

  “Daddy?” I hadn’t called him that since I was eight.

  The paramedic looked up from kneading a bag of liquid into the IV.

  “This is his daughter,” the woman who had called me over told her before she could protest my presence.

  The paramedic in the ambulance nodded. “My name is Jen, honey. What’s yours?” Her voice was soothing but urgent at the same time.

  “Grace,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

  “We’ve assessed his needs, and we’re doing what we can for him before we leave. He’s luck
y, I’m certified to give him pain meds before we reach the ER.”

  My breaths started to come much too quickly.

  “Is your father allergic to any medications?”

  “Um, I…” My head felt light, and suddenly my brain didn’t want to work. I knew he was allergic to something, but I couldn’t think of what it was. I couldn’t think of anything other than watching the way my father’s chest barely moved in response to the oxygen pump. My own breaths came so fast now I feared I was going to hyperventilate. Just then, I felt someone else’s presence next to me. I looked up and found Talbot standing there, wrapped in a thick blanket that was supposed to help prevent shock. Soot smudged his face, and his hair looked gray from the ashy dust that clung to his disheveled mane.

  He put his hand on my back. “Deep breaths, kid. You won’t be able to help if you pass out.”

  I nodded and took in several deep breaths and concentrated some of my healing power down my ragged throat. “Um, penicillin.” I finally remembered that’s why my mom never let any doctors prescribe it to us kids—just in case we were allergic like my dad.

  “What’s his blood type?”

  “O negative.”

  “Are you a match? They may need to do a blood transfusion at the hospital.”

  “Transfusion?”

  I looked back at Talbot—only one question playing on my mind. If Dad were given a blood transfusion with my blood, would he be infected by the werewolf curse? Talbot gave me a look like he understood my unspoken question. His eyes seemed to say, I really don’t know.

  “No,” I lied. It was too risky.

  “Anyone else in your family? His is a hard blood type to match.”

  Jude, I thought. As a nurse, my mom insisted we all know one another’s blood type. She kept them written on a laminated card in her wallet.

  “No,” I lied again. Jude’s blood would be even more dangerous, considering he was a full-blown werewolf.

  “Damn,” Jen mumbled under her breath. “Hopefully, the hospital will have enough.”

  How much blood does he need? Why is he still not moving? “How bad is he?”

  “Critical,” she said, and grabbed a long needle. I didn’t even want to know what that was for. “Your father must have been thrown several feet by the blast. He’s showing signs of internal bleeding. Still don’t know how the rest of you got out of there with barely a scratch.” She nodded to Talbot and me. “You’re damn lucky.”

  Talbot ducked his head. “Yes, the rest of us were lucky.”

  I looked at him, wondering about the inflection in his voice. Then I remembered … Marcos had entered that building with the others. Now he was gone. And Talbot didn’t want me to mention him. Marcos was dead, and it would be better if no one knew he’d ever existed.

  And you’re the one who sent him to his death, the wolf told me inside my head.

  I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep standing. My legs felt far too soft, and the ground underneath my feet seemed suddenly off-kilter. Talbot’s hand on my back felt like the only thing holding me upright.

  I’d known Marcos for only a week, and now he was just gone.

  “We need to get your father to the hospital,” the male paramedic said. “I think it’s best if you ride along.” He held his hand out to help me climb into the back of the ambulance. I clung to it for support.

  “I’ll meet you there,” Talbot said as they shut the doors between us.

  I suddenly felt very alone in the crowded ambulance.

  Dad’s eyes flickered open for a second and then closed.

  “I’m here, Daddy.” I leaned forward and reached for his hand, but I could barely loop one of my fingers around one of his for all the wires and tubes that protruded from his hand and arm. I could see him straining to open his eyes again, but he couldn’t.

  How could I have let this happen?

  Chapter Seven

  BACKFIRE

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER

  “I need to be able to do something,” I said to myself as I paced in the corner of Dad’s small ICU room.

  Dad hadn’t opened his eyes again since that one time in the ambulance. Doctors and nurses had worked over him in the ER for what felt like an eternity, and then they shuffled us off into this room with grave looks on their faces. At one point someone examined me, and then I was told to wash up in the shower of an empty patient room. One of the nurses gave me a pair of pale green scrubs to change into. She wrapped my tattered and bloody clothes in a plastic bag and then threw them away in a canister marked biohazard.

  When had I bled? It must have been my father’s.…

  I guess they thought being clean would help me cope better with bad news, because as soon as I was dressed, someone with a clipboard took me aside. She’d said words relating to my father, like trauma and invasive surgery, along with a long string of other phrases that I couldn’t comprehend over the loud pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

  How can I have all these powers, yet there’s nothing I can do?

  A muffled stream of what sounded like French curse words came from the sliding glass doorway. I turned to find Gabriel standing there, his hands clasped over his mouth as he looked at my father lying there, helpless and slipping further away.

  I was about to mutter something horrible like, “Took you long enough,” because I’d left a string of urgent messages for him, but when Gabriel lowered his hands from his face, I saw a long, pink, newly healed scar marring one of his cheekbones. His reddish beard almost hid the faintest hints of purple bruises along his jaw. He hadn’t had those injuries this morning when I saw him last.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” I knew immediately this had something to do with why he hadn’t wanted me to return to the parish. “Did Jude do this to you?” I hated to ask, but I had to. Jude acted placid, but I’d feared he was volatile, like a ticking time bomb … oh hell. Tears stung my eyes from the reminder of the explosion that had harmed my father.

  It’s all your fault, the evil wolf inside me growled.

  “No,” Gabriel said. “Something else entirely, but it’s not important now. We’ll discuss it later. How is your father?” Gabriel stepped farther into the room, and the glass door slid closed behind him. “I had to convince the nurse I was his brother so she’d allow me in.”

  “Critical. That’s all I know.”

  The ICU was a busy, noisy place, with nurses and doctors bustling about, but I still felt like I’d been completely alone for the last couple of hours. Talbot had never showed up like he said he would. I hadn’t wanted to call April—because if April knew, then Jude would, too, and I didn’t know how the news would affect him—and after I couldn’t get ahold of Gabriel, there was no one else left to call who could come be with me. Not Daniel. Not Charity. Not even my mom. “They wanted to use my blood for a transfusion, but at the time I thought that would be too risky. It might infect him, you know? But maybe I was wrong. Maybe letting him get infected would help his body heal. Or my blood might do nothing at all.”

  “Could you live with yourself knowing you had passed this curse on to him?”

  I’d heard Daniel, who had suffered with the effects of the curse most of his life before he was supposedly cured, say that he’d rather die than live with the potential of becoming a monster again. Giving Dad healing powers might help him live, but he might never be the same person again. And I didn’t know what he’d choose if he could.

  “But there has to be something I can do. I mean, I’m a freaking superpowered, demon-slaying, pseudo-werewolf, but all the power I have inside of me isn’t worth crap if I can’t use it to help my dad.”

  “Perhaps there is a way…” Gabriel said hesitantly. “It is risky, though. And I cannot guarantee it will work. I have only tried it three times, with varying degrees of success. Yet it helped you some.” He seemed to be debating it out more with himself than explaining it me.

  “What do you mean?” Then my mind flitted back to something Talbot had
said to me last night, and I realized what he was referring to. “You and Talbot used your powers to help heal me—after I was attacked by those wolves in the warehouse. You did some sort of power transfer to help my body heal itself when I was unconscious and wasn’t able to do it myself?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said.

  My memories surrounding the aftermath of what had happened in the warehouse were still fuzzy, so I’d never quite gotten the implications of that before now. Gabriel and Talbot had helped heal me. But I hadn’t known that was even possible—that healing other people was one of the many powers of the Urbat. Yes, they could heal themselves, but other people? I’d been the recipient of a power transfer before that day—when Daniel and I ran through the ravine in the woods after saving Baby James. I hadn’t had the ability to keep up with him until I felt a burst of energy travel through Daniel’s body into mine, tethering us together, making his power mine for a few moments. He’d shown me later that same night how he could heal himself, but he’d never mentioned that he could heal other people.

  “Why didn’t Daniel tell me about this power?”

  “He probably has no idea. It is a closely guarded secret. I did not know myself for hundreds of years. Not until Sirhan asked me to help him try it on his wife, Rachel. It did not work as well for her as it did for you. I believe that was the first and only time Sirhan had attempted it.” Gabriel scrubbed his hand over his bearded chin. “It is a remnant from the original Hounds of Heaven, the ones who were called by God and imbued with powers to help and protect the people of their clan. Legend has it that, in addition to being strong warriors, they were also great healers and teachers. They were like angels here on Earth, gifted with every power to help mankind. That is, until their power corrupted them, and they coveted their abilities for themselves. They succumbed to the same fate as the fallen angels of heaven, forsaking their duty and blessings to become as lowly as the devil’s demons. The power to heal others has been forgotten by most Urbat. They deal death now instead of life, and I am not sure the gift has been used on a normal human since those primitive times.”