Broken Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  I shuddered as it all settled, embedding itself once and for all into my consciousness. It had been beautiful, but it had also been desperate. I could see now, as all the old fears came crashing back in, why I’d forced him to erase it.

  All in all, I was glad to have it back. It had happened, forgetting wouldn’t change it, but it didn’t diminish the utter fear and desperation I’d carried back to that cell with me that night.

  I would never admit it to Wes, but giving myself to him in that way had made me happier than I’d ever been in my whole life—followed by the most profound sadness I’d ever experienced.

  “Are you okay? Did it work?” he asked quietly.

  “It worked,” I whispered.

  I shoved back against the onslaught of tears that threatened and forced my eyes to his. “Thank you,” I said. I leaned over and threw my arms around him, clinging tight. “That was...”

  “A lot,” he said again and I relaxed into him.

  “Exactly.”

  He drew back, his fingertips smoothing my cheeks. He spoke with lowered lashes, uncharacteristically shy. “Tomorrow, when we’re connected, I can let you see it from my side. Let you feel how I felt. I think it’ll help you let go of all that stuff you were feeling after. See it as nothing but a happy moment.”

  I tiled my head in surprise. “You knew I was upset?”

  “Of course. I don’t need your blood in my veins to read your moods, Tara Godfrey. I’ve always understood you, always been connected to you, no shared DNA required.”

  Without warning, the tears sprang up again, this time escaping into tiny wet tracked down my cheeks. “An entire pack with ESP, a dictator determined to destroy my brain, and you know what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, with a single look,” I said.

  He caught a tear with his thumb and brushed it away. “I’m glad you’re okay with it. After tomorrow, you won’t be able to escape me.”

  “I’ve never wanted to,” I said.

  “Well ... except for that one time. But that was definitely me being stupid.”

  I laughed. “Please tell me you’re not talking about that night I went to the dance,” I said.

  “That could be the one.”

  “That was actually one of the best nights we had together,” I pointed out. “Well, after you made me angry and I ran away and almost got killed.”

  “Right, after that,” he agreed.

  “I stayed the night at your apartment,” I said.

  “And if I remember correctly, the high point of the evening looked a lot like this. You and I in bed together. Tears of joy.” I rolled my eyes and he laughed. “Your mother conveniently in the dark that we were sharing mattress space.”

  “Good point,” I said. My smile faded as I said, “And just like before, we’re going to end the night with a kiss and go to sleep.”

  His smile disappeared too, but there was no disappointment. “Is that so?” he asked, and I could hear the attempt at a joke, but I shook my head.

  “Wes, I can’t ... I can’t do this from a place of fear a second time. The memory you gave me, the experience with you, it was beautiful and I don’t regret it for a single second, no matter what. But I don’t want to bring all that fear and desperation into it again. The next time we’re together, I want only us. Only love and joy and gratitude.”

  His grin spread slowly, his mouth tipping higher on one side in a mischievous quirk. “So, what you’re saying is tomorrow night works better for you?”

  I laughed and threw my arms around him. “Every night forever works for me.”

  “So, all I have to do is make you happy every second of every day?” He whistled. “No pressure.”

  “Easy,” I agreed and I leaned in with my mouth at his ear. “You already do.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  We went over the plan four times before breakfast. Everyone knew their part and every contingency we could think of on top of it. Astor was armed with his medical supplies. Ms. Hebert was allowed out of her room and onto the main level to hover near the front window. Dishes were cleared. Whispered reassurances were offered. By the time we assembled on the lawn, I was covered in goose bumps.

  “Nerves,” I muttered when Derek asked me if it meant anything.

  “And Jack and Fee are close,” Cord said, sliding her phone into the pocket of her dress before taking her place at the head of the gathering.

  I stood stiffly between Logan and Cambria, waiting for the clock to strike the hour signaling the beginning of our broadcast. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I felt the wrath of Ms. Hebert’s glare through the window and halfway across the front yard.

  “Is she still staring at me?” I asked.

  Beside me, Logan glanced back. “Yes.” He pulled his cap lower on his forehead and took Victoria’s hand again. “You really made an enemy last night.”

  “Me? She’s the one who compelled—”

  “Relax, killer. I know,” he said, chuckling.

  Victoria leaned across him and said, “He’s only trying to start something with you because he’s hoping I’ll jump on the bandwagon and use social torture as a way to distract myself from the fact that we’re about to bury my father.”

  “Vic, I...” Logan trailed off, clearly busted. Clearly lost for a defense. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

  She patted his chest affectionately and I caught sight of her bright-red, freshly manicured nails. “I’m not mad, honey. Any time you want to insult Tara to cheer me up, feel free. It can’t hurt.”

  I narrowed my eyes, debating whether it would be okay to rag on her right back. “Didn’t you just stick up for me during the last round of ‘let’s gang up on Tara’?” I asked instead.

  Victoria straightened, shoving her shoulders back and chin up. “Yes, and I totally stand by it. You’re our leader, no question. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop giving you crap. It’s my duty.”

  “Your duty for what?” I demanded, feigning anger. But the relief at hearing her give someone a hard time, sounding like her old self, overshadowed any irritation I might’ve felt.

  She rolled her eyes. “Everyone has that friend. The one who dishes it out, makes witty comebacks, but is sweet deep down with this other side of her that only the cute, quiet guy gets and they live happily ever after.” I stared at her and she sighed as if forced to over-explain to a slow child. “I’m that friend,” she added.

  On my other side, Cambria snorted. I opened my mouth but she grabbed my hand and squeezed. Hard.

  On the far side of the circle, Wes cleared his throat. He gave me a pointed look, smoothed his suit jacket one final time, and then nodded to Benny.

  Benny, the group’s elected cameraman, pushed a button on the video camera and held up three fingers to signal. He didn’t look nearly as happy to have his house arrest lifted as I’d expected. I wondered if he thought he’d chosen the wrong side or was just being jumpy toward danger, in general. With Benny, you never could tell. “And three ... two...”

  “Here we go,” Cambria said under her breath.

  “One,” Benny finished. “You’re on.”

  “Hello, friends, and welcome,” Wes began. “We’re gathered here today to pay tribute to one of our fallen: Douglas Phillip Lexington. Mr. Lexington was singularly neither Hunter nor Werewolf. He was both. He was a hybrid. A Hunter by birth and turned against his will before finally choosing the cure. But Werewolves know that in death, we return to our truest form. The form our soul calls out for. And as some of you witnessed on our last broadcast, in death, Mr. Lexington took the form of his wolf.

  “You’ve been invited to join us for this memorial ceremony as the first act in a two-part effort of goodwill. First, we gather today to honor the life of a man who belongs to both races. I commend his acts of bravery, loyalty, and honor at the end as he defended his friends and the efforts of peace against lies and manipulations.”

  Wes leaned forward and placed a single rose on the casket and stepped back.


  Cord stepped forward, her black dress a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Her icy blue eyes swiveled and locked onto Benny’s camera and there wasn’t a trace of the fear in them that I knew she felt. “Wesley St. John has spoken for the Werewolf community and now I do the same for the Hunters. Mr. Lexington was a hybrid and for too long, that term has meant something derogatory among us. Something undesired. But today, as we honor him, I challenge you to change your impression of the word. Hybrid is one who lives in both worlds. Who has a connection to or an emotional investment in both Hunters and Werewolves. And that’s exactly the kind of community we need to be.”

  Cord paused. For anyone watching, it would probably have seemed natural, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. The winded way she gulped for air. Cambria squeezed my hand.

  Farther out, somewhere in the trees behind her, branches cracked. Derek and Wes jerked toward the sound. Benny twitched in the same direction, but Logan whispered to keep filming. I crossed my fingers, hoping the noise belonged to my mom or Grandma or even Alex, but I knew better. None of them would be so loud.

  “Gordon Steppe lied to you,” Cord said to the camera and the branches broke closer now. Leaves crunched and voices drew near as faces emerged from the within the cover of the trees.

  “We have company,” Cambria whispered.

  “George,” I began.

  “I’m on it,” he said as he and Emma retreated toward the far corner of the yard to guard the hole in the wards.

  The faces continued to drift closer—a dozen or so Hunters all staring unseeing right through the place we all stood. I breathed a sigh of relief. Despite what I’d told myself, what I’d witnessed every time I’d stood there and saw what looked like an empty clearing, I’d still been half-convinced something would go wrong.

  But the uninvited group of Hunters only stared through us as they consulted their GPS and sent confused glances back and forth.

  “We’re good. They can’t see us,” Derek whispered to no one in particular. And to Cord, “The wards are soundproof. Keep talking.”

  “Steppe wanted us to fight and be at odds. He wanted the power that came with violence and war. And he wanted to make us hate each other, to divide us so he could control us,” Cord said.

  The Hunters wandered closer to the edge of the clearing, staring intently at what no doubt appeared to be an empty patch of frozen grass. Probably right where their GPS claimed the video was streaming from.

  I held my breath as one of them—a boy close to my age with a buzzed military cut that reminded me of Alex—seemed to look right at me. Around him, the group of Hunters—looking more and more like one of Kane’s famous strike teams—crept closer to the edge of the yard.

  “Stupid technology. They’re going to walk right over us,” Cambria whispered. She stared at a woman dressed in camouflage pants and combat boots. The woman had broken off from the rest of the group and was exploring the exact same trail we’d arrived on. The one that led straight to the hole we’d all come through. Her sharp eyes took in the broken leaves and I silently berated myself for not covering our tracks better.

  Across the fresh grave, Cord went on about peace and a new government. I could feel the tension building in my friends as Cord took us closer and closer to the point of her announcement. This was it. Even the Hunters paused to concentrate on Cord’s words as she echoed out of their various mobile devices.

  With every eye trained and ear cocked, Cord delivered her punch line in a clear voice: “Which is why I’m standing before you today. My name is Cordelia Steppe and I am the new Director of the Council for Hunter Affairs and Security.”

  Silence washed over the clearing. The Hunters all stared at the screen and then exchanged looks of disbelief and confusion with one another. Cambria squeezed my hand again but it was difficult to know if she was nervous about whether they’d accept her claim or about what would happen if they did.

  Cord moved away from her place at the end of the coffin Derek and George had built and went to Victoria, embracing her. The camera panned left to offer viewers the chance to witness their alliance. Victoria pulled away and faced the camera, her hand wrapped around Cord’s. “My father died protecting Tara Godfrey from Gordon Steppe’s lies. He died a hybrid, like her. Like many of you. I will honor him by supporting our new leader and her efforts to unite Hunters and Werewolves in discussions instead of violence. I am a supporter of the new CHAS because I am a supporter of peace.”

  Wes stepped up beside them and gave his own version of Victoria’s endorsement: “My name is Wesley St. John. I am a hybrid. I am a supporter of the new CHAS because I am a supporter of peace.”

  On Victoria’s other side, Logan joined them in the shot and gave his own identical statement for the camera.

  “Ready?” Cambria whispered, her boot tapping the grass lightly.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but a snarl from behind cut me off. I turned, half-expecting to find George warning off a visitor that had gotten too close—not that they would hear him—but George was nowhere in sight.

  Instead, I caught a glimpse of a large gray wolf sliding among the trees on the other side of the wards. Its bushy tail was tucked low, along with its nose. It moved quietly until it caught a scent and then it raised its head up and snarled again.

  I followed its line of sight—directly to the Hunter woman who’d wandered away from her group. She spotted the Werewolf at the same moment and her expression shuttered into an expression I’d always seen on Alex just before a fight. No emotion. Utter determination. With careful movements, she extracted a stake from her boot and straightened.

  The wolf’s eyes narrowed to slits and it crouched. I knew that body language all too well. It was about to spring.

  “No!” I yelled and Cambria stumbled in her rehearsed speech for the camera.

  Benny panned over to me and I stared wide-eyed into the camera. My mouth was open but I couldn’t remember the words I was supposed to say. The sounds of snarling and grunting and footsteps replaced the frozen silence. Everyone looked over just as the Hunter woman and the wolf slammed into each other. I watched, helpless, as the scuffle turned into a brutal match.

  The rest of the Hunters let out a cry and rushed to help the woman, but the gray wolf wasn’t alone either. I knew he wouldn’t be. Another five wolves emerged from the cover of trees from the same direction as the first. They spotted the enemy and sprang toward them, jaws open and teeth aimed.

  “We have to do something,” I yelled.

  Benny spun back and forth, clearly confused about what to aim for. “Don’t film that,” Cord told him and he immediately swung back to her.

  “We can’t fight amongst ourselves anymore,” Cord said into the camera. But the group beyond the wards didn’t hear or didn’t agree.

  From around the corner of the house, George and Emma appeared. Emma was close at his side and both had already shifted to their wolf forms. “There’s another couple dozen wolves coming in from the north side as well,” he said. He shook his coat out—a sign he was jittery. “What do we do?”

  “Astor, get the injection ready,” I said.

  “It’ll take a couple of minutes,” he said with a frown.

  “Logan, Victoria, can you help him?” I asked.

  They both nodded and hurried to the porch to bring down the supplies we’d set out earlier this morning. I turned to Cambria. “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “They’re not paying attention,” Cambria said. “We need them to see this or it won’t work.”

  “There are people watching that video. They’ll see,” I said.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked.

  I wasn’t, but I couldn’t say it. Not with so much to lose and Cambria’s fear rolling off her in fumes. “Yes,” I said, my tone way more certain than I felt.

  “Where is Alex?” Derek muttered. He stood behind Cambria, a protective shield, as he scanned the woods. “He should’ve been here by now.�
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  “I’ll call him,” Wes said.

  “We should go out there,” Derek said, still staring into the trees where a wolf and a hunter were circling each other.

  “No,” Cord said. “As hard as it is to stand by, we can’t engage or we’ll undo everything we just said.”

  “Cambria, come help me,” Logan called from the porch.

  “Go,” I told her. “I’ll be right there.”

  At the far end of the yard, the gray wolf and the woman Hunter rolled in a tangled heap as each fought for the upper hand. I was amazed at the woman’s strength as she managed to fight off the Werewolf’s massive paws. It had more force behind its weight than she did, though, and it shoved against her, sending them both tumbling end over end.

  I saw it coming about three seconds before it happened and sprinted for the opening, but it was too late. The woman tumbled and rolled away from the wolf—right through the hole in the wards.

  Wes, Derek, and Cord came up behind me. There was a ripping sound and by the time I looked back, both boys were wolves. They crowded in around Cord and me, positioning themselves between us and the woman.

  The woman lifted herself on an elbow and shook her head to clear it. Leaves and dirt clung to her clothes. She looked up at us, brows wrinkled in confusion. “What...?”

  Behind her, the gray wolf prowled near the opening, back and forth in short, pacing bursts, nose stuck to the ground. It growled incessantly and pawed at the deadened leaves.

  “It’s a wall of protection,” Cord explained. “You’re safe.” She extended a hand, knocking Derek out of the way as she did it.

  The woman took Cord’s hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “Thanks,” she said uncertainly, eyeing the wolves.

  “We would be honored if you would bear witness,” Cord said.

  “To what?” the woman asked. Her confusion and disbelief was fast turning to wary suspicion. She was doing her best to pay attention to Cord, but her gaze kept flickering to Wes and Derek. I eyed the stake she still held.