by Lisa Ladew
Blossom sighed. “You’re going to make me do all the work, aren’t you?” Riot turned to her, a confused look on his face, as she dropped her final bombshell. “This have anything to do with the girl Faith mentioned, from high school? Gemma?”
Riot surged to his feet, the chains of the porch swing jangling with the change in weight. Far from being put off, his mother chuckled behind him. “Thought that name rang a bell from that fight you and Shain had.”
Did she know everything? Riot wanted to rage, to run, to rip the screen door he’d just installed straight off its hinges and break it down to kindling. Anything to keep from facing the pain head-on. Facing how completely and utterly fucked he was, how heartbroken and hopeless.
Riot didn’t have a clue how he was going to come back from this… this… whatever it was that had been building inside him for the last nine days. It was bigger than him, had taken over his whole body and every thought in his resistant mind.
He didn’t know how to shake it. Her. Gemma.
He turned back to face his mother, his begrudging gaze locked on her calm, always-accepting one. He smirked. “Too fucking smart for your own good, Ma.”
Blossom laughed. “Let's just hope I’m smart enough for yours. Now sit your ass down, tell me about my future daughter-in-law.”
Riot dragged his feet to the swing, his shoulders slumping at his mother’s words. “Ma, no. It’s not like that. I’m not the guy for her.”
Impatience flitted across Blossom’s face. “Says who? Or did she not bust down Faith’s door and make her cough up the truth to The Cause for your sake? I like her already.”
Is that what she’d done? Riot sat, suddenly ashamed that he hadn’t seen it that way, but rather as an invasion of his privacy and boundaries. Which it had been, but still. I was wrong. Intentions matter. Maybe not in a court of law, but… definitely in love.
On the other hand. Riot hedged, not ready to believe it. “She was probably just trying to pay me back for saving her.”
Blossom’s forehead wrinkled. “Saving her?”
Riot put his head in his hands, but Blossom acted like they had all the time in the world. She picked up her glass of lemonade, sat back in the swing and pushed off with one foot, patting Riot’s knee.
“Why don't you tell me the whole story?”
Chapter 35 - Rebel Yell
Gemma swallowed hard at the look on Jameson’s face. The news he was getting on the phone was bad. Jameson hung up the phone and spoke so they could all hear him. “Last twelve hours, Aven’s been seeing them pack up stuff at the gold mine. Furniture, food. Thirty minutes ago, he says, a truck backed right up to the mine. He couldn’t see what they were loading, but a woman in her underwear went tearing out of there, hands tied, got about fifty yards before a Fatherborne caught her, phazed her back towards the truck.”
Gemma swallowed. The TSK victims. “A Fatherborne?”
Jameson went on, his tone serious, his eyes taking in each of them, one at a time. “Aven says he left with the first load, but there’s another truck on its way in. If we move quick we might be able to rescue some women, as well as destroy the nest.” And just like that they were in motion.
Carick spoke up from the edge of the clearing. “Keeper! Bring grain.”
Jameson looked back sharply. “Grain? What?”
Carick scowled. “A pile of grain in their path halts a vampire. They must count every morsel. It is a compulsion, and therefore a weakness to exploit.”
Jameson held up a hand. “Carick, I’ve had enough of your secrets. We could have used this information before now.”
“I told you,” Carick said darkly, mood turning turbulent. “You knew this from the first day-” Caricks words stopped, his countenance confused. “You’ve known…” he said again, and he visibly deflated slightly. His expression sharpened again and he growled one word at Jameson. “Grain.”
Cora spoke, an expression on her face like she'd found a long-forgotten memory. “Grain? Like rice?”
The Steward nodded, relieved, back to himself. “Rice would do.”
Cora turned for the house, shouting, “Yo, Resperanza! We need rice!”
Jameson frowned. “Cora, you can’t-”
But Cora turned to face Jameson, walking backwards, cutting him off with a smile. “What? Do my job? When you’ll be right there to keep me safe?” Her smile turned to a grin and she whipped around to face front again.
The Keeper caught up to his pregnant fiancée, a mixture of anxiety and desperate love in his eyes, but Cora’s enthusiasm seemed to ease his worry. Her chestnut waves flew behind her, along with her words. “Been too damn long since I stuck a vampire. I can’t wait for tonight.” She threw a wink at her mate, and Jameson’s shoulders noticeably relaxed even as they seemed to stand wider. The couple exited the clearing, bound for the hacienda.
Gemma watched them go, happy for Cora but sad for herself. She had hunted with Riot twice, had known how wonderful it felt to have that connection with him. She didn’t begrudge Cora that feeling at all.
But Gemma was worried. She had to go out and hunt with shifters she barely knew, and after the Undoing she was going to have to Prowl with one of them. Oh, she knew she could fight Shiloh, just like she had fought Riot that first time, or let one of them run her for however long it took to tire her. But what if that’s not what I do?
What if she pounced on Bryce or Aven, or both, and begged them to fuck her blind? She’d heard Cora’s stories about her first Undoing, and Gemma had felt the urgency herself. And you don’t want that with anyone but the man who walked straight outta your life forty-eight hours ago and ain’t been seen since? For a genius, you sure do some stupid shit. But she wasn’t changing her mind. This was part of her proof, part of what she planned to offer Riot as evidence of her love.
If he came back.
Raised voices grabbed her attention, and Gemma looked over to see Goldie faced off against her sister. Darby’s mouth was wide open in outrage, her dark, perfectly-painted lips stark against her pale skin as she scoffed. “What do you mean, I can’t go? I have to go!”
But Goldie was shaking her head. “You’ve only had one training session.”
Darby’s eyes flashed at her sister. “You said you wouldn’t hold me back if I moved in here. You promised!” She turned to Flint with pleading eyes. “You know I can take care of myself. Just give me a weapon!”
Flint’s dark brown eyes were soft, but set. “It’s not a good idea, Darby. A little more training, yeah?”
Bryce, standing next to them, grumbled. “I don’t see why she shouldn’t go. Four switches is better than three.”
But Flint shot him an irritated look. “And what if she’s not a switch, B? What if we get her killed?” He looked back at Darby with sympathetic eyes. “I know how you feel, Darby. But this isn’t the time.”
Bryce flushed and he gave his brother a look, but said nothing, just rubbed the toe of his boot in the ground.
Darby, getting desperate, raised her voice towards Shiloh, on the other side of the clearing. “Shiloh, come on! You know I can do it, right? You saw me yesterday at training.”
Shiloh moved in, along with Molly. Her keen brown eyes didn’t blink as she stared Darby down. “You trained great, Dar, but I agree with Flint. I didn’t see one blip of a glow, even when you stabbed the dummy as hard as you could. We just can’t guarantee you’re a switch, and if you’re not…” Shiloh trailed off but her point was made. If Darby’s not a switch, she’s a liability. And a possible victim, if a Prowl goes wrong. Darby couldn’t heal herself like a shifter could.
Realizing she was beat, Darby turned and stalked away from the group, towards the house. Goldie took off after her. “Dar, wait. Maybe we can try next week…”
Gemma glanced back at the group and saw Molly put her hand on Flint’s arm. “You boys go. I’ll stay here with Darby.” Flint kissed his adoptive mother’s cheek and fell in to follow the sisters back to the house, Bryce two ste
ps behind him.
The whole line of them stalked towards Carick, at the outskirts of the clearing, Darby in the lead and pulling away. She seemed to deliberately ignore Carick, walking straight past him without a word, holding her arms tight to her body. Goldie sped up to double-time behind her. “Darby, would you st- whoa!”
Goldie tripped, most likely over her own feet, and lurched forward just as she passed Carick on the lawn. Her arms flung out on instinct, looking for something to grab, and just as much on instinct, Gemma suspected, Carick caught her. And then the noise.
Carick hollered. Like, just-cut-off-my-leg-with-a-grapefruit-spoon hollered. Loud and pained, almost angry. And at just the same time Goldie let out a growl like nothing Gemma would have even thought her capable of. Sounds like she’s pretending to be Flint. Carick’s hands gripped Goldie’s arms as her whole body writhed and shook, a feral expression on her face. Gemma wouldn’t have been surprised to see her foaming at the mouth.
Carick shoved Goldie back, hard, aggressive, like he had to push her to break the bond. Flint was there just in time and grabbed Goldie before she hit the ground, his voice bellowing over all the noise. “What the fuck?” He set Goldie to standing then took a step towards Carick, clearly ready to take the Steward on.
But Carick was in no condition, stumbling back from all of them, falling, one hand on his heart as he stared at Goldie in horror.
Darby had been made calm, almost blissful, by her minor brush with Carick, but Goldie looked rabid. She clawed at Flint, her face a mask of aggression. “We have to go. Now. To the nest. Kill them all.” And as quickly as she could, Goldie gathered her feet and ran towards the house, Flint barely keeping up, leaving Darby and her dropped jaw behind.
Darby looked at Carick and swallowed, then turned her back and walked on the way her sister had. Molly followed. Gemma watched them go.
Just her, Carick, and Bryce now. The young shifter walked over to Carick, offered his hand to help the Steward up. “You okay, man? You get static shock or something?”
Gemma rolled her eyes at Bryce’s question and turned back to the house, leaving the two men in the clearing together. Shit was getting downright spooky around here, but what could she do about it?
Not a damn thing.
Chapter 36 - Rebel Without A Pause
Riot sat on the porch swing, his mother’s request causing his breath to catch. The whole story? But he knew she was right. It was time to own up to all of it. “You were right. Our fight was about Gemma.”
Blossom looked at him curiously. “I always thought it was because you stopped hanging out with him. Cleaned up your life. Oh!” Her eyes widened then, her mouth dropping open a little as she looked at Riot with sudden comprehension and unguarded affection. “You did it for her.”
Riot swallowed. Nodded. For once his mother seemed to struggle for words, her eyes filling with tears. “I always wondered what brought you back to me that last year.”
Ah, shit. Riot hung his head. “I was a shitty kid, Ma. I’m sorry.”
Blossom clucked her tongue. “Oh shush, you were not. You were an angry kid without a dad to show him how to manage it.”
Riot shook his head. He knew what kind of teen he’d been, drinking with his older cousins and playing mailbox baseball, tagging decrepit old buildings with graffiti, getting into way too many fights. But his mom was right about one thing; he hadn’t been that way before his dad died.
As a young kid Riot could remember being full of energy and joy and innocent mischief, feeling completely safe in his little home, both his parents showering him in love. He’d played sports, read as many comic books as he could get his hands on, and never been happier than when he was out rock-climbing with his father. But after a cornered criminal had killed his dad when Riot was eleven, everything in his life had changed.
With his father dead and his mom grieving, they had been forced to move from their quiet, happy home in Asheville to live with Blossom’s divorced, chronically wine-drunk sister, Blythe, and her four sons in their cramped, messy, angry home in Fayetteville, North Carolina, right outside Fort Bragg. Riot had been miserable, and the environment only fed his unhappiness.
The only bright spot had been Shain. “I thought he and I were going to be friends forever.”
Blossom smiled, laughing softly. “You two used to drive me nuts. It was bad enough you looked so much alike to begin with, but then the hair, the clothes… it was like you were the same kid.” Riot smiled back.
They were the same age, he and Shain, and by some freak turn of genetics they had looked nearly identical. Black hair, green eyes, even the same body type. Riot and his cousin had become inseparable, roaming the forest together as pumas and climbing every paltry peak they could find in the area. When the school year came around they had gotten the same haircuts, bought the same clothes, and started pranking their friends, family, and teachers. Blossom was the only one who could ever reliably tell them apart.
Riot struggled to speak. “I learned a lot about Shain by pretending to be him. You know Blythe never caught us? Her own kid and she couldn’t tell it wasn’t him. And the way she talked to me, thinking I was Shain…”
Blossom propped her elbow on the arm of the porch swing, and her head on her hand. “Blythe had a lot of problems, kiddo.”
Riot knew it. “Summer before our senior year Shain was out of control. Drinking, driving drunk, and he had a fight with his girlfriend that went way too far. He kept saying he’d slow down but he didn’t.”
After that summer with Shain, Riot had pulled back. Way back. Barely saw any of his cousins at all. By the time school started he was dodging Shain’s calls. “And then I met Gemma.”
His mother looked at him, a soft smile on her face. “She changed everything?”
Riot nodded. “I’d never met anyone like her. Smart, nice, funny… so damn beautiful. No way was she going to go out with a fuck-up like me.” He’d never felt such a desperation to be other than what he was, to erase all the wrong turns and missteps and follow the path his father had laid.
Blossom smiled. “And that’s when I got my son back.”
Emotion clogged Riot’s throat. He hadn’t even realized back then that his mother had been missing him. They’d been fighting so much for years beforehand, when Riot had been angry at the whole world, including her. As a teen, Riot was willing to bet he’d snarled at his mother more than he’d talked to her.
But all that had changed his senior year. He got that job at Duke’s Pawn & Junk shop, stopped drinking, stopped snarling at Blossom, paid attention in class, brought his GPA up from the basement to a respectable 3.0, and generally tried to become the kind of man he thought Gemma deserved. And Shain didn't like that.
He'd shown up at Riot's house the day before Halloween and their argument had escalated to a fight in the front yard. Blossom had finally ended it by stepping between them.
Riot had shaken off the fight and Shain’s rejection and gone on with his plans. Even if he and Gemma weren’t a forever possibility, with her being fully human as far as he knew, Riot wasn’t ready to let go of them altogether. He had love to give Gemma, and nobody else would do.
“And then April came,” Riot growled, “and all my plans went to shit. That fucking trip out to Croatan.”
Riot had been so excited. A whole day with Gemma, a chance to talk to her, maybe ride next to her on the bus home, talk some more. He wouldn’t kiss her. Not there. He’d do it privately, later. If she wanted him to.
The hope brought all the disappointment with it, and Riot closed his eyes for a moment before spilling the whole sorry story.
They had poured out of the bus at the coast as a class and immediately started off along a path that went through one of the bogs, where they could take samples of brackish water to analyze back at school. Riot hung towards the back of the group, noting when Gemma peeled off on a smaller path to sample a section of marshy land ringed with trees. He watched her disappear around a curve. Here
’s my chance. Riot hadn’t thought it would come so soon.
His feet had stuck to the path, and Riot stopped moving altogether. What will I even say to her? ‘Thought you could use some help’? She’s the last one who needs a lab partner. But maybe they wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do the talking thing. But Riot’s feet still wouldn’t budge. Minutes he had stood there, until the rest of the class had disappeared ahead and even their voices had faded. Gemma didn’t come back.
A voice had sounded inside his head, reverberated through his heart. Riot could still remember how it felt, the way it had moved through his body and shaken him from his trance. Instinct. Riot had tried to drown it the last couple of years with shame and alcohol, but since cleaning up his life it had gotten sharper. He was still getting used to it.
(go to her)
What? Instinct talking to him about Gemma? Riot shook his head. Usually the Instinct told him when someone was about to blindside him in a fight or to check his speed on his bike seconds before a deer ran in front of him. It had never had shit to say about a female before. He waited for confirmation a beat too long and when the voice spoke again, it snarled, spearing pain through his head.
(NOW)
Riot took off at a dead sprint down the thinner path that Gemma had followed. Sloppy mud kicked up from his bootheels as he scented the air, scanned the spaces between trees for a flash of her clothes. He hadn’t been running for two minutes when a sound stopped him dead in his tracks.
Riot’s ears rang with the memory. “She screamed. I can still hear it, Ma. Like she’d come face to face with her worst fear.” Riot’s shoulders sagged, knowing what was coming, and continued his reluctant telling.
