“Don’t.” He pulled my hand from his cheek and backed away from me.
He stared at me, his nostrils flaring with each breath. The touchable energy radiating from him quadrupled and I pressed a hand to my lower stomach.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Hannah asked, a panicked hitch making her words shrill.
My sister shifted from one foot to the other. If she had any nails left on her right hand, I’d be surprised.
I rose from the ground. “Who lied to you? Talk to me.”
“Castro.” The demon’s name, spoken with lethal venom, had my entire body jerking back in surprise.
“What?”
He curled his upper lip and shoved a folder against my chest. The force of Micah’s thrust threw me off balance and I reflexively grabbed hold of the file. Pure rage bombarded me, crept under my skin.
“He’s involved in this. He’s my father. He knew the entire time!” Micah ran both of his hands through his hair and yanked on the strands. “He made me promise to take her to him. Fucking fuck!”
I struggled to keep up with Micah’s words, to decipher what they meant. Take who where? Who was “he”? I opened the file in a clumsy rush and scanned the page, praying he’d misread something, that somehow the facts were skewed. Under the picture of a pretty woman I vaguely recognized was a photo of Castro’s face. His green-blue eyes mocking me.
Holy shit. So many things made sense now. Castro’s interest in Micah. Why their eyes glowed the same way. Micah’s ability to project emotion. His flaming palm.
Micah stalked a short, violent path into the middle of the room, back to the cabinet. His rage was tangible, something so hot and fierce I stepped in front of my sister to protect her from it. The air in the room crackled with energy and I braced for whatever was coming. Micah moved almost too quickly for me to see.
He wrapped his hands around the back of the large brown leather chair, lifted it as if it weighed nothing and threw it across the room. Pictures crashed to the floor in a spray of glass. As if the small destruction hadn’t been enough, Micah flipped over the desk with a roar of pure, heartbreaking frustration. Hannah let out a little squeak and pressed into my back.
Chaos reigned as papers, pens and other office supplies flew through the air. Micah slammed his fist into the wall, leaving gaping holes that exposed the building’s inner workings. Shit, it was only a matter of time before someone came to investigate the noise.
“That fucking bastard knew!” He picked up a broken lamp from the floor and hurled it across the room. “He knew!”
Behind me, Hannah clutched the back of my jacket and burrowed her head against me. I twisted my arm to hold her to me. Micah strode to the metal filing cabinets and one at a time yanked them forward to send them crashing to the ground. I flinched at each loud bang. Files and photos spilled free, a graveyard of horrors.
Micah, fists clenched at his sides, turned and looked at me. His eyes were glowing orbs of hatred and sorrow. His chest rose and fell with each heaving breath he took. Before I could say anything, he turned and strode for the door. Instead of bothering with the handle, he kicked it open and split the wood in half. He hooked left and disappeared from sight, a trail of writhing energy in his wake.
I stared into the empty doorway for long minutes until Hannah, who’d I almost forgotten cowered behind me, put a gentle hand on my arm and drew my attention.
“What do we do? Should we follow?” she asked in a voice that trembled.
I wanted to give Micah the space he clearly needed, but I also needed to protect him. Fighters made mistakes when they let emotions rule their actions. It was one of my greatest weaknesses.
“Let’s go.”
I shoved the folder containing the information about Micah’s mother—along with a few others for good measure—at Hannah and went for the door. I didn’t need the mating bond to know where he was. The squeak of boots scraping over linoleum, the echo of raised voices and the primal sound of pounding flesh were clue enough.
“You sick motherfucking asshole. Tell me where she is.” Micah’s voice had gone scary quiet, a hiss that hit my ears and prickled my skin with unease.
I rounded the corner to find him with his hands around the throat of an orderly, or maybe a doctor, dressed in white scrubs. Micah—face twisted into a snarl—tightened his grip. He shoved the guy against the wall and I cringed at the thudding sound of impact.
I phazed the distance to Micah and grabbed his wrist. I hissed at the blistering heat, fighting my instincts to let go. The distant sound of a commotion hammered my senses—voices, running footsteps and the jangling of keys—and it was hard to tell which direction it was coming from. One thing was certain, the plan to get in and get out no longer applied. That had gone to hell when Micah decided the office needed redecorating. We had minutes before we’d be surrounded.
“Micah, let him go,” I said and struggled to pry him away from his prey.
He shoved me back, ripping his arm free from my hold. “Not until he tells me where she is.”
Micah pressed his nose against the orderly’s and blew out an angry breath. The man sputtered. From dark to darker, the man’s face turned reddish-purple. His fear was a potent, ripe scent that spiced the air. The thundering of his heart drew my fangs and I ruthlessly forced my bloodlust away.
“Micah,” I snapped. “You’re going to crush his windpipe. He can’t answer you with your hands wrapped around his throat.”
Micah dug in deeper and cocked his head to the side, almost as if he was getting a better view of the life he slowly extinguished.
I softened my voice, hoped to hell he wasn’t beyond reason. “Micah. If you kill him, you won’t forgive yourself. Let him go so he can tell us where your mother is.”
My mate turned to regard me with cold indifference. Micah, the man I’d fallen in love with, was nowhere to be found. Swirling rings of color made his irises glow. More than that, there was something else in his gaze, something dark and deadly. The predator—the demon—was in full control.
I licked my lips and tried again. “Let him go.”
I reached up and stroked his cheek, smoothing my fingers over the defined muscles in his jaw that were slick with sweat, wondering if this was the day he would do something he couldn’t come back from. I stepped closer, desperate to save him from himself.
Micah’s nostrils flared and, one finger at a time, he let go. The man, face purple, lips blue, throat red and welted with blisters, dropped to the ground in a heap. Micah stepped back. The look on his face told me he was seconds from rushing forward and kicking the shit out of the guy on the floor.
I crouched and flashed my fangs at the hospital employee. He scooted back, almost crawling up the wall in an effort to get away from me. Nice to know I could still be scary, even if I was an emotional basket case.
“Marianna McGregor, tell me where to find her,” I demanded.
The man coughed and sputtered. He looked wildly around, as if he expected someone to come rescue him at any second. His gaze locked onto Hannah’s. Before he could utter a sound, I pinched a cheek between my thumb and forefinger, making him focus on nothing but me.
We had a minute, two tops before the troops arrived. I would not put my sister in that situation. So I did the only thing I could think of to speed this discussion along. I reached between his legs, grabbed his nuts and squeezed.
“Tell me where she is.”
He howled, a high-pitched wail, and scrambled, kicking his legs. “Three, three-oh-eight. Upstairs. Up. Don’t kill me, please just don’t kill me.”
I let go of the man’s junk, wiped my hands on my pants and stood. “Who runs this place?”
“I don’t…know,” he stammered.
I narrowed my eyes and focused on him. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead and plastered his light-brown hair to his skin. Words trickled together, a whisper of noise I couldn’t quite make out. I strained to decipher the message but it was like trying
to scoot the can off the top shelf with your finger. Pictures hit me, one after another. Micah’s mother, a syringe. The redhead from the photo. Charts, endless lines of handwriting. Richard…
“Ella!” Hannah said, and pulled on my arm, breaking my concentration.
I blinked and the words floating through my subconscious fell into a void, lost forever.
“What are you?” the orderly whispered, his pure spine-numbing terror one of the most horrifying things I’d ever seen. Scary because it was directed at me.
I let my sister pull me to the staircase Micah had already started climbing. The pounding of rushing feet grew louder, the shouts more pronounced. Not bothering with stealth, we raced up two flights of stairs until we spilled out into a hallway.
Rooms lined either side of the long, undecorated corridor. Each door had a painted number and a small window covered in bars. We stopped in front of the room that housed Micah’s mother. Without even missing a beat, Hannah dropped to her knees in front of the lock. She inserted the metal ends of the paperclips into the keyhole.
“Hurry,” I urged.
I couldn’t make myself look through the window. Instead, I peered down one side of the hallway, then the other, expecting a barrage of armed men to burst into view at any moment. At my side, Micah stared on in complete and utter silence. The roiling energy emanating from him made my skin crawl.
“I’m trying,” she hissed and wiggled the clips.
The second the lock popped and Hannah opened the door, Micah stepped into the room. Following closely, I ran into his back when he stopped dead in his tracks. I moved to his side and followed his gaze to the lone chair set next to a grate-covered window. In the plastic seat, a woman with curly brown hair sat listlessly. A thin blue gown hung off her bony, sagged shoulders.
“Mom?” Micah’s voice was cracking and raw, a tone that resonated through me.
Marianna turned at the sound. Her face, so pale and gaunt, looked like that of a ghost. The deep brown eyes I’d seen in the picture were now dull and lifeless.
“Marianna?” Micah stepped closer in slow, measured steps.
His mother stared at him without an ounce of emotion. Not relief. Not happiness. Nothing. She was a shell of a person, all the things that made her, her wiped away by this institution.
Micah crouched in front of her. When he placed his hand on her arm, she flinched at the touch and hugged her limb close to her body.
“Who-who are you?” she asked in a broken voice.
My blubbering heart cracked wide open.
“It’s me, Mom, Micah. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I don’t,” her voice was raspy, as if she hadn’t spoken in a while, “have any children.” She looked away from Micah and returned her gaze to the barred window.
I chewed on my bottom lip, torn between wanting to slide my hand up Micah’s arm and give him comfort, or going back downstairs and tearing out the orderly’s throat.
Hannah approached quietly and knelt in front of Marianna. My sister’s smile was gentle and reassuring—something neither Micah nor I was capable of. She picked up Marianna’s frail hand and held it securely between her own.
“Mrs. McGregor? Can I call you that?”
The older woman nodded.
“I’m Hannah. The man who just spoke is Micah and my sister, who you haven’t met yet, is Ella. We’re here to take you home.”
“Home?” she asked.
“That’s right.” Hannah stood and helped Micah’s mother to her feet.
Micah stood back, out of the way, with a murderous expression on his face. Marianna turned in slow motion, as if the act of moving was more than she could bear. She met my gaze and looked right through me as if I didn’t exist. I gave her a small, reassuring smile, making sure to keep my fangs tucked away so as not to frighten her.
“We don’t have much time, come now,” Hannah cooed.
Marianna clutched my sister’s hand and nodded as she shuffled first one foot, then the other. Flimsy blue slippers covered her feet. The pale, calf-length gown she wore would do shit to protect her from the elements.
I wrestled out of my leather jacket and met Hannah in the middle of the room, putting it around Marianna’s shoulders. Hannah flashed me a grateful smile, one I cherished.
“It’s cold outside,” I said and pulled away.
Marianna glanced down at my forearms covered in sheaths and gleaming blades. She looked up, met my gaze. After a long moment she nodded once as if she understood. Whatever it was, I’d take it and get the fuck out of here.
Micah strode out of the room and I waited until Hannah exited before I took up the rear.
“How do we get out of here?” Micah asked and drew a hand through his shaggy hair. He looked down one side of the hall, then the other.
Hannah stayed silent a moment while she searched her vast memory for the correct blueprint. “There’s another staircase if we take this hall down, turn left, left and then right. It’ll bring us to the back of the hospital. We’ll have to circle around to get back to the fence we cut.”
“Let’s go then.” Micah led the way, his strides long and sure, forcing me, Hannah and Marianna to walk double time to keep up with him.
Every room we passed made me ill.
“What about all these other people?” I asked, struggling to keep pace with the group. Words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “We can’t just leave them here.”
The approach of footsteps was louder, closer, a mocking answer to my questions.
“Ella,” Micah growled. “We don’t have time.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and stopped in the middle of the hall. Red corkscrew curls haunted me. I’d made fun of that girl long, long ago—called her weak and pathetic because she’d cried after being punched in the stomach. I’d decreed that anyone who couldn’t take a simple hit shouldn’t have been in training to become a hunter.
“Those are other people’s mothers, daughters, sisters. You read the files—you know what was done to them.” I close my eyes and spoke the truth. “We can’t leave them.”
His heavy sigh washed over me. “What do you want me to do? We can’t pick every lock, Ella.”
“I…” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and knew he was right. “I know, but…”
“Kick the doors in,” Hannah suggested.
I opened my eyes and stared at her for a long moment, knew we didn’t have time to spare.
“And then what?” I asked, desperate for her to come up with a plan, some kind of solution. I’d failed mankind, failed the vampires, even my sister. But these women, I could do something for them.
“Shit,” Micah said, his gaze focused on a spot behind my right shoulder.
I turned as four armed guards rushed from the stairwell and into the hallway. Two dropped to their knees, took aim, their matte black rifles long and wicked looking. Instincts took over and I reacted without thought, that special spot inside me, the one my shadow lurked in, opening wide. I phazed the distance in a blink of an eye, grabbed the barrel of one weapon, kicked the other. The two other guards who’d kept running in our direction turned at the commotion.
Micah rushed into the fray and swung out, his fist connecting against the guard’s jaw. I didn’t have time to watch the perfection of his movements or how freaking sexy he looked while kicking ass.
“Fucking vampire,” one of the guards hissed and launched himself at me.
He wrapped his large, meaty hand around my neck and squeezed as his buddy withdrew a knife from his boot and lunged. I fitted my fingers around my attacker’s forearms and yanked him forward, slamming my forehead against him. I lifted and turned, using the man as a shield. The blade intended for me slid into the guard’s back and he screamed in pain.
He let go of me and I spun, kicking my leg out until my boot connected with the second security officer. Two more thuds hit the ground and I looked as Micah swiped blood from a cut at the corner of his mouth.
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“You hurt?” he asked me curtly.
I shook my head and glanced at the men writhing on the ground in pain. Alive, wounded, but not getting up anytime soon. I motioned to a random door, gestured Micah to another identical entrance. He drew in a breath, nodded and we parted ways. I positioned myself in front of the door, kicked out and put as much strength as I could into breaking it down. I aimed for the space below the knob, where it would be the weakest.
The door crashed open and was quickly followed by a second crash, Micah kicking open his door. I stepped inside and had an awful flashback of Hannah strapped to a medical table, naked and bleeding. Only, this patient wasn’t bleeding or struggling. She had pale-blonde hair and glassy blue eyes. The woman stared at me with a helplessness that tore at my heart. What really got me, what had me covering my own belly, was her stomach swollen to bursting with child.
I rushed forward and slipped a blade free as I went. My knife, razor sharp, melted through the restraints at first her wrists, then her ankles.
“Can you walk?” I asked, already striding for the door.
“Who are you?” she asked.
I looked over my shoulder. She cupped her belly and struggled to sit up. Ugh. I crossed back, helped her to a standing position.
“We don’t have time to talk. If you want out of here, we gotta go now.”
In the hall, I focused on the next door and kicked it in. Some patients were restrained, but the less lucid ones sat on their beds or in hard plastic chairs. By the time we finished clearing the hall, women dressed in gowns similar to Marianna’s drifted from their rooms. Some were young, barely eighteen—others were just starting to gray and wrinkle.
Once the last door was breached, I grabbed Hannah’s arm. She stood silent, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Let’s go,” I said.
She shook her head. “Take Marianna.” Hannah shoved Micah’s mother into my arms.
“Hannah!” I hissed as my sister strode passed Micah.
Hannah gathered the zombie-like patients who wandered down the hall in confused, wandering circles.
Micah shook his head and threw his hands up in the air. “What the fuck is she doing?”
Dark Secrets Page 12
