No one would have ever seen her unless they knew she was there.
Julia stood, and the pins and needles of returning blood flow almost brought her to her knees. But she persevered, breathing slowly in and out. She was tired of fainting, being kidnapped, and being told who she was and what she was going to be and do.
She was Julia, and she was going to be okay.
Julia turned and walked away, casting a glance behind her as she went. She didn't have the vaguest clue where she was, but she was going somewhere. She headed west, where the sun rode above the mountains. At least she had a direction.
Julia hoped it was not the same one the Were had used.
****
Homer
The phone buzzed shrilly beside his ear, and he snatched it up, his irritation rising like the tide beyond the window of the police station. “Truman,” Karl answered in his gruff voice.
“It's Alexander,” the chief forensic specialist said.
“Hello! Sing me the tune I like to hear.”
“Okay. Well, I don't know if it's what you want to hear, but it's what I have.”
Confusing, but okay, Karl thought. “All right. Lay it on me.”
“I've got the sample DNA typed, but it's broad because I can't get a specific on it.”
“Cut the cryptic shit, and just give it to me straight.”
“Canine genome.”
All right—just as he'd figured. No big surprise there. “Okay, wolves then.”
Silence. Karl could almost hear the static on the normally clear lines.
Alexander cleared his throat.
“Listen, this is going to sound completely insane.”
Karl waited.
“But the classification is not entirely accurate.”
“What are you saying, Alexander?”
“I'm saying you've got yourself a new class of canine here.”
“What, Bigfoot?” Karl gave a short bark of a laugh.
Alexander didn't laugh. “No. Not Bigfoot.”
“Then what?” This is crazy!
“Something else. Something so different we don't know where to put it.”
Karl leaned forward, his chair creaking under his weight. “Okay, give me what you know.”
“Okay, more insanity. Ready?”
“Hell yeah.” Karl tapped his ballpoint on the desk, listening. When Alexander was finished, he whistled low in the back of his throat, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face. Finally, he said, “A guy could lose his reputation over what you're postulating.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“So, what's the plan?” Karl asked.
“Well, first off, I think the larger question is what are these things? Listen Truman, meet me back at the scene. With some additional measurements, I may have more answers. Who knows?”
“Like, what kind of measurements?”
“Size, for starters,” Alexander said.
“And?”
“Intelligence.”
They were quiet for a full minute, the line buzzing between them.
“You're not suggesting these things are the same ones that tossed that dump, are you?”
“I am,” Alexander said.
“Holy shit,” Truman breathed out.
“Yeah.”
*
Cyn
The driver looked as the forlorn girl entered his bus. When she told him where she wanted to go, he was somehow reminded of that waif of a girl a few months back—the one with the whiskey eyes and phony black hair dye. He wondered how she was doing.
The girl said, “Kent.”
He nodded. “I know just where to take you.”
“Good.” She turned away and headed to the back of his bus. His eyes followed her in the rear-view mirror. She wore some funky boots. They looked like hard-core fisherman boots, reaching to her calves. Ugly suckers, shit-brown in color. Huh. They didn't really seem to go with the rest of her.
He shifted his eyes back to the road, putting the great bus into gear. It ground out of park and into first gear, a plume of exhaust hailing its departure.
*
Cynthia leaned back, pushing her knees against the seat in front of her. She let her legs dangle, and right before she closed her eyes, she caught sight of Jules's boots on her feet. She smiled through her tears.
I'll never forget you, Julia.
After a few moments, Cynthia fell asleep, exhaustion taking the reins for her, the tears drying on her cheeks as she slept.
*
The bus driver drove his route twice, the same way he had with that other waif, giving the girl time to rest. When he was a couple blocks away from the women's shelter, he stopped.
This is as good a place as any. He jerked the lever, and the bifold door opened with a burst of compressed air.
Cynthia's eyes snapped open, and she noted that she was the sole person on the bus. Her eyes met those of the bus driver. She stood, her eyes flicking to the name embroidered on his uniform: Alfred.
When she came to the front, she lowered her head and peeked out the bus door at a building a couple of blocks away. She could just make out the sign: “Freedom Affirmed.”
She looked back at Alfred. “Where am I?”
His kind eyes remained steady on hers. “Kent.”
She nodded. “Right, okay.” Cynthia began to descend the short bus steps as she heard the driver's voice behind her. “That place up there will give you a couple daysʼ peace.”
There is no peace for me, Cynthia thought. But she turned anyway and looked into his kind eyes. “Thanks. I'll check it out.”
Alfred smiled and nodded, pushing the lever, the bus door closing with a snap and an air-driven hiss. Cynthia watched the bus glide away. The only proof it had ever existed was the exhaust cloud in its wake.
Turning, she headed for the building.
It's as good a place as any.
Cynthia quickened her pace toward the building and a new life.
*
Julia
Julia walked quickly and made progress. However, she grew thirsty, her tongue swelling like a tumor in her mouth. She became so parched it was all she could think of. Shading her eyes, she looked up at the sun. Julia guessed it was well past noontime.
As she hiked, the sun would move behind clouds, casting deep shadows in the forest. Julia's mind played tricks on her, and she felt alone and scared… and foolish.
Mostly just scared, she decided. Finally, Julia thought she heard the tinkling sounds of moving water, and when the forest floor grew greener and the topography of the ground at her feet began to slope away and downward, Julia figured she'd hit the jackpot. She grabbed branches to steady herself as she finessed her way down a short but steep ravine toward the sounds of a small stream. It was probably a river in Washington, but by Alaska standards, it was a creek. She knelt by the crystal-clear water and made a cup with both hands, letting the slow-moving water run over the top then capturing the refreshing goodness in her already cold flesh. Ignoring her intellect, she gulped greedy sips.
After she'd drunk her fill, Julia stood, wiping her hands off on her jeans. She turned and carefully made her way up the small ravine, refreshed and rejuvenated.
She abandoned the tree cover and entered an open meadow, stopping for a moment as the sun came from behind the clouds, beating its warmth into her as she stood in the open. Julia closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sun, and reveled in the stolen moment of warmth. When the first pain began to pierce her guts, she gasped, folding her arms across her belly protectively.
What is this? She groaned out loud, holding herself.
Julia felt the water she had drunk not thirty minutes before churn in her stomach like curdled milk. A chill rolled over her skin, and she began to shiver. Goose flesh rose, and she trembled again. Julia looked around, feeling ill. Maybe she drank too much at one time?
This was the worse possible time to get the flu or some other crap. No worries—just the big bad wolf after
me.
She didn't think being Little Red Riding Hood was very funny.
Zero amusement.
Julia pressed forward, clutching her stomach as she walked. Her eyes searched the dim forest. She might have to find someplace to hide until her insides felt better.
She moved into the soothing coolness of the forest as the first cramp tore into her, and pain rode her like a wave coming to shore.
*
William
William and his five runners made haste. As soon as twilight had dropped its veil of protection over the city, they had left the shelter of the kiss.
The cattle parted like the Red Sea. Even in their ignorant stupor, there was some biological imperative that kicked in, a primal alert of sorts. When the vampires evacuated their lair, the steps leading to the street a yawning concrete hole of uncertainty and darkness, the humans moved aside unconsciously, giving the vampires a wide berth.
William moved quickly, Gabriel's words ringing in his head. Do not engage a large group of Singers.
He had asked, "What is too many?"
There had been a pregnant pause, and then Gabriel had responded with a question. "How many is too many at the Were stronghold?"
William had understood. Had it not been for the feral Were, he might have stood a chance, even with the pair of Singers. He was not certain. He shrugged the thought away. Julia and he were connected, and William had Singer ancestry. He had alliance and blood-share in his favor. However small a portion his Singer ancestry was, it would cast weight to the positive for him.
He swiped Gabriel's words away with a dismissive mental shrug. Gabriel did not fully understand battle reasoning. The Were, for all their flaws, did. In the heat of battle, decisions were made, some lacking in any rational foundation. Nevertheless, they were deemed critical then, in that moment. There might be a moment that arose in just that way in the next few hours, and William would be reactive. It was the only thing he had not allowed himself in prior instances.
He had thought it a luxury. Now he recognized it for what it was: necessary. If he wanted Julia, he would have to use his emotions as his barometer, not his rational mind. This was not the time for mental negotiations.
It was the time for action.
Their noses were on keen alert as they made their way toward a remote spot on the Olympic Peninsula. William had chosen the runners for ancestry instead of warrior prowess with the ability to shift.
They all shift now.
To the casual observer, they would look like black wings and bodies, flying against the backdrop of the night sky.
Only the eyes would give an observer pause. They were crimson, like blood.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Catalyst
Julia rolled over onto her side, her body shuddering in response to the movement.
She realized she'd made the gravest, most novice mistake in the world. She had drunk water from a creek untreated. Did her Alaskan upbringing teach her nothing?
Dumb!
She had beaver fever. Julia had consumed a ton of creek water, and now it felt as though someone was taking her insides out with a spoon. Worse, she wasn't throwing up or… the other. But a fine fever was there, securing a good foothold. And climbing higher.
Julia remembered that when she was young, her mother had said she was a “burner,” one of those kids who got rid of being sick by jerking her core temperature up to an insanely dangerous level.
Julia shivered, crawling back into the crevice of an old log. The wooden embrace was full of sodden leaves and God knew what else. She flung her arm out, bending it at the elbow to fit inside the tight space. She shuddered, as she put the bare skin of her forehead against the cold wetness of her jacket, dampened by her environment.
Julia fell into a fitful doze, her body intermittently shaking from exhaustion and sickness. She was completely vulnerable and alone.
The cougar had scented its prey in the meadow. It followed the female back to where she lay inside a downed log in the forest. The cougar slunk closer, knowing that the prey was weakened—and safely inside the cougar's territory.
The animal prowled toward the log.
It scented danger too late.
*
The werewolves moved in with typical stealth, tearing the cat's large head off its shoulders even as it turned to swipe. They executed the maneuver with precision and accuracy. Wasting nothing, they feasted on the most delicate part of their kill, leaving the remainder for possible consumption later. They were wary. Many scents were all around them—that of the enemy… and others.
What lay within the folds of the log was too precious to be dispatched by the dumb creature of the forest, a lowly cat.
They moved to the log and peered inside.
*
Vampire
The ravens lit upon the branches of the trees. They had not discovered the scent of the Singer but that of the dogs. Circling the position, spying the group of four Were with the sharpness of their raven eyesight, they settled on the highest branches. William sent out an alert to the others, a single cawing tone of specific meaning. They fell to the ground as a well-oiled machine, from thirty of forty feet of height, their wings melting into deadened flesh and bone as they dropped. It was a beautiful symphony of purposeful landing that began with feathers and ended with feet, which touched the earth with a silent hop.
*
But the ravens were not silent enough.
The Alpha amongst the Were snapped his head up, his senses on full alert. His snout swung toward the three he'd brought with him, and he turned to his first, giving a snort. The other Were scooped the girl out of the log. The Alpha scented her sickness and paused. She was very ill. He breathed deeper. Maybe not permanent? It didn't matter. The time to move was now.
He went in the opposite direction of the scent that had accompanied the soft noise.
Vampires.
They would not recapture his precious cargo.
The Were began to move away in battle formation, the Alpha at their back, his half-formed hands at the ready, the Rare One in the arms of his second.
*
The Feral
The feral moved from his discovery with precision and energy, the meal he'd consumed affording him the speed and agility that would be necessary to find the female.
He knew he should never have left her. She had escaped him. Judging by the tracks in the rock cave, she had wiggled out. Her small frame had allowed maneuverability.
The feral ran hard, smoothly evading every obstacle, his form perfectly suited for the environment in which he traveled.
He hit upon her scent and stopped short. It had changed.
She was sickened by something. He scented deeper. She had drunk water and had the sickness that humans were susceptible to. It was not possible for him to be affected. He moved forward, scenting the many nuanced odors ahead of him.
He welcomed the challenge of their presence. There would need to be many to keep him from the female.
Mine, his mind said.
Mine.
****
Scott
Scott stopped suddenly. His hands went to the hard planes of his stomach. “What is it?” Jen asked, her breathing labored. They'd been nearly running since they'd discovered Julia's disappearance.
Scott felt a dull pain in his guts and bowels and a burning in the back of his neck. He described it to Marcus.
“She's sick, and that's what you'd feel.” His father's tone was ominous, knowing.
Scott wanted to get moving, but Marcus explained briefly, “A soul-meld is more than a pairing of Singers. It's an awareness of each other.” He made his hands collide, the fingers lacing together. “She has encountered”—he waffled his hand back and forth—“something, and she is ill.”
Scott's teeth clenched together. This was just getting better and effing better.
“Well,” Brendan began. “She's sick, all right, and the Were have her again.”
Scott's
eyes locked with Brendan's, sweat running down between his shoulder blades, chilling as his skin dampened in the cool night air. Then Brendan said the thing that made Scott's blood run cold. “The feral is out there”—he lifted his nose to the air, pushing a good amount of an invisible fragrance right underneath his nose with his palm—“vampires and werewolves.”
“Wait! Flag on the play!” Jen yelled, throwing a flag on an imaginary football field.
They all turned to her. Jen planted her hands on her hips. “What, more werewolves? The feral?”
Brendan nodded. “Yeah, I'd recognize wet dog anywhere. And the red feral—he's his own tomato. The vampires—well, we know what they smell like.”
“Shit,” Scott responded definitively and began jogging in the direction they'd been heading, impatient to get to her.
“Scott!” Marcus yelled after his son.
Scott whirled around. “No! I'm not waiting another second. It's already been too many seconds.”
The siblings all looked uneasily at each other but followed him.
He couldn't think until he had Julia safe. His change of heart was breathtaking in its completeness.
*
Julia
Julia moaned, the constant rocking motion waking her. She wished she hadn't awoken. She looked up into a pair of eyes she hoped to never see again.
Tony. It didn't matter what form he was in, she'd recognize his stench anywhere.
She swore he grinned when he saw recognition dawn on her face.
Julia tried to struggle in his grasp but was too weak by far to do anything.
“Stay still,” he said in a low growl. “You're sick.”
Julia felt hot tears she couldn't afford to lose run down her face.
Helpless again. Grief crashed into her like an earthquake. It shook the very foundation of her soul, and nothing but despondency remained.
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