by S. M. Reine
She was surprised that Niamh had remembered. “It was actually twenty-one different places.”
“That means you know where they all are. You could tell me how to find them.”
“Are you planning to attack?”
“Liberate,” Stark said. “Free the children. Release them into society.”
Deirdre would have loved him when she was a teenager. She’d thought a thousand times about how much she wanted to escape—and she’d attempted it a thousand times, too, only to be dragged back and shoved in another house.
But she had a few more years of life on her now. Releasing the kids didn’t sound as appealing now that she knew what waited for them on the outside.
The people in the kitchen had noticed that Stark was there. They grew silent, turning to face him. They were almost as military in their movements as the guards in the basement, though less practiced. Jacek was there—a hard-faced man with blond hair falling to his shoulders. He wore the knife that had cut Deirdre at his belt, and he hadn’t washed it off.
Deirdre didn’t care if they had an audience. She frowned at Stark. “The facilities I grew up in were hell, but free-range kids isn’t an improvement.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Stark asked.
“Uh, yeah. They’re kids. It’s not like they can go get jobs and feed themselves.” Deirdre had tried that. It had been nearly impossible for her, and she was stubborn. What would the other kids do?
“People won’t let them starve. There are private charities that could handle their care far better than the state-run system.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Like which charities? Don’t get me wrong, I want the kids out of those places. But you’ve got to do something better for them. You’ve got to have a plan for what happens once they’re out other than letting them run free.”
Jacek settled his hand on the hilt of his knife. “Don’t talk to the Alpha like that.”
“Let her continue.” Stark looked amused. “What would be better, Tombs?”
“The setup they’ve got at the sanctuary isn’t inherently bad. The problem is that admission is too narrow. It’s for the privileged—the ‘good’ shifters. We need to expand the existing academy. We need to make sure that all kids are getting the quality of diet, housing, and education the sanctuary kids are.”
“Where’s that money going to come from?”
“I didn’t say I’ve got the whole solution,” Deirdre said. “I just know where things have got to go. We can’t abandon the shifter kids.”
Stark scratched at his beard as he contemplated her. “Abandonment isn’t in the plans.”
“In that case, I’d love to know what the plan is.”
He backhanded her.
Icy pain shocked through her cheekbone, radiating from jaw to forehead.
The force of the blow staggered her. She caught herself before falling over, hand flying to her cheek. Her fingertips came away bloody.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Stark said. Jacek smirked. “The beasts of the forest don’t need a government to support them. Not even when they’re children.” He wasn’t speaking to her now—he was talking to the entire kitchen. “The pack takes care of their own. When we’ve freed the gaean youths from the system, they’ll be looked after by others of their kind. It’s the natural order. The way things are meant to be.”
Deirdre bit back an argument.
Sure, the vampires might get their act together and take care of other vampires. The sidhe took care of the sidhe, after all. In time, many shapeshifters would form packs among their own breed, too.
But who would take in shifters like her and Niamh?
As though Stark could read her mind, he rested a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. “I will be there for those who have no homes to turn to. Nobody will be left out. There will be no privileged once I’m in charge, no outcasts. Not even Omegas.” He pushed her out of the kitchen. “Let’s go, Tombs.”
The last thing she saw before returning to the living room was Jacek’s ugly little smirk.
Deirdre remained silent, jaw clenched shut, as Stark showed her the group bathrooms downstairs, the armory, the supply room. Many of the asylum’s interior walls had been knocked down, leaving nothing but support beams to create an open floor plan. It was a spartan living space.
Once they got outside in the courtyard, Deirdre couldn’t remain silent anymore.
She whirled on him. “What the hell was that back there?” Stark lifted his hand, but Deirdre slapped his arm down. “Don’t even think about touching me!”
He hit her again, moving so fast this time that she couldn’t evade it.
And he wasn’t nearly as gentle as he’d been before.
The ground rose to meet Deirdre’s face. She tried to catch herself on a park bench and only managed to smash into it, cheek bouncing off the corner.
She hit the dirt on her knees.
“What did you expect to find here?” Stark was so damn calm, as though beating a woman around was a normal part of his day. She spat fresh blood onto the ground. “Did you think that a man who ordered the murder of so many people would be kind to someone like you?”
Deirdre glared at him. “I thought I would find a revolutionary.”
“I’m that and more,” Stark said with no hint of pride. His mouth twisted with loathing—loathing that wasn’t directed at Deirdre. “What do you want out of this revolution?”
“If we could have a conversation without drawing blood, that would be a great first step.” Deirdre got to her feet, trembling as the healing fever burned through her, mending the fresh wound on her cheekbone. “I’m not afraid of a man who hits me. I’ve dealt with that bullshit my whole life.”
His mouth twitched. His brow lowered over his eyes. “Don’t talk to me with that tone and I won’t have to put you in your place.”
“Yeah? Is that how this works? It’s my fault you hit me?”
“That’s exactly how this works.”
Deirdre was tempted to hit him right on back. See if she could smack that frustratingly neutral expression into something more revealing. “I came to help you. I believe in the change we need. Right now, I don’t see a lot of cause to believe in you.”
He lifted his hand.
She flinched, turning her head instinctively. Trying to shield her still-healing cheek from the blow.
“Don’t make me hit again,” Stark said. “If you push, I will push back. I don’t have a choice.”
“Bullshit,” she muttered.
“Speak louder.”
“Fine,” Deirdre said through gritted teeth. “I’ll try not to push.”
“I can tell you’re going to be trouble,” Stark said.
She folded her arms and glared. “Then why let me in?”
Stark strolled around the empty courtyard. Every extra inch of distance he put between himself and Deirdre made her relax a fraction, though if he was as powerful a shifter as he seemed, they would have needed miles between their bodies for her to be able to escape his attacks.
“You’re interesting,” he said from behind a tree. The branches hung low, leaves shielding his square features. “You’re a mystery. Rejected from the sanctuary because you can’t shapeshift.”
She rubbed her healing cheek. It still hurt. “Most people don’t find that mysterious. It disgusts them.”
“They’re afraid of it.” He circled the tree, thumbs hooked in his belt. “You represent the worst fears of every shifter. The fear that we will lose our beasts, become weak, the lowest of the low.”
Deirdre snorted. “Thanks.”
He parted the fronds of a fern and approached her again. Stark held out a hand. “Let me see.”
She wanted to touch him about as much as she wanted to go skinny-dipping in a volcanic caldera. But she wanted to get struck again even less.
Deirdre braced herself and touched her fingers to his. He ran his thumbs along the bones in the backs of her hands, down to her fingernails,
massaging the pads of her palm. His skin was rough with calluses, but the gesture was strangely gentle.
“Are you getting something out of that?” she asked after a minute of quiet probing.
“Sometimes I get a sense of who people are when I touch them. But you—I get nothing.” His thumbs stilled on her hand. “You could be anything. Anything at all. How can we unleash what lurks inside of you? How can I help make you complete?”
Frisson settled over her, a chill that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Rylie spoke of Deirdre’s hidden animal like it was something to be feared. A thing that might put the shifter children at risk.
The way Stark talked…it was more like Deirdre was buried treasure.
Her mouth was drier than the desert, tongue heavy between her teeth. She couldn’t seem to swallow.
“You should wear the badge of Omega with pride,” Stark said. “You’re unlike the rest of us, and you make the others fear. That is power. That, my new friend, is a wonderful thing.”
Deirdre pulled her hand away from his. “You know, friends don’t hit friends.”
“I did you a favor in the kitchen.”
“You’ve got a funny idea of favors.” She sighed. “But I’ll behave. I’ll try.” If that was what she had to do to avoid being discharged or beaten to death, then she’d have to.
He made a noncommittal sound. “Your tour is over. We’ll be attacking an OPA benefits office soon to make an example of the employees. I want you to come. Prepare yourself.”
“When are we attacking?” Deirdre asked. “Now? Tonight?”
“I’ll let you know,” Stark said.
He headed back inside, and she dogged him. “How do I prepare? What am I going to do?” He shot a look at her, and she remembered her promise. Deirdre took a deep breath. “What am I going to do, sir?”
“You’ll be briefed later.” He checked his watch. “I’m going to meet with my Beta to strategize. Find something else to do—explore the house. Enjoy.”
Deirdre stopped in the entryway and watched him leave.
His movements were eerily graceful for such a broad man. He walked smoothly, purposefully, the way that the big predators did. Everyone in the house reacted to Stark as he passed, ducking their heads, bowing their shoulders, showing submission in the way that shifters always did to a superior werewolf.
Yet he hadn’t scented her when he was trying to figure out what she was. He didn’t seem to have enhanced smell. He wasn’t a wolf.
Everton Stark’s beast was as much a mystery as Deirdre’s.
The meeting was held in a room near the kitchen. Two guards stood outside, and thankfully, neither of them were Jacek. Still, Deirdre could not approach without drawing suspicion to herself.
She had internalized the layout of the asylum during her brief and violent tour, so she knew that one of the shared bathrooms was on the floor above the meeting room. Given the paper-thin walls, it would be a much safer place to listen in on Stark’s plans.
Through the open door, she saw Jacek speaking to Stark inside, both bent over a table. They were looking intently at something on the surface. Deirdre couldn’t tell what it was and she didn’t linger to find out.
She passed two other women on the stairs, both of whom looked like they’d been living in the asylum for quite a while. Their clothes were unfashionable, probably hand-me-downs, so they had done their best to mark them with their personal style. The lead woman had her shirt tied in the back to tighten it around her waist; her friend’s jeans had been artfully slashed to expose long stretches of pale skin. The two of them were probably feline shifters. The way they moved was distinctive.
She heard them whispering once her back was turned. She wondered if their interest was because she was new or because they had heard what she was. An Omega.
Deirdre doubted they would hold the same favorable view of the position that Stark did.
She slipped into the bathroom upstairs and shut the door behind her.
It was a room with little more than a toilet and sink. There were group showers elsewhere in the asylum, which Deirdre wasn’t looking forward to familiarizing herself with.
She lowered herself to the bathroom floor, crawling around to listen in different areas. The floor wasn’t as thin as she’d expected. She could barely make out the hum of distant voices—until she crouched over the air vent. She could hear murmurs echoing from below.
Wiggling her fingernails underneath the edge of the screen covering the vent, she pried it up. Dust puffed into the air. She muffled her coughs into her arm, setting the vent gently on the counter behind her so that it wouldn’t make a sound.
Without the cover in place, she could get her ear into the vent itself. As long as she held her breath, she could make out snippets of conversation.
“…won’t be able to get enough vendor badges for everyone, not if we don’t get someone inside…”
“…compel them?”
“Just sneak in. We don’t have to do it legitimately.”
“…the group, only one assassin…”
Deirdre couldn’t tell whose voice was whose. As entrancing as Stark was in person, he was much less distinctive from a separate floor.
The word “assassin” had piqued her interest, though.
She let out a slow breath, sucked in another, and held it.
“We’ll pull in all the troops. Overwhelm with numbers. You’ve got almost a thousand now if you count those in the west…”
Almost a thousand shifters on Stark’s side? The number was dizzying.
If he pulled a thousand shifters on board for a mission, it would be a veritable army. That wasn’t some small terrorist cell. That was something far more terrifying.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked.
Deirdre didn’t manage to get the vent cover in place again before the door opened.
It was Jacek.
“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Deirdre asked. “I could have been showering in here.”
“But you weren’t. What are you doing on the floor?”
She touched one of her earrings. “Lost the backing down the vent. Just had to scoop it out.” Deirdre wedged the cover back in place.
As soon as she stood, Jacek shoved her against the wall.
His speed was breathtaking. She didn’t even get to consider defending herself.
The back of her head smashed into the wall.
“What were you really doing, Omega?” he hissed, digging his fingers into her throat.
“Breaking eggs,” Deirdre said.
She drove her knee between his legs.
Jacek shouted, face reddening. The angle hadn’t been good—she hadn’t struck hard enough to emasculate him. Too bad.
It only pissed him off further.
He yanked her across the bathroom. Whipped her head against the bathroom counter.
She didn’t even feel it, at first.
At this point, the pain was just another layer atop what she already had. She still ached from Stark’s blows. And Jacek, even with the help of bathroom fixtures, was no Stark.
But there was nothing fun about the spike of pain that followed once she regained her senses.
Deirdre went limp. Sagged in his arms.
He let go, allowing her to drop to the floor. As soon as she hit, she hooked a foot around his ankle and jerked.
Jacek’s feet went out from under him.
He was taller than her. There wasn’t enough room in the bathroom for him to fall as she had. He smashed into the bathtub, catching himself with the shower curtain. His weight yanked it off the rings.
Deirdre flung the door open and jumped into the hallway.
“You sure hate lost jewelry,” she taunted.
Jacek advanced on her. She was too pleased to see the blood trickling from his temple.
He was two feet away when the feline shifters came back upstairs. They stopped at the top landing to stare at Jacek and Deirdre, both of whom were br
uised and bleeding and shivering with the healing fever.
Jacek backed away, rubbing the blood off of his face. The wound underneath had already healed. “I’m watching you.” Jacek said.
She rolled her eyes. “Good to know.”
“Stark’s going to kill you.”
That was looking likelier by the minute. “Next time you touch me, I’ll do a lot more than knee you in the balls.”
She turned and walked back to the room she shared with Gage.
The whole way, she felt Jacek’s eyes on her back. Watching her move. Evaluating her. Finding her weaknesses.
Next time he touched her, Deirdre was certain their fight would be much, much deadlier.
—IX—
Deirdre stood in the doorway to her new bedroom and watched Gage.
He didn’t seem aware of her presence. He was facing the barred window, forehead leaned against the frame as he stared out at the courtyard. He looked too clean, too unbroken, to be in that asylum with all its peeling wallpaper and cracked windows. He belonged somewhere pristine like the sanctuary.
She wished that she could send him back.
Rapping her knuckle on the doorway, she said, “Knock knock.”
“You don’t have to knock to come into your bedroom,” Gage said without turning.
“What, and risk walking in on you naked?” Deirdre asked. “I don’t want to go blind today. Thanks.”
The gentle teasing was meant to provoke him into showing the good sense of humor that she’d seen at the sanctuary. But he didn’t laugh this time.
Gage glanced at her. “What happened to you?”
She wasn’t sure which injury he was referring to. The lingering redness on her cheek from where Stark had slapped her? Or the fresh blood from her fight with Jacek?
“Just making friends,” Deirdre said. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “Stark’s planning to attack a benefits office soon. He told me about it today.” She planted her hands on her hips, studying Gage’s profile. “What’s the problem? Already lost your nerve?”
