by Nya Jade
Scott’s face took on an expression of mingled pride and insanity. “The Anzaini’s plan is genius really—” he broke off as chaos sounded up from below. Men yelled in terror. Tiger roars shook the walls.
In milliseconds, Scott had switched off the machine, crossed over to a wall intercom and pushed a button. “What the hell is going on?” he bellowed.
A voice crackled back. “We got trouble, boss.”
“What—”
“But we got him under control,” the voice hurriedly added.
“Him who?” Scott fumed.
“You won’t believe this, boss. We’re bringing him up.”
Minutes later, the door opened and two lean men in dark pants and black t-shirts burst in holding a limp body between them. Wrists zip-tied behind his back and head slumped forward, the man was shirtless, covered in bloody claw marks. Some looked superficial, while others cut through to bone. Phoebe could hear his labored breathing and an odd feeling of dread moved through her.
Scott moved toward them, and then took an involuntary step back. “What the—?”
“That’s what we said, boss,” said one of the men.
“Put him over there.” Scott pointed to one of the chairs in front of the bed.
Blood dripped on the hardwood floor as the guards carried the man in. As they dumped him onto a chair, the man’s head snapped back, then fell forward, his face having been visible for a split second. Colten. Phoebe couldn’t stop an agonized cry from escaping her lips. Scott swung his head toward her and gave her a vicious look as her eyes began to water. He raised a hand, signaling the guards to leave. Barely masking their confusion, the two men did as they’d been told. Scott lowered himself, bringing his eyes level with Colten’s. He reached for Colten’s head, turning it side to side, stopping to examine the now-visible Mark of Wang on his neck.
“Impossible,” Scott said with a genuine note of wonder in his voice, walking his hands down to Colten’s throat. “I thought I was the only one.”
“I know about your talent,” Phoebe sneered, hoping to recapture Scott’s attention. His hands looked dangerously close to vising a grip around Colten’s neck. “I know you can manipulate your physical energy. I know that’s how you got past the sensors.”
Scott shifted his eyes to Phoebe, then released Colten’s head, letting it fall forward. “Ah, that’s much better,” Scott said with clear relief, standing. Phoebe didn’t have to wonder what he’d meant by that. With no current running through her, she felt it; Scott was radiating his Vigo energy now, but a milder heat since he was human in form. “I guess you know what I can do, after all. What a relief.”
“What I don’t know,” Phoebe said quickly, in her frantic attempt to keep Scott talking, “is how you managed to kidnap Mariko and Lewis and still be present for roll call during the drill—” Suddenly Phoebe broke off, the answer having been clear all along. “You had help,” she said flatly, answering her own question. “Oh my God. Another traitor?” Had she been right about Montclaire?
“Like I said before, Pope,” Scott said, his amusement obvious, “it depends on who you’re asking. And by the look of things, you’ve earned that title yourself.” He glanced over at Colten. “How long have you known the truth about him?”
Phoebe didn’t answer.
“Couldn’t bring yourself to turn him in to the Blackcoats?” Scott said, his voice rising. “What’s that part in the oath again? Yes . . . kill Vigos, no questions asked. Tsk, tsk, tsk—”
At that precise moment, an unconscious Colten made a violent convulsive movement.
“What’s wrong with him?!” Phoebe screamed.
Scott stared briefly at Colten’s flailing limbs. “He’s suffering from withdrawal,” he said, his voice and his face conveying his disgust. “And if you tell me he abstained out of some twisted desire to prove himself to you, I’ll vomit.”
“Is he going to die?” Phoebe’s words were a breathy whisper, an attempt to hide her panic.
“The withdrawal won’t kill him,” Scott said disinterestedly, looking at Colten whose movements had stopped. “But I will.”
Phoebe’s lips trembled. She moved her tearful gaze from Colten and stared up at the recessed lights in the ceiling, trying not to think about his pain. She shut her eyes, blocking out thoughts of how powerless Colten was to defend himself should Scott make good on his threat.
Scott called for a guard. The door opened and a stocky, blond, tattooed man walked in.
“I’m assuming there were casualties,” Scott said.
The guard nodded.
“How many of you are left?”
“‘Cluding me, boss, two.”
“He took four of you down?” Scott sounded incredulous, his rage barely contained.
“Caught us a bit off guard, boss. Obviously knew who ‘e was, but thought ‘e was human.”
“He’s like me!” Scott said, his anger exploding.
The guard stuttered, “Oh ‘ell, we should call the Padro—”
Scott’s hand shot forward, cutting the man off with a strike to his throat. “Nobody talks to the Padrone but me,” Scott said, hitting every syllable like a hammer. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, boss,” the man said, bringing a hand to his throat.
“When does the next rotation get here?”
“Two hours.”
Scott frowned. “We’ve got cubs in the basement?”
The guard stood motionless, alarm in his eyes. “Yes, boss, but they’re no’ ready for—” the guard stopped before his thought was completed, recoiling at the expression on Scott’s face.
“Finish what you were going to say,” Scott said.
The guard didn’t meet Scott’s eyes. “They haven’t had a hunt yet. They’re weak.”
“You forget we have the scientists to dispose of,” Scott said. Comprehending, the guard’s eyes widened. “Stay here. I’ll handle it.” Scott pointed to the machine. “She’s due for another jolt in five minutes. Turn that key clockwise to start the power and leave it on for only three minutes. You understand?”
The guard nodded. Then, jabbing a finger in Colten’s direction, “What ’bout ‘im?”
“If he moves, kill him.” With that, Scott left the room, slamming the door behind him. Scott’s command echoed in Phoebe’s ears and she stared at the guard wondering if he would follow it.
“Wha’ you lookin’ at?” The guard massaged his throat as he dropped his heavy frame onto the chair closest to the bed.
Phoebe diverted her gaze to Colten, but not before seeing the guard glance down at his watch. The countdown had begun. Her hearts pounded somewhere in the region of her throat. Five minutes. That’s all she had to come up with a plan. But what? Phoebe took several deep breaths. She knew she needed to settle her emotions in order to think past her sense of helplessness. Emotions. In a burst of clarity Phoebe had her answer. But would it work? Could she do it in her weakened state?
“Time ta git you going, sweets,” the guard said, jerking Phoebe’s attention back to him.
Had it been five minutes? The guard got to his feet and crossed to the machine. You are not helpless, Phoebe told herself furiously. You are not helpless. And with that, she opened up her senses, reached for Colten’s mind and pushed. Then prayed.
TWENTY-NINE
Phoebe’s hearts fluttered as Colten began to stir. His head lolled at first, but then it snapped up and he shook his hair out of his eyes. Phoebe couldn’t believe pushing the rage in Colten was working. She’d sensed it simmering hot in his mind. Even so, she hadn’t been sure that stoking it would draw him out of his unconscious state. But there was no doubt now, as the eyes that took in her bound body were ablaze, fury raging within them.
“Wha’ the ‘ell?” the guard said, noticing Colten stagger to his feet.
Her breathing erratic, Phoebe ignored the guard; she concentrated on pushing more rage in Colten, trying to give him as much emotional adrenaline as she could. Colten looked at her; their
eyes locked, and somehow the tilt of his head told Phoebe that he’d felt the push, that he knew what she’d done. Phoebe’s lips parted in surprise.
“Don’t touch that key,” Colten said to the guard in a choked voice, his sweaty chest heaving with uneven breaths, his eyes riveted on the machine.
The guard laughed. “From where I’m standin’, you in no position to make demands, ol’ boy.” To illustrate his point, the guard reached for the key and turned it.
Flooded with pain, Phoebe screamed.
“Don’t you worry, luv,” the guard said to Phoebe. “I’ll be done wit’ ‘im in three minutes, tops.”
Phoebe kept her misting eyes on Colten. He released a deep growl as he watched the guard sidestep his way around the bed toward him.
“Now, to take care of—what the ‘ell . . .” The guard broke off. Phoebe gasped, not believing her eyes. It had happened so quickly, so suddenly that she couldn’t process it. Before them, stood Colten, free of his restraints, and in Tiger form from the neck up.
“No one can split forms,” the guard said in a hollow tone, disbelief, bewilderment, and fear all flashing in his eyes at once. Colten took advantage of his would-be-assailant’s distraction and lunged at him, his body an uncoiling spring. The strike was fast and precise. Colten’s foot plunged into the guard’s chest, propelling him toward the wall by the door. With one smooth motion, Colten sprang between the guard and the wall and rammed his Tiger head into the stocky man’s shoulder. The guard arched backward, but did not fall. Instead, he regained his footing, and began to shudder into his own Tiger form. But he wasn’t quick enough, as Colten’s right foot struck his midsection and the guard expelled air. His body doubled over. Colten hurled himself at his back, forcing the guard down, one knee pressing into his neck. The struggle on the ground was quick. The guard went limp in no time, silenced by the decapitating power of Colten’s Tiger jaw around his throat.
A moment later, Colten returned to normal, looking paler than before. He wiped the blood from his eyes and from his mouth and searched the guard’s clothes; he pulled out a ring of keys from the pants pocket, and then rushed limping and wincing to the machine.
Seconds later, Phoebe’s relief came. Only an intense ache in her bones and a current of rage remained, a feeling that had been overshadowed before by the excruciating pain. Phoebe knew it was a side effect of her push and not her true feelings, but for a moment, she couldn’t help embracing the rage. Had she been in her right mind, its intensity would have frightened her. Only the touch of Colten’s gentle hand brushing back her hair returned Phoebe to herself.
“You okay?” Colten asked.
Phoebe, whose body was still shaking involuntarily, managed a small nod. “Scott . . .” she whispered.
“I know.”
“About what just happened,” Phoebe heard herself say slowly as though it came from someone else, the full realization of what she’d done to Colten beginning to fully register in her mind.
Colten pressed a finger over her lips and spoke in a rush. “Later. Not now.” It took several tries before he found the key that unlocked Phoebe’s restraints. She exhaled at the sight of the last chain slipping off her ankle. A minute after, he’d removed all the wires from her chest. Phoebe tried to raise herself, but found it difficult; needles of pain continued to shoot through her limbs, and her spine seemed to want to curl in on itself.
“Careful.” Colten slid his hands beneath her shoulder blades and propped her up carefully.
With his help, Phoebe sat up painfully and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Where are we?” she asked, rubbing circulation into her wrists.
“A crèche on the outskirts of town. The others are in rooms on the first floor. I heard them when the guards dragged me up here.”
“How many floors?”
“Three. We’re at the top.”
Phoebe was silent for a moment. Tears came to her eyes. Then an irrational urge to hit Colten overpowered her, and Phoebe pushed her hands against his chest roughly. “Why, Colten? Why are you here?” she asked, and then in the same sobbing breath added, “You’ve exposed yourself.”
Colten gripped Phoebe’s hands to stop them from trembling and looked at her tired, tear-streaked face. “I sent the Blackcoats a tip about this place. . . . I only came to watch from a distance to make sure they got here. That you were okay. But then I heard a scream and I knew it was you, that you were in pain—” Colten broke off, cupped Phoebe’s face and looked into her eyes. “There’s no time for this. We should get moving.” He released her and looked over at the guard sprawled on the floor. “With him out there’s only Scott and one other guy to deal with.”
Phoebe shook her head, wearily. “Scott went to get the cubs,” she said, her voice scratchy and fearful.
Colten frowned. “How many?”
“I don’t know—but the guard said they’re not ready.”
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s move.”
Phoebe tried to stand, immediately growing dizzy from the effort. Colten placed steadying hands on her shoulders. She stood, tentatively shifting weight from one foot to another, testing her legs, her balance. It was still there. Her muscles could still function. But then, just as Phoebe took her first steps forward, Colten’s hands slipped from her shoulders and he collapsed, writhing on the floor.
“Oh, God.” Phoebe fell to her knees; she knelt beside him, touching his face, his chest. Sweat beaded across his forehead and blood oozed freely from his wounds. His body felt cold. The fight had drained him of what little energy he had. With labored effort, Phoebe pulled a semiconscious Colten to his feet. She fought for balance under his weight. Once steady, she gently grabbed one of Colten’s arms and wrapped it around her neck. She moved them slowly and carefully toward the door, her senses on high alert. With each step, it became increasingly difficult for Phoebe to keep her focus and support Colten’s weight at the same time, and she took in little puffs of breath, eyes darting everywhere.
“Leave me here,” Colten mumbled, his consciousness returning. “There’s a staircase at the end of the hallway. It’ll be impossible for you to drag us both down.”
Colten was right; he was too battered and weak to move any further. Phoebe lowered him to the ground and cupped his face. “What are we going to do?”
“You,” Colten said wryly, prying her hands from his face, “are going to get out and call for help. I parked a block away from here. There’s a disposable cell phone on the front seat. Keys are in the ignition.” Colten grabbed Phoebe’s arm as she scrambled to her feet. “I didn’t drive my car. Look for a black SUV.”
He looked up at Phoebe, his face twisted with pain. “Don’t come back unless there are Blackcoats here, Phoebe,” he said, his eyes now pleading. “No matter what happens, don’t come back without help.”
“I’m coming back for . . .” Phoebe stopped, knowing she wasn’t heard; Colten had passed out again. She leaned down, brushed her lips against his cold cheeks, then made for the door. She was coming back.
Phoebe opened the door and edged her face around the frame. She looked up and down the short hallway, but her senses picked up no noise, no physical energy. Her breath short, her body aching, Phoebe ran as quietly as she could manage to the top of the dark staircase where she glanced over the railing. The foyer below was dimly lit by shafts of moonlight streaming down from a row of beveled-glass windows perched high in the white walls.
The percussive din of Phoebe’s hearts echoed in her ears as she raced down the stairs, sliding her grip along the railing for balance. She reached the last step and paused. Directly in front of her, two doors stood open; one led to a dark, narrow hallway, the other into what remained of a sort of living room. The latter was a war zone of upturned furniture, broken lamps, and splintered wood strewn across the floor from Colten’s brawl. There was a frosted glass door at the far end of this room. Careful not to trip on anything, Phoebe gunned toward it.
Phoebe was so focused on escapin
g that she almost didn’t sense the bodies that emerged from the shadows of thick drapes: two men, one muscular and tall, the other of medium height, converged on the door. Phoebe stopped in her tracks, her breath stolen, her skin tensing against the mild prickling heat from the men who were no more than thirty feet away. Cubs. There would be no getting past them.
The men separated as the door opened and Scott walked in. Cold air blasted Phoebe in the face. Scott stared at her for a moment, shocked speechless. Then regaining himself, he shook his head and said smiling, “Nothing hurts more than being almost there, right Pope?”
Scott snapped his fingers. At once the two cubs flanked him. Phoebe took several cautious steps back.
“I’m really impressed, Pope,” Scott said casually, as though they were back in the hallways of Green Lane, conversing like friends. “None of the others have come close to escape, so I guess it’s safe to bet you’re the powerful Hypha. How’d you do it?” He paused, suddenly remembering something important. He glanced over Phoebe’s shoulder. “Where’s Colten?”
Phoebe, who had begun a backward retreat toward the foyer, jerked her chin in the direction of the stairs.
“You left him?”
“Deadweight,” she said, feigning dispassion as best she could.
“I like how you work.” A wicked grin appeared on Scott’s face, but quickly dropped when he asked, “And my guard?”
“Him?” she affected an innocent tone, “Why, he’s just plain dead.”
“I see.”
Scott barely suppressed a shudder. Phoebe noticed it. She realized that if she could keep Scott thinking that she’d killed the guard, she could buy time to figure out an alternate avenue of escape.
Phoebe raised her hands and pointed her palms toward Scott and the cubs. “Let me go,” she said, forcing a false control on her voice and adopting a tone of authority. “Or it could be ‘bye-bye cousin’ for you too.”
Scott stabbed a hand through his hair and slowly grinned. Then his whole body convulsed. Phoebe watched in terror as Scott morphed into his Vigo form, the heat from the change scorching her skin. Knowing he could do it was one thing. But actually seeing him do it caused dread to move through Phoebe’s veins like a glacier. Her eyes never left him as he stretched his front paws and whipped his tail in a slow circle. The growl in the back of his throat rooted her to her spot. Seconds later, Scott was back to his human form.
