by Naomi Martin
“Excellent work,” Dora replies, a wide smile touching her perfect lips. “We can actually do this. We can end this war, Raven.”
I look away and take another drink of my coffee, saying nothing for a moment. I can’t explain it, but after the elation of finally figuring out how to do what Dora wants, I’m left with sense of melancholy. The ride back to Meridian was quiet and I thought a lot about what I’d done—and what I was expected to do next.
The whole way back, and even sitting here now, I keep seeing the faces of those men I killed. I keep seeing the way they burst apart. It disturbs me. What disturbs me more, though, is recalling the way that last man, the Latino soldier, died. The look of shock on his face, quickly followed by agony. I remember how red his face grew, and the stuttering sound of him gasping through the gag… and then he’d just… quit. It was like his battery ran out and he just slumped to the floor.
I don’t know why, but that sudden expiration, and the pain permanently etched into his features, is sticking with me. I’ve become no stranger to death. I’ve seen more than my share since Villa and his men murdered my parents. I’ve mostly grown numb to the blood and the screaming of the injured and dying.
Something about the man’s face, about the look of surprise as death took hold of him, has bothered me ever since. His eyes were wide open, staring at me. Accusing me. It was somehow more personal than it’s ever been for me. It wasn’t the nameless, faceless soldiers who died by my hand in battle. This was up close. It was personal.
This was me intentionally taking a life.
Again, it’s not that I haven’t taken a life before. I’ve taken probably more than I can count in the course of all the raids we’ve conducted. The fighting is fierce, and you’re acting on pure adrenaline and instinct out in the field. It really is kill or be killed in the thick of a fight. I came to terms with that a long time ago.
But this… this was different. This was standing in front of somebody, looking in their eyes, and flat-out killing them. It was the difference between shooting somebody at long range and sticking a knife in their heart. Maybe it doesn’t make much of a difference to some people, but to me, it felt entirely different. Still does.
Hence, the feeling of dark melancholy that’s enveloped me since we left the farmhouse.
“Do you really think taking this guy out is going to end this?” I ask. “I mean, won’t they just find somebody else to do the job this senator is supposed to do?”
“Like I said before, the next in line to take his place is a senator who’s on our side,” she says. “We can trust him.”
“For now,” I say. “Who’s to say the other side won’t take him out like we’re taking Cook out?”
She sighs. “That’s a bridge we’ll have to cross when we come to it.”
I stand and walk over to the glass wall that overlooks the training area. I see some of our people out on the floor—Elementals, all of them—working with their abilities. I watch the weaves flowing across the room, gently manipulated by the people controlling them. In one corner, I see a target burst into flames, quickly doused by a flow of water. Then a small tornado of air sprouts up, and when a thick weave of water is thrown into it, acts like a sprinkler, soaking everybody within ten feet of it.
A smile stretches my lips as I watch those who’d been suddenly soaked by the unexpected shower turn and berate the offender. It looks like good-natured ribbing, and the Water Elemental—a man named Cyrus—just smiles and gives them all a shrug. Watching all of these people work together, train together, all the while forming bonds like family, lightens my heart some.
This is what we’re fighting for. This, right here. That sense of belonging and acceptance. That feeling of being among friends and family. I know some people around here look down on me for being with three guys, but they’re the minority. Most people don’t seem to care one way or the other. By and large, among this group of people, I feel like I’ve found a home for the first time since my parents’ murder.
And out there, among the normals, I don’t enjoy this same bond, this sense of welcome familiarity. Out there, people fear us. Hate us. And people like Villa stoke those fears and portray us as monsters. Deep down, I know if we let them win—if we allow this Cook guy to run this committee and bring the full force of the government down on us—they’ll take this conflict public. Very public.
They’ll use horrific propaganda to put the fear of God into normals. They’ll make up tragic events that never happened simply to cast us as demons, worse than terrorists. They’ll use these fears to justify the atrocities they’ll commit. And I have little doubt the things they’ll do to us will be even worse than the things they did in the Pit.
This will move from the shadow war they’ve been waging against us and take it into the public arena, with the full force of the government behind it. It will add a new layer of danger, and if they have the people on their side, if they can keep them terrified of us, they’ll be able to round us up and slaughter us with impunity. And who will stand up for us? Who will fight back on our behalf? Nobody. It falls to us to protect ourselves.
I think some part of me hoped they could be reasoned with, that there would be some peaceful resolution to all of this. I think I wanted to believe that we would be accepted in among society and wouldn’t face the prejudice and bigotry so many others have over the years.
I see now, though, how utterly foolish I was to believe that was possible. Watching the Elementals down on the training floor, I realize my hopes and wishes were nothing more than a pipe dream. That soldier’s words echo in my head and I realize these people are true believers. Zealots. They’re every bit the monsters they accuse us of being. There is no bargaining with them, no reasoning with them. They hate us and would kill us for not being like them.
It’s that difference—that otherness—that people like Villa, and this Senator Cook, will exploit to their own advantage. They’ll use it to turn all of society against us and to justify the wholesale slaughter of our people. And the really disgusting part of is that the people will let them. They’ll step back and let Villa and his men wipe us all out.
“How are the prisoners we brought back?” I ask.
Dora shrugs. “I was about to go check in on them,” she says. “I wanted to talk to them.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“By all means.”
We leave the war room and take the elevator up to the ground floor of the hotel. New arrivals are put into a lounge where they’re fed and cared for. After that, they’re interviewed—usually by Dora—and given the option to either stay with us or take the Underground Railroad out of here. The third option, of course, is to be released back into the wilds, so to speak. There’s nothing preventing those we rescue from simply asking to go back home, in which case, they’re given a bus ticket back to where they came from.
Most of our rescues don’t take option three. Most of them realize there isn’t much waiting for them back home, so there’s no point in going back. I’d say more stay here with us to join the fight, rather than take the road out of town; the indignities they’ve suffered usually have them wanting vengeance.
It’s something I can relate to wholeheartedly.
We stride down the hallway and make it to the lounge. There are a couple of tall, wide-shouldered, well-muscled shifters standing guard on either side of the door. One of them holds it open and we walk in to find the three former prisoners draped over the sofas and chairs, all of them clean, well fed, and, given what I know of their former lodgings, likely more relaxed than they have been in a long time.
“How are you all doing?” Dora asks.
They all stand and smile. There are two girls in the small group; Leigh is an Air Elemental and Viv is a panther shifter. They’re both in their twenties and are small, almost fragile looking, and pretty. Both girls have that haunted, scared look in their eyes that comes with being held in captivity, though. They look like they want nothing more than to run
off screaming into the night. With them is Lucas, a wolf shifter. He’s also in his twenties, with dark hair and eyes, and the strong, brawny build that’s common among his species.
The girls look at Dora almost worshipfully, but Lucas’ eyes are fixed on me for some reason. He gives me a smile and I nod in return, but I do my best to avoid looking at him. That’s the last thing I want or need right now—somebody trying to get in my pants.
“I trust you’ve all been fed well?” Dora asks.
They all nod in unison and although Lucas is facing her, I can see him still looking at me from the corner of his eye. I turn back to Dora and try to ignore him. Though, it’s hard to ignore somebody who’s so openly staring at me like a creeper.
“You’ll be assigned rooms—Leigh, you and Viv will bunk together, and I’m afraid you’ll have a roommate, Lucas. We have to double up,” Dora says. “But this is our home and you’re free to stay and join our fight against the Cleansers. Or, you can be given safe passage out of this country and to a place where you’re not being hunted.”
I see the look pass between Leigh and Viv and don’t have to be a mind reader to know neither one of them are going to stick around and fight alongside us. And then I see the hard glint in Lucas’ eyes. There’s a set to his jaw and I see the shadow of violence that crosses his face. I have no doubt if there’s fighting to be done, he’ll gladly take part in it.
“The choice, of course, is yours,” Dora continues. “Your third option is to be sent back to your homes… where you were taken from. Though, for obvious reasons, that might not be in your best interests.”
“I have no home left to go to,” Viv says softly.
“My parents rejected me when my powers began to manifest,” Leigh adds. “They kicked me out.”
It’s a story that’s all too common, unfortunately. I’m reminded again of how fortunate I was to have parents who loved and accepted me. Instead of kicking me out and rejecting me, they found somebody who could help teach me how to control my powers so I didn’t get into any trouble with them.
Unfortunately, those lessons were cut short when I was forced to flee the night Villa broke into my home and slaughtered my family. So, since then, I’ve had to learn on my own, finding people who could teach me here and there along the way, but mostly having to discover the nuances and limits of my abilities on my own. Suffice it to say, there’s still more I don’t know about what I can do than what I do know.
“I’m not much of a fighter,” Leigh admits.
“Me either,” Viv puts in.
“Fair enough. I’ll put you in touch with Lucy. She runs our relocation arm,” Dora says, then turns to Lucas. “And what about you?”
He shrugs and his eyes drift over to me, his lips curling slightly upward, and I have to suppress my shudder. I’m sure the boys aren’t going to be too thrilled with this. I just hope it doesn’t lead to problems. The last thing we need is for infighting to tear our group apart.
“I’m always up for a fight,” he says. “I think I’ll stick around a while.”
Dora nods. “Excellent,” she says. “I’m glad to hear it. Okay, well, I’m sure you must all be exhausted, so I’ll have you taken up to some rooms so you can get some sleep.”
I follow Dora out of the lounge and the whole way, I can feel the weight of his eyes on me. I don’t bother trying to suppress the shudder this time. I can’t get out of here quickly enough. There’s something really off-putting about Lucas. I can’t put my finger on what it is, exactly, but it gives me the creeps.
Dora leads me through the hallways, well away from the lounge, up a flight of stairs and into her office on the second floor. She takes her seat behind her desk and I sit down in the chair across from her. Dora’s office, like her personality, is a bit… cold. She’s got no personal flourishes, nothing that make it seem like this place is occupied by a living, breathing, human being.
But then, as a vampire, I guess she’s not technically living.
Her office is simple: four white walls, non-descript wood furnishings. No pictures on the walls. No frames on her shelves. The only piece of color in the whole place are the purple flowers of an African violet.
“I have a question,” I start.
“And that is?”
“Why in the hell is your office so… bleak?”
A faint smile curls her lips. “Bleak?”
“Yeah, I mean, if I didn’t know this was your office, I’d think it was unoccupied.”
She shrugs. “I suppose I never really thought about it.”
“You need to get a life, Dora.”
“Excuse me?” she replies, her eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” I explain. “All I mean is, you’re so caught up in this war, it’s all you ever have on your mind. It’s, like, what you think about twenty-four seven.”
“If we want to win this war, I have to.”
“You can find time for yourself, you know,” I rebut. “You can have friends. Lovers. You can even have a relationship with somebody.”
“What makes you think I haven’t had lovers?”
I shrug. “I imagine you have,” I reply. “But there’s a world of difference between getting your field plowed and actually having somebody you care about.”
Her grin is wan. “Or three somebodies.”
“Right, “I say. “You could do that. Or you could just focus on one. Your call.”
“Why are you asking me this?”
I cross one leg over the other and fold my hands in my lap. Despite everything we’ve been through and how many personal barbs we’ve slung at one another, I do like Dora. I mean, I don’t like her in the “let’s have slumber parties and do each other’s hair” kind of way. I respect her. And, yeah, I guess on some level, I’d consider her a friend.
“Because you’re a good person, Dora,” I tell her. “You deserve to love. To be happy. You deserve to have somebody care about you.”
She cocks her head and looks at me, as if she’s trying to decide whether or not I’m mocking her. And she must recognize that I’m not, because her expression softens. Dora looks down at her desk, wiping away some imaginary dust—I know it’s imaginary because the place is spotless. It’s like her office is hermetically sealed or something.
Dora shifts in her seat, looking uncomfortable. She’s one who isn’t too keen on opening up and talking about her feelings. And perhaps that’s part of the problem. She’s unwilling to be open and vulnerable with somebody. While her duties and responsibilities no doubt play a big part in that, I have a feeling she was like this even before the war started.
“Anyway,” she said, waving me off, obviously done with the conversation, “what do you think about those three?”
I shrug. “Not much to think about. The girls want to get out of here,” I reply. “They don’t want any part of this fight. I don’t necessarily blame them.”
“Nor I,” she agrees. “Though having more warm bodies never hurts. The Cleansers never seem to run out of them.”
A wry smile touches my lips at her words. It’s true. We’re always outnumbered and always will be. Sadly, even though we’re fighting for the rights of everybody like us, not everybody like us has flocked to our banners. Not everybody wants to take part in the fight; though all will reap the rewards should we win. It’s something that’s a pet peeve of mine. Everybody should have skin in the game.
But then, to be fair, I know there are also some like us who are fighting with the other side—it’s not like we’re a united front even within our own ranks.
“And what about Lucas?” Dora’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Something about him creeps me out,” I admit. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I felt like he kept staring at me.”
“You’re not wrong,” she confirms. “He was definitely looking at you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Creepy.”
She gives me a small smile. “I think he’s go
t a crush on you is all.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I could be wrong,” she allows, “but that’s what it looked like to me.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m making more of it than is really there. I just didn’t like the way he was looking at me. But then, I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve noticed other guys looking at me. One of the boys is usually with me at all times, so even if somebody was interested in me, I wouldn’t necessarily know it anyway. Nor is it something I seek out. I’m perfectly content with what I have. We’re perfect together and I’m not looking to add to our little family.
“Anyway, he seems fit. Strong. And he wants to fight,” Dora goes on. “We should put him into service right away and see what we have with him.”
I nod, but I feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, knowing what’s coming next. She gives me a small smile.
“Good. Then I want you to include him with your team,” she says. “There’s a shipment of supplies—collars and weapons, mainly—that I want taken out. I think Lucas can help you with that.”
I sigh. “Shouldn’t I be getting ready for my big mission instead?”
“Raven, it’s a quick hit. You’ll be in and out. Two days, tops,” she says. “And honestly, there’s nobody’s opinion about how recruits are doing in the field I trust more than yours.”
She sounds sincere. If she’s simply trying to butter me up with false platitudes, I can’t see it in her face, or hear it in her tone. I kind of think she actually means it. I don’t know what’s sparked this turnaround in her, but I’d be a horrible bitch if I smacked her down. Besides, it’s actually kind of nice.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get it together.”
“Excellent.”
She opens her laptop and pulls up the information she has, giving me the details I’ll need. The convoy will be moving along Highway 80, then taking a southbound route on Highway 191 just past Rock Springs in Wyoming, though the strength of their force has yet to be determined. We discuss the details of the plan, thinking it better to wait until they’re on a smaller side road than to attack them on a main transit artery. The fewer witnesses, the better.
