by Naomi Martin
“I’d say it’s at least possible,” Coral says. “When we brought him into the medical facility, both of his hands were covered in blood.”
I feel a flash of irritation at Coral speaking against Gray that way. I glare at her and feel Zane’s hand on my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. A reminder to me to rein in my temper.
“There was no other blood on his body,” I say. “There’s no good reason to believe Gray was responsible for what happened to the senator.”
“Other than he was in DC when he shouldn’t have been, near the scene of the crime, and his hands were covered in blood, you mean,” Coral counters.
“Which could have come from a thousand different things,” I spit.
“Enough,” Dora says.
I fall silent but continue glaring at Coral and find her glaring back at me. The air between us crackles with tension and I have to fight the urge to leap across the table and throttle her with my bare hands. Coral and I have always gotten along. I have no idea why she’s suddenly so eager to throw Gray under the bus.
“Whether Gray did it or not doesn’t matter. That’s the way it is being portrayed in the media,” Dora says. “Obviously, this—and what we’ve learned from the inside—changes everything.”
“And I have no doubt it’s Villa shaping that narrative,” I say. “I have no doubt in my mind that Villa orchestrated Cook’s murder.”
Dora nods. “Agreed,” she says. “And our sources say that he is already making big moves behind the scenes.”
“But Cook was his ally,” Coral muses. “Why would he kill him?”
“Power. Control,” I respond. “Maybe he didn’t like having to answer to somebody who wasn’t one hundred percent on board with his genocidal plan.”
“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions,” Coral says.
“As are you.”
“Maybe it’s as simple as the idea that Gray just went berserk and did what you couldn’t do,” she spits. “And, in the process, fucked us all over.”
I shoot to my feet, my face twisted with rage. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“I say we offer Villa a deal,” Coral presses. “We trade the murderer for our safety.”
“Shut your mouth,” I hiss. “Or I will seriously kill you.”
“Yeah, you and your little clique seem to enjoy killing people, don’t you?”
“Ladies, I said enough,” Dora says.
Coral is on her feet, her lips curled back in a snarl. Everybody else in the room is watching this play out, their eyes wide, a feeling of anticipation saturating the air around us, and I can’t shake the feeling that people are picking sides. I see some people who are tight with Coral leaning closer to her, maybe subconsciously pledging their allegiance.
“Maybe I just don’t like the idea of dying for something your boyfriend did on his own,” she spits. “Maybe I don’t like that your boyfriend is a maniac who’s bringing the full weight of the Cleansers down on us.”
“Maybe you’re just a coward,” I retort. “The Cleansers were coming down on us long before this happened—”
“I SAID ENOUGH!”
Dora’s voice is so loud and piercing, it cuts through our bickering. It shakes the walls, and everybody in the room covers their ears. Except for Zane, of course. Voice projection like that is a vampire power, and I hate it. Slowly, we all turn to Dora. She stands at the head of the table, glaring at all of us, the anger on her face plain as day. No expression of indifference this time.
My gaze remains fixed on Coral, rage boiling just below the surface. Elliot and Zane each put a hand on my shoulder and force me down into my chair. They leave their hands on my thighs and press down, keeping me seated.
“You can all bicker like children if you want, but do it elsewhere,” she says. “Regardless of what did or didn’t happen, and who did or didn’t do it, the simple fact is Villa is lining his forces up against us. He’s going to attack us in the field—and now, as we see, through the media.”
“To what end?” somebody asks.
“They’re going to go public with our existence. This open secret is about to be blown wide open,” Dora says. “And our sources say he’s got the backing of the President.”
Murmurs ripple through the room as everybody exchanges looks. Nobody needs to tell us what this means. If the President lends legitimacy to the Cleansers—not to mention all the funding and equipment they could ever want—it’s all over for us. They’ll have carte blanche to do to us as they see fit. They’ll gun us down in the streets in the name of national security.
“This is why Villa killed Cook. To show the President what a threat we are,” I say. “And, in turn, he gets everything he needs to carry out his genocide.”
Dora nods. “That’s what I think, as well.”
“If we turn Gray over to the authorities—”
“Coral, get out of this room,” Dora orders. “Right now. Leave.”
Coral gets to her feet, her lips curled in a vicious sneer. She glares hard at me as she leaves, her eyes promising me that this is not over. And she’s right. This isn’t over. Not by a long stretch.
“So, the question is, what are we going to do about it?” Elliot asks. “It’s not like we can take the fight to them.”
“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Dora says. “Options. Anybody?”
The room is silent for a long moment, then I turn to Dora. “I kill Villa,” I say. “Like I said before, we cut the head off the snake—”
She sighs. “And like I said before, he’s not the head of the snake.”
“He is now,” I reply. “By taking Cook out and getting Presidential approval, Villa has made himself the head of the snake. No committees, no groups to answer to… he is the very top of the Cleansers’ food chain now.”
“Aside from the President, you mean,” Dora counters.
“And if you kill Villa, won’t you just be proving them right about us?” an Elemental named Toby—one of Coral’s friends—calls out. “Won’t you let yourself become the monster they accuse us of being and justify their actions?”
“We can deal with the President,” I say.
“How? Killing him, too?” Toby fires back. “Yeah, that would go well for us.”
“Maybe we can speak with him. Show him we’re not what they think we are,” I offer. “Maybe we can make him less afraid of us.”
“Oh, yeah, just walk right up to the White House and ask to meet with him,” Toby presses. “Do me a favor and let me know how that works out for you.”
Dora taps her perfectly manicured nails against the table, a deep frown on her face. She glances around the room and looks absolutely disgusted with all of us. I can’t say I blame her. We’re acting like fools in here.
“Can your sources get a meeting with President Sharpe?” I ask.
Dora shakes her head. “Doubtful. But I can ask anyway,” she says. “What do you have in mind?”
“The direct approach.”
“And when that doesn’t work out?”
I shrug. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say. “Either way, though, I think it’s imperative Villa dies.”
“And then we have to hope they replace him with somebody far less competent,” Elliot says.
Zane chuckles. “I’d settle for somebody who doesn’t enjoy killing us as much as that guy does.”
A small laugh burbles through the room and some of the tension starts to ease, though the hard looks cast at me by some of Coral’s friends and allies don’t abate. But, whatever. Like I care what they think.
“Okay, let’s give this some thought, people,” Dora says. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do and, short of declaring all-out war, all options are on the table—including taking the railroad out of the country, ourselves.”
Everybody looks at Dora, wide-eyed, mouths hanging open. The fact that she just proposed quitting this war and fleeing the country isn’t lost on anybody. And it sho
ws just how screwed we are, in the estimation of our “leadership.” They think this war is drawing to a close and we’re on the losing side.
I guess now we’ll see if the rats start fleeing the sinking ship.
Chapter Thirty
Gray
I open my eyes and find myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling that’s almost blindingly white. Everything in me hurts and there is a vicious pounding in my head. When I move to sit up, I find that I can’t. I try to move my arms and legs, but I’m being held in place. For a moment, I struggle and thrash, my muscles all screaming in agony, then fall still again.
My breathing is ragged and even that small burst of exertion has me winded and feeling like I just ran a marathon. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing for a minute, trying to calm the aches and pains that are throbbing in my body. I fight the waves of disorientation that are sweeping over me and try to think back. Try to remember how I got here and why I’m tied down.
I strain my mind, trying to remember, but nothing comes. My mind is filled with this opaque mist and it seems like the harder I try to pierce that veil, the thicker it becomes. I grit my teeth, struggling to see through it, but then a lightning bolt of pain shoots through my skull and I cry out.
“Fuck,” I grumble.
I stop trying to concentrate, letting my mind go blank. I release my breath and try to focus on absolutely nothing. Gradually, the pain that’s been gripping me like an iron fist ebbs. And it’s only then, when I feel relatively peaceful and not racked with agony, that I become aware of the presence in the room with me.
The fact that I didn’t hear or scent them when I first came to should disturb me. But then I realize who it is and turn my head—the only thing I’m able to move on my body—and find myself staring into Zane’s eerie-as-hell blue eyes, framed by that stark white hair.
He’s sitting in a chair beside this table I’m strapped do, one leg crossed over the other, silent as a tomb, still as a statue, doing that creepy-ass vampire thing.
“God, you’re ugly,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re not the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning.”
“That’s funny,” he replies. “I was just thinking I’ve never seen somebody get uglier when they sleep.”
I laugh and immediately regret it as my body explodes in pain. I give it a minute to subside.
“What happened?” I ask. “Why am I strapped to a table?”
He cocks his head. “You don’t remember?”
“Would I have asked if I did?”
“What is the last thing you do remember?”
I frown. “What’s with the twenty questions, man?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“It’s important, Gray,” he says. “What’s the last thing you recall?”
I blow out a loud breath and reach for the first memory that I have, letting out a silent sigh of relief that it doesn’t make my head explode.
“Me and Lucas. We were running down that bitch Viv,” I say. “We were lost. Had no idea where we were. I remember we ran into a group of Cleansers… and now I’m here.”
Zane nods, his face grim. “And nothing in between?”
I shake my head. “It’s like, I try to recall, but there’s nothing there,” I tell him. “Like it’s been scooped out of my brain or something.”
“Like you even have a brain to scoop anything out of,” Elliot says as he steps over to the table, a wide smile spreading across his face.
“Hey, good to see you, Ginger,” I say.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Like hammered shit,” I reply. “How are you?”
“Better now that I see you’re the same grumpy asshole you’ve always been.”
I look to Zane, who’s still staring back at me with a carefully neutral expression on his face. Concern flickers in his eyes, and that worries me.
“What’s going on, fellas?” I ask. “Why am I strapped to this table?”
I see Zane and Elliot exchange a look, and it sends another ripple of fear through me. What in the hell is going on?
“He doesn’t remember anything,” Zane says, sounding grim.
“Nothing?”
“No, nothing, okay?” I snap. “Now, somebody tell me what the fuck is going on or I’m going to beat the two of you bloody.”
“Good luck breaking those weaves,” Elliot says with a chuckle.
Zane leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and looks me in the eye. I can already tell I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
“They think you killed Senator Cook,” he says bluntly.
“Who? What?” I gasp. “What are you talking about?”
“Senator Cook and his two bodyguards were murdered in DC,” Elliot explains. “Your name and photo were leaked to the press, and now the whole world thinks you gutted a sitting U.S. Senator.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I shout. “That’s pure and utter bullshit.”
Zane arches an eyebrow. “Is it, though? I mean, you said yourself that you can’t remember anything.”
I open my mouth to rebut his point, but I know that I can’t. He’s right. I can’t remember shit. I growl, my frustration rising up in me.
“That’s not all of it,” Elliot adds. “You attacked Raven. Almost killed Zane here—”
“He did not almost kill me,” the vampire snaps. “He got a lucky shot in and knocked me across the room. Not even close to death.”
A small grin curls my mouth upward. “Lucky shot, huh?”
“Shut up,” Zane says.
“Anyway, you were hellbent on killing Raven,” Elliot goes on. “I’ve never seen you like that—not even against actual bad guys.”
I groan, pressing my head back against the table, and close my eyes. “It’s called blood frenzy,” I tell them. “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, when we’re fighting in our animal forms, it’s like a switch in our head gets flipped and we don’t stop until we’ve killed the person or thing we’re fighting or are killed ourselves.”
Zane purses his lips and nods. “Well, it sounds like somebody was able to flip your switch, because you were out of your mind.”
“That might explain this bitch of a headache,” I say. “I guess it’s also why I’m strapped down to this table?”
Elliot nods. “Yeah. We had to make sure you were back to your normal, non-homicidal self before we removed them.”
I nod. “Makes sense,” I say. “But now that you see that I’m back to normal, can you remove them? I really have to take a piss.”
“I think they put a catheter in you,” Elliot says.
“Wonderful.”
“Besides, Raven’s the one who has to break the weaves,” Zane tells me. “So, you might want to get comfortable for a bit.”
“Why in the hell would I attack Raven, though?” I ask.
“Here’s our working theory,” Elliot says. “When you were chasing Viv, you were captured and taken to the Pit. They did something to you there. Messed with that pea-sized gray lump you call a brain. I don’t know, implanted an order or something. Made you see Raven as an enemy and attack her.”
“Is that possible?” I gasp.
Zane shrugs. “Seems that way.”
“Unbelievable. I can’t believe…”
My voice trails off as the implications of it all wash over me. If they know how to manipulate our brains, make us do things… we’re in deep shit. We won’t know who to trust. Any one of us can go off at any moment and kill everybody.
As I lay there, a face appears in my mist of memories. Blonde. Blue eyes. Pretty. She looks familiar to me, but I can’t place her. I shrug it off and try to focus on the matter in front of us.
“Villa has also been making moves,” Zane says. “With Cook dead—murdered by a shifter, no less—he has been able to appeal to the President himself. He has apparently consolidated his power and he’s now the Supreme Overlord, or whatever they’re calling him, of the Cleansers.”
&
nbsp; “And with unlimited funding and the support of the U.S. government, things are about to get really nasty,” Elliot jumps in. “It’s going to make the war on terror look like a playground fight.”
“And it’s likely that Villa orchestrated Cook’s death to this end,” Zane adds.
“Are you sure it was a shifter?” I ask.
Zane nods. “I was there,” he says somberly. “There is no doubt.”
“Son of a bitch,” I groan. “And it was me.”
“That, we don’t know,” Zane says. “Not for certain, anyway.”
“What happened to Lucas?” Elliot asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I was with him and then… I just don’t know.”
“It’s possible he had Lucas murder Cook,” Elliot offers. “Because he was using you as bait to draw Raven.”
Zane nods. “That’s a possibility, as well.”
I hear the pneumatic hiss of the doors sliding open and, a moment later, Raven’s smiling face fills my field of vision. Her eyes shimmer with tears and she lays a hand on my arm. For a moment, I feel genuine bliss and all of my emotions come rushing in on me, pulling me under. My heart swells with love for her that fills me so completely.
But then I feel something pulsing in my head. It’s thumping against my skull, the sound growing so loud, I don’t know how they don’t hear it. A vision of the pretty blonde appears before me. I see a flickering screen showing me the most terrible images… bodies torn to pieces. Blood everywhere. People being shot. Stabbed. Gutted. And interspliced with the images of death are images of Raven. Her face is transposed over the people murdering others. Her face, covered in blood and gore. She’s laughing. Tearing flesh from bodies with her teeth.
The fear inside of me ramps up. It’s overpowering. It pulls me under, and I see the pretty blonde again. Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear what she’s saying at first. And then, with the force of a baseball bat to the head, her voice slams into my mind…
Raven is the enemy. Raven will hurt you. Kill you. Raven wants to bathe in your blood. Don’t let her. Kill her. Raven is the enemy. She wants to hurt you, Gray. She wants to kill you and everybody you love...
