Wrong Side of Dead dc-4

by Kelly Meding

  The eerie sense of being watched tickled the back of my neck, and I turned around. Wyatt blinked at me from the bed, looking relaxed for the first time since he’d woken up in the infirmary.

  “Hey, sorry,” I said.

  “I’ve been awake for a while,” he said. “I just didn’t want to scare them.”

  “They’ll get used to your new look. We’re a package deal, you and me.”

  His mouth quirked. “You aren’t pissed at me for wanting to save the Lupa instead of killing them?”

  “No.” Might as well be honest. “I don’t know if I agree with your decision, but I do understand it, and I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Phin, on the other hand, is pretty pissed about the Assembly’s allowances.”

  “The allowance on my life, or on the three Lupa children?”

  “The Lupa, dumbass.”

  He smiled. “Jackass?”

  “That, too.” I stretched my arms over my head, a little stiff from our impromptu nap. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” His smile got so broad that I couldn’t help asking, “What?”

  “Just glad to see your appetite back.”

  “Me, too. Buy you lunch?”

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Good, the cafeteria won’t be crowded.”

  He joined me in the doorway, hair sleep-tousled and chin badly in need of a shave. Except for the telltale ring of silver around his eyes, he looked like my old Wyatt. The man I’d fallen in love with, pushed away, and yanked back harder than ever. And this time, I wasn’t letting him go.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned close, feeling the heat of his skin and the thrum of his heartbeat. He clasped my hips in a gentle grip and sought out my mouth. Our lips brushed—a quiet kiss that lingered awhile, until I wanted more. I licked inside his mouth, needing everything he had to give, and he returned in kind. Possessive, wanting, taking—I wanted more, but we needed a much bigger bed and more privacy than these sheetrock walls and doorless cubicles provided. My lips tingled—that same faint sensation that Dr. Vansis hadn’t been able to account for.

  His tests had determined that Wyatt’s saliva didn’t carry enough of the Lupa virus to infect another human through a bite. His blood, however, could potentially infect someone if enough came into contact with an open wound. It made fieldwork more dangerous, but it was a risk I could live with.

  A faint commotion caught my attention, and our lips parted reluctantly. I strained to hear, unsure what was happening or where.

  “Come on,” Wyatt said.

  He grabbed my hand and we jogged through the maze of quarters, toward the exit. At least a dozen people had gathered just outside, in the main corridor. Wyatt and I eased through to the front, and I gaped at what was happening.

  Two large white trucks, similar to what movers use for furniture, were parked in the middle of the corridor, angled slightly so their back ends faced the entrance to the vampires’ quarters. Vampire pairs dressed in familiar black warrior gear, their white hair pulled back or braided up, took turns carrying unconscious vampires up the ramps and into the trucks. After I watched the third vampire being taken up, arms dangling, head lolling, I realized that it wasn’t just the sick ones who were being carted off.

  Standing nearby in a small cluster were Astrid, Baylor, Kismet, and two vampires who exuded royalty. They wore deep purple robes, so dark they were almost black, and had purple jewels embedded in their foreheads. One was male, the other female. Tall, thin, and pale, they watched the proceedings with an intense quiet.

  Kismet spotted us. Instead of waving us over, she jogged to our side of the hall.

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt asked.

  “The royal Father of Isleen’s family has persuaded the other Fathers to remove the vampires we’ve quarantined here. Sick or healthy, they’re all going.”

  “Where?”

  “They won’t tell us. He says it’s a vampire illness and his people will deal with it. Without our help—he was sure to reiterate that several times.”

  I watched them drag an unconscious Quince out of the quarters and up the ramp. Kismet put a hand on my shoulder, and it kept me from bolting over there. “Shit,” I said. “Will they all be killed?”

  “I don’t know, Evy,” she said. “They have their own doctors, and we copied them on the information we took off Thackery’s laptop. If there’s a cure to be found—”

  “This is a mistake.”

  “Astrid already tried arguing that. A lot of us did, but the Fathers are insisting on containing it themselves.”

  Vampire after vampire was loaded onto the trucks, all of them allies, some of them friends. Eleri was one of the last to be taken, her skin blotchy and cracked and oozing blood.

  Someone nearby inhaled hard; it was a loud, angry sound that earned my attention. I spotted Paul standing near the wall with Crow—Eleri had been their squad leader. Paul was glaring at the vampires with a kind of disgust I didn’t recognize at first. Then I understood. He clearly didn’t agree with Eleri’s removal or her treatment. His support for his nonhuman squad mates shattered the last of the dislike I’d always felt toward him, and it allowed a hint of something brand new—respect.

  Even Isleen, daughter of a royal Father, was carted out the same way—like a fresh carcass. She was barely recognizable beneath the ravages of the unknown disease that I felt certain would kill her before the sun rose.

  Even if it didn’t, she and her fellow infected vampires would never be the same again.

  The truck doors were slammed shut, then they backed out slowly the way they’d come. Astrid and Baylor escorted the vampire royalty on foot, until they turned the corner and were gone. One-third of the Watchtower forces were depleted in minutes.

  “Did the vampires pull their support completely?” I asked. “Of the Watchtower and what we’re doing here?”

  “They pulled out temporarily,” Kismet said, making air quotes around the last word.

  “What about the Sanctuary?”

  “One of the Fathers set a magical lock of some sort. He said if anyone tries to enter, we’ll get blasted.”

  I’d felt magic blasts before; they sucked.

  “Our greater concern is the Fey,” she said. “We have no way to anticipate their next move, no way to prepare for or prevent it.”

  “We also have the possibility of more intelligent Halfies out there,” Wyatt said. “Plus at least three Lupa teenagers.”

  “Not to mention the everyday crazy street-thug Halfies and a whole horde of goblins who haven’t been seen or heard from in long enough to make me really nervous.”

  Goblins. They hadn’t been a real threat since Olsmill. But that battle was three months ago, more than enough time for them to regroup and come up with a new plan. The only enemies I underestimated anymore were the dead ones—and even then, it could be iffy.

  I didn’t want to think about it right at that moment, though. “You know what we’re going to do?” I said.

  “What?” Wyatt asked.

  “We’re going to get something to eat. Then I’m going back to bed.”

  He stared. Kismet looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

  “I think this has been the longest damned day of my life,” I said. “If the world doesn’t end before I wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll work out a plan. Until then, all I can really deal with is food and sleep.”

  Wyatt slipped an arm across my shoulders, and I leaned into him. “Food and sleep sound fantastic,” he said.

  “Says the man who spent half of yesterday in an induced coma.”

  “Hey, only a few hours of it.”

  “Whatever,” Kismet said, throwing her hands up. “You two find me when you wake up and we’ll see what’s what, okay?”

  Wyatt and I mumbled our agreement.

  The corridor was clearing out, leaving only a handful of loiterers. Leaning against the nearby wall, Paul was still staring
at the now-empty vampire quarters. I used to look at him and feel a surge of anger, seeing only the boy who’d shot and killed Wyatt. Now I saw a young man, hardened by the worst job he’d ever had, sharpened by anger and loss. I saw someone so much like my former self that my heart ached.

  “Paul?” I said.

  He jumped, casting about for the source of the voice. “Yeah?”

  “You hungry?”

  Wyatt gave me a curious look that was perfectly matched by Paul. “I could eat,” Paul said.

  “We’re heading to the cafeteria. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Paul’s curiosity shifted from me to Wyatt, then back again. He smiled. “Okay,” he said, and the three of us set off in search of food.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  On Monday afternoon, a memorial service for Michael Jenner was held in the city’s high school gymnasium. Someone called in a favor and, with school still out for the summer, the request was granted. Hundreds (if not close to a thousand) Therians filled the bleachers—more than I’d ever seen gathered in one place at any given time. The majority were Equi, but every Clan was represented—either in the audience or by their Elder.

  At one time, fourteen Elders sat on the Assembly; now the Stri were extinct and only four Coni remained. Thanks to an early-morning tutoring session with Kyle, I knew the names of the remaining twelve Clans represented by the Elders seated together on a dais. Six I knew on sight because they had members in the Watch. The sorting of the remaining six remained a temporary mystery, and it was difficult to imagine that one of them could shift into a Komodo dragon.

  The only person missing from the group of Elders was Phineas, who’d chosen to sit down among the other Watchtower representatives—everyone except for a skeleton crew had come. A dozen people separated us, including Tybalt, Sharpe, Milo, Marcus, Astrid, Leah, and Jackson. Even Autumn showed up, her throat impressively wrapped in white bandages, upright if a little stoned from painkillers.

  I hadn’t managed to ask Phin why he wasn’t on the stage with the other Elders, and as the first person rose to speak, I lost the chance to find out. Kismet and Baylor sat on my right. Wyatt was on my left, my constant companion. I was even getting used to his new silver-rimmed eyes.

  When we’d first arrived, some Therians whispered; others bared their teeth. No one was dumb enough to directly threaten either of us.

  The service was brief—more of a reflection on Jenner’s commitment to the Clans and the Assembly than a memorial to his life. Considering Therians’ relatively brief life spans, I imagined they rarely had elaborate funerals. Unlike the human rituals meant to comfort those left behind. Few faces in the massive crowd seemed comforted. Mostly they looked angry.

  After the service concluded, I cornered Phineas to find out what was going on. He shocked the hell out of me by saying, “I resigned my position as an Elder.”

  “You … why?”

  “There are too few of us left, Evy. Ava, Aurora, and Joseph were taken because I was too far away to protect them. I cannot serve as an Elder if I can’t even protect three. We’re all that’s left.”

  “So what are you going to do? Guard them twenty-four-seven?”

  “No. Elder Dane has graciously allowed them to live in his home temporarily. Because he shares a rather large, security-heavy house with the Felia Pride’s Alpha, they’ll be more than safe there.”

  “While you do what?”

  His expression softened, becoming almost sad. “I’m going away for a while.”

  “What? Why?” My heart pounded harder.

  “To be certain that we’re alone. Therians live across the globe, but many have chosen to live as outsiders, as animals. My people, the Coni and Stri, embraced our lives among humans. There may be others out there like us. I have to know.” He swallowed hard, his blue eyes glistening. “I have to know if the last of my people will die with Ava.”

  I understood, and my heart ached for him. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  That hurt like a fist to the eye. “Were you going to say good-bye?”

  “Astrid knows my plans, but no. It would have been easier to simply go.”

  “You’re coming back.” It was not a question.

  “Of course.” He smiled warmly. “My family is here, my friends are here. Just try to not get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

  I snickered. “Trouble follows me like a shadow.”

  “Even so.”

  He looked at Wyatt, and whatever they shared in that silent communication seemed to each satisfy the other. I reached back, and Wyatt slipped his hand into mine. We both squeezed tight.

  “Good luck,” Wyatt said.

  “And to you both,” Phin replied.

  “Maybe try to refrain from getting kidnapped or killed,” I said.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Someone called his name, and Phineas melted into the shifting tide of people, both human and Therian. We’d come together to honor a fallen friend. Now it was up to us to remain united against several common enemies—and with those enemies quickly stacking up, it was more important than ever. Especially with the vampires sequestered in their private facility in the outskirts of the city. They’d broken all communication. I had no idea if Isleen, Eleri, and Quince were alive or dead. No one did.

  Wyatt wrapped his arms around me from behind, and I leaned back against his chest. His familiar scent was there, just a hint of soap and cinnamon, but beneath it was something new. Muskier, more feral. More proof of how much he’d changed in these last twenty-four hours … and how much remained the same.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “The future.”

  “Anything in particular about the future?”

  “Just glad to have one.” I brought one of his hands up and kissed his knuckles. “With you.”

  “Me, too. So much.”

  I smiled.

  “Anything you want to do with that future right now?” he asked.

  “I did kind of have one thing in mind.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep.” I twisted in his arms to face him and rested my hands on his shoulders.

  He was smiling, too, but beneath it lay curiosity and caution. “Will I enjoy this thing on your mind?”

  I tilted my head and leaned in just a little, close enough to smell his breath and feel it on my face. “I think you’ll find the results of time spent and energy exerted to be quite rewarding.”

  “Then I’m all for it.”

  “Fantastic.” I planted a quick kiss on his lips, excited at the prospect of getting started. “Let’s go track us some werewolves.”

  He sputtered, and then it turned into laughter. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  “Together.”

  Wyatt brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, love shining in his eyes more vividly than if he’d said the words out loud. “Always.”

  Given our line of work, always could as easily mean an hour as a lifetime. But as long as I had him, I planned to love him—him and his grumpy, possessive inner wolf. We’d fought every twist and curve thrown at us since my resurrection. We could deal with Wyatt being part werewolf.

  “I just have one condition,” I said.

  He quirked a dubious eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “If you ever come home with fleas, I’m dumping you.”

  Only Wyatt could do incredulous indignation with such precision, and the comical expression made me double over with laughter. He held me patiently until I got it all out of my system, probably fielding a lot of curious stares along the way. Once I had my breathing back under control, I wiped tears from my eyes and stood a little straighter.

  “Do you really think I could get fleas?” he asked, perfectly serious.

  I lost it all over again.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is a solitary endeavor, but no book is written in a vacuum, so there are lots of terrific folks to thank. My fabulous agent, Jonathan Lyons, fo
r your patience with those flashbacks and for always believing in me. My tireless editor, Anne Groell, whose advice and suggestions always lead to a better book. Also David Pomerico, Mike Braff, and all the good folks at Bantam/Random House.

  Lots of love to Nancy for entertaining all of those crazy emails, for cheering when things are good, and for being there when things are bad. Thanks to my friends and family for loving me no matter what, even when I’m being a pain.

  Most important, thank you to my readers for your love and support, and for following Evy’s adventures through the wild, wonderful, terrifying world of Dreg City. I wouldn’t be here without you.

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