Riley came to with a soft gasp, her eyes fluttering open, and Scott rocked back on his heels when they met his. Her eyes were no longer the warm brown they had been before. They were now gold, pure gold, like the color of a cat’s eyes. She didn’t seem aware of the change as she looked up at him, a tentative smile spreading across her lips. “Did we do it?” she asked. “Did we win?”
“Yeah,” Scott said, his voice hoarse. “I think we won.”
“Thank God.”
Scott offered her a hand and helped her to her feet, scooping up her backpack as he rose. He didn’t let go until he was sure she was steady, and then he started toward where Ashton and Zachariah lay. Elise was nowhere to be seen, save for a large pile of ash near Zachariah’s right hand. As they approached the two men, Riley wobbled, and Scott’s arm darted out to catch her before she fell to the floor. Ashton was sitting up, though he looked ready to fall over at any moment, his scarred face battered and bruised from the beating Brandon and his flunkies had administered while he’d been in their captivity. He looked up at them, blinking hazily as if he were trying to clear his vision, and gave them a wan, shaky smile. “You’re alive,” he commented.
“Yeah, boss, we’re both alive, much to your apparent disappointment,” Scott joked. He knelt on the floor and nodded to Zachariah. “Is he…?”
“Unconscious,” Ashton said. “But not dead.” The unspoken “thank God” that lurked in his voice was almost audible. He pressed his fingers lightly against the other man’s cheek and added softly, “He’s not a vampire anymore. He’s human again. I don’t know how it happened, but…” He trailed off and shook his head. “At least something good came out of this for me.” He looked around, taking in the sight of the ashes littering the floor and the mess that had enveloped the rest of the warehouse when the shockwave had swept over everything. “We need to call this in and get disposal and medical crews out here.”
“You want me to take care of that?” Scott offered.
“Would you?” Ashton asked, the grateful look on his face enough to solidify Scott’s decision. “I’d do it, but I’m not sure I can even get off the floor right now. And I don’t want to leave Zach like this.”
“No problem,” Scott said. He pushed himself off the floor and stepped away to make his phone calls.
As he headed to Ashton and Zachariah’s office to find a phone, he heard Riley comment, “I’m not sure I’m looking forward to filing all of the reports it’s going to take to cover everything that’s happened over the past few days.”
“You and me both,” Ashton agreed. There was a pause, and just before Scott reached the office, Ashton added, “Riley, what happened to your eyes?” The office door swung shut before Scott could hear what she said in response.
The next hour was a whirlwind of activity so busy that Scott’s head hurt trying to keep up with everything going on. A disposal and cleanup crew showed up first, starting to take photographs and document the destruction before they began cleaning it up. The medical crew loaded Zachariah’s still-unconscious form into a waiting ambulance to take him to the medical unit at the Agency’s headquarters; Ashton had told them that Zachariah had gotten knocked out during the fight, obviously reluctant to reveal what he’d been before his bout of unconsciousness. Ashton himself had rode along with them so he could get checked out for injuries incurred during his captivity. Scott turned down an offer of a medical checkup, waving the medics away as he searched the warehouse for Riley. The woman had disappeared soon after the medical crews arrived, and asking around with them had revealed that she’d turned down medical care herself. No one had seen her leave, so he was sure she had to be lurking somewhere in the building.
He found her sitting on Ashton’s bed in his little apartment attached to the office, her head in her hands. The box was on the rumpled sheets beside her, untouched, and her battered black backpack was tucked into the space between her arms and stomach as if she’d been clutching it to her. He hesitated before stepping into the room, stopping just inside the door to watch as she continued to sit, motionless, on the bed. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, “Are you okay?”
Riley didn’t move from her hunched-over position. “Scott…what happened to me out there?” she asked. Her voice was soft, muffled further by her forearms, and he had to lean closer to hear her. “One minute I was there, fighting the vampires, and the next I opened the box and was just…gone.”
“You were, I think,” Scott admitted. He sat down on the bed beside her. She let go of her head with one hand to slide it into his; it was shaking, and he gave it a tight, comforting squeeze. “You were there physically, but I don’t think you were mentally. It was like something took over you and used you for what it needed to do.”
“Yeah, I definitely felt used,” Riley said with a shaky laugh. “Ashton told me what happened, with the light and burning all the vampires to death. Did I really do all that?”
“You did something, Riley,” Scott said. “I won’t say I know or understand what happened, but…it was like you or whatever was in you unleashed pure sunlight on their asses. It was beautiful, in its own little way.”
Riley looked up at him then, and in the softer light of Ashton’s room, her gold eyes looked as warm and beautiful as early spring sunlight. “What did it do to me, though?” she asked. “I feel…different, though I don’t know how. And my eyes are a different color.”
Scott thought it over before answering, tracing his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles as he mulled on it. “Maybe the human body can’t contain that much power without it doing something to you,” he settled on. “Maybe it had to alter you to make it where it could use you without killing you. Remember what Zachariah and Ashton said about the Croatans and the Roanoke settlers? The power was so strong that it killed off almost all of them. Maybe it’s adapted in the centuries since then and learned how to do it without killing whoever is using it.”
“Maybe,” Riley said softly. She turned her hand over in his so the back of it pressed against his palm, then held up her free hand, displaying both of her palms for him to see. “It burned me though,” she said, showing him the strange red markings on her palms. “At least, I think it’s a burn. I’m not sure. It doesn’t hurt or anything.” Scott pressed a gentle finger to the mark on the hand he held; it was rough like a scar, and it felt warmer than the skin around it, but it wasn’t raised or anything. It looked like a spiral, he realized as he inspected it closer, covering almost the entire palm, and colored a rusted red like she’d gotten henna tattoos done on her palms.
“Strange,” he commented, unsure of what else to say. He palmed her hand in his again, laying his free one on top of it, and added, “You shouldn’t tell anyone at the Agency about what happened with the box. They might drag you in for testing, and we’d never see you again.” I’d never see you again.
“Yeah, I figured as much myself.” She sat up straighter and wiped at her eyes with the back and heel of her other hand. “That bastard got away.”
Scott didn’t have to ask which bastard she referred to. “Yeah, he did,” he agreed. He shifted on the bed, squeezing her hand tighter between his, and said, “We can’t tell anyone his part in what happened.”
Riley looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What the hell, Scott?” she exclaimed. “The man needs to be punished!”
“And if you think the Agency is going to be the one to do that, then you’re kidding yourself,” he replied. “According to Henry, the man has a tendency to alter and falsify records. And he’s the Deputy Director now, which gives him tremendous pull in the Agency, almost as much as Damon Hartley himself. We can’t risk going right up against him.” Riley opened her mouth to protest again, and he put his fingers over her lips to silence her. “Listen to me,” he said patiently. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do something about him. I’m just saying we can’t do it openly. There’s a time and a place for everything, and we’re not quite there yet.” Riley stilled, and he
dropped his hand from her mouth. “He’ll be on his guard right now, anyway. We should wait a while, until he’s not quite so watchful, until he gets real comfortable in his new position. Then we’ll take him out.”
“We?” Riley repeated.
Scott gave her a small smile. “You didn’t think I’d let you take on Brandon Hall by yourself, did you?”
Riley gave him a relieved smile in return. “Thank you, Scott. Really,” she said, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Scott said, returning her embrace. “I’ve got a few bones to pick with that bastard myself.”
Riley pulled away and wiped at her eyes again. “So, what do we do with the box?” she asked. “We can’t just stick it back in the museum where Brandon can get his hands back on it, can we?”
“No, we can’t,” Scott agreed. “We should leave the fake one exactly where it is. And I know just where we can take this one.”
~*~
Ashton gripped his cane tighter as he hobbled his way from his hospital room to Zachariah’s, grimacing with every step. It wasn’t the pain that he felt in almost every muscle of his body—and a few that he didn’t know he had—that had him in such a foul mood. He lived with pain every day, and by now it had become an old friend. It was the doctor’s insistence that he use the cane that had him so angry.
He hated feeling pitiful, and he hated being treated like he was an invalid.
Ashton stopped in the doorway of Zachariah’s room, standing there as he stared at the other man. Zachariah was sitting up on the bed, dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned black shirt, shoeless and looking as angry as Ashton felt; he was probably just as ready as Ashton to get out of there. He was clearly exhausted; the circles under his eyes were almost as dark as his hair. He was scowling at the flat-screen television mounted on the wall across from the bed, where the news was playing out on the television. “Flash fire from a gas leak, my ass,” he growled to himself. As he spoke, Ashton could just see a flash of fang in the man’s mouth; clearly, despite the fact he’d managed to escape vampirism, the fangs had stuck around.
Ashton tapped his cane against the doorframe, enjoying the way Zachariah startled and whirled around at the sound. “Welcome back to the land of the living and conscious,” he said. He limped into the room and straight up to the bed. “You have no idea how badly I want to punch you right now,” he added as he stopped beside the bed.
“Why would you want to punch me?” Zachariah asked.
“Because you disobeyed a direct order to not let that woman touch you,” Ashton said. “You said you wouldn’t let her turn you. I believed you.”
“And I wouldn’t have, but she didn’t give me a choice,” Zachariah said. “But hey, it worked out okay in the end.”
“Next time, it might not,” Ashton said. He dropped his cane and slid his arm around Zachariah’s shoulders, pulling him in for a tight embrace. Zachariah hesitated before returning it; Ashton could understand the moment of uncertainty from the other man—it was so rare that he initiated any sort of display of affection that it always caught Zachariah by surprise. Ashton buried his face against the man’s shoulder and breathed in deeply, trying to steady himself as he felt tears trying to choke him. After long heartbeats, where they just held each other, he pulled back enough to hit Zachariah in the ribs. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” he said.
“Believe me, I have no intention of going through that again,” Zachariah said. He caught Ashton by the back of his neck and rested his forehead against his. “I am so fucking sorry, Ash, believe me,” he whispered.
“You better be glad I do,” Ashton said. He stepped back from him and cleared his throat, picking his cane back up and leaning against it. Zachariah looked down at the cane, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Nice cane.”
“Shut up,” Ashton grumbled, though he too was smiling. Zachariah’s smile was just that damned infectious.
“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Zachariah asked, twisting on the bed to let his legs hang off the side. “Now that we’ve dealt with the immediate vampire menace threatening us?”
“I don’t know,” Ashton said, leaning more heavily against the cane. His hip was starting to throb, and he had to admit—at least to himself—that the doctor had probably been right in insisting that he use the cane. He’d die before he admitted that out loud, though. “I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”
Zachariah slid his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled free a gold locket, holding it up for Ashton to see. “I have something I have to do,” he told him. Ashton took the locket and started to open it. “A promise I gave someone. And you know how I am about promises.”
“Yeah, you rarely break them,” Ashton agreed. He sprang the lock on the pendant and, as he got a look at the small black and white photograph inside, sucked in a breath. “Jesus. I know this girl.”
“What? How?”
“She was being held captive in the same place I was,” Ashton said. “Brandon had her chained to the wall like a dog. He shot her, but she didn’t die. That was how I found out she was a vampire.” He looked up at Zachariah and narrowed his eye. “You planning on going after her to free her?”
“Of course,” Zachariah said. “I promised her sister I would.” He took the locket back from Ashton, clicked it closed, and returned it to his pocket. “Where were you being held at?”
Ashton shook his head. “I have no idea. I was unconscious when I got there, and I was nearly there when we left. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to my surroundings, more to whether or not my ribs were broken and about to deflate my lungs.”
“Shit,” Zachariah grumbled.
“Exactly.”
“I’m going to have to come up with a plan of some type,” Zachariah said, looking frustrated at the idea. “I’ve got to find a way to get that information out of Brandon. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t deserve to be held captive like that.”
“No one does,” Ashton said. He rubbed at his eye with his thumb and sighed. “We need to get some rest before we do anything else. I want to go lay in my own bed.”
“Not going to happen, Ash,” Zachariah said. Ashton raised an eyebrow, and he clarified. “The Agency has declared UHQ a crime scene until further notice. No one in or out, especially any of us who were involved in what happened there.”
“Fuck,” Ashton grumbled. “That means I’m homeless until further notice.”
“No, you’re not,” Zachariah said. Ashton looked at him again and couldn’t miss the glint of mischievousness in his eyes. “You can come stay at my place.”
“Your place?” Ashton repeated. “I don’t know, man. It might mess with my OCD sensibilities.”
“Are you calling me a slob, sir?” Zachariah asked in mock indignation.
“No, I’m calling you disorganized.”
Zachariah laughed, a sound that delighted Ashton, and slid off the bed. “I’m sure you can deal with it for a week or so, right?” he said.
“Maybe,” Ashton said. “I don’t have any clothes, though. They’re all in the designated crime scene.”
“Ash, where we’re going, we don’t need any clothes.”
~*~
“Wait, you want me to do what?” Henry asked, sitting up straighter in his chair and frowning. He’d been having a rather peaceful evening at his home, secure in the knowledge that the problem had been—mostly—solved and had been trying to enjoy the first home-cooked meal he’d had in weeks, courtesy of Vanessa, when Scott Hunter had barged into his home with a paper bag tucked under his arm.
“I want you to take this and hide it somewhere,” Scott said, thrusting the package at him. “Somewhere where only you will know where it is. And never tell a soul where you put it.”
Henry took the package from him and set it on the table, starting to unwrap it. “What is it?”
“Don’t!” Scott said. “Don’t open it. It’s an i
ncredibly dangerous weapon. Liked to have killed Riley using it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Henry said. He took a bite of the steak on the plate in front of him and ate it before asking, “So what happened, anyway?”
“Lot of shit involving a lot of vampires,” Scott said. “And I’ll warn you now, I’ll be filing a report that leaves a hell of a lot of shit out, but I’m doing it to protect people that, contrary to opinion, need protecting.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Riley?”
“Yeah. Riley.”
“For the sake of both of you, I won’t ask what you’re not mentioning in your report,” Henry said. “I’ll even pretend like I didn’t hear you say that.” He forked a bite of broccoli into his mouth, swallowed, and asked, “So how did things go with her?”
“As smoothly as can be expected, all things considered,” Scott said. He pulled a dining chair out and sat down in it, resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t see or hear anything that would make me want to report her to Internal Affairs. She’s clean. Even if she does have some crazy tendencies periodically.”
“What about personally?” Henry asked. He took one more bite of his steak and then slid the plate over in front of Scott, offering him the remaining half of his food. Scott accepted it gratefully and dug in.
“Against my better judgment, I like her,” Scott admitted. “She’s funny, very personable.”
“Very attractive,” Henry said, winking. He loved watching Scott squirm, and predictably, that was what he started to do.
“Let’s not go there, please?”
Henry let a smile cross his face. “So you noticed then,” he said.
Watching Scott drop his fork and put his head in his hands was highly amusing. “Yes, I noticed,” he grumbled. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Henry said. He leaned against the table, watching Scott closely. “Amy’s been gone for almost a year now.”
“Not quite nine months,” Scott grumbled.
The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1) Page 35
