Every bit of metal sparkles. The hatch is clean and pure.
Scott opens his senses for danger. His nostrils flare. He's no tracker, but he can smell death underneath the obvious taint of cleaning chemicals.
Scott suppresses his obvious relief and bends, easily lifting Julia from the dark hole of the bunker, and her gaze skips over everything his eyes just touched.
Large liquid-topaz irises trace the spinning inset knob that opens the portal, the rim of aluminum that circles it, and the timer that is no longer counting down the hours. The floor that surrounds it is polished and glowing; the rug that covered the portal is absent.
Of course. There's no way to clean what happened to Jason from fabric. At once, an image of the flail-type appendage the demonic swept into Jason's head rises like an unwanted mirage, and Scott shuts his eyes against it.
He can handle the visual, but he doesn't want Julia getting an echo of his thoughts.
Her exhale speaks of defeated relief. “I-I guess Jason's gone. Really gone.”
Scott doesn't have a reply that's not painfully obvious or redundant, so he just pulls her against him, smoothing his hand over her hair.
Victor's eyes meet his over the top of Julia’s head. His relief mirrors Scott's own. Neither felt that Jason was anything but a way to fuck up the Region. Caldwell thought about numero uno. His human origin always got in the way of what needed to be accomplished with their people. Caldwell meant well. Scott even believes he loved Julia—in his way. But it wasn't a selfless love. There were conditions.
True love doesn't have conditions. It loves without strings, unwinding toward infinity by faith alone.
He kisses away Julia’s salty tears then tilts her face up with his hands. “It'll be okay.”
Julia nods. “I have you.”
“Absolutely.”
Her smile is watery but it's there, and Scott'll take it.
“Jules!”
They whirl at the sound of Cynthia's voice.
She flies at Julia, and they embrace. “I'm so sorry, baby.” Cynthia steps away, fat tears rolling down her face. “There was nothing we could do, Jules. I'm so glad you're safe. We didn't know where you guys had gone to.”
Julia nods. “Tell me—is…”
Scott hears the click of her throat, and his own constricts with the overflow of emotions he feels from her.
“Is everyone okay?”
“Well—short version? Yeah. Mostly.”
Julia searches Cynthia's face, slightly chalky and tight with what Scott believes is the stress of Caldwell's death combined with wondering where the hell everyone was. Her six inches of dark-blond roots add to the scene of survival. Who has time for looks when everyone is just surviving from one island in an ocean of disaster to the next.
I'd really like to catch a fucking break.
“What's the long version?” Julia asks with a catch in her voice.
“You know…” Cynthia's intense green eyes search Julia's face, and Scott doesn't exhale in disgust—even though he knows full well what's coming. “You know that ʻPeterʼ isn't Peter, right?”
Julia nods. “Praile.” Her voice is like a whip, and Scott strokes her arm. He summons comfort and allows it to pour over her like warm water. Julia's lips part, and her head tips back. “Thank you,” she breathes.
“Welcome.” Scott kisses the top of her head, and Cynthia's eyes track their interaction like a hawk’s.
Cynthia folds her arms, eyeing them up. “Okay. So I see some stuff has changed.”
Julia's face turns pink, and love swells within Scott. He hates the new feeling of vulnerability. But when Julia turns to him, he feels the tug of the soul-meld, and its presence eases him.
There's worse things. Scott's just not used to feeling emotionally fragile. Fuck. He takes Julia's hand, tugging her away from the portal and the scene of Jason's death.
“Yes,” Julia says, letting Scott lead her down the corridor to the parlor and the adjacent open entryway.
Cynthia walks alongside, trying to catch Julia's gaze and bring her back into the conversation. “I'm not being judgy.”
“I know,” Julia says, giving her a quick look. “But Jason's dead.”
Their eyes lock, and Victor chooses that moment to silently leave. Scott would like to do the same, but Julia needs him at her back. And he's not going anywhere when he can sense how uncertain she is.
“Where—what did they do with his body?” Julia bites her lips, but tears slip out, trailing down her face.
“Ah, Jules, don't cry.” Cynthia grips her shoulders. “He did the right thing. You're the queen and everything, and he took Praile's murdering ass out of the equation of hurting you—or whatever wonky plan the demonic had.” Her eyes meet Scott's. “Jace knew that Scott would protect you—love you.”
Julia nods, tears dripping off her chin.
Scott restrains himself from swooping in there and hiding Julia. She has to face this sadness so she can move beyond it.
Her inhale is a rattle of anguish. “I know.”
“We've buried him.”
Julia nods. “I want to visit his grave.” She looks at Scott.
What can he do? Julia needs the closure. And whatever—Caldwell's dead. Scott can afford to be gracious. Barely.
He understands he's got a dickhead attitude. It's a hard thing to help when his soul-meld had that prior connection. Scott will have to just work on it. Every day.
“First,” Scott interrupts, and Julia quickly wipes her face, trying to be brave. Making the mark.
He smiles at her then gives Cynthia a narrow stare. “Where is the fire prick?”
Cynthia's laughter fades when she realizes the conversation might be too somber. “Fire prick—Praile—disappeared when someone bigger and badder came along.”
Scott frowns. Great, that's what we need, another fucking scenario of bullshit.
Cynthia scans his face. “It's okay.” She waves his concern away. “It was some Lanarre prince dude, and he was all focused on getting ahold of his chosen.”
“His which?” Julia asks, her brows meeting in concern.
“It's that Tahlia girl. You know—the Were who speaks like she's from medieval Europe?”
Julia's smile is fleeting. “Yes, I remember—she and Tessa.”
“Well they're splittsville.” Cynthia makes a whistling noise and Scott smiles. “And,” Cynthia rolls her eyes, “They were riding shotgun with Laz.”
Scott sucks in a breath.
Cynthia looks between the two of them. “He's a demonic, too.” She taps her chin. “I don't know about the fire prick part with him, though. But Praile was pretty pissed about him taking off with the Were girls.” Cynthia shrugs. “Not my issue.”
He snorts. Scott doesn't like the presence of two demonic. Hell, he didn't like any of it. He thought the demonic were done with after the battle at Region Two. He was wrong. Those two sniffing around makes it clear that was only part of it. Julia is the key. As usual. Scott and the remaining Combatants aren't going to make it easy on Praile or any demonic.
“So he's gone?” Scott says.
Cynthia nods. “For now.”
“Are my sister and brother okay?” Scott ruthlessly regulates his body's response. Julia doesn't need his anxiety on top of what she already has. He aims to offer emotional protection along with physical.
“Yeah, we're all okay. But there's this really crappy packmaster from the Western that's jonesing to go after Tessa…”
“No,” Julia says, eyes slightly wild. “She didn't want to mate with him. Tessa told me that. It's why she was trying to leave with Tahlia.”
“Ah!” Cynthia says loudly, snapping her fingers. “Drek! That's the guy who was the Lanarre prince. Man—did he put a kibosh on old Tramack. What a ham-fisted fucker he is.”
Julia blinks. “What do you mean?”
Cynthia leans forward, and Scott is dying for her to see the point through. He's anxious to explore One and make sure it's s
ecure against Praile and others who would try to harm Julia.
“Tramack missed Tessa by inches, thanks to Laz. And once Drek and his buddy found out Tahlia was gone, they took off. But I'm pretty sure that Drek showing up made Praile beat feet outta here. And us Singers were so blown away by all these weirdos showing up and swinging their dicks around, there was just kinda numb reaction.” She spreads her hands away from her body.
“So the Lanarre guy is gone, and the Were females and Laz—the other demonic, also?”
Cynthia pushes her untrimmed hair behind her ear. “Yeah.”
“Where's Slash?” Julia asks suddenly.
That's a great question. Slash is a non-Singer Scott would love to have on their team. He's level-headed.
“He's gone after Adi.”
Julia crosses her arms. “What happened to Adi?”
“That's a long story.”
Julia looks to Scott. “I have time.”
No we don't.
But Scott listens anyway, growing more troubled by the second. Scott winces as Cynthia explains that Slash forced her to leave.
Scott understands his desperation exactly—better to eat crow later than have a mate subjected to death or a fate worse than death. The entire story makes Scott glad One isn't farther south. Nothing but a bag full of assholes for Were down there.
“So Slash is in pursuit of Adi?” Scott asks.
“Yeah, he had to heal up here first. They'd paralyzed him.”
Scott shakes his head. “Fine. Tell me this jerk is in our jail?”
“Sure—he is. But Slash isn't a Singer. It's been explained to me that we can't involve ourselves in Were politics. Their bullshit against him and Adi? We can't punish that.”
“That's stupid,” Julia says.
They have plenty to concern themselves with just being Singers, so Scott's okay with the problem passing them by. “I agree, but we're not in a great position to throw our weight around. We have the demonic who seem to be bent on coming after you. We have low numbers of Singers, and a lunatic Were packmaster that's after an alpha female Were who's not interested in him and another Were female who's looking at an arranged marriage.” Scott plows his fingers through his short hair. This is a mess.
Cynthia nods. “Yeah. Maybe you can put the fear of God in him. Discourage him from going after Tessa. After all, his goons worked Adi and Slash over. Right after they mated, by the way. Super-uncool.”
Julia's face scrunches with a look of disgusted horror.
Scott can't imagine what he would have done if someone had tried to hurt her after their first time together. Probably would have pulled their arms and legs off one by one.
A vague smile seats itself on his face.
Julia frowns. “What are you thinking?”
Oops, a bit too much emotional blow back.
Cynthia smiles. “Probably the same thing any red-blooded male would be thinking if a bunch of thugs tried to spring in on them after a roll in the hay.”
“It's not just that,” Julia says, her tone of voice hard. “It's that Adi and Slash had been circling being together for months. Slash hadn't wanted to go past a certain invisible line because Lawrence wouldn't have allowed the mating outside her pack; he was following Were protocol. But then Lawrence died.”
“Yeah. Awesome,” Cynthia says, “except for Manny.”
Julia gives a solemn nod. “Emmanuel was good to me.”
“Me, too,” Cynthia agrees quietly. A note in her voice causes Scott to study her features. Maybe she liked Manny more than anyone realized. But Scott doesn’t have time to consider Cynthia’s emotional state.
Victor charges back into the room. “The Were is gone.”
“What? Tramack? Why?” Cynthia says.
Victor shrugs. “He wasn't enough of a concern to keep in any event. His escape isn't as important as us securing the Region.”
Scott nods decisively, they didn't have the people to contain him anyway. “Agreed.”
Julia's hand moves to his forearm. “I need us to stick together.”
Scott rubs the back of her neck. “There was never a question of that.” He looks to Victor. “Let's go see our people. I think they'll be a little relieved that we're okay.”
“I hoped you guys were down there. I just didn't say it out loud,” Cynthia says, hiking a thumb toward the bunker.
“How'd you know?” Julia asks.
“Trackers could smell you. They'd been looking.”
“Oh,” Julia's eyes light on the direction of the portal at the end of the long hallway they'd just traveled.
Scott doesn't think she needs the constant reminder of her former husband's brains plastered everywhere.
He tugs her out of the house. Scott glances over his shoulder as Victor moves down the hall with a new rug to cover a portal best left unseen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Adi
“Wakey-wakey,” Adi says softly, gently slapping Nurse Jenni's face.
Vivid root beer eyes blink apart rapidly. They widen, the whites looking alarmingly freaked, and Adi says, “It's okay.”
“It's not okay,” Jenni says in a voice that trembles slightly. “You've told me you're a werewolf, which I'm inclined to believe.”
“Good practical logic there, nurse.” Adi gives a crooked grin.
Jenni cringes away.
Maybe quarter-change is a little too much.
“Hey, me being a werewolf isn't so bad. You knew something was off anyways. Later, you can say I was a lunatic, hopped up on LSD or something.”
“Later?” Jenni asks, rubbing her eyes with a fist.
Probably trying to make me disappear.
Adi picks her up by the armpits, and Jenni's eyes widen impossibly farther.
“Yeah. There can't be proof of our existence.”
Jenni's lips purse. “Well, bad job on getting discovered, quite frankly—as you ran out and got hit by a car on a busy highway.” She puts her hands on her hips.
Adi's eyes narrow, and she suddenly scents the acute fear smell. Prey. Adi inhales deeply, realizes her eyes have gone wolfen, and calms the fuck down. Moon.
“Listen,” Adi says, regaining control of the conversation, “I know this is a shit ton to take in. Me being a werewolf and all. But aside from all that, I'm a woman, and as such, I feel second class. There's a reason I'm petrified and ran into the highway on purpose—to escape three Lycan males.”
“Lycan?”
Adi's nose scrunches. “Lycan—werewolf, same thing. Don't go all soft on me now. I need you to shelve your disbelief of Lycankind for just five minutes so you understand the danger I'm in. And you, by association.”
Jenni's throat convulses as she swallows. “All right.”
Adi slowly releases her grip on Jenni's Cheshire Cat scrubs. Hmmm. The wrinkled material sits up at attention from where Adi had fisted it.
Jenni absently smooths the material.
“This will be the quickest rundown of supernatural history I can relay.”
Jenni blinks.
“I'm young. We live for hundreds of years, but I'm just out of whelphood—teenage adolescence. So we go into heat for the first time two to five years past whelp.”
Jenni's eyebrows sweep together. “Heat?” she slides her jaw back and forth. “What does this have to do with why you threw yourself in traffic?”
Adi huffs in irritation. “I'm getting to that.”
Jenni's lips thin.
Adi's struck by how pretty she would be without the harsh hair color and makeup. And terminal cancer. That'll do it.
“So I found this great male—he's way older than me. I've been crushing on him since—well, forever. He used to play with me when I was a whelp. He's a great warrior.”
Jenni studies her.
A great male. Adi clenches her fists, holding her eyes wide so tears don't fall in front of this human female she doesn't even know.
“He hurt you?” Jenni asks quietly, getting to the heart of it lik
e a perfectly shot arrow.
Compassion rims irises that darken from the words Adi doesn't say. This chick absolutely knows Adi's pain. Her empathy makes Adi feel vulnerable, which she hates. It's too late to hold back, though. Three asshat males are waiting in the wings to take her.
“Yes,” Adi manages. “But those aren't the facts. I gave myself to him when the big ass admitted to loving me.” She swipes a tear that falls despite her best efforts to hold it back. “Then when a pack of jerk Lycan show up, they kick our butts—we're outnumbered—they got Slash really bad.” Adi's eyes rise to hers. “They paralyzed him, Jenni.”
Jenni's hands go to her mouth, but Adi hears her easily. “Slash is your husband?”
Jenni's moved to stand right in front of Adi. She's much taller than Adi. “No—my mate. But it's the same thing in our world as husband in yours.” Adi slowly lets out a painful exhale, hoping to plow through this next part. “He told me to get the fuck away from him. That he didn't want me anymore.” Adi chokes on the last word. She's really on a stupid rant now—outing the Lycan race while confessing her embarrassing rejection and stupid faith in someone.
Confusion washes over Jenni's face. “You were hurt—both of you. Why would he do that? It doesn't make sense. Actually…” Jenni's face falls. “None of this makes sense.”
Probably from a human perspective, that's true. “I don't know why,” Adi says. More tears fall, and Jenni plucks a nearby tissue from a box and hands it over.
“I bet you never thought you'd be comforting a werewolf?” Adi says, blotting her eyes and doing a messy blow of her nose into the damp tissue.
“No,” Jenni admits softly. “It doesn't seem real.”
Adi gives her serious eyes. “It is.”
They look at each other.
“So now what? Slash…” She pauses over his name before continuing, “Has let you go, and there's some other Lycan—?”
“Yes. I guess Slash and I—our interlude”—Adi quickly looks at Jenni, expecting condemnation, but finding a quiet understanding—“brought my heat early. And that's so bad. To be a female in heat, without a male escort…” Adi shudders.
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