I wondered if they would shoot me if I asked them where we were going. The two guards currently holding the guns looked alert and wary. Not a nice combination for a small chat. Sooner or later, I'd know anyway.
An eternity later, my muscles began to cramp, and I'd have killed for water and a mint. When the next twenty minutes were over, and it was time for the guard shift, I decided to take my chances; besides, my throat was parched enough to hurt. “Water?” I croaked, and in the blink of an eye, four barrels pointed directly at my head from four different angles. One would think I had screamed “bomb”!
Someone said something up front, but since the four guns were still aimed at my head, I kept my focus on them. It had been the first time I'd heard someone speak though.
A minute later, footsteps approached and a man crouched beside me. I stole a quick glance, careful to keep my head's movement minimal, before I shifted my eyes to the four barrels aimed at my head. I caught a glimpse of a middle-aged man, a hard and unforgiving expression. Was he going to tell the quadruplets to shoot? Because he definitely carried an air of authority, and I had no doubt—even from that brief glance—that this was the man in charge. I risked another glance at the man, this time lingering a little longer.
He crouched about a foot away, his eyes cold, his expression remote. His short dark blonde hair was graying here and there. His eyes were an icy blue, like his aura. His nose was crooked—no doubt broken a few times throughout the years—set on a very masculine, rugged face with a square jaw and a tan complexion.
This man had turned many heads, twenty, perhaps fifteen years ago. Belatedly, I realized he was holding a plastic cup in his left hand. I looked again at the quadruplets, wondering if this was a trap. I take the cup and they shoot me?
“… Sir, we assumed she was going to attack you, sir! …”
The man's right arm came forward, solving my dilemma. He helped me into a sitting position, then with his hand still supporting my back, passed me the cup. Warily, my eyes on the quadruplets, I took it. I had to use both hands, but all that mattered at that moment was that cup of ambrosia.
It tasted like heaven. A tiny piece of heaven.
“More?” I asked him. He looked up at one of the quadruplets and nodded. Then he made a gesture and the other three left. My gaze followed the last of the quadruplets, and I saw a couple of heads poking above their seats in our direction. I looked back at the man who had taken the quadruplets' place, who was now coldly studying me—or was it taking my measure?
He had stars and medals attached to his uniform, his symbols of superiority, but I had no idea how high he ranked. A general? A lieutenant? Captain? Well, it didn't matter. One was definitely better than four.
One of the quadruplets came back and handed me a bottle of water. I took it with both hands, uncapped and drank my fill. I left about a quarter of the bottle for later, just in case.
“Thank you,” I told the man. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. His eyes never wavered, never left mine. Very unnerving. Which was undoubtedly his goal.
I looked around at what I could see from the bus's interior, at the dark night beyond. “So, where are we going?” I asked. “The quadruplets didn't like talking much.”
“To a safe house far from my base. I don't want you near my men.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, the insult was more a statement. Then he added, oh so politely, “Forgive my men's attitude. They have been lead to believe you can be lethal.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You don't believe I'm lethal?” I asked, injecting a bit of sarcasm.
“Oh, I believe you can be lethal if you choose to be. But I don't think you will be doing anything harmful today.”
“How come you're so sure?” I baited.
“I have my reasons.”
“Like what? Me being a woman, cuffed and helpless?” I scoffed. Was that hysteria bubbling inside, threatening to escape?
He leaned forward, seemingly unperturbed by how close we were, and braced his elbows on his knees. I noted he wore a wedding band. “Not at all. I've met criminals, terrorists, psychotics and madmen many a plenty before. You don't strike me as one of those. Oh, I believe if push comes to shove you won't hesitate to kill, but I don't think you would if you had a choice.”
“What makes you think this is a situation where I have many choices?” I raised my cuffed hands up, as if he hadn't noticed it before. “I don't see myself overwhelmed with them.”
His face hardened, something I didn't think possible before, and his icy blue eyes gained a frostier sheen to them. “I don't know how you consider this situation, but let me tell you something, Miss Fosch. Above all else, I protect my men. Don't think for a moment that if I thought you were considering taking my men down that I'd hesitate to put you down. I don't want to do it, but that doesn't mean I won't.”
I believed him. I also believed he wouldn't lose any sleep over it either. I nodded at him.
“I've met your kind before. I find it strange and very disconcerting that the Scientists have legal documents proclaiming ownership of you…” He practically spat the last words in disapproval, and I gained a small speck of respect for him. “Despite my knowledge that your kind works hard to keep themselves under the radar, they did not dispute the Scientists' claims over you.” He shook his head. “It's disconcerting.”
My heart did a fast flip flop. Did that mean he knew what I was? Or was he baiting me to glean information out of me? I didn't put it past him. Or the PSS putting him to the task, in exchange for some credit or whatever recognition he'd gain for the “heroic deed”.
Paranoia and I are sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…
“You talk like you know what I am—when even the Scientists, who have had 'ownership' over me for over nine years have no idea,” I sneered. I held my breath and waited, feeling my heart accelerate at the sudden gleam that entered the cold of his blue eyes.
“Oh, but I know. I know what you are, and I've even interacted with your kind before. Probably even more than you've had the chance to do.” If he was telling the truth, then he was damn right about that. My face didn't give anything away though.
“Yeah? Then what am I?” I challenged. The roar in my ears was so loud I was sure the general/lieutenant could hear it even with his human ears.
He glanced to the front of the bus, then lowered his voice, “I know you're one of the rejected.”
The rejected? By whom? Or did he mean I was one of those street bums? It didn't seem likely. It seemed to me he knew what he was talking about.
“That's just a title,” I told him, my voice subdued.
He gave me a level look.
“Dhiultadh,” he whispered, or something to that extent. I gave him no sign that the word meant something to me—or otherwise. “I know that your kind have no interspecies relations,” he spoke on, “but that they stick up for each other in times of need. I know that there had been rumors in the world here and there about your kind being spotted, vanishing just as quickly, sometimes with the very ones that reported them.
“I know that your kind, a very secretive bunch, do not want to be discovered and it's very disturbing that someone let you remain under the clutches of scientists from all over the world and they didn't do one damn thing about it.”
Whoa! I was struck speechless. Was that anger in his voice? But most important of all were his words. Did that mean my own kind rejected me?
Yeah, how fucked up was my life?
“Perhaps they don't know? Maybe you should call your friends, tell them about this,” I suggested hopefully.
He looked at his watch, then shook his head. “From what I gather, they know about you. They know where you are. They know what's happening to you.”
I was the reject of a group of preternaturals.
“Besides, I heard one of your kind ran some sort of interference when you were in trouble back in Vegas.”
I was about to ask him what he meant when I grasped his meaning.
Vegas. He was talking about Logan. I felt a mix of disappointment and relief. Disappointment because he was classifying me as one of the species in the paranormal world in general, and not what kind of preternatural I actually was. Relief because I hadn't been rejected by my own kind.
Stupid to believe he knew what I was, when I myself didn't even know.
I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. The general/lieutenant plucked one of the cushions from the seat beside him and placed it on the floor behind me, then he surprised me by leaning forward and pulling me gently up and back on top of the cushion, my back supported against the seat next to his. He smelled like cologne and soap. When he sat again, he had a fierce gleam in his electric blue eyes that hadn't been there before. I got this uneasy feeling that I had just missed some vital detail.
“Thank you,” I said doubtfully. He smiled, and it crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Why make me comfortable?”
He shrugged, just a tiny movement of his left shoulder. “I have a daughter your age. She's wild and likes to get into trouble more often than not.”
“And?” I prompted, sensing a story underneath the words.
He eyed me for a moment in silence before saying, “One day when she was eleven, she came home after a sleepover and told us that her best friend, the one she'd known since kindergarten was a shifter. Naturally, we didn't believe her until a couple of years later when I met some preternatural beings myself. Then I got worried. Her friend's family and mine had been friends for years, and I never had any reason to suspect them of any foul play, but I kept a wary eye on them.” He checked his watch again before continuing, “With time, I learned I could still trust them.”
I stared at him. Was he trying to tell me something? If so, I was missing his point.
“I don't understand,” I finally said.
He smiled, a genuine smile that softened his features. “There are monsters everywhere, Miss Fosch. If a dangerous criminal is black, would that make the entire black population criminals? If a Muslim is a terrorist, would that make the entire Islamic nation terrorists? If a preternatural is a monster, Miss Fosch, would that mean every single preternatural is a monster?”
I snorted. Tell that to the humans.
“Being different doesn't make you a monster, Miss Fosch. Just like my daughter's best friend is not.”
“How would you know? You don't even know me.”
He eyed me intently. “A monster would have seized the opportunity when I bent down to prop you to a comfortable position.”
“Perhaps I didn't see the point when the bus is full of trigger-happy people who'd shoot me and consider it their good deed for the day.”
“A monster would have considered that one less person to face is one better chance to escape. A monster would have tried to get leverage and use me as a hostage.”
“Maybe I'm a clever monster and am waiting for a better opportunity? Say, once I'm uncuffed?” My voice dripped sarcasm. The fact was that even if I wouldn't have attacked him, it never occurred to me to seize the opportunity. Perhaps I was just a dumb monster.
“No. You might be different like my daughter's best friend, but you're not evil.” His voice held fierce conviction.
I didn't tell him that his daughter's best friend had probably never killed anyone, or that the worst she could have acted in her shifter nature was eating a steak rare.
“This from the same man delivering me to the very people who have treated me like one for the better part of my life.”
“Unfortunately, I have no choice in the matter,” he said sincerely.
I snorted. Typical.
“Believe me when I say that if I could dispute the Scientists' claim I would have, if for no other reason than that I serve to protect.”
“Yeah, lucky me.” I looked down at my cuffed hands. He might not think the entire preternatural nation were monsters, but he was nonetheless delivering me to those who did. Hell, even the woman that had raised me for twelve years had done so. Twice. Perhaps I really was a monster and, because I didn't know any other way, I didn't know the difference. Can an insane person tell if he is insane? I'd heard even psychiatrists had different opinions to that question. How can a monster tell if he's a monster if he's never known anything else?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The bus came to a screeching stop, sending me face first to the aisle floor. There were some abrupt, short orders shouted in the front, followed by the vibrations of stomping feet that reverberated through the ground.
I got up slowly, not wanting to make any sudden movements.
My stomach fluttered uneasily. Even without seeing, I knew something was horribly wrong.
To the front of the bus stood the army, distinguishable from the Elite's.
All stood—or crouched—at attention, all with guns drawn, some facing me with suspicion, others facing the darkness outside.
Behind, static buzzed loudly, and something incoherent was said, and then the general/lieutenant's voice: “Negative. I'll keep watch. Take Wallace, Connor and Midget to check the back. The Scientists' lapdogs can divide themselves whichever way, as long as they follow protocol.” A brief pause. “Whatever it is, if it's not openly threatening any of you, do not open fire. That's an order. Do you copy?”
There was an affirmative “sir” from the front, echoed through the radio.
I got to my knees and met the icy blue gaze of the general/lieutenant.
He was holding a tranquilizer gun, different than the ones issued by the PSS, aimed at my torso.
I didn't bother telling him I had nothing to do with this—whatever this was. My word meant nothing to him. His eyes moved briefly to the left, out at the dark night, and I followed his gaze, bracing my cuffed hands on the back of the seat in front of me for support.
As far as I could see—which was no doubt farther than he could—there was nothing but the cold, arid desert night.
Yet something weighed, a presence… Heavier than air, yet lighter…
There, but not.
Then suddenly—chaos.
Glass broke. Shouts were thrown. Guns fired. Hissing?—Hissing sounded.
We were under attack. I looked in time to see one of the quadruplets shooting at something outside.
God, we were under attack. My heart began thumping wildly, and at first, I wondered if Logan had come to my rescue, but he didn't know I had been captured in the first place, much less where they were taking me. If I harbored any hope that Logan would come to rescue me, it would be by accident when he came for his friend Archer, and that was even if I was in the headquarters. There was more shouting and loud gunshots from inside the bus. I didn't hear any return fire. There were more windows breaking though, and more hissing. I realized that a plume of smoke was rapidly filling the front of the bus.
Gas.
“Damn it! Do something!” I shouted at the general/lieutenant. The commotion up front was getting weaker and I could hear—but barely see—bodies thumping as one by one, like dominos, they fell, followed by a couple of more shots.
Hardly a minute had passed, and the defense was falling like flower petals under heavy rain.
A stray bullet hit the cushion beside my head, and I caught the glimpse of a raised semi in my direction before its owner fell.
The gas was almost upon us, but the stupid general/lieutenant didn't move from my side.
Watch-duty my ass! We were being attacked, by whom I didn't know, and all he did was frown at his falling men, then at the dark window outside.
So much for protecting his men. I took one quick glance at the general/lieutenant and found him now frowning at the window to my right. I twisted, managing to kneel by the window and see what was going on outside.
What I saw had my breath hitching in sudden fear and apprehension. Outside my window stood a bear, a huge one. Very huge. He had at least five feet in height on all fours and at least three feet wide in his shoulders. The biggest and
most massive bear on earth, was the phrase that popped into my mind.
Until I got a second look.
I fell back without being able to brace and pushed with my feet to get as much distance as possible between me and that thing.
I looked back at the general/lieutenant and discovered the gas had reached us.
Hallucinogenic?
Because the thing outside was no bear at all. It resembled a bear, from afar and in the dark—if one ignored the six paws and yellow glowing eyes. There were two curving protrusions from its back, like folded horns. This was no animal that could be defined with the English dictionary, or any other human alphabet for that matter.
I caught a glimpse of the animal's huge paws—easily the size of both my hands side by side. It came closer and closer, a predator in its prime, a stalker who cornered its prey.
I couldn't hear any more shouts from the front.
“If I don't do this part, it'll look suspicious,” slurred the general/lieutenant, just before I felt the sting of a tranquilizer dart in my shoulder.
Completely helpless. In a second, I'd be unconscious, at the mercy of Remo's minion.
I didn't want to die. I remembered the attack of the guardians of the paths and was sure this time Remo would kill me. The monster raised its paws to the bus, bracing itself to look inside.
I remembered two things before I died: the gesture was like that of a child looking inside a candy store, expectant and eager, and that the animal's yellow gaze held a certain human-like intelligence.
* * *
For the second time that night, I woke up moving again. This time though, instead of a vehicle, my front was clutched to something warm while cold air slapped my back and splattered hair every which other way. There was a hand on my lower back, another under my buttocks, one on my shoulder blades, and another holding my head to a warm pelt.
I stiffened. The huge bear-like beast had me, and he was taking me further into the dark. I struggled but he had me firm. I screamed. I could hear the thump-thump-thump of a helicopter in the background, but it was faint, faraway, so I struggled, screamed and tried my best to wriggle free. The beast never faltered. Never wavered, never missed a step.
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