“Oh,” she replied in a small voice. “I've never been outside of Region One.”
Cynthia tried to close her mouth. She couldn't. Never been to McDonald's. It was a tragedy of epic proportions.
Angela had big puppy dog eyes.
Scott ran up, saving the moment.
“We can go through the back. You order, and Lucius and I will break the door down...”
“And steal cheeseburgers from McDonald's.”
Scott grinned. “It is somehow funny.”
Cynthia agreed but was too hungry to laugh. The guys went around back while she and Angela walked to the counter.
A young woman with blue hair and scarlet lips approached the front, the D was unraveling in her scripted name tag. “May I help you?”
Cynthia tried not to stare at the horrible Rainbow Brite look. There'd been no full-length mirror for this chick. She flicked her eyes to Angela, who was similarly blown away. “I'd like thirty double cheeseburgers and the same amount of water bottles.”
Fuck fries.
The smell of grease alone formed a river of saliva. She swallowed hard.
The girl's eyes stayed glazed. “What?”
Cynthia leaned forward and repeated the order. She was so proud of herself for not strangling her on the spot.
“You're going to have to wait.”
“I thought this was fast food?” Angela asked, genuinely puzzled.
Oh boy. “It is, but... maybe it's not so fast when you ask for that much.”
Dee, of the nauseating neon-blue hair, said, “Do you want fries?”
Cynthia shook her head and cast her gaze to the floor before she cracked up. They were dirty, hungry, and the sudden urge to laugh might turn hysterical if she allowed it.
The door burst behind Dee at the same time Angela gripped her arm in a brutal hold.
“Ow!” Cynthia exclaimed, trying to tear her arm out of Angela's vise grip.
Then Cynthia followed her eyes.
And met those of Tom Harriet.
“Oh shit.”
Tom Harriet rushed forward, a streak of flesh-colored paint in the air, with the Weres’ breathless speed.
“‘Oh shit’ is right,” he replied before gripping her neck, his manic eyes set on the Combatant behind her. Cynthia felt the breath trapped in her lungs. Her feet left the ground to dangle beneath her.
She used the distraction of the dudes behind her and brought her knee into his crotch. She aimed for it to go through his body to his head.
Harriet howled, dumping Cynthia.
Scott and Lucius leapt over the counter.
Blue hair shrieked and ran as Cynthia’s head rapped against the floor.
I will not faint, I will not faint, Cynthia chanted.
Then she did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cynthia rolled over and puked on the McDonald's floor. 1980s terracotta titles with uninspired black grout became obscured with vomit more bile than anything.
Angela put her hand on Cynthia's shoulder, and she shuddered.
“How long was I out?” Cynthia asked.
Angela hauled her to her feet, and she swayed. Angela's grip tightened.
“Seconds.”
Cynthia focused her blurry vision on her. Not so mousey after all.
She looked behind her and saw Harriet struggling to rise. Her gaze skipped around the building.
It was mayhem in motion. Customers were screaming and piling up at the door.
Cynthia looked at the cheeseburgers lined up, to-go orders in various stages of assembly. Eff it, she was hungry. The Combatant dudes could figure out Harriet, and she'd suck up the grub. Cynthia hiked her ass on the top of the counter, sliding across it, and bounced lightly on her feet.
She grabbed the first thing she saw and stuffed a handful of fries in her mouth. Angela followed right after.
They decimated the large fry.
Then Cynthia took a huge, two-handled McDonald's bag and stuffed all the to-go boxes inside. She swept in a combo of quarter pounders with cheese and even a yogurt parfait.
The whole kit and caboodle plopped into the bag.
Someone seized her hair from behind. It felt like the roots were on fire.
She dropped the bag of food, and that pissed her off on principle.
Cynthia cracked her elbow into the head of whoever grabbed her.
A satisfying but gross blood spray hit her neck. Splatter like drizzling rain slid down her right arm.
Gawd, she needed a hose-down. She was going to qualify for hazmat apparel soon.
Cynthia looked into Angela's wide eyes. “Reds,” she whispered.
Great.
Some dudes whose energy was not human entered the restaurant. Cynthia knew the difference now that she was Were. That tingling live wire felt like insects feasting on her skin.
“Shit,” she said.
Cynthia scooped up the bag and ran out the back door, Angela in tow.
“Grab the food!” Cynthia shrieked.
Angela jerked up the second huge bag of food, the yelling customers in the drive through cursing after them in an impressive blue streak.
No refunds, Cynthia thought.
They ran, leaving Lucius and Scott behind. It was shitty.
It was also their only choice.
*
Sometimes great shit happened when you least expected it. Like your enemies begging for their lives.
And killing them for sport.
The movies always portrayed murder as a slick, clean occurrence. The killer moved through people like a change of underwear when, in reality, it was a messy business.
Only Tony’s eyes were free of blood. He was careful to keep them closed on an arterial swipe.
The blade had swung true, magically sharpening itself as it deftly cut down every Singer in its path.
Marcus, father of the miserable band of siblings, had been the most difficult to cut down.
His talents had been formidable. But ancient metal of the saber had been proof against even that Singer's powerful royal blood.
He scowled when he thought of the few who'd escaped.
Tony was vaguely insulted that his daughter had thought he'd kill her. His vanity was entirely too rich a tapestry to allow for that. After all, through the union with the bitch, Lacey, Reagan was still part of him.
A demonic, though she remained unaware. It would be that way until Praile or one of the others in his league decided her time had come to work for the legion that populated Hades.
Tony sighed, his exhaustion so acute he had to force himself to stand upright. The slaughter of so many had numbed his dominant arm.
He'd lost count after one hundred.
His elbow felt like a loose hinge as it hung from his side, and the saber was an anchor. Tony dared not let it go.
Instead, he moved through the old Victorian mansion in which Region One had been headquartered. He reached the kitchen, stepping over a couple of bodies.
He opened the fridge, and it hit something solid.
Marcus’ dead son... What was his name? Tony shrugged. Who gives a ripe fuck? He rolled the body away from the door and peered inside.
Several items interested him as he scanned the interior. He locked on the meat and mashed potato leftovers and, with fingertips embedded with dried blood, he pulled out what he needed.
Tony carefully set the food dish on the counter and tore off the plastic lid. Taking a solid whiff and finding it unspoiled, he set the long blade on the granite counter top and dug in.
When he licked his fingers clean, the flavor of murdered Singers was like a wonderful underlying aftertaste.
A condiment.
Tony chortled to himself, an empty sound in the stillness of a house once full of life.
*
Julia clutched her belly. The pain was ferocious, like a storm of glass inside her guts, slicing her to bits.
“What—Jules? Talk to me!” Jason knelt beside her.
�
�It's—something's wrong back home.”
Jason's face would have been comedic if she wasn't so certain something terrible had happened.
“What? Home like... Homer?”
She shook her head. “No. Home as in, Region One.”
“Okay...”
Jason obviously didn't consider the Singers’ Pacific Northwest Region home yet.
Julia did. As queen, apparently her blood knew where it belonged. And right now it was living up to its namesake.
It was singing. And it was a melody of despair.
*
“We need to go,” Julia argued with Slash.
He shook his head. “We need food, drink. Us leaving before the other Singers have returned is a recipe for sure disaster.”
“Gah!” Julia threw her hands up. She didn't want to leave before Cyn, Scott, and the others returned with the food.
She looked down at her feet. Her heart told her something terrible was happening.
Or had already occurred.
Just then, Cyn ran into the small clearing in the middle of the stand of trees.
She held out the food, and Slash took it. She bent over, sucking in big lungfuls of breath. “I—” She coughed. “Here's the food, but we left Lucius and Scott behind.”
Julia stepped forward. “Why?” Her heart raced, its beating only slightly less audible than her voice.
“Reds,” Angela replied, gasping.
“Damn,” Slash said in a voice thin with anger. “I was afraid of that.”
Julia gave him a sharp look. “Afraid of what?”
“The Reds finding us before we could get out of here.”
Slash had revealed he was a pureblood, and her husband was also of mixed Red ancestry. Julia hesitated then asked slowly, “What does this mean for us?”
Slash held up a finger then handed her a cold cheeseburger and grabbed one for himself. He uncapped a water, taking a long pull. It leveled half the water gone. He tore off a third of the burger and chewed for about three seconds then swallowed the entire chunk.
Though tasting horrible cold, it was the best food she'd eaten in some time. It was even more important to the Weres. When in starvation mode, a Were did not consider sensory pleasures of heat and taste. Sustaining life was the highest priority.
“What it means is the Reds will take the Combatants and torture them until they tell them where you might be.”
Julia stalled out, her food a lump in her stomach. “I... oh, no.”
Slash shrugged. “It's what we sign up for during war.”
“But this is not war, not really.”
Slash shook his head like close enough.
Jason set his hand, warm and vital, on the small of her back—a comfort.
“He's right, Jules. It is what it is. That's why you couldn't be sacrificed by going with them.”
“You are the queen. We needed supplies, so the beings who were the least strange-looking secured what the entire group needed.”
“So now I have to assume that Scott and Lucius are being tortured.” Julia felt sick and set the half cheeseburger down.
“It's not like I don't care,” Cyn said between bites. “It's that the responsibility for our protection was on them. I was in charge of getting the food.”
Julia stared down at her dirty feet. They became blurry.
Everything did when she was crying.
“Come on, babe—maybe they're just late.”
Julia swiped angrily at her tears and shook her head. “Nope. That's not the way our luck runs. Right now, we need to eat and get back to Region One.”
Tharell, Jacqueline, and Domiatri looked to her, as did the rest of the Weres.
“Can we leave a trail for Scott and Lucius if they don't find us right away?” she asked Slash hopefully.
Truman spoke up, his cheeks distended with the food. “No way, that's a bread crumb trail for the Reds to find.”
“How do you know they'll try?” The edge of despair clouded Julia’s judgment, making her itch to react.
“I would,” Truman said.
Great.
Julia finished her cheeseburger. Talking was useless. Their band of allies was now fractured, and something miserable had gone down in her Region.
She knew it.
The half-naked Weres and Sidhe followed her, Scott and Lucius somewhere unknown.
Julia was worried, yet what awaited them when they arrived on the Olympic Peninsula bothered her even more. She knew what Scott was capable of. He had a chance to defend himself. Lucius, too.
No matter how much Julia tried to calm herself and rationalize that a Singer population with that many, possessing the talent array they did, would be safe, she couldn't.
Julia ignored her bare feet. Her suffering was small compared to what those faithful to her might be enduring.
She trudged on, Jason at her side.
The sole comfort.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tharell took the rear position, listening to the discussions of what occurred at the eatery. It certainly wasn't a nod toward subtlety. They had decided against the other Reds going because of lack of wardrobe. In the end, they would have had the nose to identify the Reds who attacked Lucius and Scott. Instead, they were now down two warriors for the remainder of the journey.
It troubled him.
Domi glanced over his shoulder at Tharell. The look was enough. Domi was on point. Nothing would approach them without the other Sidhe alerting him and that eased Tharell. Though the issue of Jacqueline remained, Tharell would not address it with Domi prematurely. Timing was critical for his long-range goal.
Actually, Domi allowed great flexibility in the relationship. It was not Tharell's place to remind Domiatri that Jacqueline was a brood mare for the Sidhe. However, the lines of the other male's body indicated he would not welcome any suitor other than himself. Unyielding. Relentless.
It did not bode well. The fey were not known for sharing what they considered valuable.
They kept to the tree line, floating the perimeter like silent, uninvited ghosts.
Yet not without cause.
The Reds stayed at the front, and the four women traveled in the center. The pulse of Faerie synced with Tharell’s every heartbeat. He knew it grew stronger for Domi, but it was a distance from the Singer's lair. He took the Rare One’s misgivings seriously. Her blood tied her to every Singer in the world because of what she represented. If her feelings of disquiet centered on her homeland, then they were to be heeded. The Red Were, Jason, her husband, was young in his knowledge of what it was to be a Singer while also an infant in terms of being a werewolf. They could not count on him to understand or react to the things that occurred.
He would be a good fighter, as all werewolves were.
When they had walked two hours, they finally came to rest. Tharell strode past the loose knot of women, Jason close by Julia, and stood beside Domi.
“Where is Jacqueline?”
Domi shot him a sideways look and answered, “She attends to her needs.”
A long blue chunk of hair swept forward as he scanned the environment after Jacqueline.
Bathroom. Tharell dipped his chin in tacit acknowledgement. He laced his hands together behind his back. He asked the question while no one but Domi was present. “How long?”
Domi closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Close,” he answered in a whisper.
Tharell narrowed his eyes in the direction of where Faerie felt strongest. Like a thread that slid through his body, it tugged at his inner being.
Jacqueline returned, coming to stand beside Domi. He whispered something against her temple, gently pushing hair away from her face as he did. She gave a small nod and tentatively wrapped an arm around his waist. Domi pressed her against his side. Tharell was glad of her presence; it kept Domi from sliding into an abyss of madness.
He would be quite glad of it when they were inside the sithen once again. Though an unhealthy environment for Th
arell, it was the one he knew. Better to see the evil as it came at him than be taken by surprise.
Low voices of anxiety began to ripple through the small group and sent the Sidhe to the front of the line.
Julia was doubled over.
“What is this?” Tharell asked, but Cyn hovered next to Julia with her hands pressed against the Rare One's back.
“We're close, and it's bad,” Julia said though her voice was lost to the ground. The earth absorbed the words but none of the fear in them. Terror trembled in the air like the smell of rain.
“What? What's bad, Jules?” Jason asked in a low voice, his hand on his wife. His gaze was everywhere and nowhere.
Tharell felt his restlessness. It matched his.
“Death,” Julia moaned.
“Let's go,” Jason said, hauling Julia up by the armpits. “Hang on.”
Julia wrapped her arms around Jason's neck, and he melted to half-wolfen. It was all the finer attributes of the change without the mess. Tharell suffered a pang of envy. Would it be that he could change into something more desirable to look upon, his troubles in the Faerie court would lessen considerably.
Jason grasped her hands at his throat with one of his own. His attention turned to Tharell and Domi. “Can you two keep up?”
Tharell silenced his many biting remarks. Instead, he simply nodded.
He glanced behind him, and Jacqueline was on Domi's back, legs wrapped around his waist.
Tharell surveyed the group with sharp eyes. The Reds had all changed to half-forms, the last of their clothes discarded like scattered leaves.
The Feeler, Angela, and Cyn rode on the back of the female Were, who had completely changed.
Tharell had not realized the moon was so close to full.
They ran, the shadow of uncertainty sharpening as they did.
*
Tharell and Domi arrived first at the edges of the bloodbath. He instantly took in what it was and stopped the Rare One before she could see the pieces of her people spread like flung and spoiled meat upon the land.
“Let me through!” Julia spat, and Tharell gripped her.
“No.”
Jason fingers bit into Tharell's deep violet skin. The Were’s downy red fuzz looked like fire upon amethysts. “Don't touch her, fey.”
Blood Reign (#4): Alpha Warriors of the Blood (The Blood Series) Page 13
