by Keri Arthur
“What in Rhea are you doing, Branna?” My voice was little more than a harsh scrape of sound. “Dream wants to give our world to the wraiths and vampires—surely even you can't want that?”
“Of course I don't.” He stopped just beyond my reach—but not that of the gun I'd somehow managed to keep hold of as I went down. It was the reason I remained hunched over—I didn't want him to see it.
But as much as I wanted to shoot him—as much as I wanted to see him broken, bloody, and very, very dead—it wouldn’t be the wisest move right now. Aside from the fact that the pain pulsing from my wound would hamper my speed, he was far too wary—far too watchful—right now. He would be on me long before I could pull the trigger.
“Your death,” he continued evenly, “has nothing to do with any of that. It’s a simple business transaction. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I snorted, but the slight movement sent new waves of pain crashing across my body. Sweat broke out across my forehead and dribbled down my spine. Fear bloomed.
Something was very wrong.
I’d been shot many times before, but never had a wound affected me like this. It was almost as if my flesh was reacting to the bullet lodged in my shoulder... so what had he shot me with? Not an ordinary bullet, that was for sure, and it couldn't be silver. I might have shifter genes, but my skin didn't react to its touch. Not like this, anyway.
“Ah,” Branna said. “You begin to understand your predicament.”
“You're the one in a predicament,” I growled. “Hedda Lang is Dream, Branna. She’s using you—using your hatred—”
“No,” he cut in. “You’ve got all ass-about. I’m using her—”
“To betray our whole damn world,” I said, without really thinking, “because you’re so blinded by hatred—”
“You are an abomination,” he growled, the fires of insanity briefly flaring in his eyes. “One who has no right to live when all who were decent and good died at your hands—”
“It was a war,” I responded heatedly. Desperately. And then sucked in a breath and tried to calm down. Going down that path was pointless, because Branna was never going to see beyond his memories and madness. Not when it came to me, anyway. “Do you actually think Dream will let you live after you've fulfilled the contract and killed me?”
“Oh, I’m not so foolish as to trust any government official, given the amount of times I’ve seen outside contractors disappear. It’s part of the reason why I hung around with Nuri for so long—thanks to her connections, she was safe from such actions.”
“If you think she’ll in any way protect you after this—”
“I’m well aware that she won’t, which is why I’ll disappear the minute you're dead.” He paused, and that fierce light in his eyes faded. It made me feel no safer, however. “And now that you've rescued those children, I can do so with a clear conscience.”
“How in Rhea can your conscience ever be clear knowing you're working for the woman who was responsible for destroying those children's lives? The same woman who wants to annihilate humanity?”
“I have every faith that Nuri will find a way to stop her.” He shrugged. “And it's not like she predicted that you were—in any way—vital in doing that.”
It was so rationally said, and yet so very insane. “No matter where you go, Branna, Nuri and Jonas will find you, and they’ll most certainly kill you.”
“Oh, they can try,” he said, unperturbed. “But I know their network far too well to ever be caught by it.”
“So what the hell are you waiting for?” I tightened my grip on the gun and tried to do the same with the pain. “Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?”
“Because I want to watch you suffer. I want you to feel the agony and utter uselessness that I did when your kind erased my entire clan. And when I finally see fear rather than defiance in your eyes, only then will I kill you.”
“Don't hold your breath waiting for that to happen.”
Even as I said it, I whipped out the gun and fired. He was fast—faster by far than me—and the bullets smashed into his right knee and his left shin rather than his black heart. The rest missed completely, disappearing into the gelatinous shadows.
But Branna was at least down, and cursing, his knee and his leg a bloody, broken mess. It gave me time. Time to gather strength; time to get the damn bullet out of my shoulder. I switched the gun to my left hand, but my fingers were numb and unresponsive, and simply wouldn't grip it.
Fear surged anew. I let the weapon drop, unclipped my knife, and with my eyes on Branna, I plunged the blade into my shot shoulder. The wave of new pain that hit was so fierce that for a moment I feared I was going to black out, but I fought the sensation with everything I had.
Branna rolled onto his stomach and pushed upright. Thankfully, the gun he'd been holding lay between us. Part of my brain was screaming at me to pick up my weapon and fire every last bullet into his traitorous flesh, to take him out before he could reach that gun and finish what he’d started. But the other part was just as fiercely warning I needed to remove the thing in my shoulder before it killed me.
And that prospect was frighteningly close. The waves of heated agony washing from the epicenter of my shoulder were increasing in strength and volume, and I had a bad, bad feeling I only had minutes left.
I dropped the knife and dug my fingers into the wound. A scream escaped and sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. I gritted my teeth and pushed my fingers deeper into my flesh, until I felt something solid. Simply touching it sent another wave of cold sweat and agony crashing though me—how in Rhea was I ever going to move it?
A grunt of pain had my gaze leaping upwards. Branna had begun to drag himself toward his gun. Why he wasn’t shifting shape to heal himself I couldn’t say. All shifter’s cells had a set point—an optimum level of health and strength that they always reverted back to—which meant the only wounds they couldn’t heal by moving from one form to another was silver.
But perhaps he didn’t want to waste the few minutes it would take. Perhaps he simply wanted to kill me while I was still incapacitated.
Energy and determination surged. I bit down on my lip, using one pain to counter the other, then gripped the bullet with two fingers and pulled it out.
It wasn't metal. It was wood.
Like most déchet, I’d been warned both before and during the war that my vampire genes might make me vulnerable to wood. But I’d never had such a weapon used against me, not during the war and certainly not after it. The shifters obviously hadn’t been aware of the inbuilt design fault, or they would have used wood against us.
The fact that Branna had shot me with such a bullet could only mean one thing—Dream had been a part of the déchet program. There was no other way she could have known about the vulnerability.
I dropped the bullet to the ground and tried to force my body upright. I didn't succeed. My head swam, pain pulsed through me, and my vision shifted in and out of focus. But if I collapsed now, Branna would win.
I forced bloody fingers to pick up the gun and then shot him. Not once, not twice, but four times. I put one bullet through each forearm, waited until he collapsed onto his face, and then shot out each shoulder. Blood sprayed and he roared, but it was a sound of fury and frustration rather than pain.
I felt no satisfaction. I barely felt relief.
Despite the fact it would have undoubtedly been safer to simply kill him outright, I needed to question him. But there was some deeper, darker part of me that also wanted him to suffer.
I crawled forward and knocked his weapon well away from us both. He might be broken but I wasn’t about to take any chances.
But the effort of moving had taken what little strength I had left and the buzzing in my thoughts—the desire to just let go and slip away—was so damn strong that I actually did close my eyes. I quickly forced them open again and sucked in several deep breaths, fighting for control over both my
body and the pain. When the latter had eased just a little, I called to the healing trance and slipped just far enough into it to keep awareness.
Animals were at their most dangerous when cornered, and Branna would not be the exception.
He watched me, emanating a rage that was so raw, so deep and furious, that it burned across my skin like flame.
“Tell me about the black woman you met at the café on Tenth,” I said. “The one who handed you a small leather bag.”
Surprise briefly lifted the anger and hatred from his expression. “I’d rather die than give someone like you any sort of information.”
“That woman,” I ground out, “was Dream in her true form. If we can find her, we can put a stop to her mad schemes, Branna. Surely even you cannot want to live in a world that is controlled by the wraiths and the vampires.”
“It will never come to that.”
“Nuri believes otherwise.”
He hawked and spat. The globule landed on the top of my thigh and began to dribble down the side of my leg. I didn't yet have the strength to do anything more than let it.
It said all that needed to be said.
“You will die in this place of darkness and creeping evil,” I continued. “And until Nuri sends your soul on to whatever particular hell awaits traitors such as yourself, it will be a daily reminder of the unthinking, ungiving hatred that has led you to betray not only our world, but those you once called friends.”
His body finally began to shift—shimmer—as he reached for his alternate form in a last ditch attempt to keep on fighting.
I raised the gun and shot him a final time. As his head disintegrated and his brains sprayed the ground around him, my strength finally fled and I fell backward.
I was unconscious before I hit the ground.
I had no idea how long I remained that way. The sun was high in the sky by the time I woke, but I had no idea if it was the same day or the next. While I doubted it was the latter, having never been shot with wooden bullets before now I had no idea how long it took for such a wound to heal.
I breathed deep, smelled death and corruption, and opened my eyes. Branna's broken body had slipped into rigor mortis, and the blood on his clothes and skin had dried. All of which meant I'd been out for at least four hours.
I glanced down at my shoulder and carefully touched the wound. It was sore—damn sore—and the wound was still red and angry looking. I gingerly raised my elbow and moved it around. The shoulder twinged but I otherwise had full movement.
Yet again I'd been lucky—if it had taken me any longer to remove the wooden bullet, I might have lost use of my arm.
I retrieved my weapons then pushed upright and walked over to Branna. For several minutes I simply stood there, staring at the man who'd been a flesh and blood representation of the hatred, fear, and utter intolerance that had become such a major player in the war. It might have started with a land grab but it had devolved into so much more.
It said a lot about Jonas's character that—despite having as many reasons to hate me—he'd managed to see beyond it all while Branna never could.
Jonas. Both he and the ghosts would be worried by my silence. I took in a deep breath and then raised a hand and activated the earpiece.
“What in Rhea has been happening?” he immediately said. “It's been six hours since—”
“Branna happened,” I cut in. “He was waiting within the rift's shield and damn near killed me.”
“Why didn’t you contact me immediately?”
“Because between taking care of Branna, being in a deep state of unconsciousness, and trying not to die, I was too damn busy.”
Jonas swore. “You'd better come back. We can do this another—”
“Leaving now only gives Dream the chance to either move this rift or to set another trap,” I said. “We can't risk either.”
“You can't afford to blow your Catherine identity, either, and you will if you fail to show up tonight.”
“I've still got at least six hours. That gives me time.”
“Not much, given the rifts drain so much from you.”
“Jonas, I'll be fine.”
He made a sound that was pure frustration. “Contact me again when you get on the other side of that thing—and that is an order.”
“I will, but not because you order it.”
“Fine,” he growled, and then the line went dead.
I knelt, rolled Branna over, and quickly patted him down. The small leather bag Bear had mentioned was tucked into his left pocket, but it was empty. There was little else to be found. If he'd intended to run after killing me, then he was doing so with little in the way of provisions.
I reloaded my gun and then glanced around for the thing he'd been holding in his other hand when he'd shot me. After a moment, I spotted it near the edge of the rift and walked across. The rift started to spin on its axis as I neared, and bands of jagged energy began to spit and strike its dark surface. The closer I got, the faster the rift spun, the more volatile those bands became. The force of them slashed at my body, leaving my arms and legs littered with bloody streaks. They would grab me if I got too much closer.
I snagged the oblong-shaped device and then jumped back quickly as the lightning came uncomfortably close to wrapping itself around my arm.
The rift’s movements eased once I moved away again. I frowned down at the device, turning it over in my hands, trying to figure out what it was. It wasn't a weapon—there was no trigger, barrel, or clip. It also didn't appear to be any sort of communications unit. It was just a heavy, black metal brick.
So why was Branna carrying it? It obviously had some use, otherwise, why would he have gripped it with such determination?
I glanced back at the rift and realized its surface was the same greasy black as the brick. Were the two connected? Was this device the reason Branna had been able to traverse the rift without the hideous side effects that always affected me?
I guess there was only one way to find out.
With a deep breath that did little to steady my nerves or the sick sensation of dread, I once again walked toward the rift.
The minute I was close enough, two bands of energy once again snaked out, capturing both my wrists and ankles. Though their touch still felt like fire, it didn't burn into my skin as it had on previous occasions. Even the ferocity with which I was dragged into the rift was muted. As its darkness enclosed me, its energy charged through me, tearing me apart atom by atom, until there was nothing left of my body but specs and memories. But there was also little in the way of pain this time, just the endless darkness and the odd sensation of movement. Then that movement ceased and I was slowly but carefully put back together. The whips holding me disintegrated and I was pushed out of the darkness and into the light.
Sunlight, not artificial.
I blinked and looked around. I'd landed in a forest, not another military bunker, as I'd half expected. I couldn't immediately see any buildings or even any indication of life, but there was a vibration running through the ground under my feet and the air was tainted with the thick smell of rot and death.
And that meant there was a vampire nest somewhere near.
I rubbed a hand across gritty eyes and swore softly. This day was just getting better and better. A nest was the last thing I wanted to tackle alone, especially when I wasn't overly equipped with either weapons or ammo. I'd barely survived the last time I'd entered one, and I'd had all those things and more.
But the sun was still high in the sky, so if there was a nest in the area, the vampires would at least be comatose—and they needed to be, given I had to get past them to uncover if they were in any way connected to Dream.
I raised a hand to press the ear-mic and said, “Landed. Will update more when I discover where.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
I turned it off before he could reply to that particular statement, and then made good on my promise to call for Cat an
d Bear. Once I’d shoved the black brick into Branna’s leather pouch and put it into a pocket, I checked which direction the foul scent seemed to be coming from and walked that way.
The wind pushed me along, its touch cold and filled with the promise of rain. I glanced up, but the canopy was so thick in this section of the wood that even the sunlight struggled to get through—and the beams that did were tinged with green. At least if it did rain, I'd have some protection.
I continued to follow the well-worn path up a steepening incline. Eventually, it plateaued, and the trees gave way to sunshine with a suddenness that made me blink.
Below me lay a city.
Or rather, the broken remains of one.
It ringed the hill on which I stood, and—like Carleen—had obviously been bombed into oblivion during the war. There were small sections of metal curtain wall defiantly standing tall, but for the most part it was a melted, twisted mess. What remained of the rest of the city was laid out in a grid pattern, but the buildings themselves were little more than piles of concrete and metal bones.
There was no obvious place for vampires to hide but this city, like old Central and Carleen, would have had a vast network of underground systems in place to service its occupants’ needs. That’s where they’d be.
I walked on, but the path ended abruptly and the ground gave way to a steep cliff. I carefully peered over the edge and saw not only the piles of dirt, rock, and tree roots at the bottom of it, but also several exposed and broken pipes that stuck out like stiff fingers from the cliff face.
There was a sewer system running under the hill, and the stench coming from it.... I gagged and stepped back. There had to be a lot of vampires under the hill for their smell to be this strong from such a distance.
I pressed the ear-mic and said, “Jonas, you there?”
“Not only here, but on the move. We're about half an hour out from your location.”
“Which is?”
“Fairhaven.”
“That's not a place I'm familiar with.”
“It was one of Central's satellite cities,” he replied. “And had been purely residential.”
