“If you’re not going to make yourself helpful in here, do me a favor and take your brother something to eat. I don’t think he got any dinner, with all the excitement today. There’s some leftover stew on the bottom shelf of the fridge.”
By the time I’d warmed up what turned out to be a half gallon of very thick beef stew, my mother had all four chickens on the stove, in two huge stainless-steel pots. She washed her hands and left the kitchen, bound for company she obviously found more pleasant than mine.
Still irritated, I grabbed a spoon and slammed the drawer shut, not quite satisfied with the racket when the forks and spoons clanged together. My hand hesitated over a pitcher of tea in the fridge, but then I changed my mind. Ryan had plenty of water, and prisoners shouldn’t get sweet tea, anyway. Or silver trays and cloth napkins. So I crossed the kitchen holding only a plastic tub of stew, with a spoon handle sticking out. Just what Ryan deserved.
I smiled, truly pleased for the first time in hours.
Darkness greeted me when I opened the basement door. I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. Damn it. The light bulb had burned out again, and—naturally—we kept the extras in the basement.
Growling in frustration, I stomped down the stairs. “Ryan? You awake, you worthless lump of fur? I have your dinner, because everyone else has evidently forgotten you exist.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even move, that I could tell.
The light pouring down the steps from the kitchen didn’t reach the cage, and I couldn’t see a damn thing beyond the bars. Wonderful.
I set the stew on the bottom step and made my way carefully toward the bathroom, arms out straight to feel for obstructions. But that precaution proved worthless when I tripped over the edge of the exercise mat and fell face-first onto the four-inch pad. After that, I whacked my elbow on the back of a folding metal chair and banged my left shin on what could only have been the leg-press machine. And, as my final feat of grace and balance, I knocked over a card table stacked shoulder-high with a collection of Marc’s old heavy-metal cassette tapes, which he listened to while he lifted, much to Ryan’s irritation.
Fortunately, the racket they made clattering to the concrete floor was nothing compared to the noise they made coming from the stereo speakers.
Finally, my hand brushed the bathroom door frame. Reaching around the wall, I flipped the switch and a single forty-watt light bulb blinked to life, doing little to illuminate a basement that stretched the entire length of our house. But in the dark, even a little light goes a long way.
“Ryan?” I squinted across the room into his cage to find him sitting on the floor by the back wall. “Wake up. Why the hell are you sleeping on the floor, anyway?” The closer I came, the odder his pose seemed. He wasn’t so much sitting as slouching, his chin grazing his chest. “What’s wrong?”
My heart thumped painfully, and goose bumps blossomed all over my skin. If I’d had hackles, they would have been standing on end. Ryan wasn’t moving, and the basement light was broken. Something wasn’t right.
Cautious now, I stood completely still and listened. I heard breathing, coming from directly in front of me. Ryan. He was alive, but breathing so shallowly I couldn’t see his chest move. What was wrong with him?
Working on instinct now, I inhaled deeply through my nose.
Jungle stray.
My hands went cold. I would have recognized that smell anywhere, and I knew only one thing to do when faced with it alone and unarmed: run.
I spun and raced for the stairs. My foot hit the first step as my hand grabbed the banister, but I stopped short at the creak of hinges overhead. Slowly, I glanced up, already knowing what I’d see at the top of the stairs.
Luiz.
Thirty-One
I had only a second to process what I saw before Luiz closed the door softly, cutting off the light from the kitchen. But that was time enough to see the small pistol in his left hand.
Damn, is everyone walking around armed now?
My mouth opened, and I sucked in a breath in preparation to scream, but Luiz’s hoarse whisper—startling as a clap of thunder in the silence of the basement—made me reconsider. “Sim. Yell for help.” I recognized his voice, though I’d only heard it once before, three months earlier. “Yell for mãe. I take her, too.”
I’d intended to warn them to run, not yell for help, but his comment made me realize that would never happen. They would never run. Manx was dying to put Luiz in his grave, but with a broken arm and no gun, she didn’t stand a chance. And even if my mother was willing to leave me to fight on my own, she would never abandon Jace, who couldn’t run, no matter what the danger.
My teeth snapped together as I closed my mouth, my decision made. I would fight him alone. Or, rather, I’d dodge his bullets until he ran out. No problem. Riiight.
“Good,” Luiz said, and I couldn’t help but notice how similar in timbre his voice was to Miguel’s, though his English was choppy at best. “Only us.” He clomped down one step and his gun made an odd slide-click sound. “You kill my brother. Miguel. I make you pay.” I wasn’t sure what he was doing until his shadow shifted in what little light from the bathroom reached the stairs. He was aiming.
My heart slammed against my rib cage, and I dove to the right. I heard an air-sucking sound and a hollow pop, then something flew past on my left. The bullet thunked into the wall behind me as I hit the floor. My torso landed on the mat, in a broad rectangle of dull light from the bathroom. My right hip smashed into the concrete.
I hadn’t killed Miguel. And I certainly hadn’t known he and Luiz were brothers. But something told me Luiz was much less interested in facts than he was in revenge.
I hauled my rump onto the mat, and more clicking sounds came from the stairs. Reloading after one shot? I didn’t know much about guns, but in the movies the bad guys always got five or six shots before their guns clicked empty. So what kind of pistol was Luiz packing?
The next sound—something sliding into position with a decisive clack—came from farther down the steps. I glanced up. He was aiming at me over the iron-pipe stair rail.
I rolled forward, toward the stairs. The gun popped. The next shot went over my back. On my ass again, I spun to look, expecting a huge hole in the exercise mat. There was no hole. There was only a small dart. A tiny hypodermic needle with a feather where the plunger should be.
A tranquilizer gun. That’s what happened to Ryan. Luiz hadn’t been able to get to my brother through the bars, so he’d shot him with a dart.
Luiz wasn’t trying to kill me, at least not yet. He was trying to take me. To reclaim me in the name of his twisted project and avenge his brother’s death on me every day for the rest of my life, however long that might be.
A shoe shuffled on the steps. I whirled around and looked up. Luiz towered over me, rushing to reload. He kicked, aiming for my head. I lunged to the right and his foot sailed past me. I grabbed his boot in midair. Grunting, I twisted his foot to the left. Hard.
Luiz spun in midfall. His hands flew into the air, reaching for something to grab on to. The tranquilizer gun clattered to the floor.
Bolstered by his loss of the gun, I jerked back on his foot. Luiz fell onto one knee on the step. Only his hands on the concrete saved him from a broken nose.
“Bitch!” he muttered, tugging on his captured leg. I held on tight, pulling in return. He kicked, trying to dislodge my grip. I tucked his calf beneath my right armpit and wrapped both hands around his leather-clad ankle. One bare foot braced against the wall beneath the stairs, I shoved myself backward, dragging him with me. Luiz’s knee slid off the step, banging into the wall. From the stomach up, he now lay facedown on the stair riser, growling viciously.
I braced my feet on the ground and pulled again. Luiz turned onto his side and grabbed the rail with one hand. His foot rotated in my grasp. I leaned forward, trying to pull him off the steps.
His boot came off in my hand. I fell on my ass on the mat. Aga
in.
As I scooted backward, my hand brushed something hard, and I glanced down to see the embedded dart.
Luiz dropped onto the floor in front of me. I threw the boot at his head. He batted it away one-handed. I crawled across the mat, headed toward the bathroom. Luiz lunged for his gun at the foot of the stairs.
I scrambled to my feet, glancing around for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but the folding metal chair and Marc’s cassette tapes.
Luiz turned on me, pistol in hand. He dug a third dart from his pocket and bit off the cap.
I backed up, my hand skimming the stack of cassettes to rest on the back of the metal chair.
Luiz popped the gun apart and shoved the dart into place. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes. He snapped the pistol back together and spit the dart cap out. I grabbed the folded chair and swung it up. He pulled the trigger.
The dart clanged into the metal bottom of the seat and fell to the concrete at my feet. If I’d been wearing shoes, I’d have stomped it to pieces. Instead, I stepped over it onto the mat.
Luiz tried to shove another dart into the disassembled gun. It wouldn’t fit. He’d forgotten to uncap it, and I wasn’t about to point out his mistake. I lunged forward, brandishing the folded chair. Luiz backed up until he hit the side of the staircase. I swung the chair. He ducked. The gun hit the floor an instant before his fist hit my stomach.
I sucked in a painful breath and swung the chair at Luiz again. The plastic-capped foot slammed into his head. He landed draped over me like a blanket, his weight pinning me to the mat. His fingers wrapped around my throat. I clutched at his thumb to keep his fist from closing.
The basement door opened and my mother appeared on the top step. “Faythe? What’s going on down there?”
Luiz let go of my neck and leaned to the left for the dart still stuck in the mat. I rolled out from under him, in the other direction. “Mom! Get help! Now!”
“Wha—”
“Go!” I leapt to my feet as Luiz’s arm arced toward me. Something sharp grazed my bare calf. I jumped backward. Several drops of my blood dripped onto the mat.
Luiz vaulted to his feet. I backpedaled, glancing at the stairs as I went. My mother was gone, but she’d left the door open. I could have kissed her, thankful for the light.
“Your mãe?” Luiz breathed hard as we faced off.
I nodded, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm.
He licked his lips, circling to my right. “No babies, but much fun.”
“You touch my mother and you’ll never touch anything ever again!” I dodged his lunge, and my hip hit the corner of the card table. My hand fell on a cassette tape in a plastic case. I threw it at him as hard as I could. It hit his nose and, to my surprise, left a tiny cut and a single drop of blood.
Luiz stomped toward me and crushed the tape beneath his boot. I grabbed another. Aerosmith. Nope, can’t throw classic Aerosmith. I snatched a copy of the Thompson Twins’ greatest hits and chucked it at him. One corner of the case hit his forehead. He blinked, and another drop of blood appeared above his left eyebrow.
Fists clenched at his sides, Luiz growled and lunged forward. I hopped back and found myself against the wall. He caught my wrist and jerked me forward. My shoulder popped, and an echo of pain flared to life from the injury I’d sustained at his brother’s hands in June.
Twisting, I let my right leg fly, aiming for his side. He turned and shoved me. Hard. I hit the floor again, and his remaining boot slammed into the left side of my rib cage.
I felt several tiny pops. Pain ripped through my side. A scream tore from my throat. Every breath sent fire blazing through my chest.
Luiz pulled his foot back to take another shot. A feline growl rippled through the air behind him. He dropped my hand and froze. Then he turned slowly, backing away from us both as he went.
Smart tomcat. He wasn’t going to leave either of us at his back.
I looked at the cat he’d just exposed, fully expecting to see Marc.
It was my mother, her black coat gleaming in the light from the bathroom. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. Her claws were unsheathed, the points pressing little dimples into the exercise mat. She was one mad mother.
My dam padded slowly toward Luiz, and he took another step back. “Good kitty,” he said, fear thickening his accent. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He blinked it away but made no move to wipe his forehead. Sudden movements triggered a cat’s pouncing instinct, and he knew much better than to risk it.
I scooted sideways, watching my mother advance on her prey. Left hand pressed to my injured ribs, I used my right arm to push myself toward the weight bench.
Luiz bent slowly. His eyes flicked toward the ground. I followed his gaze to the dart that had bounced off the metal chair.
My mother growled. Luiz froze in an uncomfortable-looking half squat. He glanced from my mother to the dart one more time. I pulled myself up using the leg press for balance. Luiz dropped to his ass on the concrete, his hand groping for the feathered needle.
My mother pounced, driving him to the ground. Her claws shredded his shoulders on contact.
He screamed and seized her neck in one hand. His fingers clenched her throat, bicep bulging as he tried to hold her at arm’s length. Too late, I saw his other arm swing up, the dart clenched in his fist.
He stabbed my mother in the side with the tranquilizer. She roared in pain, and in fury. Her left claw ripped deeper into his right shoulder. White bone flashed for an instant before blood filled the wound and poured onto the concrete.
Luiz wrapped his other hand around my mother’s throat, squeezing harder.
Her eyes rolled up into her head. Her paws went limp. Either the tranquilizer had kicked in already, or he’d actually choked her into unconsciousness. I couldn’t tell which, but I feared the worst.
I hobbled four steps to the dumbbell stand, pain shooting through my chest and side with each jarring step. Hissing in agony, I heaved a forty-pound free weight from its groove.
Four feet away, Luiz had my mother on her side. Her tail twitched, and he bled all over her from his shredded shoulders. His right arm hung limp at his side, but somehow his left one still worked in spite of the mauling.
Forcing my feet into motion, I pulled the dumbbell up as high as I could. Two feet away, I swung it forward. Luiz looked up just in time. His eyes widened in surprise, and in sudden fear. The weight crashed down on him, crumpling his forehead with a horrific, wet, crunching sound.
I pulled the dumbbell from the gory wound and Luiz’s corpse fell on my mother’s torso. My fist opened, and the dumbbell dropped to the concrete. I sank onto the ground, still holding my left side, and used my right hand to shove him off my mother and onto the floor.
My gaze accidentally grazed Luiz, and I closed my eyes to block out what I’d seen. What I’d done to him. He no longer had a face. He had only a crater, with teeth embedded in mutilated, wet red flesh.
My eyes still closed, I ran one hand over my mother, feeling for her chest. I found it, and as my hand trailed higher through her fur, I opened my eyes. Her chest rose once beneath my hand, and air exploded from my lungs in relief. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
Fresh pain shot through my side from the forceful exhalation, but I didn’t care. My mother was alive. Sedated, but hopefully okay. I lay next to her on my good side and snuggled into her fur, my tears mingling with Luiz’s blood in a puddle on the floor.
That’s how Marc found us, bloody and bruised, but alive. Very much alive.
Thirty-Two
“There she goes! That woman never learns.” Ethan leaned half off of his chair in anticipation. On screen, Karen White stared into the dark forest, clad only in her nightclothes.
“Yeah, but you’d do the same thing,” Jace countered from the living-room couch. “You hear a howl in the woods, you gotta go investigate. It’s instinct.”
&nbs
p; In the chair opposite Ethan, Marc snorted. He didn’t have much to say lately, and he seemed reluctant to be alone with me. So I stayed out of his way. For now.
“It’s not instinct for humans,” Vic insisted from the other end of the couch, twisting to snatch the popcorn bowl from Parker, who sat on the floor at his feet.
I sat curled up in an armchair near the door, watching the guys watch The Howling instead of reading the book open in front of me. I’d been on the same page for three days.
“She’ll get what’s coming to her in the end,” Ethan said, eyes glued to the screen. He’d barely left Jace’s side since he got home from Jamey’s memorial, almost a month earlier. He teased his best friend mercilessly about being seriously injured twice in one season, but he cared for Jace just as diligently as our mother did, placing most of his faith in iPod therapy, rather than in pills and bandages.
Two weeks after Jace was shot, Dr. Carver pronounced him fit to Shift and accelerate his healing. Jace was thrilled. If the transformation was painful for him, he showed no sign of it, enduring the process in stoic silence, monitored closely by Dr. Carver and my mother. Then, two hours later, he Shifted back, apparently pleased with the results.
As the on-screen heroine fled back into her cabin, my mother appeared in the doorway, carrying a plate piled high with double-fudge brownies. She stopped by my chair and looked down at me, frowning in concern. She’d been doing that a lot lately. “I’m making some tea for your father,” she said, balancing flawlessly on two-inch heels. “Would you like some?”
“No, thanks. But I’ll take one of those.”
She smiled and held the plate out to me.
“Thanks.” I took several, and bit into the first, watching as my mother carried the plate into the center of the room, to pass out her treats. She and I were getting along better than ever. Fighting side by side had created a bond between us that two decades under the same roof had been unable to. But I’d gained the most from our shared encounter with Luiz. I’d learned that my mother was a badass in disguise. She was Van Helsing in an apron and heels, and—at least for the time being—I couldn’t think of a single thing cooler than that. Except having inherited it from her.
Rogue Page 33
