“We need to get back to Centennial Park first,” I told him. I wouldn’t leave Desandra stranded. Not after what she did. As far as I was concerned, she’d earned whatever support she wanted from me.
“You can ushe the other tunnel, but you can’t leave now. The sshift change is in ten minutessh and they will do a shweep right past the entranshe.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Sssshoould be clear in forty minutessh.”
“We wait, then.” I curled against the concrete.
Ascanio landed next to me. “Are you still mad at me for coming with?”
“Yes.”
“It will be okay,” he told me.
Derek sat down across from us.
“Did you know about Ascanio’s master plan?” I asked.
“No,” Derek said. “But I saw him walk off into the woods while everyone was talking.”
“I don’t know Desandra,” Ascanio said. “I don’t know Robert either.”
“I do know Desandra,” Derek said. “Ascanio’s annoying, but extra backup is always nice.”
Robert chuckled quietly. “You two were planning to fight me?”
“Not planning,” Ascanio said. “Just ready. In case.”
Teenage bodyguards. I closed my eyes. It would be a long night and I needed every drop of sleep I could get. I let myself drift, as Robert’s and Jardin’s soft voices receded into drowsiness.
“Thank you, Jardin. This will help us tremendously.”
“Happy to hhhear it, Alpha.”
“Once we are gone, I need you to return to Rat House.”
“I have ennough food for two weekssh,” Jardin said. “I could be ussheful.”
“No,” Robert said. “You’re too valuable to us and this post is too dangerous. Your life isn’t worth the risk . . .”
Sleep cushioned me, like a blanket wrapped around my body.
• • •
THE SEA WAS smooth, like the surface of a coin. I was lying in the sand next to Curran. My cheek rested on his chest, his skin heated by the sun. My hand was on his stomach, the ridges of hard muscle hot under my fingertips. His right arm was around me and he was playing with a strand of my hair. Lazy waves splashed against our feet, warm and soothing.
“We have to get up, baby,” he said.
“No.”
“We have to get up. Tide is coming in.”
“Let it come,” I murmured. “I just want to have more time. There’s never enough time . . .”
“Kate . . .”
I hugged him to me.
“Kate.”
Something touched me. I moved. My eyes snapped open. I was sitting on top of Jardin, holding my sword to his throat.
It was a dream. It wasn’t real. Curran was still gone. I wanted to howl like an animal.
It wasn’t real.
Losing him hurt like a punch to the gut. I was awake and back to my nightmare.
“Ssshecond time,” Jardin smiled.
“Sorry.” I got off of Jardin.
“Pay up,” Derek said to Jardin.
The wererat rolled to his feet and dropped a dollar into Ascanio’s palm.
“Did the two of you bet him I’d do this?”
Derek’s eyebrows rose. “We can neither confirm nor deny that a bet took place.”
“But we have seen you wake up when you’re stressed out.” Ascanio winked.
“I can’t wait to get back to the Keep,” I growled.
“So the two of them would start bickering again?” Robert asked.
“Exactly.” This united Derek and Ascanio team was getting on my nerves.
Robert rolled to his feet. “Thank you again, Jardin.”
“I could ssshtay,” the wererat offered.
“No.” Robert said. “You’re going home. Your job is done. Now it’s time for us to do ours.”
He was right. Time to get it done and get out of here.
7
WE FOUND DESANDRA sitting in a tree above Cuddles. Her clothes were splattered with blood. She grinned at us.
“Lovely perfume,” Robert noted.
“Glad you like it.” She hopped off the branch. “I call it Dead Vampire.”
“How did you get away?” Ascanio asked.
“Please.” She gave him a look. “I’m a werewolf raised in the Carpathian Mountains and they can’t smell or track for shit. I can outrun them in my sleep.”
I mounted and we headed east. Twenty minutes later we turned south and made our way into the dense tangle of streets that was the Warren.
I rode Cuddles. Derek pulled ahead to scout; Ascanio ran on my left, Desandra and Robert on my right. The Warren peered at us with the black eyes of broken windows: mean, suspicious, and predatory, like a thug who’d gotten his face bashed in and was looking to get even. Jonesboro, the most direct route, was out of the question—too obvious and too well patrolled—so we wove our way through the twisted back streets. Long scars gouged the walls of the run-down houses, as if a tornado of steel blades had brushed by them. On Harpy’s Drive we passed a row of trees, each one with its trunk unnaturally bloated and covered with black fuzz. I had no idea what the fuzz did, but we steered clear of it. The law of navigating post-Shift Atlanta was simple: if you don’t know what it is, don’t touch it.
The moon was rolling down. It had to be around three in the morning. The winter night had caught the city between its teeth and bit down hard. Here and there an ancient vehicle hunkered down. The tips of my fingers had turned to painful icicles. Any colder, and I’d have to dismount and walk next to Cuddles just to warm up.
I wanted Curran back here with me. It was a completely selfish need, as urgent as breathing. I wanted to know that he was fine. I missed him. If I concentrated enough, I could conjure his voice in my head. Funny, yesterday I couldn’t wait to escape the Keep with him and run away to Black Bear Lodge. Now I would happily sit through a hundred Council meetings back to back for a ten-second phone call from him letting me know he was okay.
In the distance something screeched. It was the triumphant violent shriek of a predator that’d connected with its prey. The Warren was in its usual form tonight. Come to think of it, that was the first sound I’d heard in a while. It was too deserted and too quiet. The cold or the People must’ve driven the Warren’s scavengers indoors.
I could feel two vampire minds behind us. They were about a mile and a half back and not moving. Most likely an observation post that got staffed after we passed through.
We passed a rusted wreck of a truck. Ice slicked the road. Probably an overflowing sewer or a busted waterline that spilled water over the street before it had frozen solid. Up ahead a hole gaped in the pavement, about five and a half feet wide. A manhole cover lay frozen in the ice. Looked like something tore out of the sewers and pulled a good deal of soil with it. If some mysterious mole people cornered us, I’d point them toward the Casino and tell them that’s where our leader lives.
A man in dark clothes walked out into the middle of the road and blocked our way. He was lean, with short dark hair. He raised his head and looked at me. I developed a sudden urge to check for the quickest exit.
“That’s the bastard who shot me. Well!” Desandra cracked her knuckles. “Let me just take care of this . . .”
“Wait,” I told her.
“What? Why?”
“Yes, why?” Robert asked.
“Do you remember the Red Stalker thing? The serial killer who collected and tortured women and ate vampires?”
“Yes,” Robert said.
“He ate vampires?” Ascanio asked.
“Before your time,” Derek told him.
The Red Stalker also killed Greg Feldman, my legal guardian and the knight of the Order who took care of me after Voron died. It was my first time interacting with the Pack, my first time meeting Derek, and the first time, but not the last, I had felt an irresistible need to punch Curran in the arm. “During the investigation, the Pack captured a crusader.”
“I remember,” Robert said. “He smelled like rotting food. I think we had to dip him. He had lice.”
I nodded toward the man. “That’s him.”
Robert squinted. “It can’t be.”
Back then Nick looked like a hobo. He wore a filthy coat smeared with trash and old food, had greasy hair down to his shoulders, and cultivated the kind of hygiene that guaranteed him loads of personal space from anyone with a nose or a pair of eyes. Cleaned up, he looked fit and athletic, but average. The man in front of us now looked hard and mean, stripped of all softness. His hair was cut so short, it was almost stubble. His triangular jaw was clean shaven. He looked like a soldier or a fighter, clean, spare, and hard.
“It’s him,” I said. “I’ve seen him before with Hugh at the Midnight Games.”
So this was Hugh’s game plan. He wanted to separate me from the Pack. When we had talked during the Black Sea trip, he’d said that prying me from the Keep would be too difficult. He dangled the crime scene in front of me like bait, stationed his people along the approaching routes, and waited. Nick wasn’t here to kill me. He was here to delay me. He probably sent a signal to Hugh, letting him know he’d sighted me, and now he would do everything he could to stall until Hugh got here.
Derek stared at him. Their expressions were almost identical, flat, carrying an awareness of how vicious life could be and knowing they would never forget it.
“He looks like he’s been through some shit,” Derek said.
You’d know.
“What’s a crusader?” Desandra asked.
“Crusaders are knights of the Order,” Robert said.
“Aw crap,” Desandra growled.
The knights of the Order were strictly off-limits for the Pack. You might as well walk into a police station and shoot a cop.
“They’re not assigned to any chapter,” I said. “They go where needed and they bend the rules. They’re like janitors. Got a nasty problem, throw a crusader at it. He’ll cut it to pieces and leave town.”
“But he shot me! Doesn’t that count for something? What the hell is he doing with d’Ambray anyway? If he switched sides, I can kill him.”
“Crusaders are fanatics,” Derek said. “It’s not likely he switched sides. Jim thinks he’s undercover.”
“Even if he is, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “He made the decision to block us. But running up to him and trying to punch him is a bad idea. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”
We had to get past Nick. We had vampires behind us and taking a different route would take too long. We were committed now. We had to go forward.
“We don’t want to fight,” Robert called out. “We know who you are. We have no reason to kill you.”
Nick pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the ice.
“Perhaps you should negotiate?” Robert glanced at me.
Sure. I cleared my throat. “Move or I’ll cut your head off.”
Nick took off his leather jacket and tossed it aside.
“He has no weapons,” Derek said.
Robert grimaced.
No weapons meant magic, and whatever he had would be nasty, because there were five of us and one of him and he didn’t look worried. The Nick I knew had very specific powers. He could tell how much magic you had by touching you and he had uncanny hand-eye coordination, which made him very accurate with guns and knives. If he had combat magic, he didn’t use it even when fighting for his life, which probably meant he didn’t have it at the time. But he’d been hanging out with Hugh for over a year, probably more. Now Nick was a jack-in-the-box. There was no telling what fun surprises would pop out when you wound him up.
Nick pulled off his sweater. His arms weren’t just defined, they were carved, as if someone had cut him out of a slab of stone with a sharp knife. His neck was thick, his shoulders broad, and his gray T-shirt, tight across his shoulders, was loose over his middle. That body was the result of hours and hours at the gym, spent not bulking up by lifting heavier and heavier weights, but by kicking, punching, grappling, and running. He wasn’t shredded, he was just hard, conditioned to throw a devastating blow and to take one and keep going. He looked like you could punch him for hours and it would just make him madder.