Broken Blood (6 page)

Her hands were ice cold as they slid around my throat and squeezed. I cried out before the sound was strangled into a hiss. Behind Olivia, Mr. Lexington reached down and yanked on her arms but she held on. Like a pit bull with a locked jaw, she screamed obscenities and squeezed against my windpipe. My eyes went blurry and then glazed over with unshed tears. I clawed at her and gave my wolf everything I had, demanding, pleading for it to come.

But nothing happened. My stab wound ached and I squeezed my eyes shut against it all.

A second later, Olivia’s hands released me, her nails scratching my skin as she was dragged off my body, bare legs kicking against the air as Mr. Lexington struggled to get her under control.

“Oh my oh my oh my,” Astor said where he still hovered beside the bed.

I stared at Olivia, my throat burning, the skin on my neck smarting from her scratches. My shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths. Olivia looked ready to drop but her eyes still burned just as brightly as before.

She opened her mouth to say something. but I pushed to my feet and cut her off. “I am your enemy, yes, but he is not your friend. He’s a liar. He would use you to kill and then when he’s done with you, he’ll kill you. And you’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

“I am the future,” she said, each of the words strewn out into twice the syllables. Her chest heaved by the time she was done. She raised a hand, to say more—about what she thought I was, no doubt, but instead she coughed.

It wracked her shoulders and buckled her knees. Mr. Lexington caught her as she collapsed. He swung her roughly into his arms, looking none too pleased at having to carry her, and walked her back to bed. She craned her neck so that her eyes met mine and held as she was ushered back into her corner. Behind them, Astor followed, already readying a new IV with a syringe full of clear liquids standing by.

I shuddered. “If you’re right, the future is bleak,” I muttered as they went.

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U
nbinilium coated everything: the floor, the doors, the windows, the world. Every single speck of something inside my mind was made of it.

Like the dreams before, this one was foggy. Diluted. But unlike the others, faces showed themselves. Grandma dashing into the warehouse all those weeks ago, a semi-automatic slung over her shoulder. A pistol in her hand. Her “Number One Grandma” sweatshirt dirt-smudged and wrinkled where it hung over her pedal pushers.

“Grandma!” I rushed toward her but she floated off, always just out of reach without ever seeming to move. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was the fog. Or me.

“I miss you so much,” I called out. I knew better than to think this were real but I couldn’t pretend everything was okay, either. “Please tell me you made it out of the warehouse that night. And the others; are they all safe?”

She smiled a glittering, dangerous sort of smile at me through the window of her Hummer and then sped off into the fog. Nothing made a sound while I waited for the next face. I didn’t bother looking for it, that strategy never worked here. I had to wait for it to find me.

Cord was next, but she was distorted. I was too surprised to see her face showing up in my dreams to notice the differences at first. But when I failed to react to the scars slashed down her face, they broke open and morphed into fresh cuts. Blood rose to the surface of her otherwise flawless skin and dripped off her jaw and chin, where it disappeared into the fog below.

“Cord, oh my God. Did I do this to you somehow? Is this my fault too?” I asked.

She scowled her usual perfect scowl at me and was gone.

The next face wasn’t so easy to resist. He walked slowly out of the fog, looking every single inch like the boy I’d met in that alleyway those months ago. God, months. I’d missed the end of summer and half of fall sitting inside this prison. Sadness over the time lost slipped inside my chest and settled in the outer reaches of my already broken heart.

But despite the passage of time, he looked same as ever. Brown-bronzed hair shoved back from his forehead, worn leather jacket draped over broad shoulders and a proud chest.

“Wes,” I whispered. My mate.

He turned and went still at the sight of me, and I realized he hadn’t seen me before I’d spoken. Not like the others who’d come expecting this meeting. He looked surprised and just as confused as I was. I moved forward, slowly at first, but when the fog parted and he didn’t move, I went faster.

“Tara,” he said.

And every tension-filled cavity inside my body emptied and refilled with the love that brimmed over at the sight of him.

“You’re all right,” he said and then I ran.

My feet made no noise against whatever floor the fog hovered over. When I’d almost reached him, he spread his arms wide and I leaped, hands outstretched. I felt myself lift high and then drop low and I held my breath in anticipation of the feeling of being caught and held by Wes.

Just before I reached him, he vanished. In his place, a pack of wolves appeared. Yellow eyes, mangy fur, and frothing jaws—all of them growling and gnashing their teeth at me. I fell toward them, arms out in protest now, a scream building in my throat.

The one above me opened his jaw just as I fell toward his face. My heart seized and my muscles tensed for impact.

And then I woke.

The scar on my rib ached so hard I peeled off the covers and lifted my pajama shirt to double check for fresh blood. But the skin was unbroken, only marred and pulled tight where it stretched to close the hole that Mrs. Lexington left behind. I exhaled.

The dream was vividly real. And I was inching toward convinced on how alike Astor and I might be after all. My brain felt looser against its hinges every day.

As the fear faded, snapshots of the dream flash through my mind. Just the faces. Grandma, Cord, Wes, the open-jawed wolf. None of them were real, but something about it wasn’t exactly fiction either.

I spent the next few hours wide awake, lying on my side.

In the morning, the lock turned and the door opened. Mr. Lexington stepped inside. Behind him, another figure hovered in the hall between a set of armed guards.

I shot to my feet. “Chris!”

His face was crisscrossed with the scars of old wounds overlapping fresh cuts and swollen bruises. But it was Chris, my second in command. Some forgotten spark of connection flashed in my mind, remnants of our bond stirring at the sight of him. His face brightened into relief and then shut down just as quickly into disappointment.

“Tara, you’re okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound nearly happy enough.

My heart sank at the sight of him so beat up. I knew exactly how he felt even without a mental link. Yes, we were okay. But for how long?

“Shut up,” I heard from out in the hall and Chris was nudged sideways. A third guard stepped into view, glaring. Something about his features, the upturned slits of his eyes, felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Especially when my attention was being drawn to the shiny gun he had wedged into Chris’s ribs. “Both of you stop talking.”

“Get dressed in this,” Mr. Lexington said, tossing clothes at me.

I held them up, curious. “Not my usual uniform,” I said, eyeing the black leggings and matching pullover hoodie. He dropped a pair of black lace-up boots at my feet. They landed with a thud.

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Lexington said and strode out. “You have two minutes,” he called over his shoulder before slamming the door. I caught the sound of lowered voices in the hall but no words came through.

I hurried to get dressed, anticipation and worry equal parts in my twisting insides. After five days full of blood draws and medical exams and little more, the uniform had changed. So had the cast. Chris was here.

Today was different.

“Where are the others?” I whispered to Chris as we walked down the hall a few minutes later.

A gun poked me in the back. “Shut up,” said the guard.

“Are they alive?” I whispered, ignoring the painful jab.

Chris glanced sideways at me, his mouth set in a hard line. A horizontal scab along his cheekbone caught the light, making it look wet all over again with the crimson blood still staining the edges. “Some,” he said simply.

The other guard brought his gun down against Chris’s shoulder. “We said shut it. We won’t tell you again.” His voice was a dare. He wanted Chris to step out of line. He wanted to hurt him. I glanced back and saw the man’s irises glowing yellow before I was nudged roughly and forced to turn around.

We were herded to the clinic in a path quickly becoming familiar to me. Chris grunted with each step and his hand clenched tightly against the railing. I didn’t ask any more questions. At the frosted doorway, two more guards were stationed on either side. Both armed. Both had eyes that gleamed yellow.

The door slid aside and Gordon greeted us, all smiles. “Right on time,” he said warmly, as if he’d invited us to a party instead of ... whatever this was.

Chris didn’t respond, his gaze darting everywhere but Gordon. I suspected this wasn’t their first encounter and my chest ached at what Gordon must’ve done to him to warrant such deference. I clenched my hands into fists, hating how weak the motion felt without a wolf’s strength behind it.

“Let’s get started,” Gordon said.

The first thing I recognized on the other side of the threshold was Astor. In the center of the room, he waited at a long table, his fingers held together in a way that allowed him to tap the ends together. It might’ve looked like hungry anticipation of a mad scientist to anyone else, but I knew his nervous tics when I saw them. He was terrified.

The second was the cages. Unlike my last two visits, they were now occupied. I scanned them, my lungs closing as I inspected the inhabitants. After the first few, I looked away in relief. I didn’t recognize any of the furry faces that stared back at me. Not unless you counted my recent nightmares.

Every single metal cage contained a pair of gleaming yellow eyes exactly like the ones I’d seen in my dream. Jaws open, hungry for my flesh and blood. Unable to shake those images, I couldn’t bring myself to inspect any more of the faces. Beside me, Chris was a rigid wall of shoulders and bruised arms. He didn’t look inside the cages either.

“Tara?”

A deep voice, marred by exhaustion and whatever other injuries, pulled at my memory, and I stopped to peer inside the cage beside me. A brown wolf blinked back. A small patch of fur near his ear was missing, along with another along bare patch his shoulder.

“Rafe?” I asked in disbelief.

“I thought they’d ... I’ve been worried for you,” he said in a scratchy voice whose gloominess reminded me of Eeyore. The patches of missing fur stirred memories of the past. Back when I’d had to fight for him. Back when I’d been his alpha, his pack leader. He’d looked mangy from his fur being burned ever since then, but this was more. He was scrawny with hunger and the distinct smell of animal clung to him. His eyes were wild. I wondered how long it’d been since he’d been human.

I reached out to touch him through the bars, but the metal coating was like an electric current, sapping my strength the closer I got. I pulled away and let my hand fall to my side.

“What happened to you?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice from breaking on the last part. My fault. All of it.

“I made my choice,” he said. “I’m who I was meant to be.”

Through my confusion, I tried for a smile, but it fell flat. “And the others?” I asked.

“We all made our choice,” he said as if I should be comforted in that. Maybe I would be if I knew what the heck he was talking about.
Made their choice?

Someone pushed me from behind and I stumbled onward. “Keep moving,” the guard said roughly.

Up ahead, Chris had already been herded into one of the chairs set up on either side of Astor’s table. His wrists and ankles had been secured with straps attached to the chair’s frame, though he didn’t look as if he’d struggled. I met his eyes, unable to keep the fear out of mine.

“No,” I said, planting my feet.

The guard tried nudging me but I remained where I was. “No,” I said again.

No one else argued. I wondered what Gordon was waiting on. He’d have no trouble forcing me, I was sure. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Chris long enough to find out.

Chris stared up at me, eyes pleading. “He’s going to give it back, Tara. We can be bonded again.”

“He’s using us,” I told him.

“Not if we use him first,” Chris said.

I hesitated and then took a single step forward, but Gordon stepped in front of me. “Oh, this chair isn’t for you,” he said. Your place is there, along the wall with the guards. The viewing area.” He motioned for someone behind me to come forward. “This chair is for our other participant.”

“What?” Chris asked, but Gordon ignored him.

Someone bumped me as they passed by and I was jostled sideways before I caught my balance. I saw her just as Gordon finished explaining, “My second in command. Olivia.”

She lowered herself to the chair across the table from Chris, aiming a triumphant smile at Gordon and then me. She didn’t look much better than she had a few days ago. Her color had returned only to the extent that she didn’t look like a bottle of glue. Someone had exchanged her hospital gown for a sweater and long pants. But otherwise, she was death warmed over.

Her IV remained firmly in place, attached to a bag of fluids on wheels and a metal pole that she held beside her chair. Her hair had been swept up to reveal her sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks. “You look like death,” I told her.

“You look like your mother,” she shot back primly.

I gave her the finger. It wasn’t much, but it wouldn’t get me shot.

Gordon laughed. “You two are entertaining, at least. Astor, you can begin whenever you’re ready.”

“This isn’t what we discussed,” Chris said, finally beginning to fight against the restraints. But it was too late.

I stared at Gordon. “You’re going to bond them?” I asked. “Now? They’re too weak.”

Over Astor’s left shoulder, one of the caged wolves yelped and pawed at the bars. Beside it, another joined in. Gordon looked at them and they abruptly died off. Then he looked back at me, brow raised. “They seem in favor.”