Broken Blood (8 page)

The images pressed in around me; awake, asleep, it didn’t matter. The moment I let my guard down, they flooded in.

“She can’t be allowed to get away with this,” Mr. Sandefur said in my memory—only it wasn’t my memory. His voice was full of anguish as he stood before another man.

“You know Steppe is twisting this, right?” The second man stepped forward, out of the shadows cast by the closed blinds in the small office and I gasped. Professor Hugo, one of my teachers from Wood Point, stood before Logan’s dad. His face flashed with fierce determination I’d only ever seen him aim at me—in the form of distaste. “He’s manipulating you, man. You’re one of the last loyal to him and he’ll do anything to keep it that way.”

“You saw the video,” Mr. Sandefur said. “Tara was there. She has turned my son against me. She ordered him to fight us and he did it. What will she do next? I don’t have anyone left to lose.” His voice broke and he hid his face in his hands.

Professor Hugo reached out, but the door opened and they both jerked back. Uncle Astor stood in the small slant of light showing through from the hall. He was breathing heavily and his eyes blazed as he pinned Mr. Sandefur with a look.

“She is not to be touched,” Astor said. “She is family.”

Mr. Sandefur shoved Professor Hugo out of the way. “She turned my family against me,” he roared. “Logan won’t speak to me. He refuses to see me.”

“That,” Professor Hugo said, “is your own doing. You voted with Steppe. Your boy saw it as a betrayal. You will leave that girl alone. Don’t make an enemy of us too.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Mr. Sandefur roared. He whirled and the gleaming weapon was drawn so fast, I almost missed where it slid into Professor Hugo’s ribs. Soft and easy, with the quietest of sounds. The metal must’ve been razor sharp.

Professor Hugo’s eyes widened and he went limp, falling in a crumbled heap only after Mr. Sandefur pulled the knife free and shoved his friend aside. Mr. Sandefur hesitated. His hands trembled as he turned to face Astor.

But Astor was gone.

The memory shifted into another scene, almost like a fast-forward on a recording. Mr. Sandefur standing outside the door to my room. His shoulders were hunched and his expression was one of contrasting sadness to the wild anger he’d worn a moment ago. His cheeks, his skin, his jaw—all of it sagged under the weight of the guilt he carried. His steps were slow but full of purpose. He paused and retrieved his ID card, holding it ready to swipe over the automatic reader that controlled the lock.

Abruptly, his hand went rigid and his arm fell heavily against him. He hit the wall, leaning hard, and slid to the floor. I heard myself cry out but it felt foreign, like someone else picking up the noise through a wall. I was so solidly wrapped in the memory it felt as if I were there.

When Astor looked up from where he stood over Mr. Sandefur, it seemed as if our eyes met. We stared back at each other for a long moment before he looked away—down at the stake buried in Mr. Sandefur’s back. “No one must hurt her. That was our deal,” Astor said in a wispy voice.

“I never said I’d be the one to protect her.” The deep bass rumbled from my chest—only it wasn’t my chest. Disoriented, the memory abruptly faded and I tumbled back into the reality of my room.

Night fell and I struggled to hold back any more memories. I’d seen enough already. Steppe had been there and done nothing to stop it. I didn’t want to feel or think or know anything else he had to offer.

But keeping Steppe out of my head space wasn’t easy. And it zapped my strength. Now I understood what had killed Chris. It wasn’t Olivia taking his health. It was the fight to keep her out of his head. Within minutes of the blood transfusion, I’d felt the darkness that signaled Steppe’s arrival into my awareness. The black cloud that made up Steppe’s mental capacity was so much worse than Nick or Janie or any of my pack before this. It was smarter for one, cunning even, and it had purpose: me.

It wanted the alpha spot and I’d be damned if I gave it up. From the second the blood bond had taken effect, we’d been battling—and I wasn’t about to concede.

Astor came to check on me once and managed to slip me some more drugs. The pills kept me sedated enough that my thoughts were inaccessible through the night. But now, I was awake, and Gordon Steppe was pressing into my awareness like water through a thin sheet.

He wanted to merge. My head hurt and my chest pounded with the effort of keeping him at bay. I lay down, pulling my knees to my chest, and curled into a tight ball. It probably wasn’t an effective way conserve my strength to huddle this way, but I pretended it did some good.

Across the room, the lock turned over with a click and the door opened. I rolled over, expecting Astor again, but it was Mr. Lexington instead. He was shaved and dressed in a gray suit and, for once, his strange scent didn’t knock me over upon arrival. Something was different. I sniffed. He smelled like fresh air that could only have come from his being outside this place.

I sat up when he came close. He offered me the mug in his hand. “Drink this,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked as I reached for it, but he didn’t bother to answer.

I stared into the murky white liquid inside the little cup. It looked like watered-down milk, but I knew better. Nothing they’d done to me or asked of me was as pleasant as that. I’d been poked and prodded, smacked and shoved. But the worst was the bond trying to shove its way from my veins to my brain. I’d choose physical assault over this type of warfare any day.

Mr. Lexington sneered while I hesitated and I didn’t need a bond to tell me that he was clearly hoping I’d refuse the drink so he could do whatever necessary to forcibly convince me. No way could I stand up to that
and
block out the bond trying to shove its way in. And he knew it.

I hesitated a little longer but, in the end, I took the shot.

The liquid was cold and sickly sweet in my mouth. It felt fuzzy—almost like champagne bubbles in my stomach. Warmth spread from my belly to my chest and then it dissipated and I felt like me again.

Mr. Lexington took the empty cup and gestured for me to follow. “Come on. Mr. Steppe wants a word,” he said.

“I’m not dressed,” I said, gesturing to the sweatpants and long-sleeved tee I was still wearing from last night.

“Luckily it’s not a formal event,” he said. “Come on.”

I followed him out the door and fell into step behind him with two armed guards behind me. Not that I planned to try anything. My entire focus was on keeping Gordon out and myself conscious. There wasn’t anything left for an escape attempt. I barely noticed the state of my surroundings as we made our way back to the clinic.

Astor greeted us just inside the door. He wrung his hands when he spotted me. “Goodness gracious. You’re here.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Nothing. You’re here,” he repeated. His left brow twitched twice as often as he blinked.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “And so is Steppe and ... Olivia,” I said by way of greeting as I spotted the group assembled.

Steppe and a healthy-looking Olivia stood at the center of the room, halfway between the empty rows of cots and the metal cages. Behind them, along the wall, stood a row of guards. All armed. All with matching expressions of blind obedience. And Steppe thought my pack was a bunch of lap dogs.

“Tara, how are you feeling?” Gordon asked. Something stabbed at the edges of my thoughts, a silent inquiry to go along with the question, and I scowled.

“You tell me,” I said, wandering closer to where they stood.

A table had been set up with various medical supplies strewn about. Several tubes of blood, now empty, lay discarded between torn packets of alcohol swabs and bandages. I gave each of them a once-over and spotted a bandage peeking out from underneath Olivia’s sleeve.

My eyes narrowed. “What am I doing here?” I asked.

“Proving yourself,” Steppe said.

“And either killing or saving your pathetic uncle in the process,” Olivia added, earning a warning glare from Steppe.

My pulse sped and I glanced to where Astor stood huddled in the corner near the door. Guards stood nearby, awaiting orders.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, wary now.

“You need to stop fighting the inevitable and let me in,” Steppe said. He leaned toward Olivia but I could still hear every word as he said, “She’s stronger than her pack mate. Still fighting this losing battle and shoving me out.”

Olivia folded her arms, obscuring the bandage. Her color was lovely and that fact alone made my jaw ache for her flesh. “Not for long. She’ll choose. Just like the rest of them.”

“So you say. We’ll see,” Steppe said. He straightened and raised his chin at one of the guards. “Bring her out.”

A door opened. I hadn’t noticed it before, wedged between a gap in the cages on my left, but now three armed guards stepped through. Their weapons were drawn and the moment they entered the room, they turned and pointed guns at the doorway.

A moment later, a girl stepped through. Her head was down, both cheeks swollen and red. Her exposed arms were bruised and she walked with a limp. For a second, I couldn’t believe my eyes. But the piece of Steppe that sat in the bleachers of my subconscious applauded and I knew I wasn’t seeing things.

She stopped just inside the room, eyes aimed at the floor.

I gasped. “Victoria?” I asked.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to mine. Her eyes widened, then filled with moisture. It was the only reaction she gave at seeing me. And then, just as quickly, she ducked her head again and stared at the tiled floor. If she saw her father across the room, she gave no indication. No sarcastic remarks, no witty comebacks. It broke my heart—and made me determined to fight Steppe to the very end for doing this to her.

I growled and took a step, ready to launch myself at the man to blame for this, but the guards swiveled and re-aimed their weapons at me. “Hold it there,” Steppe said and I stopped.

“Right reaction. Wrong target,” he said.

“What does that even mean? Why did you do this to her?” I demanded. Before he could answer, I turned to Victoria. “Which one of them did this to you?”

She didn’t respond.

“She’s not going to answer you,” Olivia said.

I rounded on her. “You will, though. I can promise you that,” I said.

“So quick to point fingers, cast blame.” Steppe nodded at one of the guards over my head and for a second, I thought they were being ordered to grab me. I braced myself for it but instead, they moved away and grabbed hold of Mr. Lexington.

“What the hell?” he demanded, twisting in an effort to break free, but they held fast. “What are you doing?” he yelled.

Steppe barely flicked a glance in his direction before his gaze fixed on me. “This is the part where you make that choice you wanted so badly,” he told me.

“I’m not giving up my wolf,” I said.

“I wouldn’t dream of asking. This is a different kind of choice but a choice nonetheless.” His gaze slid left to a mute Victoria and then right to a still struggling and now furious Mr. Lexington. “The choice is your friend or her father. You must kill one of them. The other gets to live.”

“No way. Absolutely not,” I said. “You want me to carry out your orders, distract myself so you can slip in and take the alpha role. Not happening.”

“You know, I may not have full access yet, but I’ve made some interesting discoveries just spending some time at the outskirts,” Steppe said. “You miss your pack. Their voices. The mental company. You enjoyed the bond.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. He wasn’t wrong, but I knew where this was going and it wasn’t even close to the same thing. And internally, it was taking everything I had to keep him blocked while trying to figure out how to end this standoff. I was not, under any circumstances, going to kill Victoria Lexington.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on me. Once upon a time, I would’ve actually entertained the idea of taking her out. But now, after everything we’d been through, I’d do anything to protect her. And unfortunately, that included refraining from killing her God-awful dad while she was forced to watch.

“You could have that camaraderie again, you know,” Steppe said, smiling as he stirred the mental pot.

My reasoning became muddled. Hazy. And I glared back at him. “Get out of my head,” I said.

“Make your choice,” he said.

“Neither.”

“Then you’ve sealed both their fate. And the fate of your uncle. It’s a shame. I would’ve thought you had enough blood on your hands by now. Olivia.”

She nodded at the two guards still hovering beside Victoria and then at the two near Astor. They took a step back, dropped their weapons, and planted their feet. The air around them shivered and then popped and fabric exploded, raining down in a pile beside them. One by one, they shifted, dropping to all fours as they became mangy, nearly emaciated Werewolves.

They locked onto their targets, two aimed at Victoria and two at Astor. With slow steps, they approached, jaws open, growling and snarling.

“Stop this!” I yelled.

“Only you can do that,” Steppe said.

I jerked toward the sound of snapping teeth; the last two guards had shifted and were advancing on Mr. Lexington. He backed away and fell onto an empty cot, scrambling back toward the wall it butted against. It wouldn’t do a bit of good. They were all going to die; none of them had the strength or skill to stop it.

I screamed at my wolf but it only shrank farther away from my grasp. Steppe’s slimy mental fingers grasped for a firmer grip and I screamed again, struggling for control that was quickly slipping away.

“Stop! I’ll choose!”

Olivia flicked her chin and the wolves paused. I looked at the one closest to me. It had a mangy coat of dull brown, scarred and matted in places. It smelled different than any of the hybrids I’d ever bonded with and I realized, not for the first time, these were different. Not Olivia’s original creations. Not from Miles.

Something about them was familiar. The subtle slanting of their eyes, the scrawny, sinewy build of their muscles. But I couldn’t quite place it and there wasn’t time. Whatever it was, they were obviously bonded with Olivia now. Some failed experiment on Steppe’s part, made into his very own disposable army.