Twice Dead (29 page)

I stared after them. “Crap, Bobby. That was an alpha pulse. How the hell did you do that?”

Bobby turned toward me, not saying anything. I looked at him and found him studying me, a look of awe on his face. He shook his head. “Not me.
We
did it. You’re my
Dyre
.”

I frowned at him as the tingly feel of magic laced over my skin. Gil appeared in the empty space beside me, her scroll already in hand.

“Interesting,” she said, scribbling down a note, “can you explain exactly what you did?”

I scowled at her. “You could’ve helped.”

“I’ve read several books about the strength of vampires. You surely didn’t need my help with a pair of dogs. Now answer this…”

I ignored Gil’s incessant questions about how we’d intimidated the dogs and returned to navigating the path of dead cars. I also made a point not to acknowledge the hopeful grin that lit Bobby’s eyes every time he looked at me.

I couldn’t acknowledge it. I was too busy trying to ignore my own spark of hope.

I stumbled over my leaden feet and pretended I’d tripped over a rearview mirror sticking out of the snow. I was weaker than before. More so than could be explained by the approaching dawn.
But my cat…
I pushed my attention deep inside and touched the frozen core where my cat had once resided. Did it feel slightly warmer now, slightly less knotted?

The coil was quiet. Cold. Dead.

But
…?

I stared at my half shifted hands.
Did we really create that
dominant energy surge?
In Firth,
Torins
and
Dyres
could borrow energy from their clan members. My father wouldn’t have needed to siphon energy from another shifter to create one small alpha pulse—he could dominate shifter or beast by his will alone.
But his cat’s not a dead coil like mine.

“
We did it. You’re my Dyre.”
Damn Bobby. Why did he have to say that? It gave me hope, but that hope was deceptive.

Snow crunched ahead of me. I stopped mid-step. The cityshifter’s scent was stronger now. It saturated the air around us.
He’s close.

Bobby stilled behind me, obviously equally aware of the newcomer. But Gil was oblivious. I pressed a finger over my lips, trying to quiet her. She didn’t notice. She hadn’t summoned her light and she was concentrating hard on her footing instead of me. She tripped over something in the shadows and squealed as she fell, her butt landing in the snow with a thump.

Well, there goes any element of surprise
—which we’d probably already lost, but still.

Bobby turned to help Gil, and I crept into the shadow of the nearby junk-pile. The mountain of metal beside me released a slight creaking sound. A soft curse drifted to me from the other side. Then snow crunched under heavy boots.

I pressed deeper in the shadows as the shifter rounded the corner. He marched past my hiding spot, a metal pipe clutched behind his back. Gil barely had her feet under her, and Bobby moved to barricade her body with his as the cityshifter stopped a few yards in front of them.

“Get outta here,” the city-shifter yelled, the pipe still hidden behind his back.

Bobby frowned. His gaze drifted past the city-shifter to the spot I’d been standing earlier, and then across the shadows.

The astringent scent of fear reached me. Not from my companions. From the city-shifter. He followed Bobby’s gaze, stepping sideways so he could keep Bobby in his peripheral vision as his eyes darted nervously in my direction.

I held my breath, going statue still the way only a vampire could be still.
Come on, Bobby, don’t give away my position.

As if he heard the thought—which I knew he couldn’t have—Bobby’s gaze snapped back to the city-shifter, but the damage was done. The city-shifter had the idea someone else might be in the wreck-yard. Shifters have superb night vision, but unlike vampires, they can’t see into dark shadows like the one where I was crouched. As he searched the darkness, I caught my first clear view of the city-shifter’s face.

Recognition slammed into me.

I saw him from Tyler’s memory. The city-shifter was smiling. Younger. Cleaner. He passed a cigarette, joking about something. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to shove Tyler back into the depths of my mind as ghost images pressed the sides of my vision.

“Get lost tag-along. This isn’t the place for little boys.”

“Shove it, Tyler. Danny’s no older than me.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have the stomach for it.” He didn’t. I
knew he didn’t. He never would. And I’d prove it to him, too.

“Fine. Come along. We’ll have some fun. See the chick over
there. The one with the stupid streaks—”

The image of myself in the memory snapped me back to the present. I’d lived parts of that memory before, but I’d never noticed the seconds before Tyler pointed to me. Before he made me a target.

I’d been distracted for several crucial seconds while lost in Tyler’s memories. The city-shifter had pulled his pipe. He growled, slapping it against his palm. The pipe splintered in a shower of red rust flakes, and I crept soundlessly from my hiding spot.

“We, uh…” Bobby stammered, but the shifter brandished the broken pipe, cutting him off.

“I don’t care what you were doing. Get out. Get out now!”

He lunged forward, and Bobby jumped to the side, dragging Gil with him. A crazed laugh trickled from the city-shifter’s throat. “Too late. Too late.”

He ran at them, swinging the pipe in a wide arc. Gil’s hands flew into motion, and a purple haze filled the air in front of her and Bobby.
Her barrier.
The semi-translucent wall solidified, separating them from the city-shifter. He slammed into it, bounced back, and a smile spread across Gil’s face.

A premature smile. I could feel the tingle of magic in the air growing, building.

Then the barrier exploded.

Three bodies flew in opposite directions, joined by a shower of displaced snow and spare car parts. I pushed out of my shadow, ignoring the clumps of snow and bits of rusted metal raining down around me. Bobby and the city-shifter climbed to their feet, staring at each other. Gil moved slower.

My skirt rustled as I stepped forward, and Bobby’s gaze snapped to me. I shook my head, willing him to look away.

Too late.

The city-shifter glanced over his shoulder. Not like he meant to, but like a reflex. His gaze landed on me. The reek of fear poured off him. He whirled around. He’d managed to hold onto the pipe, and he swung at me.

Great.

I hid my deformed hands in my skirt.

“Drop the pipe,” I said in as even a voice as I could. He didn’t. A name floated up from the pit I kept Tyler’s memories in, so I used it. “Steven, drop the pipe.”

The shifter jumped at his name, and the arc of his swinging pipe slowed, but he still clutched the weapon. He chewed at his bottom lip, a lip chapped and scabbed like chewing at it was a habit. His eyes grew wide as he stared at me, the whites overpowering the expanded pupils.

“Oh god, you’re her,” he said, backing up until his back pressed against the side of a junked SUV.

The pipe slid from his fingers. He fell down after it, his hands groping blindly, his gaze stuck on me. “You’re
her
.”

Bobby kicked the pipe further from him, but Steven didn’t notice. He just kept staring at me. I stepped closer and his mouth dropped, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips. Something else—something too desperate to be hope—mixed with the fear in his gaze.

“Please, take it back.” His words were barely audible as he fell forward onto the ground. He groveled at my feet in the churned snow. “I swear, I’ll never do it again. Please take the curse back.”

Bobby glanced from the prone shifter to me. I’d asked Nathanial the same thing once—to take back the curse. I’d been talking about vampirism, but it was the same request.

Make me what I was.

But I couldn’t. Just like Nathanial couldn’t. Steven was a shifter now.
But is he a sane one?

I stared at the cowering man. Hair that would have been light brown if it were clean hung in heavy, tangled clumps halfway to his shoulders. A light covering of coarse whiskers covered his chin—not thick enough to be called a beard. He hadn’t had either in Tyler’s memory. I frowned. He wouldn’t be filthy if he’d been shifting.

I tilted my head back, sniffed the air. There was no doubt.

He’d been tagged.
But he’s not shifting?
How many days would a shifter have to go between changes to get so dirty?

“Stand up, Tag-along,” I said. Then I winced, realizing I’d used Tyler’s sarcastic name for him without meaning to.

He also flinched at the name, his shoulders nearly touching his ears. A fine tremble shook his body, but he pushed off the ground. Stood. This time he kept his gaze down.

I searched his face, searched for signs of insanity.
And
exactly what does that look like?
Steven just looked scared.

Tired. And young. Way too young.

“It’s not a curse,” I finally said. “You’ll be a shifter until you die.”

Which wouldn’t be by my hand, if I had anything to say about it. I’d send him back to Firth with Bobby. Hopefully one of the clans would take him in. Teach him how to be a shifter.

How to accept the new animal soul sharing his body.

He looked up then. His green eyes wide. “No,” he whispered. “No. You have to take it back. You have to. You don’t know what it’s made me do!”

Bobby growled and spat in the snow. “Your beast doesn’t
make
you
do
anything.”

Steven cringed again, and I frowned at Bobby. A month ago, I would have whole-heartedly agreed with him, but now I had the memories of a pair of tagged shifters. I knew from those memories that the human mind was too confused to curb the beast’s instincts during their first shift. Humans who were intentionally tagged were guided through their first shifts to help them adjust, but even then the insanity rates were high. I had no doubt Steven believed his beast controlled him.

Bryant had, too.

But Bryant had shown no remorse for his actions. He’d given into his every impulse and then compartmentalized the guilt by believing he had no control over his beast. That was why Bryant was dead.

“What did it make you do?” I asked, ignoring the shocked look Bobby gave me.

Steven didn’t answer. He stared at the ground. Gil moved closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine. The touch sent a thrill of body heat through me. I swallowed. I had way too little blood in me to be rubbing elbows with anyone.
Oh yeah,
I understand impulses.

Scuttling away from Gil put me closer to Steven. Even stronger than the scent of unwashed body was the reek of fear still pouring off him. Around the edges of my vision, I thought I saw faint yellow outlines twisting around him.

Ghostly yellow lines that looked a hell of a lot like what I saw when my mezmer ability decided to help me hunt. I ignored it. I did
not
need my vamp powers rising to the surface right now.

“What are you waiting for?” Gil asked, her eyes widening and brows lifting to emphasis her words.

I was too busy calming my hunger to follow her meaning, and Gil jerked her chin indiscreetly at Steven.
Oh
.

“I don’t think he’s rogue,” I whispered, though at this distance, Steven probably heard me better than Gil. I turned back toward him. “What did your beast make you do?”

Steven glanced between Gil and me. “You’re here to kill me?”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but no words came out. If he were rogue or on the verge of turning rogue, it was true. I had to destroy him. I’d tagged him. He was my responsibility.

“I tried to do it myself,” he whispered. “Twice. But both times I woke up as that… that
thing
instead.”

I shared a glance with Bobby. A suicidal shifter?

Antidepressants don’t work on shifters—our metabolism’s too fast. If he were unstable enough to attempt suicide…?

“I’m your second. Do you want me to take care of him, Kita?” Bobby asked.

I shook my head. I’d never actually accepted Bobby as my second. Not that he’d care. He’d probably walk right up to the elders and tell them he was ready to accept his share of my punishment when he returned to Firth.
Stubborn bobcat.

According to our laws, a second could execute a tagged shifter in danger of turning rogue. But I didn’t want Steven executed. He wasn’t rogue—not yet, at least. He was confused. Scared. But why wouldn’t he be? He was alone. He just needed a chance. He was so young. And so familiar…?

“Bobby, I want you to take him to a safe-house until the gate opens.”

Bobby stared at me. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Opened it again. “Kita, it would be a mercy kill. You heard him.”

“Yeah, and I tried to sunbathe a couple days after becoming a vampire. Do you think someone should have mercy on me, too?”

His jaw dropped. “Kitten, you wouldn’t—”

“Can you arrange for the safe-house or not?”

He nodded.

“Then it’s settled. Now, Steven, the other men with you the night you attacked me, did any of the others change?”

His sour scent of fear turned sharper at my words—which was not the response I expected. I frowned, and the world went black for a second as my eyelids closed.
Crap.
I pried them back open.

“I think I need to get back,” I said.

Then my eyelids fell again and I slipped into darkness as dawn approached.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Consciousness hit with a jolt. My eyes flew open, pain blossoming in my chest as my lungs expanded with my first breath of the night.

The pillow under my cheek smelled like Nathanial. I snuggled against it, breathing in more of the scent before my brain caught up with my actions. Realizing what I was doing, I pushed away from the pillow, and the gold-and-creamcolored sheets slid off me.