Chapter 18

Icry out in agony when the hot poker sinks into my back, the skin sizzling as the heat burns it away. My vision is blurry in one eye, and I can't open the other, but I see the outlines of two people on the other side of the room I'm in, hovering inside the shadows. I can't make out their features, but one has a cloud of puffy yellow hair and is roughly the shape of a pink bell resting atop two sticks. The other doesn't have much hair at all, given the way overhead lights bounce off their scalp. This one is bigger than the bell and more of an oblong shape.

There's nothing familiar about them, which makes me wonder why they've brought me here.

And why they keep burning holes into my body.

I wait for my draxilio to growl in anger at the situation, but he gives me nothing. In fact, I don't even feel his presence in my head.

Hey, wake up. We have a problem here.

I wait and wait. Nothing.

We don't have to communicate, but we do need to work together to find a way out of this. I need to shift, set my fire on the fuzzy blobs, burn this torture chamber to the ground, and get out of here. Through shallow breaths, I try to ignore the pain that radiates across my face, down my back, and is spreading to my wrists as I picture his form. His scales, his claws, his impressive size––I bring these images to the forefront, as I always do when I shift, but nothing happens. The air doesn't even change around me. Why can't I shift? What have they done to me?

I suppose I need to think backward a few steps to find the answers I'm seeking. Who are these people? That's what I need to find out first. Once I know that, I'll have a better idea of their strengths and resources. A relative of one of our targets, perhaps. I'm sure the justice we've been serving up across New England has upset a few people.

Or maybe members of the police force, on a mission to avenge Burton's bizarre death. If not them, it could be members of Burton's family.

Burton's nephew, Travis, raped Sam and Vanessa, but Axil tore him apart months ago, and I don't remember any other known family members besides his uncle.

Dante's punchable face pops into my head, but he's more annoying than evil. I wasn't exactly welcoming when we met, but it seems unlikely he'd want me dead over poor manners. And if he's out, then so is the Scottish tikano, Ronan, as well as the one from Iceland we still haven't met.

Dante is responsible for the death of Charlie's ex, and from what I heard, he and Charlie didn't get along before he died. So one of his family members could be looking to take me and my brothers out.

Scanning through my memories, I recall the man Harper went on a date with before she and Luka were mated. This was when we lived in Boston. When she rejected him, he snuck into her house and tied her up, intent on killing her. We stopped that from happening, though, and Harper's three-legged rescue cat saved the day by jumping onto his shoulder, scaring him enough to fumble the gun in his hand and pull the trigger. That fucker didn't even get to die with his face.

Hm. I suppose we've made some enemies over the years.

Despite my current circumstances, standing barefoot on a wooden platform with my feet chained to the floor, my arms pulled tight to either side like the thin man with the beard who wears the thorny crown, and countless cuts and bruises covering my body, I have no regrets. The men I've made suffer caused enough suffering of their own to last a thousand lifetimes. Given the chance, I'd do it all again with a smile.

That is, until I hear Hudson's screams.

I don't need to see his face to know it's him. "Kyan!" he cries, followed by a long, low whimper.

Surging against my chains, I push toward the sound of his voice. "Hudson!" I roar. Fury pumps through my blood at the thought of my nephew being harmed. "Where are you?!"

He doesn't answer my question, just continues to shout my name. Though I doubt he even knows where he is. I certainly don't. Trying to scan the room, I see a dark, wide space. Large, rusted machinery sits on the far end, and there are wooden barrels, ropes, and rectangular metal cages scattered around the platform. The walls are brick, and on one side, there are hundreds of small square windows, most of which are broken. The sounds I hear are scattered drips, the rattling of metal––which seems to be coming from the direction of Hudson's voice, so he might be in a cage of some kind––and the dragging of chains whenever I try to take a step.

Then I hear laughter. It's a feminine snicker, brittle and harsh. The pink bell shape approaches across the platform and as she gets closer, I realize the bell is a dress, and the sticks are her legs.

"Release me." The growl that emerges is low, quiet, but the warning is clear.

"No, I'm not going to do that."

Not clear enough, it seems.

"Release me!" My roar rattles the shards of glass that were once windows, and I catch her slight stumble backward at the sheer volume of my voice. She hides it well, but I terrify her.

"Again, no."

I jerk toward her, straining against my binds, unable to figure out why they aren't snapping beneath my strength and why my draxilio feels dormant. I need to shift, and my body isn't cooperating.

"Wow, so angry." She circles me, and I follow the clack of her heels to where she stops directly behind me.

I feel her lift the back of my shirt, and then a pinch on my right side, just above the hem of my pants.

"We've got big plans for you, Kyan Monroe."

We? There's more than one of them. I knew that already, but how many in total? Knowing my full name isn't a surprise. Anyone intent on torturing me would've been able to learn my name.

Her fingers thread through my hair, and she yanks my head back. She whispers against my ear, "You can thank Naomi for that."

My legs give out beneath me as the walls start to move. Her laughter returns, but now it feels like it's coming from all around me, in the distance and tickling my neck. "S'happening?" The word comes from me, but it doesn't sound like me. I don't mumble. Why am I suddenly so tired?

My arms feel like they're being slowly torn off my body, my muscles tearing as my body sags. The only things holding me up are the thick, coarse bands that are chafing my wrists.

"Nnn-omi."

The word feels like acid on my tongue. Is it a word? No. A name. Her. The reason I'm here. Contempt wraps around me like a blanket as the world fades away.

* * *

Help.

The plea is soft. Coming from somewhere far away. No, not far. Close. Inside my head. My draxilio. He's with me, but something's wrong. Very wrong. He's scared. Why would he be scared? There's nothing he needs to fear. No enemy he can't conquer.

I hear his whimper again just before my feet leave the floor, my legs floating in front of me as they balloon into a horrifying partial shift. There are patches of pale skin on my arms between blue scales, a sharp claw next to a stubby human toe, and my bones begin a cycle of snapping and shrinking, snapping and shrinking, as my body is yanked between my two forms.

There's no part of me that isn't in excruciating pain. At one point, something erupts from my mouth. I assume it's a roar of fury, but when my cheek is shoved into something wet, I realize it was vomit. Between the violent changes of my body, I hear my captors speaking to me. They poke me with the hot prod as they tell me about Naomi and how she was sent to spy on me. Learn my secrets.

"Ahhh!" I bellow as a dull blade sinks into my arm.

"She didn't even apply for the job. I made her résumé. It's total bullshit."

This must be Elaine, the leader of Naomi's cell. Every story that Naomi has told me about Elaine makes her seem like a demon in kitten heels. In place of her heart is an endless black hole of misery, so there's no reason for me to trust her. Certainly not while she's cutting me open.

"Officer Burton was kind of our go-to guy for blood sources, and man, he did not like you. Or your brothers. He wanted us to dig up some dirt on you and your family, so I passed that task onto Naomi. She became your assistant, got close to you, and from just walking by her trailer," Elaine says, chuckling, "it sounded like you two became very close."

The hot poker is plunged between my ribs, and I curl in on myself, a steady whimper escaping me as I wrap my free arm around my stomach. "No more."

"That was all part of the act," she continues. "She did a great job, don't you think? I mean, she really sold it. Inviting you over for cupcakes, introducing you to that little rat with wings she lets into her house."

Wetness pools beneath my arm, reaching my elbow. I feel damp everywhere, actually. I hope it's sweat, but I know there's also blood. Lots of it. The clothes I wear are sticking to me like glue.

"Anyway, since Burton died, we haven't been able to connect with his successor," Elaine says. "He's not answering my emails. This is a problem, you see, because for decades, vampires all over the country have had an unspoken partnership with local law enforcement. They give us names and addresses of newly released convicts, and we hunt and drain the ones the public will care the least about. The drug addicts, the homeless, prostitutes, anyone from a high-crime neighborhood, you know. The cops love it. We make their cities and towns safer, and they reward us with more convicts. Everybody wins."

It sounds remarkably similar to the way the pack is set up, except for the glaring distinction between targets. We're seeking to avenge the ones hurt by violent criminals who use the system to their advantage, and they're hunting the people repeatedly criminalized by a system designed to keep them destitute.

She laughs. "Those people die, and it doesn't even make the news."

What I wouldn't give to summon the strength to slowly plunge a wooden stake into her heart right now.

"Why me?" I ask. My voice is so hoarse from screaming, I wonder if she even hears me. "And this."

She leans down next to my head. "Because you're going to tell me what you're keeping in that basement in Manchester. I know it's not just an office. Burton died before we could figure it out. We owe him this. Tell me or that sweet boy in the other room won't make it out of here alive."

I swallow, trying to lubricate my throat enough to speak. "If I tell you, you'll let him go?"

"That's the deal."

I don't want to tell her. If I do, she's going to find the pack and will probably kill them. If I don't, she might kill Hudson. Either way, it seems likely that I'm going to die here, so I need to decide who to save. My pack, or my family?

On the other hand, I don't trust her to keep her word and let Hudson go. What's to stop her from executing him immediately after I reveal the truth?

End? My draxilio whispers. I wish he were seeking permission to take over and make these bastards pay for what they've done, but that's not what he's asking. He wants to know if this is it. If this is our final chapter.

Any other day, I would be certain it's not.

However, any other day, he wouldn't even ask.

I don't know. I send back. It might be.

I feel another pinch at my lower back, and tears stream down my face, knowing it's about to get worse while wondering how that's possible.

My body is thrown forward, and I land on my stomach as my wings jut out from my shoulder blades and expand behind me. When I look down, I see my blue, five-fingered hand on the floor above my head. Somehow, I've been pushed into a partial change that shouldn't even be possible.

Flap, I send, hoping he has control over the wings. Nothing happens when I try it. Fly us out of here.

He doesn't get the chance, because a loud, mechanical rumble fills the air seconds before a massive blade slices through the center of my left wing.

* * *

"Kyan."

It's a soft voice that comforts me.

"Kyan, over here."

My head pounds with a thousand aches. I can't move it, so I try to follow the sound with my one good eye. Saliva fills my mouth as a wave of nausea hits. I can't see anything. It's all a blur, except for the glaring fluorescent light directly above me.

"Oh god, Kyan," I hear her say. It sounds like she's crying. "What have they done to you?"

Her small form emerges from behind one of the barrels, her hands covering her face as she approaches.

"Naomi," I try to say. It comes out as a crackling whisper. A cough racks my body, and muscles I didn't know existed clench and burn with the fire of the Sufoian sun.

I wish I could hold her, apologize for that horrible day in my office, and tell her that I truly do love her. The word meant different things to us. In my mind, it carried too many expectations that often lead to disappointments. Expectations that I wasn't sure I was ready to meet. That was, until yesterday, when my views changed.

Hudson showed up at the office, hoping to shadow me. I declined, knowing Luka would be furious. I offered to buy him lunch instead. We picked up our sandwiches from the restaurant, and I took him to a park close to the office. It was empty. No one in sight. He sat across from me at one of the picnic tables, and we talked.

I told him about Naomi, and how worried I was that I'd ruined everything. He listened as he ate, asking questions about my feelings for her, and why I was so upset if I wasn't ready to say the L word.

After explaining my point of view, and how I wanted a term that meant more perfect than perfect, and that "love" didn't feel like it fit, he replied, "Why don't you use Moonavi?"

"Moonavi." A Sufoian word.

"Yeah, Dad's teaching me how to speak Sufoian fluently. He told me about that weather event that only happened on Sufoi every three hundred years, where orange and blue lights would shoot across the sky, and how, when you were looking out onto the sea––"

"It looked like fire was colliding with ice," I finish.

He nods. "Exactly. That sounds so awesome. And she sounds awesome, so, wouldn't that be a better word to use?"

I hadn't thought about Moonavi since we came here. "It was," I tell him. "Do you know why it's called Moonavi?"

"That's not the scientific name for it?"

"No. I can't remember the scientific name, because no one ever used it," I explain. "The event was seen by our ancestors as a miracle. A sacred joining of forces so polarizing that they could only meet every three centuries. The ancestors called it that because of how rare it was, that two things so vastly different could still find each other and connect, despite the perceived impossibility of it."

As I recall the history of it, I can't believe it took me this long to see how aptly it fits.

Hudson smiles, the mirror image of his father as he gives me a knowing glance. "That's what she is to you, isn't she?"

I nod. "The ice to my fire."

After we finished eating, we started walking toward the office. We never made it back. Out of nowhere, I was tackled from behind. A black bag was thrown over my head, and I felt a pinch at my hip. Then I woke up here.

Naomi ducks down until I'm done coughing, trying to stay out of sight. I don't know where Elaine is, and I don't hear Hudson. All I can hope is that he still lives.

She creeps toward my cage.

I'm in a cage now? I suppose it doesn't matter. Now that my wing has been destroyed, I can't fly. I can't even shift. My body has returned completely to its flightless form.

She sticks her hand through the bars and reaches for me. I wince at her touch, and she immediately pulls away with a gasp. "I'm sorry."

Losing the feel of her skin hurts almost as much as the stinging lacerations that cover my hand. Almost. "You're here." Seeing her settles my insides. I didn't think I'd get to see her beautiful face again. Though marred with sadness at the moment, she radiates warmth that her body temperature lacks.

As I look at her now, standing in front of my cage, crumbling at the sight of me, I wish I had the strength to relay the story of how Hudson brought this word to my attention. To tell her that, yes, I love her, but Moonavi is more. Moonavi represents how I feel, and what she is to me. In the end, all I can get out is the word.

"Moonavi."

She doesn't hear me.

Tears stream down her cheeks as her shoulders begin to shake with the force of her sobs. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"What?" My eyes start to itch as she tells me about Elaine, and how she was forced to spy on me. It takes me back to the haziness of earlier, as Elaine was revealing the truth about how Naomi and I met while using various weapons and substances to send my body into a state of complete self-destruction.

I didn't want to believe it, but is it possible Naomi was actually using me?

"I can't believe they did this to you. When I agreed to it, I had no idea this was the potential outcome. If I knew she was capable of this…"

"Wait," I say, gently rubbing my eyelids to make the discomfort go away. "So you were spying on me?" My question comes out as a muffled rasp, but this time, she hears me. "None of it was real?"

"What? Of course it was real," she replies, sounding offended. "I mean, my résumé wasn't, but I told you I used to be a doctor. Everything that followed, everything that happened between us was real. I swear. I love you."

How am I supposed to believe that most of it was real when some of it wasn't? Simply because she swears? What weight does that hold? I'm locked in a fucking cage. My nephew is being tortured, and I can't do anything to help him. My brothers will never forgive me, and my pack might be in danger. And she swears that she loves me?

"Kyan, stop scratching your eyes."

I ignore her. This is worse than the hot poker. Besides, I'm completely useless as a draxilio now anyway. What do I need eyelids for?

"Why are the whites of your eyes bright red like that?"

Maybe because I'm slowly dying? "My eyes are bleeding. That's why."

"Oh damn. Kyan, they're…blinking."

Shit.

Right on cue, I hear the purr of my draxilio, right before he whispers, Mate.

I don't have time to panic about what this means, or to yell at Naomi for the situation we're in, because the echo of Elaine's sharp cackle bounces around the walls, making my headache worse.

Naomi scurries back behind the barrel before Elaine comes into view, the oblong-shaped man at her side.

"Kyan, I wanted to share the good news."

If she's expecting me to ask, she's going to be disappointed. I'm not playing her game.

"Your office building has been destroyed."

Fear chills me to the bone, giving a momentary but miserable reprieve from the itchy eyes. "What do you mean?"

Oblong pulls a blowtorch from behind his back, and his eyes sparkle like a madman.

"We set it on fire. The fire department came but couldn't put it out in time."

Oblong decides to get in on the fun. "Hope you didn't have anything important in that basement, because it's a pile of ashes now."

My throat seizes up, and I can't speak. "S-ssurv-survviv…were there surviv–"

They walk toward the doorway without even pretending to listen.

"By the way," Elaine says. "Your nephew is next."