Wolf-DM4Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4]Rose Marie WolfRed Rose PublishingCopyright © 2007 by Rose Marie WolfErotica/Romance. 109347 words long. First published in 2008, 2008 enNoveltext/xmlErotica/Romance

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Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4]
by Rose Marie Wolf
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Erotica/Romance

Red Rose Publishing
www.redrosepublishing.com

Copyright ©2007 by Rose Marie Wolf

First published in 2008, 2008

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Dedication:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

AUTHOR BIO

* * * *

Dark Moon Magick:

Book Four of the Moon Series

By

Rose Marie Wolf

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to Cindy, because you were the first one to love this book.

* * * *

* * * *

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dark Moon Magick by Rose Marie Wolf

Red Rose™ Publishing

Publishing with a touch of Class! ™

The symbol of the Red Rose and Red Rose is a trademark of Red Rose™ Publishing

Red Rose™ Publishing

Copyright© 2007 Rose Marie Wolf

ISBN: 978-1-60435-158-3

Cover Artist: Brenda Porter

Editor: Melissa Glisan

Line Editor: WRG

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

Red Rose™ Publishing

www.redrosepublishing.com

Forestport, NY 13338

Dark Moon Magick:

Book Four of the Moon Series

By

Rose Marie Wolf

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter One

The room was cold and sterile. It quickly reminded Rose Barnett just why she hated hospitals, even though it wasn't a hospital room at all. It just looked like one, felt like one. The cheery drawings of happy families on the wall did very little to make the atmosphere feel any different to her. She rubbed her bare arms and tried not to shiver.

She waited patiently for Dr. Nesbitt to return. Her gaze roamed around the room, taking in the sterile environment. The table—or was it a bed? She could never really tell—was cold and hard and the paper gown she wore barely covered her nakedness, not that she was ashamed. She leaned back, letting her bare back touch the metal and she hissed in a breath at the chill.

She tried to relax and closed her eyes. She sniffed, but her stuffy nose wouldn't let her breathe in anything. She was partly glad for that. She could only imagine the medicinal smell of the room. She hated it.

Her hands automatically went to her stomach, cradling her pregnant belly. She tried to picture the baby within but she couldn't. All she saw was her mate's angry eyes and Simon Conner's hateful grin. She shuddered and removed her hands. Her eyes flew open.

The cold feeling she felt before was nothing compared to the icy sweat that began to drip down her back. Every time she thought of Simon, she felt a sudden dread. It was like something was wrapping around her heart and squeezing the very life out of her.

She had been in heat when he had taken her. She couldn't help what she had done. The lust was powerful. It made her feel almost violently ill.

Simon Conner. She never wanted to hear that name again for as long as she lived. He had done enough to them, had succeeded in ripping their lives apart. After his raid on the Paranormal Research and Development safe house, and her subsequent kidnapping, Simon Conner grew to be a formidable force, a werewolf gone bad. He was hunter bent on destroying them all, in retaliation for Jason having nearly killed him nearly four years ago, he had come back and nearly succeeded. But Simon was gone now, really dead. And Jason was gone, had been for the past eight months, leaving Rose alone and pregnant.

Only he didn't know about the baby. She hadn't told him. She had only found out moments before he left. Now she didn't know where he was and hadn't heard from him at all in the past months. For all she knew, he could be dead.

As if sensing her thoughts, the baby inside of her kicked. She placed her hand on her swollen stomach, feeling the baby move around. She rubbed her stomach.

“Sorry, Little One,” she said softly, looking down. “It's not my fault.

Or was it? She had struggled with her feelings of guilt for the longest time and part of her still blamed herself. Her lack of control and subsequent actions with Simon had led to the confusion of the paternity of her baby. It could be Jason's. It could be Simon's.

It was that thought, most of all that sickened her.

Finally, she decided not to think of it any more. The doctor would be in soon.

She continued to rub her belly and stare at the door, waiting impatiently. She just wanted to get this damned check-up over with, she had other things to do.

“It'll be okay, Little One,” she said again, wondering if it really ever would be.

The door opened and Dr. Nesbitt entered. With her stuffed up nose, Rose couldn't catch her scent at all, but she knew the woman smelled of antiseptic and some flowery perfume that made a strange, but intoxicating combination. She sniffed again, but it was futile.

“Hi, Rose,” Dr. Nesbitt said a little too cheerfully. She looked down at her chart a moment then smiled at her. She was an older woman, with graying brown hair and bright blue eyes. Rose had known Deborah Nesbitt all her life. She was the PRDI's resident physician and had a knack for psychic healing. Though some of her methods were considered unconventional, she was good at what she did. “Sinuses still giving you trouble?”

“Yes,” Rose answered without hesitation, noting how horrible she sounded with her nasal passages blocked. “And I hate it.”

“As a werewolf, I can imagine so.” The doctor nodded sympathetically. She sat in her chair and rolled toward Rose. “How long have you been stuffed up this time?”

“Few days, but it's really bad. I can't smell anything. It's driving me mad.”

Dr. Nesbitt chuckled. “As I told you before, it's not uncommon for pregnant women to suffer from sinusitis. The mucous membranes can swell because of your increased hormone levels.”

“You'd think with our advanced healing, it wouldn't happen,” Rose looked at Dr. Nesbitt in annoyance. She really did hate having herself limited, especially one of her strongest werewolf abilities.

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Nesbitt shook her head. “You're still susceptible to illnesses, just like anyone else.”

“Ah, damn it.” The doctor smiled, but Rose wasn't feeling the humor. The doctor dropped it and looked down at her clipboard. “So, none of the herbal remedies I recommended worked?”

“They did for a while, but it always comes back.” Rose sniffed, clearing up some of the stuffiness. She watched while the doctor made a few scribbles on her clipboard.

After a moment, Dr. Nesbitt set it aside and stood. “I need to have another look.” Rose took in a deep breath but nodded as Dr. Nesbitt approached her. “Just relax like before and stay quiet. The scan will only take a few moments.”

“Been through the drill before, Doc,” Rose answered, her voice quavering. The doctor gave her a calming smile but she didn't feel reassured at all.

“Just relax,” she said again, in a soothing voice.

Though Rose had felt the psychic tingle before, she was never fully prepared for it. Dr. Nesbitt was an expert and she was gentle. She slowly lifted her hands to either side of Rose's face and closed her eyes.

In a previous appointment, Dr. Nesbitt had explained what she was doing. Rose knew now what to expect, but it didn't make it any easier. Using her psychic healing abilities, she scanned Rose's face, barely touching her. She could see inside the body, sort of like a human x-ray machine. After a few moments of searching, she could pinpoint the problem and know the immediate diagnosis.

Rose felt the familiar warm tingle and knew the doctor was working her magic. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily through her mouth as she waited for the final diagnosis. A few moments passed before Dr. Nesbitt pulled back. Rose opened her eyes as she took a few moments to compose herself. Rose knew it was just a part of grounding herself and she waited until the doctor was ready.

Dr. Nesbitt shuddered and let out a deep breath. “You have a chronic sinus infection, one of the worst I have ever seen.”

“Great.” Rose sniffed again. “Is there anything that can be done about it?”

“It's pretty bad.” A line formed between the doctor's eyebrows as she thought. “Normally I would prescribe an antibiotic to help fight it, but with your pregnancy—”

“It might affect the baby. Yeah, I figured that,” Rose finished with a sigh. Her hands rested once again on her stomach. The baby wiggled around and Rose quickly moved her hands away.

Dr. Nesbitt continued. “I can give you a nonprescription nose spray. That would help.”

“I hope.”

“I have some in a cabinet somewhere. I'll get it for you before you leave.”

“Thanks.”

“It would also be a good idea to lower the stress levels in your life. That could be the main reason why it's reoccurring.” She paused and looked up at Rose.

Rose didn't look at her. Instead, she trained her eyes to look beyond Dr. Nesbitt's head. Reducing her stress levels was a lot of ask for. After all, she was pregnant and uncertain just who the baby's father was: Jason or Simon. And Jason was gone. She was alone. How could she lower that? She let out a breath and refocused her eyes. Dr. Nesbitt had resumed looking at her clipboard.

“You haven't done any shifting have you? Had any unusual abdominal pains?” Rose looked at her in shock. She knew werewolves weren't supposed to shift during pregnancy. All the organs changing, constricting around her womb, were dangerous to an unborn child. Every female werewolf knew this, and so did Dr. Nesbitt.

“No, of course not. I'm not stupid.”

“I know that, Rose. At this point in your pregnancy, it's important to keep track of things like this. We don't want to endanger the baby.” Dr. Nesbitt paused and scribbled something. Her eyebrows furrowed together. “How have you been feeling?”

“Tired. Pukey. Stressed-out.”

“Depressed?” Rose closed her eyes. Here it is, she thought bitterly. Another lecture. She braced herself for it. She took a deep breath, reopened her eyes and stared at the doctor. Dr. Nesbitt's blue eyes stared straight into hers unflinchingly.

“Yeah, something like that...”

“Being depressed during pregnancy is normal.”

“Yeah,” Rose said again. She broke the stare a little irritably. “I've heard it all before.” There was a stony silence for a few moments. Rose stared at the bulge of her stomach. Her face felt hot. She heard Dr. Nesbitt shift her weight.

“I remember when your mother was pregnant with you...” Dr. Nesbitt spoke softly. Rose looked up.

“My mother?”

“Yes.” Dr. Nesbitt resumed her seat, rolling her chair closer to Rose. “I was Janet Faye Sullivan's physician. I knew her well.”

“I—” Rose stopped and shook her head. “I didn't know that.”

“I didn't think you did.” She reached for her hand and Rose obligingly allowed her to hold it. “You barely knew her. It was a shame what happened. She was taken away from you too quickly.”

“I barely remember her.” Rose blinked a few times and her face hardened. She couldn't remember her mother, but she remembered the car accident that claimed her parent's lives. “Why are you bringing her up?”

“Your mother was very concerned for your safety. Everything she did, she did for you, for her child. She—”

“Deborah,” Rose sighed, breaking the formality by using her first name. “Don't lay the guilt on me.”

“I'm not laying any guilt on you. I'm just trying to help you.”

Rose went silent and pulled her hand away from her. She licked her lips. “Don't do this, Deborah,” she said finally, in a low voice. “Don't try to tell me—”

“Rose, I'm just trying to help you.”

“I don't need your help,” Rose shouted.

Dr. Nesbitt didn't hesitate. “But your baby does.”

Rose felt cold suddenly, as if the temperature had just dropped. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fight the chill. She was no longer angry. She was scared. “The baby?”

Dr. Nesbitt nodded once.

Rose let out a deep breath and lowered her head. She felt ashamed that she had let her anger get so out of hand. She wanted to apologize but she didn't.

“I only want to help you and help your baby,” Dr. Nesbitt said in a soft voice. Rose looked away.

There was a long pause. The clock on the wall ticked the seconds away and Rose lifted her eyes to it. Time was something constant, something that always existed, but it was always changing. Time went on.

It was nice to know some things were certain.

“Glen told me,” Dr. Nesbitt said suddenly, bringing Rose out of her thoughts. She blinked a few times, eyes focusing on the doctor's face. She didn't comprehend at first.

“What?”

Dr. Nesbitt hesitated. “Glen ... told me.”

“What?” Rose sat up, her paper gown crinkling a bit with her movements. “What did he tell you?”

“He was concerned for your health, so he confided in me, in the strictest confidence.”

Rose barely heard her words. Heat rose to her face. “What did he tell you?” She repeated in a lower voice.

“He told me what happened with Jason, why he left. He told me about—”

“No, please don't say his name.”

“—Simon.”

Rose lifted her gaze, staring angrily at Dr. Nesbitt. The doctor's blue eyes met hers daringly and she saw the concern and—from what Rose could tell—the pity in them. She stiffened her back, prepared to defend herself, but it wasn't necessary. Dr. Nesbitt backed away, grabbing her clipboard looking it over again.

The silence was heavy in the room once more. Rose moved a bit, her gown crinkling loudly. Dr. Nesbitt had her back turned and her head lowered over her desk. Rose heard her sigh then drop the clipboard.

“He said this would happen,” she said softly. “He said you would get defensive, angry.”

“Remind me to yell at him about it later,” Rose answered bitterly. Dr. Nesbitt didn't respond. Instead, she turned to look at Rose. There was a moment's silence.

“I know there is no easy solution to what you're experiencing, but you must be careful. You not only have yourself, Rose, your child needs you to be healthy to survive. And you need to look past who the child's father is because this baby is just as much a part of you as he is,” Dr. Nesbitt paused. Her eyes turned steely grey and stern as she regarded her. “It's not just about you anymore.”

She was stunned silent. Her anger melted slightly. Rose took the words in, allowing them to sink fully into her mind.

“I know your upset, Rose—I would be too—but Glen only told me because he was worried.”

“He promised not to tell—”

“Rose.” The edge in her voice made her shut up. Rose glared daggers at her and snapped her mouth shut. “Let's not argue. It's getting us nowhere.”

“All right,” Rose said stiffly. “If we're not going to talk any more, can we finish this?” The metal bed was growing uncomfortable and her palms were starting to sweat.

Dr. Nesbitt waited a moment then nodded. She snatched up the clipboard and her pen and wrote quickly. The obstetrical visit had quickly turned into a disaster. They said nothing to each other as the doctor poked and prodded Rose, drawing blood for tests and doing another psychic scan on her stomach.

“Nothing seems out of place,” she said when she pulled back. She wrote again and avoided looking at Rose. “The baby seems pretty healthy, but very small for the third trimester. You're slightly anemic as well. I want you on a strict diet with lots of protein and iron. And I want you to get a lot of rest. Try not to do too much. You need to lower your stress levels.”

Rose listened, but her gaze didn't follow the doctor's movements. She stared at the door, mulling over what Deborah had said. What exactly had Glen told her? What did she know about her situation with Simon? She gave a slight shake of her head, a strand of her dark hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it away and stared at the doctor.

Being a short woman, Dr. Nesbitt had to stand on the very tips of her toes to grab hold of the nose spray. She handed it to Rose, their eyes meeting.

“Use this every three hours to help fight the infection.”

“Are we done here?”

“Yes, we're finished.” Dr. Nesbitt's smile faded. “Please don't be upset about what we talked about. I was just trying to help. Glen was just trying to help.”

“I know.” Rose nodded then added in a soft voice, “thanks.”

Dr. Nesbitt's smile returned. “I'll see you in a couple weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll let you get dressed then. See you in a few minutes.”

“All right.” The doctor left, closing the door softly behind her. Rose stared at the door for a few moments, hesitating before moving. She thought about what Dr. Nesbitt had said and some of her words made sense. She pushed them around in her mind, moving her hands idly over her belly. She lifted the paper gown and rubbed flesh against flesh. The baby moved around and Rose shuddered.

She thought of her mother, tried to imagine what she must've gone through. Her mother never had to go through what Rose had with Simon, with Jason. Her mother didn't have to worry who the father of her child was. She didn't have to cry into her pillow every night because her husband had left her. No, her mother had been a good woman.

She had done the right thing to take care of her daughter and she wasn't alone in doing it. A tear splashed on Rose's naked arm bringing her out of her reverie. She hastily wiped her eyes and looked up at the clock. It was the middle of the afternoon and her appointment had taken longer than necessary due to Dr. Nesbitt's lecture and her own stubbornness. It was over though, and she was thankful for that.

She dressed quickly, having a little difficulty bending to retrieve her shoes, but managed to slip them on. She had given up on shoelaces. Her stomach was too big for her to bend down comfortably to tie them. And she hated maternity clothes. They didn't seem very flattering over her grossly enlarged stomach. The rest of her body seemed right, but her stomach was huge. At first, she had wondered if she was going to give birth to a whole little, but Dr. Nesbitt assured her there was just one baby and a small one at that.

She wore the clothes anyway. In a month it wouldn't matter. The baby would be born. And then what? What are you going to do once the baby is born? Leave the baby with the PRDI and go out looking for him? He's not coming back.

The baby kicked fiercely and leapt within her. Rose groaned, grabbing at her stomach.

“Stop that,” she hissed. She felt the baby stop and settle again. It was as if the kid new about her anxiety. She took a few deep breaths. “I swear, you know more about things than I do,” she whispered. Between her worry about Jason, her annoyance with Dr. Nesbitt, and her busy schedule, she pushed her thoughts and worries about the baby out of her mind. She had other things to do, like welcoming the new arrival to the PRDI.

Rose checked the clock again, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. She had half an hour to finish getting ready, to gather up the paperwork for the new member arriving this afternoon, and talk to Glen about a few things.

And boy was she ever going to talk to him.

She finished getting dressed and left.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two

“Davis, where are the new admission's papers?” He released the intercom button and tossed a handful of useless papers aside.

A moment later, Davis Miller's voice called back, irritated. “You don't have to yell,” he said, his voice a bit distorted with static through the intercom. “I don't have the papers. They should be in the inbox on your desk.” Glen Cole let out a deep breath and stared at the intercom. He hit the button again.

“Well, there's nothing there.”

“Then sorry. Can't help you.” The intercom went silent.

“Great,” Glen shook his head, “Just fucking great.” He glanced over his desk. Papers were strewn about; his computer keyboard was covered in them. But the ones he needed weren't there.

He couldn't find the admission papers and the new arrival was due to arrive at any moment. He paused a moment, staring at the papers. Maybe Pierce could help.

He pressed another button on the intercom. “Pierce, where are the new admission's papers?”

There was silence for a long moment before Pierce answered. Like Davis, he sounded very annoyed. “I don't have them and I don't know where they are. Stop bothering me.”

Glen narrowed his eyes at the intercom and shook his head. He hit the button again. “Some second-in-command you are. You know how disorganized I am. This is why you're here.”

But Pierce didn't answer. It was just as well. Glen didn't want to hear any more of his shit. Pierce was perhaps the worst person for the position of second-in-command. He would have much rather had Davis or someone else he trusted in the position. They needed a change in regime. But that was something he would have to deal with another day. Right now, he needed the damn admissions papers.

He turned back to his desk, staring at the impossible mess. He struggled to remember just where he had last seen the papers. Today was not shaping up to be a very good one. He bent over to pick at a few of the papers when there was a knock at the door. He could smell her scent, strong and feminine.

“Hello, Rose.”

“Hello, Glen.” Her voice sounded stiff, formal. He knew she was pissed. He lowered his head and didn't turn to look at her.

“How did the appointment go?” He asked the question, but immediately wished he hadn't. He knew how it had gone. Part of him had warned him against talking to Dr. Nesbitt directly about Rose and the situation, but he hated to see her hurting herself and the welfare of his future little cousin. He only tried to do what was right, but the wrath of his cousin was horrible—even more so now that she was pregnant.

But he would have to face her sooner or later.

He heard her sigh and shuffle her feet. Slowly, he half-turned and caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. Her pregnant belly was the first thing he saw, protruding through a flowery maternity shirt that seemed somehow too big for her. For a pregnant woman, she seemed small, save for her stomach. Her face seemed pinched and her bright blue eyes too large for her face.

He turned to face her fully and met her burning stare. She was pissed, her eyes dancing with flashes of gold. She leaned against the doorframe, a newspaper folded in her hand. She stared at him for a long time before she spoke.

“You know damn well how it went.”

Glen sucked in a breath in preparation for an onslaught of angry yelling, but she went silent. She shook her head, strands of her shoulder-length dark hair whipping across her face.

“I'm sorry, Rose.”

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I don't want to hear any apologies, Glen. You broke a promise to me.” She took a few steps into the room. The door shut behind her with a soft click. The room became dark suddenly and it enfolded her. Only her eyes were bright in it. “You told!”

Glen studied her face. Her eyes were severe, locking him in her gaze. He thought he saw a glimmer of tears, but he could've been mistaken. “I'm sorry, Rose. I was trying to help you.”

“I don't want your fucking help,” she snapped.

He had to take a few deep breaths to keep from lashing out at her. He clenched his fists tightly and his fingernails dug into his palms. Of all the things that had happened to them over the past few years—Simon, the deaths at the PRDI, Jason splitting, which hit Glen closer to home than he liked to admit—Rose neglecting herself and her unborn child was at the threshold of his withheld feelings.

“Rose, stop this,” he began, closing his eyes so he didn't have to look directly at her, “You are eight months pregnant. You have a baby you need to be worrying about—”

“Simon's baby,” she interrupted in a low voice. Glen suddenly could not hold his anger in any more. He had had about enough of this. His eyes flew open and he glared at her.

“You don't know that.” He spoke between clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice down. “You know this kid could be just as much Jason's—”

“But it's not! I can feel it, Glen. I can tell. This kid is not Jason's. It's Simon's. It's Simon's baby—” Rose's hands began to shake and she let out a shuddering breath. Glen was suddenly at her side, offering an arm to her.

She refused.

“I'm fine. I'm not going to faint.” She took a couple deep breaths. Regardless of what she had said, she looked as if she could drop at any moment.

“Here, sit down.” He grabbed his desk chair and rolled it toward her, but she shook her head and stepped away.

“I said I was fine. I don't need your coddling.”

“I'm not—” he started to say, but stopped. “Okay, fine.” He pulled the chair away from her and sat in it himself. “I can be stubborn, too.” He moved his chair closer to his desk and started going through the papers again.

Rose watched him for a moment. “I'm not being stubborn.”

“Oh, really?” His tone was sarcastic.

Rose let it go. “Yes. I'm being realistic.”

“No, you're being stupid and stubborn.” He looked up at her. He was angry with her now and not trying to hide it. “I am just trying to help you. Dr. Nesbitt is just trying to help you. You are going to have to let us.”

“I don't need your help. I don't need you telling everyone about my problems when you get just a teeny bit worried about me.”

“A teeny bit worried? Rose, I'm terrified...”

“It doesn't matter. Next time, keep your mouth shut. We've talked about this before. I don't want everyone knowing about—”

“I know that, but with Dr. Nesbitt—you can trust Deborah. You've known her for as long as I have. I thought if I told her about it, she could help you out more.”

“Well, thanks a lot, Glen. You succeeded in making me feel worse than I already do.” She sniffed loudly.

“I'm sorry for that, I really am.” He paused. “Sinuses still bothering you?”

“Fuck yes. I hate it. I can't smell a damn thing.”

“Did she give you anything for it?”

“Yeah, some nose spray stuff. Not sure if it will work.”

“Are you going to even try it?” Rose shot him an angry glance. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Glen raised an eyebrow slightly. “Well.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “I just wonder if you're going to use it, considering it would mean accepting her help, in a sense.”

Rose stared at him blankly for a moment, mulling over his words. She realized he had backed her into a corner. She sighed. “Fine, maybe I do need help.”

“Finally, she admits it.” Glen grinned.

“Oh shut up,” Rose snapped at him, but it wasn't really in anger. The tension between them had eased up a bit. “Yeah, maybe I do need help, but I don't need you telling everyone about ... that.”

“Hey, it was a one time thing, I swear.”

“It had better.” Now that they were no longer at each other's throats, Rose smiled. “Don't let it happen again.”

“No problem. You think I like it when you're pissed at me?”

Rose couldn't help it. She had to laugh. “No, I guess not. I'm sorry. It's the hormones.”

“It's a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” Rose trailed off into silence. She sighed and thought for a moment. “Look, Glen, I really am sorry I snapped—”

“It's okay, really.” He stood and walked to her. Standing over six feet tall, he towered over her. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and looked down at her. “You have a lot on your plate. I don't like having to tell you what to do. I'm Head of the PRDI and all those associated with us are under my responsibility, and you are doubly so, being my cousin. I just want to help you.” He paused and moved his hand to her stomach. He smiled. “And help my little cousin.”

Rose smiled a little and moved his hand away. “I'll try to do better with it. Now that we got all that messy business out of the way...” She thrust the folded newspaper toward him. “You need to look at this.”

“What is it?” He unfolded it to the center page and skimmed over the headlines.

Rose took his empty seat and eased herself into it. “It's Simon.”

“I see,” he said, finally finding what she wanted him to see. He read the headline aloud. “'Body of Man Found Mutilated in Woods'.”

“It's the same woods, same description...”

“Definitely Simon.” Glen read through the short article. “They haven't identified him yet, and it looks like they are chalking it up to an animal attack, as usual.”

“Look at the date.”

Glen folded the paper and looked at the bold black print. “May twenty-second of this year—wait, this is last month's paper—”

“Yeah, I found it in the recycle bin. Looks like we need to stay brushed up on our current events.”

“Man.” Glen ran a hand over his head, brushing back a strand of long black hair that had fallen loose from the braid he normally wore it in. “We completely overlooked this.”

“I've looked through some of the recent papers, but there was nothing in it about him, about that. I guess no one cares.”

“I'd be glad to keep it that way too.” Glen folded the paper again and tossed it among the pile on his desk. “Guess I'm going to have to have a little talk with Davis about keeping things like this on top priority.”

“Davis probably didn't know. He's not really one to read the newspapers anyway, not since—” She stopped and took in a breath. “Not since Claire died.”

“He hasn't really wanted to do anything, really. I don't blame him though,” Glen folded his arms over his chest and affixed his eyes to the floor. “But he's got to snap out of it sooner or later.”

Rose looked away quickly when Glen snapped his eyes to her. The same could be said of herself about Jason and they both knew it. Rather than have it brought up, Rose turned her head quickly away. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, where an ache had begun.

Glen's eyebrows touched in the center. “You all right?”

“Yeah, just more sinus pain.”

“Do you need to lie down? You can, if you want. I can handle the new arrival.”

“No, no, I'm fine.” She shook her head. “I want to meet her, I really do. It keeps me occupied.”

“Are you sure? I can do it. It'll be no trouble.”

“No, Glen. It's all right.” She smiled a little. “She'll be here any moment.”

“Better get ready then.”

“I am.” She eased out of the chair with Glen's help. “I just need to get down the stairs and I'll be all right.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Glen, stop asking that.” She even laughed a little, which surprised Glen. It had been a long time since he had heard her laugh. Female hormones were a strange thing, and pregnant ones were even worse. One minute she was ready to tear his head off and the next she was laughing. Glen shook his head and chuckled back.

“Can't help it, kiddo. I worry about you and the little pup you're carrying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me down the stairs.”

Glen walked with her to the door and then stopped. “Oh shit, the admissions papers...”

“Don't worry,” Rose touched his arm. “I have them on my desk.”

“Oh, Rose. What would I do without you?”

She only smiled as he led the way out of the room.

* * * *

* * * *

The room was small and cramped. It smelled stale from lack of ventilation and was poorly lit. The only real light came from the monitor screens he stared at. They flashed intermittently, showing through the cameras, one room in the PRDI to another. The front doors remained constantly under surveillance. He stared at the image of the front steps on the monitors in front of him and narrowed his eyes.

A new werewolf was due to arrive today and he had a horrible feeling about it. He had gone over the admissions papers and everything seemed in order, but something about it unsettled him. It wasn't the sort of feeling he could ignore. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, made the wolf within him want to growl.

But Davis Miller did well enough to hold it all inside.

He shifted his weight in his chair, leaning back a bit to cross his arms over his chest. His eyes flickered briefly from the monitors to the door of the security room. Another camera was positioned just outside the door and he checked it quickly. There was no one there, but he could've sworn he saw something.

He couldn't just dismiss it. There might've been a time, years ago, even months ago, when he might've just passed it off, but not now. He was more vigilant now, since his girlfriend and fellow packmate, Claire Hennessey, had been brutally murdered by a werewolf on PRDI property. He made a vow to never let anything like that ever happen again, even appointing himself, against Glen's orders, as head of the PRDI security.

The new position gave him a sense of purpose. It gave him a reason to live, to keep other brutal murders from happening.

But his purpose came too late. No matter how many people lived because of his observant watch, it was still not enough to change what had happened. Claire was not coming back. She was dead by Simon's hand—claws, he reminded himself—and the pain of it still burned.

He tried not to think of her, but like always, found he couldn't. He stood up and began to pace the floor.

Claire was a human—the only one in their pack—and it was under unfortunate circumstances that they met. They had first befriended one another when they had been working in Simon's little hunter group. Later, when he had been betrayed by Simon, and after Claire had gotten up the nerve to leave, they became closer. They became lovers, though their relationship was riddled with difficulties from the very beginning.

Because Davis was still awakening to his half-blood werewolf nature, Claire had been hesitant in committing to a full-time relationship. There were other factors, but Davis couldn't focus on them now. He only saw her face, framed by her blonde hair with her piercing brown eyes locked on his.

He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He clenched his hands together and willed her away. He loved her still, but thinking of her was too much. There was too much pain. He opened his eyes and looked into the monitor.

A female figure stood at the PRDI's front door, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The black and white image of her looked over her shoulder and Davis narrowed his eyes. It was definitely the new arrival. She looked just like her photograph. There was something familiar about her, something that troubled him, but he couldn't quite place it.

A moment later, her finger touched the buzzer and the sound rang throughout the room. Davis shut it off quickly by hitting the buzzer console on his security counter. He then hit the button to activate the intercom for the outside.

“There is an intercom to your right. Press down on the red button to state your name and business here,” he said in a monotone, reciting the instructions for new arrivals and unknowns from heart. “When you are done, release the button.”

“My name is Nola Anderson,” she said, her voice slightly wavering. “I'm here to start learning about things?” She finished in a question.

Davis waited a moment, to see if she would clarify. When she didn't, he hit the intercom again. “What kind of things?”

Nola looked uncertain. Her eyes flickered up, toward the camera, then back over her shoulder. She hit the button again, leaning close to it.

“Werewolf things,” she barely whispered.

It was her, he finally decided. The photograph resemblance was spot on and her name and purpose confirmed it. He nodded, though she couldn't see it, and hit the release for the door lock.

Even from the security room, he heard it click loudly in the downstairs foyer. He watched Nola on the monitor. She hesitated a moment but pushed open the door and entered the PRDI.

Davis didn't wait to see her shut the door. He left the security room and exited to the right of the downstairs foyer. The spacious room allowed for many echoes and he heard her footfalls as she stepped further into the place and stop.

Nola stood just in the doorway, the heavy wooden door closing behind her with an audible thud. She jumped slightly and spun to look behind her. She spotted Davis immediately and froze.

“Hi,” she said tentatively. “I'm Nola.”

Davis didn't respond. He studied her. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swung just above her shoulders. Her eyes, a rich deep brown, stared right into his. Once more, he thought he recognized her from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it.

He sniffed the air, trying to catch her scent but he came up with nothing. Being a half-blood had its disadvantages, including the inability to sniff out others of their kind unless they were full-bloods. Davis felt a slight growl start at the back of his throat but masked it as a cough.

He cleared his throat. “Glen should be with you in a moment.” He studied her a moment longer. She was dressed in a brown leather jacket and jeans. A white, ruffled shirt and designer boots finished the ensemble and Davis had to admit it had a stunning affect. Her earrings bobbed when she nodded. She looked to be about his age, but could've been younger.

“All right,” she said. “What's your name?”

“Davis,” he obliged then disappeared back into the security room. He had responsibilities, and wasting time out here with a new arrival was not among them. The door slammed behind him, leaving Nola alone in the foyer.

But she was not left unwatched. He resumed his seat at the security terminal and watched her black and white image once again on the monitor. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other then set down the heavy-looking duffel bag. Her gaze scanned the room.

Davis couldn't help but feel a little bad for leaving her alone, but he couldn't help it. Something about her rubbed him the wrong way. It was something in her eyes, something in the way she carried herself. He let out a breath as he continued to watch her.

She took a few steps forward, turning a full circle. Her gaze circled with her, eyeing the walls, the carpet, the fixtures...

And the cameras.

Her gaze flickered to the camera he was watching, she seemed to stare right at him. He sat up in his seat and stared back. He narrowed his eyes, though she shouldn't be able to see the suspicion in them.

It seemed it was an eternity before her lips spread slowly across her face into a smirk that was undeniably sinister.

Then hair on the back of Davis's neck stood up for real.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three

He was cute, she decided, but she knew he wasn't her type. Definitely, not her type. Still, she would enjoy teasing him, if she could.

Her gaze roved the room, eyeing the rich tapestries and antique fixtures. She quickly found where the cameras were and she memorized their locations. She knew he must be watching one of them, and just for kicks she smirked.

It wasn't as much fun as she had thought it would be since she couldn't see his reaction. Bored, she looked away from the camera and turned her eyes to the stairs. She sniffed first, catching the scent of full-blood werewolves and humans. From this distance she could recognize that much, but there were still things she did not understand, things she needed to know.

And she knew this was the perfect place to start. Several weeks ago she had sent in her application for admittance, and it had been accepted. As of two minutes ago, when she stepped into the Institute, she was a student and a member of the PRDI. She was ready to begin what she had come here to do: to learn, to discover.

Her sensitive hearing picked up the sounds of footsteps, she watched as a male and an obviously pregnant female started down the stairs toward her. Immediately, she caught their scent. She recognized the male as the Head of the PRDI. His goateed face and long black hair were unmistakable as she had seen his picture in the newspaper several times.

Nola smiled widely and crossed the floor to meet them at the foot of the stairs. Glen supported the pregnant woman but she waved her hand and he moved away. She leaned against the banister as he stepped forward and took front. He wiped a hand on his jeans and extended it to her.

“Hello, you must be the new arrival. I'm Glen Cole, Head of the PRDI.” His hand was warm and his grip firm. Nola looked up into his dark brown eyes and smiled.

“I'm Nola Anderson. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello, Nola.” The woman spoke up and Nola turned her attention to her. Her smile faltered for a moment, but quickly returned, brighter than ever.

“Hi. You are—?”

“Rose. Rose Barnett. I'm an instructor here. Well, sort of an instructor...”

Glen chuckled a bit as Rose came to stand beside him. “Rose is my assistant. She helps new people when they arrive, to better get them get acquainted with the building and how it runs. She'll be showing you around in the days to come.”

There was a burning pause where Nola said nothing. She stared at Rose, taking in her appearance. Their eyes met and she blinked once.

“I look forward to it,” she answered finally, but it sounded forced, even to her.

Rose looked at her carefully and furrowed her brow. “Have we met before?”

Nola shook her head and took one step back. “No, I don't think so. I've never been here before.”

“You look familiar...”

“I have that kind of face. Everyone thinks they've met me before.”

“Must be,” Rose said, her voice trailing off. She shrugged slightly and turned to Glen. He was looking at Nola, his face impassive.

“Rose will show you to your room and help you get settled. The kitchen is down the hall to your right and there's a recreation room to the left.”

Nola nodded, her eyes leaving Rose and turning back to him. The smile she gave him was radiant. “And your office?”

“It's upstairs, last door on the left.”

“So I can just come to you, if I need anything?” She spoke her words in a different tone, a finger idly toying with a strand of her hair. Rose lifted an eyebrow at her and glanced sideways at Glen.

“My room is downstairs,” Rose said. “I'll show you later. Glen's a very busy man, so if you need anything, you can come directly to me and I'll relay anything I can't help you with straight to him.” Suddenly, Rose had a strong urge to boot Nola out of the house. But it wasn't her place to do so, and besides ... she hadn't done anything except make her feel uneasy.

“Okay.” Nola beamed her bright smile at Rose again, but her eyes were back on Glen in a matter of seconds. “I wouldn't want to bother a man when he's really busy.”

Rose cleared her throat loudly. “Should we get started then? We'll show you to your room.”

“Sure. I am a bit tired. The bus ride was long.”

“Well, you can rest shortly. There's not a lot going on today. We have classes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,” Glen recited as they began walking down the hall. He motioned for Nola to follow. She snatched up her duffel bag and followed. “But today's one of our non-busy days.”

“What sort of classes do you have here?” Nola asked, looking around at the wall decorations as they moved down the wide corridor.

Glen answered. “We have classes on paranormal basics, like learning different types of psychic phenomena, creatures, abilities, and the like. We have specialized classes for growing psychics as well as for werewolves and vampires. We also have lectures every week.”

“Sounds cool. Can't wait to get started.”

The trio stopped and Rose turned to her. She waved a hand toward a door. “That is my room. If you need anything, at anytime, feel free to drop by.”

“All right.” Nola nodded, glancing toward the door and making a mental note of the room's location. “So, there are other werewolves here?”

“Yes, some. Davis—he's a half-blood—he was the one who buzzed you in,” Glen said.

“Yes, I met him, briefly.”

“There are others here. Rose and myself included,” he finished. “But we also cater to psychics, vampires, and whoever else might need some supernatural assistance.”

“And your baby,” Nola said, pointing at Rose's swollen belly. “Your baby's a werewolf right?”

Rose looked down, her face becoming blank. Her eyes glazed over. Slowly, absently she ran a hand along her stomach. She came around a moment later, blinking as she turned to look at Nola again.

“Yeah.”

“You two must be so proud. Congratulations,” Nola said, her smile plastered to her face.

“Oh no, no, no.” Glen's eyebrows flew up. “The kid's not mine.”

“Oh God, no,” Rose exclaimed. “He's my cousin. He's not the baby's father.”

“Oh! Oh, God. I am so sorry. I just assumed—” Nola shook her head, feeling heat rise quickly to her face. “I didn't mean to—I am so sorry!”

“You're lucky we're such good humored people,” Glen laughed.

“I guess so. But I should've known that.”

“What do you mean?” Rose stepped up in front of Glen and stared at Nola.

Nola felt the color drain away from her face. “I just mean I should've known because of what I've read about the PRDI.” Her eyes flew to Glen as if expecting him to step in and verify what she was saying. He didn't move save for the cross his arms over his chest as he waited for her to continue. “You're in all the newspapers.”

“I thought you were newly changed, a changed-blood,” he said. His tone was slightly suspicious.

“I am, but I've always been interested in the paranormal. I've followed the PRDI for—God—as long as I can remember. I'm fascinated by it. I really am sorry about that. I didn't mean to assume.”

Rose blinked a few times then nodded. “It's all right.” She turned back to Glen. “Can we finish up the tour? I'm suddenly not feeling well.”

“Sure. We'll show you to your room, Nola, but we'll have to postpone the rest of the tour for later.”

“Hey, no problem. I think I'm too tired for a full tour anyway. Think I might just crash instead.” They walked a few steps more and reached her room, just three doors down from Rose's.

“This is it.” Glen removed the key to it from his pocket and handed it over. “It's completely private, fully furnished. You get to keep this key. I have the only other copy. If anything happens, and you decide to leave, I'll be asking for it back.”

“Got it.” She slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The door eased open and she stepped inside.

“The light switch is to your right,” Rose prompted.

“That's all right.” She popped her head inside. “I can see fine.”

“Great,” Glen answered. “We'll let you get some rest. If you need anything—”

“I'll go to Rose's room. Yeah, I got it.” She turned her head back and smiled at them both. “Thank you guys so much for allowing me here. I really hope to get to know you better and learn more about what I am.”

“Don't mention it,” Rose answered.

Nola, still smiling, stepped into her room and left them in the hall.

* * * *

* * * *

She waited until she heard their footfalls fade into silence before she moved away from the door and let out a breath of relief. Her hand still rested on the doorknob, when she withdrew it she found it wet with sweat. She wiped it on her jeans and dropped her duffel bag. It thudded softly as it hit the plush carpet. Her hand fumbled for the light switch and she flicked it on.

The room flooded with bright light from overhead and from a bedside lamp. The sudden brightness burned her eyes and Nola squinted until her eyes adjusted. The room was nice, better than some of the hellhole hotels she had stayed in. There was a desk and a dresser and she spied a closet on the left side of the wall. There was a closed door on the right, probably the bathroom.

I could get used to this, she decided as she pulled her duffel bag across the carpeting and hauled it with one arm onto the bed. I could get used to this, but I really don't want to.

The first thing she did before unpacking was search the room. Her eyes were trained to scope out cameras and other security measures and she worked quickly. After a thorough look, she found there were no cameras here.

Perfect. She liked her privacy.

Quickly, she unzipped the bag and began to rummage around in it. She threw out handfuls of shirts and pants, toiletries, and other items she had packed until she found what she was looking for. She withdrew the bundle and laid it out beside the tangle of clothes. Carefully, she unfolded the cloth and withdrew a pair of identical pistols and their holsters.

A smirk spread over her lips as she stared at them. She ran a hand over the nickel plating on the side of the gun and closed her fingers around the grip. She lifted it, feeling its weight in her hand. It would be wonderful if she got a chance to use it, but she had brought them only as a precaution. It would be senseless to use them unless she had to.

Her smile turned into a tight lipped frown as she put the gun back down and picked up another, smaller bundle wrapped up within the first.

She unrolled the cloth and took aside the extra clips and ammunition. She placed them beside the guns and studied the effect. She would have to find a decent hiding place for them. It was a decidedly good thing there were only two sets of keys to her room. She despised the idea of someone sneaking in and snooping through her stuff. She really didn't need that.

Her gaze flickered back to the duffel bag. She had other things in there she needed to put away, but right now, there was something else she needed to do. Nola stripped off her leather jacket and tossed it on the bed so it covered the guns. She withdrew her cell phone from the pocket and quickly dialed a number.

“Miguel, it's me,” she said when he picked up. “I'm in.”

“Good, chica.” Miguel's Spanish accent was like silk running over her skin. “Any problems?”

“There are always problems,” she said irritably. She grabbed something from her duffel bag and crossed the floor. The room did have its own bathroom, and she pushed open the door and flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulb burned brightly and she stopped for a moment to take it in.

The bathroom was large, not huge, but larger than any she was used to. There was a bathtub, with shower nozzle, that looked as if it could fit three people. A sink with an immense and immaculate counter space and the mirror above it covered an entire wall. She blinked a few times before getting a grip on herself.

“What are the problems?”

She shouldered the phone so she had both hands free. She slammed the contact case on the counter and leaned forward so she could get to her eyes. “He's not here,” she spoke even as she took her contacts out. “I don't know where he is, but he's not here.”

“But the girl is there, yes?”

“Yes, she's here,” she answered bitterly as she put the contacts away. She blinked her eyes a few times to clear her vision. “But he's not. He's the reason I came here.”

“Plan B?”

“I guess it'll have to be. I wasn't counting on it. Hell, I wasn't counting on a lot of things.”

“You're doing fine,” he chuckled. “Didn't I tell you?”

“Shut up, Miguel. I have to think. I have to change everything because of this.”

“Not everything. Just adapt.”

“Yeah, adapt.” She laughed, staring at her reflection. The natural green of her eyes took in the light, gleaming brighter than ever. “I've done a hell of a lot of adapting.”

“I know, but this is what you wanted.”

“Fuck yes. I want this more than anything. Fuck, Miguel. I have to cut this short. Nola needs to be resting and I need to be figuring out my next step.”

“Sure thing. Let me ask you one thing?”

“Shoot.”

“Do they suspect anything?”

“They aren't exactly a trusting lot, so yeah, they're naturally suspicious. It'll take a while before I can get close enough, but no, they don't know it's me.”

“Wonderful.” She could hear the smile in his voice but she was feeling a little less than amused.

“Guess my high school drama lessons paid off,” she said, her voice going flat. “I have to go, Miguel. I'll call you later.”

“Yes. Stick to the plan, Nola.” The name just rolled off his tongue and made her shiver. “And you'll have your revenge soon enough.” He hung up and her phone went silent.

She leaned forward on the sink, clutching the cell phone in her hand. She stared at the display until it went black.

“I'll have my revenge,” she said aloud in a low, haunting voice. She lifted her eyes, staring at her reflection. She watched as her green eyes changed before her, becoming yellow, wolfen. A grin made its way across her mouth, showing off elongated teeth in a dangerous grimace.

“I'll have that and so much more...”

* * * *

* * * *

Rose shook her head at Nola's door after they saw her inside.

“Wow, she's certainly enthusiastic,” she said as she began to walk the short distance back to her room. Glen walked with her. “Are you sure she's a changed-blood? I can't smell anything with this damn congestion.”

“Yeah, she's definitely a were.” He stopped outside of her room. “She's new, but she sounds almost like she knows what she's talking about.”

“Yeah, and I don't like that about her.”

“Rose—”

“No, Glen, listen to me. I'm getting a strange feeling about her. I can't explain what it is, but it's like I've met her before. I don't like her.”

“Don't tell me you're developing psychic powers, too.”

Rose sucked in a breath at the verbal blow. She didn't need the reminder about why Jason had left. She closed her eyes. Her headache had begun to pound ruthlessly against her sinuses. She felt the pressure just behind her eyes and nose. She rubbed the bridge of her nose again.

“No, I don't think so. It's instinct. The wolf doesn't like her. And I can't even catch her scent to tell if I do know her or not.”

“Probably not, Rose. If you did know her, then I think I would too. I didn't recognize her scent.”

“Wish I could be sure of that myself,” Rose grumbled. “I can't help being suspicious.”

Glen sighed a bit and touched her shoulder. “I suggest you don't let it bother you. You've got too much on your mind anyway. Go lay down. Rest for a bit. I can handle anything that comes up.”

She knew better than to argue with him. Besides, she was too tired. She only nodded in agreement. Glen watched her a moment.

“It was kinda funny though, when she thought we were a couple.” A grin widened on Glen's face. Rose shuddered overdramatically.

“Gross.” She stuck her tongue out at him and then laughed when Glen embraced her. It was easy to laugh when he did it. He wrapped one arm around her and hugged her close.

“I love you, kid.”

She kissed his stubbly cheek. “Yeah, I know. People just can't help it.”

“Damn straight. Glad you're not upset anymore.”

“I'm too tired to be upset.”

“You are looking a little pale.”

“Yeah, I just need to lie down for a bit. Been busy today.”

“I know. Get some rest. Do you want me to wake you in a few hours for dinner?”

“Yeah, sure. That'll be fine.”

“Good. Maybe we can finish showing Nola around then. She'll probably be hungry then too.”

Rose's smile faded. She didn't like the idea of being around Nola again, but it couldn't be helped. How strange that her attitude changed from wanting to meet her, to loathing the young woman in such a short time after meeting her. It was probably her hormones bothering her. She nodded a little to herself at the explanation.

Glen squeezed her shoulder. “I'll see you later.” He kissed the top of her head. “Sleep well. Oh, and you can give me the admissions papers later so I can file them away.”

“All right. Thanks, Glen.”

He smiled at her one final time then walked away. His footfalls echoed and disappeared as he vanished down the hall. She waited outside her room for a moment before pulling out her key and unlocking the door.

She pushed it open easily and entered. The room was dark, but Rose's werewolf vision cut through the shadows quickly. It was great having night vision, she had always thought, but now she wanted to see nothing but the back of her eyelids.

She shut the door behind her and flipped the light switch on. Regardless of how well she could see in the dark, she needed light. Her room was well furnished; Glen had seen to that. Some of the furniture from the cabin she and Jason once shared was supposed to make it feel more like home, but it did the opposite. It made her feel alone, trapped. It reminded her constantly that Jason was gone and might not be coming back.

She dropped her keys on the desk near the door, pausing once to look at the dark computer screen. She hadn't turned it on in weeks. Her job writing human interest articles was long gone. Her editors claimed her work was lacking and sporadic. She missed several deadlines, so they let her go. Rose didn't really mind. Money was no longer an issue since she had received part of Claire's inheritance. The job held too much stress anyway.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse that she was no longer doing what she loved, writing.

Even her creative urges seemed quelled. The books she had once written and self-published seemed like a dream. They hadn't done well. Her portrayal of the supernatural didn't seem fantastic enough and they flopped. Her books were never destined to be best sellers, but Rose had always been determined to follow up with something better. That dream had fallen into dust after Simon stepped into their lives a second time.

Without her writing and her job, there was nothing Rose could do. She didn't want to stay at the cabin alone in her condition. The place had been destroyed by Simon in one of his violent searches for her and Jason. She didn't want to stay there with the reminders of Jason and the remnants of Simon's destruction. Glen had been gracious to offer her a position on the PRDI team and to allow her to live there.

She sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed—our bed, she had to remind herself.

Rose eased back among the pillows and closed her eyes, her arms folding over her stomach. She could feel the baby move around. She pressed her hands against her stomach and felt the baby's firm kick.

The kid would be born in a month or so and then what? Like it or not, she was alone in this. The thought made her sinus headache feel worse, and she closed her eyes. It felt like a jackhammer was pounding on her brain and a knife slicing through her heart. She moved her hands from her stomach, no longer wanting to feel the baby move. Instead she rested them on her chest, feeling the steady beating of her heart.

It was a wonder it beat at all, she thought.

She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes. Her dresser, the only furniture she had from the mother she hardly knew, loomed in the corner. The mirror above the dresser reflected light from the overhead bulb and her reflection was illuminated.

But she didn't want to look at herself.

Her eyes focused on the glittering rings dangling on a silver chain from the center spoke at the top of the mirror. Her wedding ring and engagement ring, side by side, were tokens of love she once cherished. And just like the baby growing inside her, it was a painful memory of what had happened. She couldn't even wear them anymore.

Rolling over so she wouldn't have to face them, Rose closed her eyes and drew one of her pillows close to her body. She didn't like to think of it, but the nagging memories would not leave her alone. If Rose had a time machine, she would not hesitate to go back in time and change things. The first thing she would do is make sure Simon Conner was really dead the first time.

Then, Jason's obsession with him would've been quelled and there wouldn't be this irreparable rift between them. It would've stopped Simon's return and it would've stopped her from giving in and mating with him.

Rose still felt sick when she thought of Simon touching her. It made her feel even worse to think she had enjoyed it.

No, the wolf had enjoyed it, she reminded herself. She had been in heat, overcome by her uncontrollable lust and she had given in to Simon. If we hadn't had sex, then I wouldn't be pregnant, she thought. She felt definitely sure the child was Simon's, not Jason's.

She felt a wave of nausea suddenly and she didn't know if it was from the pregnancy or something else. She sighed and curled up around the pillow, resting it against the curve of her pooched-out stomach. She hated being pregnant. The vomiting, the back-aches, the heartburn, the swollen feet, and the sometimes sudden need to pee were definitely not on her list of favorite things. She was really starting to wish she did have that time machine.

Rose tried not to think about Jason or Simon or anything else. She was tired, her head hurt and she just wanted to sleep. She snuggled closer to her pillow and parted her lips, breathing through her mouth as she had grown accustomed to over the course of her sinus infection.

Soon, she was drifting off into sleep, the only time she didn't have to worry about the baby. The only time she was safe and free.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

He stood in the foyer of the PRDI's main building. He hated being here. He had found it to be a dangerous place for werewolves, or any supernatural creature for that matter, to congregate in or associate with. Nothing good had come from the PRDI. He had a firm dislike for the Institute, though it had served a suitable home for his mate and her cousin.

But it wasn't hatred Jason Barnett felt at this particular moment. It was confusion. The place looked the same, he noticed, but it didn't feel the same. There was a strange scent on the air. It smelled to him like lavender, soft and gentle. It was a lovely scent overall, but it didn't belong here.

Slowly, Jason began to look around, starting towards his right. There was a room there with the door closed. His eyes passed over it, turning to the staircase. There was nothing amiss there. The hallway seemed empty as well as he turned his vision full circle again. Blinking, he stepped forward.

The hair on his arms began to rise and he felt a chill course through his entire body. He tried not to shiver, but found the icy embrace too much to ignore. He stopped in the center of the foyer and focused his gaze directly in front of him. Something was happening.

From the shadows, a shape began to emerge. Jason tensed, his hand going for the gun he always kept holstered at his waist. He brought his fingers around it, about to remove it from its holster, when the shadows took on a definite shape.

His fingers didn't relax on his weapon as the ghostly form of a woman materialized in front of him. For a moment, she was ethereal. He could see right through to the wall behind her. Then a moment passed and she was whole.

She had the brightest red hair he had ever seen on a woman. It fell down her back in cascading curls, touching her waist. Her eyes were closed so it appeared as if she were sleeping, if that were possible to do standing up.

If it weren't for the one long grey streak of hair that fell against the right side of her face, and the small lines around her eyes and mouth, he would've guessed her to be a young woman. He blinked several times and wet his lips. Was she a ghost, some sort of apparition? He opened his mouth to speak but immediately shut it.

Her eyes flew open revealing brilliant green eyes. They shone like emeralds, sparkling with life. But she wasn't looking at him. It was as if she were looking through him. It puzzled him, but then again a lot of things did.

Like why he had come back to the PRDI? He didn't remember wanting to come here, he just suddenly was. He had been thinking of Rose, wondering how she was, and then he was here. He shook the thought away and studied the woman.

She was looking right at him, but without seeing him. Her skin was white, like the plain shapeless nightgown she wore. He watched her, waiting for her to move. He didn't have to wait very long.

Her lips moved as she said something, but even with his preternatural hearing, he couldn't hear what she said. He stepped back as she moved forward and turned her head toward the staircase. She moved toward it with slow, unearthly steps. Her gown trailed the floor behind her.

Uncertain just who she was—or what she was for that matter—or why she was here, Jason decided to follow. He eased his hand from the gun at his side and started after her.

The woman moved toward the steps, clearly not in a hurry to explore her surroundings. She paused more than once, stopping fully to look around. Her hand, quite solid, touched the banister.

“It's real.” Jason heard her whisper this time. “I'm really here.”

A puzzled look came over her face. Her pale eyebrows drew together in confusion and she withdrew her hand from the wall. “It's changed so much.”

She stood there for the longest time, not moving. Jason edged closer to her. Was she sleepwalking? Impossible. He knew enough about the supernatural to know that ghosts didn't sleep walk. A better question would be: what was she?

He puzzled on it more as he came to a stop just behind her. She was within touching distance, if he held his hand out at arm's length. Cold emanated from her, sending a shocking chill through Jason. Definitely ghostly.

But she was solid. To his knowledge, ghosts and spirits weren't solid. But what did he really know? He had never been a student of the PRDI. He knew nothing about this sort of thing.

He stretched out his hand, slowly, reaching to touch a stray strand of her hair as it fell across her shoulder, but she began to move and he hastily drew it back. She turned, but not fully. Her bright gaze scanned the room. Once more she mouthed something Jason couldn't catch then began to move once again, slowly heading down one of the long corridors.

Jason followed, curious but cautious. He resisted the temptation to open his mouth and demand who she was. She seemed to be sleepwalking. He had been through enough experiences with Rose's sleepwalking in the past to spot all the signs but there was something different. Though she moved languidly, there seemed to be a purpose to what she was doing and her eyes were clear—not glazed and spacey as Rose's had been when she would sleepwalk.

He continued to follow her as she made her way down the hallway. Though lit, the corridor was dim, crowded. He didn't let her out of his sight, trailing behind her only a few feet back. She stopped about halfway down the hall and turned her head to the right, staring at one of the doors.

“Here,” she whispered. He stopped when she did, daring not to breathe as she moved forward and put out her hand. It closed around the doorknob and pushed it open with ease. Jason peered around her shoulder.

The room was lit brightly and he could see a sleeping form lying on the bed. The woman slipped over the threshold into the room and stopped. Jason nearly collided into her, but stopped just in time, grabbing hold of the door to keep from falling forward.

“That woman,” she said softly. Her hand, shaking, drew to her mouth, touching her pale lips.

What woman? Jason wanted to ask, but he turned his head to look where her eyes had turned. The bed looked familiar—and so did the shape curled up in it. His heart literally stopped for a moment, then kicked back up again at super-speed when he recognized it as Rose. He took in a deep sniff.

It was definitely her.

She lay on her side, a pillow curled up to her stomach like she usually did when she slept. She still looked as beautiful as ever, her dark hair falling across her shoulder. Her lips were parted, her breathing soft.

This was the first time he had seen her in months. He suddenly felt a twinge of pain, of guilt when he looked at her. He had left her all alone. It seemed like ages ago, and for a moment he couldn't remember why he had done so.

Then memory hit him like a ton of bricks. It had to deal with Simon, with Rose's betrayal. It had to do with his growing psychic powers. Mostly, it had to deal with his fear. He feared hurting her. When Rose had returned home, smelling of sex and Simon, he went wild with rage. In that rage, he had almost forced her in his dominance. He had really hurt her.

So he had left for both reasons—to find out more about his psychic powers and to keep himself from hurting the only person he really loved.

He fought to keep from rushing to her side by pressing back against the door. He watched as the strange red-haired woman moved forward.

“This woman. Something about her, something sad...” She trailed off, blinking in confusion as she stared at her. She had moved quickly—Jason hadn't even seen her—and now stood at the foot of the bed.

A sudden surge of possessiveness and protectiveness coursed through him and the wolf within growled deep in his throat. The sound, clearly inhuman, broke the silence around them and startled the seemingly sleepwalking woman.

“Get away from her.”

The woman turned. She saw him now. Her mouth fell open and she froze.

“Get away from her. Leave her alone.” He started forward, but stopped. The woman was beginning to fade away, just as she had arrived. She became transparent, save for her eyes. They burned into him.

“Who are you?” she asked in barely a whisper. “You look just like him...”

But her voice faded away just as she did. Then she was gone and there was nothing left but shadow.

“Look like who?” Jason demanded into the thin air. He searched the room, wondering if she would materialize elsewhere. But she didn't. “Who do I look like?”

She was completely gone and Rose was beginning to stir in the bed. Jason turned to look at her as she began to sit up. Her eyes, merely slits in her sleep, fought to gain focus. She clutched the pillow about her midsection.

“Jason?” she murmured sleepily. She started to rub her eyes.

“Rose, I'm sorry,” he tried to say, but he found no sound came from him. The room was beginning to darken and the bed, with Rose in it, began to fade away.

“No.” He looked down. He was fading as well. He held up a hand. He could see right through it. “Rose!”

But Rose was gone now. There was nothing but darkness.

* * * *

* * * *

Rose sat up in bed, shivering. The room had grown very cold, far too cold for a June evening. She pulled the pillow closer to her stomach.

Something had woken her, but it wasn't just the cold air. She had heard a voice and it had sounded like Jason. For a moment, in her still sleepy mind, she thought she saw him, standing by the foot of her bed, but when she rubbed her eyes, he was gone.

It must've been a dream. It had to have been a dream—that, or her eyes were playing tricks on her. She rubbed them again to be sure. Jason wasn't there.

She sniffed and felt a sharp pain in her nose from her blocked nostrils. She sniffed again, but gained no relief. With a groan, Rose slid out of the bed and grabbing a handful of tissues from the bedside table. She blew her nose then sniffed again. She could breathe again but she knew it wouldn't last. Her sense of smell was still off.

She thought she could smell lavender, but there weren't any flowers in the room, and for a second, she thought she could smell Jason's scent.

Wishful thinking, she decided, and tried not to think on it as she made her way gingerly to the bathroom. The baby was pressing against her bladder again and she really had to go.

She made it just in time. As she peed, she thought about what she had seen. Jason was gone and he was never coming back. How could she have thought otherwise?

A heavy weight seemed to press against her heart and she felt ill suddenly. She finished up and stood in front of the sink. With an economy of motion, she washed her hands quickly, avoiding her gaze in the mirror in front of her as she tried to fight off the urge to vomit. She dried them with the hand-towel and glanced up, something she wished she hadn't done.

She looked horrible. Little bags had begun to form under her eyes, making her look more tired than she felt. Her skin was pale and appeared almost yellow under the fluorescent life.

“God.” Rose leaned forward for a closer look. “I look like a skeleton.” And she truly thought she did. Her cheeks appeared hollow, her high cheek bones more prominent. Was it possible for a woman to lose weight during pregnancy instead of gaining? It was something she'd have to remember to ask Dr. Nesbitt the next time she saw her.

She sighed and pulled back from the mirror. She really hadn't wanted to see herself like this. It was bad enough enduring the pregnancy but seeing its effect...

Suddenly, she felt sick again. She turned from her reflection and quickly finished with her bathroom business. All she wanted to do was lay down for a few moments until she felt better. When she returned to her room, Rose found the temperature had returned to normal. It was no longer chilly and she was glad for that. She grabbed more tissues and blew her nose

Not being able to use her natural born abilities maddened her and she only wanted the damn sinusitis to clear up. She would give anything to smell her surroundings and recognize any familiar scent. The only thing she could smell was the lingering lavender and it puzzled her still.

She lay back on the bed for just a moment. Her nausea had disappeared, for the time being, but she still felt wary of moving too much and stirring it again. She glanced beside her at the digital clock. She had been asleep for two hours, but it hadn't been long enough.

It was already dark outside. Glen would be coming up to call her for dinner soon, but the thought of food made her stomach queasy. She imagined the heartburn she'd be sure to get and that put her off from it indefinitely. She wondered if Glen would understand and let her go back to sleep.

No, she thought, he wouldn't do that. He was too adamant about her health and the health of the baby. He would make sure she ate something, even if he had to force it down her throat. Besides, she looked like she needed it anyway.

She finally sighed resignedly and climbed out of bed once again. Better to go willingly, then have Glen storm up in a few minutes and drag her down. It wasn't that he actually would, but Rose would put nothing past him.

With a clean set of clothes and a washed face with a little makeup, she grabbed the admissions papers from her desk and headed out of her room. The smell of food already filled the hall. A couple of students rushed past her, nodding at her in greeting. She nodded back, but didn't recognize them. There were so many new people here. She was hard-pressed to keep up with how much the PRDI had grown in the past few years since Glen had become Head.

The newest arrival, Nola, gave Rose an unsettling feeling. Even when she had helped Glen in reviewing the application, something seemed off. She couldn't help but feel there was something bad connected to her. She explained how she felt to Glen, but he couldn't deny the application on a half-baked instinctual feeling. Rose wasn't even psychic. He dismissed her worry and approved the application anyway.

Now, Nola was here and Rose couldn't help but feel even more suspicious. There was something about her that was dangerously familiar and it drove Rose insane because she couldn't place it.

But she was a good host and true to her word, she went to Nola's room and knocked firmly on the door.

“Nola? It's almost time for dinner.”

There was no answer at first, then she heard a rustling and Nola's clear voice, “I'll be out in a minute, Rose.”

“No problem.” Rose stepped back and waited. It took a few minutes before Nola emerged. Her long brown hair was hanging down her back and her brown eyes sparkled.

“Hi.” She beamed. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could I guess,” Rose smiled back though she didn't feel like it.

“Was the baby keeping you up?” Before Rose could react, Nola's hands flew to her swollen belly. She recoiled, pulling her arms down and across to block the contact. She was certain she saw anger in Nola's eyes for a moment, but it was replaced with hurt and confusion.

“Don't do that, please.”

“I'm sorry, I—”

“I don't like having my belly rubbed, touched, poked, prodded, or aww'ed over,” Rose began. She felt irritable suddenly. Her eyes stared warningly into Nola's. “So don't do it.”

“All right.” Nola lifted her hands in surrender. She even backed up a step. She was taller than Rose, so she had to look down at her, but she still appeared chagrined. “I won't touch the pregnant lady.”

“It's nothing personal. I just don't like being touched.” Especially when it's by people I hardly know, she added silently. She looked away from her and glanced over her shoulder down the hall.

“I understand. I don't think I would much care for everyone touching my belly either.”

“It gets old,” Rose replied, trying to steer the conversation into other waters. She motioned for Nola to follow and together they started down the hall. Rose's stuffy nose had returned and she sniffed and snorted to force air into her nostrils. She could smell food again, something with tomato.

“Smells like someone's got pizza,” Nola said.

They entered the front hall, just in time to see Glen slam the front door. He glanced at them over the top of several pizza boxes. He grinned widely. “Just in time. Pizza's here.”

“Yes!” Nola went forward and took the top two boxes to help Glen with the load. “There had better be a Meat-Lover's in here.”

“Definitely.” Glen grinned at her. “Hey, Davis,” he shouted toward the security room.

The door was open just part way and they could all see Davis leaning back in his chair. He glanced at them, eyes dark. “Not hungry,” he called back and slammed the door.

Glen shrugged and looked back at Rose. “All right. More for us.”

He led the way to the kitchen. Rose followed them and stood in the kitchen's doorway, watching as they set the pizza boxes on the counter. Glen showed Nola where the daily kitchen things were kept and she helped to set out plates, cups and napkins. There was pizza enough for the whole PRDI household and the students residing here.

Rose stood aside as a few of the students hurried into the kitchen, salivating for a slice. She watched with a bit of a grin as Glen backed against the wall to avoid the onslaught of hungry teenagers and young adults. They greeted him cheerfully and Rose was once again amazed at how easily they interacted with the Head. When she was a child here, the Head was an older, more distinguished man. He wasn't exactly mean, but he never went out of his way to be nice. And he didn't even have a sense of humor. That was something she was glad Glen possessed.

She was thankful Glen held the position now. He was perfect for it. He was a natural born leader. Hell, he had almost succeeded in becoming the Alpha male of their pack, but the position had fallen to a more determined male—Jason. The only mated couple in their little group, they became the natural choice for the leaders and Rose took the position albeit reluctantly.

Now that Jason was gone, the pack was in disarray. Being the next in line, the Beta, Glen had assumed the role and Rose stepped back. There were no more full-moon gatherings, no more pack meetings. She figured it was because the others felt sorry for her that she couldn't shift due to her pregnancy. Maybe they thought it wouldn't be fair if she couldn't participate. Whatever the case, Rose was a bit upset by it. Month by month, the pack slipped away. They still met, here at the PRDI, but that was about it. They were no longer really a pack. There was nothing that kept them together any more.

And Rose had to admit she missed it.

She withdrew from her thoughts and returned her gaze to Glen. He was chatting animatedly with a couple of older students. Rose couldn't remember their names, but she knew the boy was precognitive, reminding her of Aidan Marks, another teenage precog that fell at Simon's hand.

She pushed the sudden thoughts of Simon away—she didn't want to think of him at all, especially not now—and took in a deep breath as she continued to look around the room. The students began to leave with their food, their chattering voices throwing echoes in the halls. Soon, the three of them were left alone.

Nola sat on an empty counter top, balancing her paper plate on her lap. She munched on her pizza, her gaze roving around the room. They're eyes met and, though her mouth was stuffed, she gave her a closed-lipped, puffy cheeked smile. Rose didn't return it.

She turned her attention to Glen. He was finally getting around to eating and glanced up at her. He grinned. “Grab a piece, Rose, before it's all gone.”

She shook her head. “You know I can't eat that. Heartburn.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm only kidding.” He gestured to the refrigerator. “There's a salad in there, if you want.”

“Yay, grass, yum. I think I would much rather have steak.”

“The kid's definitely a carnivore.” Glen winked at her and Rose took in a deep breath, exhaling in a sigh of relief. That look was all it took to reassure her that Glen wasn't going to tell anyone else. Glen continued.

“You can scrounge around in the fridge, but I'll tell you now, we are low on supplies.”

“So, no steak?”

“Nope. No steak.”

“Damn.” Rose pulled one of the kitchen tables out and sat in its chair. “I guess I will take that salad after all. No dressing though. I don't think I could handle that.”

“Not a problem.” Glen got up and retrieved the leafy greens from the fridge. He set it before Rose and handed her a fork. “I didn't put any in it.”

“Good boy.” Rose looked down at the green lettuce and ripe tomatoes without much appetite. But Glen watched her with a critical eye and she took a forkful of the stuff and shoveled it in her mouth. He smiled.

“Cheyenne's coming for the weekend. You feel up for going with her to get the much needed supplies?”

“I'm up for it.” Rose toyed with her salad, staring at it before glancing up at him. She smiled slightly. “If I feel all right this weekend, that is.” She caught the concerned look Glen gave her, but she gave a slight shake of her head. She didn't want to talk about it now.

“Who's Cheyenne?” Nola asked suddenly.

Glen turned back to her. “Cheyenne's one of our packmates. She's a changed-blood, like you. She lives in her own place, but comes by every other weekend to help us out.”

“You guys have your own pack? That must be different. Who's the Alpha?” She took another bite of her pizza, finishing it off.

“Well, technically, we don't have an Alpha, not at the moment.”

“Why not?”

“My husband,” Rose brought up suddenly. They both turned to her. She sighed. “My husband, Jason, was the Alpha.”

A stricken look came over Nola's face. “Oh, no. I'm so sorry.”

Rose stared at her, confused for a moment. Then it hit her. “No!” It burst out of her so suddenly it startled herself. “No, he's not dead. He's just gone.”

“Oh, shit.” Nola shook her head. She made a noise like a nervous chuckle. “I am so sorry. I just keep assuming things. I really shouldn't do that.”

No, you shouldn't, Rose said silently, but answered aloud with “Its fine, Nola, really. Jason and I were the Alphas, but now that he's gone, Glen's the one in charge.”

“Just until he's comes back,” he added, and Rose knew it was more for her peace of mind than for clarification.

“When will that be?” Nola asked.

Rose shook her head and stared at her salad again. She didn't want to continue this conversation. She regretted even bringing it up. She glanced up at Glen and he understood the look in her eyes.

“We don't know,” he said.

“Well, where is he? Where did he go?” Nola looked very interested, perched on the edge of the counter. Her eyes sparkled at Glen.

He cleared his throat suddenly. He switched the direction of the conversation quickly. “Enough about that, what do you think of the PRDI so far?” he asked as he took a seat across from Rose. He rested his hand warmly on top of hers and she glanced up at him for a moment.

“Well, it's different than any place I've ever been before, that's for sure. I didn't think there would be so many people here.”

“It is an institute,” Glen answered. “We're here to try to help others like us learn more about themselves and to prepare for life out there, in a world that might not accept them.”

“People should accept us.” There was a bitter tone in Nola's voice suddenly. She sighed a bit, staring down at the empty plate in her lap. “We're better than they are. Stronger, faster. They should accept us. They should ... worship us...”

Silence dropped in the room after her voice trailed away. Her dark eyes lifted first to Glen, then to Rose. Her gaze burned. Rose stared at her, not quite believing what she said. Glen was even more taken aback.

“Where in the world did you get that idea?” His voice grated with a hint of his repressed anger. Rose knew her cousin well enough to know he was trying to keep calm.

Nola's words had seemed rather odd, rather vindictive and Rose was burned by them too.

“It's just something I've learned since becoming changed.” Even as she spoke to Glen, her eyes didn't turn away from her. Rose held her stare, not looking away. “We're superior to them, but we are forced to hide who we are. We are forced to pretend to be normal—”

“That's not always the case,” Glen interrupted. He stood, looking at Nola with fierce eyes that demanded no interruption. “The PRDI teaches those who are willing that it's okay to be what we are. There is nothing evil about us. We have nothing to hide. There is no need to pretend.”

Ignoring the passionate look in his eyes, Nola lifted a hand to dismiss his words. “There is a need to pretend, not in here maybe, but out there, in the real world. There are people out there, people that would like to hurt our kind. I've met them before. They're called ‘hunters'.” She spoke her words fiercely.

Glen sucked in a hissing breath. So this was what it was about, Rose thought. She watched Glen as he closed his eyes a moment. He took a few breaths to calm himself then began.

“We know all about hunters. You don't need to tell us about them.”

“But what are we supposed to do when they are out there? That's one of the reasons I came here.” Some of vehemence fell out of her voice and she sounded almost vulnerable, scared. “I just want to be accepted as normal.”

“And you will be accepted as normal, as far as that goes,” Glen assured her. He cast a glance at Rose, who no longer pretended to eat her salad. She shoved it away and watched them with a knowing gaze before Glen looked back to Nola.

“Here, yeah, but out there...” Nola trailed off.

“We can't change the world. Yes, some secrecy is necessary. We all have to be cautious of how we act, how we are around others, but for the most part I agree with you. We shouldn't have to hide.”

“It pisses me off.” She sighed and tossed her paper plate aside. “A lot of things fucking piss me off.” She looked to Rose. “I'm sorry I get so worked up. It's a curse.”

Rose said nothing but she nodded in understanding.

Nola stretched her long legs and slid off the counter top. “I came here to learn about what I am and how to get used to it, I didn't come here to argue.”

“It seems you know a lot about what you are already,” Rose finally said.

Nola turned to her. Her face was an unreadable mask. “I've read a lot about the PRDI,” she explained. “I always found it fascinating.”

“How did you become changed, anyway?” Glen asked the question Rose had been wondering herself.

“It was a guy I worked with. I didn't know he was one and he accidentally infected me. It could've happened to anyone, I guess. I didn't know.”

“He must not have known either. Who was he?”

Nola's face turned sad and angry and she looked away. “He knew what he was,” she said softly then looked to Glen. “Look, I don't want to talk about it. It's a touchy subject.”

“Hey, that's fair,” Glen said, once again looking at Rose. She was staring daggers at Nola, but the young woman didn't notice. Her eyes still intent on Glen, she offered a soft smile.

“Thanks for the pizza, Glen. I think I'm going to retire to my room. I'm still a little tired. It's been fun, though.” Nola turned to Rose. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“If I can,” she answered. “Tomorrow's Friday, class day, and Aurora is coming by to dig through the library for some books for one of her college classes, so I'll be really busy.”

“Damn.” Nola shook her head. “You people do keep busy. And who's Aurora?”

“Another packmate.” Rose watched her closely as Nola edged nearer to the door.

“Oh. Maybe I'll get to see her tomorrow. I think it would be nice to meet some other werewolves.”

“Sure.” Glen smiled at her. “Goodnight.” He grabbed a paper cup and took a long drink from it. He waved with his free hand as Nola left the room.

Rose watched her disappear from the doorway and down the hall. She let out a harsh breath.

“You don't like her.”

“That obvious, huh? I can't help it. There's something about her, something I really don't like. Have you noticed how she'll act aloof one minute and then really friendly—too friendly—the next? No one is that sweet, that good.”

Glen couldn't help it. He had to laugh. “Yeah I've noticed. There is something about her though, I have to admit. It can't all be bad.”

“Oh God, Glen, don't tell me you have the hots for her...” Rose stared at him in undisguised horror.

“I'm not saying I'm going to try to get into her pants, but hey, a guy can daydream. That's all I'm saying.”

“You are such a male.” Rose rolled her eyes and made a face at him. “Seriously, though, I don't like her and I think you should stay away from her.”

“Picking up on something?” Glen arched a brow. Rose wasn't psychic by any means, save for a precognitive dream now and again, like many other people.

“I don't know, but I'd rather keep you safe than be sorry about it later.”

“All right, Rose.” Glen grinned. She could tell he didn't really believe her, but she couldn't argue with him on it. Her headache was coming back. “I'll be careful around her, promise.”

“Yeah, just remember you have other promises that you need to keep too,” she warned him sternly. She couldn't help but smile though, when Glen flashed his trademark boyish grin.

“Hey, not a problem, just as long as you keep your promises to me.” He pointed at her uneaten salad. “You haven't eaten anything all day. Finish it.”

“Yes, father.” Rose stuck her tongue out childishly at him and Glen laughed.

“Good to see you in a better mood.” He gave her a one armed hug and a kiss on top of her head. “I've got to see Davis about something. I'll see you later.” He left the room in two quick strides.

“You're not sticking me with the cleanup again,” she shouted after him. She heard his laughter from the foyer, but he didn't answer.

She sighed now that he was out of the room and dropped the façade. She wasn't in a better mood, she was in a worse one, but she couldn't let him know. Her head pounded once again with the sinus headache and her heart hurt.

Having Jason's memory brought up again only made her realize how much she missed him. Her dream and Nola's questions didn't help any. She felt the familiar stab of pain in her chest known as heartbreak. At the same time, she felt the baby push against her stomach. Suddenly, she felt ill, very ill.

With all current thoughts of Jason melting away, she ran out of the kitchen and into the nearest bathroom to throw up.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

No sooner had the room faded into darkness, Jason Barnett awoke to find himself in the white cotton coolness of a hotel bed. His breath came out in huge gasps and sweat plastered strands of his hair to his forehead and neck. His sheet was a tangled mess around him. He wrenched it away from his body, tearing the fabric easily in his haste. Once he freed himself from it, he bolted out of the bed.

“Goddamn it.” He ran a shaking hand through his unwashed short hair, making it stand on spikes. “Not again.”

No matter how many dreams he had, they still shocked the living hell out of him. They came more frequently and became more real. He saw things, real things, things that had happened and things that might happen. He rarely dreamed nonsense anymore. There always seemed to be a meaning behind them.

Just who was the red-haired woman in his dream? Why had they been at the PRDI? More importantly, why had Rose been there?

Seeing her after all those months awoke something within him, something primal. He had thought of her, missed her, but he kept those thoughts from the forefront of his mind. They had no place there, with the rest of his raging thoughts. His psychic powers were growing; his dreams were proof enough of that.

But Rose ... oh, she still looked beautiful. She had done something with her hair, cut it shorter than he was used to, but still, she was a vision. However, the words of the red-haired woman burned him.

So sad...

Rose was sad.

The decision to leave her hadn't been an easy one. He wrestled with it for days before he met her at Claire's memorial service. She was just leaving when he saw her on the sidewalk. He pulled his Camaro over, stepped out, and did the hardest thing he ever had to do. He hadn't been able to look at her when he left. The tears in her eyes spoke volumes and he couldn't bear to hear them. So he went quickly, not looking back.

He disappeared from town that night. Taking what little possessions he needed and a nice wad of cash from their joint bank account—money Claire had left them upon her death—he took the Camaro and split. He tried to tell himself the only reason he left was to find out more about himself but it wasn't the only reason.

It had been about eight months since he had been on his own, drifting, searching. For the first few weeks, he tried to ignore his growing impulses. He put them out of his mind, risking enormous headaches. Visions would come and go, turned on by a single touch, or no touch at all. He saw flashes of things he didn't understand, people he didn't know.

Jason learned to repress the visions, stifle them before they really began, though it caused him a lot of pain in the end. It was worth it not to see what he saw. But the dreams ... he hadn't figured out a way to stop them yet.

He went to the bathroom and did what he needed to, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had lost weight since he had been gone, but then again, a sporadic appetite did that to people.

Not to mention a constant worry that he was never going to find out how to stop these visions and dreams, these feelings. The nagging psychic voice still taunted him some days. If anything, he had made it stronger, not stopped it.

He turned the water on and washed his face. He cupped the water in his hands and washed it over his head. It dripped down his face, but he didn't wipe it away. Again, Jason stared at himself. His bright blue eyes were rimmed in red and looked very tired. He wanted nothing but to sleep, if only for a few hours, undisturbed without dreams.

He doubted he'd get that.

Drying his hands on one of the hotel provided towels, he returned to the main room. It was dark out, night, but Jason could stay here no longer. He dressed quickly in his jeans and a button up shirt and threw his boots on in record time. There was very little to pack and it took him less than ten minutes to have everything ready. Throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder, Jason left without looking back.

He couldn't wait for the elevator so he took the stairs two steps at a time. The lobby of the hotel was brightly lit and a bored looking clerk sat behind the desk. She watched a small television that blared out a news program, while she popped chewing gum in her mouth. She lifted her dull eyes when Jason approached.

“Checking out?” she asked in a lazy voice. He handed over the keycard without a word and she rolled her eyes as she accessed the computer. In a few minutes he was checked out and gone before she turned back to her television program.

The Camaro's engine roared as he gunned it loudly in the parking lot. The tires spun, squealing piercingly on the pavement. He was gone from the lot seconds later, leaving the asphalt smoking behind.

Like so many times before, he had no direction other than what his gut told him. He listened to instinct and his psychic impulses and turned the Camaro to the right. Ahead lay a forlorn stretch of road. Lights gleamed far in the distance. Red tail-lights burned on the horizon and he headed toward them.

He turned up the radio and listened as hard rock blared through the speakers. The sound was often comforting, drowning out his thoughts. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember.

The last dream puzzled him. It had seemed so real, not a dream at all. Who was that woman? Why had she been there? Why had she gone to Rose's room?

With a shake of his head, he pushed the thoughts away and reminded himself not to think of it. Thinking about it got him in trouble. Thinking led to pain. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he drove on.

Being alone these past months reminded Jason how it had been before he settled down with Rose. He had been a wanderer, going from town to town, place to place. He never stayed too long in one spot. Now, he was repeating that life, except this time he had money, a car and a wife waiting for him at home.

“Damn it.” Even when he tried, he couldn't force her out of his head. He hissed out a breath and accelerated the engine. As much as he missed her or thought about her, he couldn't go back. Every second, every minute meant more miles put between them.

There was no way he was going back. Not now. There was so much he had to discover, so much pain he had to deal with.

He knew he would find out more about himself, about his powers out here. Though logically, the PRDI seemed the best place, it wasn't. Too much shit had happened there. He was sure the place was cursed. Not that he had anything against Glen, the Head of the place—he just preferred not having werecreatures, vampires, psychics and everything supernatural related on file where anyone could access them. The PRDI was good for helping others and he owed them a lot for taking Rose and Glen in when they were children, but it wasn't for him. He would rather just steer clear of it all.

The PRDI was what had gotten Simon involved. Having stolen some of the files during the PRDI's early days, he used them to kill other werewolves. Targeting them viciously, they didn't stand a chance.

And the PRDI had done nothing to stop it. It still burned him that they hadn't even warned their students and members.

Rose's file had been among the ones stolen and Simon had used it to his advantage. He quickly became obsessed with her and set into motion a series of events that threatened them with each turn. He had killed former acquaintances of hers and, with Rose uncertain about her sleepwalking habits she almost believed she had been responsible.

Then a hunter named Marcus Brown, an ex-detective, cornered Rose about it and tried to kill her. Defending herself, Rose had no choice but to kill him. When Jason heard about it, and found Rose near dead from an almost fatal bullet wound, he saw red. He vowed to keep her safe, no matter what.

So the decision had been made. He had taken her to the PRDI. She should have been safest there, with Glen and her mentors. But what he hadn't counted on was Simon and his hunters tracking them down. It was only a matter of hours before they found them and raided the safe house. So many people had been killed, Rose had been kidnapped, and Jason had been left for dead.

Then years later, even after several new security devices had been implemented, Claire Hennessy had been killed when Simon had somehow gotten in again.

With all the things that had happened, it was no wonder why he hated the place. The PRDI was cursed, as far as Jason was concerned and he was not going back there, not even to learn about who—and what—he was. He would be damned if he went back there again.

So he was on his own with it and that suited him just fine.

Right after leaving Rose, he drove for hours until he arrived at the old abandoned warehouse where he and Simon had fought tooth and nail. Being there jogged his memory and with it, strong emotions.

His newfound ability to have visions gave him some clarity. After touching the ground outside, he had seen the female werewolf—a redhead—helping a battered and bloodied Simon after he had been thrown through a second story window. Through his visions, he saw how he had survived and it boiled his blood to think on it.

If only he had made sure Simon was dead that night...

Pulling himself out of his memories, Jason shook his head. Now wasn't the time to dwell on Simon. He had done that once, thought of nothing but him, and it had ruined everything. Simon was really dead this time, Jason was sure. He wasn't coming back. There was no need to think of him anymore.

It still brought to mind questions that needed answers. He had to find out why these psychic flashes kept coming to him. He knew he was part psychic—at least from what his late father told him—because of his mother. She had been a powerful woman.

But she was dead. He wouldn't get any answers that way.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, not knowing where to go, what to do, who to talk to, he was once again going on his gut instinct.

It was getting tiring.

Ahead, a stoplight flashed intermittently and Jason slowed to a crawl. The intersection was busy. As he waited for his turn, he turned down the radio, and called on the nagging psychic voice to guide him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Left.

There might've been a time before when he would've turned his nose up at these impulses and ignored them. He knew better now. More than once, these impulses had led him in the right direction, without hesitation, he flipped his turn signal and took his turn in the intersection.

Left it was.

Pushing all thoughts out of his mind for the hundredth time, he cranked up the stereo and put his foot on the gas. He didn't know where he would end up until he got there.

He passed several cars, accelerating dangerously down the highway. The road ahead of him was clear and he let out a breath. Just a long stretch of road between him and whatever lay ahead. He settled into his seat, relaxed and drove.

Help me.

The voice was like a sudden scream, right in his head. He hit the brakes. The car's rear end lurched forward as it skidded. Jason fought to keep control of the car as it swerved. The tires screamed as the Camaro finally came to a stop on the shoulder, inches from slamming into a guardrail. Cars honked as they passed him.

“Fuck.” Jason slammed his hand on the steering wheel. What the hell was that? He let out a few deep breaths.

“All right, I get the fucking idea.” He eased his foot off the brake and onto the gas. Checking his mirrors, he pulled back onto the road proper and continued on.

He had never had anything like that happen to him before. The only voice he had heard inside his head had been his own, and those damn psychic impulses. Maybe he really had lost it this time. He was hearing strange voices—that was never a good sign.

Jason drove once again, pushing the thoughts out of his head. Strange voices or not, he wasn't going to let anything get to him. He was past all that.

Help me.

It hit him full force again, but this time he didn't act rashly. He resisted the urge to hit the brakes again, and instead pulled the Camaro to the side of the road.

“Shit.” He lowered his head to the steering wheel. Pain blinded him as he heard the voice again. It resonated in his mind, like a terrible scream. It was full of desperation. It sliced at his heart.

Help me ... please ... help us.

“Stop it!” He yelled aloud, but it only made his head hurt even more. The pain began to subside and the voice was gone. Jason gasped for breath. His chest hurt, badly. What the hell was going on?

He had very little time to think on it when another voice interrupted.

Drive.

He readily recognized the voice as his own. The psychic nagging was right. He needed to drive. He waited a few minutes though, collecting his resolve and taking a few deep breaths. When he was ready, he once again put the car into drive and pulled out from the side of the road.

With fierce determination, he drove fast. The growing gut impulse he had was strong, very strong, and he knew better than to ignore it. But he couldn't help but feel that the strange psychic call for help was somehow related to this psychic pull.

He wasn't looking forward to what it might be, but he was sure as hell anxious to get it over with.

* * * *

* * * *

Dawn was just on the horizon, the sky lightening with the colors of the day. Orange and red blossomed on the treetops and Jason watched the sky, feeling a bitter weight sink into his chest.

The building before him was huge, even larger than the PRDI and definitely more ominous looking, especially with dawn rising red behind it. Iron gates barred the driveway so he couldn't get in.

This was it and he knew it. It had taken him hours to get here and he didn't even know where ‘here’ was. The psychic tingle had grown very strong as he neared, though, and became unbearable as he pulled to the side of the road near the place. He sat in the Camaro for the longest time, just staring at the place.

There was no sign, no indication that the place was inhabited. The windows appeared boarded up. The lawn was yellow and dry and shrubs once lining the driveway were dead and brown.

What was this place and why had he been brought here?

Jason listened, trying to will the strange voice to come back, but there were no more calls for help, no more pleas. He felt a little disheartened about it. He was here, but now what?

He stepped out of the car and slipped off his leather jacket, as the night was warm. He tossed it into the car and shut the door slowly, softly so it did not sound like a gunshot in the dark. Thinking of his gun, he felt the steel at his waist. It was secured in its holster and ready if needed. He hoped he wouldn't have to.

Jason had taken only two steps when he felt a tightening in his chest and it wasn't just the weight of his situation. It was pure panic. He stopped, leaned forward. His heart throbbed, pounding against his ribs. He couldn't breathe.

Oh God, what's happening?

He stumbled forward, bracing himself as he hit the iron fence. He leaned against the rusted bars, gripping them tightly. A wave of sickness washed over him. He was going to puke.

But he didn't. He fought for control, taking hard, ragged breaths. His head swam, burned, ached. It almost felt as if it were splitting in two. He cried out in pain and pressed his head against the bars, seeking any comfort.

The nausea began to lessen and Jason could breathe again. The metal felt cool against his forehead and he remained there a moment, curling his fingers around the spokes of the fence. His entire body felt tense, as if the wolf were pressing to get out but couldn't. But the wolf wasn't there. This was something else.

Not for the first time in his life, he wished he hadn't been given such a cursed gift. He hissed out another breath and pulled away from the bars. He looked up at the building and wondered again why he had been brought here, what this place was. He scoured the area for a sign, a mailbox, something to give him an idea, but there was nothing.

The place was completely abandoned. He sighed.

“This is not funny,” he spoke aloud then immediately shut his mouth. He wasn't going to start talking out loud. He might have psychic powers, but he wasn't crazy. He shook his head. Why would his psychic impulses send him here, to an old abandoned house? What did this have to do with anything?

Jason closed his eyes again and felt for the tingle, that tingling feeling that alerted him to psychic happenings, but there was nothing. It was strange, he thought. Only minutes ago, he had been overwhelmed by it. Now, it was gone.

Something was wrong.

Jason's eyes suddenly flew open and instinct took over. He sniffed the air and smelled something but he couldn't tell what—or who it was.

He sprang into action, grabbing for his handgun, but it was a moment too late. He heard the release of air and a swift pfft. Barely a second later, there was a sharp sting in his upper arm and he looked down at a dart protruding from his arm.

“You've gotta be kidding me.” He pulled the dart out of his arm. He studied it, his vision beginning to blur.

Tranquilizer, he guessed and dropped it. He lifted his eyes back to the house, but could barely see it. Everything was going dark. Spots danced before his eyes and he felt dizzy.

But he wasn't going down without a fight.

Jason pulled his gun up, but it felt heavier than usual. His fingers grew loose and it slipped from his hand. He started to drop and hit his knee hard on the ground.

No! A voice screamed inside his head, but it wasn't his own. Don't hurt him.

That voice, Jason thought, struggling to stay awake. The ground was wet with dew and it soaked through the knee of his jeans. His head lowered, chin on his chest, but he rose it defiantly against the tranquilizer. Whose voice?

For a moment, the world was no longer blurry and he could see with burning clarity.

A window of the building was open. It wasn't boarded up, as he had originally thought. A light burned and a shadow stood there. Jason forced himself to gain focus. A halo of red hair caught the light, looking like a bright burning fire.

It was her, the woman from his dream.

She stared at him, leaning out the window. Her fingers splayed on the sill, digging into the frame. She screamed at him, but he couldn't hear her. Someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her away from the window. But she wasn't going down easily. Jason watched as she screamed and fought, kicking at the white-shirted men who threatened to pull her away. Then the windows were abruptly closed and she was gone.

“No.” The words barely made it out of his mouth. He hit the ground hard, his head colliding with the hard-packed earth. He stared out, unable to do anything, as two men in dark clothing crept out of the tree-line. They moved toward him, the tranquilizer gun hoisted on one of their shoulders.

Jason couldn't fight. He couldn't even move. One of the men hefted him up easily with one hand and Jason barely had a moment to be impressed by his immense strength. He fell into the blackness, fighting it the entire way, but he was at the end of the line. The drug was too strong. He closed his eyes, exhaled and everything swirled into instant oblivion.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

Sunlight streamed through the glass and warmed the window seat where Aurora Mitchell sat. The cascading rays of light fell across the bare skin of her shoulder, softly caressing her hair as she shifted her weight a bit. She was warm and comfortable where she sat, her head reclined against a propped cushion, with the sun on her and a book open in her lap. It was almost enough comfort to make her forget what she was doing and instead fall asleep.

Realizing this, Aurora quickly sat up and shook the sleepiness away. The bright light burned her eyes, momentarily blinding her, but she blinked it away as she slid off the window seat. She grabbed the book as it slipped out of her lap and put it on the round table in front of her. Pulling her arms above her head, Aurora arched her back in a long, luxurious stretch.

When she felt fully awake again, Aurora took a seat at the round table and pulled her laptop close. She cleared away the dancing penguin screensaver and opened another web page. Her search had come to a halt when she had begun to feel restless and bored. Now, she had renewed energy and was ready to tackle her task.

She pulled back her unruly hair and reached for the book she had been reading. Her fingertips brushed across the stack of books she had compiled and she felt a shock go through her. Electric sparks flew between her fingers and the book's binding, making her gasp and push her chair back quickly.

“Whoa, that's different,” she whispered as she forced her heartbeat to regulate. Suddenly she felt elated and anxious to find out which book it had been and why. She had never felt anything like it before. It had power. She pushed aside the laptop, her attention now completely diverted to the stack of books.

Many of the titles she had found in the PRDI library were newer releases, paperbacks or hardbacks with colorful dust jackets. Very few of them were old enough to still be bound solely in leather. One in her stack was, coincidentally, and Aurora shoved the other books aside to view its cover.

It was very old, the edges of the binding showing immense wear. The pages were yellow and the young werewolf could smell the mustiness that wafted from between them. The book had no title.

Hesitantly, Aurora reached forward. Her fingers inches from the book, she could feel it pulsing with energy. Once again, she drew her hand back and slumped in her chair. She stared at the book, as if her thoughts alone could will the pages open, she was hesitant about touching it.

She was no stranger to power, but she was cautious. She remembered the cedar chest her mother kept at the foot of her parent's bed and how she tried to sneak a peek at the contents inside. The trunk had pulsed with power as well, and it scared her as a child. She never went near it again, through curiosity burned insatiably within her whenever she looked at it.

Then years later, after her parent's tragic deaths in a hunter related car “accident", Aurora and her brother, Ryan—better known to the pack as Rebel—were left with the unfortunate duty of cleaning out their parents’ stuff. In her parents’ room, she sat, alone, for the longest time on the floor, and stared at the chest. The power had never ebbed. If anything, it appeared to have grown over the years.

Aurora was still afraid of it, but it was up to her now. This was her mother's chest and no one had the right to go through it but her and Rebel. Rose couldn't help her, Cheyenne couldn't help her. It was up to her.

It took a long time before she collected her resolve and with shaking hands put the key in the lock. The power had surged through her, filling her entire body from head to foot. It was so strong she had almost dropped the key in shock. But she held herself still, and while the power did not go away, Aurora had been able to handle the radiating energy more easily with each passing moment.

When she had finally opened the chest, the presence of so much power was explained. Inside were books on magick and spells, books on astral projection and psychics. There were crystals and tarot cards, wands and intricately designed daggers. There were sweet and pungent smelling herbs in plastic baggies and glass jars. Atop it all had laid a black cloak, long and flowing well past her feet when Aurora had held it up to herself.

She had recognized all the objects and knew without a doubt now that her mother was magickally inclined. She had never known. She had replaced all the items before anyone came in to check on her and locked the chest once again. She still didn't know why she had felt the need to hide it from everyone. The chest now rested at the foot of her dorm bed, carried there by Glen and Davis, and she hadn't opened it since. She wasn't sure if she could.

She remembered how the power had made her so dizzy afterwards, dizzy and tired. She felt those feelings begin to stir again as she stared at the strange book.

She had never told anyone about what she found in the chest, lying to them about it. For all the pack knew, it was just a bunch of comforters, pillows, and knickknacks in there. The truth would remain within Aurora for as long as she lived.

It was one of the reasons she was here right now, in the PRDI library, with a pile of magick books in front of her. Since that day, Aurora had put it upon herself to find out all she could about magick and witchcraft. It had been a part of her mother's life, and Aurora was almost absolutely certain it was part of hers as well. She could feel energies pulsing all the time now. They were within everything. She had even tried a few healing spells on herself boosting her already quick regenerative abilities with lightning quickness.

Of course, she told no one, not even her brother. She was too afraid they would take away her books and lock her away from them. Her parents, as well as Glen, had impressed upon her that magick was dangerous and should not be taken lightly. But she was careful. She always was.

Aurora shook away the memories and concentrated on the book again. Even without touching it, she could feel it sending wave after wave of power towards her. She closed her eyes tightly, just feeling it. It was strong, irresistible.

Hesitating no longer, she checked around the library. She listened carefully and sniffed. Finding it suitably empty, she reached for the book. The power was intense, almost burning her hand but Aurora didn't let go as she pulled the book toward her and opened it to a random page near the front.

She breathed in deeply, smelling the mustiness of the book, realizing it must be incredibly old by the cracking and tearing pages. Carefully, she turned the pages, channeling energy away from her as she had read about to keep the power from overwhelming her. There was a faint tingle as the power began to lessen.

This is easy, Aurora thought. I don't see why everyone is so cautious and afraid. Now that the constant energy was no longer a huge distraction, she could concentrate on the written words. The text was scrawled in Old English, the ink almost so faded she could barely read it. Holding her breath so as not to damage the pages any more, she leaned forward to read.

The library door slammed loudly, like a gunshot throughout the room. Aurora jumped, letting out a shriek of surprise. She slammed the book shut loudly, and pulled it close to her and out of sight beneath the table.

The energy returned, stronger than before and Aurora felt dizzy from both the power and her sudden panic. Using her preternatural werewolf abilities, she cut through the thick mildewed aroma from the book and scented the air for the intruder.

It was Rose, easily recognized by her strong full-blood scent and her usual perfume. Panic overthrew the power and Aurora quickly stashed the book away, shoving it unceremoniously into her backpack. She winced a bit, hoping she hadn't damaged it in her haste.

Quickly, she made herself look innocent and pulled the laptop closer. Once again, she scrolled away the dancing penguin screensaver and brought up the Internet. She typed in a few random words. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and her blood pumped in her ears so she could barely hear.

Rose appeared around the corner of a bookcase and smiled faintly when she saw Aurora. “I thought I smelled you here.” Rose pulled out one of the chairs to the table and eased herself into it.

Aurora watched her, face still burning from almost having been caught. If she could've willed it away, she would have. She winced to herself. Rose was huge, her pregnant stomach almost grotesque in size. It looked painful to walk, much less sit like that. Aurora was sure she was about to pop.

“I've been looking for you.” Rose sighed as she sat, closing her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Aurora dutifully asked, closing the computer. “You look a bit pale.”

“Yeah.” Rose managed a cough of a laugh. “It's just a little hard to move around, especially those stairs. I can't wait until this kid is born.”

Aurora stared at Rose, scenting the air again. She smelled something sour, unpleasant. “You're still having a lot of morning sickness, aren't you?”

Rose sighed a little. “It's not really morning sickness now. Just a lot of nausea. All the time.”

“That's not normal, is it? I mean, for this far into the pregnancy?”

“I don't know, Aurora.” Rose did look very pale. Her dark hair framed an almost white face.

Aurora was suddenly very concerned. She let her backpack with the heavy magick book slip out of her lap and onto the floor with a barely audibly thud. “Have you talked to Dr. Nesbitt? I'm sure she would know—”

“I've talked to her. She said I'm fine,” Rose said, her voice testy.

Aurora backed off. She knew almost better than anyone that Rose was very emotional right now. She didn't take it personally. Aurora occupied herself with pulling her backpack toward her, sitting it under her chair and resting her foot on it.

“I've talked with her,” Rose started again, her voice softer. She shook her head. “But we didn't talk about that. I didn't bring it up.”

“Sorry I brought it up.” And the conversation was dropped. Aurora reached for one of the other books on the table. She flipped it open without looking to see what it was. The backpack continued to pulse under her foot.

Rose remained silent as Aurora flipped through the pages. She had picked up one on dream interpretation and realized it was just what she had been looking for. She went from skimming the words without paying attention to becoming completely absorbed. She grabbed her notebook and pen and jotted down some notes. After a few moments of silence, Rose broke it by clearing her throat. Aurora looked up.

“Do you need any help? I thought that's why you wanted me here.”

“Oh.” Aurora balked. “I kinda forgot about that. I was just doing some research. If you need to go...” Her voice trailed off.

Rose was looking at her with a knowing smirk. “You're not doing schoolwork, are you?”

Aurora felt the heat start to flood back into her face and she cursed inside her head. She had planned on lying about the stack of books in front of her, saying she was researching something for an English paper, but the lie faltered before she even said it. “It's not what you think; I just needed to look up a few things. You know, for class.” Quickly she brushed a strand of hair out of her face and avoided Rose's gaze.

Busted.

“Okay, so it's not for class,” she blurted out before Rose got the chance to say anything. “I needed some help with dream interpretation.”

“Dream interpretation?” Rose lifted an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I've been having this weird dream lately.” Again she avoided Rose's stare and looked down at the pages of the book. The words blurred together.

“What kind of dream?”

“Just a weird dream.” She wasn't too keen on telling Rose. Besides wanting to know more about her mother's apparent witchy skills, the dream was the only other reason she studied the books on magick. It bothered her that badly.

“I know about weird dreams, Aurora,” Rose pointed out. “Remember the one I told you about me finding Jason dead?”

Aurora shivered at the memory of the telling. She nodded her head.

“I knew what that meant without consulting a book. It meant that I was afraid of losing him.” Rose stopped, as if to catch her breath and Aurora looked up at her. If Rose was pale before, she was deathly so now. Aurora didn't have to be a mind reader to know Rose was thinking about Jason and it hurt. Rose took a deep breath before continuing.

“My point is you don't need the book. Maybe I can help you. I had a friend, Tiffany, who helped me once with my dreams. Maybe I can do the same for you.”

“Okay,” Aurora answered reluctantly, knowing that bringing up Tiffany Clark was still a subject Rose liked to avoid. “It's really weird.” She closed the dream interpretation book and sat back in her seat. Rose watched her intently as Aurora wet her lips to begin.

“I started having the dream a couple of months ago. I'm in my dorm room, laying in bed, when this woman appears to me. I've never seen her before in my life, but it's almost as if I know her, somehow. She has bright red hair and green eyes and she's always dressed in some hospital dress thing. She stands there, at the foot of my bed, like some kind of ghost, only she's not a ghost. She's solid. I can't see through her.

“She starts talking to me like she knows me. It's so weird, but it all seems so real. I don't even feel like I'm asleep. It's like I'm awake, sitting there listening to her. She calls me ‘Leslie'—”

“Your mother's name?”

“Yeah, this is really weird because I've never said a word to her about Mom, about anything. She just seems to know. Everything seems so real. It's like she's really there, talking to me.”

“What does she talk about?”

“That's the thing, I can't ever remember. I just know she calls me Leslie and the things she says are unreal. I always forget them when I wake up. But I always smell her perfume. Lavender.”

“Lavender?” Rose repeated. She blinked a few times and sat back in her seat. Her hands moved over her stomach and her brow furrowed as if she were thinking on something. “That is weird,” she answered softly.

“Yeah, and I don't know what it all means. The woman always disappears, just fades right away like a spirit. But I swear to you, she's not a ghost.”

“I believe you, but I'm stumped.” Rose shook her head. “I don't know what it means.”

Aurora sighed dejectedly. “Guess I'll need that book after all.” She reached for it again.

“Maybe,” Rose answered, still deep in thought. Her eyes roved over the books Aurora had piled on the table. “What is this stuff?”

“Um...”

Rose snatched up one of the closest books and looked at the cover. “Magick books? Aurora—”

“I'm not practicing, I swear it,” Aurora answered quickly. “I just thought I might be able to find out about my dream. I thought maybe it would have something in it about them.”

Rose flipped through the book, brow furrowing again.

“I'm serious, Rose. I'm not doing magick. I swear it,” Aurora pleaded, staring at Rose, waiting for a reaction.

Rose said nothing for a moment then sighed and tossed the book back on the table. “I believe you,” she answered. “This stuff scares me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“There's a lot of dark power out there, dark magick. I know there's good magick I've seen it, but...” She shook her head. “It's dangerous, Aurora, and I don't want you to get mixed up in the bad stuff.”

“Hey, you don't have to worry about me,” Aurora insisted, “I'm just learning about it. I'm not practicing it.” She waited, watching Rose's expression. Did she think she was lying? Aurora couldn't tell.

“Really.” Aurora leaned forward, eyes shining. “I'm not doing magick. I'm just trying to find out this dream using any resource I can.”

“I said I believed you.” Rose sighed again and lifted her hand to her forehead. She massaged her temples slowly.

Aurora almost let out a breath of relief when she realized the magick talk directed at her had veered off course, for now. She glanced down at the bag on the floor. She could barely feel it pulsing anymore. It was almost as if it had fallen asleep. She let out a breath and looked quickly to Rose.

“Headache?”

“Yes.” Rose sniffed. “And my sinuses won't quit. I was doing pretty well today. I could smell you when I walked in, barely; now, I can't smell anything.”

“That must suck,” Aurora answered, not really knowing what to say.

“Royally.” Rose groaned as she started to stand. “It just keeps getting worse.”

“Where are you going?” Aurora stood quickly to help Rose, but she waved her away.

“I don't need any help. I just need to go to the bathroom. I think I'll use the one downstairs. I'm supposed to show the new girl around and she's probably wandering around, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.”

Aurora quickly picked up on the sneer it Rose's voice. “You don't like her?”

“No, it's not that.” Rose began to walk her way to the door.

“Wait, let me go with you. I think I'm finished here.”

“All right.”

Aurora worked quickly, pulling her backpack out from under the chair, careful not to let the book slip out. She stuffed her laptop, pens and notebook into it and zipped it up. She felt a touch of power, but not as strong this time. Her hand tingled just slightly.

“It's not that I don't like her,” Rose said when Aurora met up with her and the two walked out of the library. “It's just ... there's something about her that's not altogether normal.”

“What is she?”

“Changed-blood, or so Glen and Davis say. I can't smell for myself.”

Aurora nodded. They turned a corner, heading toward the staircase. Davis nearly collided with Aurora. He held out his hands to steady her from falling.

“Whoa! Watch where you're going.” Aurora stooped to pick up her backpack before it hit the floor.

“Sorry. I didn't see you.”

“And you didn't smell us either?” Rose asked.

Davis shot her a dirty look. “Apparently not. Glen sent me up her to get you, Rose. Cheyenne's here.”

“I thought she wasn't coming until tomorrow.”

“Well, she's early and Glen wants the two of you to compile a list of what supplies we need.” Davis shifted his gaze to Aurora. “What are you doing here?”

“I was studying.” Aurora gestured to the backpack slung over her shoulder.

“I don't remember buzzing you in. I don't even remember hearing the buzzer.”

“That's because you were taking a potty break.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face and avoided Davis's eyes. There was something overly intense about them. It was like they burned to look into them. “And Glen knew I was coming so I didn't need to buzz.”

“I see,” he answered, his voice a tiny bit callous.

Rose sighed. “Let it go, Davis. It's just Aurora.”

“Yeah, but I'm in charge of security around here. What if Glen buzzed in the wrong person?”

“Glen wouldn't do that. He's the Head,” Rose said. “Besides, it's Aurora. We trust her. She's part of our pack.”

Davis nodded at Rose's words. They made sense, but he still looked miffed. He shot another sharp look at Aurora and she quickly looked away.

“Guess it doesn't really matter. Cheyenne's waiting in the kitchen,” he said, turning his attention to Rose again. “Food is one of the main things we need.”

“Yeah, I went to grab a Coke out of the fridge and all you had was diet.” Aurora made a face. Rose laughed, but Davis was stern-faced. It made the laughter seem stupid and Aurora cleared her throat and let her gaze travel elsewhere.

He walked with them to the staircase and went down first, taking two steps at a time. Rose moved a bit more gingerly, leaning against the railing for support. Aurora followed.

It happened so fast. First came a faint sound, a creaking. Then the cracking of wood exploded like thunder throughout the PRDI's foyer. Three spokes splintered under Rose's weight as she leaned against them. The banister she was against snapped neatly in two and Rose toppled sideways.

Aurora let out a shriek, reaching out to grab for Rose, but she had already fallen out of her reach. Davis was quicker. He jumped up the steps to reach her before she could fall into the broken wood and tumble to the floor several feet below. He grabbed her arm, using his half-blood werewolf strength to pull her to him. She fell into his arms, clutching at her side and gasping for breath.

“Oh God.” Aurora looked over the railing, watching what was left of the banister spokes rattle on the floor. She spun to look at Rose. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“My side.” Rose winced.

They smelled the blood then, before she moved her hand away to show them the torn place in her shirt where it had begun to seep through.

Davis's eyes flashed to the banister, noticing the fresh blood on one jagged piece.

“She's been stabbed.” He lifted her up into his arms without a moment's hesitation. “We have to get her to Dr. Nesbitt.”

“Oh God, she's going to lose the baby...” Aurora felt the last of the color drain from her face. She moved right along with Davis as he hurried the rest of the way down the stairs.

“She won't lose the baby,” Davis answered, but he didn't sound entirely sure. He passed the kitchen just as Glen and Cheyenne exited. Cheyenne's long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and her hazel eyes widened when she scented the blood, then went wider when she saw it on Rose's shirt.

Glen didn't hesitate when he saw his cousin bleeding and hurt. “What happened?” he demanded, falling into Davis’ stride. Concern washed over his face as he looked at Rose. She was pale, but conscious. She hadn't passed out.

“An accident,” she managed to say. “The staircase—”

“The banister broke when she was leaning against it,” Davis finished. “She almost fell through; could have hit the floor, but I grabbed her. One of the spokes stabbed her side.”

“Oh God,” Cheyenne echoed Aurora's thoughts and followed along. “She could've been killed.”

“How could this happen? The staircase is inspected every year. There's nothing wrong with it.”

“It was an accident.” Aurora's backpack thudded against the wall as Cheyenne squeezed past her. She pushed open the door to Dr. Nesbitt's office.

“Hurry, let's get her inside.” She held the door open for them. Davis entered first, followed by Glen, who held Rose's head to keep it from colliding with the wall.

Aurora hesitated outside the office. She felt the rhythm of the book quicken drastically. It was beating, almost like a heart, thumping against her back.

Aurora turned her head behind her, feeling it grow stronger. There was someone standing behind her. She could feel it. Smell it. Changed-blood. But when she looked, there was no one there.

“Hey, ‘Rora, are you coming?” Cheyenne asked, still poised by the door. She blinked a few times in confusion. The changed-blood smell lingered, but wasn't as strong.

“Aurora?”

She whipped her head around quickly. Cheyenne was waiting for her with a mixed look of concern, worry and confusion. She risked one more quick glance behind her, but like before, there was nothing there. The hallway was empty.

“Yeah, I'm coming,” she answered, hitching her backpack up higher on her shoulder. She stepped into the office with Cheyenne and pulled the door shut behind her. There had been something there. She had known it. The power emanating from the book had somehow alerted her to it.

And the power had stopped pulsing the moment she stepped into the office and shut the door.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

“Stand aside. Give us some room,” Dr. Nesbitt said when Davis laid Rose on the cold, unwelcoming examination bed. Davis stepped back against the wall beside Cheyenne, but Glen remained at Rose's side. He wasn't about to leave her.

Rose blinked at him, grateful for his support. The pain her side was terrible. It was almost like being shot—something Rose unfortunately knew about.

She had already lost a large amount of blood, but it wasn't too bad. Rose had been through worse. She had been near dead more than once before and, after having both her ankles broken by Simon less than a year ago; she even knew what it was like to be crippled for a very short time. Her werewolf healing would take care of any injury she had.

So why was everyone so worried?

The baby kicked her, reminding her. Yes, she was pregnant now and they were afraid she would lose the baby. The baby kicked at her fiercely, feeling the adrenaline pumping through its mother's body and reacting to it the only way it could. It was a strong baby and it would survive.

Rose closed her eyes and let out a breath as with every kick to her womb, the pain in her side increased.

“Stop it,” she hissed at the kid. “That hurts.”

Dr. Nesbitt's hands were already moving over Rose's stomach, allowing her healing energies to penetrate her. Rose laid her head back, keeping her eyes closed. She could hear the murmur of voices as Cheyenne said something to Davis, but she didn't make it out. The pain was starting to lessen. The baby stopped kicking.

Dr. Nesbitt didn't have to explain; the calming energy spoke for her. She moved aside the torn and bloody cloth to examine the wound. Cupping her hand over the wound, Dr. Nesbitt applied a small amount of pressure. Rose expected a lot of pain, braced for it, but was mistaken. All she felt was calming warmth, probing her. She was familiar with her own healing abilities, but this was something else. She was healing ten times faster, almost instantaneously.

Rose breathed deeply, feeling the energy close the wound. She heard Aurora's gasp of surprise, “How did you do that?” and Glen's deep chuckle, but Rose was worlds away. The calming energy had her floating on a cloud, calm and serene. There was nothing she had to worry about. There was no pain. She was all right. She leaned her head back against the cold metal and closed her eyes.

* * * *

* * * *

Once Rose was deep asleep, Dr. Nesbitt stopped with the energy healing. She pulled her hands back and studied Rose's face. She was calm now, the worry lines etched in her face smoothed away as she slept. The doctor sighed and stepped back.

“I gave her a little more energy than she needed to help the baby,” she explained. She moved to the sink and turned the water on to wash her hands. “Coincidentally, it made her sleepy. She needs the rest to finish healing.”

“The wound wasn't too bad then?” Glen asked.

“Could've fooled me,” Davis said under his breath, but was quickly silence with a sharp elbow jab to his ribs by Cheyenne.

Dr. Nesbitt turned to look at them as she dried her hands with paper towels, her steely gaze surveying each of them in turn, resting for a few moments longer on Aurora.

“No, it wasn't. It was never fatal. I think it was the shock of it that did the most damage,” she answered, looking back to Glen. “What happened?”

“The stairs,” Aurora spoke up, her voice small. All eyes turned to her and she tried to shrink back. She clutched her backpack to her chest. “We were walking down them. She leaned against the railing and it snapped. She would've fallen if Davis hadn't caught her.”

Dr. Nesbitt's stare turned to him and Davis nodded a confirmation. “It was so strange how it happened...” He trailed off as she turned to look at Rose again.

“She was lucky you were there. If she had fallen, she may have lost the baby.”

“We were afraid of that,” Aurora said.

Cheyenne nodded. “That's for damn sure. There was blood all over the place.”

The doctor sighed and sat down on her stool. Glen approached her, walking past the sleeping Rose. “Do you need anything, Deborah?”

“Perhaps a small nap to replenish my energy.” she smiled, but it was weak. Her stare flicked to Aurora. “Using that much energy takes a lot out of you.” She said it in a warning tone and sent a gaze back in Aurora's direction.

Aurora avoided her gaze and cleared her throat. Before she had a chance to say anything, Cheyenne spoke up.

“Are you gonna be all right?” she drawled in her southern accent, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Deborah nodded. Aurora hugged her backpack closer to her and said nothing.

The doctor's gaze left her. “Yes, I'll be fine.” She touched Glen's arm. “Could you get me a cup of water?”

“Sure thing.” He turned to the sink while Dr. Nesbitt sank back into her seat. She stared at Rose, watching her chest rise and fall with her deep breaths. She looked peaceful as she slept, as if she had nothing to worry about.

But the majority of those in the room knew better than that. Sleep wouldn't be the only thing Rose needed to recover from her ordeals.

Glen handed the paper cup of water to the doctor and she took a sip from it. He looked over at his cousin and a concerned look washed over his face. “How long will she be out?”

“A couple of hours at the most. She's very lucky the wound wasn't worse.”

Davis blinked and uncrossed his arms. “If it wasn't so bad, wouldn't she have healed on her own? She's a full-blood, and they heal pretty quickly.” He flashed his gaze to Glen who nodded he was right.

Dr. Nesbitt took another long drink, nodding before she answered. “She could've, yes, but the baby—”

“Better safe to heal her as quickly as possible, just in case,” Cheyenne finished.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. There was always a chance there would be complications. The baby could've been hurt. Rose could've been hurt far worse. She was very lucky,” she said again.

“I agree.” Glen turned to look at Davis. “You can't believe how glad I am that you were there to catch her.”

“Not a problem.” Davis rubbed the back of his neck. His face flushed. “I was in the right place at the right time.”

“And we are all grateful for that, no one more so than Rose. I'm sure she would thank you.” Dr. Nesbitt looked over at the sleeping woman and sighed.

“Probably.” Davis followed her gaze, his brow furrowing. He watched Rose for a long time. Behind him, Cheyenne shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“No ‘probably’ about it.” Glen left Dr. Nesbitt's side and walked to Rose. “I'll take her to her room to rest.”

“That would probably be best.” The doctor nodded. She eased herself up from the chair. “I may rest myself, replenish my energy.”

Glen scooped Rose easily in his arms, as if she were a ragdoll, and started out of the room. He paused to let Cheyenne open the door. The changed-blood were held the door open for them. Davis followed.

“Aurora, do you think you could help me—” the doctor began but stopped when she realized Aurora had slipped out of the room unnoticed.

Cheyenne hovered in the doorway. “Do you need some help, Deb? I'd be more than happy to do it.”

“No, no, it's all right. I can manage,” Dr. Nesbitt said, with the tiniest bit of disappointment in her voice.

“Are you sure?” Cheyenne's eyebrows furrowed in concern until they touched.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, I'm sure. I'll be fine. I need to rest now.”

“All right. Thanks, Deb. I'll come check on you later, okay?”

The doctor smiled wanly. “There's no need to, but thank you.”

“Hey, just trying to take care of you. What would we do if we didn't have you to run to with our scraps and cuts?” Cheyenne grinned. “I'll stop by later. I really should go, clean up the bloody mess in the foyer.”

“That would be a good idea,” Deborah said.

Cheyenne shut the door behind her as she left and Deborah Nesbitt let out a heavy sigh. She could still feel the tingle of the power she had drawn. It coursed through her. She had felt her share of power before, drawn from the elements around her, but this time it had been different. She had drawn from a different energy source, a person with an untapped, unknown power.

Aurora.

She stared at the closed door for a long time, wondering if Aurora even knew what sort of power she possessed.

* * * *

* * * *

Aurora waited in the hall while the others left. Her gaze followed Glen as he carried Rose down the hall. He disappeared around the corner, Rose's dark hair swinging down his arm. She was glad to know Rose was all right. For a moment there, she had been really worried. The blood was still on the floor, drying in splotches, the smell of it heavy and coppery. Seeing Rose limp and nearly lifeless in Davis’ arms was something she never wanted to see again.

It all reminded her of Rose's kidnapping almost a year ago. Simon had torn into Jason and Rose's cabin, attacking them unexpected. She and Rebel had walked in, shocked to see a bloody werewolf leaning over Jason's prone body. The startled werewolf, Simon, had scurried away, grabbing hold of an unconscious Rose. That too was something she never wanted to see again.

Aurora sucked in a deep breath as Davis left next, following Glen down the hall. Their footsteps echoed down the hall and into silence. Aurora let out a breath, glad to be alone with her thoughts, even for a few minutes.

She pulled her book bag closer to her and looked over her shoulder. Cheyenne stood in the doorway, talking with Dr. Nesbitt. Aurora could listen in if she wanted to; her hearing was exceptional, but she didn't really want to. There was something about the doctor that unsettled her.

It was something in her eyes, as if she knew something, sensed something. When their eyes met across the room, Aurora had felt a pulse, almost like the book she had picked up at the library and was carrying, unknown to the others, in her bag. It wasn't pulsing any longer, but just knowing it was there—and the possibility that Dr. Nesbitt knew it too—was enough to set her on edge. She wondered why it had stopped, but she didn't dwell on it. After all, she figured, the energy may have been put to good use.

Aurora had felt the less than subtle pull on the energies around them when Dr. Nesbitt had healed Rose. She had been fascinated by the quick speed and the intense power it took to heal her. Aurora had tried a few healing spells, but she cast circles, like her magick books said, and invoked the elements to do so. It took her about half an hour to set one up to perform a spell, but Dr. Nesbitt had done it without any formal start. It was amazing and Aurora had wanted to ask her about it, but became afraid to once the doctor's gaze met hers, so she shied away.

On second thought, it was probably best she didn't mention it. She wasn't ready to let everyone know of her desire to learn magickal workings. That was something she wanted to keep to herself, for as long as she could. The others would freak if they knew. Rose had seemed a bit understanding, but still Aurora felt the tension there. She hoped neither Rose, nor Dr. Nesbitt, would tell anyone else about it.

Aurora came out of her thoughts when she heard the door click shut. Cheyenne's boots clomped loudly on the hardwood, her scent growing stronger as she neared. She smelled of the outside, of nature and earth. It was a comforting scent.

“Hey kid.” Cheyenne stopped beside her, fingers hooked in the belt loops of her jeans. “Dr. Nesbitt needed your help for something, but you lit out of there pretty fast. You all right?”

“Yeah,” Aurora answered quickly with a half shrug, feeling a slight surge of panic at the prospect of a tête-à-tête with Dr. Nesbitt. “Just a little shook up.”

Cheyenne smiled and softly touched Aurora's shoulder. Her first instinct was to back away from her touch, but she found she couldn't move. The book within her back pack began to throb again, powerfully and she froze. Her gaze met Cheyenne's, eyes widening.

Her smile faltered and concern moved over her face. “What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

The book was literally buzzing with power. Aurora felt it penetrate her and she sucked in a breath, exhaling shakily. It hadn't done that until Cheyenne touched her.

Aurora stepped back, shaking Cheyenne's hand from her shoulder.

“What is it?” she asked again. “Aurora?”

“It's nothing.” She shook her head, clearly freaked out. The book pulsed with a heartbeat like rhythm. She swallowed hard. “Nothing.”

Cheyenne opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Her gaze left Aurora's face, looking beyond her. That's when she realized it wasn't Cheyenne the book was buzzing about.

Aurora smelled the scent of something citrus combined with a changed-blood scent. It wasn't Cheyenne's signature smell. It was muskier, but definitely female, covered in the thick orange-scented perfume. The scent grew stronger, as did the emanations from her back pack. Aurora's entire body began to tingle.

She felt the presence behind her as surely as she felt the power within, pulling to get out. She turned quickly.

The woman was tall, her dark hair pulled back at the base of her neck and secured with a flowered clip. Her brown eyes surveyed Cheyenne first, her face blank of all emotion. This was Nola, Aurora was sure. She quickly understood why Rose had sounded so reserved about the new arrival. There was coolness about her stare and it suggested distrust.

Nola's gaze shifted from Cheyenne to Aurora and a small smile pulled at her lips. Aurora instinctively took a step back, if only to stop the incessant buzzing of power at Nola's presence.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,” she said, her voice pleasant and warm, unlike her eyes. “You must be Cheyenne.”

“No, that's me,” Cheyenne answered and slowly Nola's stare turned back to her. The smile faded.

“I'm sorry. There are so many people here. You must be Aurora, then?” She looked back down at her.

She was having difficulty breathing. It was almost as if the power was smothering her. Aurora fought for a deep breath, snagged it and exhaled quickly.

“How did you know our names?” Cheyenne asked.

Nola's cheeks reddened slightly. “I'm sorry. I am such an idiot sometimes. I should've explained myself. Rose and Glen, they told me you were a part of their pack. When I saw you guys with them earlier, I just kinda assumed...” She trailed off, her gaze following the path Glen had taken. “What happened to Rose? I was looking for Glen. I heard a noise, and smelled blood.”

“Rose had a near fall. The spokes in the staircase snapped and she almost fell. Davis was there to catch her,” Cheyenne answered.

“Oh, no.” Nola's face went ashen, the color draining from it quickly. “Is she all right?”

“She's fine. Dr. Nesbitt was able to heal her. There wasn't a lot of damage, but a piece of jagged wood did cut her side.” Aurora forced her gaze up to Nola's. Though the new arrival's face looked stricken, there was a sparkle in her eyes. Aurora couldn't ignore the uneasy feeling the book in her bag was forcing her to take note of it.

“As much as I am enjoying the conversation,” Cheyenne began, drawing the discussion away from Rose. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Nola.”

Cheyenne nodded, looking Nola over carefully. “It's nice to meet you Nola.” She cast a glance toward Aurora. “If you don't mind, I'm going to head on. Despite what the good doctor says, I'm still concerned about Rose. I'm going to see her settled in. I might check out that banister, too. Maybe this place has termites or something.”

“All right.” Aurora nodded, glancing nervously at Nola.

Cheyenne's brow furrowed. “You gonna be all right, ‘Rora?”

“Yeah.” Aurora found it hard to break her stare with Nola. She looked away briefly enough to see the concern on Cheyenne's face. “Ryan is picking me up. He should be here pretty soon.” Her gaze flickered back to Nola. There was something about her that demanded constant watch. She didn't want to let her guard down. She knew better.

“Okay, I'll see you later on. I'll be here all weekend if you need me, all right?”

“All right.”

With that, Cheyenne waved her goodbye and left, boots stomping down the hallway. Aurora was suddenly aware she was alone with Nola and she really didn't want to be. She turned away from her, watching Cheyenne disappear around the corner. Had she noticed anything unusual about her or was Aurora just being paranoid?

Her feelings and the undeniable power around her told her otherwise. She was not paranoid. Something was up.

She returned her gaze to Nola, to find that the woman still stared at her. There was a smirk on her face, replacing her stricken look from before.

“You're a cute kid,” she said, her voice even and dark. “How long have you been hanging out with Rose?”

Aurora didn't like Nola's tone and she swallowed, praying that the changed-blood couldn't smell the stink of fear as her uneasiness progressed.

“A few years, I guess. Four years.”

“You guys pretty close then?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I kinda admired her before I met her. She's one of my favorite authors.”

“Author, huh?” Nola lifted her eyebrows in surprise at that piece of information.

“Yeah, she had a couple books published. They're pretty good.”

“What are they about?”

“Werewolves.”

“Ah, a topic she knows a lot about.”

Aurora felt more uneasy by Nola's comments and questions. She took another step back, but Nola stepped forward, toward her. She paused and sniffed the air. Her smirk spread into a grin. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” Aurora said quickly, feeling her heart jump and start to pound quickly.

Nola laughed the sound echoing in the hallway. “You don't have to lie, little girl. I can be pretty intimidating. Some say I have the qualities of an alpha female.” She looked at Aurora, her smile fading as she waited for an answer. When Aurora didn't give her one, she fielded the question herself.

“Is Rose the alpha female?”

Aurora gripped her book bag tighter to her, the straps cutting into her sweaty palms. She thought of edging down the hall, away from her, but she realized Nola had blocked her path. The only way she could get away from her was to return to Dr. Nesbitt's office and Aurora wasn't about to do that.

“Is Rose the alpha female?” Nola demanded. Her arm shot out. Slender fingers wrapped around Aurora's wrist like a vice.

Aurora had been around werewolves her entire life and she knew the dangerous signs of dominance. Her first instinct was to pull her arm away, but for a changed-blood, Nola was incredibly strong.

“Yes.” Aurora managed to choke the words out. She kept her eyes locked on Nola. If she looked away, she knew it meant showing submissiveness.

A triumphant look moved over Nola's face. “I knew it.” She released Aurora's arm and the girl pulled it close to her, massaging her hurt flesh. “I knew Rose was the alpha female.”

“Yeah, she's the alpha.” Aurora eyed Nola carefully. What's the big deal, she asked silently.

“So that would make her mate the alpha male?” Nola looked away from Aurora, staring off into space. Her slender eyebrows came together as the wheels in her head obviously began to turn. “What's his name? Jason?”

“Yeah.”

“It makes sense,” Nola said, more to herself than to Aurora. A look of concentration overcame her face and her smile faded. Aurora sucked in a breath and watched as her face turned ugly. It was like a shadow crossed over her face and replaced her grinning, wild-eyed look with something dark and angry. “It makes so much fucking sense.”

Aurora knew better than to ask what made sense, though curiosity gnawed at her. She took a step back, finding herself almost pressed against the wall. She didn't want that.

The look on Nola's face was scary, even more so because of the unpredictability behind it. Aurora didn't know her very well and the strange pulsing power unsettled her.

There was no telling what might happen.

The young were let out a breath and pushed away from the wall. She didn't want to be here any more. “I have to go.” She felt sick when she said the words.

Nola's citrus smell was strong. “Wait a minute.” Nola caught her arm as Aurora moved past her, drawing her face close to hers. “Where is he?”

“What?” Aurora whispered.

Nola's eyes were different from any other were Aurora had ever noticed. Instead of being speckled with gold or even changing completely, Nola's eyes were dark, rimmed in wolfen yellow. “Where is he? Jason, the alpha male.”

Aurora swallowed hard. Nola's grip tightened on her arm. She felt her backpack slip and hit the floor with a hard thud. It didn't stop the vibrations from consuming her. She felt it pull at her, like it had earlier in the library. She tried to channel the energy away from her, as she had before, but found she couldn't gain enough concentration.

Nola's breath was hot on her face. Aurora couldn't help it; she had to look away and admit defeat. “I don't know,” she finally answered.

“What?” Nola's voice cut like glass. “What do you mean you don't know?”

“I don't know where he is,” Aurora answered, focusing her gaze on a spot on the wall. “None of us do.”

“Bullshit. Someone has to know. Glen? Davis? Rose?”

“No, they don't know. Jason left. He's gone.”

“Fuck.” Nola pushed her away and Aurora nearly toppled with the force. She braced herself, forearms coming in contact with the walls first.

“Someone has to know!”

“Know what?” another voice spoke.

Aurora pulled herself away from the wall and turned to see Dr. Nesbitt standing in the doorway to her office. Nola spun quickly to view her as well, a look of fury on her face.

Aurora took advantage of Nola's averted head to slip away. Her gaze met Dr. Nesbitt's knowing stare before she turned away completely and hurried down the hall.

As she crossed the foyer, past the staircase where Davis stood, examining the break in the banister, she heard the familiar roar of a motorcycle as it neared the PRDI. She hurried out the door, passing Davis without saying a word.

Rebel had just pulled his Honda Interceptor to the curb and was about to cut the engine when he saw her at the front door. She waved at him even as she secured her backpack firmly on her back and tightened the straps. She hurried across the lawn and grabbed the helmet he held out for her.

“What's the rush, ‘Rora?” he asked, but she didn't answer. She secured the helmet over her head, tucking her hair back from her neck. She climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Let's go,” she said, feeling the powerful vibrations of the motorcycle beneath her. She could barely feel the emanations from the book in her bag. She was glad for that.

There was something about Nola that was creepy. It was dominating and dangerous. The power that coursed around Aurora pointed toward it. She had never felt anything like it before. And Dr. Nesbitt. She knew. That knowing glance she gave Aurora as she left had said it all.

“What's wrong, Aurora?” Rebel asked again. He looked over his shoulder at her, his bright eyes shielded by the visor on his helmet.

She shook her head. She really didn't want to talk about it, not now, especially not over the roar of the engine.

Her brother stared at her for a moment then shrugged. He gunned the engine loudly and pulled away from the curb.

Aurora looked back, over her shoulder at the PRDI as the distance grew between them. She didn't know what the deal was with Nola, but she couldn't deny it and turn the other way. Just like she couldn't deny the power her pilfered book possessed.

She drew one arm away from her brother to adjust her backpack strap. It was still secure. There was something about this book, too, something intriguing and dangerous. Aurora had a terrible feeling the book and Nola were somehow connected, but she couldn't put her finger on it just yet.

She had a feeling that things would come together. She just didn't know when, or how.

* * * *

* * * *

Davis sat on the step next to the broken banister, inspecting the fractured wood. Rose's blood had begun to dry on the jagged piece that still jutted out. He didn't touch it, didn't move it. He wanted Glen to see it.

The break was too clean. On closer inspection, they looked as if they had been cut, sawed. This set Davis's mind at work. Over the scent of blood, he smelled a faint touch of the raw wood. Like sawdust.

He bent closer, touching the step around the spoke. He looked at his fingers when he withdrew them. Faint shavings of sawdust dirtied his fingertips. His nose had been right.

Immediately, Davis rose, staring at the wood shavings on his fingers. He didn't have to be genius to figure out what it meant.

Sabotage.

His suspicious mind branched out, trying to remember. He couldn't recall seeing anyone on the stairs, anyone out of the ordinary. He couldn't remember any suspicious behavior lately. He furrowed his brow as he dusted his fingers off and looked over the banister's edge. The broken pieces of wood still lay there.

This was definite sabotage. Someone had broken the banisters, waiting for someone to lean against it. It had been planned.

Someone had wanted to hurt someone else and was being sneaky as hell about it.

Footsteps echoed and he sank back down behind the banister. He peered through the spokes and watched as Nola stormed from the hall and into the foyer. She looked livid, her hands clenched tightly together. Her lips were a colorless straight line.

He wondered what she was so pissed about as he watched her walk across the floor and pause at the mess. She muttered something heatedly under her breath and kicked one of the broken pieces of wood. It flew across the floor and hit the wall, clattering loudly.

Then she lifted her head and saw him there. She froze, the livid look on her face melting away into shock. Davis narrowed his eyes at her.

“What?” she barked, tossing a piece of stray hair out of her eyes as she tilted her head back at him. “I can't get pissed when a fellow were almost gets killed?”

Davis said nothing and just stared at her. Nola blinked several times. Realizing Davis wasn't going to say anything, she reluctantly tore her eyes away from him with an annoyed sigh. She looked down at the mess and muttered something he once again didn't catch.

He continued to watch as she nonchalantly turned away and sauntered down the hall, toward her room. He kept his eyes narrowed. He knew he would have to keep an eye on Nola. There was just something about her...

And he had a growing suspicion she wasn't pissed about Rose's near fall, but for another reason entirely.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

The darkened room spun out of control when Jason opened his eyes. He had never been tranquilized before, so he wasn't sure if the dizziness was a side effect of the drugs or not. It could've been a remnant of his reeling psychic impulses, but something warned him better of it. He just couldn't be sure.

He sat up, rubbing his head. He had a slight headache, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He was alive and that's all that really mattered.

His half-blood eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. The room blissfully stopped moving and he was able to get a good look around.

The room was empty, save for the small cot he sat on and a small toilet in the corner. Jason wrinkled his nose. It smelled as unclean as it looked.

It looked like a fucking prison cell.

Where the hell am I? He wondered, still disoriented as he stood. He remembered the sting of the dart and touched his arm where it had hit. His arm still felt sore. He rubbed it a moment then looked down at it.

The wound had not healed yet and Jason was sure he had been in this place for a while. Either he was mistaken or there was something in that damn tranquilizer that delayed his werewolf healing. He was pretty sure he wasn't wrong. He reached for his gun, but it was gone.

“Shit.” Jason crossed the small room in three steps and touched a cold, unwelcoming wall. What was this place? Outwardly, it hadn't looked like much, but there was definitely something to this place. He had clearly misjudged it.

He tried to make sense of what had happened as his fingers moved along the smooth, cold surface. He searched for cracks or any sort of break that might be key to escaping.

He found a crack where the door opened. He used as much strength as he could, but found he couldn't gain enough leverage to pull it open even an inch.

The door was locked tight and when Jason banged his fist against it, he wasn't surprised to find it was made of solid steel.

He turned quickly, searching for another exit, but there was none. He felt a wave of panic strike him. He wasn't the type to freak out, but he was in a dark, small room. While he enjoyed the dark and wasn't claustrophobic by any means, the enclosed area still made him edgy. Wolves didn't do well inside walls. He needed to be free.

Jason wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet. He was determined, anxious to find some way out. He slunk along the wall, fingers sliding along the unforgiving metal. But he searched to no avail. There was no way he was getting out unless the door opened, or he was able to shrink enough to climb through the air vent in the ceiling. There was a slot near the bottom of the door, probably meant for a food tray, but it was small. He certainly couldn't use it.

“Goddamn it.” His voice echoed loudly around him. He clenched his fists together and turned to face the door. The room was too small, too tight and the door too solid.

He wasn't about to let that stop him. This was no fleeting desire. He had to get out.

He took a few steps back. Charging the door would be stupid and would succeed in nothing but hurting himself, but Jason had little choice. By some thin chance, he might succeed. That was enough for him.

Don't.

The voice came again, louder than when it came to him in the Camaro. He winced, involuntarily throwing his hands up to cover his ears. But covering his ears wouldn't stop this kind of noise.

Don't do it. The voice, clearly female, softened with her plea. Don't do it. You need to save your energy.

“Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing inside my head?” he demanded, aloud. Jason waited for an answer, but nothing came. He listened, hearing his own blood pump through his veins, but the voice was silent.

Jason felt his shoulders tense and realized his entire body was shaking. His fists trembled as he unclenched them and flexed his fingers.

All around him was stifling silence. Maybe he had imagined the voice after all. Maybe he had hit his head when he fell and now had some serious brain damage.

But that doesn't explain how I heard it before, he amended. Jason let out a deep breath and waited. The voice had to speak again. He braced himself for it.

Just as he had anticipated, the voice answered. Save your energy. We all want out, but it's not time yet. We can't.

Jason blinked a few times. The voice wasn't quite as loud in his head once he got used to it.

“What do you mean by ‘we'? Who are you? What are you?” he asked, again using his words, shouting them at the ceiling. A few moments later came the reply.

Your thoughts are enough for us to hear. You do not have to speak. Save your energy.

Is this telepathy? Jason asked in his mind, feeling stupid even as he did it. He had never had this sort of psychic experience before and he didn't like it. He was starting to get a headache.

A mindlink, came the quickest reply yet. Our minds, all of our minds, are melded together.

How? Who else am I connected to?

The others are too weak to speak with you at this time, but I speak for them. There are three of us. We are in the same situation as you are, trapped, with no way out. You must save your energy.

Why the hell do you keep telling me to save my energy? Jason sat down on the edge of the uncomfortable cot. His head was really starting to hurt now. He held a couple fingers to his temple to ease the pressure.

Because you must, the female voice was earnest. You have to be strong to help us get out of here. Rest, conserve what energy and strength you have for the final push.

I have no idea what you're talking about, Jason admitted. He was confused, further adding to his headache. His experience in psychic phenomena was still quite limited. He had a few visions before, felt empathic vibes from people around him and similar actions, but never had he spoke with someone telepathically.

It was still all so new to him.

All will be explained in time, but for now, you must rest. I will leave you be so you can gather yourself. Tonight, we will push forward and leave this place.

Push what? Who else am I connected to? What the hell is going on? he demanded silently, but there was no response. True to her word, the voice had left him. Jason tried several more times to create a connection, but there was nothing.

“Fuck.” He lay back on the bed, staring up at a black ceiling. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe at a normal pace. His hands still shook and to calm them, he crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his fists tightly beneath his armpits.

He felt invaded. Whoever this bitch was, she had gotten into his mind and Jason didn't like it. It made him feel vulnerable, something he would not tolerate. It also scared him beyond all reason.

And when something scared him, it was deadly serious.

He took a few deep breaths and tried to shake away the feelings but to no avail. He could still feel the remnants of her intrusion in a dull pounding headache.

It seemed an eternity before his heart calmed to a steady rate and he could breathe normally again. The ache in his head tapered off, disappearing. He listened to the silence around him, probing with his mind to establish a connection of his own with the strange woman. He soon found he wasn't quite as adept at being telepathic.

It was just as well. It gave him a headache anyway.

Jason sat up on the cot and ran a hand through his hair. The woman's words came back to him and he tried to make sense of her cryptic warnings. What had she meant by he needed to conserve his energy? She had been very insistent on it. What was this “final push"? What did she mean by that?

He swung his legs to the edge of the cot and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He wished the woman had explained herself more. Who were these other people? How were they going to escape? What the hell was going on? What was this place?

The questions made his head begin to hurt again, but Jason didn't push them away. A quick look around the room once again confirmed he was trapped. He didn't have anything better to do except think on it and try to figure out what the hell she was talking about.

She had to be the woman he saw in the window. He was almost sure of it. And she was definitely the one who had contacted him before, when he had been driving in the Camaro.

But who was she? A powerful psychic, no doubt, Jason thought to himself. She had to be something if she could communicate with him like that. Not for the first time since his awakening to his psychic powers, Jason regretted not learning more at the PRDI. He didn't fully approve of some of the earlier workings of the PRDI, but it was the only reliable place to get information about paranormal and supernatural events and creatures.

He owed the PRDI a debt of gratitude he hated to admit. Now that Glen was in charge, things were different, but only marginally so.

He wondered if this psychic woman had ever been to the PRDI, or if she even knew it existed. It would explain how she was so powerful, but Jason immediately dismissed that idea. Being powerful didn't necessarily mean you had learned it through study, or school.

Like himself, for example. His psychic powers had suddenly grown after an altercation with Simon Conner. When the hunter shot and left Jason for dead, he had awoken sometime after, completely refreshed, healed. There had been no explanation for it, until now. Jason was sure he had only survived because of his psychic abilities.

After that night, his impulses grew. He knew things were going to happen before they did. He got strange feelings about places, about people. He could read emotions, see visions. It was almost too much for him to handle all at once.

And now, on top of it all, this strange woman was speaking with him telepathically.

Jason felt his head began to pound again and he groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. He heard a buzzing in his ears.

If you're trying to talk to me again, don't bother, Jason warned in his mind. I don't want to talk to you.

But the voice he expected to hear did not answer. Jason shook his head, trying to shake the buzzing away. He suddenly felt dizzy and he grabbed the cot as the room seemed to spin around him. He almost lost his balance as vertigo set in.

“Oh God,” he groaned, leaning forward to avoid nausea, but it was useless. He had never felt so sick before. It was like a hangover, but much worse. He felt bile begin to rise in his throat, but he swallowed it back down.

“What's happening?” He choked on the words as they came out. He tumbled off the cot and hit the cold, hard floor. The room continued to spin around him and Jason shut his eyes. “What the hell is going on?”

We need to talk.

Jason's blood chilled at the sound of an unfamiliar, callous male voice. His fingers clawed at the floor, trying to find a hold to grab.

“Who are you?”

Everything was suddenly still. Jason's vertigo was gone, almost instantly. He lay still, hand splayed on the floor. He moved slowly and sat up. Only moments ago, he had felt sick, dizzy. Now, he felt fine. Confused, but fine.

“Who the hell are you?” Jason demanded again as he climbed to his feet. He clenched his fists to his side. “What the hell do you want?”

There was a heavy thud and Jason spun to the door. He was immediately blinded by a brilliant fluorescent light. He threw his arms up to shield his face, letting his guard down in doing so. Even if he had his gun, he wouldn't have been able to shoot.

Shadows crossed in front of the light, rushing into the room. Jason barely had time to react as two burly men grabbed his arms and dragged him forward. He fought, struggling as they pulled him out of his dark cell and into the light.

Jason ceased his struggles when he found even his half-blood strength did not affect them. These men were strong, with thick arms like body builders. They couldn't be normal humans, this he was sure of, but he couldn't detect any strange smells.

He kicked again in an attempt to gauge their strength. The man on his right grunted and tightened his grip. His arm grew numb from the elbow down. His struggles might be useless, but he still had a mouth with which to curse.

“Let me go, you fuckers!”

“Shut up,” the man on his right answered in a gruff voice. Neither of them looked at him. They kept their eyes straight ahead as they marched down the clean, narrow corridor, dragging Jason between them.

“Don't fucking tell me to shut up.” Jason balked, trying to gain a foothold. “Where the fuck are you taking me?”

“Shut up,” the guy on his left answered this time. “Boss wants to talk to you.”

“Boss, huh? He's got you pretty whipped. What else does he have you do? Suck his cock?”

“Shut up,” the man on the right yelled, glaring down at Jason for the first time. His eyes were bright and yellow, shocking Jason at the sight of them. “Another smartass comment like that and I'll—”

“You'll do nothing,” a voice answered from down the hall. The sound of it resonated off the walls around them. The men stopped, their grip falling lax. Jason saw his moment and seized it.

Sharply, he jabbed his elbow into the stomach of the man on his right. The goon doubled over with a groan. Jason wrenched his arm out of his vice-like grip. He spun quickly before the other man had a chance to react and threw a punch. It connected with the man's jaw with a sickening, bone-crunching sound.

Jason slid across the floor to escape the clutches of the first man, now recovering from the gut shot. He leapt toward Jason, but collided with his partner. The two men hit the ground hard.

Which way? Jason thought frantically. He turned in the direction they had dragged him from. Where was the exit? He snapped his head around. The men were climbing to their feet; he didn't have a lot of time. A long shadow fell across the floor, over the two men, stopping just at Jason's feet. He lifted his gaze.

At the end of the hall was an open door. A man in a white lab coat stood there, leaning his short stature against the frame. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back and his glasses reflected the harsh light of the hallway. He didn't look like much, but there was an air about him that unsettled Jason. He smelled human, but dangerous.

Jason became locked in a stare-down with the strange man. He cocked a thick eyebrow, an amused expression on his face. The look infuriated him and Jason balled his hands into tight fists. Already he was distrustful of him. Anyone who wore a lab coat and smirked while doing it had to be bad news.

“You,” Jason called. “Who are you?”

He was tackled to the floor before he got an answer. One of the burly men had recovered, throwing his hefty weight into Jason's lithe body. He hit the wall, pinned painfully where he couldn't move. Moments later, he was back in a vice-like grip, arms twisted behind him.

The asshole he had punched glared at him. Jason knew he had broken his jaw by the way the man held his hand to his face, but why he wasn't screaming in pain Jason couldn't figure out.

He was thrust forward, toward the man in the lab coat. His grey eyes surveyed Jason coolly, his smirk long faded.

“We need to talk,” he replied and Jason knew his had been the voice he had heard in his head, just before his vertigo kicked in and he became disoriented. He glared at the man, ignoring the almost crippling pain inflicted by the brute holding him.

The man made a sharp sound in his throat like a cough and broke the stare. His eyes lifted, meeting the gaze of the man with the broken jaw. “See to that,” he ordered. “I need you at one-hundred percent.”

The man mumbled something, clearly trying to speak but unable to. The man in the lab coat lifted a hand to silence him. “I know you'll heal, but see to it anyway.”

He dumbly nodded his head, unable to do anything else. Jason glanced over his shoulder and past the bulk of the jackass behind him to see the injured man turn and walk the opposite way. It was all he saw before he was pushed forward again.

The man in the lab coat returned his gaze to Jason and there was no humor there, no amusement. It was the all too familiar look of pure anger and hatred.

“Yes, I think we need to have a very long talk.”

“What do you want with me? Who are you?”

The man said nothing and stepped aside. With a gesture of his hand, Jason's captor pushed him through the open door.

Jason balked in the doorway at the sight of all the medical equipment lining the room. He felt a twinge of fear and unease. He had never liked doctors or hospitals and this place looked like something from a mad scientist horror movie.

There was a strange apparatus that resembled a dentist's chair, but even more horrendous. There was a cold, uninviting medical table lined with needles, scalpels and all manner of dangerous looking paraphernalia. Counters along the far wall held devices like beakers and microscopes.

Try as he might to make his weight solid and unmovable, it was no use and he was pushed further into the room. He regained his resolve and tried to fight, uselessly. The man twisted his arm tighter and grunted a noncommittal response.

“Sit him over there,” the lab coat man demanded, waving a hand in the direction of the torturous dentist chair contraption. He shut the heavy steel door behind him with a loud bang and slid a lock into place. Jason struggled anew, grunting as he tried to get an arm free. The man's grip cut off his circulation and Jason winced.

He was only released, briefly, when he was thrust into the chair. He took advantage of the situation and tried to scramble away, but was thrown back into the chair. The hefty man scowled at him, blocking his path. He began to strap him into the chair with pieces of leather.

Jason struggled against the leather biting into his wrist. He wasn't used to being matched against someone stronger than he was. Simon Conner had been a full-blood, but even so, Jason had been able to fight him and gain advantage over him. Never mind the fact Davis had helped a bit.

The guy holding him down and strapping him in was solid. He had a muscle to him that even a full-blood were didn't possess. Jason hated being weak in comparison, but he was outmatched. There was no doubt.

And these goons weren't human. The bright golden eyes the man glared in his direction could only belong to a were, but there was no were-scent that Jason could identify. Unless the man was a full-blood, Jason couldn't smell the scent anyway, but the strength the man possessed was uncanny. He was took strong to be a half-blood or a changed-blood.

He was something else entirely.

With Jason securely strapped in, the man stepped back and crossed his thick arms over his chest. Behind him, Lab Coat Man had his back to Jason. There was a tinkling of glass and the sharp sound of metal scraping metal before he turned. He held his arms at his sides and stared at Jason with cold grey eyes.

Jason hated the man's obnoxious stare and smirk. He narrowed his eyes at him. Lab Cat Man approached slowly, his shoes squeaking with each step. He stopped just a few steps from the chair and cocked his head a bit at Jason.

“You don't look like much,” he stared, blinking as if surprised, “but I've been fooled before.”

“Fuck you.”

The man straightened his head and leaned back. His lips slipped into a frown. “There's something about you,” the man continued, unfazed by the outburst. “Something different.” He leaned in so close that his face was only inches from Jason's. He smelled of aftershave and mouthwash, clean and sterile. “Why are you here?”

“You fucking brought me here. How would I know?” Jason snapped.

“Enough of that. I don't play games,” the man warned. The man stared at him thoughtfully. “Why are you here? Were you sent?”

“Sent? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Lab Coat Man's face changed in an instant. He lost his composure, anger clouding his features. “I said that was enough. Who sent you?”

“No one sent me,” Jason yelled back, spraying spittle in the man's face. He stood back, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat. He wiped his face slowly, removing all traces of the spittle before he glared at Jason.

“I don't believe you,” he said coldly. “You came here for a reason. I can sense it. There is purpose about you. I can read it in your eyes.”

“Maybe you just need to get your vision checked.”

Jason watched the man's temples throb angrily as he clenched his teeth together.

Instead of shouting at Jason, he merely shrugged and turned his back to him. He walked a few paces and then began to speak.

“No one just comes here, out of the blue. They come here because they want to find out things. I am certain someone sent you to discover what I am doing here. I can't have that.” He paused, folding his handkerchief slowly and placing it on the counter next to his expensive looking equipment. “What I'm doing here is revolutionary. No one is going to stop me. Not this time.”

Jason's thoughts of a mad scientist came back. “I really don't know what you're talking about,” Jason tried to explain again. The man shook his head and glanced back at him. “No one sent me.”

“I very much doubt that.”

When he fully turned to face Jason, he heard the familiar buzzing in his ears. His head started to pound with perhaps his most ferocious headache yet. He cried out, wincing at the pain. He tried to move his arms, to press his hands to his temples to ease the pain but he was strapped in too well.

It felt like his head was splitting in two. He wanted to scream, but refrained from doing so. He saw red. He shut his eyes and ground his teeth together.

As quickly as the pain came, it was gone. Jason gasped from the shock of it. He opened his eyes and let his vision clear. Lab Coat Man stared at him with a mixed look of surprise and anger. He narrowed his eyes.

Immediately, the pain coursed through his head. This time, he did let out a scream. If the pain before was bad, this was ten times worse.

Then the pain was gone, just like that. It left Jason disoriented and shocked. He stared at the man before him and knew.

He was the cause of the headaches. He was doing something to him.

“Get the fuck out of my head.” He didn't know how it had been done but he knew somehow this man had gotten inside his mind. Once more, he felt violated.

“No worries there, my friend,” he answered with a resigned sigh. “I'm afraid I was mistaken. You don't know anything.”

“You had to fucking probe my head to find that out? You should've fucking listened to me in the first place,” Jason yelled. “I don't know who the hell you are, or what the fuck you are doing here. Let me go!”

“I know,” the man said, a little sadly. He sighed again. He turned his back once again on Jason and rested his hands on the metal counter. He hunched forward, lowering his head as if in deep thought.

Jason still reeled from having his mind invaded. Who was this guy? Was he psychic? Jason pulled at his restraints. They tightened on his arms with each movement. He strained, balling his hands into fists as he forced them to pull. It was no use. He was stuck.

His hefty goon stood near the door, his unnerving eyes watching Jason's every movement. He didn't look happy. Jason didn't blame him. The guy looked like he had a bug up his ass. He stared at him for a moment longer before turning his attention back to Lab Coat Guy.

“You came here for a reason, I know it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jason repeated for about the hundredth time. The man shook his head and grabbed something from the counter. He turned to face Jason.

“I don't know what it is about you, or who you are,” he began, “but I intend to find out.” He pulled the cap off the syringe and it dropped to the floor with an ominous clatter. Jason saw the flash of the needle and his entire body tensed. His fear of doctors came flooding back in a panic and he renewed his efforts to get away.

Calling upon the wolf was something he rarely did any more. He hadn't changed in so long, he was sure he had forgotten how. Once he felt the familiar burn in his muscles, he knew that wasn't the case. Cursing himself silently for not doing this sooner, he called upon the additional strength.

It was enough to break one arm free of the strap. The leather snapped loudly and Jason turned, clawing viciously at the other strap.

“Stop him,” the lab coat man shouted and the beefy man at the door flew into action. In seconds, he had hold of Jason's loose arm, holding it out straight. Jason felt his elbow being pulled apart. If this guy pulled any harder, his arm was going to snap in half.

It didn't stop Jason from struggling though. He still had the strength of the wolf and he tried to pull the other strap apart.

“Hold him.”

The goon grunted and wrapped his arm around the back of the dentist chair. His hand pressed against Jason's neck, holding his head straight as he crushed his windpipe.

Even with his air cut off, Jason wouldn't stop. He writhed from side to side in the chair. He felt the cold point of the needle touch the crook of his extended elbow. There was a sharp jab. Jason tried to scream, but only succeeded in a choking groan.

Jason stared at Lab Coat Man with intense anger and hatred. The man, however, did not look at him until he had drawn what blood he needed. When he pulled back, he met Jason's gaze. A slow smirk spread over his lined face.

“Those eyes can only mean one thing. You're a werekin. But I wonder just how much of a werekin.”

Jason tried to curse at him, but he couldn't even manage that. He felt lightheaded from lack of oxygen. The goon didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

“Well, I'll find out soon enough just what you are.” The man looked at the syringe containing Jason's blood. He turned to walk away, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “Don't kill him just yet. He might be useful.”

Again, the goon grunted and moved his hand from Jason's throat. Jason gulped in huge mouthfuls of air, coughing loudly. The goon went to work quickly, securing him once again to the chair with another strap. This time, he checked them, making sure they were extra tight. They were. Jason couldn't feel his fingers.

Lab Coat Man busied himself with his mad scientist's kit. He mixed some clear liquids together and swirled them in a large container. He studied it curiously before setting it aside. Jason watched as he took the syringe and dripped several drops of the blood into the mixture. Swirling it again, the mixture turned a faint pink.

With no expression on his face, the man left the beaker and moved to the microscope. He dripped blood onto a glass slide and put it into place. He leaned over the microscope and adjusted his settings.

Jason tried to move his arms, but couldn't this time. The wolf had retreated back within, somewhere Jason couldn't reach him. He was tired, lightheaded.

“Hmm.” The man grunted and moved back from the microscope. He removed his glasses, rubbed them on his shirt and slipped them back on. He leaned over the device again.

After a few moments, he stepped back and turned toward Jason. He blinked several times, surveying him with disbelief.

“What?” Jason barked. The man merely shook his head.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. His demeanor had changed so quickly. He looked shocked, almost scared when he looked at Jason. “What are you?”

Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to because the man answered for him. “You're what I've been looking for all these years. You're the key.”

“What?”

“You—whatever it is you are—you're what I've been trying to create. A mixture of were blood and witch blood, an ultimate specimen.”

“Oh fuck me.” Jason felt his hope sink and panic once again set in. This was worse than he had thought, much, much worse.

This was a lab and he was the guinea pig.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine

Back in the private sanctuary of her room, Nola could vent in peace. Slamming the door behind her, she let out a loud growl and stomped her way to the bathroom. She needed to throw something. A hairbrush was the first thing within her reach and she snatched it up. She hurled it at her reflection and watched the mirror crack into a web of splintered glass.

Her face leered back at her a million times, reflecting her scowl. She had come to hate this new face and with an even more defined scowl, she turned away from the mirror. Broken pieces littered the floor and crunched under her boots.

Nola left the bathroom quickly and grabbed her charging cell phone from the night stand. She hit the speed dial and as the familiar number began to dial, she plucked the annoying contact lenses from her eyes and tossed them aside.

The phone clicked as someone on the other end picked up. “Hello?” Miguel's smooth voice, normally a comfort to her ears, grated on her nerves tonight.

“I've got a huge fucking problem.”

“Calm down, chica. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to fucking deal with it.” Realizing she was shouting, she lowered her voice to angry hiss. “You need to get your ass over here and finish this!”

“It's not my game, you know that,” Miguel answered, his voice slow and without worry. It made her even more annoyed. “This is what you wanted. You wanted to do this and I agreed to help—”

“I paid you to help,” she reminded him.

“Same thing. My point is it's all up to you. You wanted to find this Jason guy and take him out. And you were the one who decided to target his woman when you couldn't find him. It's not my game.”

“Fuck.” Nola paced the floor and stopped near the bed. The strap of her bag poked out from under the bed skirt and she crouched to pull it out. “I don't care, Miguel. I need you here to fucking finish this. I can't stand this fucking charade any minute longer.”

“What happened?”

“What hasn't happened?” She tucked the cell phone between her shoulder and ear, using both hands to unzip her bag and pull it open. Her pistols reflected light from the bedside lamp. She picked one of them up. “The fucking staircase fall didn't work. I made it look like an accident, but one of her dumbass packmates was there to catch her. Then some stupid little bitch wouldn't tell me where the fuck Jason is. And then, some witch doctor woman cornered me.”

Dr. Nesbitt had stared at her for the longest time, as if appraising her. She hadn't said much, but it was a clear warning to Nola. She would have more than one pair of eyes on her. She was certain Rose was already suspicious of her. Davis was, too, for that matter. He had been from the start.

“I can see how that would be a problem.”

“I need you to get over here and help me. I've been kissing ass the moment I got here and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of rubbing shoulders with these do-nothing good guys. If I stay here any longer, I think I'm gonna puke.” She threw the gun aside with a grunt of annoyance.

“You have to keep your cover, no matter what happens, until the moment when you finish him. Remember, that's what you want.”

“I don't know what I want any more. I hate that fucking bitch as much as I hate him.”

She rummaged around in her bag, removed the other gun. Paper rustled as she removed a folder from the bottom of the bag. She stared at him a moment before continuing in a low voice. “I never understood why he had the hots for her. She's got nothing on me.”

“That's for sure,” Miguel laughed throatily. She could half imagine him stretched out languidly on the couch and the image evoked very naughty thoughts. She couldn't help but grin.

But the grin didn't last very long when her eyes dropped to the folder in her hands.

She set her jaw as she opened it to the first page. The newspaper clipping was still fairly new, not yellow or faded at all. She silently read over the headline.

Body of Man Found Mutilated in Woods.

The words made her stomach knot up. The man was Simon Conner, it had to be. There were too many similarities, but she had to make sure.

When she went to the site where the body was found, there were faint traces of the full-blood scent. The scent was familiar, though faded. It was his. Simon had been there. That was enough to confirm it for her.

She went livid. Simon was dead and she was pretty sure she knew who had killed him. Jason Barnett had been Simon's sworn enemy for as long as she had known him. After Simon's disappearance in his search for Jason, it only seemed natural that an altercation had occurred.

And judging from the reports on the conditions of the mutilated body, and the blood scent that hadn't quite faded with time, it had been a bad one.

She got started right away. She knew exactly where to begin. The PRDI.

She hired a mercenary first, a man with experience in covert reconnaissance. Miguel Rodriguez was good at what he did and looked damn good while doing it. She hadn't needed a lot to persuade him. A little sex went a long way.

He advised her in what to do first.

She needed cover, first and foremost. A month was far too short a time to get everything together, but she was determined. She was concerned with being recognized.

After all, she had met some of their little pack—Jason and Rose included—only then she wasn't going by the name of Nola Anderson. She had been Alana Moore, then a werewolf hunter with something to prove, now a changed-blood with a vendetta to avenge her mate's death.

It was enough of a cause to change everything about her. She didn't care if she never looked the same again. Avenging Simon meant more to her than her vanity.

And that was saying a lot.

She consulted a plastic surgeon to perform a necessary nose job and brow lift. She considered wearing a wig but after trying some out with her new face, she dyed her auburn hair a dark brown. Contact lenses worked well to hide her green eyes. She was confident she wouldn't be recognized, at least not by appearance alone.

Her scent would definitely give her away if any of them recognized it. She wasn't going to risk that. She purchased the strongest smelling perfume she could find, something with a heavy citrus base. It covered up her scent nicely. She only hoped it would work.

With Miguel's help, they created the persona of Nola Anderson, a changed-blood looking to discover more about her new brethren. It was a good ruse, they had both thought, but Alana knew pulling it off would take a lot of restraint. Acting classes had helped, but not too much she now realized.

She had almost lost it when she had been alone with Aurora. The younger woman was so naïve, so weak and vulnerable. Alana wasn't sure why, but weakness in others invoked anger in the wolf. She used her anger to exert dominance, something she exhibited with Aurora.

The young girl had been frightened. She could smell the fear-scent all over her and that pushed the wolf almost to the breaking point. If it hadn't been for the doctor interrupting them, she was sure she would've had Aurora submitting to her.

It was a blessing in disguise, she realized. She had almost blown her cover with that little stunt. She needed more control.

“You still there?” Miguel's voice reminded her she was still on the line with him. She took the phone back in her hand and pressed it back to her ear. She shook her head to clear it.

“Yeah, still here,” she answered sullenly.

“You all right?”

“Just fucking peachy, Miguel. How do you think I am?”

“Do you have a plan?”

“No,” she said, pushing the folder aside. She was done with it. She resumed looking through her bag. In the bottom was a sheath with a knife. She removed it, testing the weight of it with one hand. It would have to do. “That's why I called you.”

“I always have a plan,” Miguel answered. She heard him lick his lips. “But I can't always be there for you. If you want it so much, figure it out yourself.”

“Will you stop that? Yeah, it's all fucked up and I need to figure it out on my own, but this needs to be done right. In order to do it right, I need your fucking help. Why do you think I hired you? I suggest you start doing what I ask, or you can kiss your payment goodbye.”

There was a cold silence from the other end of the phone before she heard Miguel give in with a sigh. “Fine, chica. Meet me at the hotel. It's not a good idea for me to show up there. Might point suspicion your way.”

“Too late,” she muttered, but she was sure Miguel didn't catch it. “I'll be there in an hour.” She hit the end call button on her phone without waiting for a goodbye.

She hadn't expected him to demand she meet him, but after thinking about it, she realized he was right. It would draw more suspicion if Miguel showed up unexpectedly. Sighing, Alana refilled the bag with her weapons.

The sheath and knife went around her ankle. She wanted something to protect herself if she needed to and carrying a gun around was just asking for it. She liked to think she wasn't stupid or careless, but really well prepared under the circumstances.

Once she secured the sheath tightly around her ankle and slid the leg of her jeans down to cover it, she headed to the bathroom. The broken bits of mirror crunched under her boots as she crossed the floor.

With a wide sweep of her arm, more glass fell to the floor. Tiny droplets of blood formed along her forearm from various cuts and pricks. She wiped them away with a hand towel and searched the counter for her contact case. When she found it, she slipped the contacts in, then watched herself in the broken mirror as her eyes went from bright jade green, to dull brown in seconds. Finally, Alana sprayed a generous amount of her orange smelling perfume and ran a comb through her hair, shaking out tiny bits of mirror.

The affect Nola Anderson's appearance created was one of homeliness, a real down-to-earth feel that Alana found hard to keep. Nola also looked friendly, whereas Alana had always looked severe and somewhat cynical. She frowned at her reflection and Alana saw a tiny bit of her old self in Nola's face.

Maybe her new face wouldn't be so bad once she got used to it.

She primped a few seconds more and grabbed her lightweight jacket from the desk chair. It was warm, being June, but the jacket would serve to cover up the cuts on her arms until they healed. Alana locked the door behind her and retraced her steps through the building, toward the foyer.

She took in a hissing breath when she turned the corner to see Davis still hovering by the staircase. He knelt by the littered pieces of banister, his brown hair falling forward across his forehead. He glanced up when he heard her step into the room and frowned.

“Where are you going?” He stood to his full height, eye to eye with her.

Alana, in her best Nola mode, shrugged and smiled wistfully. “Just wanted to go out, enjoy the weather,” she managed to answer in a smooth voice.

Davis blinked his grey eyes a few times and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared her down with a stern gaze.

Alana refrained from taking the knife from her ankle sheath and slitting his throat with it. Instead, she smiled. “You can join me, if you want.”

“I'd rather not,” he answered dryly. His gaze shifted down, toward the floor. He kicked at one of the broken spokes, rolling it beneath his boot.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, but when his eyes flashed back to her with a hint of wolfen yellow, she knew it had been the wrong question to ask.

“Rose almost fucking died, and you want to go out and enjoy the weather?” Davis scoffed, shaking his head. “That's unbelievable.”

“What's unbelievable? That I want to get out of this house for a while, away from the chaos?” Alana thought she did a good job when she sounded chagrined enough. She even made her lower lip tremble.

Davis wasn't buying it.

“Yeah, right,” he answered, unfolding his arms and kneeling to the floor. His fingertip touched and drew away quickly. “You see that?” he asked, holding it up so she could see the faint dust on his fingers. “It's sawdust. Someone cut these spokes to make them break and I have a pretty good idea who it was.”

“What?” Alana felt a wave of panic hit her. She willed it away with a few deep breaths. Davis's accusatory gaze never left her for a second. “You think I did it?”

His silence and heated stare were enough of an answer to confirm it.

Alana's mouth dropped open in dutiful surprise and she widened her eyes for effect. “You can't possibly think I'm responsible for this?”

“All signs point to yes.” Davis made a wide, sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Where were you when this was happening?”

“I was in the bathroom.”

“Hiding?”

“No!”

Davis stopped the interrogation and closed his eyes. “For some reason, I don't believe you.”

Alana feigned ignorance. “I don't know what you're talking about. I just learned of the accident a little bit ago. I was in the bathroom when she fell. I swear it!” Her voice held just a touch of pleading, enough to seem sincere.

But judging from the look Davis’ face, he still didn't believe her. He opened his eyes to look at her coolly. “You know, for someone who had nothing to do with it, you're trying awfully hard to prove something.”

“I didn't do it,” she pleaded again, this time bringing coached tears to her eyes as she looked to Davis for sympathy.

But the half-blood wasn't about to give in. He shook his head.

“Why are you suspecting me? Is it just because I wasn't there? Why are you accusing me?” She asked her questions in a broken voice. She took a step toward him, but Davis moved back.

“I have my reasons,” he said in the same cool voice. He looked her up and down.

Alana was quickly growing tired of this game. She realized, ruefully, that she wouldn't be able to change his mind about it. He was solid and stubborn. She sighed at his cryptic answer and blinked back her fake tears. She composed herself, clenching her fists at her side.

There was a change in Davis's eyes that made her aware that something had changed on her face as well. Alana knew she was crossing into dangerous waters with what she was about to say, but she could no longer hold it in. Her entire demeanor and attitude changed in zero seconds flat. She was no longer Nola Anderson, but herself once again.

“Look, I don't know what your problem is, but get off my back, all right? I didn't do a goddamn thing so stop acting like I did,” she started in a low voice. She closed the distance between them and stared at him eye to eye. “Just because I'm the new girl doesn't mean I'm the suspect.”

Davis swallowed hard. She could smell a slight bit of fear from him, but not much. Her lips curled into a smirk. The intimidation factor was at work again, just like with Aurora earlier. She decided to use it to her benefit, but carefully.

“I wasn't there,” she said in a softer voice that oozed malice. “And even if I was there, you wouldn't be able to prove it. You couldn't smell my scent if you tried. You're only a half-blood.”

“You're one to talk,” Davis cut in. “You're a changed-blood.”

“My point exactly. You wouldn't be able to smell me, if I had been the culprit.” She stepped back from him, glancing wistfully at the broken place in the banister. “Besides, there are so many other weres here, too many to sniff through to find out just who's been loitering near the staircase.”

Davis started, moving back quickly so they were no longer as close. “You little bitch,” he said hatefully. “You do know something, don't you?”

“If I did, you wouldn't be able to prove it,” she answered in a mocking tone. Her smirk remained on her face. Gauging his reaction, she found it infuriated him. That gave her some satisfaction.

Davis clenched his hands at his side. Alana wasn't sure if he would hit her or not, but she was prepared to move quickly if he lunged at her.

“I'll prove it,” he said darkly, standing his ground. “If you were the one who caused this, I'll prove it.”

She laughed. “How? Sniffing around? I think not.”

His face blanched. She knew from his expression he found himself cornered. “No, I think not,” she said again. “You can't prove anything on me. I didn't do it.”

She smiled, brightly and begrudgingly slipped back into her Nola persona. “I'm innocent.”

“Bullshit.” Davis muttered under his breath.

Alana beamed at him. It was true what she had said, and they both knew it. He wasn't going to prove anything on her. She was in the free and clear.

Davis seemed to realize this and clenched his teeth together. Alana watched his temples throb and her smile turned into a knowing smirk. If he wanted to prove anything, he was going to have to try a lot harder.

Intimidation was not his strongest point. “I'll find out the truth. I'll prove it,” he said, uselessly.

Alana said nothing. With a flip of her head that tossed her dark hair behind her, she sauntered toward the door. One look over her shoulder with that knowing smirk still glued to her face was all the answer she needed to give.

As far as she was concerned, this conversation was over. She had places to go and people to see...

And more importantly, people to kill.

She left the PRDI quickly and hailed a cab down the street. She had some time before she had to meet Miguel at the hotel. She hoped it would be enough time for him to come up with a plan.

* * * *

* * * *

Miguel Rodriguez stood by the window in his hotel suite, hidden from outside view by the thick rose colored curtains. The sun warmed the curtains and he pressed his bearded cheek against them as he waited. Alana was due any moment.

He tried to convince himself he wasn't worried as he ran a calloused hand along the raised etchings of the flowered wallpaper. Alana was a capable girl, if a little too hot headed. All she needed was to keep her cool.

Having thought of that, he really was worried about her now. Miguel let the curtains flutter closed and pushed away from the wall. He knew Alana well enough to know she wouldn't stand by and do nothing when she was pissed.

He couldn't help it and he smirked at the thought. She was a hot tamal for sure, a fiery pistol waiting to explode and while it proved useful in some situations, it was a deadly curse for her.

Miguel endured her angry phone calls with clenched teeth. He had wanted to reach through the phone and smack some sense into the bitch.

How many times did he have to tell her before it got into her thick skull? She needed to be patient. She needed to be smart. He couldn't pretend to know the hatred she felt for this man and woman, but emotions left unchecked meant dangerous business, and in his line of work it could mean death.

He wanted her to figure it out for herself, to stop relying on him. If she was what she said she was, then it would be no problem for her. He still didn't understand why she needed him in the first place. It all seemed so pointless, considering she had all the ideas and he was just the support.

And now she had turned it all around, probably to save her own ass. Miguel was undoubtedly upset by this, but he never backed out of a mission, no matter the circumstances. He knew what he had to do to help her, given she wouldn't help herself this time. He only hoped she could cool down long enough to do it right.

He heard the rumble of an engine and turned back toward the window. Peeling the curtain back a fraction of an inch, he peered out. A yellow cab had just pulled up and the door slammed when a lithe figure stepped out. He recognized the thin frame, the dark hair and soft expression on her face. It was Alana in her best Nola getup.

Her dark brown hair hung loosely down her back, falling in waves over her ear as she leaned in the window to pay the driver. She thrust a wad of bills at him then straightened, her gaze flying upwards toward his window.

He didn't acknowledge he was there, which, judging by the look on her face, infuriated Alana. She quickly jumped the curb as the cab pulled away, and entered the hotel lobby.

Miguel stepped away from the window and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the night stand. He lit one and blew the smoke out through his nose. He sat on the love seat in the room and reclined. Alana would be there any second.

Sure enough, he heard loud footfalls outside the door and the quick snick of the key card in the lock. The door flew open a moment later, a very flustered and angry looking Alana crossing the threshold.

“I have had it, Miguel.” She slammed the door, jarring a framed copy of the hotel's rules and procedures. “I have fucking had it.”

“Keep your voice down, chica,” he drawled lazily from where he lay, his feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the huge cushion. “These walls are paper thin.”

“Like I give a flying fuck. The bitch was supposed to die.”

“I know, I know.” He kept his voice calm, watching her as she stormed across the room then paced back to him.

“What's your plan?” she asked him suddenly, jutting her hip out and putting a hand haughtily on it. Miguel looked up at her slowly.

“I don't know. Maybe I don't have one,” he answered, with just enough of an aloof attitude to further aggravate her.

It worked. The look on her face could only be described as infuriated shock. Her mouth dropped open and she made an ugly noise in her throat.

“You can't be fucking serious ... you said over the phone you had a plan.”

“I always have a plan,” Miguel repeated what he had told her earlier, this time adding a bit of a shrug. “But I told you it's up to you this time. I'm not here to piece it all together, only here to help.”

“Oh, not this shit again.” Alana rolled her eyes. In a flash, she grabbed a handful of his long black hair and jerked. Miguel was quick to retaliate, grabbing her wrist and pulling it back painfully. Immediately, she released his hair and let out a cry.

He could've easily snapped her wrist, but he didn't. Instead, he rose from the couch to face her. He was taller than she was by several inches so he towered over her, making himself an intimidating presence.

“I know you're strong,” he said in a voice heavy with warning. “But you know better than to fuck with me. I can kill you like that.” He snapped his fingers in her face and Alana jumped.

Her pained look quickly returned to anger. “Let go of me, Miguel.” She gave a warning of her own, looking up at him. “You don't know what I am or what I can do.”

“Show me.” His dark eyes never left hers.

She jerked her arm back from him, breaking his hold. “Don't tempt me.”

Miguel was tempted, but he bit his tongue and stepped back.

Alana continued to glare at him for a long while before she discovered her voice again. “You said you had a plan. You said you were going to help me.”

Miguel sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I have a plan, but I wish you wouldn't use it.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Miguel, stop being so damn cryptic. I'm getting fed up with your bullshit.”

“I was hoping you would figure something out on your own. If your desire for revenge is so strong, you would've done it, but it seems you need someone to rely on.”

“Oh, fuck that.” Alana threw up her arms and turned from him. “That is not true. I can take care of this myself.”

“But you won't,” Miguel answered knowingly.

Alana stopped and turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it means, you won't do it. You want someone else to do it. You're scared.”

“Like hell I'm scared. I want that motherfucker and his bitch both dead for what they did.”

“Then why not kill them already? Why are you playing this game? Why are you trying to get so close to them, befriend them?”

Alana let out a harsh laugh and plopped herself down on the love seat. She was silent for a moment, as if Miguel's words stung.

He watched her, the tattoo of the Blessed Virgin flexing on his bicep as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don't you know this game?” she asked her voice soft. “It's one of the oldest ones in the book.”

Miguel brought his eyebrows together as he tried to comprehend her meaning.

She sighed and recited. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

He nodded, finally understanding. It made sense now. Get close to them, earn their trust and then the killing blow would be even more tragic. A classic tale of betrayal.

“I see,” he said after a few moments.

Alana watched him as he crossed the floor to the closet. “I guess—” she began to say, but stopped, hesitating. “I guess I am scared, in a way. I'm scared I'll fuck it up, again. I've come so close before, but that staircase incident was almost it. I messed that up. I don't want to mess up again.”

Miguel withdrew a heavy looking piece of luggage from the closet and set it on the floor with a loud thunk. She looked almost vulnerable on the love-seat, pouring her fears out. Her eyes were wide. He knew better. She was a vicious woman and she would get what she wanted, one way or another. Why he felt obligated to follow through with his plan and help her was beyond him.

“I know, chica,” he said, “I'll help you.”

A grin spread over her face. “I knew you'd give in.” She pushed her lithe frame from the love-seat and made her way to him.

“Don't make a habit of it. I won't do it again. That's a promise.”

“Oh, I won't need any more help after this. This time, I'm doing it right.”

“I know you will.” Miguel sank to his knees in front of the luggage and opened it. “Especially after you use this.”

Alana dropped her mouth open when she saw what it contained. She dropped to the floor, pushing hair out of her face to get a better look. “Is that—?”

“Yes, it is. I'm sure you can figure it out. There's a diagram. Just follow it and you'll be done.”

“Oh, Miguel.” She barely breathed the words as she touched it. “It's perfect. That bitch will really feel this and then her mate will come running back. It's perfect.” She turned her eyes to Miguel, a pleased grin on her face.

“Use it wisely,” he said, closing the case and snapping it shut. His gaze met hers again. She was giving him that look again, the one he recognized as her horny look.

She moved closer to him, her orange smelling perfume strong around him. He could see the deep cleavage and the swell of her breasts from the plunging neckline of her shirt as she crawled to him. He was instantly aroused.

“How can I ever thank you?” she whispered seductively, almost purring in his ear. Her hand started to travel up his leg.

Miguel leaned back with a wide grin.

“Oh, I'm sure you can think of something...”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten

Cheyenne waited for Rose to sit up before she passed her the glass of water.

“It's from the bathroom tap, so it didn't get really cool,” she answered. It was barely lukewarm. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Rose while Glen hovered nearby, a worried expression creasing his forehead with premature aging lines.

“It's fine,” Rose answered. She set the glass on the bedside table and leaned back against the pillows. She looked so tired and drawn. Cheyenne wondered if she had healed at all. She had fallen asleep under Dr. Nesbitt's healing hands, but she had awakened once she reached her own room and Glen placed her in bed.

“I'm fine, really,” she said, for about the millionth time. Cheyenne frowned a bit, not believing her. “I'll be all right.”

Glen wasn't reassured either. He crossed the floor to her and knelt by her bed.

“You gave us a big scare, Rose. We thought you had almost lost the baby.”

“You're damn lucky you didn't.” Cheyenne shook her head.

“I'm not that lucky. If I was, I probably wouldn't have had the accident in the first place,” Rose answered. She looked down at her pregnant mound of belly and let out a deep breath.

“It wasn't an accident,” Glen said and immediately Cheyenne closed her eyes. She didn't want Rose knowing there was suspicion surrounding her fall. In her pregnant condition, she didn't need the added stress. Cheyenne contained her anger and reopened her eyes to find Rose looking at Glen, confusion lining her face

“What?”

Glen glanced over at Cheyenne, but she only narrowed her eyes and mildly shook her head. It was not a good idea, but it was too late to deny it. Rose was already looking at them expectantly.

Cheyenne turned her gaze to Rose. “The banister broke when you leaned against,” she started, keeping her voice even. Rose's gaze met hers, unwavering. “We're still not sure why it happened, or how it happened—”

“Davis is looking into it at the moment. I'll check up on him in a minute,” Glen broke in. Rose blinked at them, confused. Then her eyes widened in unspoken understanding. Cheyenne looked over to see Glen shrug, helplessly, almost as bad as a teenager caught sneaking out.

“Are you telling me this wasn't an accident?” she asked in a soft tone. “Someone's trying to hurt me?”

“We're not sure,” Glen started, but stopped when he saw the wide-eyed panic in his cousin's eyes. “At least, not yet.”

“We're not ruling anything out, so it could be a possibility. It could be anything,” Cheyenne added.

“Oh, God.” Rose sat up a little more in bed. Cheyenne held a hand out to steady her. Rose almost doubled over. “I'm gonna be sick.”

Cheyenne helped her from the bed and walked her quickly to the bathroom. No sooner had Cheyenne lifted the toilet seat, Rose retched into the bowl.

Like any good person, Cheyenne held Rose's dark hair back as she leaned over the bowl. She looked horrible as she knelt awkwardly with her unwieldy belly in the way. Her heart went out to her. She had been through so much in such a short amount of time.

After being kidnapped by Simon the second time, Rose and Jason's relationship had fallen into extreme disrepair. Cheyenne didn't know the specifics of the encounter, save for the fact that all of them—Glen, Rose, Jason and Davis—had returned covered in blood and wounds of varying severity. Whatever it was had been bad. No one had spoken of it and Cheyenne hadn't asked. It seemed better that way, safer.

Shortly after that, they buried Claire and had her memorial service. It was right before the memorial when Rose took Cheyenne aside and asked her a desperate favor: the purchase of a pregnancy test.

Cheyenne agreed, buying the test and smuggling it around in her jacket until the service was over. She pondered about it, but didn't linger on the subject too long once she saw the desperate uncertainty in Rose's eyes. A few days later, Rose had called to tell her she was definitely pregnant—a visit to Dr. Nesbitt confirmed as much.

By then, Jason was long gone and he didn't even know his wife was pregnant. Without having any contact with their alpha male—former alpha male, Cheyenne thought heatedly, a leader should stick with his pack no matter what—no one had the chance to tell him of the pregnancy.

Rose didn't want him to know, she had told Cheyenne. It was better off he didn't. At the time, the words struck Cheyenne wrong, but she kept her mouth shut about it. It was Rose's business, not hers.

It still didn't stop her from being concerned and worried.

Rose lurched forward over the toilet, dry heaving finally. She moaned and closed the lid. Cheyenne helped her off the floor and seated her on the edge of the toilet seat. The sound of the flush filled the bathroom. Cheyenne said nothing, contemplating her thoughts as she turned to the tap and let the water warm. She wet a wash cloth and wrung it out, passing it to Rose.

Grateful, the pregnant woman took the cloth and wiped her face and mouth.

“I'm sorry,” she said, once she was able to speak again.

“Hey, don't sweat it.” Cheyenne leaned against the sink, her back to the wall. She crossed her arms and offered Rose a smile. “It's part of the whole pregnancy deal. I dig it.”

“I don't,” Rose muttered and tossed the wash cloth onto the sink. “Help me back into the bedroom.”

Cheyenne obliged, taking hold of Rose's arm for support as she waddled ungracefully into the room. She eased down onto the bed and fell back against the pillows. Glen watched them from across the room, seated now in Rose's desk chair.

He leaned forward, bringing his hands together to form a steeple in the middle of his forehead. He exhaled deeply and leaned back. His face appeared grave, age lines more evident on his face. He looked older than his thirty-something years. Cheyenne raised an eyebrow at him.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Glen rose and approached the bed. “You should get some rest,” he said.

“Looks like you need more rest than I do,” Rose answered, but she sounded tired too.

Despite his exhausted façade, Glen cracked a smile. “I'll be fine. You, on the other hand, have a kid to worry about, so get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning.”

“It's only the middle of the afternoon. How long do you think I'm going to sleep?”

Glen said nothing and exchanged a furtive glance with Cheyenne as Rose closed her eyes and settled into her pillows. Cheyenne exhaled silently.

“Dr. Nesbitt thinks you should get a lot of rest, to help with the healing,” she explained. Rose opened her clear blue eyes and stared at her.

“I'm healing just fine,” she blinked. “I always do.”

“I know, Rose, it's just ... different this time.” Cheyenne settled herself on the edge of the bed and smoothed back a corner of the bedspread. “You have a baby to take care of now, and that fall was really bad.”

Rose stared at her blankly for a moment before her face softened with resignation and understanding. She sighed.

“Yeah, I know,” she answered quietly. Her eyes seemed heavy and she closed them again. “Do you really think someone is trying to hurt me?”

“We don't know.” Cheyenne gave a reassuring smile she hoped didn't look forced. “We're working on it. Don't worry about a thing and get as much sleep as you can. That baby needs you to be at your best.”

Rose gave a wan smile and closed her eyes. Cheyenne remained at her side, watching her.

Glen crossed the room and brushed by her to plant a kiss on his cousin's forehead. She didn't open her eyes, but she smiled.

“Cheyenne's right,” he said softly, “And so is Deborah. You need your rest to heal properly. Sleep all you want. I'll see you in the morning.”

Rose mumbled something sleepily, but neither of them caught it. Glen stood back, touching Cheyenne gently on the shoulder. Rose was already asleep, her chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths.

Cheyenne rose from the edge of the bed and followed Glen out of the room. She flicked off the light and shut the door quietly behind her. She turned to find Glen waiting for her.

They walked together in silence, reaching the part of the hall where it opened into the foyer. Davis was in the process of cleaning the broken wood from the floor. They paused, watching him as he awkwardly handled the broom and dustpan single handedly.

Cheyenne hooked her fingers into her belt loops, thinking about Rose and the baby and her close call. She wondered just how much of it was an accident or not, if Rose would be able to handle things in time. She didn't need the added stress. Her pregnancy was tough enough it seemed. She shook the thoughts away and turned to Glen.

“Do you still want me to get the supplies tomorrow?”

Glen blinked, considering. “Yeah, I still want you go to. We need a lot of stuff and I can't hold off on it any longer. I think Rose should stay home though.”

“I agree. She doesn't need the added stress.”

“I can send Davis with you.”

Cheyenne held a hand up in defense and shook her head. “No, I can handle it myself. I'm a big girl.”

Glen nodded and glanced back. Davis was finished with the sweeping and he turned to face them. His face looked grave and drawn. “I better talk to him and see what he found out, if anything. If it was deliberate—”

Cheyenne clamped a hand on his firm shoulder as he trailed off. She looked at his worry-lined face and into his eyes. “Let's hope it's not,” she said softly, praying her words sounded more hopeful than she felt.

* * * *

* * * *

Rose awoke sometime in the early morning, before the sun was even up. She sat up in the darkness and allowed her night vision to adjust before pushing back the suffocating bedspread. The pressure on her bladder was pure torment.

She climbed to her feet, gingerly stepping across the carpet. The bathroom was too far away, but she reached it in record time. She settled down to do what she needed, leaning forward. Her ankles were swollen and red. Pregnancy was horrible. She wouldn't complain if she never was pregnant again.

Once done and she had flushed, Rose stood awkwardly to wash her hands. When she glanced up, she was shocked to see a skeleton staring back at her. She was even more shocked to find the skeleton was her.

She wasn't surprised she looked horrible. Everyone had been telling her, in their own roundabout way, that she looked like shit. She had been feeling worse. There was something wrong with her, as much as she hated to admit. She was sick. The nausea, the pains, the dizziness—it couldn't be just pregnancy symptoms. There was something very much wrong with her.

Rose leaned forward, grabbing hold of the sink's edge for support. Her check up with Dr. Nesbitt had revealed no abnormalities, save for the few the doctor had mentioned. Rose sniffed, dismayed to find her nose still stuffed. Her head hurt from the accompanying sinus headache. She grabbed tissues from the counter and blew her nose. It did little to help. She still couldn't smell anything.

As she threw the tissues away, she caught her reflection once again.

“What's wrong with me?” she asked herself, but the mirror offered no response. She looked down at her grotesque belly and ran her hands over it.

The baby...

Whatever was wrong with her had something to do with the baby, she knew that much. How had Dr. Nesbitt not seen it with her psychic scan? There was something seriously wrong.

As if the baby understood her thoughts, it kicked against her palm. Rose frowned and let her hand drop. She could still feel the baby squirming around within her and she felt a wave of nausea hit again.

This child was alive and Rose felt a sudden and fierce determination to keep it safe, no matter what. For the first time during her pregnancy, she felt a connection with the baby growing inside her. Everyone's concern for her wellbeing was not just for her, but for her baby. With a pang of shame, she realized how stubborn she had been not to listen to them. The fall had made her realize that this child—whether Simon's or Jason's—was as much hers as the father's.

It didn't matter the paternity. It was still hers and Rose wasn't going to let that stand in her way. Simon's or Jason's, this baby was going to grow up with a loving mother and a pack to protect and care for it.

Rose's emotions took an abrupt turn toward anger as she thought of Jason. Father or not, he had a duty to her. The anger melted away almost instantly into all too familiar sadness when she realized he may never come back, may never know of the baby that may be his.

The swirling emotions made the nausea come back and Rose leaned forward over the sink, once more fighting to catch her breath. She needed to sit.

Carefully, she edged herself back to the toilet and sat, leaning forward to rest her head between her knees—or as close to them as she could get—to lessen the lightheadedness.

She had to be strong—if not for her, for the baby. After a moment or so, when she felt she could stand, Rose did and faced her reflection once again.

In a month or so, the baby would be here and Rose knew she wasn't ready. She wasn't ready for a child. What would happen if this strange illness wouldn't go away? What if it had nothing to do with the pregnancy?

What if someone was really trying to kill her?

It was a thought that almost made her heart stop. She felt cold with fear and the baby kicked her again. Rose pressed her hand to her bulging tummy. The fall had not only opened her heart to her unborn child—it made her more aware of her own mortality.

When she had this baby, she would be responsible for it and that was something she could not be if she was dead. Her mother had died when she young. While she barely remembered her, she did remember the feeling of not having her around. Rose didn't want that for her son or daughter.

Rubbing her hands along her belly, she smoothed out the wrinkles of the shirt she slept in. Her stomach was huge. When she peeled back her shirt, she saw the jagged scar along her side, standing out in white contrast with her stretch marks.

She sucked in a breath as she examined it. The wound had healed and the scar would fade in a short time. Rose was glad that one of the perks to her werewolf heritage was advanced healing. It seemed to be the only one of her abilities she could rely on these days.

She dropped her shirt back over her stomach and closed her eyes. Once again she reminded herself to be strong. She had to be for the baby. Regardless of what was to happen health-wise or danger-wise, she had to be there for this kid. She was the only parent it had and she wasn't about to leave.

Rose made her way back to bed and laid herself gently on her side. She cradled her stomach and laid her head on the pillow. Like many times before, Rose closed her eyes as a tear slid down her cheek, wishing Jason was there cradling her.

Right before Rose fell asleep the baby kicked fiercely once again, then calmed down, resting with its mother.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven

When Rose awoke again, it was full morning. The sunlight streamed in through the break in the curtains and fell across her face as she stretched, sleep drifted away. She was warm and comfortable, something she hadn't really felt in a long time. She sat up, slowly and rubbed her face. She took a deep breath and exhaled it through her nose.

She stopped and sniffed. Her nose was no longer stuffed up. She could breathe through it. More importantly to her, she could smell! She could smell the comforting, clean odor of the bed and the lingering scents that belonged to Glen and Cheyenne. It was amazing the flood of odors that came to her once she could smell.

Quickly, Rose threw back the covers and hurried to the bathroom as fast as she could waddle. She flipped on the light and stared, in shock, at what she saw staring back at her. This was not the skeleton from last night. This was how a pregnant woman was supposed to look—healthy and glowing. Rose touched her cheek. Where it had been yellow before was now pink. Her sunken cheeks were rounded. She looked completely different, completely healed.

Unable to believe what she was seeing, Rose lifted her shirt. The stretch marks were minimal and the scar from her fall yesterday was totally gone.

Dr. Nesbitt's healing abilities were amazing. She had never expected such a miraculous change. She didn't feel nauseous, like she did so many mornings, and the usual pain in her back and feet were gone.

It was a huge contrast to the discomfort and sickness she felt last night. She felt one hundred percent better.

Her face broke into a wide smile and she laughed, unable to help the giddiness she felt at being healthy again. She rubbed her stomach and tilted her head down.

“Things are starting to look up, kiddo,” she said softly. “I can be strong for the both of us now, thanks to whatever miracle healed me. It'll be okay. I promise.”

Quickly, Rose showered and dressed, fixed her hair and makeup—a thing she felt too lousy to do properly as of late—and grabbed her purse from the dresser. She was tired of being cooped up indoors. She was going out.

Her pregnancy and subsequent illness had left her desiring some fresh air and a little freedom. Now that she was miraculously healed—she would have to thank Dr. Nesbitt for that—she was going to get some.

She left her room and made her way to the foyer. She paused at the stairs, looking up at the large expanse of missing banister spokes in the staircase. It was so far up, she realized. To fall from that height...

Quickly, she pushed the thought away, but it didn't stop her from feeling cold all over. She looked away before more thoughts of her near-miss came crashing back to her. She was surprised when she saw Cheyenne standing only a few feet away.

She was dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, her blonde hair tied back in a long ponytail. Her changed-blood scent was faint, overpowered by the scented soap and perfume she wore. She blinked. “Rose, what are you doing out of bed? You look—”

“I know. I look a lot better. It's amazing.” Rose almost wanted to laugh. “Dr. Nesbitt's a miracle worker. I feel great.”

“You look great.” Cheyenne walked toward her. She looked uncertain. “You look like a totally different person. When did this happen?”

“When I woke up, I guess.” Rose shrugged.

“Dr. Nesbitt's got some mondo mojo working for her then.” Cheyenne's dubious expression remained. “I've never seen anything like it. Are you sure you're feeling okay?”

“I've never felt better. My sinus infection is gone and I don't feel nauseous at all. And the scar from yesterday—it's gone.”

“Well, it's bound to be. You're a full-blood. You heal fast.”

“But scars still linger for a while. This is totally gone.”

Cheyenne brought her eyebrows together as she thought on it. “Seems kinda strange, but that's how magick works I guess.”

“Yeah. It's amazing.”

Cheyenne nodded her head to Rose's purse. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah, with you to get the supplies.”

“Oh no.” Cheyenne shook her head. “You are not going anywhere. Glen's already said.”

Rose scoffed, rebuffed by the thought. “What—Is it because I'm pregnant, or because someone might be trying to hurt me? Glen may be the Head of the PRDI, but I don't need his permission to go anywhere.”

“If you're going on a PRDI supply run, you do.”

“I don't believe this.”

“Well, you better believe it,” Glen's voice sounded out, startling both of them. They turned to see him standing in the hallway entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked upset. Davis lingered behind him, his grey eyes betraying a look of anger.

“I'm not letting you go, Rose.” Glen walked to them and stopped, appraising her new appearance. Davis still stood in the doorway, a silent observer.

Rose sighed. “Glen, I'm fine, really. I can do this. I want to do this. I need to do this. I need to get out.”

“No.” Glen shook his head. “Last night, you were almost very seriously injured. I'm not letting you go out.” He paused. “You look different.”

“She looks healthy. Thanks to Dr. Nesbitt,” Cheyenne answered. They exchanged glances and Glen tilted his head as he looked back to Rose.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She can really do some healing.”

“I've never seen healing to this extent before...”

“Has she ever healed a full-blood werewolf?”

“Probably. Doesn't matter though. You're still not going.”

“Why?” Rose put her hands on her ample hips, letting the strap of her purse catch in the crook of her elbow.

Davis joined them, looking every bit as cynical as he had become over the months. His dark eyebrows almost touched.

“It's too dangerous,” he said, answering for Glen. The males looked at each other in a way that had Rose curious as to what they had been talking about before they stepped in. “I really think someone is trying to hurt you. We can't risk anything.”

“Davis is right,” Glen piped in. “Something could happen.”

Rose stared at first Glen, then Davis, then back again disbelievingly. “Wait a minute—you don't want me to go out because of something that could happen? I'm tired of being stuck here. I need to get out.” She turned to Cheyenne. “You've got the list of what we need? Let's go.”

Cheyenne's eyebrows shot up in surprise when Rose brushed past her, not waiting for them to say anything.

“Rose, wait a damn minute.” Glen caught up with her easily, but Rose didn't stop, not even when Glen grabbed her arm.

She pulled away from him as she jerked open the door. She met his gaze. “I am not waiting anymore. I want to go out.” She stopped, glancing back at Cheyenne and Davis, matching looks of worry and confusion on their faces. “I'm feeling much better. I look much better. There's no better time than now.”

She lowered her voice, not wanting the others to hear the pleading tone in her voice. “Let me do this.”

Glen sighed and looked to Davis. Rose followed his stare. The stern look on the younger man's face and the mild shake of his head confirmed the fact he had heard her and didn't think it was a good idea. Cheyenne's look was a little more relaxed, but there was still a hint of uncertainty there.

“I'm really not going to be able to stop you, am I?”

“No, you're not. I'm large and in charge.” Rose was glad when Glen's serious façade was broken with a grin. “Get used to it.”

She turned her attention to Cheyenne, who didn't hide the fact she was listening. “You'll keep an eye on me right?” When Cheyenne nodded, she looked back to Glen. “You trust Cheyenne, so, see—I'll be fine.”

Glen's grin faded a little, but didn't disappear completely. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All right.”

“You can't do that,” Davis exploded. He stepped forward, pushing past Cheyenne in his haste. “We talked about this last night. If there's someone out there trying to harm Rose—”

“Davis, shut up.” Glen glared at him and Davis did shut his mouth. He glared back as he spoke. “I know what we talked about and I still refuse to believe it.”

Davis's mouth dropped open but Glen held up a hand to let him continue. “But I am cautious, regardless of that. Rose is right—she can't stay here all the time. If someone is trying to hurt her maybe leaving for a short time might weed that person out.”

Rose didn't like where the conversation was going and judging by the look on his face, neither did Davis. He gaped at Glen. “We don't need to weed the person out. I told you—”

“Shut up. We'll talk about it later, just not here, not now.”

“Talk about what?” Rose asked. She wanted to know, but Glen dismissed it with a shake of his head.

“Nothing. Not important.”

Cheyenne cleared her throat loudly. “We should get going. Might take us a few hours to get everything we need.”

“Yeah, let's get this show on the road.” Rose pulled her purse strap further up her arm and Glen stepped back to let her open the door. They filed out of the building, and started down the sidewalk toward the PRDI car parked on the sidewalk.

It wasn't much to look at—a blue Ford Taurus with lots of trunk space—but it served its purpose. Glen purchased it for official use. His van had long ago died and was now resting in Automobile Heaven.

Nola was heading up the sidewalk toward them, her hands tucked into the pockets of her light jean jacket. She stopped when she saw them emerge, her eyes going wide.

“Hey,” she answered, sounding a bit nervous. “What's going on?”

“Supply run,” Cheyenne answered, stopping with the others. Rose sniffed the air, something she was glad she was able to do now. The outdoors smelled of springtime: fresh cut grass, newly blooming flowers, and something that smelled like oranges that she couldn't quite place.

“What are you doing?” Davis broke in, stepping up to face Nola. Rose could almost smell his anger.

“Taking a walk. What else would I be doing?” Nola answered, looking very chagrined. Rose looked down at her heeled designer boots. They didn't look comfortable for walking, but she said nothing.

“You like to take a lot of walks, don't you?” Davis said in an accusing tone. His face was livid, his temples throbbing. “Makes me wonder where you like to walk to.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

Davis opened his mouth to say something more, but stopped when Glen clamped a hand on his shoulder. Rose watched as her cousin turned his gaze to Nola and smiled.

“Don't mind him. He just had a bad night.”

“Obviously,” Nola scoffed. She looked at Davis with an angry glare. Her gaze turned to Rose and they met. Immediately, Rose felt coldness move throughout her body and she almost shivered at it. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on Nola's until finally, she looked back to Glen. “I'm going inside. Enjoy your supply run.”

Before she pushed past them, she gave Davis another nasty glare and walked quickly toward the front door. Rose watched her disappear inside.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“I'll tell you what that was about—” Davis started but Glen gripped his shoulder a little tighter.

“Not now,” he growled. Davis shook him away.

Cheyenne chuckled and shook her head. She stepped up to Rose, who felt incredibly confused, and hooked her arm in hers. “Boys will be boys,” she whispered in her ear. “I doubt very much we'll ever figure them out.”

“Most likely,” Rose agreed, though she was sure this wasn't just some guy thing they were talking about. She started to walk with Cheyenne toward the end of the sidewalk.

Cheyenne said something, but Rose didn't hear her. She was too blinded by the sudden stab of pain that shot through her stomach.

Oh God, Rose thought as she nearly doubled over. It knocked the wind out of her. She couldn't breath. Not again. I'm healed. This can't be happening!

Her legs went out from under her and she hit the ground. Cheyenne had hold of her and she was shouting, her voice loud in Rose's ear. She felt nauseous and the pain hit her again, this time in her head. She saw something—fire—flash behind her eyelids.

She screamed, unable to bear it. Then she realized she wasn't the only one screaming. There was a sudden blast of heat, a huge boom and her vision cleared just enough to see the PRDI car go up in a ball of flame. It was the last thing she saw before blacking out.

* * * *

* * * *

Aurora turned the page of her English Composition textbook lethargically. She had been reading the same paragraph over and over and she still didn't understand it, but she moved on, hoping the next page would make more sense. It didn't.

With a sigh, she shut the book and pushed it aside. Unfolding her legs from their crossed position, she leaned back on her dorm bed and closed her eyes. College was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated.

She had come here with hopes of becoming a writer, but that idea was quickly falling apart. Having admired Rose and her writing success, she had wanted to be just like her: successful, with a couple of books published. The only problem was Aurora's lack of writing talent, which she had discovered earlier last semester when she nearly flunked her Writing I class. She had hoped she could overcome it by taking a supplementary English class during the summer months before she took Writing II in the fall.

It wasn't working so well.

And it wasn't just her lack of writing talent that had her listlessly turning pages and putting her book aside. Aurora's mind was somewhere she didn't want it to be. She opened her eyes, finding them focusing once again on the backpack on her mother's chest at the foot of her bed. It was still zipped tight. She hadn't touched it since she threw it there yesterday afternoon.

She could still almost feel the strange tingle of power from here, but it was imagined. She didn't want to feel it again for real. It was too strange.

The energy was connected to something; Aurora had learned that much from reading her magick books, but she had no clue just what the connection was. She was certain it surrounded the new woman at the PRDI, Nola.

She shivered, goose bumps popping up on her arms at the thought. The changed-blood had been so aggressive and dominating. Aurora knew she was trying to intimidate her—and it had worked.

But she was stumped as to what the connection between the two could be. Aurora thought on it a few minutes more until curiosity began to get the better of her. She crawled to the end of the bed and stared at the backpack as if it would pop open magically. Irresistibly drawn to it, she knew she had to find out what the connection was. Somehow, she knew it was important.

Gathering up her courage and letting her curiosity win, Aurora reached for the bag. She pulled it to her, surprised when she didn't feel any power emanating from it this time.

The connection was gone.

Aurora furrowed her eyebrows together as she opened the bag and removed the book. Slowly, she ran her hands over the empty leather cover. Though it no longer pulsed, it still felt strange in her lap.

Once again, she was careful as she opened it, starting at the very front this time. She held her breath in anticipation. Her heart raced as she leaned over it. The faded text was hard to read, but Aurora's werewolf sight compensated and she began.

The first few pages were introductory, just the basic Wiccan and witchcraft information Aurora had come across in other text books, but the language was so different. It occurred to her that no one talked like that any more, not since long before the days of the American Revolution. It had to be at least that old.

Trembling, she turned another page, finding simple spells, potions, charms and lore. She skimmed over them, not interested in that. She was looking for something more.

About a third of the way into the book, the text rapidly changed. It was no longer written in Old English. Clearly, someone else had picked up a pen and began using the book as their personal grimoire. Puzzled by this, Aurora read a few lines.

My name is Emily Camille. This book once belonged to an ancestor and was used as the family's Book of Shadows for many years until it was hidden away by prudent family members whose changed lifestyle no longer included the need for magick...

Aurora stopped there. She knew what a Book of Shadows was; it was generally a witch's most powerful tool. It was a spell book, often passed down from generation to generation. How had it ended up in the PRDI's library? She continued to read.

I found it in a trunk hidden in my grandmother's attic. I know it is an important book; why else would it be kept hidden? I will read what I can of this book and add my knowledge to it. It's time that this is no longer hidden away. My daughters have a right to know of what they are, of their heritage. If I don't do this for them, who will?

Aurora let out a breath, rustling the pages softly. She leaned back, thinking. Who was this woman? She was a witch clearly, or Wiccan or both. She had daughters. Had she been a PRDI student? Aurora flipped back to a page earlier, searching for a date. There was none.

Who was Emily Camille and when had she written this? Feeling frustrated, the young were turned the page. Along with the charms, spells and undated diary entries were lists of magickal stones and their properties, color meanings and magickal terms, written in Emily's handwriting.

Aurora paused when she found an extensive list of herbs used in the spells. It had information about what the herbs were good for, if they were poisonous or not. The really impressive thing was the hand-drawn pictures for identification. It was the most comprehensive list she had ever seen.

There were herbs she had never even heard of. She touched the inked picture of a sprig of lavender, realizing the hours it must've taken to draw all the intricate details. This woman was dedicated.

Still staring at the entry for lavender, Aurora quickly reminded herself she had taken the book for a reason. She had questions which needed answers and she had thought the book with the powerful energy emanating from it would contain something. But it didn't help Aurora.

Other than the surprising discovery of the book's former owner, the book had proved to be a disappointment. No longer pulsing with power, it was just a book of spells and some woman's diary. There were no secret texts, no super powerful spells she could use. There were no answers to her burning questions.

She had wanted to know desperately who was this strange woman appearing in her dreams was, but that question soon gained a few companions.

What was this strange feeling of power she had been feeling and what was its connection with the book? What was the connection with Nola Anderson? Was there even a connection at all?

The questions made her head hurt and Aurora closed her eyes a moment. She inhaled the old scent of the book. The answers were probably not in here, but she wasn't even halfway through it. Perhaps Emily Camille had come across something later. Maybe the woman appearing to her in her dreams was Emily Camille.

There was only one way to find out.

Aurora reopened her eyes and turned another page. She finished with the herbs list and ran through a couple of basic healing spells. She turned the page, not interested in the spells. She stopped mid-turn.

There was nothing else.

A shiver went through her suddenly. The pages were dead, blank. Aurora's hands shook with unknown panic as she flipped through them. There was nothing else. The book was empty.

Holding back the urge to curse, Aurora sighed instead. The book was useless to her now. Apparently Emily Camille never gave it to her daughters. It wound up in the PRDI library instead.

Her panic and shock gave way to frustration. Aurora shoved the book away from her, not caring when it toppled off the bed and hit the floor, crumpling several of the old pages.

She fell back on her bed, finding the remote to her roommate's stereo. She wasn't due back for another few days—it was the weekend and she was at her parent's—so Aurora had free reign until then. She hit the start button and Ozzy Osbourne blasted out from the speakers. She closed her eyes and tried to let her frustrations melt away with the beat.

A loud, rapid knock at her dorm room door jarred her out of her thoughts. She sat up, grabbing the remote and hitting mute.

“Who is it?”

“It's me,” a familiar male voice called, and Aurora jumped out of the bed. She straightened her clothes quickly, swiping at the wrinkles in her shirt but to no avail. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and ran fingers through her brown hair. She looked all right. She only hoped he would think so too.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Aaron Slater stood there, looking good in his black AC/DC t-shirt and ripped jeans. His short red hair was spiked and tipped in black. Multiple earrings glinted from his lobes and Aurora winced, knowing he had to re-pierce his ears every time he put them in, due to his full-blood healing. She shook the thought away and smiled.

“Aaron, hi.” She leaned against the door. He smelled strongly of his full-blood scent, with an underlying scent of Axe body spray. Her smile immediately fell away when she saw the paleness of his face and the worry in his dark brown eyes. “What is it?”

“Don't you ever answer your cell phone?” he asked, annoyed. He didn't wait for an invitation and brushed right by her. Aurora blinked and stepped aside, shutting the door behind him.

“What's going on?”

Slater took a good look around the room, something he always did as a precaution. He spun and turned to look at her. “There's been an accident.”

“What?”

“At the PRDI.”

“Yesterday,” Aurora answered. “Rose had a close call on the stairs—”

“No, an accident today. I've been trying to call you for the past hour.”

“My phone was on mute.” Aurora felt her worry increase. “There was another accident?”

“Yeah, Davis called me.” Aurora watched Slater's temples throb as he said his half-brother's name. They were never on good terms, so it had to be a big deal if his brother was calling him about it. “There was a car explosion.”

“Oh, God.” Aurora felt all the warmth drain out of her body and her heart began to labor at a faster pace. She put her hand to her chest, leaning back against the wall for support. “How?”

“I don't know.” Slater shook his head. “Davis wasn't clear on the details. We have to get there as soon as possible.”

Aurora found herself nodding before she realized she was even moving. “I'll get my shoes.”

Slater stepped out of her way as she crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. She felt scared and sick. A car explosion. This was serious.

She grabbed her sneakers from under her bed and slipped them on her feet. She did so automatically, her thoughts going back to yesterday. Seeing Rose topple over the side of the staircase and almost fall was bad enough, but an explosion? Someone was really trying to kill her.

Aurora took a deep breath, fighting down sickness. “Did anyone—” she felt a lump in her throat and she swallowed before finishing, “—die?” She paused in tying her shoe and looked up at him.

It seemed to take an awful long time for him to respond. Aurora was relieved when he shook his head. “No, no one died. They were lucky they weren't that close to the car.”

“Who? What car?” Aurora tied her right shoe quickly and moved to her left.

Slater stepped toward her. “Cheyenne and Rose were going on a supply run and the PRDI car exploded as they were walking to it.”

Aurora finished tying her shoe just as Slater reached her. The toe of his boot hit the spine of the forgotten Book of Shadows on the floor. Her heart stopped as she looked up, seeing his eyes drop to the floor. His eyebrows came together in confusion as he bent to retrieve it.

“Uh.” Aurora stood quickly, intercepting the book from his hands before he began turning the pages. “That's mine—for class.”

“That's a magick book,” Slater answered as Aurora turned, putting the book away in her bedside drawer. “That's not for class.”

Aurora shook her head. “It's nothing, Aaron. Just a little studying I've been doing, on the side.”

Slater's dark eyes met hers. The dubious look he gave her was enough to have her blushing with embarrassment and shame.

“It's nothing,” she repeated, looking away.

“It's something,” he said, but his tone, unlike Rose's or Glen's, was not angry or condescending. “Have you been practicing magick?”

“That's not important now.” She tried to trace the subject away from the book. She didn't look at him.

“It's important,” he answered with a thoughtful tone. “Look, Aurora—”

“Aaron,” she returned, sharply. She looked at him this time, expecting to find him staring sternly at her. Instead, he was looking at her with understanding.

“It's okay,” he began. “You don't have to hide it, not from me.”

Aurora lifted an eyebrow as she grabbed her jean jacket from the chair. She looked away from him as she slipped it on. She heard his step as he moved toward her.

“I'm not trying to hide anything,” she said, the words thick on her tongue.

“You can't lie to me, Aurora. I know you better than that.”

Aurora tossed her hair and closed her eyes. “So what if I am practicing magick? It's not that big a deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Slater said from behind her. “Magick is not something to tamper with lightly, but it's not something that can be ignored either.”

Aurora turned part way to look at him over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Magick is a powerful tool, used to help people.” Slater shrugged when Aurora gave him a confused look. “I once dated a Wiccan girl and she taught me about good magick.”

“Oh.” Aurora felt a slight twinge of jealousy, but she let it go. “What I mean to say is, by all means, study magick if you are inclined to, but be careful. That book,” he said as he gestured toward the drawer she had stuffed it in. “That book feels old, looks old—”

“There's nothing dangerous in it,” Aurora dismissed it. “I looked already.” She turned fully to face him. “Look, Aaron, I know what you're trying to say and I appreciate it.” She let out a breath and looked away. “I'm just tired of hearing about it. Rose was on my case about it and if Glen knew—”

“Don't stress it, ‘Rora. Do you trust me?”

Aurora blinked, turning to look up at his lofty height. His eyes were dark, but there was an understanding in them, an acceptance that she had yet to find from the rest of her pack. She let out another breath.

“Yes.”

“Then it'll be a secret between us. My lips are sealed.” A grin spread across his face and Aurora returned it.

“Thanks.” Aurora was glad to get the talk of magick off her chest, but she wasn't really sure she could trust Slater, not with that kind of info. For years, she had kept her desire to learn magick secret, and for him to walk in, discover it and accept it in less than five minutes was mind boggling.

She wondered about it as an uncomfortable silence started between them and their smiles faded. She really didn't have much of a choice. She prayed he wouldn't bring it up again.

Slater shifted his weight. “We'd better get going. I told Davis we'd be there.”

Aurora nodded and grabbed her wallet from her dresser. “Let's go.” The dread of Slater bringing up the magick talk again was combined with her dread of seeing the burnt wreckage and having to face the reality of it all. She only hoped she would be able to handle it.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve

The smell of burnt rubber was strong and Davis pressed his nose to the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt to block out most of the smell. He turned his head, staring out at the congregation of police cruisers and fire-trucks.

A crowd of neighborhood onlookers stood behind a line of yellow police tape, trying to get a good look at the accident scene. The asphalt was scorched black and the branches of the trees overhanging the street were burned to a crisp.

The car—or what was left of it anyway—was blackened beyond recognition, smoking and smoldering. The firefighters had put it out long before, but the heat coming off of it was still amazing.

Davis’ gaze shifted, moving along the sidewalk and over. Glen stood about ten feet away from the blast area. A police officer stood with him, clipboard in hand. Davis noticed how drawn Glen's face looked, so much older than before. It was clear everything was taking a toll on him.

Glen said something to the officer then turned, his eyes moving to Davis. Davis acknowledged him with a single nod of his head. His gaze shifted, behind Glen, watching as Pierce, second in command of the PRDI, strolled away from the amassing crowd to stand beside Glen.

Davis rolled his eyes, knowing this couldn't be good. The redness of the shorter man's face gave away his anger long before he started yelling and waving his arms dramatically. He gestured angrily, first toward the smoldering ruin of the car, then toward Davis, and the PRDI.

As if also sensing this was not a good situation, the police officer stepped back, muttering something and Glen nodded in understanding. As the cop walked away, Pierce rounded fully on Glen.

Davis knew when Pierce's face colored even more it was time to step in. He hurried to intervene, catching the heated conversation.

“How could you let this happen?”

Glen made a harsh noise in his throat when Davis stepped up beside him. “What do you mean? You think I planted the bomb? You think I did this?”

“You might as well have. So much of this ... bullshit ... has gone on since you took over. How many people have died? How many more people have to—”

“It's not my fault,” Glen defended, his anger rising. Davis caught a sideways glance at him and saw the gold flecks starting in his eyes. He stepped forward, closing in on Pierce while Davis craned his neck to see over Glen's shoulder.

“It damn well is. I can guarantee you if I hadn't been looked over for Head, that poor girl wouldn't have been torn limb from limb last fall—”

“Hey.” Davis pushed Glen aside, feeling a sudden rage at the callous and careless mention of Claire. He got in Pierce's bloated face. “You keep your fucking mouth shut about her!”

“Stop it!” Glen grabbed the collar of Davis’ shirt and yanked him back with his full-blood strength. He stepped between them and Davis was glad for it. He knew he was close to totally losing it. He glared at Pierce and the man glared back, but there was intimidation there and Davis was sure he could smell fear on him.

“Listen to me.” Glen looked first at Davis, then at Pierce. “I admit a lot of bad shit has happened, but you cannot hold me, or the PRDI, accountable. Circumstances being as they are, we—yes, I'm talking about you as well, Pierce—we have to sort this situation out ourselves. I don't know how well we can do that if there are arguments among us.” He turned, watching the police cars and fire trucks, very slowly beginning to take their leave. “They can only do so much.”

“I see,” Pierce answered, clenching his jaw so that his temples throbbed. He shook his head. “That's it.”

“What's it?” Davis asked through tight lips.

“I refuse to have anything more to do with this! First, there's the raid on our safe house and several of our valuable members were killed. Then mad werewolves tear the place apart. Finally, we go under new management.” He threw a glare at Glen, who straightened. “And things get even worse. Murders, car explosions—what's next?”

“I told you, you cannot hold me accountable for those accidents.”

“Maybe not, but there is something I can do.”

“What? Leave?” Davis barked and Pierce turned his livid gaze to him.

“You're damn right I'm leaving!”

“Whoa, hold on a second.” Glen reached out to grab hold of Pierce, but he moved back faster than a fat man should've been able to.

“Don't touch me,” he yelled. Onlookers gawked at them, not hiding their curiosity. “You're damn right I'm leaving,” he repeated once Glen backed off. “I won't stand for this madness any more. I'm gone.” Pierce threw his hands up and turned his back on them.

Glen stood there, looking shocked as he watched Pierce huff and puff his way to the PRDI.

Davis raised an eyebrow. “I wasn't serious. I didn't really think he would—”

Glen flashed him an angry warning look and cut him off. “I need to talk to him.”

Davis was left along on the sidewalk as Glen jogged to catch up with Pierce's quick stride. He let out a breath as he watched another altercation begin. Pierce waved his hands again, his puffy face turning red as a beet. Glen's own anger shone in his gold-tinted eyes.

This time, Davis went with his better instincts and didn't get involved. He watched as they argued, Pierce's face turning blotchy. Davis didn't catch what was said, but judging by the fact that Pierce shoved Glen away and marched toward the door, it was pretty heated.

Glen lowered his head, his chest rising and falling heavily. His hands were clenched tightly into fists. Davis knew Glen's fingernail's cut into his palms when he was upset. Davis watched until Glen seemed to calm down.

When he looked over at him, his eyes were no longer golden and his hands, albeit bloody, were unclenched. With a shake of his head, Glen turned and headed into the house after Pierce.

Davis turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. The last of the police officers were conversing together. He wondered who was going to clean up the mess that had once been the PRDI's car. Bits and pieces of broken, burned metal littered the road and front lawn. He kicked aside a piece of it; Glen would make him do it.

But Glen had other things on his mind now. With any luck, he would forget about Davis and appoint someone else to do it. He didn't want the task to fall to him. It was bad enough seeing it happen and having suspicions as to who had done it, but to clean up after it—Davis wasn't sure if he could really handle that.

A familiar, deep rumbling of an old pickup stirred him out of his thoughts and he looked up. He was almost relieved to see Slater's beat up truck turn the corner and roar up the street. He pulled to the curb about half a block away, near where Davis’ used Honda Civic and Cheyenne's Dodge Ram were parked and shut the engine off.

Davis watched his half-brother climb out of the driver's seat, and wasn't surprised to see the smaller form of Aurora step out from the other side. He put his hands in his pockets and waited as they walked together down the sidewalk, sidestepping all the yellow tape.

Aurora's hand was over her mouth as she stared at the remains of the car. She lowered it as she said something to Slater. He nodded grimly in response and they both turned to Davis on the PRDI sidewalk. They crossed the lawn quickly to meet him.

Though they were brothers by blood, there was nothing brotherly about the way they acted toward one another. Slater, the younger of the two, would always hold Davis responsible for the death of their mother, an act planned by Simon. Knowing of Davis’ werewolf traits even before Davis himself knew, Simon planned an encounter to prove Davis's worth—killing a werewolf woman. He refused to do it, but when shoved by Simon, his gun accidentally discharged, killing her.

Unfortunately, a younger Slater had been standing there to witness the entire thing. He got away, but not before forever being scarred. Years later, the two met when trying to save Rose from Simon the first time and all hell broke loose. They discovered their family ties and that the woman Davis had killed had been his long-lost mother—their mother.

Though he had apologized profusely and explained the accident, Slater wouldn't have it.

Davis looked up at the taller man as he stopped in front of him. His dark eyes were cold, as they always were when they regarded him. They tolerated each other because it was what the pack expected. Davis knew if his brother had the opportunity, he would probably kill him. Glen wouldn't have it and neither would the others, for that matter, so Slater backed off but his hostility was always open.

Davis had hated dialing his number and hearing his brother's warm voice turn cold and callous when he discovered he was the caller. He wanted nothing more than to repair their relationship, maybe actually get to know each other, but it was a lost cause.

If he were in Slater's shoes, he'd never forgive him either.

Aurora stepped beside Slater and looked up at Davis.

“It's horrible. Where's Rose? How is she? What happened?”

Davis broke his eyes from Slater and looked at her. “She's fine, for the most part. She's inside with Cheyenne.”

“I'm going to go see her.” Aurora touched Slater's arm softly, and the young were turned his hate-filled attention away from Davis and his features softened.

“All right. I'll be there in a sec.”

Davis could see the spark of caring on his half-brother's face when he looked at Aurora, but said nothing. Someone in this pack deserved a chance at love. His chance had been taken from him.

Forcing himself not to think of Claire, he watched Aurora slip by and up the steps into the PRDI. Slater let out a sigh and Davis turned to find him once again looking at him. He knew he wouldn't linger with him if it wasn't something important. A car explosion was about as important as things could get.

“What really happened? You weren't very specific on the phone.” Slater wasted no time jumping right to the point.

Davis sighed and closed his eyes. “I didn't have time to explain. There was too much going on—”

“What happened?”

Davis reopened his eyes and stared up at his brother. Slater's eyes were stern and his jaw looked strained with determination. He wanted answers and he wasn't going to let up until he got them. “Look, man, I don't know much about any of this. I just know that someone is trying to hurt Rose.”

“Are you sure?”

Davis shook his head. “I'm not sure of anything any more, but I am definitely suspicious. It's too coincidental. First, Rose had a close call yesterday and then this...” He waved a hand at the skeleton of the car.

Slater's gaze followed his. “I can't believe it. If she had been in there—”

“I know,” Davis interrupted, not wanting to hear him finish the sentence. He didn't want to think of it. “It wasn't an accident.”

“Couldn't have been.” Slater's dark eyes returned to Davis. There was something there, a different look, one Davis didn't expect. It almost frightened him. It was fleeting, however, and soon Slater was back to using his cold stare.

“Any idea who could've done this?”

Davis winced inwardly at the question. He knew it was coming, but the abruptness of it bothered him. Just like Slater, being blunt and to the point.

He took a deep breath before answering. “I have an idea or two, maybe...” Davis looked away from Slater, trailing his gaze over the scene.

“Who?” Slater demanded.

Davis turned back to look at him, finding his arms crossed over his chest. Davis hesitated, but Slater's stern stare coaxed it out of him. “A new PRDI member. She's a changed-blood. There's something strange about her—”

“Nola, right?”

Davis nodded. “How did you know her name?”

“Aurora mentioned her on the way over. From what she told me about her, I think you're right about something being strange about her. Did you know she threatened Aurora?”

Davis's eyebrows went up. “No, I didn't.”

He blinked a few times and looked away from his half-brother. Aurora hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Nola had threatened her. He thought about her, about how Nola had confronted him. He shivered, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand at the thought of it.

“I think it's her,” he said, coming out of his thoughts. “I think she did it.” He returned his attention to Slater.

“Where is she?” Slater asked, tensely. His eyes blazed with growing anger.

Davis shook his head. “I don't know. She was here when the explosion happened, but then there was chaos. I don't know.”

“I'm going inside,” Slater said abruptly and brushed past Davis without another word.

Davis watched him storm toward the steps and followed. He knew Slater would go straight for Nola and confront her. Davis had to admit he wanted to do the same.

He paused in the open doorway and stared back at the smoldering ruins. Neighbors still stood by, gawking at the mess. He shuddered. Nola had a lot to answer for.

He shut the door behind him and stepped into the foyer, but Slater had been quick. He was no longer there. Davis sniffed to find his scent and began to follow it. He turned toward the kitchen but stopped when he heard a bellow from the upper floor. He turned toward the staircase.

Pierce was huffing down the stairs, lugging a suitcase almost as large as he was. His face was red and he looked immensely pissed. Glen followed behind him.

“I'm through,” Pierce shouted behind him. The suitcase clunked down the steps after him and he grunted, trying to hoist it so it wouldn't drag the entire way. Glen stepped beside him and grabbed the suitcase.

“Just listen to reason, Pierce,” Glen pleaded.

Pierce glared at him. “Give me back my suitcase.”

“Not until you listen to me. You can't leave, not now.”

“Like hell I can't!” Pierce shouted. He made a futile effort to retrieve his suitcase from Glen's tight grip. He gave up with a huff and hurried his way down the steps. He rushed past Davis faster than he thought the fat man could walk.

Glen followed with the suitcase, giving Davis a look laced with annoyance. He reached Pierce before he got to the door.

“Listen to me,” he said, dropping the suitcase with a thud. He held one arm out, blocking the door. Pierce stared up at him, eyes intense with anger. “You can't leave now. The PRDI needs you—needs all of us.”

“I doubt it,” Pierce sneered. “This place has fallen apart. I want no part of it. I will not stay here any longer.” He grabbed his suitcase and clutched it in his fist. “Consider my position resigned.”

Glen stared hard at him for what seemed like forever, but Pierce was unyielding.

There was nothing he could say to change his mind. Finally, Glen lowered his head and removed himself from blocking the door.

Pierce said nothing as he tugged open the door and stepped out. He hurried down the sidewalk and across the street. Davis and Glen both watched as a yellow cab pulled up at the end of the street and Pierce climbed in. He didn't look back.

Glen let out a very long sigh. “Damn it,” he muttered, pulling the door closed. “That's great. Just fucking great.”

“Where's he going to go?” Davis asked, turning with Glen. The taller were shook his head. “I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. Pierce has been a thorn in my side since the day he started working here.” Glen looked to Davis. “There are more important things to worry about right now.” Glen was silent for a moment, turning his gaze elsewhere. His stare lingered on the staircase. The banister hadn't been repaired yet and it was an ugly reminder of the events yesterday.

“So what do we do?” Davis asked.

Glen turned to look at him again. There was a gleam of anger in his eyes, and fear. It frightened Davis to see the fierceness in them. “I don't know. Let's find the others.”

Davis didn't argue. He followed as Glen walked toward the kitchen. He didn't walk through the door, as Davis expected, but past it. The dining room was on the other side of the kitchen and he pushed open the door.

The entire pack was gathered, except for Rebel and Jason. Cheyenne sat at the dining room table with Rose, a comforting hand on her shoulder while Dr. Nesbitt knelt in front of Rose, her hands moving over her pregnant belly. Slater stood against the china cabinet, arms crossed. Aurora stood beside him, watching everything with a worried expression.

Rose was very pale, her dark hair a sharp contrast to her skin. The scent of blood was fresh. Cheyenne sported a bandage above her right eye and Rose's elbow was red, scraped. They were covered in multiple cuts and scratches, but nothing that looked too major.

Davis sidled in with Glen and stood against the opposite wall. Slater threw a glare at him, but turned his full attention to Glen.

“Nola's not here,” he said. “She split right after it happened.”

“I saw her leave,” Dr. Nesbitt answered as she removed her hands from Rose and stood. She smiled at Rose. “Everything is fine. The baby is all right.”

“Thank God,” Rose breathed, closing her eyes as she slumped back in her chair.

Cheyenne rubbed her shoulder, looking over to Glen. “What's this about Nola?”

Glen dismissed the question with a shake of his head. His gaze turned meaningfully to Aurora and Slater, then back to Dr. Nesbitt. Davis watched, blinking with confusion when the doctor gave a nod. She turned back to Rose.

“I don't care what anyone says, I want you to rest. You look well enough, but you don't want to take any risks.” She returned her gaze to Glen.

He cleared his throat. “She's right, Rose.”

“I know,” she answered with a sigh. She looked to Dr. Nesbitt. “I'll rest.”

“Good. That's good. Aurora?” The doctor turned to her. “Could you get her a glass of water?”

“Yeah, sure.” She stepped away from the wall.

“Slater, you go with her,” Glen broke in.

Slater looked shocked as he pushed himself away from the cabinet. “What for? Aurora can get it just fine.”

“Don't argue. Just go,” Glen insisted, a tone of finality in his voice.

Slater blinked at him a few times then let out a breath. “Fine,” he answered. He grabbed Aurora's arm. “Let's go.”

Aurora followed him out of the dining room and through the door into the kitchen. She looked back at the others uncertainly before the door closed behind them.

Glen cast a glance at Davis and wasted no time. “They'll be back soon, so let's get straight to the point. I asked them to leave because what's said in here cannot leave this room and while I trust Slater and Aurora, they are both too young to get a good handle on this.”

Davis found Glen's words a little contradictory. What was he trying to protect them from when they had already been through the worst of it in dealing with Simon's bullshit and seeing their parents die? As far as Davis was concerned, they could handle it. Maybe there was another reason Glen didn't want the younger pack members here. Whatever the case, Davis lifted an eyebrow at Glen and kept the thoughts to himself.

Glen's attention moved slowly from one person to the next before settling on Rose. He spoke in hushed tones. “It's just as we had thought. Someone is trying to hurt you and I think we have a pretty good idea who it is.”

“Nola,” Davis spoke up. All eyes turned to him, except for Rose who closed her eyes and sighed.

“We think it's Nola.” Glen added, “There's no hard evidence—”

“How can you say that?” Davis stared at Glen. “It has to be Nola. Who else could it be?”

Glen shot him an annoyed look. “We don't know if it is Nola or not,” he replied, his voice stern. “There's a good chance it could be her.”

“A very good chance,” Cheyenne said. “There's something wrong with that girl.”

A murmur of agreement went through the room. Rose remained silent, finally opening her eyes. She looked to Glen.

“I think Davis is right. They're all right. It has to be Nola. The accidents happened after she arrived.”

“We can't be certain until something happens again.” Glen shook his head. “And I am not risking that. That's why I want you to leave.”

Davis blinked, surprised. His eyes flickered to Rose and with her blue eyes wide, she looked just as shocked as he felt.

“Leave?” she squeaked.

“What the hell, Glen?” Cheyenne stood up. “You're kicking her out?”

“No, God no. Keep your voices down.” Glen motioned for her to sit down. Cheyenne did so slowly, looking to Rose with uncertainty. Rose's face lost what little bit of color she had. Davis blinked, following Glen's stare. He looked to Dr. Nesbitt and she cleared her throat.

“I believe Glen is trying to suggest that Rose needs to leave the PRDI until we are certain of who is behind these threats. Whether it's Nola or not, we will find them out without any unnecessary risk to Rose or anyone else.”

“It's an idea. I don't want anything else to happen,” Rose spoke softly as she moved her hands to rest on her swollen belly. “Where? Where do you suggest I go?”

“I don't know,” Glen admitted. He looked to Davis, but Davis only shrugged. Dr. Nesbitt looked equally stumped. No one said anything for a while, all racking their brains for a solution. It was Cheyenne who finally spoke.

“Rose can stay with me. I've got more than enough room at my house.” She turned to Rose. “Would that be okay?”

Rose's eyebrows came together as she thought on it.

“Yeah, that sounds fine. When do we leave? I want to get out of here as soon as I can. I don't want anything else to happen to me ... or my baby.”

“You don't have to worry much about that,” Davis said, stepping forward. “Nola's not here.”

“We're not sure if it is Nola, remember?” Glen reminded him. Davis shot him another annoyed glance but fell silent. There was something in Glen's eyes that suggested he shut up and stay that way. “But just in case.”

Glen looked back to Rose. “I want this to stay between us. Aurora and Slater don't need to know. Neither does Rebel or any of the PRDI students, for that matter. You should pack up your stuff and leave at night, after hours.”

“Sounds like a covert plan,” Dr. Nesbitt said her voice soft. “But I can see how it's necessary. If anyone inquires about your whereabouts, we can just tell a small fib. You went to a hospital upstate for medical attention, or something of that nature.”

Both Rose and Glen nodded at the idea.

“Sounds good,” he answered.

“Yep,” Cheyenne spoke up, breaking the seriousness of the situation with her lighthearted tone. “Looks like you're bunking with me for a while, kid.” She grinned at Rose.

Rose, however, still looked pale. “I won't be imposing?”

“Not at all. It'll be fun.”

“It probably won't be that fun,” Davis said. “This is serious. While you're gone, we plan on getting to the bottom of this situation with Nola—”

The conversation came to a halt when the door between the dining room and kitchen opened suddenly and Aurora walked in with a glass of water. She set it down on the table before Rose, and looked nervously around the room.

“Thank you,” Rose said softly, taking a sip from the glass. Slater appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His eyes met Davis's for a split second before he looked to Aurora.

“I guess whatever everyone was talking about is hush-hush,” he said in a bitter tone.

He didn't wait for her to say anything before turning abruptly and leaving. Aurora blinked.

“Sorry everyone,” she apologized. “I don't know what's wrong with him.”

“You don't have to apologize for him,” Glen added. “It seems to be a perfect day for people getting pissed off.” He sighed. “I'm tired of this shit. First Pierce and now Slater.”

“What about Pierce?” Dr. Nesbitt asked.

Glen shook his head. “Pierce blew up. He quit.”

“What? Pierce can't quit—can he?” Aurora asked.

“I'm afraid he can. I'll have to worry about finding a replacement at another time. Right now, there are more important things that need to be dealt with.”

Aurora looked around the room again and edged to the door. “I better go. Slater's waiting.”

“Okay. Be careful,” Cheyenne called as Aurora walked through the door and out of the room. Once she was gone, she looked to Glen. “Everyone seems to be making you into the bad guy.”

“It's not my fault,” Glen said. He glanced over at Davis. “None of us is at fault.”

“Except Nola,” Davis mentioned. Glen, instead of glaring at him as he had done before, nodded and crossed his arms. He looked really tired, worn out. They all looked tired, Davis noticed. Glen cleared his throat so that the attention was once again on him.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “Maybe it's Nola, maybe it's not. With Rose safe in another location, we'll find out the truth soon enough.”

* * * *

* * * *

Alana knew she was in deep shit when the car bomb detonated too soon. It wasn't supposed to happen so soon. It was supposed to be timed—twenty minutes and then ‘boom'. But the twenty minutes had been more like two.

She knew she had messed up, but she wasn't willing to admit it to Miguel. After the explosion, she hauled ass out of the PRDI. She walked five blocks before she hailed a cab. She didn't go straight back to the hotel. Miguel would know she fucked up.

Instead, Alana went to a well populated locale, the shopping mall. She perused the stores, biding time until she was sure she could return. She sat in the cab now, on her way to Miguel's hotel and she wasn't feeling too good about anything.

The bomb was supposed to go off when they were well on their way. There had to be something wrong with the detonator she had hidden in her pocket. She had followed the instructions for placing the bomb exactly. She wasn't about to believe she had wrongly set the timer.

Still several miles from the hotel, her cell phone began to buzz. Alana snatched it out of her jacket pocket and took a quick peek at the number.

Miguel.

She sucked in a breath and looked up. The cab driver, a middle-aged white man, did not look back at her, but she lowered her head just the same and answered the phone in a hushed voice.

“Miguel—” Before she even got his name out of her mouth, he was already speaking quickly in his hard to follow accent.

“Dios, woman, how could you be so stupid? What happened? It's all over the news. What did you do?”

Alana sat up in shock. “The news?” she asked, half afraid to say anything.

“Yes, it's on the news. There was a car bomb. The authorities believe it may be terrorists. They are investigating it. How could you be so stupid? It was not supposed to go off like that. It—”

“Miguel, listen to me—I didn't do it.” she looked up to see the driver was now looking at her. She narrowed her eyes until he looked away and then lowered her voice.

“I don't know what went wrong, but I followed the instructions exactly. I'm as frustrated as you are, believe me. Maybe even more.” This was true, she thought. Her second attempt at killing Rose had gone up in smoke, quite literally.

“We have to move quickly. I'm packing as we speak. There is a chance this will be traced back to us and I cannot risk that. We leave, now.”

“Whoa, hell no,” Alana protested, not caring now if the cab driver heard. “You are not going, no fucking where. I am not done here.”

“I'm sorry, chica, but that's how it is. If you want me to help you further, then get your ass over here now. If not, I'm gone and you are on your own.”

With that, Miguel cut the conversation off. Alana shouted into the phone, but it was silent. He had shut his phone off.

“Fucking bastard,” she cursed. She looked up at the mirror, not surprised to find the cab driver staring at her. She didn't try to hide the fact she was pissed.

“Put your fucking foot down and do it now,” she demanded. “I'm in a hurry.”

The cabbie didn't argue and sped up. Alana crossed her arms with a huff and leaned back in her seat. She watched the world rush by without really seeing it.

Her bad situation had just gotten worse, a lot worse.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirteen

If he thought his earlier headaches were bad, this one had to be by far the worst of his life. Jason couldn't even think clearly as he finally sat up. He had lain on the hard cold floor of his cell, unable to move, unable to speak for twenty-four hours. Never before had he been so weak, so tired, and so useless.

Finally, his strength had returned and he was able to move. Jason crawled his way across the floor, reaching the little cot and pulling himself into it. It took more effort than he was used to and he was once more exhausted by the time he collapsed on it.

During his unwilling lethargy, Jason had a lot of time to think. The Lab Coat Man had taken blood samples from him, draining him until Jason felt he would pass out from the loss. Then something had been injected into him. He didn't know what it was, but it smelled terrible and burned in his veins.

They had done something to him, weakened him. He lost consciousness, only to wake up, frozen in place on the cold floor. He couldn't move. All he could do was think and feel the dull throb of pain in his head.

Jason groaned, trying to force the memory away. He had been a fucking guinea pig, used in some mad scientist's plot. He had never felt so used, violated. What had they done to him?

Jason lay flat on his back and threw his arms over his face. After he had regained the ability to move, he felt more like himself, but still violated. His head pounded, much like it had when the doctor invaded his mind.

“Oh shit,” Jason said aloud, his voice sounding thick with lack of use. His tongue felt swollen and he smacked it against the roof of his mouth where it stuck. He sat up slowly and the headache increased.

“Fucking bastard,” he said again, once he was able to speak more clearly. “You better not be invading my mind now!”

Jason waited, but there was no response. He wasn't about to believe this was just a headache. There had to be something more to it. They did something to him and he was damned if he would let them get away with it.

“Fucking prick,” he cursed again and instead of lying back down, he pressed his back to the cold wall and crooked his knees. He leaned forward until he could rest his head against one knee and tried to ease the pain in his head. It did little good.

The more he thought of the man in the lab coat, the worse his headache got. He got angrier, too. The thoughts swirled in his head, like a wild vortex. The headache was bad now. His head felt like it was literally splitting in two.

He groaned, leaning his head back. He could no longer think clearly. In one instant, he saw the Lab Coat Man leering at him, light bouncing off his glasses. Then, he saw the burly goons he fought in the corridor, remembered their immense strength. Too strong for human, but not were or otherwise...

He saw the red-haired woman from his dream. He saw her in the window of this place again. She was screaming...

Rose was lying on a bed, sleeping. She rolled over and began to stir...

The Lab Coat Man stuck a syringe in his arm. It hurt, but he couldn't cry out because he was paralyzed...

“No!” he screamed, pulling himself out of his memories and thoughts with a harsh jerk. His head slammed back against the wall, shooting more pain throughout his head. He cried out as the pain flashed orange and red.

Calm down, the female's soothing voice was suddenly in his head. It was a welcome thing because, with the whispered tones came relief from the pain.

He was surprised by it as much as he was relieved. The shooting pain was gone. He could think clearly again. He moved away from the wall, blinking as he rubbed the back of his head.

What do you want? he answered back silently.

For a long while, there was no response. He almost thought he imagined it. Finally, he heard her mystical telepathic voice again.

To help you, so that you may help us.

Jason thought on it a moment and blinked.

I suppose I should thank you.

It's not necessary. Healing is what I do. There was a pause. Jason head buzzed when she responded again. You see what we are up against.

Who is he?

His name is Samuel Quenten. He's a geneticist, or so he likes to think. He experiments with supernatural creatures. I think he may have injected some of our abilities into himself.

“Fuck,” Jason breathed aloud. “I knew it.” What does he want with me? He added silently. What do you mean he injected himself with our abilities? Is that how he can get into my head?

There was silence for an interval of a few moments then she began again. Yes, I'm afraid so. I don't fully understand it all, but it's not just you, it's all of us. He's trying to create some sort of superior race. I'm still not certain why, or how. He's been using us as experiments. Again, there was a pause. There must be something special about you. He went straight to the blood work with you.

Jason didn't respond right away. The man had said something about Jason's blood possessing the elements he had been trying to create. Something do with were blood and witch blood. It made no sense to him. He had no witch blood in him. The man had to mistaken.

There's nothing special about me, he thought to her. He took a few deep breaths as he waited for her to say something. Several minutes passed before she said anything again.

Whatever it is does not matter now. It is time.

Time for what?

We wanted to do the final push last night, but Quenten did his worst. There isn't much time left. We have to do it now.

I don't know what you're talking about. Jason stood up, and began to pace. Moving after being motionless for such a long time hurt, but he endured it anyway. The pain in his muscles was familiar, like the beginning of a shift. The wolf within was agitated. He wanted out.

Jason kept him locked away. Now was not the time, and the strange woman's earlier words made sense. He did need to conserve his energy. Shifting would be a useless waste.

Instead, he allowed his vision to cut through the darkness of the room. There was once a time when he found the darkness soothing. It was a place he could hide in, be alone.

But not this time. This time, the darkness was stifling. He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get away from it and out of this cell.

The final push, the woman's voice came again, sounding louder closer. We're going to get out of here, tonight.

How do you plan to do that? Jason asked, resisting the urge to scoff aloud at the idea. He hadn't been able to get out before. What made her so sure they would get out now?

As if picking up on these thoughts, the woman responded. We've have been waiting a long time for someone with enough mental power to aid us in the final push. You are going to help us.

“Mental power?” Jason stopped pacing and stared at the dark wall. The only mental power he possessed was the occasional visions he had, and they were bothersome at most and hardly reliable.

How can you expect me to help you? I don't know anything about this psychic bullshit.

We will help each other. The voice in his head became edgy and frantic. She must want out worse than Jason did. She had been here longer. Of course she'd want out.

Jason thought on it then shook his head, though she couldn't see it. She seemed to sense it though, because she began again.

You must help us. You are our last hope.

Whether it was her pleading tone or the fact that he wanted to get out of here almost as badly as she, Jason resigned with a soft sigh.

“Fine. What do I have to do?”

He waited for her instructions but none came for a long time. The silence in the room grew heavy and when he grew tired of waiting, he started to pace again. He had already reached one end of the room and was halfway across the floor when she answered.

Stand in front of the door. Do it quickly, we haven't much time and my power is weakening.

Jason didn't argue as he found his way to the door. He didn't know what to expect. He thought of asking, but he didn't get the chance.

He thought his head would explore from pain. He was blinded and he couldn't breathe. Though he gasped, Jason couldn't get the air he needed. The pain in his head lessened only to strike again with more force.

It was like getting hit by a semi-truck. At least it felt like it to him. He almost fell back from the force of it. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Steady. Through the pain, he heard her voice. Do not fall down.

Then he felt a curious sensation. He felt a prickle start at the crown of his head, moving down through his body. It tingled all over, as if his entire body was asleep. He was paralyzed, unable to move.

The tingling prickle turned into something else. It was power, he knew that, and it was strong. It was almost electric around him, growing and buzzing. He had never felt anything like it before.

The pain stuck with him, growing then ebbing as the power swelled. Still breathless and reeling from the pain, Jason tried to focus on what was happening. He realized the power was coming from an outside source, from her, but his own power—a thing that he wasn't really aware of, was very strong—combined with hers. He felt it leaving him, drawing away and mingling until it no longer belonged to either of them.

Suddenly, the power was ripped away. It shot out of him like a bullet from a gun, spreading like a wave through the room. It hit the door and he heard a click and a snap. The door slid wide open.

Despite the woman's instructions, Jason sank to the floor in surprise. He hit his knees on the unforgiving concrete, hard, and stared in disbelief at the open expanse in front of him. The door was open. He was free.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Jason climbed to his feet, his legs weak and unstable after the power left him. He held onto the door frame as he wobbled out of the room on his unsteady legs.

The hallway was easier to tolerate now that there were no bright lights blinding him and no guards dragging him forcefully. He began to walk quickly down the hall. Unlike before, when he hadn't been able to spot an exit, the corridor wasn't quite so shut off.

There were doors open along either side of him. The doors hadn't been there before.

Jason curled his hands into fists. Either he was in a new area, or the doors had been hidden before. It pissed him off to think on it, but he forced himself to let it go. One of those doors had to lead to another hallway or an exit.

As if picking up on his thoughts yet again, the woman spoke in his head. He stopped to listen.

There is a door on the right at the end of the hall. It leads to another hallway. Take it and move fast. The guards are already on the move.

How do you know this? What happened? Jason asked. She didn't answer and Jason couldn't wait in a stationary position for much longer. He could hear the guards shouting, their voices echoing off the walls and giving away their position long before they would even reach him.

Jason moved fast, following her direction and taking the door at the end of the hall. It was another corridor, identical to the one his cell was located in. He raced down the endless hall. He was nearing what appeared to be a dead end when two burly men burst out from one of the doors on his left.

Surprised, Jason was taken off guard as one of the men grabbed hold of his arm. The other, a taller, hairier man, held a handgun pointed at Jason's chest. His buddy fought to secure Jason with a pair of handcuffs.

The man holding him was very strong and his grip nearly crushed Jason's lower arm. He felt the cold of the handcuffs touch his wrist and his struggles renewed with stronger effect.

Ducking down so the other man had difficulty holding him, Jason threw his head back. The impact of his skull hitting the man's face jarred his teeth and left him with a massive headache, but it worked. The man let go of him and doubled over, clutching the bleeding mess of his broken nose.

The goon with the gun didn't hesitate. He pulled off a few rounds, but succeeded in hitting his fallen companion. Jason had already scrambled away and was heading into the doorway they had exited from.

Another endless hallway greeted him. Behind him, a man shouted. Another gun shot went off, the sound deafening. Jason instinctively ducked, but the bullet was off and hit the wall high above him. He didn't slow down or look back. He knew the shooter was on his tail.

He ran for the end of the hall, knowing there had to be another door, another exit there somewhere. The man was behind him, his boots echoing loudly on the hard floor. Jason knew that although he was part werewolf, this man had the upper hand. He was stronger, faster somehow. If he didn't find the exit soon, he would be in deep shit.

Turn right, now. The woman was back, her voice insistent but faint. Jason obeyed and turned to the door on the right. The goon followed.

“Now!” A woman's voice shouted aloud and Jason felt the curious rise of power again. He wasn't alone in here. The power rose quickly and went away just as fast as the door behind him slammed shut. Immediately, the room was plunged into complete darkness. Jason blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden blackness. The goon slammed his fists against the door, the sound echoing in the room.

“He'll tire out quickly,” someone said. It was the female who had shouted. She sounded out of breath.

“He'll have to,” a male voice said. “He can't get in here until the power comes back on and we shorted that fucker. It'll take hours, if not days to fix.”

Jason's vision began to come back to him and he surveyed the room, trying to find the source of the voices. The room they were in looked just like Jason's cell, only smaller.

He spotted the others, three of them, crowded in the corner.

He didn't approach them right away, but breathed in their scents. He smelled were, full-blooded and female. He smelled human, a woman. The male, he wasn't sure because his scent was faint and unlike anything he had smelled before.

And lavender. He smelled fresh lavender in the room.

He couldn't make out their faces in the darkness, but he watched their movements. One of the women sat on the floor, her legs pulled under her. She had a mass of curly hair that obscured her face from his sight. The other woman, thinner, with shorter hair, was the were. The male stood, watching Jason. Unlike the others, his pale face seemed to glow in the darkness.

“Who are you people?” Jason demanded, keeping his distance.

“We're just like you.” It was different hearing the woman's voice out loud, instead of in his head. She stood, slowly, her arm supported by the other woman. “We were brought here to have experiments done to us, to be lab animals for Quenten.” She paused, slumping against the woman. The male rushed to their aid, his bright white hands reaching out to grasp her arm.

“There's no time to explain.” She sounded weak. “We have to go now. I haven't much strength left and you'll need me to get out of here.”

“How are we going to get out? We're locked in this room.”

“Haven't you learned anything?” the male snapped at Jason irritably. He sounded older than he looked. “She's the one who got us together and combined our abilities to shut out the power so the doors can't open. She's the one who shut the door just now to save your ass. She—”

“That's enough, Toby,” she said softly. That was all it took and Toby went silent He glared at Jason, but Jason didn't meet his stare. He looked to the woman.

“That's what happened?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I must open the doors twice more, at least, so we can get out of here. This was meant as a temporary stop. We haven't much time.” She stopped, taking a deep breath. “Once the doors open, follow the hallway to the end. There is a door on the left that will lead you to the staircase. Take it to the bottom floor. There is a door to the side. It is probably chained or locked, but it will be our only chance.”

“What happens if the guards come after us?” the other female asked. Her gaze turned to Jason, as if he had the answers.

“We run,” Toby answered instead, “or we fight. Personally, I'd say fight.”

“We can't fight, Toby.” The were sighed, raking a hand through her hair. The goon was still pounding on the door, loudly. “We have no choice.”

“I can fight,” Jason said. “If we have to, I'll hold them off.”

“You can't fight them all by yourself.” Toby sounded incredulous. He narrowed his eyes at Jason until they become nothing but black slits on his stark white face.

“I can handle a lot more than you think.” There was an edge in Jason's voice. He knew he was coming off stubborn and tough, but he didn't care. There was something about this little punk he didn't like.

And their situation wasn't making things any better.

“We have to go, now,” the human woman said. The others didn't argue. Standing to either side, the were-woman and Toby supported her arms as the woman stood to her full height. She was tall and very thin. Her simple gown hung limply from her body. She closed her eyes.

Jason knew what she intended to do, but it happened so fast he was shocked. The moment she closed her eyes, the power rose. It swelled away from her. Jason felt the rush of it as it swept past him.

The door behind him flew open. He spun quickly.

The goon that had been pounding on the door incessantly was thrown back with the force of the power. He lay sprawled against the wall, his gun a few feet away from his outstretched hand.

Jason didn't hesitate. He rushed out the door and grabbed the gun before the man came to. He didn't look like he would though. Through the darkness, Jason could see his head was turned at a strange angle and blood had begun to trickle from his nose and ears.

“He's dead,” Jason announced. He tightened his fingers on the grip of the gun and held it ready.

“That doesn't matter,” Toby said. They had followed him out of the room. The woman between them didn't look so good. Her head fell forward, her long curls covering her face.

“Is she okay?”

“She will be,” the were answered. “But we need to get out of here first. Let's go.”

Jason led the way down the hall, taking point. He found the door leading to the staircase with little difficulty and began heading down. The others followed, moving as fast as they could. Jason was concerned for the psychic. Her skin was almost as white as Toby's and that couldn't be good.

“I see the door,” he said quietly. “We're almost there.”

“Halt!”

“Oh no,” Toby groaned. All of them looked up at the group of armed guards that swarmed through the door. Two by two, they raced toward them down the stairs. A few of them took aim with their rifles.

“Shit,” Jason cursed. “Go, I'll catch up.” He motioned the others forward, pressing himself back against the wall. The were and the psychic went past him, hurrying as fast as they could. Toby followed, but grabbed Jason's arm as he made to go back up the stairs.

“What are you doing? You can't take them.”

“I sure as hell can try.”

“Fuck that. We need you.”

“No, you don't.” The men were getting closer. Jason could smell the aftershave they wore and the sharp, oily smell of their freshly cleaned rifles. He tensed when Toby pulled on his arm. “Let go of me.”

“Amelia needs you.”

Jason stared at him, forgetting for a moment that the guards were closing in. “Amelia?” The name sounded familiar.

“There's no time to explain. Come on.” Toby gave one final pull and Jason let himself be tugged away from the wall. He moved after him in a daze. A gun went off, but the bullet missed. Someone was shouting at them, but Jason didn't hear what was said.

They were at the door before he knew it. The locks had been broken and the doors thrown back. The women were already outside and once he and Toby hit the gravel, they ran. They didn't stop to look back, or pause to fire the gun. They were gone.

“Run,” Toby shouted. The were-woman looked back at them, unable to hurry any faster. The psychic woman, Amelia, was about to drop where she stood. Her feet were dragging the ground.

Gunshots fired and the scent of blood spilled into the air. Toby screamed and they were shrieked. Blood poured down Toby's upper left arm. The crimson was bright against his pale flesh. It gushed out from the huge exit wound, but Toby didn't stop. He pressed his hand against the wound, the thick blood pouring through his fingers.

“Oh, God,” Jason breathed. The guards were right on them. There was no time. Amelia had fallen to the ground and the were was trying to pull her up.

“Just grab her,” Toby shouted. “There's a car over here. Let's go!”

Jason turned, spotting his Camaro pulled neatly into the drive. The iron gates were closed, blocking access to the road. He wasn't looking forward to what would happen to the Camaro, but he didn't see another alternative.

“Get in the car,” Jason shouted as Toby ran past him. He knew how to hotwire the car, but he prayed he wouldn't need to. He turned back to the females. They had hoisted Amelia to her feet, but the psychic was faltering in her steps. The men were bearing down on them. Rifles were raised.

“No,” Jason shouted. He made a mad dash for them. His body collided with the were and together, with Amelia, they crashed to the ground just as a volley of bullets rang out.

They had to move fast.

“Go.” He pulled at Amelia's arm. “Move or die!” They were already moving, crawling across the ground. Her clothes were soiled with mud, grass and gravel.

The gunfire ceased to angry shouting. Jason hated to admit it, but he knew the voice.

“No,” Quenten yelled. Jason pushed Amelia forward and they were resumed pulling her along. He looked back to see the lab coat man, red in the face, moving to stand in front of the armed guards. He waved his arms wildly, gesturing toward Jason and the others.

“No bullets; tranquilizers only. I want them alive!”

The men listened to the doctor and backed down, and Jason took advantage of it. He scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the car. Toby already had the doors open and was helping Amelia and the other woman into the back.

He hurried to the driver's side, thankful when he saw the glint of metal dangling in the ignition. The keys were still there.

He climbed inside his car. The inside already smelled like blood, dirt and sweat. Everyone was in and Jason slammed the door. He started the engine, thankful once more when it came to life.

“Let's get out of here,” Toby shouted.

Jason revved the engine, the back-wheel drive making the tires spin loudly on the pavement. They squealed as he pulled it in reverse and raced it backwards down the drive. He hoped it was fast enough to break open the iron gates.

The back bumper of the Camaro hit the iron gates with the right amount of force and it broke open. Metal scraped loudly against metal as the car rocked violently through the gate. Jason didn't want to know what the back of the car looked like, but he knew it was ruined.

Once out on the street, he pulled the car into drive and floored it. Pretty soon, the horrible excuse for a lab was a dot on the horizon. Toby sat beside him, sticky with blood, staring over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. Jason could see the were through the rearview mirror. Amelia leaned against her shoulder, her face white against her vibrant red hair. She had passed out.

“What do we do now?” Toby looked to Jason, but Jason had no answer.

“I don't know,” he finally said.

Amelia was the woman he had dreamed of nights before. She was the woman who had spoken in his head. She was the one he had seen in the window. He had never seen her before, but he knew her. It was her name—her name and his intuition—that opened his eyes. He knew who she was, knew how she was able to contact him.

Amelia was his mother.

But Jason didn't know why she had chosen now, of all times, after all these years, to finally do so. The circumstances were bad and it was not how he had pictured he would meet her. Hell, he had never pictured meeting her at all. He had thought she was dead.

Jason turned his eyes to the front of the car, focusing on the road. He needed to come up with a plan and fast. There was more at stake now. There were more lives he had to protect, more inner demons to fight. There was Quenten, who needed his horrible experiments stopped, and there was Amelia, his mother.

Jason gunned the engine and put the Camaro at top speed. He wasn't about to let this end before he found out the truth about her and about himself.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fourteen

The cab of Cheyenne's Dodge Ram was big and roomy and Rose liked it. She could sit comfortably with her legs outstretched. She didn't have to endure the discomfort of her legs and knees pressing against her pregnant belly like she did when riding in the PRDI car.

But the PRDI car was gone, blown up. Rose could still imagine she felt the heat blast on her face and arms. She could still feel the burn of it, though it had happened hours ago and she was miles away. No one had expected it to happen; hell, who would? It left them all with very little doubt anymore and made the staircase accident look like child's play.

Someone was trying to kill her.

Rose felt her stomach lurch suddenly and she wrapped her arms around herself. She gulped down a few breaths, but it did little to stop the nausea. Since the explosion, her nausea had gotten stronger. The baby moved more frequently, too, kicking against Rose's stomach and making her feel worse.

She knew from Dr. Nesbitt that babies in the womb could be affected by the mother's adrenaline. She believed it, but she wondered if the opposite were true. Could babies create their own adrenaline and pass it on to their mothers? Rose was sure she had felt something from the baby before the car exploded, a split second after she doubled over, too sick to stand. And what she had seen, before the car blew...

It didn't make a lot of sense.

Rose let out a breath and tried not to think about people trying to kill her. If Davis, Glen, Cheyenne and the others were right about their suspicions—and she was afraid they were—she would be safe and sound very far away from the PRDI.

And Nola.

Determined not to let her mind start with that horrible woman, she reached forward and switched Cheyenne's radio from country, to something a little faster. Soon, the electronic pulse of 1980's rock filled the cab.

Cheyenne chuckled and glanced over at Rose. “If you didn't like the music, you could've just asked. I would've popped in a CD or something.”

They had been driving for about an hour now. They would reach Cheyenne's ranch house before dawn. Leaving in the middle of the night had been a unanimous decision among the pack. They wanted Rose to leave under the cover of darkness, when the rest of the place was asleep. It had to be kept secret, her leaving. They didn't want to risk Nola—or whoever it was—finding out and following.

Again, Rose tried to push the thoughts away, but found that thoughts of Nola were like a cancer. They keep eating away at her, and wouldn't go away. Rose turned her attention to the window.

“It's not that. The music's fine.” She trailed off, allowing her gaze to follow the path of trees along the narrow country road. The moon was out, but it was just a tiny sliver. ‘God's Thumbnail’ Rose remembered her mother calling it that, when the moon was at a crescent. It didn't offer much light whenever it peeked through the trees, and it would be gone in a few nights, when the dark moon came.

Rose didn't want to think of the dark moon. She didn't want to think about anything with darkness. There was enough of that as it was with the worry that Nola would somehow follow them and find her.

She never felt as scared for her child as she did now. She didn't want to run or hide, she was through with that life. All she wanted was to settle down with her husband, have this child and raise it in a normal life.

But normal was not meant for her or her kind. There was nothing normal about her situation. Her husband had run off and she was pregnant with what could be their worst enemy's child. On top of that, she was a werewolf—definitely not normal by most standards—and someone was trying to kill her, again.

This time, it was different. This time, there was a child involved. Rose wasn't about to let anything happen to her or her unborn baby.

“It's not the music,” she said again, returning her attention to Cheyenne.

The changed-blood glanced over at her briefly, but for the most part kept her eyes on the road ahead. Her long blonde hair was tied back into her usual ponytail, falling over her shoulder as she moved her arm to take a quick turn.

“Then what is it?” Cheyenne was always one to cut to the heart of the problem and Rose knew she would before the night was over. She had a way of making you want to talk to her. It was annoying when some people did it, but it was a good quality with Cheyenne.

“Guess I really don't need to ask,” she said when Rose didn't answer right away.

“Yeah.” Rose brushed a strand of her hair away from her face and looked away. The road was gravel-lined and winding, twisting and turning every which way. Each curve was another new lurch to her stomach. She was going to be sick soon if she kept staring at the road and its twists. She closed her eyes.

“Don't worry about it, hon,” Cheyenne said. “I've been watching the road and no one's following us.”

“That's good.”

“We'll be home soon,” Cheyenne said. “Then you can lie down, get some rest. I know you must be tired.”

“Yeah,” Rose agreed. She was very tired. She hadn't slept in a while and the day's events were taking its toll on her. She wouldn't say no to a warm, soft bed. She opened her eyes, staring out at the illuminated roadway. The territory was unfamiliar. Cheyenne liked to take the back roads whenever she could and Rose wasn't sure exactly where they were now.

“How much longer until we get there?”

Cheyenne looked at the clock on the radio then back to the road. “We still have a ways to go. About an hour and a half. I could make it an hour if I drove a little faster.”

Rose shook her head emphatically. Cheyenne was taking the turns fast enough. Any faster, and Rose was going to puke. She might puke anyway.

“All right,” Cheyenne answered with a single nod. She shifted her gaze to the rearview mirror. While Cheyenne seemed calm and cool, Rose knew by that simple glance Cheyenne was just as uneasy about the whole situation as she was.

“On second thought, speed it up. I just want to get as far away from the PRDI as I can.”

“That's what I wanted to hear.” Cheyenne put her foot down on the pedal and the truck accelerated, taking the curves much faster than before. Rose dug her fingernails into the seat and braced herself. She was hit with a strong wave of nausea as Cheyenne took a particularly sharp turn, easing off the brake.

“It's been a hell of a day,” Cheyenne said and Rose forced herself to ignore the sickness and listen. “I just want to get home, have a nice, hot bath and sleep. I don't think I've closed my eyes for more than two minutes this entire weekend.” She glanced over briefly at Rose. “I figure it's the same for you.”

“Definitely,” Rose answered in a strained voice.

“Are you okay?” Cheyenne furrowed her brow together as she watched the road and Rose in equal turns. “You're not looking so well.”

“It's the nausea. It's come back. I was feeling great this morning, but then...” She stopped and took a deep breath. Her stomach lurched again and she waited until the nausea passed. “I felt something, right before the explosion. I felt sick all of a sudden and there was this pain.”

Cheyenne nodded, focusing her eyes on the road. “I know it was something. I saw you double over and I was just about to grab hold of you when everything went to hell.” She paused for a moment. “You know, it was strange to see you healed earlier yesterday. I mean, you've looked like shit the past couple of months—no offense—”

“None taken.”

“But then, all of a sudden you were fine. You looked healthy. It was some heavy duty magick.”

“Dr. Nesbitt has her ways,” Rose said. There was a tone in Cheyenne's voice that made her a little more uneasy. There was something she was trying to say and for the first time since Rose had known her, she was skirting around it.

“That she does,” Cheyenne agreed. “But I was talking with her a little while after everyone started to leave and you went back to your room. She told me while her powers and abilities are strong, she had never seen results like that.”

“What do you mean?”

Cheyenne sighed. “Dr. Nesbitt doesn't think she was the one who did all the healing. She thinks there was something else—or someone else.”

Coldness spread through Rose's body suddenly and it caused a chill to run up her spine. “What?”

“I don't know just what she was talking about, really, but she said something about her powers being limited and that there had to be something else contributing. She mentioned Aurora and something about power.”

“Aurora and power?” Rose rubbed the hair back down on her arms. She remembered finding Aurora in the library with spell books, researching the strange dreams she had been having. She had talked about a woman in her dreams, a woman who had red hair and smelled of lavender. Rose had smelled lavender earlier that day. Was there a connection between that and her sudden healing?

“No,” Rose answered her own question aloud and shook her head. “Aurora doesn't have power like that. No one I know does, except Deborah.”

“I know,” Cheyenne said, “but it just seems so weird. If there is someone out there with heavy mojo, why are they helping you? I don't mean to sound ungrateful for it; I was glad to see you better. I just want to know who and why.”

Rose's thought suddenly flashed to Nola and she shook her head again. “I don't know, Chey.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure it's not Nola,” Cheyenne scoffed. It was almost as if she had read her thoughts. “She seems to be bent on hurting you, not healing you.”

“Yeah, I just hope she doesn't try to do anymore of it.”

“Like I said before, no worries. We're miles from the PRDI and no one knows where you've gone and I'm pretty damned sure no one's going to tell either. You'll be safe.”

Even as Cheyenne tried to reassure her, there was a hint of doubt in her voice. It confirmed what Rose had suspected all along. They were both scared and worried as hell and that didn't leave much hope for either of them.

* * * *

* * * *

He drove in silence for a long while. There was nothing he had to say to any of them, at least not yet. He was still trying to sort out his thoughts.

The woman with red curly hair in the back was his mother. All his life he had thought her dead. She was most assuredly alive, finally waking from her unconsciousness. She sat up on her own, without the help of the female were, and leaned back against the cramped Camaro's backseat.

Jason watched her through the rearview mirror a few times, but she never looked at him.

His mother, alive.

Some of his questions were answered as soon as he had realized that. He knew now why he had these visions, taunting psychic impulses, and sudden bouts of empathy. It was from his mother. She was psychic. He even suspected why he had come to this place and why she had come to him. They shared a psychic bond and one of them had reached out, touched the other with tendrils of power.

He knew these answers were true, but he had even more questions now. He thought about them as he drove, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead.

The shotgun wound in Toby's arm had finally stopped bleeding. The wound was wrapped in torn strips from a t-shirt Toby had found on the floorboard. It was ratty and old and he had ripped it before Jason was able to protest. It had been a gift from Rose when they were first dating.

Jason sucked it up and kept driving. Getting back to Rose was the least of his worries now. He had to take it one thing at a time. The first thing he had to do was find out was where they were going from here.

Behind Toby, the female were shifted her weight and pressed her knees against his seat.

“Move your seat up. I'm getting crushed back here.”

“Sorry, Lex, but it's a little cramped up here too.”

“If you didn't have such long legs—”

“If you didn't have such a big mouth—”

“Quiet,” Amelia interrupted in a calm, tired voice. That was all it took for Toby and Lex to quiet down. Lex pressed against Toby's seat once more and he pulled it up an inch to oblige.

“Camaro's weren't really made for comfort,” Jason answered. It was as close to an apology as he was willing to give.

“Tell me about it.” Jason glanced over at Toby. The young man fiddled with the torn strips of cloth around his arm. He untied it, dropping the bloody cloth in his lap. Jason caught a glimpse of white flesh, whole and healed.

“What are you?” Jason blurted out. Toby's scent had been the only one he couldn't identify. It wasn't as strong as the were-scent, but it was something.

Toby laughed as he ran his fingers over the dried blood around where the wound had been. “You mean you don't know?”

“No, I don't,” Jason said through clenched teeth.

“Toby, don't tease him,” Lex chided. Jason caught her stare in the mirror. “Toby's a vampire.”

“Vampire, huh?” Jason looked over at Toby with a little more interest this time. Though he had been a visitor to the PRDI, he had never encountered a vampire before. Now that he thought of it, the young man did almost fit the classic profile.

Toby was pale and gaunt. His jet black hair fell just above his ears and framed his face in curling tendrils. His eyes were dark, almost black. He had a look to him that young people these days called “Goth".

“Yeah, I'm a vampire and before you ask, no I don't burst into flame when I stand in the sunlight and I don't sleep in a coffin. I get a little extra crispy maybe, but nothing some SPF-80 sunscreen can't take care of. I'm not immortal, so if you think I'm anything like ‘Dracula', you're wrong. Drinking blood, though—”

“I don't want to know,” Jason said, returning his attention to the road. “This isn't some ‘interview with the vampire’ thing. I don't care.”

“That was a good book,” Toby said.

“Never read it. Movie was all right.”

“Both were good,” Lex interrupted. “Where are we going?”

“That's a good question,” Toby agreed. “Where are we going?”

“I was just wondering that myself,” Jason muttered. They were in the middle of the country, somewhere Jason wasn't familiar with. The road seemed endless. Far head, blinking lights indicated there was a stop up ahead.

“We need to lose the car,” Amelia finally spoke up after being silent for a while. Her voice was soft, but stern.

“Wait, what? Get rid of the car, are you nuts?” Toby said, but immediately added. “I know you mean well, Amelia, and you've done tons to help us out of that hellhole, but getting rid of the car? It's our only chance.”

“She's right,” Jason said. “It was too easy. The car was just sitting there, with the keys in it. We're being tracked.”

“Damn.”

“There is a bus station up ahead,” Amelia answered. Jason felt her knees press into the back of his seat.

“How do you know this?” Toby asked. “I know you're psychic, but how do you know this stuff? How did you know how to get out of that place?”

“I looked into the minds of the guards. I followed the path through their thoughts until I had it memorized. Then, I just knew.”

Toby shook his head in disbelief. Jason watched Amelia through the rearview mirror. Her eyes met his and Jason felt a shiver run through him. He broke the stare and looked back at the road.

You know who I am. It wasn't a question.

Jason took a deep breath. Lex had begun to argue with Toby again but Jason ignored them.

You're my mother.

Yes.

Silence. Once more he glanced into the mirror but Amelia was looking out the window, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

His unwanted empathy reached out, touching her. He could feel her sadness and pain. Quickly, he locked the emotions away and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. He didn't need this.

After all these years, she was right here. She had suddenly crashed into his life and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. All his life he had wanted to meet his parents. He had met his father, briefly when he was a teenager, but he never saw him again. Up until several months ago, he had thought his father had abandoned him again, left him to suffer life on his own.

But Jason found out the truth. He found out Simon was his half-brother and that he was responsible for his father's death. It was a harsh bit of reality and it drove Jason over the edge. Now, his mother, whom he thought had been dead all these years, was alive.

It was all too much to deal with.

I didn't know if you would come. I'm glad you did.

Jason didn't acknowledge he heard her and drove on. He could see the lights of the bus station ahead. There would be time enough to talk later. Right now, they had to get rid of the car and think of a plan.

He pulled the car into the lot and into the closest parking place. The harsh outside lights shined into the car, illuminating Jason and his passengers. He looked back, taking a moment to get the first really good look at them.

Lex was younger than he had initially thought. She couldn't be more than eighteen. She was short and bone-thin, with sharp facial features that made her look older and more severe. Her light brown hair reached just below her earlobes, showing off a long, thin neck.

In the harsh lights, Toby did look “Goth". His black hair was greasy and clung to his forehead and temples. His eyes weren't black, but dark brown and the bags under them made his face look sunken and hollow. His skin wasn't just pale, Jason noticed, but white. Toby flashed him a grin and Jason caught sight of the pointed eye-teeth. Classic vampire.

He closed his eyes before he looked to Amelia. She was just as he had seen her in his dreams. Her hair was red and curly, with a single streak of grey in the front. Though she had to be close to fifty if not older, she looked relatively young. There were only a few wrinkles on her face, the tiniest of lines etched on her pale flesh.

But it was her eyes that unnerved him. They were bright green and shining, they held a depth to them that seemed fathomless. Her eyes seemed to stare right into his very soul. Jason was transfixed by them, and terrified.

Finally, he looked away from her and let out a breath.

“All right. We need to think of a plan.”

“I might have an idea,” Lex brought up. Eyes turned to her and she looked suddenly nervous. “But I don't know if it might work.”

“What is it?” Toby asked.

“Well, we're at a bus station right? We could all get tickets and split up. It would be harder for them to find us.”

Jason considered her idea while Toby scoffed at it.

“Like that would work. How are we going to get tickets?”

Lex looked crestfallen. “Oh. Right.”

“Wait a minute,” Jason spoke up. “Lex might be on to something. If we get bus tickets and split up, we increase our chances of getting away.” He glanced to Toby. “It's probably the only chance we have.”

“Yeah, sounds good, but once again I bring up a very important part: how are we going to get tickets? I kinda left my wallet at the crazy place.”

Lex rolled her eyes. “Well, I don't see you coming up with anything better.”

“Cash isn't a problem,” Jason said. “I have enough for tickets and then some.”

Toby looked at him. “They didn't take your stuff when you were captured?”

“Yeah, they did, but I didn't have cash on me.” Jason leaned forward in his seat, maneuvering so he could bend slightly to reach beneath his seat. He felt around until his fingers touched metal.

He pulled out a small locked box. Removing the keys from the Camaro's engine, he jingled the key ring until he found a small, round key. He put it into the locked box and turned it.

“You keep your cash in the car?” Toby asked. Jason looked at him and lifted an eyebrow.

“If I hadn't, it would be gone now and where would we be?”

Toby shut his mouth and watched as Jason pulled out a wad of cash.

“Whoa,” Lex breathed. “How much is that?”

“It's enough.” Jason felt the weight of the bills in his hand. It was much lighter than it had been months ago when he had taken the large withdrawal from the checking account he and Rose shared. Claire's inheritance was vast enough to leave a generous sum behind for Rose and in order to not tap into that—as well as not be traced through debit and credit card transactions—he used what he had sparingly. There was about to be a hefty withdrawal from the stack.

Not counting it out, Jason took a handful of the bills and handed them to Toby.

“Take this and get whatever supplies you need at that shop there,” he said, pointing to the little store next to the bus station. “Then get bus tickets to anywhere, far from here.” He looked to Lex. “The two of you should go together. Splitting up is a good idea, but there's safety in numbers. Two and two.”

Toby nodded, staring at the bills in his hand. His white hands were crusted in dried blood. He blinked. “There's still a problem. I think I'm going to draw attention to myself.”

Jason hadn't thought of it before, but Toby was right. People would definitely stare at the man with blood all over his shirt, arm and hands.

“All right.” Jason thought for a moment then looked back. “Lex, there should be a jacket back there somewhere.”

Lex rummaged around and produced it from the floorboard. She passed it up to the front and Jason passed it to Toby. “Take it.”

“It's a little big,” Toby said as he slipped the leather jacket on. It covered the blood pretty well. “But it'll do.”

“All right. We don't have very much time, we'd better go.” Jason slipped the rest of the bills into his pocket and climbed out of the front seat. He held the seat forward. As Amelia stepped out, she stumbled but Jason caught her.

She steadied herself and stood to her full height. She was close to Jason's height, so she didn't have to look up at him. Her eyes met his. “I guess I'm still weak.”

“You're bound to be,” Jason said softly. “That was a powerful bit of work you did back there.”

Amelia said nothing as Jason released her and she took a few steps. He noticed for the first time she was barefoot. Her gown made her look like a hospital patient and would surely draw attention. Jason sighed.

“We'll have to get you some clothes before we do anything.” He looked over the roof of the car at Toby and Lex. He noticed the dirt and grass stains on Lex's clothing. “You should get something as well.”

Lex looked down at herself and nodded.

“All right, you guys head on.”

“What about the car? Are you just going to leave it here?” Lex asked.

“What choice do we have?”

“Not much,” Toby answered. “We could always ditch it. Once they find it here, they'll put two and two together. That Quenten fucker is smart. He'll find out where we went.”

“Hopefully not if we go fast enough,” Jason said.

“I can do something,” Amelia spoke up. “Maybe alter the memories of the clerks at the ticket booth.” When the others looked at her, she continued. “Quenten will be sure to have photographs and interrogate them, or if anything, pick into their minds.”

“You can do that?” Jason asked. “You can alter memories?”

“It's difficult and I don't like it, but I can do it.”

“Okay,” Jason said. It blew his mind the level of power this woman possessed. It scared him to think that he could probably do it too, with the right training. He pushed the thought out of his mind. They had to go. “If you can do it, go for it ... but I'm not carrying you around if you pass out.”

For the first time, a smile crossed Amelia's face. Jason recognized his own smirk in her smile. She really was his mother.

“I'll be fine,” she said.

Jason turned to the others and nodded his head. “Be careful.”

“How will we get in touch with you?” Lex asked, looking worried suddenly.

“You won't,” Jason said.

Lex ran around the car and threw her arms around Amelia, almost knocking her back against the car. “Thank you for all you've done. I won't forget you.”

“Good luck, Alexis.” Amelia held her back just as tightly. “Take care of yourself.” Lex pulled away, tears in her eyes. Without saying anything else, she jogged to catch up with Toby, who had already begun to walk away. He stood by the bus station door and waited. His good-bye was a stiff wave. Amelia returned it before they disappeared into the station.

They were alone. He looked at the woman who was his mother and she looked back at him. Understanding passed between them.

There was much they needed to talk about.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fifteen

They made it to Cheyenne's in the nick of time. She had just pulled the Dodge to a stop in the front of her two story ranch house when Rose threw open the door and retched onto the gravel and dirt.

Cheyenne sat in the driver's seat, patiently, until Rose sagged back into her seat and wiped her mouth. She groaned and held her stomach. She felt horrible.

“My driving's not that bad,” Cheyenne chuckled, but she got out of the truck and walked to Rose's side. Careful not to step in the fresh vomit, she held the door open and helped Rose down from the cab.

Dawn was still more than an hour away, but the sky was lightening. Rose looked over the horizon. The countryside was beautiful and Rose had to admit she missed the outdoors. Before the whole mess with Simon's return and before she became pregnant, they had held pack gatherings during the full moon. She missed the freedom, the fresh air. She missed the feel of the earth and the myriad of smells the outside world offered her heightened senses. She missed the cabin where she and Jason shared until Simon tore them apart.

She couldn't shift to wolf form because of the baby and the closest she'd been to the outdoors in months was an open window at the PRDI. The rolling hills, from which Cheyenne's farm took its name, Jade Hills, were a much welcomed sight.

Rose only wished she wasn't nauseous so she could enjoy it more. She groaned and sidestepped the puke as Cheyenne lead her to the steps.

“I only wish it were your driving.” Rose pressed her hand against her womb and felt a firm thump against her palm. “This kid's kicking up a storm.”

“A little mini-Jason, or a mini-Rose,” Cheyenne said. “Any idea if it's a boy or girl yet?”

Rose looked away from her and didn't say anything. The baby stopped moving, as if calmed by the movement of her rubbing hand. She paused at the bottom of the steps, her gaze following the horizon.

Cheyenne didn't know about Simon, about the mating. She didn't know that this child might not be Jason's at all. This kid could be Simon's.

But the baby was hers, as much as it was anyone's and Rose found some relief in that. She wondered how Cheyenne would take it if she told her.

Cheyenne touched her shoulder gently. “Rose?”

“Yeah?” Rose turned to her, slipping out of her thoughts.

“Are you all right? You had this weird look on your face. Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“You're not going to get sick again, are you?”

Rose shook her head. “No, but I have to pee, really bad.”

With Cheyenne's help, Rose climbed the few steps onto the porch. Cheyenne fished a key from her heavy looking key-ring while Rose held the screen door open for her. She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

She flipped on the light and the foyer of the ranch house was filled with yellow light. Rose had visited Cheyenne's a few times before, but she still wasn't completely familiar with the layout of the house.

The first thing she saw when she walked in was the wooden staircase leading to the second floor. To her left was the living room, and to her right the dining room. Rose knew there was a kitchen just beyond the dining room, and a bathroom directly down the hall adjacent from where she stood now. She had never been upstairs.

Rose hobbled her way to the bathroom and did what she needed to. When she was done, she stood and turned to the sink. A round mirror hung above the basin and Rose blinked when she looked at herself.

She had half-expected to see her eyebrows singed off from being one of the closest to the blast, but they were still there. She looked fine, a little tired and pale, but otherwise normal. It had been a very close call. A few more feet and they might've been very seriously injured by the blast.

Not wanting to think on it, she hurriedly washed her hands and made her way out of the bathroom. Cheyenne was at the front door, lugging in the duffel bag and suitcase that carried most of Rose's belongings. She set them both down with a thud on the front hall floor.

“What the hell do you have in these bags? Bricks?”

Rose managed a grin. She knew Cheyenne was only joking as changed-bloods weren't as strong as full-bloods, but they were still stronger than a normal human.

“Okay, my turn.” Cheyenne smiled at Rose as she walked past her, to the bathroom. The door shut behind her, leaving Rose alone in the front hall of the house.

The place looked friendly and inviting and was so very unlike the formal façade of the PRDI. Rose felt comfortable here, safe. She edged her way to the living room and stood by the couch, leaning her weight against it. She wasn't sure exactly where to put herself, so she waited.

After what seemed like forever, Rose heard the toilet flush and water running in the sink. A few moments later, Cheyenne was back.

When Cheyenne saw her standing there by the couch, she stopped and shook her head. “You could've sat down if you wanted.”

“I'm fine.” It was a lie. Her feet felt swollen and she just wanted to rest.

Cheyenne lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Without waiting a moment longer, she moved past her and hefted the bags easily. “Your room is down the hall. I'll have to get some blankets and sheets. The bed's not made.”

Rose followed behind at her own pace. Cheyenne stopped at the only door there. She set the duffel bag down to turn the knob. She stepped inside and turned on the light, illuminating the plain white walls.

Cheyenne propped the door open by pushing the heavy duffel bag with her foot. Rose stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame as she watched her set the suitcase on the floor near the twin-sized bed. The mattress was bare, but clean. The room was so small, the dresser and overstuffed armchair made it looked cramped. Rose blinked.

“Well, this is it,” Cheyenne said. She moved to the closet opposite the bed and opened it. She pulled out a pile of clean blue sheets and pillow cases. “It's not much.”

“It's fine,” Rose answered, not really sure if it was. “I think I'm bigger than the room, though. I might get stuck.”

“No, you're not.” Cheyenne pulled the fitted sheet tight on the bed, leaning over to make sure it was snugly tucked under the mattress corners. “And you won't get stuck. This used to be a guest room, then a storage room. When Skye moved in, he slept here, for a while.”

Skye was Cheyenne's former lover, and the full-blood were responsible for changing her. Rose didn't know the particulars of the situation, but she knew he had died somehow horrifically. She watched for a moment as Cheyenne opened a flat sheet and spread it out over the bed and smoothed it down, then turned her attention elsewhere.

The room wasn't much, but she could see where the walls had discolored over time, revealing brighter white places where a picture or wall hanging had once been placed. She wondered what might've been there, but didn't ask. There was a window across from the bed, a pair of faded blue curtains tightly pulled together.

Cheyenne was back in the closet, pulling out two thick pillows. She began to shrug them into the pillowcases. When she was done, she tossed them on the bed. “I have a comforter upstairs. I'll get it for you.”

“Thanks.” Rose stepped out of the doorway to let her pass. “Uh, Cheyenne?”

She turned back to look at Rose. “Yeah?”

Rose took a deep breath. She had the urge to tell Cheyenne everything. Confess what had happened with Simon and let the worry and anxiety she had bottled up about the baby finally explode. As Cheyenne looked at her with concern in her hazel eyes, Rose decided against it. She was exhausted. Now, if ever, was not the time.

“Thanks,” she said again, dropping her gaze away from Cheyenne. “Thanks for everything.”

“Don't mention it. Really, it's the least I can do.” Cheyenne hesitated, as if there was something else she had to say. Instead, she added, “I'll bring that comforter down as soon as I find it.”

Rose didn't look up. Cheyenne turned away and walked down the hall and turned the corner. A few minutes later Rose heard her footfalls on the staircase. She let out a breath.

She knew eventually, the entire pack would find out about Simon's involvement, especially if the baby were his. With Jason and Simon being half brothers, Rose knew it might be difficult in discerning who the child's father really was, but she was afraid there would be some tell-tale sign. Maybe the kid would have Simon's grin, or the same glinting look about the eyes.

Rose closed her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe again. She felt divided about telling Cheyenne. Cheyenne was trustworthy enough, but Rose wasn't sure what to do.

Feeling exhausted, she decided to let the thoughts go until later, when she was rested and feeling better. She bent awkwardly, taking hold of the duffel bag's strap and pulled it away from the doorway. The door shut and she sat on the edge of the bed, dragging the bag with her. She settled it beside her and unzipped it.

Inside was a jumbled mess of clothes, shoes and toiletries. She wished now she had thought to fold everything before stuffing it into the bag, but she wasn't thinking clearly when she was packing. She had just wanted to get out as soon as possible. Now, she had a tangled lump of clothes she would have to sort, probably wash, and put away.

That could wait for tomorrow. She rummaged around in the bag, pulling out her hairbrush, soap, bath stuff, and makeup. At the bottom of the duffel bag, she found what she was looking for.

The rings were cold in the palm of her hand, their weight heavy. She pulled the necklace out from the bag, cupping the chain. For a long time, she only held them, feeling the realness of them with her fist closed. Then she opened her hand and looked down.

The wedding ring and the engagement ring that were once symbols of their love lay forsaken in her palm. Tears began to well but she blinked them away. Once again she closed her fist around it, holding it to her broken heart.

Jason should really be here. We should be together, in our cabin. He should be holding me, running his hand over my pregnant belly. He should know about the child. He should be the father of the child.

Rose couldn't keep the tears back any longer. They spilled out of her eyes, wetting her warm cheeks. She tilted her head back, letting them slide down her face.

“Oh, Jason,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.” She squeezed the rings tightly together until she felt the tiny diamonds press into her flesh. Without opening her eyes, she unhooked the clasp and put the necklace on.

The chain and rings were now warm against her chest as she slipped them into her blouse, out of sight. She pressed her hand over them, over her heart.

A sudden knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts and Rose's eyes flew open.

“Rose?” Cheyenne asked tentatively. Quickly, Rose wiped her eyes and face but it was useless. She would know she was crying.

“I'm all right,” she called, a little too quickly.

“Okay,” Cheyenne answered, a little dubiously. “Can I come in? I found the comforter.”

Rose took one more useless wipe at her eyes. “Yeah.”

The door opened slowly and Cheyenne walked in, carrying a thick and heavy-looking blue comforter. She sat it on the end of the bed beside Rose and looked at her. “You've been crying.”

Rose sighed, defeated before she even had a chance to say anything. “Yeah, I seem to do that a lot lately.”

“Do you need anything?” Cheyenne pushed the duffel bag aside and sat beside her. “If you need to talk—”

“No, I'm fine. I cried it out,” Rose answered quickly. “I'm just really tired.” She looked past Cheyenne to the window. The edges of the curtains were lightening. The sun would be rising soon. “It's almost sunup. I think we should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Cheyenne agreed, but she was reluctant to move. She sat there, looking at Rose for a while.

“I'm fine, really.” She found she couldn't meet Cheyenne's gaze, knowing it was a sure sign she was uncomfortable. Rose made herself look as if it were intentional by rummaging around in the duffel bag some more. She found her cell phone and the charger.

By the time she had the cord out, Cheyenne had moved from the bed. “There's an outlet beside the bed. Want me to get it for you?”

Rose looked in the direction she pointed and nodded. There was no way she was going to be able to bend with her pregnant belly to reach it. She handed over the phone and charger and Cheyenne dutifully plugged it in. She laid the charging phone on the dresser top and turned to face Rose.

“I know something's bothering you and it's not just what happened today. It's something more than that. There's something you're not telling me.”

Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Cheyenne, I'm tired. I don't want to talk about anything. I want to sleep,” she insisted.

“All right, yeah. I get it. I won't bug you about it.” Rose opened her eyes to find Cheyenne grinning. “So no worries.”

“Thanks,” Rose muttered. She managed a smile, but it was half-hearted. She glanced toward her duffel bag and its strewn contents. “Can I use your washer later to do a few loads?”

“Yeah. You don't have to ask. This place is as much your home, as it is mine. I'll show you were it is later. For now, let's both get some sleep.”

Rose only nodded. She was very tired and the bed she sat on was soft and very inviting. She wanted to sleep for as long as she could, without dreams, without worries.

“Goodnight. If you need anything, I'm upstairs, last door on the left.”

“Okay. Goodnight. Could you shut the light off on your way out?”

Cheyenne nodded and flipped the switch. The room was immersed in darkness and it took only a second or two for Rose's night vision to kick in. Cheyenne remained by the door, hesitating. She finally left, shutting the door softly behind her.

Alone again, Rose looked around the sparsely decorated room. She touched the chain at her throat, following its path to the bulge of rings beneath her blouse, between her breasts. She thought of Jason again, wondering where he was, what he was doing.

Her gaze fell on the window. Slowly she stood, feeling a dull throb start in her back, and wobbled her way to the window. She pulled open the curtains and peered out at the rolling hills. Far into the distance was a line of trees, dark and shadowy in the pre-dawn light. At least it was a nice view.

Rose unlocked the window and pulled it open. A cool, fragrant breeze seeped in and she sighed as it touched her skin. It smelled of earth and freshly cut grass.

Carefully, Rose edged her way back to the bed and pulled the straps so that the duffel bag fell to the floor with a thud. She left it there and spread out the comforter, moving slowly. She folded the corner down and sat.

It was difficult for her to unlace her shoes once her belly grew, so Rose had taken to wearing slip-on tennis shoes and sandals. She slipped them off and lay back on the bed. She adjusted the pillows and turned over onto her side.

Her hand automatically went to her necklace, cupping the rings in her palm tightly. She closed her eyes, squeezing out the tears she had been forced to stop when Cheyenne entered. They came now, rolling down her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. They fell on her hand and wrist and Rose didn't brush them away.

She cried her silent tears until she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the past.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Sixteen

Amelia sat across from him, her arms folded on the table and her head resting in the crook of her arm. Her vibrant red hair spilled across the table, the curls just within touching distance.

But Jason didn't reach for them. He didn't need to touch her to know she was real, that she was here. He watched her for a long time as she lay there, then turned his attention away and looked out the window.

Lex and Toby were gone. They had taken the earliest bus they could after getting some supplies with Jason's money. They bought the tickets, with Amelia using her mind mojo to alter the memories of the ticket clerks.

It was Jason who decided they should take separate buses. The next wouldn't arrive for another hour and that left them in a bit of a bind. He thought of just walking, but thought their chances better with a set of wheels.

He didn't like the idea of waiting, not with someone possibly tracking them. He and Amelia would just have to wait, like it or not.

But they still had half an hour and, as he watched for the bus to arrive, he watched for any sign that Quenten and his goons may be out there. So far, there was nothing. They were in the free and clear.

He knew they wouldn't be for long.

The gun he had swiped from the goon earlier was hidden in the waistband of his jeans. He would use it if he had to, but he hoped it wouldn't come to it. He wanted the bus to get here and be gone, with them on it. He wanted to be gone long before the sun came up.

Amelia stirred across from him and Jason turned his attention to her. She pulled herself to an upright position, blinking away the tiredness from her green eyes. They had exchanged the noticeable hospital gown for decent clothes. The shop was slim in its selection, but she wasn't nearly as conspicuous in an oversized sweater, blue shorts and sandals. She looked at him with her piercing gaze, but Jason didn't flinch away, at least not immediately.

He did look away, allowing his gaze to travel the café. The diner looked very similar to the one where he had met his father. It seemed a strange coincidence that, years later, he would be sitting in a similar place with his mother across from him.

Trying not to think about that night years ago, or anything similar, he searched the place for a waitress. He needed a drink.

He would rather have alcohol but a hot cup of black coffee would suffice. He flagged a blonde haired waitress over and she happily skipped over, pad in hand.

“Can I get a cup of coffee?”

“No problem.” She scribbled it on her pad. She looked to Amelia. “And what for you?”

Amelia just shook her head.

“All right, I'll bring the coffee right out.” The waitress smiled and turned, her blonde curls flouncing as she spun away. Jason watched until she was gone then turned back to Amelia.

“You should've ordered something.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Even if you're not. You almost passed out back there.” Jason lowered his voice to a whisper. “Hell, you did pass out. You need to eat something.”

Amelia chuckled. “I'm feeling much better, really. There's a way one can become energized that doesn't involve nourishment from food. I can draw energy from the earth and trees, from people and animals.”

“That's what you did with us, wasn't it?” Jason remembered the buzz of energy and the feeling of it being drawn from him. He felt a little cold thinking on it.

“Yes, in a sense. In that case, I didn't use the energy for myself. I expanded it into a malleable force. In normal circumstances, I would just take the energy into myself and use it in a spell or to affect some positive change.”

“So you're a witch,” Jason scoffed. He looked away from her. The waitress was heading their way, with a cup and a pot of coffee. They were both silent while she poured the cup and left. Jason watched until she was gone then looked back to Amelia.

She was staring at him again, her green eyes seeming to glow. “Yes. I guess you could say I'm a witch. I have extraordinary powers and abilities, much like your own.”

“I'm not a witch.”

“No, but you are descended from a line of them. My mother was a witch and her mother before her. My sister and I—”

“Listen,” Jason said an edge in his voice. “I know what I am. I know I have some psychic abilities and I know I got them from you. I don't need an explanation about that. I don't care about your mother, or your sister. What I care about is finding out about Quenten and about why you were there.”

Amelia was silent for a moment, just staring at him. She exhaled, her nostrils flaring. Then she answered. “I think you do want an explanation. It's why you came to me. It's why you answered my call.”

The steam from his coffee warmed his face as he leaned forward. He tried to restrain the anger he felt rising with him, but knew his voice betrayed him.

“I didn't answer your call because of that,” he said in a low tone. “I answered because some fucked-up little voice in my head told me to.”

“And why do you think that voice told you to do it?” Amelia asked her tone soft. Jason sensed she was mocking him with her question, so he didn't answer right away. He pulled back and took hold of his steaming mug. He took a drink of the scalding liquid, forcing himself to swallow it.

“You don't have an answer for it,” Amelia said. She sounded sad. She even sighed, letting her gaze drift toward the window. “There is so much you don't know.”

She closed her eyes. Before Jason could protest, she began again.

“You need explanations and answers. I know you do because I too have a little voice that tells me things. The little voice is your intuition and more often than not, it's right. You can choose to listen to me, or you can get up and walk away. The choice is yours. If you stay, I promise you some of the things you hear will not be easy to stomach.”

She paused and turned her head to him. Her eyes opened, regarding him compassionately. Jason felt a strange urge to listen to her, and he wondered if she were altering his thoughts. He shook his head, but Amelia went on.

“Before you ask, I'm not doing anything to your mind. I'm not like Quenten.” When Jason looked at her, Amelia hurriedly added, “I didn't read your mind, I just guessed.”

Jason was skeptical, but he said nothing. There was something else he was thinking about. As much as he wanted answers, he wasn't ready to talk. They needed to talk, but not here, not in some partially crowded cafe with everyone listening.

“Amelia—”

She held up a hand. “Let me finish, Jason, please. The choice is yours on whether you listen to me or not.”

“Believe me, I want my questions answered, but this is not the time or the place.”

Amelia stared at him for a long, tense moment. Her gaze was stern and Jason felt his own gaze draw away. Finally, she spoke and he looked back at her once more.

“We've both waited long enough. This is as good a time or place as any.” Her whispered voice sent shivers throughout his body. Her gaze burned into him. Jason knew somehow she wouldn't back down. He was defeated and he didn't like it.

He braced himself for what she was about to say with a deep breath. He held it as she began to talk, her voice hushed.

* * * *

* * * *

“As I said before, my mother was a powerful witch and her mother before her and so on, as back as far as she could trace. Not everyone in the family was a witch, but they all possessed a level of power that some of them chose to ignore.

“My mother wasn't like that. She raised my sister and me, to the objection of discreet family members, in the ways of the Craft. I caught on quickly, finding myself quite adept in my abilities, while my sister had the talent but not the drive.

“In any case, it was in our blood. It was who we are and we were proud of it, for the most part.

“When I was eighteen, I left home to venture out on my own. I held down a few odd dead end jobs but nothing of any substance ... that was until I discovered a new project, just recently started. It was the Paranormal Research and Development Institute.

“The PRDI was just starting out. Their goal was to help those of supernatural origin find their place in the world, to learn of their abilities and function in normal society. I had lived in normal society well enough for my entire life. I knew how to function in society, and remain as myself without hiding, without fear. I wanted to help others achieve this as well.

“So I signed on as a member. After a short while, I was promoted to instructor. I was there for many years, teaching and helping others. I had found something I enjoyed, something that gave meaning to my life. I was content there.

“While I was there, I learned more of my abilities, things my mother had never learned and therefore could not teach me. I learned of energy manipulation and how to take energy and use it for the purpose of good.

“My powers became stronger, but I was not swayed to use them for evil purposes, as others had fallen into, but I knew it existed. I stayed away from the dark magick.

“Dark magick was once said to be its greatest during the dark moon. It's been so long since I've seen the outside world.” Amelia sighed and shook her head. “But I knew the tidings of the moon by tuning in with the energies around me as I had learned to do. I knew it was near the dark moon, the new moon, before I even called out to you.

“But dark magick isn't ruled by the dark moon. It's ruled by a dark heart. The dark moon is a time of change and renewal. And it was definitely time for change, for escape.

“I know—I'm getting off topic. Forgive me. I only tell you this so you can understand when—well, let me go on.

“I was at the PRDI for many years and I learned many things. During my stay there I met Joshua Conner—your father.

“I had encountered werewolves long before I had come to the PRDI—my mother had been briefly married to a full-blood, resulting in my sister being born a half-blood—so meeting his kind was nothing new. I worked with them all the time. In fact, Gavin Newark was second in command and he was a full-blood. I don't know if you ever met him or not...

“Anyway, Joshua Conner wasn't by any means the man of my dreams. It was a meeting of convenience you could say. I cared about him, possibly even loved him at one point, but there was no future for us. We were too far apart, too different.

“He didn't think that way though. He wanted us to have a family, to be together. I guess I wanted it a little too, but I was more realistic.

“In any case, we had a few moments together, gave into mutual desire and I became pregnant. I was shocked, overwhelmed. Neither of us knew what to do. Josh insisted we keep the child and I agreed. I wasn't about to give up my baby, or have an abortion. I couldn't give up the life inside me. It wasn't something I could do.

“I wasn't very far along when everything exploded in our faces. I remember it, as if it were yesterday...

“I was standing in the PRDI library, looking out the window at the ground below. I was wondering what it would be like to have someone else to take care of besides myself when a splitting pain in my head crippled me. I remember it took my breath away and I fell forward, grabbing hold of the window sill. I fell against the glass, lucky it didn't break open.

“I had had visions before, but never one quite like this. The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Through it, I saw a man in a white coat. He was covered in blood, his head thrown back and his mouth open in what I can only describe as a sadistic laugh. I could sense an evil emanating from him and it ripped a new pain through me.

“It was as if I were watching him from across the room. Our eyes met and his burned yellow, golden. His laughter stopped and his lips curled over fanged teeth in a cruel grin.

“I knew his name and knew what he was doing...

“Yes, it was Quenten. I still don't understand how I got this knowledge, but I knew what he was doing. I knew somehow he had injected himself with the blood of werewolves and vampires, witches and psychics. I knew it flowed in his veins.

“I knew he was a scientist. I knew he was doing experiments. I knew he had to be stopped.

“What I didn't know was why. Why was he doing it? The terrible images clung to me, tearing through my head.

“When I came to, I was in the hospital wing of the PRDI. There was a young female doctor there, a new addition to the PRDI. I can't remember her name, but she had the ability to heal and she used it with modern medical practices. She was mentally scanning me when I woke up.

“They told me I had let out a piercing scream. Those within distance came running as soon as they could. They found me on the floor, convulsing. They said my eyes were open, but I was looking at nothing. I just kept shaking and jerking around on the floor.

“They were terrified, not sure what happened. They took me to the hospital wing. I wasn't there fifteen minutes when I came to. The young doctor checked my vital signs, found everything to be in order ... everything but my mind.

“It's still all a bit hazy, but I remember scrambling off the bed. Someone told me I needed to stay calm, for the baby, but I didn't listen. I had to talk to Gavin. Gavin wasn't there, or at least, I didn't see him.

“They later told me I went mad, throwing things and screaming. They said I was shouting about having to stop him, though they didn't know what or who I was talking about.

“Sometimes I wonder what really happened to me. I had never had a vision so strong, so powerful it was debilitating. The others didn't understand it either, so they classified me as mad. I was pretty much shut away for my own safety and the baby's safety. No one would listen to me when I tried to tell them of what I saw. I was crazy.

“I had tried to contact Joshua a few times, but something had happened outside the PRDI and Joshua was gone. If there was ever a time I wanted him with me, it was that moment, when I was alone and no one would listen to me.

“I soon found out what had happened to cause Joshua to leave. A religious group had taken it upon themselves to wage a war of sorts against the PRDI. We were under constant attack, physically, politically, emotionally, and Joshua had left to keep himself safe. A lot of the PRDI members did. We almost went under, but somehow Gavin kept us strong.

“I was still considered insane by most members, so I was taken away from the PRDI, both for safety reasons and because, well, I don't think they wanted me there. I ranted and raved, trying to get their attention but nothing would work. No one would listen and the threat of Quenten was passed off as delusions.

“So I was secluded in a hospital. No, it wasn't like Quenten's ‘hospital'. This place was legitimate and I was coming along nicely, according to the doctors there. They were careful with medication, not wanting to give me too much for the sake of my pregnancy. I tried to tell them I didn't need it, I really wasn't crazy ... but still no one would listen. Who would trust the crazy woman?

“Months passed and I was close to the end of my term. I had gotten better. I was no longer considered crazy, though a close watch was kept on me. I heard from Joshua once, maybe twice, but the telephone has a way of making you realize just how much distance remains between you and the ones you care about. We talked about the baby, talked about raising it together.

“But Joshua was still scared. The religious radicals were still waging their war and he was reluctant to begin our family just yet, not with that hanging over us. I agreed to stay with the PRDI until he could collect both me and the baby. I was to be released shortly to return to the PRDI, to have my baby.

“Despite Joshua's unwillingness for us to be together right away, things were going rather well...

“Until it happened again.

“Like before, I can't remember what happened except the same vision came to me again. This time, it was stronger, more real. I could smell the blood, almost taste it on the air. I could feel the power growing in Quenten. His laughter was louder, more vicious.

“I snapped again, but this time I was further into my pregnancy and there was more risk. My convulsions, the pain that ripped through me caused an early labor.

“I gave birth to you in that hospital a few hours later. Because I was stark raving mad from the power of the vision, they didn't even let me hold you. I saw you, tiny and red, screaming. They wouldn't even let me hold you.”

Amelia stopped there to wipe her eyes. She let out a shuddering breath, raising her gaze to the ceiling for a few moments.

“I'm sorry. Whenever I remember I get overwhelmed with hurt and anger. It was wrong what they did. I would never have hurt you. I would've fought for you, had I not been weak from the birth.” She looked back at Jason and smiled, sadly.

“When I next came to, you were gone. They tried to tell me you had died, that the baby I had carried nearly nine months was stillborn. I didn't believe it. I had seen you, had heard you. I knew you were alive. I still don't know why they lied to me. But those lies were just the beginning.

“I was not released as they had promised. I was crazy once again, and they had further proof that I would never be sane. It was all wrong and I was powerless to stop it. I was powerless to find my child.

“I threw a fit of anger on a few occasions, demanding to know where my child was, demanding to be let out. I am not an angry person by nature and anyone else would be strained under the same circumstances. My powers were out of control when I lashed out, though exactly how I can't remember. I know I must've frightened them because the next thing I knew, I was in solitary, in a straight jacket.

“But I insist again—I was not insane. I knew what had happened to me was a vision and I knew what I had seen was true. I knew it was a very real danger, but no one would listen. I was a victim of my own abilities, unable to get anyone—even the PRDI—to listen and believe me. I felt betrayed by my own. There was nothing much left I could do.

“Months later, maybe a year I don't know, I was back in my own room, but I had given up on fighting. I didn't rant or rave or say much. I was listless, wanting to see the outdoors. I wanted the trees and the air, sources of power. I wanted to be free. I wanted my child, my life.

“I learned of the transfer only after it had been completed. Two large orderlies had entered my room and before I could even protest, I had been sedated. I was taken to Quenten's ‘hospital'. I woke up in a dark, dingy place. I sensed unfriendliness.

“The moment I saw Quenten, I knew I was right. This place was evil.

“He had his men strap me down, draw blood and inject me with something, some sort of drug. It made me unstable. My powers went crazy, I couldn't control it. And I knew he was watching, taking notes, seeing what I could do.

“The experiments went on like this for weeks. I lived in minimal comfort. I was poked, prodded, tested beyond my capacity. Quenten did ... he did horrible things to me, things I don't want to talk about. I sometimes prayed that he would just kill me and get it over with, but no—Quenten didn't want to kill me. He wanted to use me.

“My powers were useless against him because he knew everything about me. I made the attempt to escape many times, but each time he foiled it. I knew from my vision that something horrible was going to happen and I didn't want to be around when it did.

“I vowed to stop him, stop the events of the vision before it was too late.

“After a while, the experiments began to wane. He didn't send his men to get me very often any more, no doubt he had new subjects. I was left on my own, solitary once again. I used this time to strengthen my own powers. It took years to achieve the level of power I now have. It didn't happen overnight.

“Without Quenten's drugs, I was able to shield my mind. I was able to expand it as well, until I could touch the mind of his guards. I could follow their steps in their minds and memories, and in doing this I learned the halls of that place. I learned of all the exits. I stretched my mind further until I was able to use my powers with more control.

“But there was one person whose mind I couldn't infiltrate—Quenten's. No matter how I tried, he couldn't be touched. I knew though, somehow through the guard's thoughts, that he had injected himself with a psychic's blood. That was how he was able to block me, to do some of the impossible things he could do.

“Imagining how he had gained this power sent a shock through me. He was already starting what I had seen in that vision so long ago. Why he was delaying it confused me. It was just a matter of time before he injected himself with more blood.”

“And then what?” Jason found himself curious, despite the fact he didn't really want to know any more.

Amelia stared at him, silent for a moment. She appeared to be gathering her thoughts, as if surprised by his question. She studied Jason for a while before she continued.

“I was there for too long ... I can't even remember the years, but seeing you as an adult frightens me. You have to be how old? Late twenties or early thirties? To think, I had been in his clutches for that long...

“I hadn't attempted an escape in years. I had almost forgotten an outside world existed, until the cries of new subjects woke me from my sleep one evening. It was Lex. I formed a psychic bond with her, tried to calm her. I discovered from her thoughts that Quenten was performing the same gross experiments on her.

“When I saw from her mind that there were others here, particularly Toby, I knew I had to come up with a plan. It was time to escape.

“The three of us combined our minds and I found that once we did so, our powers were tripled. I thought of using this power, manipulating it to shut down the electricity and open the doors. After that, I was stumped.

“Even with our combined energies, it wasn't enough. We needed someone else.

“I scanned the building, trying to find another one of our kind, but I had no such luck. There were no other psychics, or vampires, or werewolves or any other supernatural creature there that was, well, able-minded. See, Quenten's experiments often left his subjects in a mindless state. I needed to find someone who was conscious, who could help...”

* * * *

* * * *

“And that someone was me,” Jason interrupted. He couldn't help it if he sounded bitter. The story she was telling him was incredible, so much so he was disinclined to believe it all.

He knew the story of Joshua and Amelia from the letter that had revealed his brotherhood with Simon, so it wasn't news to him. What he really wanted to know was why she had contacted him and why now.

Now they were getting somewhere.

“Yes,” Amelia said wearily, tired from telling her story. “That someone was you. I didn't know until I saw you at the PRDI.”

“What do you mean? When you saw me in the PRDI? How is that possible?”

She took a deep breath. “I have always associated the PRDI with strong, psychically inclined supernatural creatures. I guess it was no wonder I returned there.” She looked at Jason, her eyes bright. “During my incarceration there, I learned how to astral project.”

“Astral project?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“It's the ability to remove a part of one's self from the physical. It's the ability to go out of body, travel to different places—”

“I know what it is,” Jason said angrily. He really didn't know what it was, but he just wanted her to hurry up with it all.

“I returned to the PRDI. I could feel the presence of so many there—more than had ever lived there in the earlier days but there was one presence that was stronger than the rest. I drifted toward there, taking my time.”

Jason sat back in his chair, affixing his gaze to his lukewarm cup of coffee. He remembered seeing her at the PRDI, in his dream. She had been wandering aimlessly about the house. Was that an astral projection?

“I found the presence stronger upstairs, so I continued to follow it. I found her in one of the bedrooms, sleeping.”

“Rose,” Jason said, lifting his gaze back to Amelia. She looked confused. “Her name is Rose.” Jason shook his head, dismissing the thought of Rose with power. That's not what he wanted to know. “I thought it was a dream when I saw you there.”

“You were astral projecting, too. When I turned and saw you there, you looked just like your father. I was so shocked I was pulled back into my body. That's when I knew you would be the one to help us.”

“And that's why you called out to me.”

“Yes,” Amelia said with a nod. “I knew at that moment you were my son. I had to bring you here. You could help us.”

Jason sighed and lowered his head. His fists clenched together. “So you knew I would get captured?”

There was no response. He looked up to see Amelia's pale face flush.

“That was something I didn't want to happen, believe me. I was able to get away from Quenten's goons when they were taking me out of my cell for a routine inspection. I knew you were out there, outside waiting for something so I ran to the nearest window.”

“I saw you.”

“I know, and I saw you. I hadn't expected Quenten's goons to be so fast. I tried to warn you, but they got to me first. Then, when I came to, in the solitary room, you were already in custody. I'm really very sorry about that. I had hoped it wouldn't happen.”

Jason could only sit there, willing his anger back down. Blowing up at her wouldn't change what had already been done. Once he felt calm enough to speak, he did.

“Apology accepted,” he said tersely. “Now what?”

“Now, we have to get away and come up with a plan. You know first hand the kind of sick person Quenten is. You know he has to be stopped. For all we know, he may have already absorbed all those powers. I don't understand why he hasn't done this before, unless something is holding him back...” She drifted off.

“So you didn't just need me to break you out. You need me to stop him.”

“Yes.”

Jason sneered and leaned back in his seat. The waitress had returned to refill his cup and they were silent long after she had turned away. Amelia sighed.

“If circumstances had been different, perhaps it wouldn't have turned out this way. This is all unexpected and hard to digest, but if there was any other way ... Believe me, I had tried to reach out to others, to my family, to Joshua but I came up with nothing. Once or twice I tried to contact my sister, but I was mistaken. The girl I contacted wasn't her.” Her voice softened, became sad. “I haven't heard from my family since I've been here. They probably think I'm dead.”

Jason nodded. “I was told you were, from Joshua.”

“You met Joshua?” Amelia looked at him, her eyes widening. “When? How is he? Where is he?”

“I met him about fifteen years ago—or at least it was close to fifteen years, I really can't remember. I met him in a diner somewhat like this. It was the only time I met with him.” He paused. “He's dead now.”

“Dead? How did he die?”

Jason took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This wouldn't be easy to explain to her. He looked up at her, into her expectant eyes.

“He was murdered.”

Amelia let out a hiss of a breath and leaned back. She closed her eyes, but not before Jason caught a glimpse of tears sparkling in them. “Murdered. I should've guessed. All of my reaching out to him, all of my calling was for nothing.” She reopened her eyes, the tears making them bright.

“It's a long story,” Jason explained. “Maybe one day, after all this settles, I'll tell you.”

“I would appreciate that.” Amelia looked out the window, toward the horizon. “The bus should be here soon. Where are we going again?”

“North,” Jason said. He laid enough bills on the table as he slid out of his seat. Amelia remained seated but turned her attention to him.

“Just north?”

“Yeah.” Jason hadn't thought very far ahead. He was improvising as he went along. A few days ago, he had been rambling; now, he was on a mission, albeit reluctantly. He had no idea he was going to meet his mother, much less stop a mad scientist she had had visions about before he was even born.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to do any of it. He had set out on his quest to find out about himself, to avoid the pain and he had done that. Now, he just wanted to go home and see Rose. He didn't want to fight any more.

But what about Amelia? Jason wasn't sure just what he was going to do with her. He had never expected to encounter anyone, much less his mother. Could he just leave her someplace, let her fend for herself?

His inner voice spoke up. You know you can't. She is your mother and it is your duty to help her, regardless of your relationship or lack thereof.

He let out a hissing breath as he turned away from Amelia. His instinct was right. Perhaps it was the wolf within that clung to familial bonds. Whatever the reason, Jason knew he couldn't abandon her.

But he knew he wouldn't fight his battles for her. Dealing with Quenten was not on the top of his list and he would have to let Amelia know that as soon as they were safe and away from danger.

Together, they exited the restaurant and started to cross the parking lot. The bus wasn't due to arrive for another ten or fifteen minutes, but Jason wanted them to be the first in line when it arrived.

Amelia stared at the horizon.

“I haven't seen a sunrise in years,” she said softly. “I've missed the trees and the smell of rain. I've missed the sunlight. I've missed so much.”

Jason never really thought about the trees, rain or sunlight in every day life, but he didn't want to imagine what it would be like to be without these things. He didn't turn to Amelia or say anything about it. What could he say?

He walked on in silence, Amelia falling slightly behind him. The sky ahead of them was lightening. It would be morning shortly. He couldn't wait for this night to be over and done with.

As he walked, he thought about what Amelia had said about her family being strong psychically. They were witches. It explained how he had been able to survive so much. It explained how he was able to know things before they happened. It explained his visions. It explained a lot.

But he still had questions about himself and about Amelia. There was still so much he needed to know. They had only scratched the surface.

He turned back to say something to Amelia when he caught a scent on the air. It smelled familiar, dangerous. He met Amelia's gaze a moment before he realized who and what the smell belonged to.

The dart made a quiet pfft in the dark, but Jason's werewolf hearing picked up on it quite well. Amelia started when it hit her in the neck.

“What—?” she asked, touching it. The confusion in her eyes told Jason she didn't yet realize what it meant, but he did. A second later, her eyes rolled back and she slumped forward.

Jason meant to catch her, but another pfft alerted him to the second dart only a moment before he felt it in his arm. He looked down at it and yanked it out in one deft move, but it was too late. The tranquilizer was already taking effect.

Feeling himself growing groggy and his limbs turning languid, Jason turned his head. Three men, armed with rifles stepped out from the shadows of the parking lot. Samuel Quenten's lab coat was a bright white against the night and it was the last thing Jason saw before he passed out.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seventeen

Aurora awoke with a start, her bed sheets tangled around her body. Sweat drenched her skin and hair clung to her forehead. She blinked in the darkness, trying to figure out just what it was that woke her.

Letting out a low growl, Aurora untangled herself from the sheets and slid out of bed. The carpet was soft under her bare feet and Aurora flexed her toes for a moment before crossing the room. A mirror hung above her dresser, her light switch next to it. She flicked it on and her side of the room lit up in warm yellow tones. She blinked her eyes once to adjust.

Her brown hair was unkempt, sticking out around her face in wild curls. She sighed glad no one was here to see her untamed mane. With everything that was going on, she didn't think she could handle her roommate or anyone else seeing her in her pajamas and bed-hair.

Her thoughts turned to Slater. He probably wouldn't protest the pajamas and bed-hair. He might find it cute. Immediately, she pushed him out of her mind as she smoothed down her hair and turned from the mirror.

She wasn't sure anymore what he would find cute. Their relationship was at a standstill. In light of the things that had happened, Slater was moody. He was pissed at Glen and Davis, pissed about the explosion. She wasn't sure if he was pissed at her or not, but if he was, it was probably because of her magick dealings.

No one could really be that understanding. She'd been a fool to think he found it okay.

She eyed the trunk at the foot of the bed. When she returned, she had hastily wrapped up the spell book she had taken from the PRDI and stuffed it in there. Though it no longer pulsed with power, she could still sense it there.

She looked away from it quickly and grabbed her hairbrush from the dresser. She ran it through her gnarled hair forcing herself not to tear open the trunk and take the book back out.

Trying to force the idea of magick out of her head, she thought back to what had happened. Besides her unexplainable dreams, the finding of the book, and her desire to learn and do magick, there had been Rose's first close call on the stairs. Then there was Nola, the new member, and how she had cornered Aurora and intimidated her. There was something odd about her. Finally, there was the car explosion that topped out the suspicious chain of events.

It was no wonder Aurora had woken up, gasping in shock. She could only imagine how Rose felt, being the target of these attacks.

Aurora wasn't really sure if that was what had woken her up or not. A part of her felt it was something more magickal. She had questions and the book had answers.

She stared at the trunk for a long time, debating. The pull was too strong to resist. She gave in, crossing the floor and dropping to her knees in front of it. As she knelt before the trunk she knew it was the draw of the magick that had awoken her and not the previous days’ events.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the key, still in the lock. She turned it slowly. The trunk lid was heavier than she remembered, but it was still easy for her to lift. She pulled it open and peered at the contents within. The book lay where she had placed it, on top of the other magick paraphernalia.

Carefully she lifted the tome and set it in her lap. She closed the lid on the trunk then placed the book on top of it. Slowly, she unfolded the sweater and set it aside. She ran her hand over the empty leather cover.

It seemed thicker than she remembered, but she didn't let its daunting size stop her. The answers were there, somewhere, and she wasn't going to stop until she found it.

Aurora began to leaf through the book, searching through the handwritten text for something she wasn't even sure was there. She was just reaching the pages written in Emily Camille's handwriting when the power came back.

Nola wasn't even near her and it hit her like a jolt. The force was so strong Aurora was thrown back. She let out a little scream as she landed several feet away from the book and the trunk. Her head collided with the floor. Though she landed on carpet, it still smarted.

She groaned as she sat up. She stared at the book, half expecting it to glow. It wasn't, but the power was pulsing, stronger than ever.

As she stood, she felt the power become even stronger. It moved through her, timing with the beating of her heart. She tried to catch her breath, but found she couldn't. Once again, she was drawn to the book. Her feet moved, though she willed them to stay firmly planted.

Once again she knelt in front of the trunk at the foot of her bed. It laid there, its yellow pages open to a text laden entry. She bent over it, her breath bated. She read the words silently at first then before she could stop herself, she whispered them aloud.

"Ancient Ones, I implore, help me find the answers I seek. Open my eyes, open my ears; Lift my heart, release my fears. Show me the answers to the questions I have. Protect me, Show me, Guide me."

After she uttered the last word, Aurora felt a shift in power. She gasped when it hit her, swelling in the air in front of her face. When she breathed in, it entered her lungs and her blood. With every heart beat, she felt it pass through her body. Warmth encompassed her. Her limbs began to tingle and she felt distended, far away.

She fell back again, her fingernails digging into the carpet. The power was overwhelming. She lay on her back, paralyzed with it. It was painful, to the point where she wanted to scream in agony.

But only silence came out of her.

She gasped, holding onto the floor as the room spun. She tried to scream, but her throat constricted. She couldn't even close her eyes. The power was taking her over.

Then suddenly, when she thought her head was going to explode, the power erupted from her. It ripped out of her. She threw her head back as she found her own strength. She writhed on the floor and tried to scream again, but the sound was only in her head.

The pain and power was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving her spent and panting. Tiny whimpers escaped her, the first sounds since the power rush started. Tears squeezed out of her eyes. All she could do was lay there and cry. She was too afraid to move.

Slowly, regaining her composure and nerve, Aurora sat up. She didn't know what to expect, but she was relieved to find the room didn't look like a crash scene. The power had been so strong. It wouldn't have surprised her to see half the room blown away.

The book lay where it had been moments ago, still open to the same page. Aurora held her breath as she neared it and leaned over the page.

She held a hand over it. Nothing. No buzzing, no emanations of power. It was dead.

Aurora blinked as she puzzled over it. She had never encountered anything like this. The power she had felt before, at the PRDI, was strong, but it was not debilitating. And then, for it to just disappear like that ... this was some mojo she wasn't used to working with. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Nola.

Taking a few deep breaths, Aurora placed her hand on the book. Still nothing. She ran her hand over the yellowed page. It felt rough, dry. Carefully, she closed the book and sat back. Now, she was at a loss for what to do.

She could continue her search, but the power may overtake her again and the young were was terrified of the possibility. She wasn't sure if she could take all of that again.

Her hands trembled for a different reason now as she took up the heavy book and began to wrap it in the sweater again. Maybe the others were right. Maybe she shouldn't mess with magick. No good was coming of it. It was dangerous stuff.

But Aurora couldn't explain the strong desire she had to practice it. It was more than just because her mother may have done it. But the desire was gone now and for once she was glad. She folded the book up into a nice, thick bundle and put it back in her lap so she could open the trunk's lid.

She shivered as she hefted the heavy lid up. It was suddenly cold, so cold her breath came out in gasps of fog. Aurora sat back, glancing toward the wall where the thermostat was set. The temperature was normal. The air conditioning wasn't on at all, but her foggy breath and goose-pimpled arms spoke otherwise.

Aurora shivered again, this time from the foreboding feeling that suddenly hit her. She had read that sudden drops in temperature meant supernatural activity—ghosts, magick, bad things. Her heart began to pound and she closed her eyes. Something was happening.

She tried to calm her racing heart and steady her breathing. Whatever was happening, she wanted to be prepared for it—or at least aware of it. She let out a breath, and inhaled.

That's when she caught the scent of lavender. Her eyes flew open.

Lavender. It was the same smell that came from the woman in her dreams.

Aurora felt the not-so-subtle swell of energy come from behind her. She could feel the presence of the woman, her scent stronger. She was not alone.

Slowly, Aurora turned completely so she faced the other way. The red-haired woman stood just in front of the closed door. She looked different than the last time Aurora had seen her, in her dream. She wore different clothes and she looked more ... real.

But this was not a dream. She was wide-awake. This was real.

The red-haired woman stood for a long moment, her eyes closed. She appeared to be hovering, levitating a few inches from the floor. She was corporeal, not transparent like a ghost or spirit, and she appeared to be asleep, comatose and not entirely there.

Her feet touched the floor, finally and she seemed more solid. Aurora watched, holding her breath.

“Hello?” Aurora called, when she could trust herself not to faint. She tried to sound brave, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

The woman's eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened. She blinked a few times, and stared at Aurora.

“Leslie?” she inquired.

Aurora shook her head. “No. My name is not Leslie. My name is Aurora. Who are you?”

The red-haired woman blinked in confusion. She turned her head to look around the room. “This place...” she said her voice soft. “What is this place?”

“I asked you a question first,” Aurora said. “Answer me.” She wasn't one for demanding, but this may be her last and only chance to find the answers she had been so desperately trying to find.

“Amelia.” The red-haired woman took a small step forward, but stopped. She looked at Aurora curiously. “Now my question.”

“This is my dorm room,” Aurora said. “Why are you here?”

“You called me here. I was—” She stopped and blinked a few times as if trying to remember. “I was asleep and then you brought me here.”

“The spell,” Aurora whispered. “Of course.”

“Spell? What spell?”

“In a book. I read it out loud. It said something about finding answers to the questions I seek—Why did you come to me before?” She asked, not even finishing. “Why did you call me Leslie?”

“I remember you, from before,” Amelia started. Her eyes were bright, shining. Aurora found she couldn't look away from her. “I came here, before, to find help. I tried to call—” she cut herself off with a shake of her head. “I thought you were someone I knew.”

“Someone named Leslie? Leslie was my mother's name.”

Amelia only nodded, but she seemed distracted. Aurora didn't let that stop her. She was feeling braver, bolder. She sat up more.

“Were you looking for Leslie Mitchell?”

“Mitchell? I don't know that name.”

“But you knew a Leslie, right? You were looking for her?” Sounding more adamant than before, Aurora rose to her feet. She still held the book. It was heavy in her grip.

“Yes,” Amelia said. “Leslie Warren. She was my sister.”

Aurora dropped the book and it landed with a hard, loud thud. Aurora's mouth dropped open in surprise. Amelia's gaze left her and dropped to look at the book on the floor. It had come unwrapped from the sweater and lay open to a page somewhere in the middle.

“Warren? That was—wait a minute—who are you, really?” Aurora shook so much she barely said the words.

Amelia appeared not to hear her. She moved forward, her eyes not leaving the book. “That book—where did you get it?”

“The book is mine,” Aurora answered, stooping to pick it up. “I found it. It's mine.”

Before Aurora had a chance to react, Amelia stepped forward and took the tome from Aurora's grip.

“Hey!” She reached to take it back, but Amelia had already stepped back. She was studying the book, running her hands over its spine and cover. She opened it to a random page.

“The book is my mother's. It belonged to our family. I would recognize that binding, that handwriting anywhere.” She looked up at Aurora, a stricken look on her face. “Where did you find this? Where is my sister?”

“What?” Aurora shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about. I found this book. I don't know your sister.”

“Leslie Warren. She was my mother's second daughter, born from her second marriage. She is my half-sister.” Amelia looked down at the book she held. “This book belonged to our mother, Emily Camille.”

Aurora shook her head. “No, I found this book, in a library. But there is an entry, written by Emily Camille.” She stopped, it suddenly coming together in her mind. “Warren—that was my mother's maiden name.”

The room was silent. Aurora could hear the beating of her heart loud within her ears. Their eyes met and Amelia silently mouthed her sister's name. Aurora knew the truth.

This woman standing before her was her aunt. Her mother had been Amelia's sister. Her mother had been a witch, descended from other witches. That meant her aunt was a witch and so was she.

She knew she had been magickally inclined, but to be a witch ... The knowledge came to her like a smack in the face. Aurora was stunned.

“You're—I'm—this can't be happening.” Aurora felt her legs go weak and she eased back against the trunk. The lid closed with a loud thud and Aurora eased herself onto the trunk before her legs gave out completely.

She was a witch. A werewolf and a witch. She had been right all along. Her search for answers had come full circle.

Amelia stared at her, just as shocked. The book slipped out of her hands and once more hit the floor.

“You're my niece. Leslie's daughter. You look just like her—No wonder I thought—” Amelia stopped there, unable to continue.

Aurora felt the book pulse to life once again and she looked down at it as it lay on the floor at Amelia's feet. Amelia's gaze turned to it as well, and then she glanced to Aurora. Her stare stuck.

“I feel it, too.”

Aurora wanted to ask her what it meant, what was it they were feeling and why they were feeling it, but her throat and mouth wouldn't work. She tried again, but by the time she was able to speak, it was too late.

Amelia's eyes went wide, as if she were in pain and then suddenly, she was fading away. If she was corporeal before, she wasn't now. Aurora could see right through her. Amelia mouthed something, but Aurora didn't understand.

“Wait,” Aurora cried, finally able to speak. She climbed off the trunk. “Wait! Don't go.”

But it was as if Amelia had no choice. She faded until there was nothing left, nothing except for the faint scent of lavender that lingered.

Alone in her room once again, Aurora felt confused, scared, angry all at once.

“Shit,” she yelled, kicking at the Book of Shadows and sending it skidding across the floor. It hit her dresser with a thud and lay there, as if mocking her. She glared at it then sighed. It wasn't worth it to be angry, especially not at a book. What could she do?

The big bombshell that had been dropped was enough to make anyone feel like she did now. Her mother had been a witch—that wasn't a shock, but the strange woman from her dream was her mother's sister. That question was answered, but she still didn't know exactly why she had come to her. For help, she had said, but help with what?

Aurora wished she knew. There was still a part of her that wanted to know what the book had in common with Nola. Forget Amelia, forget her mother and her witchly associations. There was something more going on and she couldn't help but feel that Nola was involved.

She was afraid she had only just tapped the surface of this new dilemma.

There was no chance of Aurora getting back to sleep now. She quickly shook off the biggest part of her shock and set about getting dressed to go out. She would need a ride, but her brother was probably asleep and Slater, too. He had to work at his repair shop job in the morning.

She could hail a cab to the PRDI. The PRDI would have answers, somewhere. If anything, she could talk to Rose, or Glen about what was going on. They may be able to help.

Or maybe Dr. Nesbitt. She would have answers.

She mulled over the last part as she slipped on her sneakers. If anything, being around familiar faces would comfort her.

Aurora glanced down to the book on the floor. If she was going to talk to someone, she wanted the book as proof. Quickly, she located her backpack among the pile of schoolbooks on her desk. She stuffed the heavy book inside it and zipped it securely. The pulse of power was minimal, if at all there.

She slid the backpack on her shoulder and grabbed her jacket from her dresser, and slipped out the door.

If the cab driver was fast, she could get to the PRDI by mid-morning. The sooner, the better.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eighteen

Alana stood at the front desk of the hotel, hand on her hip as she waited for Miguel to finish up the transaction. They were checking out, as early as it was. They would've left sooner, but it took them that long to come up with a new plan.

It was time to go, time to put this new plan into action. And Alana was ready and anxious. She tapped her foot against the floor, impatiently. Miguel was taking much too long.

The plan this time was to go to the PRDI immediately. Alana would go in and put on her best Nola face. She would charm her way past Davis and make her way to the Head's office. Once there, she would talk to Glen ... privately. She didn't need Miguel's suggestions to know she would have to somehow seduce Glen into telling her the whereabouts of Jason.

They were already suspicious enough of her. After the car bombing, she didn't want to show her face there again. But it was Miguel who decided she should go back, regardless of how alienated she may be. Returning would ease the suspicions of her. If she was a fugitive, she wouldn't have returned.

It sounded like a good plan, in theory, but it didn't settle well with Alana. It sounded dangerous and she knew if she were discovered there would be hell to pay, but she put those thoughts out of her mind. Her determination to kill Rose, and find Jason and kill him too was strong. She wouldn't let anything stop her.

So, she was going back and that was that.

Alana turned to see Miguel finally exiting the front door. A black duffel bag was thrown over his shoulder. He looked good, dressed in black with his dark hair tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her. He smelled of cologne and aftershave.

He stopped beside her and she smirked at him. “Are we ready to go?”

“More or less,” Miguel said in his thick accent. “Get your stuff.”

Straight to the point. Alana had to admire that. She hefted up her own luggage and followed Miguel to his black SUV. The hulking vehicle seemed to take up almost two spaces. It was the perfect sort of ride for an intimidating hit-man kinda guy like Miguel. She could see him kicking ass in it.

Miguel unlocked the SUV with a press of a button. He pulled open the back door and threw his duffel bag into it. Alana tossed the rest of the luggage into the back.

She climbed into the passenger seat and adjusted it so she could lean back with her legs crossed and propped up on the dashboard. Miguel's gaze traveled over her long legs. She wore tight blue jeans with a light blue tank top that cut low over her breasts. She knew she looked good and liked it when it was appreciated.

She smirked at Miguel, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he turned to the steering wheel and put the key in the ignition. He started it up and pulled it into reverse. He said nothing as they left the parking lot and turned onto the main street.

He still hadn't said a word when they reached the Interstate. Alana sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked out, watching the cars as they drove by. It wasn't until he made their first turn off that he spoke.

“When we get there, we have to act fast. You think you can do it?”

“I can do it,” Alana said, turning her attention to him. She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It doesn't take that long for men to fall all over me.”

Miguel chuckled and shook his head. “I'm not talking about that. I don't doubt your wily abilities for a second. No, I want you to find out where this Jason guy is. His address must be there.”

“I don't know. They all act as if he's dropped off the face of the earth.”

“And if he has,” Miguel continued, “there would be something pointing in the direction he had gone. What do you know about him?”

“I know he killed Simon.”

Miguel turned to her and she knew he shot her a look behind his dark shades. “That's not much to go on.”

“Well, it's pretty much all I fucking have.” Alana sighed. “All right, I know he's married to Rose and before that, he was a loner. Did things alone. He has no family that is known of and no associations to the PRDI prior to meeting Rose.” She stopped there, leaving out the part about how he was alpha male. Miguel knew only so much about what she was. She wasn't about to tell him about werewolves and the other assorted creatures that resided within the walls of the PRDI.

For all Miguel knew, it was just an association meant to research the unusual, but as to how unusual was left unsaid.

“It's not much to go on,” Miguel said again. He fell silent, concentrating on his driving. Alana sighed again and looked outside the window. The sun was rising over the trees in the distance. Morning was here. A new day beginning.

“It's not much, I know,” she said, “but it will be enough. I'll find out where he is, and if not, I'll kill Rose and he'll come running back.”

“Dios mio. That plan failed you twice before. What makes you think it will work this time?”

Alana chuckled. She leaned forward, pulling up the leg of her jeans. Around her ankle was a holster, and in that a small handgun. It wasn't the caliber she preferred, but it was perfect for what she needed.

She took it out and held it, admiring the way the rising sun glinted off the metal. “Oh, I think this will get the job done.”

“So, subtlety is out I take it?”

“Fuck subtlety,” Alana laughed. “I'm going in, getting what I can on Jason. And if I have to, I'm using this little baby to blow a hole in that fat cow's head.” She patted the gun.

Miguel shook his head. “That'll pose some problems.”

“Yeah, so? I'm tired of fucking around and trying to do all this secretive shit. I'm not used to that.”

Miguel made a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a cough. “You are one crazy bitch.”

“More than you'll ever know,” she said, replacing the gun in its holster and pulled the cuff of her jeans back down.

“You're going to be the death of me, chica, I swear it.”

“Oh shut up and drive. You're getting paid aren't you?”

“Not enough,” he muttered, but she caught it.

“I'll pay you double.” She looked away from him and toward the window. “I have to do this, Miguel, and I need your help. Just shut up and drive.”

He did. He didn't say another word as he drove toward the PRDI. The rising sun made the sky pink and red and they drove straight into it, heading into a new day.

And this day would see the end of Jason and Rose, Alana knew it. She smirked to herself. This was indeed going to be a new day.

* * * *

* * * *

Amelia Barnett awoke with a jerk, startled out of her coma like state. The last thing she could clearly remember was being summoned in her astral form to the girl who called herself Aurora. She remembered the conversation and the revelation that her younger sister, product of a union with her mother and a full-blood werewolf stepfather, had a daughter. That daughter was the one she had gone to before, thinking it was her sister. It made sense now. The girl looked just like her and had the same essence of power her sister once possessed.

But with this revelation came a whole new set of problems, none of which she could concentrate on now. There were other things she needed to figure out.

Like just what had happened and where she was now.

She didn't remember falling asleep and becoming so vulnerable, but she remembered the prick of the needle and the stunned look on Jason's face. Suddenly, she understood. She had been tranquilized.

How long she had been out of it, she wasn't sure, but it had to be a while. Her intuition told her it was day, sometime in the early morning. A few hours had to have gone by.

When she opened her eyes and was immediately greeted by a blinding ray of light, she knew it was definitely morning. She groaned and threw an arm over her head. Her limbs felt heavy. She knew it was an effect of whatever drug they had injected her with. Experience told her it would wear off in a short time. She just hoped it was short enough.

She opened her eyes again and lowered her arm, this time avoiding glancing toward the sunlight that came in from her left. Colorful spots danced before her eyes, and it took a moment before she was able to clearly see where she was and what was going on.

They were in the back of something that looked like a van—or more appropriately—an ambulance. It was crowded with people and what appeared to be medical devices. Glass rattled in a cabinet against the wall. She didn't want to know what was in it.

She was sitting in an awkward position on a bench-like chair, with Jason unconscious beside her. His head slumped forward and his mouth was slightly slack. She knew in a moment the drug would wear off on him too and he would be awake.

And when that happened, the aftermath wouldn't be pretty.

Her head throbbed suddenly and Amelia groaned, lifting her hands to the side of her head. She knew this pain. It was Samuel Quenten.

Through the intense headache, she heard his laughter surround her. He was inside her head.

Amelia, you know I don't like it when you run. It upsets me and makes my work so much more difficult.

“Damn you, Quenten,” she said aloud. The pain inside her head increased and she cried out, doubling over in her seat. Quenten's laughter became louder.

“Get out of my head.”

The pain was gone a sudden moment later. She gasped, glaring in Quenten's direction. He sat near the front of the vehicle, on another bench-like seat. Beside him, one of his armed goons crossed his beefy arms over his chest. The man's face was hidden in a bush of curling facial hair, almost far too much for a normal person. Two more nearly identical goons sat in the front, their hulking muscles pulling their tight t-shirts even tighter over their arms.

Quenten looked less than presentable. His normally slicked back hair was unkempt and his eyes were blood-shot, but his grin was the same, just as evil and unforgiving.

Amelia shuddered just to look at it.

“You won't get away with this,” she said, knowing the threat would sound empty. She had to say something to keep from trembling uncontrollably. Sounding brave had to account for something. Maybe Quenten would believe it.

Or maybe not. He started to laugh again.

“Amelia,” he said, his voice booming in such a small, confined space. The vehicle lurched as the driver took a turn and Amelia braced herself, not letting her gaze waver from Quenten. He tapped the side of his temple with two fingers.

“Amelia, you're lying. You know I can read every little bit of what you're thinking. I've already gotten away with it.”

She swallowed hard and broke the stare. She looked to Jason, who was still out of it. She hoped he would wake up soon.

Quenten followed her gaze and scoffed. “You think he'll be able to help you? I doubt it. I tested his blood. He's strong, but he lacks any control over his abilities. He is, however, the specimen I've been looking for. I suppose I have you to thank for bringing him here.”

“Damn you.” Her voice trembled, all bravery gone. Quenten chuckled.

“You did bring him here. You see, I know a lot more than you think I do. I know who he is.”

Amelia blinked in confusion. The van lurched again and she grabbed hold of her seat. Jason slumped forward, falling out of his seat and onto the floor. He lay face down and didn't budge. Amelia looked up at Quenten and his victorious grin once more.

“Oh yes, I know he's your son. I didn't know this at first, but I had some time to look at the blood sample I retrieved earlier. I found that his DNA matched yours. There was a common link there, in the witch gene.

“And the werewolf gene—I found that to be most interesting. How flawlessly it combined with the witch gene, forming a new breed—”

“It's nothing new,” Amelia spat, narrowing her eyes at him. “There have been others, others born.”

“Yes, but genetically engineered to be the perfect specimen? I don't think so. You see, Amelia, that's what I've been trying to do. I've been trying to combine the blood of vampire, of werewolf, of witch, trying to find the perfect combination.”

Amelia couldn't say anything. Quenten took this opportunity to continue.

“I've studied this for years, working and tinkering and finally, finally succeeding.” His victorious smile faded to a sneer. “Or so I thought. My earlier attempts failed. I used a combination of werewolf blood and vampire blood, but they didn't take.” He glanced to the stoic goon at his side.

Suddenly, the goons’ hairy face and their super strength and speed were explained and Amelia knew.

“You ... used these men for your experiments?”

“Yes, but as I said, it failed. They retained some ... qualities, but it was an overall disappointment. Not my best work.”

“And then you did them on yourself?” Amelia ventured, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer or not. She tried not to think of all the experiments done on her. She gulped.

Quenten's grin spread over his face again and he nodded. “In a sense, yes. It's easier to combine witch blood with a human's. It blends well. Adding the others is tricky.” He gestured to the unconscious Jason. “His blood, I know, will work wonders. It is already blended. According to my research, there will be very few complications.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. Tears had risen to her eyes. In her attempt to save herself and others, she had doomed her son. She couldn't help but feel pity for herself, but she forced it away. Feeling pity for herself, or for anyone else, would not get them out of this situation.

She fought back the urge to cry and forced herself to look directly into Quenten's bloodshot eyes. There was malice there, for sure, and a shiver went down her spine. She wanted to avert her gaze, but found she couldn't. She didn't want to leave herself open to his psychic attack, but it was impossible.

He had her ensnared, already and she couldn't fight it.

“Do you really want to know why, Amelia? It's simple. Power. That's all.” He looked toward the goon at his side and shook his head. “It's what all men want, for as far back as history goes. Kings and warriors. They wanted power, over their fellow man. And I want nothing less.”

A familiar buzzing began in her ears and a dull pain started to throb. He was scanning her mind.

“Stop it,” she demanded. Quenten didn't, and that didn't surprise her. The pain increased and she tried not to wince. He smiled at her displeasure.

As he continued to leer at her and continued to scan her mind. She couldn't even use her abilities to fight him. She was still too weak from the tranquilizer.

A sudden jolt of pain ripped through her head and she couldn't help but scream out loud. She let go of the bench to grip her forehead. She winced, grinding her teeth to bear it.

Quenten's laughter rang out. Amelia tried to open her eyes to look at him, but she saw nothing but red from the pain.

An instant later, the pain was gone. Amelia panted and gasped. When she looked up at him, Quenten was no longer in his corner. He had stood up, rather shakily in the jostling vehicle. He opened the cabinet and removed a tray.

Amelia had a hard time focusing, but once she could, she was horrified to find that the tray was filled with vials. Empty ones rolled around, clanking against the ones that were filled with dark blood. A few empty syringes and other medical paraphernalia lay on the tray with them. Amelia gulped. He didn't have to guess what they were for.

“Keep it steady,” Quenten shouted to the driver of the vehicle. It was a ridiculous request, but Amelia saw the driver nod in compliance. If the van stopped jostling, Amelia didn't notice. She braced herself on the seat and stared in horror as Quenten grabbed the syringe.

Amelia knew her only escape would be to jump from the moving vehicle. As her eyes turned to her right, she saw the back door. Maybe she could grab Jason, pull him with her...

“Don't even think of it,” Quenten warned. Amelia looked back to see him gesture to his goon. The hefty man stood, hunched over as he stepped his way over Jason, toward her. The van rocked and Amelia knew she only had once chance and it was now.

Before the goon reached her, she lunged forward and grabbed hold of the handle. She pulled it down, but it didn't budge. She had only a moment to wiggle and jerk it, before the goon grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.

Now, she fought. She tried to kick and hit at him, but for all her efforts he didn't flinch. He threw her back down onto her bench unceremoniously, where her shin hit the seat and started to throb.

The goon planted himself next to her and she glared at him, then at Quenten. He had already uncapped the syringe and gestured to his goon. The hairy, burly man looked to Amelia once with warning in his beady eyes. She was about to move, but then she found she couldn't.

Only her eyes could move and they turned to Quenten. The grin on his face said it all. He was holding her there against her will, using the ill-gotten powers now in his blood. And with some of the drug still in her system, she wasn't sure if she could fight it.

But she had to try.

Closing her eyes, she felt her own power surging through her blood. She exhaled through her nose then began to focus all her thought and energy on blocking Quenten's persuasion.

She felt a push from her mind as she forced her energies outward. Quenten faltered. Though his power was great, he was still inexperienced when it came to using it. She pushed again and broke Quenten's invisible, psychic hold on her.

She went into action immediately. She lunged for the door again, this time using a psychic push to unlock the door. She didn't have time to grab Jason. She acted on instinct.

“Hey,” the goon shouted gruffly and charged after her. His body crashed into hers, just as the door loosened. It flew open and harsh daylight streamed in. Amelia shrieked, grabbing hold of the handle with both hands to keep from falling out.

The goon fumbled forward, tripping over Amelia's prone body as she lay half in, half out of the van. He hit the pavement and rolled. Amelia didn't see much else. She was trying hard to keep herself from meeting the same fate.

The van swerved as Quenten shouted. Amelia looked over her shoulder just in time to see Quenten huddled back in his seat. The goon from the passenger seat was making his way back, trying to step over Jason as he made his way to her.

Amelia turned back toward the road. It was empty, save for the fading speck of the goon lying on the asphalt. She could jump now and roll. It would hurt, but she would be out of the van. Then she could run for it.

But to where? What if the van turned around? She couldn't outrun it. And what about Jason? She was out of ideas.

But she didn't have to worry about what to do next. She turned back to see the second goon heading right for her, but not before Jason's hand shot up and grabbed the man by the ankle. He fell forward, his face smacking on the floor.

“Don't even think about it,” Jason said darkly, his voice barely a growl. Amelia watched as he gathered himself up, untangling himself from the goon's arms and legs.

“Impossible,” Quenten said, stunned. Amelia somehow managed to pull the door shut. The lock snapped shut and she leaned against it. The goon was on his knees just as Jason was on his feet. He stood with his spine curved. He turned toward the goon and Amelia caught the first glimpse of Jason's were abilities. His eyes were golden and feral. She took in a sharp breath.

A low growl issued from his throat as he stared at the goon. The hairy man stared back, his teeth clenched in a yellow grimace. Jason didn't hesitate a moment longer. He lunged at the goon, shoving him back. His strength and speed were amazing.

Amelia shrieked again as she found herself in the line of combat and hurriedly tried to crawl away. In the enclosed space of the van, it wasn't an easy task. She found herself still in the way as the goon tripped over her and hit the door, Jason still attached to him.

She ducked down, hearing the sound of blows being exchanged. She didn't look up until she heard the door unlock and open. She glanced up just in time to hear a shout as the second goon hit the pavement.

She looked at her son, watching him where he sat crouched at the back of the van, looking out at the road. He turned to her.

“We have to jump,” Amelia called to him over the rush of wind. “It's the only way!”

“No,” Jason shouted back. “There's another.”

Amelia didn't know what he meant, but she didn't get a chance to ask. An enraged growl came from behind and they both turned to see Quenten with his face red and his eyes bulging.

“I gave you twice the dosage. You should be out for hours. You should be comatose!” The syringe was still in his hand and it trembled in his grip. He hunched over as he tried to stand, but the van shook from side to side.

“Boss,” the driver called. His small eyes alternated between looking in the mirror and looking at the road. It was clear he was debating whether or not to pull over and rush back there.

“Not now,” Quenten snapped, keeping his eyes locked on Jason. “I've got it under control. Just keep driving.” Amelia felt the familiar push from Quenten's mind. It was like a blast and she gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. She doubled over as pain ripped not only through her head, but her entire body.

“Leave her alone,” Jason shouted

Amelia looked up as the pain dissipated. Jason, though hunched over, looked intimidating with his yellow eyes and tightened fists. Quenten stood only a mere foot or two away, syringe clutched in his hand. The tray with all the blood vials lay on the bench seat next to him. His stare broke away from Jason and dropped down to it.

“I heard every word you said,” Jason began in a low tone. “I heard about all your fucking experiments, what you are trying to do. It's not going to work. You're done.”

“I doubt that,” Quenten answered in an equally low voice. He moved fast, faster than Amelia or Jason had anticipated. He grabbed up a handful of the vials and wrenched the tops off them all simultaneously. Blood spilled on his coat as he poured parts of each into an empty vial, mixing the blood.

“I wanted to wait to do this. I wanted to see what it would do to you, to him, but I have no choice,” Quenten muttered. He dropped the now empty vials and they smashed on the floor of the vehicle, sending bloody shards everywhere. “It's now or never.”

They could only watch in confusion and horror, as if in a trance, as he lifted the syringe to the vial of mixed blood. Amelia had a flash of an old vision and she gasped. She knew what he was going to do.

“No,” she shouted and tried to climb to her feet. Jason broke out of his trance and moved to grab him but it was too late.

Quenten peeled back the sleeve of his coat and without hesitating, stabbed the needle into his flesh. He pressed the plunger, tilting back his head in a sick show of pleasure as he did. When he was done, he pulled the needle out and lowered his head, his eyes meeting hers.

For a split second, time stood still. Amelia couldn't even breathe. He had injected himself with the blood. It flowed in his veins and soon he would change ... but into what horrible creature Amelia could only imagine.

Suddenly, Quenten lunged, grabbing for more vials, for more blood.

“No,” Jason yelled this time. He grabbed Quenten as the other man grabbed another handful of vials. They smashed as he slammed Quenten's arm into the wall. Blood dripped down the wall, splattering on their clothes. Amelia wasn't sensitive to the smell of it, but the scent was everywhere.

“Don't try to stop me!” Quenten screamed. He broke Jason's grip and placed both hands firmly on his chest. With a sudden burst of amazing strength, he shoved Jason back.

Jason tripped over Amelia on the floor and caught himself on the bench. He turned and they both watched, horrified, as Quenten dropped to his knees.

He was covered in blood now. Amelia stared as her vision came true. Quenten threw his head back and laughed, filling the van with the sound of it. It made her want to cover her ears, but she couldn't move.

Quenten stopped laughing and he lowered his head. He stared directly at Jason, his eyes turning yellow. Amelia blinked. In her vision, he had looked at her. As his lips curled into a fanged grin, she knew it hadn't been her vision at all. All those years ago, it had been her unborn son's vision. It had been Jason.

In that moment, she knew it was up to Jason to stop him.

“You have to stop him,” she whispered, breathlessly.

“How—”

“I don't know,” Amelia whispered back, frantically. “But I know it's up to you. You have to do this.”

“Right.” He climbed to his feet again and faced off with Quenten. Quenten also rose, wiping his blood red hands uselessly on his lab coat.

“Let's do this,” Jason growled.

Quenten continued to grin, balling his hands into fists as he stepped forward. Suddenly, he cried out and doubled over as if in pain. Amelia stared at him. Now she was the one confused.

“What's happening?”

“I think he's having a reaction to the blood,” Jason answered, stepping forward to grab him then stopped. “Unless...” A look of realization dawned on his face.

“Unless what?” Amelia asked, but Jason was no longer listening to her. Shoving past Quenten, who was on his knees once again, gripping his stomach, Jason made a dive for the driver.

“Hold on,” he cried out a second before he grabbed hold of the driver and forced his head into the door's window. The goon lost control of the wheel, but Jason grabbed it quickly and yanked the wheel back. The van swerved and Amelia screamed as she slid across the floor and into the other bench.

Quenten slid with her, slamming into the same bench. She stared at him, realizing she wasn't looking at Samuel Quenten the human any longer, but Samuel Quenten the—something.

She didn't know how else to describe it. His face had erupted in tiny black hairs and his eyes were completely golden. Long teeth jutted from his upper and lower canines and his hands ... they weren't even hands any more.

“Oh God, he's changing,” she whispered. Now she knew why Jason had intercepted the driver. Quenten was in a vulnerable state, judging from the cries of pain and the sickening snaps and pops of something breaking. It was a terrible sound.

She wasn't sure just what Jason's plan was, but she hoped it involved stopping the van and ditching Quenten and his goon on the side of some godforsaken road. It seemed Jason was going to do exactly that as the van began to slow from its breakneck speed.

Amelia backed away from Quenten as far as she could and was just regaining her seat on the bench when the van swerved again. She heard Jason cry out and looked to the front just long enough to see the driver had hurled himself at Jason and the two were fighting in the driver's seat for possession of the steering wheel.

The next thing she saw in the van's windshield was a line of trees they were heading directly for. When the impact came, she braced herself, but it wasn't enough.

The crash was deafening. She didn't even hear herself scream, though she knew she had opened her mouth to do so. The vehicle jostled and she tried to hold on, but it was useless. They were going into a roll.

Her body left the floor. For one split second, she was suspended in air, touching nothing. The next, her head collided with the wall of the van. She touched the side of her head, feeling it sticky with blood.

That was the last thing she remembered before the van rolled again and her head hit the wall once more.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nineteen

When Rose woke up later that morning, every muscle and bone in her body hurt. Her head pounded. Groggily she sat up, feeling the familiar and uncomfortable pressure on her bladder.

Gingerly, she climbed out of bed and ran a hand through her hair. Every step pained her, but somehow she made it to the bathroom and relieved herself.

She washed her hands and combed her hair, staring at her reflection for the longest time. The week's events all came swirling back in a sudden rush and she felt dizzy. She grabbed hold of the sink to keep from falling. When her lightheadedness subsided and she felt brave enough to let go of the sink, she did.

She looked up at her reflection once more. She looked pale and sick again, like she had a few days ago. The healing she had experienced just yesterday was apparently short-lived. She sniffed, finding her sinus infection returning.

Definitely short-lived.

She sighed and turned away from the mirror. If only she knew what was going on with her and what was going on with all these “accidents-that-weren't-really-accidents".

Rose left the bathroom and waddled her way back to her room. Her duffel bag still rested on the floor, her clothes wadded into a pile inside of it. She hefted the bag onto the bed and rummaged through it. Most of her blouses were wrinkled, reminding her of all the laundry she needed to do eventually. She managed to find a shirt that wasn't too bad. She changed into it and slipped on a pair of her oversized maternity jeans. She left off her shoes. Her feet were too swollen.

Once she was dressed, she left the bedroom in search of Cheyenne. The house was dark, and cool from air conditioning. Slowly, Rose made her way down the hall and turned into the foyer. She paused by the living room and looked in.

The living room was a warmly decorated area, with a brown couch that looked old and used, but comfortable. A moderately sized television set in the center of an entertainment center served as the focal point for the room. There was a flowered love seat with matching chair strategically placed to offer enough space to walk through the room without tripping over the end tables.

The wallpaper was flowered and old, peeling in some corners. The room wasn't a home decorator's best work, but Rose had to admit it had a comfortable, lived-in feel to it.

And Cheyenne wasn't seated anywhere within it.

Rose turned away and looked toward the staircase. Just the thought of climbing those stairs made her body hurt even more. She made her way to the bottom step and looked up.

“Cheyenne?” she called. She waited a few moments but got no answer. Either Cheyenne was a really heavy and late sleeper, or she was already awake. Rose decided on the latter and made her way into the dining room.

She sniffed, clearing her nasal passage. She caught a whiff of Cheyenne's scent and followed it. The smell lingered in the dining room, but was stronger as she got to the kitchen.

But Cheyenne wasn't there either.

Sunlight streamed in through the window above the sink, casting beams of light across the cleared kitchen table. Rose walked a little way, seeing dishes in the sink. Cheyenne had been here, but she wasn't now.

She drew closer to the sink and glanced out the window, into the backyard. She spotted the changed-blood in what appeared to be a garden. Cheyenne had her long blonde hair braided down her back and sported a dingy looking cowboy hat to block out the sun, tied under her chin so it wouldn't fall off as she bent to do her work.

It had rained sometime in the night and little droplets of water sparkled on the window. The dirt on Cheyenne's overalls and boots could only be described as wet, clumpy mud. She was encrusted from the knees down and judging from the looks of it, she had been at her task for quite some time.

Rose leaned against the sink, taking some of her weight off her swollen feet and watched as Cheyenne plucked a ripe, red tomato from the wet plant. She placed it gently in a small pail and bent to grab another one. The plants were full of fruit, sure to yield a fairly large crop.

But Rose didn't know much about gardening, or farming, having grown up within the city limits most of her life. She continued to watch Cheyenne at work, curious about what she was doing. She seemed peaceful, Rose noticed. There was a tranquil expression on her face, as if her problems and those of the world around her did not matter.

She remembered when writing brought her that level of peace, but that had been forever ago, long before it became her every day job and it grew in monotony. She wished she could find that peace again.

Rose watched Cheyenne a while longer then pulled away from the sink. She had only been in Cheyenne's kitchen a few times before, so she was still unaccustomed to where things were, but after a little rummaging she was able to find a clean mug, a kettle and some Earl Grey tea.

She put the kettle on to boil and sat down at the table while she waited. The sunlight played on the colorful suncatcher hanging from the pane. The bright colors were so cheerful—definitely a contrast to how she felt.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She didn't like feeling like this. Panic, pain, depression. Add to that hormonal fluctuations due to pregnancy and it was overwhelming. It was too much for any woman to handle.

Everything she kept bottled up was about to explode and Rose was afraid that would be very soon.

Rose opened her eyes and glanced toward the window. Perhaps talking about things would help her. That's what she always did with Tiffany, a woman who had horribly died at the hands of Marcus. Tiffany had been her best friend, her confidant. They talked about everything and Rose always felt better for having done so.

But Tiffany had been dead for years now, and Rose had been without someone to talk to. For a short time, Claire had been a friend. Rose talked with her sometimes, getting things off her chest, but Claire was dead too.

And although Glen was her cousin and they had shared many things during their childhood and beyond, he was a male. He wouldn't know about the female perspective on things and for that, she needed a woman. Aurora was too young and Dr. Nesbitt too old. Rose needed to talk to someone closer to her age.

That left Cheyenne.

Cheyenne was trustworthy and Rose most of the time liked her straight forward attitude. She was calm and kept her cool pretty well. If there was anyone who would listen and not judge or blow up, it was her. And Cheyenne seemed willing to talk—she was actually pretty insistent on it.

The idea of opening up to Cheyenne was beginning to sound more and more like a good idea. Rose didn't need to debate on it any longer. She had made up her mind. She would talk with Cheyenne.

The only question was when.

The kettle whistled and Rose jumped. Her eyes flew to the steaming kettle and she climbed to her feet and made her way to the stove. She grabbed the nearest potholder and took it off the heat. She was just turning the burner off when the backdoor opened.

Cheyenne stood there, mud falling in clumps from her boots onto the floor. Her eyes were wide and she looked alarmed, on guard. When she saw Rose, she let out a breath and put a hand to her chest.

“Oh, it's you. I heard that damn thing scream and thought—well, doesn't matter what I thought.” She shook her head, looking Rose over. “You feeling okay this morning?”

Rose nodded as she got the tea ready and let it seep in the hot water. “Yeah, fine. Just a little pain, but I think it's from yesterday and all the excitement.”

“Yeah. I was just in the garden, picking some tomatoes. I didn't expect them to ripen in the few days I was gone.”

“Yeah, I saw you out there. They look good.”

“I was thinking of using them to make spaghetti sauce and salsa.”

Rose grabbed her mug from the kitchen table as Cheyenne shimmied out of her muddy coveralls and boots. She wore a clean pair of blue jeans and a green t-shirt under it all. She left the ugly mess out on the back porch and stepped inside. She took off her hat and set it on the counter as she walked in her sock-clad feet to the stove where Rose stood.

“Hey, don't mess with that. I'll get it.”

Rose didn't argue. She returned to the table and sat, watching as Cheyenne grabbed another mug and poured them each a cup.

“You make your own sauce and salsa?” Rose asked. The small talk was nice, but stilted. She didn't really know what else to say without blurting out what she had been thinking of telling her only moments before. Somehow, letting all her inner emotions out this early in the day didn't seem like a good thing to do. This wasn't the time, or the place.

“Yeah,” Cheyenne answered with a nod. She grabbed a jar of honey from the cabinet above the stove and spooned a generous helping into her mug. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. So, is it hard making your own stuff like that?”

“Not really. My mother used to can every summer. I helped her out a lot, washing jars and tomatoes and simmering things in big pots on the back porch.” Cheyenne set the mugs on the table, grinning at her. “I can tell by the look on your face you think I'm crazy.”

“No. I don't think you're crazy. Just sounds like a lot of work. It doesn't sound like fun.”

“Well, I never said it was very fun. It was practical. I guess you can say I kinda do it now to keep her memory alive.” She shrugged, lifting her mug to her lips. She blew on it to cool it. “That and I love salsa.”

Rose chuckled as she sipped her own hot tea. “I used to like salsa. That was before I had a baby growing in me. I don't think this kid likes anything spicy.”

“I bet you can't wait to get that kid out of you,” Cheyenne said, “so you can get back to doing all the stuff you love.”

“Yeah, like shifting and being able to smell things.” Rose sniffed. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Sinus problems are back?” Cheyenne asked, furrowing her brow.

“You could say that.”

“Guess Dr. Nesbitt's healing wasn't that great.”

“I guess not,” Rose agreed, though deep down inside she had a suspicion it wasn't entirely Dr. Nesbitt. She couldn't quite put her finger on it and it was yet another mystery waiting to be solved.

“She's a good doctor.”

“Yeah...” Rose trailed off, returning to her former thoughts. She stirred her tea absently as she thought. Her anxiety was starting to come back.

“Uh oh.”

Rose broke out of her thoughts and looked up at her. “Uh oh? What uh oh?”

“I know that look. Something's on your mind. Spill.” Cheyenne's eyes were stern. Rose looked quickly away.

“It's nothing I haven't been brooding on for a while.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I don't want to talk about it—at least, not now.”

“When do you think you will want to talk? You can't lie to me Rose. I see it in your eyes. You want to talk about it, but you're too afraid to.” Cheyenne paused. “I understand that. I just wanted you to know you can talk to me any time you need to. My offer still stands.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. You're a good person, Cheyenne. I may take you up on that offer later.”

“I hope so. I'm getting tired of insisting on it. “Cheyenne grinned. When Rose didn't laugh, she added, “That was a joke, you know.”

Rose feigned a smile. “Yeah, I know.” She looked down at her tea. “I just don't feel much like joking.”

“I know a remedy for that,” Cheyenne answered. She took a long drink of her tea while Rose waited for her to continue.

“Oh? There's a remedy?”

“Yep. It involves lots and lots of Ben and Jerry's and a few laugh out loud romantic comedies. It's the cure the doctors won't tell you about.”

Rose couldn't help it. She had to laugh. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. See? It's already working. I got you to laugh.”

“Okay, I'll try your remedy, but no guarantees I'll feel better afterwards.”

“Great. Looks like we're going to have some fun girl time after all. Here I was, afraid you'd be boring.” Cheyenne drained her mug and got up from the table. “I'll head to the store after I finish up in the garden. Want to come along?”

“No. I think I'll stay, explore the house. I still haven't gotten used to everything.”

“Well, it's just a house. There's nothing special here, but feel free to look around. Rest, if you want. Any certain kind of ice cream you want?”

“Chunky Monkey and anything with brownies. Oh! And hot fudge. Get a bottle of that. We can smother the ice cream in it.”

Cheyenne laughed. “I think you're feeling better already. We'll have some take-out or something for dinner tonight, too. I'll call you before I head home to get your input on what we have.”

“Okay.” She watched as Cheyenne struggled back into her dirty coveralls and boots, grabbed her hat and headed back outside. Rose stood up to empty the rest of her tea out and watched Cheyenne grab her pail and resume picking her tomatoes. She waved to Rose from the garden and she waved back.

Rose had to admit Cheyenne was right about feeling better, but it wasn't because of ice cream and girl movies. Tonight was the night she was going to talk to Cheyenne.

She would have just enough time to think how she wanted to word things. Just blurting it out wouldn't be right.

* * * *

* * * *

When Jason woke up, he thought he was back in Quenten's hospital. The walls were white, bright and the lights overhead were blinding. His eyes hurt because of them and he groaned.

But his intuition told him otherwise. He wasn't in Quenten's hospital. This was a hospital of another kind. His senses kicked into overdrive. The first thing he noticed was the smell of antiseptic and something unidentifiable but clean. There was an annoying, constant beeping close to his ear. He opened his eyes again and let his sight adjust to the brightness. Where was he?

He sat up. He was in a hospital bed, multiple wires and needles stuck into him. Immediately, he yanked them out and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A curtain separated him from the others in the room. He heard female voices conferring with one another. Shadows moved beyond his curtain. Jason held his breath and looked about. There was no place for him to hide.

He braced himself to run as soon as the curtain pulled back, but the shadowed figures never came near. Instead, he heard the curtain surrounding another patient open. The voices began again. He listened in.

“The doctor's prognosis included a concussion and multiple contusions and lacerations on various parts of her body.”

“Car accident?”

“Yes. The vehicle ran off the road. There's nothing official yet on it. There were two others brought it. One DOA.”

“Oh my.”

Jason sucked in a breath. He knew they were talking about them and the accident. He remembered struggling with Quenten's goon at the wheel and the van pulling off the road. He remembered the van went off road, sideswiping a tree. But it didn't stop there. In his attempts to keep the van from crashing anymore, he turned the wheel too sharply.

The van went into a roll. Glass had shattered all around him, cutting him all over. He held onto the goon as the van went upside down. The van hit another tree and that was the last he remembered.

Jason looked down at his hands and arms. He had been sliced open by the glass, but the many cuts were nearly healed. He knew how fast he healed and judging from the pinkish scars of his wounds—he hadn't been here that long.

They hadn't been here that long. The woman the nurses were talking about was Amelia. It had to be.

Jason resisted the urge to grab the curtain, yank it back and rush to Amelia's side. His senses, instinct, intuition, told him she was fine. He decided to listen to the little voice and try to think this through.

The nurse had said three of them had been brought in. He was here, and so was Amelia. So who was the third, the one had arrived dead? There had been four of them in the van.

Someone had gotten away and Jason was afraid he knew who it was.

Quenten.

“The other patient is over here.” Footfalls started toward him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He stepped back, hiding most of his body behind a monitoring machine. It would do no good to hide. He would have to run.

As soon as he realized this, the curtain slid back, revealing two nurses in blue scrubs. They both looked equally shocked to see the bed empty and even more shocked when Jason bolted from his hiding place and shoved past them.

“Hey,” one of the nurses shouted. “Stop!”

Jason did stop, but not for them. He ripped back the curtain from Amelia's bed side and looked down at her.

Her clothes were covered in blood, some of it from the horribly deep cuts on her arms and face. The rest, Jason was pretty sure, was from the remnants of the vials from the van, broken in the crash. There was a large bruise, already turning black and blue, along her right temple and jaw. A huge gash cut down from her hairline, stopping just above her left eyebrow. Her bottom lip was dotted with blood from a cut there, and swollen to twice the normal size.

She looked bad. Various needles and wires stuck out from her arms and an oxygen hose was placed in her nose. A steady beeping signaled her steady heart rate.

“Oh Amelia.” He had never wanted to see her hurt. He had to get her out of here. They both had to get out of here.

“Sir?” One of the nurses had crept up behind him. “Sir? You need to go back to your bed. You're not well.” Her voice was meant to be soothing, but it had the opposite effect on him. He turned his eyes away from his mother and glared at the nurse.

“Leave me alone,” he said in a tone dripping with anger. “Where is the other one?”

“The other one?” the nurse asked, confused. Jason looked past her pale, scared face, to the nurse behind her. She had grabbed the nearest phone and was speaking into it, her eyes not leaving him. No doubt, she was calling security. Jason didn't care.

“The other one. The one who came in with us. From the crash. Where is he?”

“I—” She stopped, swallowing. Her eyes grew wide. Jason didn't have to guess why. He could feel the burn as his eyes changed to their wolfen yellow. He glanced away quickly.

“Where is he?”

“I don't know how to tell you—”

“He's dead, I know. Where is he?” Jason demanded, the edge growing in his voice.

“He's over there,” the woman said, meekly. Jason followed her pointing finger. There was another bed, hidden behind another curtain. He turned his gaze back to the nurse.

“Thank you.” He immediately moved away from Amelia's side and in three strides crossed the floor to the other bed. He tore back the curtains and looked down at the sheet covering the body. He yanked it back in one swift motion.

He knew he wouldn't really believe it until he saw it and once he did, he knew his instincts had been right all along. It was Quenten's goon, lying lifeless on the hospital bed. His head was twisted at an odd angle and his eyes were open in a horrible, unmoving stare. Cuts covered his face and arms and like Jason's, they were nearly healed.

So it was true what Quenten had said. He had used were blood on these goons. It explained why they were so fast, so strong.

Jason held back a growl as he lowered his head. Quenten had done so much evil. The man deserved to die.

But Quenten was gone. He had fled and now, he could be anywhere. That thought made him feel very cold inside. He had to be stopped, as soon as possible. He remembered what Amelia had said back in the van. It was up to him to stop Quenten. He was the only one who could.

Jason looked back over his shoulder. The nurse on the phone hung up and hurriedly walked over to her companion. She whispered something and they both looked in Jason's direction.

A few moments later, a man with a clipboard walked in through the double doors. He immediately looked to Jason and began to approach him.

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to go back to your bed. You've suffered some terrible trauma and you're not well.” He spoke in a tone as one would a child and Jason narrowed his eyes at him.

“I'm fine. I don't need your damn help.” He began to walk back to Amelia's bedside. The doctor's hand shot out, grabbing hold of Jason's arm. The man knew he had made a mistake when Jason slowly turned and looked him in the eye.

He could smell the fear emanating from the man. He had seen the yellow, feral look in his eyes, but Jason didn't care.

“Let go of me,” he said, darkly. The doctor immediately did, stepping back in a shocked state. Jason jerked his arm away and marched past him and past the stunned nurses.

Without a moment's hesitation, without knowing what he was going to do next, he ripped out the wires and plugs from Amelia's body. He lifted the oxygen tube out of her nose.

“Sir, you can't—” One of the nurses began to interrupt him, but she shut up the moment Jason shot her his enraged look.

Gently, he scooped his mother up into his arms. She was weightless as he hefted her. He turned around, Amelia's head resting against his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, glaring first at the nurses, then at the doctor. Others had gathered too, but he didn't acknowledge them.

Without saying a word, he started to walk past a nurse's station, toward the double doors and out of the ER.

“You can't leave,” one of the other nurses at the station exclaimed, just as he reached the door. “There are forms and—”

She stopped as Jason stopped and turned. He felt his eyes burn even more with the ferocity of his wolfen nature. The woman dropped her pen and clipboard, her eyes widening in horror. No one was going to stop him, once determination set in. He was going to get Amelia out of here and find Quenten ... or at least, let Quenten find them. He would still want them alive.

Jason knew this without question. His intuition and instinct were becoming more reliable, and he was starting to trust it more and more.

He felt a dark, angry grimace spread over his face as he stared at the nurse. She stank of fear as she took an involuntary step back.

“She's right. You can't leave,” the doctor said from behind him. Jason didn't turn to him. Looking away from the woman, he faced the door.

“Watch me,” he said in a low voice, just before he kicked open the door and walked out.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty

Aurora arrived at the PRDI sometime after noon. She stood on the sidewalk in front of the building. The asphalt and sidewalk were still marked with scorch marks from the explosion yesterday. All the debris had been cleared. Save for those burn marks and the missing limbs on the blackened tree, it looked like nothing had happened.

Aurora took a few deep breaths and walked up the sidewalk to the door. She hit the buzzer and waited. It didn't take long before Davis let her in. He met her at the door. He was dressed in blue jeans and a grey t-shirt and his hair was an unkempt mess. He looked upset.

“What's going on?” Aurora immediately asked. “Where's Glen?”

“He's in his office. In a meeting.”

“Meeting? It's the weekend. He doesn't—”

“He's making an exception this time. Why are you here?”

Aurora glanced toward the stairs. She knew she had to come here to find answers, to uncover the truth about Amelia and Emily Camille and her mother. But she wasn't sure just how to explain that to Davis.

“I need to use the library, and hopefully talk to someone.”

“I'm afraid Glen won't be through with his meeting for quite some time,” Davis said through clenched teeth.

Aurora tilted her head. “What's going on? Who's he having a meeting with?”

Davis looked at her with his steely gaze for a long moment before he began to talk.

“Nola.”

It was strange that a single word, a single name would make her feel cold all over.

“She came back?” she asked, surprised by the fear in her voice. She looked into Davis's eyes. He looked incensed.

“Yeah, she came back, the damn bitch. I didn't buzz her in. I was all for letting her go—I don't want her here. But Glen figured we'd have to give her a chance. Maybe she isn't behind it. All that bullshit.” Davis glanced toward the stairs, narrowing his eyes. Aurora followed his stare. She tried to follow along.

“Glen let her in?”

“Yes, he let her in. Said we had to give her a chance to talk. Then he took her to his office. They've been there for about half an hour.” He growled out the words.

“What does Rose think about this?”

“Rose isn't here.” Davis turned back to her.

Aurora blinked. “Oh, I was kinda hoping to talk to her. Where is she?”

“Gone to the hospital. No, no—she's not in labor or anything,” he explained. “She's just gone for a few days.” He didn't say why, or what hospital, leaving Aurora wondering why he left that out.

“Okay,” she answered. “I guess talking to Glen's out of the question.”

“Yeah, probably.” Davis crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you here again?”

“I need to use the library, you know, for school stuff?”

“It's the weekend.” He retorted her earlier remark, raising his eyebrow at her. She glared at him then rolled her eyes.

“I can still do homework, you know. And I wanted to talk to Rose or Glen about a few things. I didn't know I needed a special permit for that.”

“Don't be smart,” Davis said. “Looks like you're out of luck on talking to anyone today. I don't think Glen's going to be in a good mood when he gets done with Nola.” He shook his head. “I don't know why she came back. We all know she did it.”

“Maybe she's just trying to cover up?” Aurora offered, not sure really what else to say. Davis sighed.

“Maybe. There's just something about her I don't like. You know, these attacks didn't start until after she arrived. It can't be a mere coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Aurora agreed. She decided to change the subject. She hadn't come here to argue with Davis and talk about Nola. Since Rose wasn't here and Glen was occupied, she decided to talk to her last choice.

“Is Dr. Nesbitt around?”

“She's somewhere here, but I don't know where.”

“Okay, thanks. I'm going to get something to drink from the kitchen. I'll catch you later. If Glen gets a free moment, let him know I want to talk to him, okay?” She waved a goodbye to Davis, but he didn't acknowledge her. He had turned his attention back to the staircase. When she looked over her shoulder, he had turned and was heading back to his security room.

So Nola had come back. Aurora shivered, thinking about how she had tried to intimidate her. She would have to be sure to avoid her. She didn't want any more confrontation.

She slipped into the kitchen. It was blissfully empty and she sighed as she let her backpack drop to the floor against the counter. She ran her hands over the clean, smooth counter, affixing her eyes to it as she tried to think.

She would find Dr. Nesbitt and show her the book then she would ask about her family. Since the book had been on PRDI property, there may be connections with the owners and the Institute. Dr. Nesbitt had been here for a long while, and the names may strike a memory.

She could only hope.

Aurora pulled up a chair and sat down. She needed to collect her thoughts and figure out just what she wanted to say. It wasn't as if she could just blurt it out. There had to be tact.

She was just gathering up the courage to search the building for Dr. Nesbitt when the kitchen door opened. She turned to find the doctor standing just behind her. She was dressed casually, in a flowered blouse and tan slacks—a very different contrast to her work attire.

Dr. Nesbitt blinked, surprised to see her. Aurora looked away quickly, feeling suddenly panicked. Her heart began to race. The sudden prospect of knowing the answers to her questions about her mother and sister made her anxious, scared. She tried to calm herself down. She didn't need to panic.

“Hello, Aurora. I didn't know you were here.” Dr. Nesbitt greeted her as she shut the door behind her. Aurora took a few deep breaths and forced herself to look at the doctor.

“Yeah, I just stopped by to look up a few things.” She managed to say the words without choking. It's not really a lie, she told herself. She did need to look up a few things, just not in the conventional sense.

“Oh, well don't let me bother you then. I just came to get fix a cup of tea. Would you like some?”

Dr. Nesbitt walked across the floor and began to fill a gleaming kettle with water from the sink. She turned back to Aurora expectantly.

It would be the perfect opportunity to talk, Aurora reasoned with herself. She willed her heart to stop beating so fast and nodded. Dr. Nesbitt smiled.

She put the kettle on the stove and turned it on. As it heated up, she gathered up a couple mugs and spoons. She set them on the table. “Do you want honey, sugar, cream?”

“Sugar's good, thanks.” Aurora rested her arms on the table, pulling her backpack closer to her chair with her foot. Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about the power pulsing and taking her over, like it had earlier when she seemed entirely controlled by magick, because the book was dead again.

Dr. Nesbitt set the sugar bowl on the counter and took a seat across from her. “So, how are your studies going?”

Aurora shrugged and looked into Dr. Nesbitt's eyes. Her eyes were serene and blue. There was something compassionate in there and Aurora felt immediately calm. She even smiled a little.

“Things are all right. Having a little trouble in English. I wanted to get Rose to help me on it, but then, well, with everything that happened...” She trailed off. Dr. Nesbitt nodded.

“I understand. She's under a lot of stress and asking for her help in schoolwork, well—don't take this the wrong way, dear—it's only adding to her stress.”

Aurora nodded. “That's why I didn't ask again. I didn't want to bother her. I figured I could handle it myself. I figured wrong.”

Dr. Nesbitt chuckled. “What is it you need help with? Is that why you're here?”

Aurora took a deep breath and exhaled. “Not entirely. I came here to talk to Rose, or Glen.”

“She's gone to stay in a hospital for a while.”

“I know. Davis told me. He also told me that Glen was in a meeting.” She paused. “With Nola.”

“I thought that was her.” Dr. Nesbitt didn't say anything else, but Aurora had a feeling she wanted to. Aurora opened her mouth to say something but closed it.

The tea kettle began to scream and Dr. Nesbitt stopped their conversation to take it off the heat and get the tea.

Aurora closed her eyes and lowered her head.

Take it easy. You can do this. Nothing to it. Just ask her about the book.

“Aurora?” She opened her eyes and lifted her head. Dr. Nesbitt stood in front of her, holding the tea kettle. Concern showed on her face.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Aurora offered a small smile as the doctor poured the water into the tea cup, over the tea bag she had placed there.

“Are you sure? It seems to me you have something more on your mind than schoolwork.”

Aurora took another deep breath to calm her sudden anxiety attack. “There is, actually.” She stopped, watching as the doctor dipped her tea bag in her own cup of hot water. Then she lifted her gaze and met Dr. Nesbitt's eyes. “There's something I wanted to ask you.”

“Feel free to ask me anything. If I can help in any way, I certainly will.”

“Okay.” Here goes, she thought to herself. “A few days ago—actually, it was the day Rose fell on the staircase—I was in the library doing some research. I had been having some strange dreams, or at least I thought they were dreams, and I was hoping to find some explanation or meaning to it in the magick books kept there.”

She paused, looking to see the doctor's reaction. She didn't seem mad or upset. On the contrary, she looked interested. She nodded for her to continue.

“Anyway, I was looking in these books when I found one that was, well, different. It had power coming from it. I could feel it, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Go on.”

“Anyway, it was freaking me out more than just a bit. I don't know how I knew it, but I knew this book was important.” She stopped here and pulled her backpack up by the strap so that the heavy thing rested in her lap. “So, I kinda took it.”

Dr. Nesbitt kept her face neutral as Aurora unzipped the bag and pulled out the heavy book. This was the first time she had let anyone else other than herself and Slater have a long look at it.

She sucked in her breath as she pushed aside her cup of tea and laid the book in front of Dr. Nesbitt. “That's it. Have you ever seen it?”

Dr. Nesbitt set down her tea and licked her lips.

“May I?” Aurora nodded and she pulled the book to her, gently running her hand over the cover.

“This book does look familiar. You said it was in the library?” She slipped on a pair of reading glasses that hung on a chain around her neck and opened the book to the first page.

“Yeah. It was in the section with all the other magick stuff. But it doesn't have a label.”

“It's a Book of Shadows. It wouldn't be labeled. For that matter, it shouldn't be in the library. It should be in the home of the witch it belongs to.”

“I found that strange, too,” Aurora said. She watched as Dr. Nesbitt flipped through the pages, settling finally on the words written in Emily Camille's handwriting. Aurora continued. “I did a little research, read some of the book. It belonged to a witch named Emily Camille and she had two daughters.”

“Yes. I read that. I also can feel the power you spoke of. It's very—” She cut herself off, as if not sure how to continue. That unnerved Aurora.

“Very what?”

“Very strong,” she finished. “Very strong, indeed. Is this all you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” Aurora admitted. “It's only the beginning I'm afraid.”

“What else is on your mind? Does it involve this book?” Dr. Nesbitt was getting curious now. She looked up at her, her blue eyes magnified by the lenses of her glasses.

“Yes, sorta. I don't know. I tried to find out the explanation to the dreams I had, but I couldn't find anything. Then, just this morning, I felt compelled to look again.” She climbed out of her seat and crossed to Dr. Nesbitt's side. She leaned over her and began flipping through the book until she found the spell. “I was somehow drawn to this spell. I mean, I couldn't stop myself from moving toward it. And the power coming from the book was so strong, even more so. It knocked me back—”

“Did you read the spell?”

Aurora cleared her throat. “Like I said, I was drawn to the spell. I couldn't stop myself. Yes. I read it.”

“Out loud?”

Aurora nodded.

Dr. Nesbitt didn't look very pleased. She pursed her lips and looked up at Aurora. “Playing with magick, especially magick you are unsure of can be considerably risky. You have to be careful.”

“I know.” Aurora sighed. “I've heard this a hundred times before. I was being careful. The power was just—”

“The power is too strong. What happened when you said the spell? Was there any immediate effect?”

“Immediately, no.” Aurora returned to her seat and stared down at her tea. She removed the tea bag and stirred the liquid. She realized she didn't really want to drink it. “Not right away. A woman sorta ... appeared...”

“Appeared?”

“Yeah. I said the spell and a few moments later, the woman appeared. At first, I thought she was a ghost, but she was solid, real. She was the same woman I had seen in my dream.”

“The woman was from your dream?”

“Yes. She was exactly the same. Anyway, I talked with her, asked her why she came and she told me it was because I had called her. She said the reason she had come to me before was because she needed my help. She said her name was Amelia. She called me Leslie, which was my mother's name. And she said that was her sister's name. Then she told me her sister was Leslie Warren, which was my mother's maiden name and—” She stopped to take a deep breath, realizing she was rambling.

“And you discovered something you're not entirely sure of?” Dr. Nesbitt supplied. Aurora nodded.

“I think I'm a witch.”

The words sounded so absurd, she was almost afraid Dr. Nesbitt would burst out laughing. When her mouth curled into a smile, Aurora braced herself for the laughter.

“My dear,” Dr. Nesbitt began, the smile remaining just a smile. She closed the book and lowered her glasses. “You are a witch.”

Aurora felt as if she had been punched in the gut. All the breath went out of her. To hear it externally validated made it too real.

“I am?” she squeaked.

“Yes. I had my suspicions a few days ago, when you took the book—only, I really didn't know you had stolen the book. I could feel the power and I knew you felt it. That in itself was a sign you had great power. When Rose was hurt, from the staircase fall, I tapped into your energy. There was so much of it, and in a way, you helped to heal her.”

“Are you a witch, too? I don't know any witches.”

“No, I am not a witch. I am a psychic healer. Though there is a common genetic link, witches possess more to their abilities than a simple psychic. They can invoke change, do spells. If you were able to speak the words on the page and make something happen, you are indeed a witch. This woman you speak of said her name was Amelia?”

“Yes. And that my mom was her sister. That would make her my Aunt.”

Dr. Nesbitt nodded. “I knew a woman named Amelia. She was a witch. I'm not sure if she had a sister. It's been years since I've seen her.” She shook her head. “I don't know what happened to her.”

“So, I am a witch then?”

Dr. Nesbitt laughed. “Yes, my dear, and it's nothing to be worried about. You have an amazing ability and combined with your werewolf traits, I think you could do amazing things—in time. But, you still must be careful when it comes to spells and magick. You never know what you may invoke and it may end up doing you more harm than good.”

Aurora let out a breath. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest, but she was still confused. “So you don't know anything else about Amelia?”

“I could look into it. I may have some old records in my office. I'll see what I can do.” She drained her tea and looked at the book. “I'd put this away, for the time being. Better to keep it safe and away from impressionable young women who may not know what they are doing.”

Aurora smiled, knowing that was a comment on her part, but she didn't let it bother her. She slid the book back into her bag and zipped it up. “Thanks, Dr. Nesbitt. You've really helped me out. Only thing is I don't know what to do with this new knowledge about myself.”

“Just mull on it for a while. Let it sink in. I know it's a big shock for you.” Dr. Nesbitt got up from her seat and put her mug in the sink. “Would you like to accompany me to my office? You could help me look for any records.”

“Sure.” Aurora slipped off her seat and grabbed her bag. Dr. Nesbitt led the way out of the kitchen and she followed her down the hall and to her office. All the while, she smiled. Now that she knew the answers, she felt better.

She only hoped it was a feeling that would last.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-One

Alana's high hopes of finally ending this today were dashed the moment she stepped into the PRDI. She had expected open hostility when she entered the doors, in fact, she hadn't expected them to even open the doors, but they did.

Davis had been seething. He almost threw himself on her then and there. If it hadn't been for Glen stepping in, she would've had to deal with him herself. It had been easier than she thought to convince Glen to talk to her alone, especially when it appeared she wanted to plead her innocence over the situation.

Once alone in his office, she turned on the charm. She smiled, flipped her hair and used body language to convey her desire for him. She leaned over more than a few times to accentuate her cleavage and nothing. Glen was unfazed.

She had considered he was gay. How else could any man resist her charms? She had to try anyway. It was only when she started rubbing his back and talking with him about something other than the accidents that he began to respond. He leaned his head forward as she massaged the back of his neck and shoulders.

“Do you think later you could show me around the PRDI a bit more? I'm afraid our tour was cut short by the events of this weekend. What do you say to an extended look around?” she said the words seductively into his ear and Glen chuckled.

“I'm sure I can arrange something.” He moved her arm away from him. “But right now, I have a lot of work to do.”

“I know, but can I count on you for tonight?”

Glen smiled. “If I get these forms done, definitely.” His face became somber suddenly. Gently he pushed her back from him. “I want to thank you for having the courage to come back here. We all had our suspicions that perhaps you were the one behind the attacks.”

“Glen, we've talked about this. I would never dream of hurting someone. It's simply not who I am,” Alana lied through her teeth even as she smiled. “Rose is a friend. Why would I hurt her?”

Finally, she was getting to where she wanted to be. She settled herself onto Glen's lap. He looked surprised by the seductive attention, but he didn't push her away. She wrapped an arm around his neck and leaned into him. “Speaking of Rose, I haven't seen her today. Is she resting in her room?”

Glen tensed under her, but not in a good way. Alana tilted her head.

“No, she's not, Nola,” he began. “She's gone to the hospital for a few days, to rest there.”

“Hospital?” Alana repeated. She slid off his lap and stood to her full height. “Has she gone into labor? Was she injured in the explosion? Is she all right?” She feigned concern while secretly inside she was seething. Rose wasn't here?

“She's fine, just a little shook up. She's gone for a few days to rest.”

“Which hospital?”

Glen blinked a few times and shrugged, turning back to his paperwork. He didn't answer, which Nola found very suspicious. She narrowed her eyes a little.

“Which hospital is she staying in?”

“One of the bigger ones in the area. More like a center for pregnant women than a hospital.”

“She's not in a hospital, is she?” Alana asked, unable to hide the tone in her voice. Her anger was growing. “Where is she?”

Glen turned to face her, sighing. “Nola—”

“Just tell me where the fuck she is,” she demanded, her voice rising in shrill tones. Realizing she was blowing her top and her cover, she took a few deep breaths. “I'm sorry. I just get a little worked up about things.”

“I understand,” Glen answered in a disbelieving tone. “But I'm afraid I can't tell you where Rose is.”

Not the right answer, buddy, Alana thought angrily. She kept her cool this time by tightening her hands into fists. She let out a breath. “Okay. Where's Jason? Everyone keeps talking about this Jason, but I've never met him.”

“Jason is gone. No one knows where he is.”

Bullshit, she wanted to say but kept the comment in her head. She glared instead. “Seems like a lot of secretive stuff going on here. First, you won't tell me where Rose is then you claim you don't know where Jason is. Do you know anything?”

“Nola, calm down.” Glen stood.

“I am calm,” she snapped. She held her hands up in frustration. “This is getting nowhere,” she muttered. She looked up at Glen. Any hope of seducing him had been dashed. He looked pissed and suspicious. Definitely not good.

“Look, just tell me where Rose is. I know she's not in a hospital somewhere. Who is she staying with? Aurora? Cheyenne? What are their addresses?”

“Nola, I can't—”

“Never mind. I'll find it myself.” She moved past him, no longer caring about her cover or being discovered. She was frustrated and tired of all her plans failing. She began shuffling through papers on Glen's desk, looking for addresses.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Glen grabbed her arm as she swept an armful of papers to the floor, but Alana yanked away from him. She found a Rolodex on the desk and grabbed a handful of addresses.

“Nola!” Glen shouted, spinning her around. She glared at him as he grabbed hold of her wrists. “What the hell are you doing?”

“If you won't help me find her, then I will.”

“Why do you need to find her so badly? What's going on?” He glanced at the handful of addresses in her hand and yanked them out of her grasp. He tossed them back on the desk and resumed glaring at her. “Rose is my cousin. Someone is out there trying to hurt her and I have to admit, I'm beginning to change my mind about you.”

“What, are you joining the band wagon and accusing me now?”

“No, I'm not, but I'm keeping my eye on you. I want you to leave here, now. As of right now, your membership here is revoked. Pack your stuff and leave.” After saying that, he let go of her. Alana stumbled back. She resisted the urge to charge at him and claw his eyes out, but instead she turned and stormed out of the room.

She slammed the door and cursed under her breath once she was outside. She had seriously lost her cool. Miguel would be pissed, but she didn't care. At the moment, she had other things to worry about.

Rose was gone and so was Jason. She was at a dead end. If Glen wasn't going to tell her where either of them were, she would have to find someone who did. Davis was out of the question. He would just fight with her. There had to be someone else.

The good doctor may have some answers, and maybe a few members of their little pack would, too. She wasn't sure if any of them were even here. She would have to do some investigating.

Alana stormed down the hall and down the stairs, passing the broken part of the banister that was left from her earliest failed attempt. Davis wasn't in the foyer as she had predicted and she was thankful for that. She crossed the foyer in a few steps and started down the hall. She would visit Dr. Nesbitt first.

She stopped just in front of the office door and bent to retrieve the gun from her ankle holster. She flipped the safety off and leaned against the door. She could hear the soft sound of voices rising and falling. The doctor wasn't alone, but it didn't matter. Alana would take care of it.

There would be no going back now.

She turned the knob on the door and threw it open. Dr. Nesbitt was seated in her desk chair and the young woman, Aurora, was next to her, looking through a heavy stack of folders lying on the desk. Both women looked up, equally shocked to see her standing there. She lifted her gun and aimed it at the doctor.

The door swung shut behind her, leaving the three of them alone in the tightly enclosed room.

“Rose. Where is she? Tell me now.”

“Nola, what are you—” the doctor began but Alana cut her off.

“I'm asking the questions here. Where is Rose? And don't lie!”

Alana shifted her stare from Dr. Nesbitt to Aurora. The young girl swallowed visibly. She stank of fear. Her gaze turned back to the doctor. She looked calm, but her smell told otherwise.

“Where is she?”

“Rose is staying in a hospital for a while, to rest and—”

“You lying little bitch.” Alana strolled forward, pointed the gun directly in the doctor's face. “I know she's not in some damn hospital. Who is she staying with?”

The doctor's cool demeanor vanished and she glanced toward Aurora. The young girl had been steadily slipping away. Alana quickly moved, training the gun on her instead.

“Do you know where she is? I know someone has to know and I am not leaving this fucking room until I get some fucking answers.”

“I don't know,” Aurora squeaked out. “I don't know anything!”

“Bullshit. If you won't tell me where Rose is, then tell me where Jason is.”

“I don't know that either,” Aurora cried out. Her fear stink increased, but Alana couldn't tell if she was lying or not.

“She doesn't know anything. Leave her alone,” the doctor spoke up again, trying to resume her calm façade. Alana spun toward her.

“Do you know where they are? Where's Rose?”

“Rose is...” She hesitated. “Staying with a friend—”

“What friend? Is it Cheyenne? It's Cheyenne, isn't it?”

Dr. Nesbitt didn't answer. Her silence was confirmation enough. She laughed.

“Where does Cheyenne live, in some backwater little trailer park? Tell me the address.”

“We won't tell you anything.” Aurora had mustered up the courage to say the words, but her voice still shook. Alana smirked and lifted an eyebrow.

“Little Miss Werewolf is tough now, huh? You little bitch!” In two quick steps she crossed the room and backhanded Aurora with her free hand. The strength of it sent Aurora stumbling back into the desk. She cried out, holding her hand to her face.

“That's it.” Dr. Nesbitt rose suddenly. She pointed a finger at Alana. “Get out—”

The sound of the gun going off was loud, deafening, but it was a sound Alana had always loved. So was the sound of screaming and Aurora indulged her a moment after the gunshot went off. The acrid scent of the smoke curled off the barrel and Dr. Nesbitt stared at Alana. Blood began to seep through the front of her blouse, around the hole the gunshot had made. The scent of blood was suddenly strong.

“No!” Aurora pushed by Alana toward Dr. Nesbitt. The doctor lost her footing and fell into her chair. She blinked a few times, moving her hand to her chest, against the blood.

“I—” She began to say, but stopped. Her lips moved soundlessly and her teeth began to chatter. She was going into shock.

“Dr. Nesbitt!” Aurora reached to grab hold of the doctor, but she never got the chance. Alana grabbed her by her hair and threw her back. Aurora screamed as she hit the wall. Alana then hefted her up by the color of her shirt and pressed the still hot barrel of the gun against her face.

Aurora winced, trying to turn away, but Alana held her still.

“Listen to me, you little bitch,” she started in a low, dark voice. “We don't have much time before the others come running. You are going to take me to Cheyenne's and you are going to do it now. As soon as I let go of you, we are going to walk shoulder to shoulder out this door and you are going to come with me and my friend. You are going to give us directions to Rose and you are not going to try any funny business. You don't do as I ask and you'll end up like the good doctor there. Do you understand me?”

Alana removed the gun from her face. “Do you understand me?” she asked again. Aurora nodded frantically.

“Good.” She let go of her. Aurora slumped to the floor, grabbing hold of her backpack and holding it to her chest. Alana grabbed her by the hair and hoisted her to her feet. “Let's get going before someone ruins our party.”

Aurora nodded and slipped her backpack on her shoulder. Alana gripped her arm in a vice-like grip and pressed the gun against her side. “Go.”

Aurora started to walk. “Open the door,” Alana demanded. Aurora did, opening the door wide. She looked back over her shoulder at Dr. Nesbitt but Alana nudged her. “Go!”

She did, stepping through the door before her. Alana was just stepping through when Aurora broke free of her grip with a sharp elbow to her ribs. Not expecting it, Alana doubled over, losing the grip on her gun. It fell to the floor.

Acting quickly, Aurora kicked the gun, sending it flying back into Dr. Nesbitt's office. Alana barely had a chance to react. The little bitch was so quick. She was out of her range in the matter of a few seconds.

“Get back here,” Alana screamed, but Aurora turned and ran. The last Alana saw of her was her brown hair flying and her book bag bouncing on her shoulder as she turned the corner.

“No!” The brat was getting away. She started to run after her, but stopped when she reached the hall. Davis was stepping out of the security room just as Aurora hit the foyer. She stopped, gesturing wildly at him.

Knowing her cover was blown and she had no choice, Alana thought quickly. As Aurora started to stammer something to Davis, Alana cried out.

“Stop her—She just attacked me! She shot Dr. Nesbitt!”

Aurora's face was stricken suddenly and she bolted. Davis didn't have time to react. She ran into him as she tried to flee, knocking him off his feet. He hit the hardwood floor with a grunt, car keys and loose change spilling out of his jeans pocket. Alana watched with very little satisfaction as the girl grabbed the keys and scrambled to her feet.

“Hey,” Davis shouted, but Aurora was already out the door, running across the lawn to his car. He blinked in confusion then turned his attention to Alana, fury evident on his face. He wasn't going to be easily fooled.

“I'm going after her,” Alana called, hoping vainly that her little diversion worked. Then she was out the door with Davis close behind her, calling for her to stop. She didn't though. She knew if he caught her, she was a dead woman. He wouldn't really believe Aurora was behind it, not when he suspected her all along, but she had to do something.

She watched as Aurora climbed into the driver's seat of a blue Honda Civic and pulled away from the sidewalk. She couldn't waste much time. She had to follow her.

Miguel was waiting in the van, just around the corner. She sprinted for the sidewalk.

“Nola, stop,” Davis yelled. Alana didn't slow down and she didn't look back. This was her best chance at finally finishing what she had started. The little bitch would somehow, eventually, lead her to Rose willingly or not. It was just a matter of following her.

She reached the van in record time. Miguel was in the driver's seat. Having seen her sprinting for him, he already had the vehicle running. Alana jumped into passenger's seat and slammed the door.

“Go. Go now!” She shouted.

“What the hell have you done now, chica?” Miguel asked, but did as she said. He gunned the engine and tires squealed on their way out of park. Davis stopped on the sidewalk just across from them. He was waving his arms in the air, trying to get her attention.

“Who is that?” Miguel asked, looking back in the rearview mirror as Davis became a distant figure in the middle of the street.

“Stop asking questions,” Alana snapped. “We're looking for a blue Honda Civic. The bitch driving it is going to lead us to Rose. And if she doesn't, I'm going to make her do it.”

“Dios,” Miguel barely breathed the words. “You fucked up again. What am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing, Miguel. You are going to do nothing unless I tell you. Now drive!”

* * * *

* * * *

As soon as Jason had stormed out of the Emergency Room with his mother in his arms, he knew he had done something terrible. There was nothing they could do but run and run is what he did. Shifting Amelia's unconscious weight, he threw her over his shoulder and broke out in a run.

He raced through the halls, finding the exit to the parking garage fairly easily. They didn't have much time. Already, he could hear security after them. He had no time to lose.

Jason chose the first fast looking car he saw as their getaway vehicle and broke out the window with a sharp jab of his elbow. He unlocked the door and slide Amelia into the back seat. Making sure she was secure, he climbed into the front and tore the panel from beneath the steering column. All it took was a little crossing of wires and the engine was running.

Jason gunned the engine and they sped out of the parking lot. He didn't stop at the gate, but crashed through it. It was still broad daylight when they hit the streets. Broad daylight. He had never done anything like this without the cover of darkness. What kind of person was he turning into?

He didn't have time to think on it. They had to get out of here and to a place where Quenten would be sure to look for them. Quenten was alive and he still wanted them. He would try to find them.

Jason trusted his gut instinct and took a right turn. He wasn't sure where it would lead him, but it was right. He knew it.

He only hoped his instinct would know what to do and how to deal with Quenten when he got there.

* * * *

* * * *

Her head pounded. The pain was immeasurable. She tried to sit up, but found she couldn't even move. She opened her eyes. The sunlight was bright, burning into her head. Immediately, she shut them and groaned.

“Amelia,” a male voice said. She tried to recall whose voice it was, but she couldn't remember. She opened her eyes again, only to see the back of a dark-haired head.

Her disoriented thoughts drifted back, trying to remember. “Joshua?” she asked.

“Jason. I'm your son. Just hang in there. I'm taking care of everything.”

“Jason?” She let out a breath and tried to focus. “What happened?”

“There was a car accident.”

“I remember,” she said. Finally, she was able to sit up. The sunlight was still too bright. She squinted.

“Don't move,” Jason told her. He looked at her through the rearview mirror. “Just lay still.” He looked back to the road.

“Where are we going?”

“I don't know. My gut tells me to drive. I'll know when we get there.”

It was all starting to come back. She remembered the van and the vials of blood and the goon grabbing her. She remembered Quenten injecting the blood into himself. “Quenten?”

She watched as Jason's temples throb as he clenched his teeth. “Gone. He got away.”

“You have to stop him,” she said. She tried to move her arm but found herself weak. She was so tired. She just wanted to sleep. Amelia forced herself to stay awake, just a little while longer.

“I know. I'm hoping that's what my gut is leading me to. I have to stop him.”

“Yes,” Amelia whispered. Spots started before her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but it didn't work. “Jason?”

He said something, but she couldn't understand the words. She felt so tired. She leaned back, her head resting against the window.

“Hang on, Amelia. I'll help you.”

His voice faded into silence and she closed her eyes, just wanting a few minutes of sleep. The roar of the engine lulled her back into unconsciousness.

* * * *

* * * *

Jason glanced at the rearview mirror. Amelia had slumped over, her eyes closed. She was out again. He felt a rise of panic. Was she dead, or just unconscious? Was there irreparable damage done to her brain? What could he do? Whenever those around him had been injured, they had always been able to heal because they were weres. Amelia was human, limited by human healing.

He suddenly regretted taking her from the hospital. At least there, she may have had a chance. But he couldn't have left her.

He pushed his foot down on the pedal. Wherever it was he was going, he had to get there fast.

Midday traffic was killer. He had to slow down, pass car after car. All the while, he kept looking back at Amelia and praying she wouldn't die before he got there. He also prayed he wouldn't get pulled over. The last thing he needed was to be stopped by a cop. Getting caught with an unconscious woman in the back seat of a stolen car wouldn't be a good idea.

So he slowed down, drove the speed limit though it annoyed him to do so.

After about twenty minutes of driving, Jason took a turn off that lead to the country. The road began to look somewhat familiar, but he couldn't be sure. It wasn't until his intuition and instinct told him to pull over that he realized where they were.

They had returned to the site of the crash.

Jason pulled off onto the shoulder, noticing the skid marks on the road that ran off into the grass. He put the car into park and played with the wires. The engine went off, leaving them in blessed silence.

Jason stared out at the field, looking toward the trees. He could see damage done to one large oak from where the van had collided, but there was no debris, no sign of the van other than that. The cleanup crews had already done their work.

But where was Quenten? Jason had a feeling he had fled into the nearby woods. He wondered if he was still there, or if he had headed elsewhere. There would be only one way to find out.

They'd have to get Quenten to come to them, somehow.

But one thing at a time, Jason told himself. First, he had to help Amelia. He turned in his seat to look at her. She was still unconscious, her head rolled back against the seat. She was pale, save for the nasty cuts and bruises on her. She looked worse than he had first thought.

“Oh, Amelia,” he whispered. The interior of the car was small and cramped, so he positioned himself in the most comfortable way he could. Sitting on his knees in the driver's seat, and leaning against the back of the seat, he could reach Amelia easily. He touched her wrist and felt for a pulse. Her heart beat was faint, but regular and he watched her chest rise and fall with each intake of air. She was going to live, but she was cutting it close.

He could imagine how much pain she was in and he wished there was some way he could alleviate it, but he didn't know how. The only healing he knew was his own. External healing was something entirely new.

As Jason moved his hand from her wrist and lifted it to smooth back a blood-crusted strand of her hair, Amelia stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and she parted her lips in a soft sigh.

“Amelia? Can you hear me?”

At first, she didn't respond. She blinked her green eyes slowly, staring up at the roof of the car. Then, she licked her lips and began to speak.

“Bright light, shining light," she said, the words faint, “Heal this hurt with all your might."

Jason blinked, tilting his head. “What?”

“Bright light, shining light,” she said again, her voice a little clearer, “Heal this hurt with all your might."

“I don't understand. What do you mean? What light?” Oh God, is she going into the light? Is she dying?

“It's a spell,” she finally said. “Healing spell. Say it with me.”

“Spell?” Jason asked. Amelia reached for his hand, grabbed hold of it and squeezed it with as much strength as she could. “All right, I'll say it.”

Amelia started it again, saying the words slowly. Jason joined in. Over and over they said the words, chanting the healing spell.

“It's not working,” Jason said after they had chanted it five times. “It's not doing anything.”

“You have to feel it. Feel the light. Feel the power. Channel it,” Amelia said. Her voice was growing weaker. Jason doubted she'd be able to chant the words again.

“Okay.” He closed his eyes as he began to chant. He didn't know how to channel anyway, but he knew how to feel power. He felt for the sudden change in the air and felt it. It was subtle at first, a tingle perhaps, but then it grew. He felt it surround them. This power was great, strong.

Channeling power shouldn't be too hard, he suspected, so as he chanted, he imagined it flowing from around them and into her. He imagined the power doing exactly what he chanted—shining brightly, healing all hurts.

He felt the shift in the power. It seemed to pulse now with new strength. He opened his eyes, chanting faster, louder. As he did, he watched the bruises on Amelia's face begin to fade. The cut above her eyebrow closed together as it healed. The tiny cuts were gone.

The spell was working. Jason let out a gasp. He was actually doing a spell and it was working. This was unbelievable.

The power began to dissipate and Jason stopped chanting. The spell was done. Amelia looked a million times better. She blinked and sat up, running a hand through her hair.

“Thank you,” she said, softly. “I knew you could do it.”

“I didn't. What just happened there?”

Amelia smiled a tiny bit. “You just did your first spell, and I must say you've done a great job of it.” She winced as she moved in her seat.

“Are you all right? I thought you said I healed you.”

“You did, but the pain lingers. I'll be fine in a little while. I still need to rest.” She sighed, leaning back into her seat. “What should we do now?”

Jason had feared that question would come up. He didn't have an answer. “I don't know. I really don't.”

“Quenten will be looking for us, I know it,” Amelia said. “We used magick. With the change in power, we may have already alerted him.”

“You mean he could feel what we just did?” Jason didn't like the sound of that.

“Possibly. I don't know. The blood he injected may have given him powers we can't fathom. We can't rule out anything.”

“And if so, he could be here at any moment.” Jason sighed. “Perfect.” He had wanted Quenten to come to them, so he could face off with him once and for all, but not this soon. He wasn't ready.

“I think we should rest, but keep a look out for him.”

Jason nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. You need rest more than I do. Get some sleep. I'll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you.” Amelia settled back into the seat. “I just hope no one calls my astral self.”

“What was that?” Jason wasn't sure if he heard her right. “What was that about your astral self?”

Amelia hesitated and a looked crossed her face that could only be described as confusion. “The last time I slept, before the car accident when Quenten and his goons drugged us, I was taken away, at least astrally.”

“How is that possible?”

“All things are possible with magick. It was a spell from a book. A girl had read it and called me there. It turns out this girl had a family connection with me. Her mother was my sister.”

“So it was an astral family reunion?”

“Of sorts, I guess. I've seen the girl before, when I was searching for help. I went to her. The magickal essence she possessed—I had mistakenly taken her for my sister.”

“Who is this girl? What's her name?”

“Aurora.”

Jason blinked, not sure he had heard properly. “What was that?”

“She said her name was Aurora.”

Could it be...? “What did she look like? Dark hair, green eyes? Kinda young?”

Amelia tilted her head then sat up. “Yes. How did you know?”

“I'm afraid I know this Aurora.” He sighed. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“What? You know her?”

“If she's the Aurora you're talking about, then yes. She's a member of our pack. A few years ago her family was involved in a car accident. It wasn't an accident really—hunters,” he explained. Amelia still looked confused so he explained. “Her parents were killed and I happened upon the crash scene. Her mother's dying wish was that I take care of her kids.”

“Dead?” She sat up a bit more, blinking. She looked away from Jason, but he could see the tears on her cheek. “My sister is dead.” She wiped her eyes. “I couldn't have expected her to live forever, but I had thought, had hoped...”

She sniffed and leaned her head back to blink away the tears. “I guess it's too late to cry for her. We were never really that close.”

“It's never too late to cry for someone you've lost,” Jason told her quietly. Amelia looked up at him, her eyes red from crying.

“You've lost someone?”

“Almost,” Jason answered, thinking of Rose. He pushed the thoughts of her away. “What I mean is—if you need to cry, go ahead.”

“I'm fine now.” She wiped the rest of her tears away. “You said she had kids? How many?”

“A boy and a girl, Aurora and Ryan. They are nineteen and twenty, respectfully. Ryan calls himself ‘Rebel’ for reasons unknown.”

That brought a chuckle from Amelia. “'Rebel'. With a name like that, he has to be trouble.”

“You have no idea,” Jason muttered. He noticed her smiling and returned it. “They're both good kids, although I had no idea Aurora knew anything about magick. She's such a reserved girl.” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “If your sister was their mother, then that would make them ... my cousins?”

Amelia thought on it for a moment or too. “Yes, I suppose it does. I guess it is a small world after all.”

“Is there anyone I'm not related to?” Jason shook his head. This new information was shocking, but at least he didn't react in the same manner he had upon discovering Simon was his half-brother.

He was quickly discovering he had more family than he ever really wanted.

“At least you know you're not alone in this world,” Amelia told him. Jason looked at her for a long moment before shrugging.

“Maybe,” he said. “Why don't we let out minds and bodies rest for a while? I'll watch out for Quenten.” The subject change wasn't so subtle, but he was tired of talking about family. It brought to mind Rose and how he had left her behind. One day, he was going to have to answer for what he had done. He didn't want to think of that now.

Amelia nodded. “That sounds good.” She settled back into the backseat and stretched out. She closed her eyes. “If I am called again astrally, I'll be sure to tell Aurora you said ‘hi'.”

Jason didn't say anything and adjusted his seat and leaned back. As much as he wanted to rest, to sleep, he knew he couldn't do that. He had to keep an eye open. If Quenten were to attack, he would do it when they were asleep and take them by surprise.

And Jason wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. He crossed his arms over his chest, lowered the sun visor to block the rays from blinding him and settled in for a long day of doing nothing.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rose lay back on Cheyenne's atrocious floral-patterned couch, her swollen feet propped up on the arm. The television was on, but there was nothing interesting to watch. Rose alternated the channels between stand up comedians on Comedy Central and an old movie on TNT.

It was a quarter after nine and Cheyenne was due back from the store at any minute. She had called Rose's cell phone a little bit ago to inquire about dinner. They settled on KFC. Rose stomach growled at the thought of food. The baby protested the gurgling with a firm kick.

Rose looked down at the mound of her stomach and ran a hand over it. “Stop acting like you don't like it. You're just as hungry as I am.”

The baby settled down, moving around until it found a comfortable place to rest. Rose continued running her hand over her stomach as she watched TV, but she did so without really following along.

Her mind was occupied with other thoughts, like how she was going to tell Cheyenne about Simon and the baby. She had thought about it all afternoon and she was still stumped as to how she was going to bring it up.

She could always back out. She inhaled and let the breath out slowly. No, she couldn't back out. She could just find a better time, a more appropriate time. Tomorrow would be good. She could tell her tomorrow.

Rose looked away from the television to see headlights heading down Cheyenne's long driveway. A few minutes later, she could hear the familiar engine rumbling of her Dodge Ram. Rose sat up a bit, adjusting Cheyenne's crocheted afghan around her waist.

A few minutes later, she heard Cheyenne's footfalls on the front steps. The screen door opened and Cheyenne entered.

“Honey, I'm home,” she called. Rose caught a glimpse of her, laden with shopping bags. She balanced them all as she made her way to the kitchen. “Where are you?”

“I'm in the living room,” Rose called. “You just walked past me.”

“Oh,” Cheyenne hurried back. “Didn't see you.” She held a small plastic bag. “I got a few DVDs.” She tossed the bag at Rose. She caught it before it hit her and looked through them.

“Thirteen Going on Thirty,” she read the titles. “Legally Blonde one and two. Bringing Down the House. Stranger Than Fiction?” She blinked at the last one. “I see the running comedy, girly theme, but that last one? Will Ferrell doesn't really strike me as girly.”

Cheyenne laughed. “Then you haven't seen some of his newer work. Yeah, I'm sorry for the sucky movie choices, but I wasn't sure what you would like.”

“They're fine. Where's the food?”

“I knew you were going to ask that. I'll fix you a plate and bring it to you.”

“That would be excellent. I'm starving.”

Cheyenne grinned and turned away, leaving Rose alone again.

Pushing back the afghan, Rose climbed to her feet and gingerly stepped her way to the DVD player. She flipped it on and the television screen immediately went blue. She slipped in Thirteen Going on Thirty and hit the play button.

As Rose returned to her seat and Cheyenne brought her a plate of food, she made up her mind about what she should do.

She dug into her chicken strips and mashed potatoes as she thought it through. They would watch a movie or two first, to lighten the mood. Then, over a couple pints of Ben and Jerry's, they would start talking and Rose would somehow segue into the topic of babies, then Simon and the truth.

Cheyenne returned shortly with her own plate and she settled in beside Rose as the movie's title menu popped up. Cheyenne hit the play button on the remote and the movie began.

And as Rose predicted, she couldn't concentrate on what was going on, but she laughed when Cheyenne laughed and she kept her eyes glued to the screen.

It was going to be a long night.

* * * *

* * * *

Jason wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he knew a lot of time had passed when he was greeted with a dark sky instead of sunshine. He bolted straight up before he remembered he was in a car. His head smacked into the roof and he cried out in sudden pain.

A chuckle sounded from behind him. As Jason pressed his hand to the top of his throbbing head, he turned behind him.

Amelia was awake and looking well, a half-smile on her face.

“How long have you been awake?” Jason asked once most of the pain subsided. Amelia shrugged.

“I'm not sure. A few hours maybe. When I woke up, you were snoring away. You look so peaceful when you sleep.”

“You shouldn't have let me drift off. What if Quenten came by? What if the cops came by?”

“Quenten's not stupid,” Amelia said. “He wouldn't attack in the middle of the day. As for the cops, well...”

“What?” Jason asked. Amelia suddenly didn't look too sure of herself. “What happened?” he asked, more forcefully.

“The cops were here, about an hour ago.”

“What?” Jason shouted. Amelia winced.

“It's fine, Jason,” she assured him, touching her hand to his shoulder in a calming gesture. “It's fine.”

Jason merely looked at her for an explanation. She slipped her hand from his shoulder back into her lap. “The cops were here about an hour ago. I used a little—I hate to use this term, but for lack of a better word—manipulation on them.”

“You altered their thoughts?”

“Yeah, I did. I let them think there was nothing out of the ordinary. They got back in their car and left. Only, they'll be back eventually. When I alter thoughts, I don't do it permanently.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared out ahead of him. A line of headlights lit up the busy highway. He hadn't realized how suspicious it was for a car to be sitting on the shoulder. In most places, it was illegal to do so. But he hadn't been thinking on that when he pulled over.

“I mean, in a few hours, maybe less the cops will start to remember. They'll think about the strange car and us in it and they may return.”

“So we have to act quickly.” He turned to look back at her.

“Yes,” Amelia agreed. “Quenten may already be on his way.”

“What if he's not?” It had been hours since they had done the spell. What if Quenten never really picked up on it? What would they do then? Jason could only rely on his intuition and instinct so much before becoming completely anxious.

“Then I don't know. We'll think of something. It'll work out.”

Jason scoffed and turned away from his mother. He crossed his arms across his chest as he stared out at the highway again. “This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't acted so stupidly. And if they hadn't taken my gun...” He had forgotten all about his gun until he was in the car and driving, with Amelia unconscious in the back. Quenten and his goons had probably taken it. He had to remind himself that he hadn't taken it from the goons, first off, so it was only fair.

“Perhaps. Things would've played out different, but it would still come down to this point. You have to stop Quenten.”

“I have to fight him.”

Amelia went silent. Jason looked into the rearview mirror to see Amelia's red head bowed, her forehead pressed against the passenger seat.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Amelia lifted her head and nodded.

“Yes, I'm fine. It's just—I always knew it would come down to this, but fighting...” She trailed off, her gaze leaving Jason and looking toward the darkened woods on their left.

Jason followed her stare. It didn't surprise him much that Amelia was against violence. She seemed the type that would more or less cherish life, not want to destroy it. After a while, Jason nodded.

“It's the only way, I'm afraid.”

“I know. Believe me, I want Quenten stopped, at all costs.” Their eyes met again. Amelia looked scared, but also determined. Jason knew that look. He had seen it often enough in his own reflection.

“Then why protest the violence?”

Amelia smiled softly. “I wasn't brought up in a world of violence. Hurting people was something I never wanted to do. I wanted to help people. That's why I joined the PRDI. Violence, I was taught, is never the answer—but I've found in some cases, it helps. With a man like Quenten, a mad man, it most certainly will help. He's not the kind of man who will sit down and talk out his issues. No, he will try to kill you or at least subdue you enough to take what he wants from you. In the end, if you don't fight ... he will kill you.”

She was contradicting herself and she seemed to realize it because she shook her head. “I'm sorry. It's confusing. What I'm trying to say is—though I don't like the idea of violence, it has to be done.”

“It's the only way,” Jason added. “You're right. Quenten will never stop, not until he's—”

“—stopped.” Amelia said. Jason was going to say “dead", but “stopped” fit as well.

They both became silent, turning their thoughts elsewhere. The trees looked dark, almost scary and if Quenten was out there, it seemed the most likely place for him to hide. But why hadn't he come out of hiding and attacked? Why hadn't he made himself known?

Perhaps his intuition and instinct had been wrong. Perhaps Quenten didn't need them anymore. After all, he had injected himself with the blood ... Maybe he finally achieved his “ultimate specimen".

It seemed unlikely, but Jason wasn't about to rule anything else out. He was just tired of waiting. He wanted something to happen, and soon. This waiting around was killing him.

Amelia cleared her throat, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Should we keep waiting?” she asked.

“I think we should. Where else would we go? This is where my gut brought me and this is—”

He never did finish his sentence. A sharp pain tore through his head and he cried out. It blinded him and immediately his hands flew to his head.

A second later, the pain was gone. It left him gasping. He blinked back the tears that had formed from the pain.

“Jason, what's wrong? Are you all right? Jason?” Amelia was gently rocking his shoulder. Jason pushed her away.

“Don't touch me,” he managed to choke the words out. The pain had been the worst yet, but he knew what it was. “It was Quenten.”

“What?”

“He touched my mind. I felt him, like before only stronger. He knows where we are.”

Amelia's green eyes went wide. “He knows, but ... where is he?”

Jason didn't know and he was about to open his mouth to tell her, when he felt a familiar buzz and a voice spoke in his head.

I've been waiting for you all day.

“Quenten,” Jason said instead. “He's in my head.” Amelia blinked at this declaration. She watched Jason, her gaze roaming his face, searching as if she could somehow see Quenten doing this to him.

You're damn right I'm in your head. I've waited too long for this. The woods. Now.

Jason felt the connection sever and he sank back into his seat. He let out a breath.

“What did he say?” Amelia wanted to know, but Jason wasn't listening to her. He moved into action. He opened the door of the car and stepped out. His legs were cramped from being in a sitting position for too long. He stretched first and turned to survey the highway. Cars were still coming, but in the darkness, Jason was sure no one would see him.

He slammed the door behind him and walked the few steps across the crunching gravel to the guardrail. He hefted himself over it and was a few steps into the field when Amelia began to follow.

“Jason, wait.” Her door slammed and she climbed over the guardrail too, headed after him. “What's going?”

“Quenten was in my head. He told me to go to the woods. I'm not wasting another minute.” Jason moved fast and crossed the field with a quick stride. About halfway across, he began to run, leaving Amelia way behind.

As he got closer to the woods, he could smell the forest scents of dried leaves and earth. There was water, too, somewhere. Maybe there was a little stream. He sniffed again, smelling the creatures that resided there. They stayed in their homes, disturbed by Jason's presence. They had probably been long hidden away, once Quenten invaded the territory, but there was no way he could be sure of that.

Jason paused by the oak the van had hit earlier. The bark had been scraped away from the side, leaving the trunk pale and exposed. His gaze traveled over the path the van had taken. Roots and branches were broken and the grass pressed where the van had settled. He could smell just the faintest trace of blood, but it wasn't much to go on.

This was the crash site. Quenten couldn't be far behind.

He slowed down once he penetrated the interior of the trees. The sounds of the highway weren't too far behind. He took his steps slow, watching where he stepped. He made as little noise as possible. If he could, he wanted to sneak up on Quenten. He didn't want it to be the other way around.

He paused beside another tree and looked behind him. Amelia was just reaching the edge of the forest. His eyes cut through the darkness easily, but she wouldn't be so lucky. She started to plunge blindly into the woods after him and Jason sighed. He turned back for her. Noise and discovery was the last thing they needed.

A wave of cold air rushed past him, making him pause. There wasn't a breeze here, especially that cold. The trees kept the air from circulating. Jason was just about to turn, to glance behind him, when he felt it again.

Then he realized it a moment too late. It wasn't cold air. It was power.

It hit him this time, full in the chest. Jason was sent flying back, his backside connecting painfully with the thick trunk of a nearby tree. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, face down in the earth.

Amelia screamed. Jason moved, lifting his head and looking toward her. Amelia was running to him, crunching twigs and underbrush underfoot.

“It's him,” Jason managed to say. “He—”

The words were cut off as another wave of power hit him. He groaned, as the breath was knocked out of him. He stared at Amelia as the power hit her, too. Her mouth went open and her eyes went wide. Then, she flew back and hit the tree nearest her.

“No!” Jason jumped up, shaking away the lingering tingle of the power. He rushed forward, ready to grab Amelia when she fell, but she didn't fall.

She was suspended in the air, hanging so that her feet dangled a good half a foot from the ground. Her back was pressed to the trunk of the tree and her eyes were wide, frightened. Jason could smell the fear-scent coming from her.

She was paralyzed, held there by Quenten's power. A tiny, scared whimper sounded from her and Jason went into a rage.

“Stop it, you cowardly bastard,” Jason shouted into the trees. He spun around, trying to find Quenten in the darkness. His night vision cut through the shadows, but there was nothing there. He sniffed the air, but couldn't detect Quenten's scent. “I'm right here!”

Jason felt the chill of the power wave before it hit him a third time. It wasn't enough warning and he was thrown back again. He was, however, able to brace himself for the impact. When he hit the next tree and fell, he was able to get right back up.

He balled his hands into fists, wildly looking about. Quenten was nowhere to be seen, but he had to near. How else could he be doing this?

As if to answer his question, he heard laughter in his head.

How do you like my little trick?

“I've seen better,” Jason said aloud. He looked around, but there was no way he could determine where Quenten was. If he could get him to talk out loud...

I'm not that stupid, Quenten's silent answer came. He was in Jason's head again. That just made him even more enraged.

“Show yourself, you fucker.”

Jason took a deep breath, trying to will his anger back down. The wolf wanted out, but Jason wasn't ready to shift just yet. He wanted to find Quenten first.

He held his ground, waiting for another mental or telekinetic attack, but nothing happened. Jason didn't let his guard down. He knew the moment he did, Quenten would be on him. It wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

A snapping twig made Jason jump and he spun quickly in the direction it came from. He peered through the darkness. Something emerged from the shadows, but it wasn't human. He sniffed the air and caught the distinct scent of werewolf and the lesser scent of vampire. And he smelled blood.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he stepped back, closer to the tree where Amelia was held suspended. He looked back at her. Amelia's eyes, the only part of her body able to move, stared in the direction of the noise.

A low growl sounded from the creature, now emerging nearer to them. Jason turned his full attention to it.

Jason knew this was Quenten, but he couldn't believe it. The blood had produced strange effects on him. The werewolf blood had caused him to become something that didn't even look human. The best Jason could identify it with was the half shifted were form that came between human and full wolf.

Quenten stepped out on feet that were much too elongated to be human. Hair, longer and thicker than before, covered the top of his head and his arms. His hands were no longer hands, but terrible claws. His face didn't resemble either wolf or human. It was grotesque, the jaw and nose elongated into a partial snout. Jason could understand why he was using his thoughts to communicate and not his voice.

Teeth that were sharp and jagged, much longer than Jason thought could be possible, and they tore through what was left of Quenten's lips. Blood dripped from his half muzzle, down his chin. Every inch of his face and neck was hidden in a bushy beard of black, unruly hair. His eyes were yellow, feral. The clothes he wore were blood-soaked, muddy and torn.

Jason had never seen anything like it and he didn't want to admit it, but it frightened him. The smell of his fear must have been strong because the creature stopped and sniffed. A guttural growl came from it—his—throat.

What is that I smell? Is that ... fear? Another sniff. Mmm ... I like this smell.

“You would, you bastard,” Jason said with a growl of his own.

If only I knew of this sooner, Quenten went on inside Jason's head, oblivious to the barbs Jason quipped at him. I would've injected myself a long time ago.

“You don't know what you're doing,” Jason told him. Quenten took a step forward, but Jason didn't flinch. “You can't possibly control this. There's no way.”

I thought that at first, too. When I got out of the van, I ran into the woods. The sun was blistering—an effect from the vampire's blood, I was sure. It made me weak, unable to move ... but I knew you were close. I felt your magick and hers. His eyes moved hungrily to Amelia, then back to Jason. So I waited. Night fell and I was rejuvenated, stronger. That's when I knew I could handle these new powers. I should've done this sooner, but I had to experiment, you see ... but you left me no choice.

Jason stopped listening ignoring the voice in his head. That's why he hadn't come after them in the day time. He had been weakened by the sun. Jason wondered on this as Quenten stepped forward again. Just what other weaknesses did he have? Surely being in a half shifted form and unable to speak was one, but what else?

Amelia made another whimper behind them and Quenten's feral gaze shifted back to her. His mouth hung open in a slobbering grin. Jason narrowed his eyes.

“Stay away from her,” he commanded. “You've done enough.”

I'm not through with her yet, or with you. I need more blood. He licked his lips. Jason felt another tremble of fear and anger quickly replaced it. Was blood lust another weakness from the vampire genes? The thought was quickly dispelled with Quenten began laughing in his head.

Blood lust? Hardly. I need your blood and hers to make more of my kind. I need your blood and then I'll go back to the lab. He said “my” as if he were his own species, and not a genetic mutation of the supernatural. I need you two alive ... or not. He eyed Jason. I just need your blood.

He lunged before Jason had time to think of a retort. He could only react, holding up his arm to fend off Quenten's attack. Quenten moved in a flash of fur and fang, colliding with Jason. His claws dug into the flesh of Jason's arm and Jason couldn't help but scream as pain sliced through him.

Quenten's weight caused Jason to fall back and his sudden attention to him was enough for the scientist to release his psychic hold on Amelia. She fell, gasping as she hit the ground. Jason only caught a glimpse of her before he kicked Quenten squarely in the gut and rolled out from under him.

His arm was shredded, blood oozing all over him as he clutched it to his chest. He moved toward Amelia, grabbing hold of her with his good arm.

“You have to get out of here,” he hissed to her. “I can't risk him coming after you.” He turned, seeing Quenten climb to his feet. He shoved Amelia away. “Go,” he said sternly.

Amelia stumbled back against the trunk of the tree, but Jason didn't have time to yell at her. Quenten lunged for another attack, and Jason met him this time. Putting his good shoulder into it, he shoved toward Quenten. It was enough pressure to throw Quenten off balance. As he stumbled back, Jason bent, and used a sweeping kick to knock him to the ground.

“Go back to the car!”

“I'm not leaving you,” she shouted back. Jason didn't look back at her. There wasn't time.

“There's nothing you can do,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on Quenten. He moved quickly, stripping off his shirt and slipped out of his shoes. He shucked off his jeans and stood in the nude.

Quenten was up and more pissed off than ever. He narrowed his eyes at Jason and the invisible force that hit him sent him once more flying back. This time, Jason was able to somewhat direct himself. Instead of hitting a tree, he landed, partially bent, skidding through the dried leaves. He dug his heels into the earth until he stopped.

“Okay, I am getting fucking tired of that,” Jason said in a low voice. He wasted no more time. He called on the wolf.

The shift, a normally painful experience for him, was like a blessing. He relished in the familiar burn as his muscles contracted and expanded. His bones changed their shape, popping and elongating as they regrew. He hunched over as his spine curved and a tail sprouted. Hair and fur grew all over his body. A few moments later, he was wolf and he was pissed.

Quenten saw the change and growled as he took a defensive stance. But Jason didn't attack. He held his ground and waited for Quenten to make the first move.

Jason had anticipated correctly. Quenten dropped to all fours and used his newfound strengths to charge at him. Jason waited until Quenten was just inches before him before he attacked. Quenten had bared his throat as he turned to claw and bite at the wolf, but the wolf had been in this situation before. He knew what to do.

As Quenten dug his claws into the wolf's shoulders, Jason turned, his jaws opening and closing on his thick neck. His bite strength was powerful, crushing. He could taste the salty blood, flavored with the distinct tang of were and something spicier. Vampire perhaps? The wolf wasn't sure, but he liked it.

He clamped down harder on Quenten's throat. He didn't pay much attention to the pitiful gurgling coming from the creature, nor did he acknowledge the flailing of his legs or the pressure on his shoulder as Quenten tried to escape.

A little more pressure and the wolf felt the neck snap. He released his strong hold on his throat and lapped at the blood oozing from the crushed jugular.

A delicious shiver went through him. Quenten was dead and his life blood was Jason's.

He pulled himself away from the body, stepped back. He licked his muzzle and turned. The scent of fear was strong all around him. He sniffed the air. It wasn't the dead Quenten. It was...

His stare met Amelia's and he lowered his head in shame. The horrified look on her face and the stink of fear permeated the air around them. Tears leaked out of her eyes.

Jason backed away and willed himself to change. The shift back to human went a little smoother but was no less painful. He remained kneeling, blood covering his entire body. Deep wounds lined his shoulders and his arm was pretty much shredded. They would heal and the scars would fade, but he would never forget the look on Amelia's face.

She broke her stare from her son, and turned to Quenten's dead body. He twitched once. His blood had already begun to sink into the earth. She narrowed her eyes at him and the fear was gone, replaced by anger.

“May you burn in hell, Samuel Quenten.”

Jason stood, stepping away from the body. He was unashamed of his nakedness and didn't bother to cover himself, but he did clutch his throbbing, painful arm close to his body. To his amazement, Quenten's body was levitating a few inches from the ground. Blood dripped from his torn throat.

He turned his attention to Amelia. She was staring at Quenten with such anger that if she had been a werewolf, her eyes would've been golden. Instead, her eyes were narrowed and Jason felt the hiss of power coming from her. She was levitating him.

Without any hesitation, she mentally flung his body through the woods, smacking him into the closest tree. The force was strong, so much that Jason heard the cracking of his spine as Quenten connected with it.

Then the body slumped to the ground and lay there, in its final resting place until someone perhaps found him.

Amelia let out a breath and sank back against the tree she stood near. Jason approached her. He offered her his bloody hand, but thought better of it.

“It's over,” he said softly. “Quenten is dead.”

“I know,” she said. She looked up at him, then away quickly. The fear had returned.

“Don't be afraid,” Jason said quietly. “It's who I am.”

“I've lived my whole life wondering about my son. Now, I know him. I must say ... your power as a werewolf is amazing. I had never seen anything like it. You were so wild, animalistic.”

“It comes with the genes,” Jason said. Speaking of jeans, he thought. He looked around until he found his clothes and began to redress. Amelia looked away, staring at Quenten's body.

“I know. I had just never seen it before. It was so ... violent.”

Jason slipped his shirt on. “You used violence,” he noted. “I thought you didn't like it.” Amelia looked at him, then away, but he could see the tiny grin on her face and he lifted an eyebrow as he slipped on his shoes.

“I don't,” she said. She turned back to Jason. He had finished getting dressed. Amelia approached him and touched his uninjured arm softly. “But he was already dead. I couldn't see the harm.”

The situation was too serious, and laughing seemed wrong, but he couldn't help it. Amelia seemed to second his emotions and she grinned.

“I guess I can see where I got my sense of humor,” Jason remarked. The laughter and smiled died and the mood turned somber. They both looked to Quenten's broken body.

“I'm not afraid, Jason,” Amelia said. “I understand it's who you are. It's your blood. It was just a shock and yes, I was scared then ... but not now.”

“I'm glad,” Jason answered. The fear smell around her had dissipated and so had the look, but he would remember it for a very long time. There was silence once again, before Amelia sighed, tiredly.

“Do you think anyone will find him?” she asked.

“Hopefully not soon,” Jason answered He looked down at his bloody arm. It was slowly starting to heal. “But we should get out of here all the same.”

Amelia nodded. “I'll drive. I think you need to rest.”

Jason had to admit, it sounded like the best idea he had heard in ages. Without the need to worry about Quenten, he could rest.

Finally.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chunky Monkey ice cream had never tasted so good, and before Rose knew it, she was scraping the bottom of the carton. She looked down at it in dismay.

Cheyenne, sitting beside her, started to laugh.

“That look on your face was priceless. You looked so disappointed.”

“I am disappointed.” She looked over at Cheyenne, seeing she still had half a pint of her Phish Food. “But not as disappointed as you will.”

Cheyenne's smile faded into confusion before Rose reached over and snatched the pint of ice cream from her hand.

“Hey!” Cheyenne protested, but she was smiling again. Rose took a generous bite of the ice cream and moaned.

“Mmm, marshmallow.”

Cheyenne shook her head. “You're lucky I like you or else I'd have to fight you for it.”

“You should never fight with a pregnant woman, especially a pregnant werewolf,” Rose said with her mouth full. “You won't win.”

Cheyenne chuckled as she stood up and stretched. It was late. They had watched the first movie and Cheyenne began rummaging through the rentals for their next pick.

“What do you want to watch now? I was thinking Bringing Down the House. Queen Latifah is hilarious in it.”

“Sure, pop it in.” She took a larger bite of ice cream and let it melt in her mouth. She watched as Cheyenne opened the rental case and popped out the DVD. As she put it in the player, Rose wrapped the afghan around herself.

She thought she was doing good being lighthearted. She had stared at the television, but she didn't really watch the movie. Her mind was elsewhere.

The movie was in and the title screen was loading. Cheyenne turned, gathering up the empty ice cream carton and the dirty plates. “I'm taking these to the kitchen. Want something to drink while I'm up?”

“No, I'm fine.” Rose took another bite of the ice cream, once again letting it set in her mouth. She listened to Cheyenne's footsteps as she walked her way through the house. She swallowed after she heard the clank of plates hitting the sink.

This was the time. She realized if she was ever going to bring it up tonight, it was now.

She took a deep breath and pushed the afghan aside. Carefully she made her way out of the living room and crossed the foyer into the dining room. When she entered the kitchen, Cheyenne was putting ice cubes into a glass. A pitcher sat on the counter—iced tea, by the smell and look of it—with condensation beading down the glass.

“Did you want a glass after all?” Cheyenne asked. She poured herself a glass. “You could've just hollered.”

“I could've, but I didn't want to.” Rose opened the freezer and put the rest of the ice cream away. It was quickly collecting in a cold lump in the pit of her stomach and she didn't want it any more.

She shut the freezer door and turned. Cheyenne held out the glass to her, but Rose waved it away.

“No, thanks.”

Cheyenne nodded and took a sip of it. Rose moved out of her way as she put the tea back in the fridge. She sat down at the table and looked down at her hands. “Cheyenne?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Cheyenne paused in front of the fridge, the door still held slightly open. She appeared to be collecting her thoughts. Rose only hoped she hadn't changed her mind about talking to her, listening.

“Really?” she asked, as if she didn't believe her. She closed the fridge door and turned, staring at Rose seriously. “You're ready to talk? Finally? I don't believe it.”

“Believe it.” Rose took a deep breath. Don't chicken out now, she told herself. You can do this. Just get it over with.

Cheyenne took a seat across from her. “What is it, Rose?”

The familiar, panicky feeling started in Rose's chest and stomach. She felt her dinner start to rise but she swallowed it back down.

“I really don't know where to begin,” she started, hating the trembling in her voice. Even her hands trembled. She didn't think she would be this twisted up over it. She folded her hands together and focused her attention on them. For some reason, she couldn't look Cheyenne in the eye now.

“Just take your time. You know I'm here to help, with whatever you need.”

Rose nodded, but didn't look up.

“Okay, I guess I could start to before I became pregnant. Back when Simon—” She choked on his name. “Back when Simon was still alive.”

“Before Jason left,” Cheyenne added. Rose nodded. She looked up at her and met her eyes. Cheyenne watched her expectantly, her eyes unblinking. Rose took a deep breath and looked away again.

“Before Jason left,” she repeated. “Right.” She let out the breath she had been holding.

“I don't know why it's so hard for me to say it. I've talked with Glen about it, but Glen and I always talk about everything. Davis knows, but talking with him is like talking to a brick wall sometimes. And Dr. Nesbitt, she only knows because Glen opened his mouth—” She looked up at Cheyenne. The stern look on her face told her she had been rambling.

“Sorry,” Rose quickly apologized. “I'm nervous.”

“I can tell. Hon, there's nothing to be nervous about. Just tell me what's on your mind.”

“All right. It has to do first off, with Simon and Jason.”

Cheyenne nodded for her to go. Rose looked down at her hands and continued in a quavering voice. “The night the shit really hit the fan, when Claire was killed. Jason told me he found something there. It was what really pushed him over the edge.” Rose thought of the mating with Simon and shuddered. “Well, one of the things that really pushed him.”

“What was it?”

Rose opened her mouth to say the words, but nothing came out. She had never been so worked up to tell someone something in her entire life. This was Cheyenne, a trusted pack member and her friend. She had never had trouble talking about things before. Maybe it was the nature of the topic, or the fact that she didn't want to be judged. Maybe she was afraid of Cheyenne's reaction, thought maybe she would think of her as a lesser person. Rose wasn't sure, but knew she had to get this off her chest.

There was no use hesitating any longer. Rose lifted her gaze to meet Cheyenne's.

“Jason and Simon are brothers.”

At first, Cheyenne's face remained as before—calm and attentive, even a little concerned. Then, with the dawning news, her eyebrow slowly lifted and a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her lips twitched with an oncoming chuckle.

Rose stared at her, completely unmoving. “I'm serious,” she said in a soft, solemn voice. She felt cold, scared.

Whether it was her words, the look in her eyes, or a combination of both, Cheyenne seemed to believe her. The smile dropped from her face and it appeared that all thought of laughter disappeared. Cheyenne's eyes widened.

“Brothers? You mean—”

Rose cut her off. “They're half brothers. They share a dad.”

“How did he find out?” Cheyenne wanted to know.

“There was a letter, in a file that Claire had found. It was one of the files Simon had originally stolen. It was a letter to Simon, from his dad. He had written it before Simon killed him. He had met a woman before, a human and they had Jason, but he had to give him up. He had met Jason only once, and then he was going to introduce his sons and attempt to have one big happy family. But, he was killed before he had the chance and the letter was left unread. Jason told me about it, before Claire's memorial service ... after everything happened.” She said it all quickly then waited for Cheyenne to respond.

Cheyenne shook her head. “Wow, I had no idea. Did Simon know?”

Rose nodded. “Yeah, he found out right before Jason. The letter was already opened. They think Claire may have read it, too...” She sucked in a deep breath. “It was found next to her body.”

“Oh no,” Cheyenne whispered.

“It was something we all couldn't believe.” Rose looked away from her again. “But there it was. All these years, they were related by blood. They were the same.”

“No,” Cheyenne spoke up in a stern voice. “No, Rose, they are not the same. Simon, from what I've been told, was a sadistic and cruel son of a bitch. Jason is not like that. He may be a bit cruel, but aren't most males? No, they're not the same.”

Rose was doubtful. For quite some time she had been thinking on this. There were similarities between Jason and Simon, things that should've been noticed earlier. Like the way Jason eerily looked like Simon when he was angry, and they both possessed the same half smirk.

Rose shuddered and shook her head. “No, there are similarities, believe me.”

“That doesn't matter, because Simon is dead. And sharing blood doesn't make you family. We all know that.”

“I know, but that's not all.”

Cheyenne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “There's more?”

“Yeah, I'm afraid so.” Rose took one more deep breath, held it a while and then exhaled in a sigh. “When Simon kidnapped me that last time—the time before, when I was at the cabin and he surprised us there, I mean—something happened.”

Cheyenne tilted her head, her brow furrowing as she listened and waited for Rose to go on. Rose felt her heart begin to kick wildly in her chest. She closed her eyes.

“If you remember the night we had that last gathering—”

“I remember.”

“I was in heat.” Rose opened her eyes. She waited, hoping she didn't have to say anything further, that Cheyenne would understand, but she merely looked at her with an upraised eyebrow.

“What does that have to do with anything?” No sooner had Cheyenne said the words, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, Rose ... you didn't...”

Rose closed her eyes, but this time to keep a tear of shame from leaking out.

“Oh, Rose,” Cheyenne said again. Rose heard her push away from the table and stand up. She walked the floor. “You slept with Simon?”

“It wasn't my fault,” Rose began, but Cheyenne let out a huffing breath.

“It takes two to tango, but I don't understand. Simon?”

“When you're in heat, the wolf is uncontrollable,” Rose tried to explain. Cheyenne was a changed-blood and as far as Rose or anyone else knew, changed-blood females didn't go through a heat cycle like full-bloods. She wouldn't know how it felt. “You're body is fueled by sexual desire and there's not much you can do.”

“You gave in to Simon?” Cheyenne sounded disgusted and when Rose opened her eyes to look at her, she saw the revulsion evident on her face. Her upper lip was curled in a sneer. “Rose, I can't believe it.”

“It wasn't me,” Rose exclaimed. “It was the wolf. If you understand anything, you can understand that. It wasn't me, Cheyenne.” She was close to tears, feeling them burn her eyes. She blinked them away. “It wasn't me.”

The disgusted look vanished from Cheyenne's face and she crossed the floor in two quick strides. “Oh, hon.” She knelt beside Rose and wrapped her arms around her. Rose broke then, sobbing against her friends shoulder. “I didn't mean to get angry with you. I know how it is, Rose. I know. It was just a shock ... It'll be okay.”

Rose felt Cheyenne's soothing hands on her back. She leaned back, sniffling as she wiped her tears away. There was something about crying that made a person feel better afterwards, no matter what the situation.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I've been holding that in for so long.”

“I believe it.” Cheyenne removed herself from Rose and took a couple of paper towels from the roll on the counter and passed them to her. Rose wiped her eyes with them.

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” Cheyenne resumed her seat. “Sometimes you just need to cry it out.”

“That's the truth.” Rose ran a hand through her hair. “I hate myself for it,” she said. “I didn't want to do it, but it happened and I can't take it back.”

“Is that why Jason left?”

Rose looked at Cheyenne. “He told me he had to leave, to find out the truth about his family ... but I suspect that was part of it.”

Cheyenne nodded. Rose watched as Cheyenne looked down at her glass of tea, watching condensation bead down the glass. Her eyebrows were still close together in thought and she hoped Cheyenne was figuring out the last part, that she might be carrying Simon's child.

Cheyenne lifted her eyes and meet Rose's stare.

“The baby,” she began then stopped. Rose solemnly nodded. She opened her mouth to speak but the words died before she had a chance. Someone began knocking loudly on the front door.

“Who could that be? I didn't hear anyone pull up,” Cheyenne wondered. She looked to Rose, clearly confused. “Hold that thought,” she said as she stood again. She had just made it to the kitchen door when Rose heard the front door open and someone step inside.

“Aurora? What are you doing here?”

“Cheyenne, I didn't know where else to go. That—that woman, Nola—I had to get away, I needed a place to go and I thought—”

“Hold on, Aurora, you're going a mile a minute. Calm down.” Cheyenne stepped out of the doorway to reveal a slightly disheveled, wide eyes Aurora. Her gaze flew to Rose.

“Rose,” she said, ignoring Cheyenne completely. She pushed past her and hurried to Rose. “Nola—that woman—she's after you. She had a gun and—”

“Wait a minute,” Cheyenne said, moving forward. “What's going on? Slow down, girl.”

Aurora stopped, catching her breath. Rose felt cold all over. Though her nose was still stopped up, she could smell through it just a little and the scent of fear saturated the air around her. Something was very wrong.

“What about Nola?” Rose asked.

“She came to the PRDI. She was looking for you and looking for Jason. I was talking with Dr. Nesbitt and she barged in. She had a gun and she wanted me to tell you where you were. I didn't know. I didn't know you were here. She shot Dr. Nesbitt and she was going to shoot me.” By now, Aurora was in tears. Rose exchanged worried looks with Cheyenne.

“So I ran. I took the keys to Davis's car and I drove here. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go.”

“It's okay, hon.” Cheyenne placed a hand on Aurora's shoulder. “Just sit down. Breathe. I'll get you a glass of water.”

Aurora nodded and sat in the chair Cheyenne had occupied only moments ago. “I don't know what she's trying to do. She's crazy!”

Rose didn't know what to say. She was starting to feel nauseous again. Aurora's retelling of the events was testament enough. Nola was behind the accidents, but why?

“I feel sick,” Rose said. “I think I'm going to puke.”

“Oh no, not in my kitchen...” Cheyenne groaned. She set Aurora's glass of water down on the table in a hurry and rushed to Rose's side.

“I'll be fine,” Rose said. “It's just—”

The baby kicked her suddenly, hard and Rose groaned. She felt a surge of adrenaline and her heart began to race. Rose didn't have a moment to think on it when the pain hit her again.

It was just like before, just before the car exploded. She doubled over, almost falling out of her chair. If Cheyenne hadn't been there, she might've hit the floor. The pain blinded her.

“Oh God, it hurts,” she cried out through the pain.

“What is it? Is it the baby? What's wrong?” She heard Cheyenne ask. Rose couldn't speak. Another wave of pain hit her.

Then she saw it, clearly as if she were seeing it happen right before her eyes. Simon was staring at her, with that leer on his face. His dark hair was unruly and he held a gun in his hand. They were in the warehouse, where Jason and Simon had fought years ago. Beside Simon there was a woman, her auburn hair barely touching her shoulders. Her green eyes regarded Rose with hatred and a smirk of disdain crossed her lips.

It was the woman she had faced off with, the one who had been changed. Rose couldn't remember if she ever knew the woman's name, but she knew the woman's anger for her was strong.

Then, as if it were really happening, the woman's face morphed. Her hair became longer, darker and her eyes turned brown. Her nose became smaller, lips fuller and in an instant Rose recognized who she was looking at. It was Nola.

The changed-blood female she had fought with was Nola. They were one and the same. She had been in league with Simon.

“Oh God.” She wanted to tell the others about her, about her associations with Simon but she could only get out his name before the image in her mind shifted. Nola was no longer standing there, empty handed. She was holding a rifle and pointing it at her.

“Simon?” Rose heard Cheyenne say and she was brought out of these horrifying visions. “What about Simon? Is it Simon's baby?”

Rose could see again and both Cheyenne and Aurora were looking at her with expressions of fear and disbelief.

“Simon's baby?” Aurora asked. “The baby is Simon's? How—?”

“What is it, Rose?” Cheyenne asked. “What's happening?”

The pain hit her again. Rose tried to yell, but no sound came out. She saw Nola lifting the weapon. Saw her taking aim. Saw her pull the trigger.

She knew it was going to happen, but Rose couldn't speak to warn them. She tried to grab for Cheyenne, but it was too late.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Four

Glass shattered around them as the bullet hit the window, the gunshot silent. Aurora screamed and fell out of her chair. Blood sprayed into the air, the scent of it thick and strong. Rose felt it splatter across her face and chest.

“Get down,” she cried out, though it seemed useless to do so. They were already on the floor. Rose cradled her arms around her swollen belly. Cheyenne was crouched next to her.

“Who was shot?” Rose asked, panic in her voice. Aurora was huddled near her chair, tears streaming down her face. There was no blood on her, or near her. She was fine. Rose turned to Cheyenne. Blood poured from a wound in her arm.

“Me. Shit!” Cheyenne's hands trembled as she lifted them. They were covered in blood. She was covered in blood. “Why are people always shooting at my house?”

“Are you all right?”

“It hurts, but—” Cheyenne inhaled sharply, “but I'll heal.”

“She's here. Nola is here. She must've followed Aurora.”

“I'm so sorry,” Aurora blubbered. She crawled to them, broken glass crunching under her hands and knees. Her palms were bleeding, but she didn't seem to notice. “I didn't know she would follow me. I'm so sorry!”

“Stop it,” Rose and Cheyenne both said at the same time. Cheyenne looked at Rose as she pressed her hand to her wound. “I think the bullet went clean through.”

“That's good,” Rose said in a voice calmer than what she really felt. “We have to go.”

“This way.” Cheyenne crawled out from under the table. “Through the living room. We can—”

They had just climbed out from under the table when the back door burst open.

“There you are, you insufferable bitch,” she said, pointing her gun down at the floor. Her brown eyes—green eyes—were yellow in anger. Rose looked up at her, freezing where she was.

“You fucking bitch. You slut. You whore!” she screamed. She crossed the floor in two steps and smacked the butt of the gun against Rose's face.

Pain shot through her head and Rose clenched her teeth. The force of it would've broken the jaw on a normal woman, but Rose was resilient. It hurt, but she wouldn't show any lasting damage.

“You whore,” Nola screamed again. “You fucked him. You fucked my mate and got knocked up!”

Rose had never seen anyone so livid when she looked up to meet Nola's stare. She was inches from her face, forced to stare into her golden, blazing eyes.

“You fucked him,” she said in a lower voice, a hint of hysterical laughter in her tone. “He always wanted you and I guess he finally got you, finally got what he wanted. He got you pregnant and you got what you wanted. Then your fucking mate killed him and he got what he wanted. But what about me? What did I get? Nothing!”

She shoved Rose back and lifted the gun. She tore her gaze away long enough to look at Cheyenne and then to Aurora. Her eyes lingered on her for a long while. Rose tried to ignore the dull throb in her face and head.

“You think this is what I wanted?” Rose whispered, finding her voice. Nola looked back to her.

“Of course it's what you wanted. It's what you all want. Power. You want the damn power. That's why you're the alpha bitch.”

“I never wanted any of that,” Rose said through her clenched teeth. Her heart was still racing, adrenaline pumping. The baby was kicking her like crazy. Rose felt a surge of the protective instinct. She had to do something or she was going to die and her baby with her. She couldn't let that happen.

“Oh, don't give me that,” Nola laughed. “I think I know you a little better than that. You think I jumped into this without knowing about you and who you are? I did my research, just like Simon did.”

“Bitch.” It was Cheyenne who said it this time. She was crouched on the floor near the fridge, Aurora beside her. Blood was all over the floor around her. Her hands were crimson with it and she was looking very pale, but her eyes were still bright and she narrowed them angrily at Nola. “You fucking bitch. You're the one who's been behind it all. You're the one who tried to blow up the car.”

“You're damn straight. Now shut your mouth before I make a hole in your damn head. And this time, I won't miss who I'm aiming for.”

For a moment it looked like Cheyenne was going to make a witty comeback, but she didn't. Instead, she looked to Aurora and nodded to her.

Rose shook her head at them, knowing that whatever passed between them would end badly. She couldn't risk her packmates being killed either. Nola was clearly unstable. There was no telling when she might fully snap.

But Aurora didn't look in Rose's direction and didn't see the shake of the head. Nola didn't either, for that matter. She turned back to Rose.

It was the moment the others were waiting for. Aurora bolted upright and began to run for the living room and the front door.

“No,” Rose screamed. Nola lifted her gun and took aim. Cheyenne shouted something Rose couldn't hear, but Nola didn't have a need to shoot. The front door burst open. From where Rose sat on the floor, she could just see the corner of the foyer. A male figure stepped into the room, blocking Aurora's path.

Aurora came to a halt with a gasp. The man grabbed hold of Aurora without hesitation and pressed her close to him. He said something to her that Rose couldn't catch and Aurora began to march forward.

They stopped in the doorway. The man was Hispanic, his dark skin glistening with beads of sweat. His long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. His bare biceps flexed as he moved quickly, grabbing the gun at his hip. He aimed it at Cheyenne as she crouched on the floor. In his left hand, he held a glittering knife, the point of which was pressed against Aurora's pale throat.

Her eyes were wide and fearful as she was pinned there with his strong looking arm and a blade to her neck. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Rose felt cold all over.

“Don't move,” the man said in a voice hinted with a Spanish accent. “Both of you.”

Nola chuckled. “Good job, Miguel. I was wondering when you'd show up to the party.”

“Finish what you came to do, chica.”

“I will, Miguel, but don't rush me. I've been waiting for this and now, I'm going to enjoy this.”

Rose looked up at Miguel and his dark eyes met hers.

“Dios Mio," he breathed. “She's pregnant.”

“I know,” Nola said tersely.

“You can't kill a pregnant woman. The child she carries is innocent.”

“It's his fucking kid! She fucked him. She fucked Simon.”

Miguel's eyebrows went up. Rose found her courage and spoke up again.

“I don't know if it's his baby,” she said. “I don't know if it's Simon's.”

“So you admit you fucked him?”

Rose had nothing to say, but she felt her cheeks flame. That was answer enough.

Nola leaned down, crouching so that she was face to face with her again. “Listen to me, Rose, and listen to me good. I'm going to kill you and I'm going to kill her and her. Then I'm going to leave and wait. When you're little hubby comes back from wherever the fuck he is, I'm going to kill him too. And maybe I'll kill Glen and that annoying little bastard Davis. I know Simon never did like him. But before I do any of that, I'm going to have a little fun.”

Her eyes gleamed as she spoke. Rose didn't like it. She choked on her breath. Nola set her gun aside, and slid it across the floor to Miguel. “I won't need a gun to do it either.”

She placed both of her hands on the side of Rose's face. Her hands were strong, vice-like. Rose trembled at her touch and tried to move back. Nola held her there. For a moment, they were just staring at one another, eye to eye.

Then, she curled her fingers in Rose's hair and pulled her head back until her neck was exposed. She leaned in, close to Rose's ear and breathed heatedly.

“Submit to me.”

At those words, Rose felt a stirring of something deep within. It was the wolf, awakening within her. A new determination filled her and anger began to stir.

“No,” she said the word loudly and clearly enough for everyone to hear. Then, she lowered her head, ignoring the pulling and tearing of her hair against Nola's grip. She stared at her, deadpan. “I will not submit to you.”

“Bitch,” Nola shrieked and she drew her hand across Rose's face. Her fingernails tore into Rose's face, drawing blood.

The wolf would not have it. Ignoring the fact that she was pregnant and in a situation that could end up disastrous for them all, she pulled her legs back against her stomach as far as she could. Then, using all her strength, she kicked.

Her aim was true, hitting Nola square in the chest. There was a look of surprise on her face as she fell back. She growled as she regained her feet.

“Goddamn bitch. If that's how you want it, that's how you'll get it.” Nola tore her shirt off, revealing a black lace bra. As she stripped out of her pants, she began to growl. Fur began to sprout along her arms and chest. Her face began to change.

She was starting the shift. Rose knew it wouldn't be like before, when the newly changed woman was weakened by the shift. She had years to practice and perfect and judging from how fast the change was occurring, there wasn't much time before she'd be a full wolf.

Rose thought fast. In any other situation, she would shift herself and attack, wolf to wolf, as it was meant to be. But pregnant, as she was, if she were to shift, she could risk losing the baby.

Either way, she was going to die. She had little choice.

Rose made up her mind as she watched Nola's limbs elongate. Miguel watched with a look of horror and confusion on his face. It occurred to Rose that Miguel may not have known anything about her being a werewolf.

“Alana?” he demanded. “What's going on?” But Nola—Alana—was too far gone in the shift to speak. Her jaw had taken on a new shape, elongated into a muzzle. The only sound that came from her was a growl. She dropped down to all fours as a red pelt covered her entire, wolfen body.

Miguel faltered, taking a step back, but he kept his weapons trained on Aurora and Cheyenne. Neither of them moved. They watched in horror as Alana finished the shift. What was left of her clothes was shredded on the kitchen floor.

Rose dragged herself to her feet. The weight of her pregnant belly never felt so heavy. She stared down at Alana. She would strike at any moment. Rose knew what she had to do.

She willed the shift to happen, feeling the delicious burn of it as her muscles grew and her bones reshaped themselves. Her stomach expanded then shrank. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her and the baby moving wildly about. If she could just finish Alana quickly, then she could change back. The baby would be fine.

Or so she prayed.

There was nothing else she could do.

She shifted quickly, ignoring the pain in her internal organs, in her womb. Her clothes ripped and joined the mess on the kitchen floor. Then, Alana attacked with claws extended.

She took Rose by surprise, slashing first across her chest with a vicious snarl, and then across her abdomen. Rose jumped back as the second slash hit her, narrowing escaping being gutted open.

On all fours, the wolf known as Rose crouched, her pregnant belly touching the floor. Alana crouched too, anticipating Rose's next move and pondering her own. She decided on brute strength, while Rose decided to defend.

She braced herself as Alana hit her. The force sent her back. Teeth gnashed at her neck as Alana tried to bite, but Rose snarled and lashed back with her own fangs. She nipped part of the wolf's ear, tearing. Blood sprayed into the air. She tasted it hot on her tongue.

She didn't think about the human baby growing in her or what would happen if she lunged, but she did it anyway. As the wolf that was Alana whimpered and howled with pain and indignation for her wound, Rose lunged.

It was a swift move, one that she had used in play many times to tackle her packmates, but this time her claws were extended. She would use them to kill.

Her claws dug into the wolf's side and she howled again in pain. She slashed with her own claws, digging into Rose's belly.

The pain hit her and she yelped, drawing back from Alana. Blood poured out from the wound, staining her silver fur. She fell back against the kitchen counter, licking at the wound. Concern for her baby washed over her and the wolf slipped away.

One moment, she was wolf and the next, she lay there on the floor, covered in blood and naked. She looked up through her veil of hair. Alana stood over her, snarling.

In her human form, she was no match for the wolf. She was at a disadvantage. The pain ripped through her insides again. The baby struggled to move. Something bad was happening.

Alana, growling took a step forward. Rose forced herself to keep her eyes on her. She thought she saw something of a smirk cross the wolf's face, but she couldn't be sure.

Across from her, Aurora sniffled. Rose risked a look at Cheyenne. She was staring at her, face pale her eyes wide. She could do nothing to help her.

The wolf crouched, preparing to lunge a final time. Rose pushed herself against the wall, sliding in her own pool of blood.

She knew, today, she was going to die. There was no doubt about it. Her insides were torn. She could feel it, sense it somehow. And the baby ... the baby had stopped moving. The baby might already be dead.

“Oh God.”

Suddenly, she heard a scraping sound. Alana was about to jump, when Rose felt the metallic butt of the gun hit her bloody hand. She looked down at the rifle next to her, then up at Miguel. His face was stern, his eyes deadly. He nodded once and Rose knew what it meant.

He had kicked the gun to her. This was her only chance. She would have to finish this as a human.

Alana didn't see the gun—she was too focused on Rose lying there, bloody and nearly dead. She jumped, springing from her back legs. Everything moved in slow motion.

Rose grabbed hold of the gun. It was heavier than she thought, but she could still manage it. She hefted it into her lap, unable to lift it to her shoulder. But it was enough. Alana was in mid jump. It was as if she hovered in mid-air.

Alana saw the gun, but it was too late. Rose saw the recognition and understanding in her eyes as she lifted the barrel of the rifle, pressing the barrel of it between Alana's stomach and chest.

She pulled the trigger back and closed her eyes. The spray of blood drenched her and there was a sad little yelp and a thud as the wolf crumpled to the floor. She lay on Rose's leg, crushing her.

Alana was dead. There was a gaping hole in her rib cage, blood pouring out of it. Rose kicked her legs, moving them until she was able to get them out from under the wolf's body. She dropped the heavy gun, staring at her dead body. As she watched, she slipped from her wolf form into human. Her brown hair was red, like her fur had been. Her green eyes were wide open and lifeless.

“Oh God,” Cheyenne said from her corner. She began to creep forward but Miguel, still in the doorway, gestured with his gun.

“Don't move,” he said, in a rough voice. He removed his hold on Aurora, removing the knife blade from her throat. “Go, over there.” He gestured toward Cheyenne.

Aurora wasted no time in making her way. She knelt on the floor beside Cheyenne, wiping at her tears. They all turned to Rose.

Rose couldn't breathe. She felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, in her womb and she knew she was in labor. The baby was coming and the baby was going to be dead.

She looked up at Miguel. He had saved her.

“Thank you,” she choked. She coughed, blood falling on her lips.

Miguel nodded, gravely. His face was emotionless. When he spoke, his words were low. “If I had known the situation, what she was ... what you are ... I would not have let her do this. She paid me to come here, to help her. I would never harm a pregnant lady.” He looked down at Alana's body and a hint of disdain crossed his features. “She is a monster in both forms.”

“Are you going to kill us?” Aurora asked in a trembling voice. Miguel slowly turned his gaze to her and slowly shook his head.

“I am not going to kill you. I'm not going to kill any of you. I'll let her be the only monster here. I don't know what you are,” he said, turning back to Rose, “but I cannot kill an innocent.”

Rose couldn't say anything so she nodded. It hurt to even do that.

Without another word, Miguel lowered his gun. He hurried forward and bent down to the pile of torn clothes. He grabbed something—a wallet—from what was left of Alana's jeans and stood. He stepped toward Rose and then snatched up the bloodied and fallen rifle. Then he turned and left. They heard the front door slam and, a moment later, the sound of an engine came to life and gravel crunched under tires.

He was gone.

* * * *

* * * *

As soon as they heard his departure, Cheyenne and Aurora scrambled over to Rose. Rose wasn't moving much. She was trembling all over and groaning with pain. There wasn't much time.

“Oh no,” Cheyenne whispered. “The baby's coming. Quick, Aurora, get some towels.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, hurrying to the linen cabinet. She pulled out several large towels. Cheyenne took one from her. She moved Rose as gingerly as she could and lay her out. She gave one look to Alana's naked, bloody body.

“Aurora, move her. I don't want her anywhere near Rose, not now.”

Aurora didn't argue. She hurried and grabbed hold of the dead woman's arms and dragged her to the other side of the kitchen. She left a trail of blood behind her, but it didn't matter. The kitchen was trashed anyway.

“Rose is in labor. The baby's coming.” She folded one of the towels and placed it under Rose's head.

“Is the baby all right?” Aurora asked fearfully. She hurried back to Rose's side, kneeling beside her. Rose, in a feeble attempt, reached for Aurora. Aurora took her hand and squeezed.

“I've never delivered a baby before. I've only seen it done on TV. I don't know what to do,” Cheyenne answered. “I don't know. She wasn't supposed to shift. I don't know if the baby—”

“The baby—” Rose said. She squeezed Aurora's hand then she screamed.

Cheyenne pushed Rose's legs apart. Blood covered her thighs. “She's dilated. I see the head! Push Rose, you're almost there...”

Rose screamed again, enough to split their eardrums but none of the women seemed to notice. Rose's grip on Aurora's hand was almost enough to break it, but the young were didn't let go. As the baby came, Rose screamed one final time.

“Jason!”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jason!

The scream tore through his head. He would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Rose and she was in pain. He gasped, reaching forward and gripping the dashboard of the car. He caught a flash, saw Rose covered in blood. He felt her pain.

It was like being stabbed in the gut with a knife.

“Rose.” When he was able to see normally, he turned to Amelia, who was driving. “There's something wrong with her.”

“Rose?” Amelia looked concerned, but she didn't take her eyes off the road for more than a couple seconds.

“My wife. Rose. There's something wrong with her. I had a vision. She was in pain. She was covered in blood.”

She looked back to the road, her eyebrows touching as she thought.

“We need to pull over,” Jason said without hesitation. “The next rest area. Stop there.”

Amelia nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“I need to make a phone call,” Jason said, turning his attention to the window. He stared out, past his reflection. Whatever was happening to Rose was hurting her something terrible. He clenched his hands into fists and pressed his feet against the floorboard. He felt a sudden, pressing need to get to her.

A sign for a rest area came up. One mile. It might have well been one hundred miles.

When they finally pulled into the parking place, Jason was out of the car and walking up a grassy hill toward the building. There was a pay phone just inside. He grabbed the receiver and began fishing through his pockets for change.

“Shit,” he cursed when he found he didn't have any change on him, only bills.

“Here you go,” Amelia said from behind. He turned to find her standing there, holding a handful of change. “I found it in the car.”

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, and picked out enough to make the call. He inserted the money and dialed a number he hadn't dialed in months. He was surprised he remembered it.

Jason listened as it rang, turning his back to Amelia as he waited. It rang three, four times before the voicemail picked up.

“Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Rose Sullivan. I'm unable to take your call, so please leave a message and I'll get back to you. Thanks.” Rose's voice was just as sweet as ever. Jason closed his eyes. The tone beeped.

“Rose, it's me ... I know I haven't called and I've been gone, well ... for too long. I'm ready to come back now, if you'd have me. Listen, I've learned a lot about myself and other things along the way, and I'm sorry I left you.” He sighed. This was not how he imagined apologizing to her. Over the phone, in a voicemail message was cruel even for him.

“This is not what I wanted to call you about, Rose. I had a ... vision of sorts, that you were in trouble and I wanted to know if you were all right. I would give you a number to call, but I'm at a pay phone. I'll call back as soon as I can. Wait for me.”

He hung up, pressing his forehead against the phone.

“She wasn't there?” Amelia asked.

“No, she wasn't.” Jason grunted. “I need more change.”

Amelia held out her palm and Jason picked out enough to make another call.

“Who are you calling this time?”

“The Head of the PRDI,” he answered as he punched in Glen's cell phone number from memory.

“Gavin?” Amelia asked hopefully. Jason shot her a look.

“No. Gavin died in a raid a few years ago. I'm calling Glen Cole. He's the new Head and Rose's cousin. If anyone will know where she is, he would.”

Amelia looked a little taken aback. “Everyone I know is dead, it seems,” she said sadly.

“It happens,” Jason muttered. He hoped Rose wasn't dead. He didn't like the way his visions often turned out. He listened as the phone rang. It rang twice before Glen picked up.

“Hello?”

Jason sucked in a breath. “Glen, it's me.”

“Who is this?” Glen asked, suspiciously.

“It's Jason.”

There was silence for a few minutes. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I know I've been gone for a long time—”

“Too fucking long. Do you know the shit that's gone down since you've been gone?”

“No, I don't—”

“I hope you found out what it was you were looking for, because we need you back here, now.” Glen sounded pissed. Jason didn't blame him. He would've been pissed too.

“What's happened? What's wrong with Rose?”

“How did you—? Oh, I keep forgetting about the psychic thing,” he said bitterly. “There's a lot you don't know, Jason. Rose is ... she's dying.”

Those were the words Jason had feared. He sighed.

“I was afraid of that. What happened?”

“It's a long story,” Glen said. “We got a call half an hour ago from Aurora at Cheyenne's place. We were already on our way, after what happened at the PRDI. Anyway, Nola stormed in—”

“Nola? Who's Nola? What happened at the PRDI?” Thoughts of another raid flashed through his mind.

“It's too complicated to tell over the phone, but here's the short story: Nola is actually someone by the name of Alana. She claims that Simon was her mate and she infiltrated the PRDI, under a disguise and a false name. She befriended us then tried to kill Rose and her baby. We have her on tape, shooting one of our members. We know it was her. That's what took us so long in getting started. We had to get Dr. Nesbitt to a hospital then try to figure out what was going on—”

“Alana? Wasn't she the bitch with Simon? The changed-blood?” He suddenly remembered his earlier visions of a red-haired werewolf, helping an injured Simon. It was her.

“Yes, I suppose that was her.”

“Alana was trying to kill her own baby?” Jason didn't understand. “What was a baby doing there?”

Once again there was silence. When Glen spoke, his voice was low.

“Rose's baby. She's pregnant, or was pregnant. Cheyenne and Aurora delivered the baby, but Rose—”

“What, wait a minute? Rose is pregnant?” Jason felt a shiver and cold washed all over him. He stared at the wall, not seeing it. His wife, the woman he had left behind on his quest to find himself, was pregnant.

“Not anymore—”

“How? When?”

“She found out about the baby right about the time you left. We're hoping it's yours.”

Suddenly, Jason felt sick to his stomach. The baby wasn't his. It was Simon's. Rose had slept with Simon. The baby wasn't his.

It was all too much to handle. Everything swirled around in his head, but none of it was sinking in. He tried to think back. He remembered the day he left, at Claire's memorial. She was dressed in a somber dress suit and she looked upset. There was something she was trying to tell him, but he had left so suddenly. Was that what she was trying to tell him? That she was pregnant?

“This can't be happening. She can't be dying.”

“She is, Jason. The baby's fine, but Rose isn't. She had to shift while she was pregnant and it caused her to go into labor. She's lucky she's alive now. She can't hold on for long. Davis and I are on our way there.”

“So am I.”

“It's about damn time,” Glen said. “We've been waiting for you Jason. Rose is waiting for you.”

He hung up, leaving Jason there, holding the phone.

“Rose,” he whispered. He stared at the receiver for a long time before putting it away. Amelia touched his shoulder gently.

“Jason?”

He shrugged her off and turned to look at her.

“My wife is dying,” he said, simply. “She was pregnant. I didn't even know it.”

Amelia's hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp. Jason shook his head. “And I don't even know if it's mine. And now, she's dying. Someone was trying to kill her and they've almost succeeded.”

“Jason—” Amelia started but he brushed past her.

“We have to go,” he said. “We have to get there before it's too late.”

“But, I don't understand. What do you mean—?”

“I'll explain it on the way. There isn't much time. We have to go.” With that, he walked out of the rest area and down the hill, to the car. Amelia followed and together they left, tearing down the interstate, toward Cheyenne's.

There really wasn't much time. With each passing moment, Jason could feel Rose's life slipping away.

“Amelia, I'm going to tell you everything I know about this situation, but before I do, I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything, Jason. What do you need?”

And as they drove, Jason told her.

* * * *

* * * *

They arrived at Cheyenne's just before dawn. The sky was lightening with the sun's rising splendor. But Jason and Amelia didn't have time to marvel at the beauty of it.

Rose needed them.

Jason pulled the car behind Cheyenne's truck in the drive. There were several other vehicles there and Jason was sure they belonged to the other packmates. He glanced to the house as he killed the engine and climbed out. Lights were on in almost every room of the house and he could see shadows moving across the front room window.

“We have to hurry,” Jason told her. “There isn't much time.”

Amelia nodded and stepped out with him. Together, they walked the short distance to the porch and climbed up the steps. Glen met them at the door.

The first words out of his mouth were “You look like shit.” Jason took that as a good sign that Rose was still alive. Otherwise, that would've been the first thing he said.

“Who's this?” Glen asked, looking to Amelia suspiciously.

“My mother,” Jason said. Glen raised an eyebrow but he offered no explanation.

“I'll tell you about it later. Right now, there's no time. Where's Rose?”

“Jason,” Glen said, his tone changing. “Rose isn't doing so well. We wanted to get a healer, but our resident physician, Dr. Nesbitt, was shot earlier. She's alive, in critical condition and can't use her healing. Without her, I'm afraid Rose will die.”

“What about her were healing? Isn't that helping?”

Glen shook his head. He lowered his head. “I'm afraid not. I know, it doesn't make sense.”

“I won't let it happen,” Jason said. “I can't let Rose die.” He grabbed hold of Amelia's arm and pulled her with him up the steps. “Amelia is a witch and so am I, partly. She has healing abilities and I do too. And Aurora, she has them too. Together, the three of us can heal her.”

“Aurora?” Glen asked. “How does she fit into this?”

“Amelia is her mother's sister. Aurora will know her when she sees her. Just go, get her. We'll meet where Rose is. We need to heal her, now!” Jason hated that the desperation sounded in his voice, but he was about to lose the one good thing in his life. He couldn't let her die without trying at least.

Glen stepped back and let Jason enter. The house smelled of blood and death and something else he couldn't identify. He could smell the other weres. Davis was here, he recognized his scent and Cheyenne's as well. He saw her on the couch in the living room. She was wearing a tank top, a bandage on her arm. It was soaked through with blood. She didn't look so well.

“Cheyenne was shot by Alana,” Glen explained, leading him through the house. “It's only a flesh wound, but Cheyenne is a changed-blood. It takes her longer to heal.”

Jason only nodded. He didn't care. He only wanted to save Rose.

Jason recognized Davis, standing at the end of the hall beside an open door. He could just see the corner of a bed, with someone in it, and the shadow of someone as they crossed the room.

“It's about damn time you came back.” Davis glared at Jason as he approached. He gave Amelia a once over, then looked back to Jason. Jason didn't bother glaring back. There was no time. He pushed past Davis and entered the room.

There she was, on the bed, as pale as death. Her dark hair framed her bruised and scratched face. Her eyes were open and she was looking at Aurora, who stood beside her bed, her back to Jason. Rose's gaze fell on him.

“Jason?” Rose said her voice cracking. “Is it you?”

Aurora turned and Jason saw that in her arms was a small newborn child. His breath caught in his chest. It was true. There was a baby. Rose's baby. Was it his baby?

“It's me,” Jason said as he approached slowly. Amelia stayed behind him, waiting in the doorway.

Jason knelt beside the bed. Rose smiled weakly and moved her hand. He took it and squeezed it. He could almost feel her pain. Someone had hurt her and he hadn't been here to protect her. Tears began to well in his eyes.

“Rose,” he said softly. “I'm sorry I left you. I had to find out who I was and—”

“Jason, it's okay,” Rose said, smiling a little more. “I know you had to do, what you had to do. I'm just glad you're back. You're here.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Have you seen our beautiful daughter?”

Our daughter. She had said “our daughter". Jason felt his heart swell. He looked up at Aurora, seeing the newborn. The baby was so small, with a wrinkled face and tiny hands. Her hair was red, and there was a lot of it on top her tiny head.

“Is she mine?” he asked. Rose's smile faded.

“I don't know,” she answered truthfully. “Simon was your brother. Doing a DNA test wouldn't help to answer. I don't know.” She started to cough.

“Don't talk,” Jason whispered. “You don't have to say anything.” His tears had begun to fall, one of them splashing on her hand. “I love you and I love her. She's beautiful, Rose. She's just like you.”

Rose stopped coughing and smiled again. “I'm tired, Jason. So tired. I'm glad you came back. I was afraid you wouldn't. I wanted to see you one more time, before I died—I know I'm dying. I wanted you to see the baby, to take care of her...”

“Rose, if I had known you were pregnant, I wouldn't have left. I would've stayed, protected you and the baby. I would never have—”

“Don't talk,” Rose said. “You don't have to say anything.” She closed her eyes and Jason began to weep.

* * * *

* * * *

Amelia watched her son cry at his wife's bed and she lowered her head. A tear of her own had begun to make its way down her cheek. She wiped it away and lifted her head.

The baby she held was asleep. She was a tiny little thing. Amelia was surprised she had survived at all. The baby was her granddaughter and she was a grandmother.

She looked away from the newborn and looked back to Jason and Rose. She could sense that Rose was close to death, but that there was still time, just enough, that a healing may save her. But in order to do so, they'd have to start now.

“Aurora,” Amelia said and the girl turned to her. Her eyes went wide, seeing her there for the first time.

“It's you. Amelia. What are you—?”

“There is very little time to explain. All you need to know is that I am Jason's mother and I am your aunt and we are descended from a line of strong witches. We have the power to say a spell and use the earth's natural energies to save Rose.”

Aurora looked doubtful. “But, the last time I did a spell—”

“The last time you did a spell, you did it well. The Book of Shadows—where is it?”

Aurora pointed with her free hand to the backpack lying near the door. Amelia immediately went to it, passing the baby gently to Aurora. She touched the familiar leather binding of her family's book. She felt the residual energies of all the magick performed by it.

There was strong magick here and it was growing ever stronger.

“The book pulsed with power when Nola, I mean, Alana, was near to me. I felt it in the PRDI and I felt it here, when she attacked. What does it mean? Do you know?” she asked. She cradled the baby close to her and looked down at her.

“Usually, when a power is that strong, there is a reason to it. Perhaps a spell in the book was trying to point you in the right direction.”

“A book can do that?”

“This book can, or at least it used to.” Amelia opened the book, flipping through it. She set it on the floor and held her hands over it. She closed her eyes and said, “Ancient book of magick past, show us the spell needs be cast.”

The pages in the book began to turn on their own. Aurora gasped. “It never did that before.”

“It only does it when you ask.” The book stopped on a particular page and Amelia said. “This spell it landed on was a spell to uncover deceit. I believe the book was trying to warn you of Nola's—Alana's—misdeeds.”

“If only I knew how to do it, I could've stopped all this.” She looked over at the bed with a wane looking Rose and a distressed Jason.

“There may or may not have been anything you could've done and the past is the past. With time, maybe you could learn to use this book to the fullest advantage. Right now, we need to find a high strength healing spell and I think I know the one.”

Amelia held her hands over the pages and chanted the short little spell again. The pages flipped until it found the spell.

“Here it is.” She read over it, mouthing the words silently. “Have you done a healing,” she asked Aurora. The girl nodded.

“A few times, but nothing like this.”

Amelia closed the book and stood. “Jason, I think we're ready.”

Jason nodded and stood, leaning over to kiss Rose on the forehead. “We're going to help you. Just rest, close your eyes.”

Rose smiled softly and closed her eyes. Amelia took her place beside Jason. She reached for his hand. Aurora took a place beside Amelia and following suit, took hold of Amelia's hand, while cradling the baby in the other.

“Just repeat after me, everyone and focus whatever power you feel, toward Rose. Ready?”

Jason nodded and Aurora answered with a weak, “yes.”

Amelia began to chant: Wrap thee in cotton and bind thee with love, protection from pain surrounds like a glove. The brightest of blessings surround thee this night for thou art cared for, healing thoughts sent in flight.

The others repeated after her and they began to say in unison. Amelia closed her eyes as the power began to swell around them. She felt Aurora tighten her grip, heard Jason audibly gasped as the power grew beyond anything she had ever felt. It was strong.

As the others chanted, Amelia whispered, “Now use your mind and push the power. See it surround Rose, like cotton, soft and enveloping. Feel it penetrate her body, healing her wounds, taking away her pain.”

The power grew and she began to shake with it. The power had crested and she let it go, aiming it in Rose's direction. She imagined it as a white light, healing her.

When Amelia opened her eyes once again, the light was so bright she was momentarily blinded and Rose was encircled in the healing power that they had raised.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jason sat on the front step of Cheyenne's ranch house, watching the sun as it rose fully into the sky. The worst was over and the shining sun seemed a testament to that. They were out of the dark. It was over.

But Jason's hands still shook. The power they had used to heal Rose had been so strong, it shook through all of them—the newborn included. But the baby was strong and the power served only as a finger of proof.

The baby was Jason's.

The evidence came to him only moments after Rose was back to her fully healed self. When she spoke of the visions she had seen, just before the bullet had hit the window, Jason knew. The little daughter Rose now held in her arms was his little girl. She was a witch, showing her powers way before she was ever born.

“It's the same thing that happened to me, when I was pregnant with you, Jason. I had visions that weren't from me. This child has to be yours. How else do you explain it? What about that spontaneous, sudden healing you spoke of, Rose? That had to be from the baby. And look at that red hair,” Amelia laughed, shaking out her own mane of red curls. The baby only flexed her hands as if to agree and Rose smiled.

“Jason, I know she's yours. She has your eyes.”

Indeed, she had bright blue eyes.

“Big deal,” Davis said. He still didn't believe the child wasn't Simon's. “All babies have blue eyes when they're born.”

“Maybe so, but this one's going to stay blue, just like her father.”

It was at that point Jason stepped out of the room. It had gotten too crowded anyway. Everyone had gathered around to coo over the baby and to see Rose. Jason didn't want to be in the room when he finally broke down.

Outside on the steps, he began to cry. This time his tears weren't from despair, they were from relief. Rose was alive and he had found his true family. He had found his mother and he had found himself. Now, he had a daughter. Things were truly complete. All his searching, all his anger, all his pain was gone. Now, instead of darkness and fear, their future looked bright and unclouded.

Jason wiped his tears away and stood. He caught Amelia's scent as he lifted his head and knew she was there, even before he turned around.

“It looks like you're fitting in quite nicely with the pack,” he said, then turned to look at her. The sunlight caught her hair, making it look like fire. His mother's hair, just like his daughter's hair.

“They all seem pretty accepting.”

“With all that we've been through, we kinda have to be accepting.” Jason offered her a small smile. “Thank you, for keeping your promise.”

“I only helped, Jason. We all helped. You should thank Aurora, and your daughter. They helped too. She has your abilities and she's a full-blood werewolf. That in itself is very powerful.”

“No, she's not a full-blood. I'm not a full-blood.”

“Technically, no, she's not, but she's close enough. She's like Aurora. Her mother, my sister, was a half-blood were, but from what I've learned, her husband was a full-blood. That guarantees the children will have damn near close to the abilities of a full-blood. It's really the only way to describe them.”

Jason nodded as he digested it. There was so much he had to process and his brain was feeling a little overworked. He wanted to lie down beside Rose and sleep for a nice long while.

Amelia touched his shoulder softly. Her hand was warm. She smiled. “You need to be with your wife. You should go to her. Be with your family.”

Jason nodded and started up the steps. He was close to the door when he turned back to her. “Aren't you coming?”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“You're part of my family, aren't you?” At that, she smiled. Jason saw tears glisten in her eyes.

“I suppose I am, yes.”

“Then come on inside. You're more than welcome.”

“Thank you,” she said, in a quiet tone. She followed Jason up the steps and into the house.

Everyone was still gathered in the bedroom with Rose. She sat up; the baby nestled against her breast. Aurora sat with her. They were talking and laughing. It seemed very hard to believe that a few hours ago Rose had almost died and his world had nearly come to a crashing halt.

He thought back on the past few years. The years had been filled with turmoil. First, there had been Marcus Brown and his attack on Rose. Then Simon and his group of hunters had attacked. Simon's constant pursuit of Rose and the annihilation of the werewolf race had nearly torn them apart. Quenten had tried to create his ultimate specimen, in a way, trying to achieve what Simon had wanted all along.

And Alana had tried to kill Rose and Rose now had a baby. Jason knew about his heritage and his family. He had a mother, a couple of cousins now and a daughter. His pack was together and things were looking up for the first time in years.

It was too hard to believe, but it was true.

When Jason walked into the room, Rose looked up at him. Her blue eyes were bright and she had a glow about her. She was happy, at peace. And she looked perfect, holding the baby. Jason couldn't help but smile.

“Jason, where were you? We were just talking about what we were going to do now that you're back.”

“First, I think I'd like to take a nice long sleep,” Jason admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Laughter rippled through the room. Aurora moved over so that Jason could sit next to Rose on the bed. He sat beside her, planting a kiss on her lips. He wrapped an arm around her and looked down at their daughter.

“She is beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Rose said, with a smile. “We need to start thinking of her future.”

“We'll take her home and raise her in the cabin,” Jason said, rubbing her shoulder. Rose sighed.

“I can't go back there, Jason. I've been staying at the PRDI. Since Simon—”

“Don't say his name again,” Jason said. “We don't need to think of him anymore. He's dead.”

Rose agreed with a nod. “He has no hold on us anymore.”

“That's right,” Davis said, though he sounded disheartened. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “Simon is dead as a fucking doornail and there's no way in hell he's coming back. And the same goes for Alana, for that matter. I knew she was bad news. She looked too familiar, but I couldn't place it. I had no idea it was her.”

“If we can't stay at the cabin, then where? No offense, Glen, but you know how I dislike the PRDI. I can't spend the rest of my life there,” Jason said.

“None taken and the PRDI isn't exactly the best place to raise a child. The whole place is falling apart, as usual. Now that Pierce is gone, I'm going to have to start looking for a new second in command and it's going to be hectic for a while.” Glen sighed. “Anyone else have an idea where Rose and Jason can stay?”

They all fell silent as they thought for a few minutes. It was Cheyenne that broke the silence.

“You can stay here.” Everyone turned to look at her. “There's plenty of room here and there are fields we can run in. We can have gatherings once again.”

“We can't impose, Cheyenne. You've been so kind to us, but we don't want to—”

“Rose, if you were imposing, I wouldn't offer,” Cheyenne pointed out. She leaned against the wall, favoring her good shoulder. “I wouldn't mind the company. And, I wouldn't have to sell the house.”

“Wait, you were going to sell the house?” Glen asked. “Why didn't you tell us? We would've helped out.”

Cheyenne waved a hand. “It's not a big deal, at least it isn't now. Would you want to stay here? I mean, first we have to get rid of the bloodstains in the kitchen and replace the window.”

“And the dead body,” Aurora said. “Don't forget the body.”

“Davis and I have already taken care of it,” Glen said. “So what's the word? You gonna move in or not?”

Rose looked to Jason and he thought about it a moment. He looked down at his little girl with her red hair and blue eyes and he smiled. He had a feeling she was going to be a handful growing up and they were going to need all the help they could.

Jason chuckled at the thought and looked at Rose again.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“I think our little girl is going to need a village to raise her, or at least a pack.” He looked to Cheyenne. “We'll stay. I have a feeling this little girl is going to be trouble. At least we can have a positive role model to straighten her out.”

Cheyenne laughed. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. With you for a dad, she's going to be quite the little menace.”

“And if she's anything like Rose...” Glen trailed off there with a good, hearty laugh. Rose shot him a mock dirty look, but started to laugh too.

“I was a good kid, you have to admit that.”

“You were terrible. Still are.” Glen crossed the room and wrapped an arm around his cousin in a half-hug. “But I still love you.”

“Okay, you big goof, now let me go. You're crushing your little cousin.”

Glen backed away and looked down at her. “She does kinda look like you, Rose.”

“But she has Jason's eyes.”

“Your eyes are blue, too.”

“But not that shade of blue. That's definitely from Jason.”

“What are you going to name her?” Aurora asked. She stood up from the bed and stood next to Cheyenne.

“That's a good question,” Jason said. He looked to Rose. She shrugged.

“I honestly haven't thought on it. I was too preoccupied with other things.” She looked to Jason and then away. With all that had happened to them, it seemed that danger and loss had once again brought them together. It seemed things were going to remain unspoken and Jason was fine with that. At least Rose was alive and he was back. That's all that mattered.

“Jason? Do you have any idea for names?” Rose asked, looking at him again.

Jason blinked as he thought about it. “Way to put me on the spot. Let me think a minute.”

As he thought, his attention turned to Amelia. She was watching him, a soft smile on her face. Jason returned the smile. She was holding the Book of Shadows, her family's book—his family's book.

The idea suddenly came to him.

“What's your middle name?” Jason asked her. Amelia's smile faded and she looked a little surprised.

“My middle name? Camille.”

“Wasn't that your mother's middle name?” Aurora asked.

“Yes,” Amelia answered, “it's an old family name.”

Jason nodded and turned to Rose. “And your mother's middle name?”

Without hesitating, Rose answered, “Faye.”

Jason smiled and looked down at his little girl. “Camille Faye. How does that sound?”

The baby just curled her fist and feebly punched the air. Rose laughed.

“Looks like she likes it.” She leaned in and kissed Jason on the cheek. “That was very considerate of you.”

Jason smiled, looking at Amelia as he spoke. “I named her after two of the most important women in our lives.”

He looked back to Rose. There was a tear in her eye. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I know you wish your mother could be here.”

Rose nodded. “I never really got a chance to know my mother.”

“Me either,” Jason said. Once again he looked at Amelia. A tear fell from the corner of her eye, but she was smiling. “But there's always a time for second chances.”

“I know I didn't get a lot of time to spend with my mother, but I'm not going to let that happen to her. We are going to do it right. There will be no hunters, no accidents that aren't ‘accidents'—” Rose started.

“We hope,” Davis said under his breath. Glen elbowed him in the ribs, Jason shot him a dirty look, and he fell silent.

“This little girl is going to live in a different world that we did. I don't want her to be an orphan, like so many of us have been. We are going to do it right. We have a chance to make it right.” Rose looked to Jason. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean baby, but you're rambling. I think you need to sleep and I think I need to as well.”

“Yeah, maybe later I can explain myself and make more sense.”

“You make perfect sense, dear,” Amelia said. She smiled. “Congratulations on the new addition to your family. She's beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Rose beamed. She looked to Jason. “Before we go to sleep, would you like to hold her?”

Jason balked and shook his head. “I don't think so. What if I break her?”

“You won't break her,” Rose laughed. “Here, hold your arms out.” Gently, she slipped the baby into his outstretched arms. “Now, hold her close to you and cradle her head. Yeah, like that.”

The tiny newborn in his hands was so tiny. Jason was almost afraid to breath. “She's so little.”

Rose leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “She is, but she'll grow up to be strong, just like her father.”

“And with a little help from the pack,” Glen started, gesturing to those in the room, “she'll be well protected and loved.”

“We won't let anything happen to her, or to anyone of us any more,” Cheyenne pitched in.

“At least, we'll try our damndest,” Davis added.

“We'll take good care of Camille Faye,” Aurora said. Amelia nodded beside her.

Rose and Jason looked around the room at those gathered there. With the exception of Slater and Rebel, both of whom were on their way there, the pack was all here. They were a whole family, united finally without the threat of Simon, or Quenten, or Hunters, or Alana. For the first time ever, they were at peace. It was how it should be.

Jason remembered what Amelia had said about the dark moon being a time of new beginnings. It couldn't have been a more appropriate time for them to all come together. The time of darkness had passed and the dark moon—the new moon—was about to rise.

And Jason knew they were more than ready to welcome it.

The End

[Back to Table of Contents]

AUTHOR BIO

From a very young age, Rose Marie Wolf was interested in things that weren't quite normal, so it was no surprise when she grabbed her crayon and started scribbling out short stories about vampires, werewolves, ghosts, fairies, elves and all manner of paranormal creatures.

Her combined love of writing and the supernatural grew and, in 2002, she began writing on her first serious work, a short story about werewolves she called “Sweet Moon Dreams". A few years later, with the help of her fiancé, she developed the story into a novel-sized manuscript.

Rose Marie lives in Indiana, with a menagerie of pets, not including her fiancé and his mother. She is currently working on her next supernatural adventure and she encourages readers and fans to join her discussion group on Yahoo! to chat about books, writing, publishing and her upcoming releases.

www.rosemariewolf.com

Yahoo Group: groups.yahoo.com/group/rosemariewolf

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Red Rose™ Publishing

Dark Moon Magick, Book Four of the Moon Series

Changed—Coming Soon, so stay tuned!

Samhain Publishing, LTD

Sweet Moon Dreams, Book One of the Moon Series

Blood Moon, Book Two of the Moon Series

Hunter's Moon, Book Three of the Moon Series

Visit www.redrosepublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.