Hearing the unhappiness in her friend’s voice, Roxy had thought once more about her own long-ago trip. The beautiful countryside. The gracious people. The food. The vibrant energy.
So she’d offered to teach the class in Lily’s place.
Getting involved did have its price, she thought now, and she sure as hell was paying for it. A dog barked inside the red truck as a man climbed out. Must be a canine search and rescue team. Good. She related better to people who liked animals.
She rubbed the onyx pendant around her neck, a habit she had when she needed a little luck. God, it was arctic-cold up here, especially without that thin sweatshirt. When had she last seen her breath fog in front of her face like this? If she had known she’d be outside, she’d have worn something warmer…like a heavy parka, ten pairs of wool socks, sheepskin boots, fuzzy mittens—
“What seems to be the trouble?” the man called, adjusting his ball cap as he approached. Mr. Search and Rescue wore jeans, cowboy boots and one of those quilted flannel shirts that acted like a coat. Clearly, a local who was used to the weather.
“Just picking up a guy who…ran out of gas.” She rubbed her bare arms, trying to get warm.
“Out of gas? From what we could see when we drove past, we thought a bear had mauled him. You know, they have a serious black bear problem up here.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Not really, but she didn’t want him to go into a lengthy explanation about animal/human interactions. She just wanted to be on her way with as little conversation as possible.
“So, he’s okay?”
“Yeah, he’s—” Something pricked the veil of her awareness and she jerked her head to the left. Something way off in the distance through the trees. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as her tracker senses stretched into the night like an arrow shot from a bow. Although the scents here were much different from those back home, there was no mistaking this stench.
Darkbloods. Two of them. Somewhere deep in the forest.
From the strength of the smell, she estimated they were a mile or two away. If they were shadow-moving, she wouldn’t have much time.
“He’s fine,” she said hastily.
The man scowled, his eyes narrowing to slits. “What’s wrong? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, but we’ve got to get out of here.”
One eyebrow shot up. “I’m getting the feeling there’s more to this story than just a guy running out of gas.”
She didn’t have the luxury of time to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why they needed to hightail it out of here. Things wouldn’t be pretty if they stayed.
She started to reach for him, intending to give him a mental push to get back into his rig and drive away—if she could even manage it right now—when someone called out from the truck.
“What’s going on? Do you need me to call an aid car?”
Damn. The other guy with him.
She’d have to come up with another plan. If Darkbloods showed up while they were all still here, she’d have to take care of them herself and wipe the minds of the witnesses before they could alert the human authorities. At one point in her life, she’d have easily been able to take down a couple of Darkblood losers, but she was out of practice. She was a teacher now. She hadn’t been a field agent in years.
And if the DBs were high on Sweet… Shit.
So she did the only other thing she could think of.
Grabbing her cell phone, she called the one person who’d be able to help out right now, who happened to be the last one she wanted to ask.
THE GUY STARING up at Tristan Santiago was pleading for his life, but that wasn’t the reason he decided not to kill him.
Instead, Santiago yanked him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. The Darkblood clutched at his hands, trying to break the hold, but it was no use. Santiago outweighed him by at least forty pounds and was a helluva lot stronger.
“How did you know where to find us?” Santiago hissed through his bared fangs.
“What?”
“My men. How did you know we were waiting for you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Had it been two weeks, two days, even two hours ago, he’d be handling things differently right now. He’d have unsheathed Misery, plunged the silver blade into the guy’s heart muscle, and watched him turn to ash. But as it turned out, he needed a few answers first.
“Oh, really.” It was a statement, not a question. The guy was bullshitting him and they both knew it.
There was no way DBs should’ve known Guardians would be coming. Their intel about the location of this den came through only yesterday. Now, one of his men had been injured on a job that should have been routine.
Misery hung heavily beneath his coat. He pulled out the blade, placing the point just inches away from the guy’s eye. Most Darkbloods wore sunglasses to hide the fact that the whites of their eyes were black, but this one didn’t. Either that or he’d lost his during the chase.
“Don’t kill me. I swear to God, I don’t know.”
“I’m not planning to kill you.” The guy relaxed ever so slightly and Santiago smiled, flashing his own set of fangs again. “But don’t think I’m being nice. I don’t do nice.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket but he ignored it. Instead, he let Misery’s razor-sharp point prick the skin and a small bead of blood teardropped down the guy’s cheek.
“Please, no,” the bastard pleaded.
The blade wanted to go deeper and Santiago considered letting it. No one fucked with his people. No one.
The lone overhead light snapped and fizzled as its filament started to fail, creating grotesque shadows on the curved cement walls. Soon they’d be enveloped in total darkness, which would make shadow-moving much easier. Footsteps pounded in the tunnel behind him as one of his men approached.
“What’s wrong?” Kip Castile glanced at the two of them, confused. Guardians didn’t show mercy when it came to their enemies. Justice was swift and unforgiving. “Why didn’t you charcoal him? Wait. You’re saving him for me, aren’t you?” With a cold smile, the young Guardian-in-training withdrew his stiletto and advanced on the prisoner.
What a sadistic son of a bitch. I knew I liked the kid.
The Darkblood cringed, tried to take a step sideways, but Santiago held him tight. “No,” he told Kip. “He is not to be injured.”
At least, not right now and not any more than he had been already. Let the guy be relieved for a while, get him to drop his guard, then they’d threaten him again, but with more force. This untrained Darkblood lackey would soon be singing like a canary.
Kip dropped his hand and tapped the flat part of the knife impatiently against his black cargo pants. The kid was like a runner in the starting blocks, itching to move, to do something. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait for long.
A quick pat down revealed the Darkblood’s black trench coat was filled with a shitload of syringes and vials. Santiago yanked it off and tossed it aside. “Planning on a little door-to-door selling, huh? ‘Ding dong, Darkblood calling.’”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The guy sneered, making Santiago reconsider his decision to keep him alive. He should be pleading for his life, not acting cocky.
Maybe he should let Kip waste him. Or better yet, he’d do it himself and show the kid how it was done. Misery suddenly felt a little lighter in his hand, as if