Gustav’s knuckles connected with my cheekbone, and I fell on my ass. Funny how taking a punch to the face hurt worse than a landmine exploding against my back.

  27 LOGAN JUNIOR

  “Fuck, Gustav!” Micha shoved her brother. “What is wrong with you?”

  Gustav had punched my left cheek. The skin felt warm and tight. Possibly fractured. Definitely swollen. I lay on my back after falling on my ass, knees bent as I blinked at the darkening sky.

  Storm clouds.

  “You know what,” Micha continued, “don’t answer that. I’m sick of your attitude.” She came to my side and offered her hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Better before.” I accepted her help, wincing as I stood.

  “Micha ….” Gustav sounded apologetic, but not by much.

  “No.” Micha pointed at him. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d leave your ass here.” She faced Dieter. “Go with him to the ship. Make sure the route is still clear, or fuck, just keep him out of my sight.”

  Dieter removed his clothes and shoved them into one of the bags.

  “Micha,” Gustav tried again, his tone stern.

  “Give me your fucking shirt.” She held out her hand.

  Gustav pressed both lips together, forming a tight line between his mustache and beard as he unbuttoned his top.

  “Not that one, it has blood on it,” Micha snapped.

  Gustav paused, narrowed his sharp gaze, and then dug through his pack. He tossed a clean, black cotton t-shirt at his sister.

  “Be careful,” she said to Dieter. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  Dieter nodded. Feathers sprouted from his skin, and he took flight.

  Micha glared at Gustav. The vampyre stripped, shoved his clothes and boots into his pack, then joined Dieter in flight.

  “Maybe we should stick together,” I suggested.

  “We’ll catch up.” She handed me the shirt.

  “It makes more sense to have me go first.” I pulled the cotton over my head, grateful that it smelled like detergent and not like Gustav. “My senses are keener. I can smell Nyx.”

  “Then I’ll make this quick.” Micha crouched and unzipped her boots. “Follow the river Weser through the city until you get to the Waterfront shopping mall. Just west of the mall are the industrial docks. Look for a cargo ship called Juno, owned by the Keflavik-Reykjavik Shipping Co. We’ll sneak into the cargo hold and hunker down until we’re in open waters.” She stood and unbuttoned her shorts. I turned away.

  “Reykjavik,” said Al. “That’s in Iceland.”

  “There’s an overpass a few miles before the city center, where the river widens,” Micha warned. “It’s a checkpoint. Sometimes we use it, sometimes we don’t. Right now, there isn’t time. There’s an air rig above the bridge, so we go under. We have a man on the inside who keeps the path clear. He knows we’re coming but be careful. I’m counting on you, Logan.”

  I turned to face her, but found a black bird perched on the handlebar of the motorcycle with the purple skull on the engine. She cawed and then took flight. Leon joined her, and the two circled.

  Swallowing my nerves, I touched a fingertip to the smooth leather seat and watched the bike dissolve to nothingness, right down to the spark plugs. I did the same with Leon’s, Dieter’s, and Gustav’s bikes, turning the motorcycles and their packs into nothing more than a thin cloud of loose molecules.

  My gaze went skyward. The black birds circled higher, rising above the pitch of the barn roof. In a moment, they’d have no way of knowing whether I followed.

  I’m counting on you, Logan.

  I dispersed.

  The river was easy to find. Fog lifted from the banks, damping the pre-dawn air and mingling with the thick storm clouds. The cool mist passed through me as I followed the current north.

  The nearer I came to the city, the larger the buildings grew. Earth became asphalt. Single family homes became condos and apartments. Convenience stores became entire strip malls. All dark. All still locked for the night.

  Some of the businesses were boarded over as though the owners were preparing for evacuation—or violence. Anti-vampyre graffiti warned of Nyx-filled graves and other threats. In the distance, the first real signs of artificial light came from a length of highway that bridged the river. Four vehicles idled at intermittent points along the bridge, their headlights on. Ten humans, eight male and two female, patrolled the spaces in between, all of them armed.

  The checkpoint.

  I kept low, remembering Micha’s warning about the air rig. This type of Nyx explosive used clear trip wires suspended in midair, typically with the help of telephone cables or whatever else was available. In this case, the support cables above the bridge.

  The wires were no more than gossamer threads, nearly invisible to the naked eye, except when light shone on them. Air rigs were meant to catch vampyres in flight, but they weren’t a popular choice when even the weather could set them off.

  “If it does detonate,” Al warned, “this fog will quickly weigh down the chemicals. You’ll be surrounded in a death cloud.”

  Al was right.

  I checked my immediate surroundings for Micha and Leon. They were behind, but since I had paused, they caught up and continued past me. To my surprise, they didn’t fly in a straight line. Instead, they flitted from bush to bush, pausing for a few seconds at each. To anyone watching, they behaved like normal animals, foraging and preening with no obvious direction in mind. I followed them at a slower pace, keeping my senses alert for anything that smelled like almonds.

  Micha and Leon paused on the branch of a large shrub that grew just before the stone arches holding up the bridge. Their feathered heads turned this way and that, as though examining the dark water that flowed beneath the overpass. Metal beams constructed the under part of the road, making the perfect set up for an epic fuck-ton of air rigs.

  It’s too risky. We should go around it.

  Only, I didn’t know how to signal Micha without becoming visible. If I solidified, the humans patrolling the bridge would notice.

  What do you think, Al?

  “Now you want my advice?” Al mocked. “Head east. Go to Denmark.”

  That’s Rebel territory.

  “Find Victor.”

  Hell no.

  Al grunted. “If only the fates saw fit to give me a son that didn’t think with his cock.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. Nor did I care.

  It turned out I didn’t need to signal to Micha. A human man made his way down the grassy slope to the water’s edge. He kept one hand on the cement siding for balance as he muttered under his breath.

  “This is the tenth time I’ve excused myself to take a leak. I don’t even know if you’re out here. But just in case … the path is clear.” He lifted his gaze to the moonless sky. “I really hope you’re already on that ship. I’m not even going to pretend to pee again.”

  Micha and Leon darted from the brush, flying directly under the overpass. I held my proverbial breath.

  The man watched the birds disappear into the distance, then sighed. “Your whole family owes me one, Otto. Rest in peace, my friend.”

  I relaxed, then followed.

  The river led us straight through to the heart of the city. Fishing boats, speed boats, ferries, and yachts bobbed in the black water, moored and covered for the night. The buildings along the waterfront grew taller and more lavish with each passing mile. Dock lights and streetlamps illuminated the cobblestone grounds of a wide-open market and long scenic walkways. Young flowering trees and neatly cut grass sweetened the air. Restaurants with rooftop seating overlooked small boutiques and upscale coffee shops. It felt like another world. One untouched by war.

  But that wasn’t exactly true.

  Focusing my vision on the many display windows, the warnings taped to the glass came into view. No vampyres allowed. Mandatory curfew. Outrageous fines and possible jail time for rule-breakers detailed the fine print. Hotlines were listed where one could report suspicious activity, as well as an ad for the buying and selling of Nyx products, courtesy of Costello Corp.

  Then, at the very bottom of each display, a tiny ad encouraged vampyres to visit their nearest registry.

  I was used to not belonging, but I wondered what Micha and her brothers thought of all the speciesism. I didn’t know Micha’s age, but from what little she’d shared about her parents working for the R.E.D., she must be old enough to remember how things were before the first Rebel attack. Back then, vampyres and vampires lived among humans, enjoying all the same conveniences while the mortals were none the wiser.

  Impossible to imagine such a life now.

  Keeping an eye on Micha and Leon, I followed them to a fork in the river. They flew north, where the water seemed to spill into several man-made canals. Large industrial docking stations stretched across the surface, housing several cranes, a huge number of freight containers, and a maze of cargo ships.

  Micha and Leon perched on a light post, and I realized we’d reached our destination—though I had no idea which of the giant ships before us was our target, Juno.

  A third black bird swooped toward us from the mast of a nearby ship. It landed on the light post and cawed at Micha and Leon. I couldn’t tell if this third bird was Dieter or Gustav—they looked the same while in avian form—but Micha and Leon must have recognized the company because the three of them took flight together.

  I followed them to a vessel moored at the end of the third dock. Crewmen in thick coveralls crowded the ship deck. They checked the locks on the cargo hatches and shouted the all-clear to the dock workers below. I noticed the name painted on the side of the hull. Juno, eign Keflavik-Reykjavik Shipping Co.

  The birds flew past an open window into the ship. I followed them into a small cabin with narrow bunk beds, but they didn’t stop there. Instead, they continued past an open door, into a cramped hallway that looked more like an underground tube, and then past another door into another cabin. This cabin didn’t have a window, but it did have our fourth black bird perched atop one of the bunks.

  The bird that had led us into the ship shifted, and Gustav stood erect. I solidified and faced the wall while Micha and Leon shifted. Dieter stayed in his feathered form, perched on the metal rail of the top bunk.

  “Why aren’t we below deck?” Micha whispered.

  “We have a problem.” Gustav kept his voice down. A human would have to press his or her ear to the door to suspect anything untoward. “I got a look at the manifest. Juno is carrying Prussian Blue. Every single hold is filled to the brim with it.”

  Micha gasped. Her reaction mirrored my own as my breath caught in my throat. Prussian Blue was the key ingredient in Nyx; the exact chemical that made it so deadly to vampyres.

  In other words, we stood inside a veritable death trap.

  28 JORDAN

  The five of us rode in silence past long stretches of asphalt that wrapped around cliffs and wound through forests, hugging the mountainside as we rose steadily higher. I knew the hour was late, but our cell phone batteries had died, so I’d lost track of time. The woods were pitch black, the density of the trees too thick for moon or starlight, or—I suspected—the first rays of dawn. A pit sat in my stomach.

  From hunger, I told myself.

  While that might have been true, it was also a lie. My hands fidgeted in my lap, and I released a nervous sigh.

  Torrance threaded her fingers with mine and gave my hand a gentle squeeze, her slender palm cool to the touch despite the warm summer air. I glanced at her in surprise, and she offered me a reassuring smile. My lips tweaked in thanks.

  We emerged from the forest to a flat expanse of gravel, where the road came to an end. Ahead of us stood a beautiful fourteenth-century abbey made of stone with stained glass windows and conical roofs. A low fence surrounded the holy edifice. Patches of wild grass, clover, and edelweiss lent a charming image to the small stretch of land. Beyond that, more dense forest continued in all directions, as if the monastery had been dropped upon this little spot of clearing.

  As we closed the distance, I noticed three vampyres waiting in front of the main entrance. Two golden-eyed males in uniform stood on either side while a teenage girl paced between them. Our driver parked parallel with the gate, and the girl paused to look at us. I recognized her from photographs around the manor back home, from Christmases and summer holidays of a bygone past.

  “Aunt Sara.” I opened the car door and stepped out.

  Aunt Sara’s lips pinched as her gaze went to my shoes and then slowly lifted, tracing and measuring every inch of my frame. The golden sheen of her irises flashed like a blade in the night. She looked younger than I remembered, but that didn’t stop her from running toward me and catching me in her arms, like I was the same little girl I’d been when we last saw each other.

  “You’re grown.” Her accent was soft, like everything else about her.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said, wrapping her tiny frame in my arms.

  “And I you.” She held me for a long moment, then took a step back and gave me another once-over. Her brow dipped at the scratches on my arms, but she didn’t ask about them. Instead, she looked at my travel companions—Torrance, Finch, the translator named Sunniva, and our driver whose name I didn’t know. He and Sunniva bowed.

  “Thank you for bringing my niece to me. You are dismissed.”

  “Prinzessin.” Sunniva nodded once, then returned to the Jeep. The driver followed.

  Aunt Sara rubbed my upper arms. “Let’s get you inside.”

  One of the Alpan soldiers who’d been standing with Aunt Sara when we arrived held the door open. We entered a small foyer of white limestone walls and pale gray marble flooring. Statues of saints graced the decorative gothic-era hollows on either side.

  The foyer opened to a large hall with tall stained-glass windows and a vaulted ceiling. Wooden pews led to an altar covered in votive candles. The flickering wicks were the only source of illumination, casting a solemn mood over the chapel.

  While crucifixes and cherubs adorned the walls, no one sat in the pews, and no one preached from the pulpit. It wasn’t from a lack of people. Plenty of soldiers marched from room to room, busying themselves. A few stood guard near corridor entrances, while others clustered together in quiet conversation.

  Dad and I weren’t the religious type, but I had never considered whether other vampyres might be. Despite what Hollywood would have us believe, crosses weren’t deterrents unless they were dipped in Nyx.

  We followed Aunt Sara into a long hallway. The ceiling here was much lower, the brown walls far less decorated. Several unmarked doors lined the hall. Aunt Sara passed three before she stopped and faced us. With a polite smile, she gestured for us to enter.

  I opened the door to find a modestly sized infirmary lined with six metal beds all dressed in bleach white linens. Folded wheelchairs rested against the far wall. Latex gloves, blood pressure cuffs, cotton balls, and other instruments rested on silver trays beside each bed, all of which looked spotless and smelled of chemical cleaners.

  A female vampyre stood near the bed closest to us. She kept her hair in a tight coil and wore a white lab coat over her military uniform.

  “This is Doctor Gordon.” Aunt Sara faced Sergeant Finch. “She’ll fix that bullet wound for you.”

  Gordan smiled brightly, but kept her lips closed.

  Finch lifted his chin, his gaze the color of milk chocolate in the dim space. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Don’t be such a baby.” I gave his uninjured shoulder a gentle push in the doctor’s direction.

  Finch scowled at me.

  “Sit.” Gordon gestured to the bed. “And remove your shirt, please.”

  Finch’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Sweat beaded his brow as he single-handedly unfastened the top three buttons and then pulled the garment up over his head, grimacing from the pain.

  I’d never seen him completely topless before and I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering. The sleeve of tattoos on his left arm did indeed connect to the ink on his neck from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips.

  I wonder if it continues down his back.

  A patchwork of angry red gashes welted the otherwise smooth, supple skin of his chest where the lynx had scratched him. They looked painful, but not too deep, scabs forming over the broken skin. His washboard abs narrowed into a lean tapered waist, forming that beautiful V-shape below the belt. Muscle coiled his broad shoulders and continued throughout his biceps and forearms. Like he wouldn’t have any trouble at all bearing my weight.

  Is it warm in here?

  Doctor Gordon frowned at the duct tape while carefully peeling it away from Finch’s skin, beginning her examination.

  “So, this is where you live?” Finch cast his gaze around the infirmary, probably fishing for a distraction.

  “Not quite,” said Aunt Sara, “but we don’t have an infirmary in the fortress. I’ll bring you there once your wounds are tended to. You can shower and get settled in before we—”

  The door flung open and a very large man with raven hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck marched into the room. His stern gaze swept the space, taking in the three of us before his corn-yellow eyes settled on me like an eagle descending upon a mouse. Using my thumb nails, I scraped the cuticles on my fingers and tweaked my lips into a small smile. “Hi, Uncle Brinnon.”

  The Alpan King released a deep breath and shook his head before enveloping me in his arms. “Foolish girl, what are you doing here?”

  “It’s good to see you again too,” I said.

  “You could have been killed.” Uncle Brinnon gripped my shoulders and put a step between us while searching my face and arms. He scowled at the lacerations, running his fingertips over the cuts. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” Thank goodness he can’t see the scratches on my back.

  “Jordan ….” He said my name slowly, scolding me.

 

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