Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 16

My mouth tasted like tobacco and horse shit. I was lying on my back on the floor of a moving vehicle.

The events that led me here played in my mind at the speed of light: from the moment I found the vampire in my room at the bed and breakfast to the last moments with my mother—Elizabeth. My life was officially a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I really, desperately wanted a boring life.

The roar of the vehicle’s engine was so loud that I couldn’t determine how many people were inside with me. I opened my eyes and found myself at the very back of a bus, sprawled out on the aisle floor. I was also the sole focus of several soldiers. Two sat on the back-row seat near my feet while the other two were near my head, one to my left, one to my right. Four of them. Four plain blue auras. They wore identical military uniforms, identical buzzed haircuts, identical expressions, and held identical guns—perfectly drilled machines.

I started to sit up, and suddenly four barrels were cocked and aimed at my head. One of the men said, “If you so much as make a sound, we have orders to shoot. Be smart and stay quiet and down.”

I obeyed. I closed my eyes and tried to think through my panic. No one was going to come for me. I had sent Logan away. Kincaid warned he wouldn’t come again. Maybe when Logan went for his friend, he’d help me too. If I was taken to Headquarters in time. I had no doubt that was my final destination, after I spent some time at the military base in Elk Grove.

What could I do? A quick glance to the front told me there were a lot of soldiers ahead. The metal band of the blocking bracelet bit into my wrist, more so because of the reinforced steel shackle someone had closed over it. Probably manageable, although I’d never tried breaking it before. Even if I could break it, I’d be shot once or twice before I could do anything.

I looked back and found the four men still watching me, guns still aimed. God help me not to sneeze. It would be a shame to be shot because of an involuntary expulsion of air after all I’ve endured. So, I just lay there and did my best imitation of a statue as time dragged on. I wasn’t sure how long we had been on the road before I awoke, but we had been moving steadily for over an hour now. If we were going to Elk Grove, to the military camp near Sacramento, we should have arrived already.

The guards had decided two weapons—one tranquilizer and one semi—were enough and double-teamed, changing shifts every twenty minutes.

Would they shoot if I asked where we were going? The two guards currently holding the guns looked alert and wary. Not a nice combination for a small chat. Sooner or later, I’d know anyway.

An eternity later, my muscles began to cramp, and I’d have killed for water and a mint. When the next twenty minutes were over, I decided to take my chances; besides, my throat was parched enough to hurt. “Water?” I croaked, and in the blink of an eye, four barrels pointed directly at my head from four different angles. I froze. One would have thought I had screamed bomb!

Someone said something up front. It was the first time I had heard someone speak, but I kept my eyes on the four barrels aimed at me.

A minute later, footsteps approached, and a man crouched beside me. I stole a cautious glance and saw a middle-aged man with a hard, unforgiving expression. Was he going to tell the quadruplets to shoot me with tranquilizers for daring to speak? Because he definitely exuded an air of authority, and I had no doubt, even from that brief glimpse, that this was the man in charge. I risked another glance at him, this time lingering a little longer.

He crouched about a foot away, his eyes cold, expression remote. His short, dark blond hair was graying in patches. His eyes were a vivid blue, like his aura. His nose was crooked—no doubt broken a few times throughout the years—set on a rugged face with a square jaw and a tan complexion. This man had turned many heads, twenty, perhaps fifteen years ago. Belatedly, I noticed he was holding a plastic cup in his left hand. I glanced at the quadruplets. Is this a trap? I take the cup and they shoot me?

Sir, we assumed she was going to attack you, sir!

The man’s right arm came forward, solving my dilemma. He helped me into a sitting position and, with his hand still supporting my back, passed me the cup. Warily, eyes on the quadruplets, I took it. I had to use both hands, but all that mattered at that moment was that cup of ambrosia. It tasted like heaven—a tiny piece of heaven.

“More?” I asked.

He looked up at one of the quadruplets and nodded. Then he made a gesture, and the other three left. My gaze followed the last of the quadruplets as a couple of heads poked above their seats in our direction. I focused back on the man who had taken the quadruplets’ place, now coldly assessing me.

Stars and medals adorned his uniform, symbols of superiority. While I understood they were decorations of rank, I had no idea what they meant or what his position was. A general? A lieutenant? A captain? It didn’t matter. One was definitely better than four.

One of the quadruplets returned with a bottle of water. I took it with both hands, uncapped it, and drank my fill. I left about a quarter of the bottle for later, just in case.

“Thank you,” I said.

The man inclined his head in acknowledgment, but his eyes never wavered or left mine. It was very unnerving—his goal, probably.

I looked around at what I could see from the bus’s interior and the dark night beyond. “Where are we going?” I asked. “The quadruplets didn’t like talking much.”

“To a safe house far from my base. I don’t want you near my men.” He said it so casually, the insult came out more like a statement. Then he added, with a hint of politeness, “Forgive my men’s attitude. They have been told you are lethal.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe that?” I asked, injecting a bit of sarcasm.

“Oh, I believe you can be dangerous … if you choose to be. But I don’t think you’ll be doing any harm tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Like what? Me being a woman, cuffed and helpless?” Hysteria bubbled inside my chest, threatening to escape.

He leaned forward, seemingly unperturbed by our proximity, and braced his elbows on his knees. My eyes caught on the glint of his wedding band. “Not at all. I’ve met criminals, terrorists, psychotics, and madmen plenty of times before. You don’t strike me as one of them. Oh, I believe if push comes to shove, you won’t hesitate to kill, but I don’t think you would if you had a choice.”

“What makes you think I have a choice here?” I raised my cuffed hands as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “I don’t see myself overwhelmed with them.”

His face hardened, something I didn’t think possible, and his piercing blue eyes turned glacial. “Let me make something clear to you, Miss Fosch. Above all else, I protect my men. If I thought you were planning to harm my men, I wouldn’t hesitate to put you down. I don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

I believed him. And I had no doubt he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I nodded.

“I find it strange and disconcerting that the Scientists have legal documents claiming ownership of you …” He spat the last words with disgust, earning a small speck of respect from me. “Despite my knowledge that your kind put a lot of effort into staying hidden. It’s disconcerting.”

My heart stuttered. Did he actually know what I was? Or was he baiting me to glean information? I didn’t put it past him, or the PSS for that matter, to offer him a reward for uncovering something valuable about me.

Paranoia and I are a match made in hell. “You talk like you know what I am, and yet, even the Scientists, who have had ownership over me for over nine years, have no clue,” I sneered, held my breath, and waited, my pulse quickening at the sudden gleam that entered his eyes.

“Oh, I know. I know what you are, and I’ve interacted with your kind before, probably more than you’ve had the chance to.”

If he was telling the truth, then he was damn right about that. My face didn’t give anything away, though. “Yeah? Then what am I?” I challenged. The roar in my ears was so loud, I was sure the general/lieutenant could hear it even with his human ears.

He glanced to the front of the bus and then lowered his voice. “I know you’re one of the Rejected.”

The Rejected? Rejected by whom? Or did he mean I was one of those street bums? It didn’t seem likely. It seemed he knew what he was talking about. “That’s just a title,” I told him, my voice subdued.

He gave me a level look. “Dhiultadh,” he whispered, or something to that extent. I gave him no sign that the word meant something to me—or otherwise. “I know that your kind has no interspecies relationships, and that they look out for each other when it matters. I’ve heard rumors of your kind being spotted, only to disappear just as quickly—sometimes along with those who reported them.” He leaned in further, his gaze intense. “Your kind is secretive, fiercely protective of their anonymity. The fact that you’ve remained in the clutches of these scientists without intervention from your own is deeply unsettling.”

I was struck speechless. Was that anger in his voice? But most important of all were his words. Did that mean my own kind rejected me?

“Maybe they don’t know? Maybe you should call your friends and tell them about this,” I suggested, my voice tinged with desperate hope.

He glanced down at his watch and shook his head. “They know about you. They know exactly where you are, and what’s happening to you.”

I was the reject of a group of preternaturals.

“Besides, I heard one of your kind ran some sort of interference when you were in trouble back in Vegas.”

I opened my mouth to demand he explain when it hit me—he was talking about Logan. I felt a mix of disappointment and relief. Disappointment because he was categorizing me as just another preternatural rather than identifying what I truly was. Relief because I hadn’t been rejected by my own kind. It was stupid to think he knew what I was when I didn’t even know myself.

I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. The general/lieutenant grabbed one of the cushions from the seat beside him and placed it on the floor behind me. Then he surprised me by leaning forward and gently pulling me up and back onto the cushion, supporting my back against the seat next to his. He smelled of cologne and soap. When he sat again, there was a fierce gleam in his electric blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. I had the uneasy feeling that I had missed something important.

“Thank you?” I said, though it came out as a question. He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Why make me comfortable?”

He shrugged, a small movement of his left shoulder. “I have a daughter your age. She’s wild and likes to get into trouble more often than not.”

“And?” I prompted, sensing there was a story beneath his words.

He studied me in silence before saying, “When she was eleven, she came home from a sleepover and told us that her best friend, the one she’d known since kindergarten, was a shifter. Naturally, we didn’t believe her until a couple of years later, when I was briefed about preternatural beings for a special assignment. I got worried. Her friend’s family and mine had been close for years, and I never had any reason to suspect them of foul play, but I kept a wary eye on them.” He checked his watch again before continuing, “With time, I learned I could still trust them.”

I stared at him, trying to grasp his point. If there was one, I was missing it.

“I don’t understand,” I finally said.

He smiled, a genuine smile that softened his features. “There are monsters everywhere, Miss Fosch. If one dangerous criminal is black, does that make the entire black population criminals? If one Muslim is a terrorist, does that make the entire Islamic nation terrorists? If one preternatural is a monster, Miss Fosch, does that make every preternatural a monster?”

I snorted. “Tell that to the humans.”

“Being different doesn’t make you a monster, Miss Fosch. Just like my daughter’s best friend is not.”

“How would you know? You don’t even know me.”

He eyed me intently. “A monster would have seized the opportunity when I bent down to prop you up into a comfortable position.”

“Maybe I didn’t see the point when the bus is full of trigger-happy people who’d shoot me and consider it their good deed for the day.”

“A monster would have considered that one less person to face is one better chance to escape. A monster would have tried to get leverage and use me as a hostage.”

“Maybe I’m a clever monster waiting for a better opportunity? Say, once I’m uncuffed?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. The truth was that the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. Maybe I was just a dumb monster.

“No. You might be different, like my daughter’s best friend, but you’re not evil.” His voice held fierce conviction.

I didn’t tell him that his daughter’s friend had probably never killed anyone, or that the worst she could have done in her shifter nature was eat a steak rare.

“This from the same man delivering me to the very people who have treated me like one for most of my life,” I murmured.

“Unfortunately, I have no choice in the matter.”

Whatever.

“Believe me when I say that if I could dispute the Scientists’ claim, I would have, if for no other reason than that I serve to protect.”

“Lucky me.” I looked down at my cuffed hands. He might not think the entire preternatural nation were monsters, but he was nonetheless delivering me to those who did. Even the woman who had raised me for twelve years had done so. Twice. Maybe I really was a monster and, because I didn’t know any other way, I didn’t know the difference. Could an insane person tell if they were insane? I’d heard even psychiatrists had differing opinions on that question. How could a monster tell if they were a monster if they’d never known anything else?

The bus came to a sudden, screeching halt, sending me face-first to the aisle floor. Abrupt, short orders were shouted from the front, followed by the vibrations of stomping feet reverberating through the ground. I got up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. My stomach fluttered with unease. Even without knowing why we had stopped, I knew something was wrong.

At the front of the bus stood the army, distinct from the Elite’s by their crisp military uniforms. All of them—whether standing or crouched—were at attention, their weapons drawn. Some faced me with suspicion, while others focused on the darkness outside.

Behind us, static crackled, and something incoherent was said. The general/lieutenant responded, “Negative. I’ll keep watch. Take Wallace, Connor, and Midget to check the back. The Scientists’ lapdogs can divide themselves however they like, as long as they follow protocol.” After a brief pause, he added, “Whatever it is, if it’s not openly threatening any of you, do not open fire. That’s an order. Do you copy?”

There was an affirmative “sir” from the front, echoed through the radio behind me.

I got to my knees and met the icy blue gaze of the general/lieutenant. He held a tranquilizer gun—different from those issued by the PSS—aimed at my torso. I didn’t bother telling him I had nothing to do with whatever was happening. My word meant nothing to him. His eyes flicked to the left, out into the dark night, and I followed his gaze, bracing my cuffed hands on the back of the seat in front of me for support.

As far as I could see—no doubt farther than he could—there was nothing but the cold, arid desert night. Yet something felt off, an expectant presence, heavy and foreboding, there but not. Then suddenly—chaos.

Glass shattered. Shouts echoed. Guns fired. Hissing? Yes, hissing echoed somewhere ahead.

We were under attack. I looked just in time to see one of the quadruplets shooting at something outside. My throat constricted with fear and hope. Had Logan come after all? No, not Logan. He didn’t know I’d been captured, much less where they were taking me. If I harbored any hope Logan would rescue me, it would be by accident when he came for his friend Archer, and that was only if I was at headquarters. More shouting and loud gunshots came from inside the bus. I didn’t hear any return fire. More windows were breaking, and the hissing continued. A plume of smoke was rapidly filling the front of the bus. Gas. That hissing was from whatever gas the attackers were shooting into the bus.

“Damn it! Do something!” I shouted at the general/lieutenant. The commotion up front was dying down. I could hear—but barely see—bodies thumping as they fell one by one, followed by sporadic gunfire.

Hardly a minute had passed and the defense was collapsing like fragile petals in a violent storm.

A stray bullet hit the cushion beside my head. I caught a glimpse of a raised weapon aimed in my direction before its owner collapsed.

The gas was almost upon us, but the general/lieutenant didn’t move from my side. Watch duty, my ass! We were being attacked by an unknown, and all he did was frown at the fallen soldiers, then at the dark window outside. So much for protecting his men. A quick glance showed him staring at the window to my right. I twisted, wanting to see what he was looking at, managing to kneel by the window.

What I saw made my breath hitch with sudden fear and apprehension. Outside my window stood a bear—a big one. Very huge. It was at least five feet tall on all fours and three feet wide at the shoulders. Until I took a second look. A squeak of terror escaped my mouth, and I fell back without being able to brace myself. I pushed with my feet to get as much distance as possible between me and that thing.

A glance back at the general/lieutenant told me the gas had reached us, the white wisps curling lazily in the air. Hallucinogenic gas? Because the thing outside was no bear at all. It resembled a bear from afar and in the dark, ignoring the six paws and yellow glowing eyes. There were two curving protrusions on its back, like folded horns. This was no animal that could be defined with the English dictionary—or any other human alphabet, for that matter.

Its paws were huge, easily the size of both my hands side by side. One careless swat could no doubt decapitate a person. It stalked closer and closer, a predator in its prime, a hunter with cornered prey. No more shouts came from the front.

“If I don’t do this part, it’ll look suspicious,” slurred the general/lieutenant just before a tranquilizer dart hit my shoulder. I was completely helpless. In a second, I’d be unconscious too, at the mercy of Remo’s minion. I didn’t want to die. I remembered the attack by the guardians of the paths and was sure Remo would kill me this time.

The monster raised its paws to the bus, bracing itself to look inside. I remembered two things before I died: the gesture was like that of a child peeking into a candy store, expectant and eager, and that the animal’s yellow gaze held a certain human-like intelligence.

***

For the second time that night, I woke up moving. This time, instead of a vehicle, my front was pressed against something warm while cold air slapped my back and whipped my hair into a frenzy. There was a hand on my lower back, another on my thighs, one on my shoulder blades, and another cradling my head against a warm, soft pelt.

I stiffened. The enormous bear-like beast had me, and it was carrying me deeper into the dark. I struggled, but he held me firmly. I screamed. I could hear the distant thump-thump-thump of a helicopter, but it was faint, far away. I thrashed and screamed, trying desperately to break free, but the beast never faltered. Never wavered. Never missed a step.

From the little I could see with my head held tightly, we were running into the open desert. The sky was full of stars, and there was no sign of civilization as far as I could see. No twinkling lights on the horizon, no sounds of humanity. The beast’s heartbeats thumped under my ear, steady and even, almost hypnotic. My eyes closed.

I jolted with the sudden realization that he was about to deliver me, unconscious, to Remo. I shook off the hypnotic lull of his heartbeat and began struggling again in earnest. A bloodcurdling scream tore from my throat as I thrashed and kicked. Then I bit him. It was awkward since only my canines managed to catch flesh, but the beast let out a howl of pain that echoed through the night. I tasted the metallic bitterness of his blood before the beast jerked me—and a small piece of furry flesh—away from his chest. He held me at arm’s length, all four of them, glaring at me. I flinched at the anger in his intelligent yellow eyes.

Then, without warning, everything went black.