Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Dakota

“Vitals seem to be our best first choice,” Vincent Drake said as he propped his elbows on the arms of his seat, steepling his fingers in front of him. “The ability to manipulate energy may be the priority."

“And they're the easiest to find,” Laura Sanchez noted with a soft hum of laughter that Dakota did not share. “The Fieldhouse is crawling with them.” She paused to scrape her gaze to Dakota, who was jotting down notes in a journal. “What are you writing?”

James gulped before glancing across the mid-length wooden table at her. Dakota didn’t return the stare. Didn’t want to see his careful pleading in the depths of it. Dakota lifted her eyes, connecting with Laura's eagle sharpness. She set down her pen to thread her fingers, fully committing to winding her up.

“Well, before we had access to distillations like Blood Replenishing, humans had to receive blood transfusions if there was a loss for any reason: diseases, injuries, surgeries—”

“And?” Laura cut in unkindly, a scoff that she was trying and failing to withhold, still slicing her tone.

Dakota narrowed her eyes a tick, just enough that Laura returned it in kind. “ And there were many factors that went into transfusions. Blood typing or Rh protein classifications, for instance. If these factors were overlooked or not considered, terrible side effects would happen—fevers, allergic reactions, hemolysis.” She tipped her head, briefly wondering if she should goad the warden before firmly deciding that the answer was yes. “Hemolysis is when the red blood cells get destroyed by—“

“I know what hemolysis is,” Laura snarled, and Dakota sunk her teeth into the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “What I don’t know is why you’re bringing up archaic shit.”

James’s expression opened in understanding, and Dakota finally turned her attention toward him for the first time since their four-person meeting started nearly two hours before. “You’re thinking the blood is incompatible at baseline?”

Dakota nodded. “If the wrong blood is injected into the wrong person, regardless of whether they have blood from Ilios or Kyentos, the body will reject it. Add an element of magic on top of it, and who knows what we’ll get.”

She did know. Julia Sinconi. The three additional bodies she saw splayed out in their cells and covered in bloody fluids when she was in the lower levels of the basement earlier that morning. The guilt piled into the corners of her soul, weighing her down.

The governor studied her with a thoughtful gaze. “What are you suggesting, then?”

Dakota took a deep breath, half-wishing that the patterned carpet beneath her would grow teeth and rip them all apart. She hated herself for being part of this, for making any suggestions, for being a big part of the problem. But if she wanted to know more about this project and continue to be involved once James had retired…her contributions needed to be sound.

“With the introduction of Blood Replenishing distills nearly six hundred years ago, we haven’t needed to classify blood types. The distill worked on everyone, and its invention was groundbreaking. But if we want to be successful while administering blood, we should consider biological basics.”

James nodded, though his lips were still clamped with enough pressure to turn them into a thin slash of white. Dakota knew that look—she had practiced swallowing the bitterness coating the back of her throat to keep her indifferent mask intact.

“Fascinating,” Vincent finally said. He leaned forward to fold his hands on the table. “James, I want you and Dakota to look into this further. See if our current equipment can handle this…blood typing.” He said the last two words as though they were foreign to him, and perhaps they were. This was a territory that hadn’t been ventured in centuries.

“Yes, Governor,” James said dutifully with a bow of his head. By the curl of Laura’s mouth, Dakota could have shoveled rotten fish under her nose. “We’ll start immediately.”

“Excellent.”

Dakota’s pocket chimed, and all three sets of eyes turned to stare at her. Embarrassing enough, but everyone of consequence knew she was at the prison today. Her face heated, and she reached down to silence the call through the fabric of her pants. “I apologize. Must be spam.”

After what felt like an eternity, the phone finally went still and silent. Laura and James turned back to look at the governor.

“As you were saying, sir,” Laura gestured toward Vincent with a honeyed sweetness that sent a shock of shame up Dakota’s spine.

Vincent returned his attention to James. “Once we have our answer on the blood typing—“

Her pocket chimed for a second time.

Laura flicked her hair over her shoulder and cleared her throat. “Do you have something more important to do, Dakota?”

“I’m incredibly sorry, sir,” Dakota stammered as she silenced her cell phone again. “We’re still on call at the Guildhall, and I don’t want—“ The phone vibrated once, indicating a text message. A breath later, another one came through.

“Perhaps it’s important,” Vincent said politely, though Dakota noticed the slight grit clenching his teeth.

“I—“ Dakota began, darting her searching gaze toward James, who curtly nodded. With a slow, quiet exhale, she leaned onto her hip and fished her cell phone from her pocket. Swiping her thumb up the screen, she kept her face at an impassive disinterest despite her traitorous, jarring heartbeat when she saw Callum’s phone number on the top of the message.

Dakota, answer your fucking phone.

Code Black.

Her breath caught in her throat at the words in the small text box on her screen. A code system was something they used as teenagers to indicate the level of severity that something needed to be done—pink being the least and black being the most. It had been an inside joke during the first few months they were friends, culminating in an official phrase nearly a year into their relationship.

Bring distills.

The following text linked to the map application on her phone with a pinned location.

Busy , she typed quickly before sending it off into the universe. She glanced up with an apologetic smile plastered on her face. She could feel how brittle and unconvincing it was. “I—“ she began again, but her phone buzzed one more time. Glancing down, she barely concealed the horror that tugged the smile from her lips.

Blood. There was too much blood. Even in the still photograph, Dakota could tell. It leaked between the gaps of Callum’s tattooed fingers as he pressed down on a wound, and the angle of a chin she didn’t recognize graced the upper corner of the picture. Gods, was it Callum? Rocco? Did someone find Lyra?

Now.

From the corner of her eye, Dakota saw Laura lean to the side, hoping to catch a peek at the screen. Dakota quickly blackened her phone and didn’t miss the hint of irritation that curled Laura’s upper lip.

“I…I’m sorry, sir, but I have to go.” Dakota stood from her seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the patterned carpet. “Emergency, I—“ She rifled through a list of excuses in her mind, attempting to drum up one that would cause the least bit of friction when the governor bowed his head.

“Of course, Dakota. We’ve nearly finished up here. I'll send the additional instructions with James on his way out.”

“Yes, th-thank you,” she stuttered in return, wholly ignoring the glare Laura sent her over the rim of the coffee cup she was sipping from. “I appreciate your understanding.” She was across the small conference room and into the prison hallway before she could take another breath.

She passed under the fluorescent lights, keeping her eyes averted from the call and visitation rooms. Guards with automatic guns watched as she walked by, heels clicking against the concrete floor, but she paid them no mind.

Did she go to Kane? He had a few Blood Replenishing and Bone Repair distills left. She would certainly need him for Pain and Euphoric. There was no way she could get those from the Guildhall. On second thought, she did need to go to Kane. If someone reported to James that she had shown up unannounced to the distillery, it would raise a field of questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She drove separately from James that morning by luck and happenstance. Luck that he wanted to treat his wife to breakfast before the meeting, and happenstance that Dakota was still living in Lyra’s house—in the opposite direction from where he was driving.

The sun was warm on her face as she marched from the lobby, though the nip of cool air had her donning a jacket. She walked the fence line, tuning out the catcalls and shouts from the prisoners. Her mind was racing: distills, blood loss, Callum’s hand. Is this what she had subjected herself to? Cleaning up Callum’s messes ?

An involuntary thought passed through the primal part of her brain, a betraying message that she and Callum were in this together. Again. It sent a flutter of anticipation in her stomach that she promptly shot down as though it were a clay pigeon. If that person from the photograph was still alive by the time she arrived, which was a big if, she needed to be on top of her game. And she didn’t need to think about Callum while trying to do it.

Kane handed over her distill demands the moment she entered the clubhouse. While he didn’t indicate what happened, she could tell by the paleness of his cheeks and the worry in his eyes that he certainly knew something. That only sent her stomach churning further, the bitter twang of nausea clenching her throat.

Dakota reached the pinned location in record time, speeding through the side streets and avoiding the traffic that usually backed up the downtown corridors at that time of the afternoon. It was quiet and secluded, and she noted the two motorcycles and the Iron Guard cruiser parked near the tree’s edge. Long shadows passed over the narrow road, only bolstering her thundering heart.

Stepping from the car and cursing herself for not bringing a proper change of shoes, she glanced around the split of the forest. Listening, watching.

“Dakota!” a familiar voice called from the trees, and a bloody tattooed hand reached out to part the branches. “Over here.” Callum’s face appeared within the greenery, stark white and cast with worry.

“What happened?” she asked as she approached him, the bag she hoisted over her shoulder bouncing against her waist. He peeled the branches back further to allow her through. With every step, her heels sunk into the soft bed of pine needles and old leaves.

“Did you bring them?” Callum asked, placing a hand on her lower back. As encouragement or to urge her forward faster? She didn’t know. “We’re in a load of shit here.”

The treeline gave way to a small clearing covered in mushrooms and spindly grass, the sun basking the forest floor in warm light. Dakota scanned the area, first spotting Ace as he knelt with his back to a tree trunk. Calm and collected for the first time since he crashed into the trauma bay, his mouth was upturned in a victorious smile, and his gaze watched the clouds drifting across the blue sky.

Dakota slid her eyes away from Ace and across the clearing, her stomach lurching to her throat when she saw why Callum called. Dominic Sinclair was slumped against a pine tree, his pants loose around his hips. Blood had dried where it stained the front and sides of his uniform, and by the degree of pallor to his skin, he had already lost a decent amount of blood. Tendrils of black mist still curled from his wound, sinking into the ground beneath him. But his eyes fluttered open at her arrival, a flood of relief flashing through them.

“What the fuck, Callum?” Dakota hissed as she whirled to face the Vice still at her back. She raked a hand over the crown of her head, not caring that she loosened a few locks of hair from her blonde braid. She tucked them behind her ears in sharp, furious shoves.

Callum swallowed, his jaw clenched so tightly that it pulled at the lobes of his ears, but he shook his head. “Can you save him?”

“Don’t fucking save that piece of shit,” Ace shot out from his perch near the tree. His cold eyes had turned toward them, a blaze of freshly renewed anger boiling there. “He fucking killed Raven.”

“I—“Dakota glanced over her shoulder toward Dominic, who was only a few years younger than them and who she had met a handful of times since returning to Norwich. He had always been kind to her. The way Dominic slumped against the tree, the red stain blooming over his injury…flashes of Ethan’s corpse barreled to the forefront of her mind. She lost her breath in a sudden exhale.

“We don’t have any proof that he killed Raven,” Callum murmured, low enough for her alone to hear. “We’ve been tracking down information, but…” He trailed off to sigh. “This is so fucking out of hand now.”

Dakota said nothing as she squared to face the deputy ranger. Walking slowly to the man, a shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze cannoned up her spine.

“I’m…so…glad to…see you…” Dominic gasped as Dakota knelt beside him. While his breathing was shallow, it remained relatively stable. Good sign—better than she expected. She lifted a hand to unbutton his uniform, but his clammy palm caught her fingers in a tight grip. “I…didn’t…kill…Raven.”

Dakota looked up, her eyes connecting with his. His pupils were dilated with pain, though they remained clear. And innocent. Something about them was so, so innocent.

“I put a fucking bullet in you, and you’re still fucking lying!” Ace shouted from the other side of the clearing, that unfiltered rage infiltrating his tone. “Callum, give me my fucking gun back. Let me finish what I came here to fucking do. ”

Dakota didn’t know what Callum’s response was. She flicked the clinical switch in her mind, focusing entirely on the bullet entry to the right side of his chest. Every gentle poke and prod only sent more black smoke spilling from the wound. She stood with a nod, a grim smile, and a pat on his hand, returning to Callum.

The dirt and fluids on Callum's hands and arms had dried, coating the ink in a splattered mix of red and brown. He crossed his arms over his chest, the scent of his leather cut mixing with the metallic tang of blood. “What do you think? Can you fix him?”

Dakota turned her stare toward the forest floor, watching a progression of ants parade over the bed of pine needles. When she finally got her thoughts in a line that resembled the insects at her feet, she looked up at him. “From the angle and his appearance, it looks like the bullet more than likely pierced his right lung. I can’t say for certain whether he has fractured ribs, but I can almost guarantee it. The bleeding stopped, so I doubt it hit anything fatal if we work quickly. I can heal him.” Her swallow was a razor blade cutting a long laceration down the back of her throat. “But should we?”

Callum’s brows flashed toward his hairline, so high on his forehead that they almost disappeared into his thick locks entirely. “What do you mean should we ? Of course, we fucking should.” He stepped back to put both hands on the top of his head.

“Even if I heal him now, he’s going to need surgery to retrieve the bullet.” Dakota’s entire body shook, disbelief pairing heavily with guilt. What was she even saying? “And then what? Does he live to point the finger at you? At me? Who looks for Lyra when we’re in prison with that fucking idiot?” She tipped her head toward Ace, who was busy glaring at Dominic.

Callum scraped a hand down his face as his gaze flicked between Ace and Dominic. “Fucking godsdamnit,” he murmured under his breath as he crouched, but Dakota had already pulled a Pain distill from the inside of her bag.

If she did this, there would be no turning back. This wasn’t Ethan, who had stalked and attacked her. This was an innocent man—a man with a family and dreams and a whole life ahead of him. And she would end it all. Guilt escalated to shame, burying a knife in her soul and ripping it to shreds. She bit back tears, steadied her quivering chin, and uncorked the vial.

“Drink this,” Dakota said softly as she braced the back of Dominic's head with her hand. Lifting the vial to his lips, she poured the entirety of the liquid into his mouth. He coughed slightly, some blood dribbling from the corner of his lip. She wiped it away with the sleeve of her jacket. “It’s for the pain. ”

Dominic’s smile was gentle as his eyes cracked open to peer at her. “You’re a good person, Dakota. Thank you.” Those words wrenched a hole in her gut like the knife had been torn free, taking its pound of flesh with it.

Dominic's eyes didn’t take long to fog over and slide closed. His breathing shallowed, then stopped. The thumping artery in his neck fluttered for a moment longer before going still, and that black smoke tethered to the injury curled around him like a blanket. Then, he was gone.

“Fucking finally!” Ace called to the sky, not bothering to hide his glee. He triumphantly raised his fists over his head, tipping his head back so far that his spine curved.

Perhaps it was the pure joy in his voice. Perhaps it was the stark reminder that she made a vow to the gods to do no harm and use the distills in a manner befitting them. But when she clambered to her heels, almost tripping over Dominic’s out-stretched legs, she stomped over to…

Smack .

Her hand against his cheek echoed through the clearing, and Ace powered to his feet to tower over her, a violent glare leveling her. She raised her hand again, and this time, a calloused set of fingers wrapped around her wrist to hold it in place.

“Dakota,” Callum’s low voice rumbled a warning in her ear, but she ignored it.

“You’re fucking disgusting!” Dakota shouted at Ace, leaning far enough within Callum’s tight grip to shove her face within inches of Ace’s. “You don’t get to be judge, jury, and executioner!”

Ace let out a sardonic laugh. “You had a very different fucking expectation when Callum shot Ethan in the fucking skull—yeah, I know about that, princess.”

“That was different,” Dakota hissed, wrestling her wrist from Callum’s grip. “What the fuck would you have done if someone attacked Raven or Sierra?”

“ What I just fucking did !” Ace roared in response, pointing over her shoulder to the body still slumped against the tree. “You left! You fucking left and never even checked to see how we were doing! You don’t get to march back into town and demand we change what we do for you now. I took that fucking predator off the streets.”

“What a miserable life you lead,” Dakota said, her lip curling into a snarl. She reeled her hand back and threw the vial still gripped in her hand into the undergrowth behind him. “There’s probably a drop or two of Pain still in there. Why don’t you go fish it out of the bushes, you fucking addict?”

Ace took a step back, a smirk now gracing his mouth. “Maybe I will.” He lifted a hand, curling his forefinger. “My trigger finger is sore.”

“Dakota—“ Callum said as she twisted around on the toes of her heels and stormed toward her car. “Dakota, wait—“

When his hand wrapped around Dakota’s upper arm, she whirled around to face him. “Do not contact me again, Callum Reynolds. We’re done. I’m done.” His fingers slackened enough that she yanked herself free from him. She didn’t give him a second look as she marched away.