Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
I want him to come. I want to kill him.
But I can feel something is wrong with me. I can feel the energy draining from me. I’m weak and while I’m numb of any pain, there’s stickiness clinging to my side, and I don’t consciously make the choice of what to do next.
I think—the wind does it for me.
I appear on the patio outside Addie’s hotel room.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucian
“Sonofabitch!” I curse, towering over the bodies of our dead soldiers, grimacing at the sight of the trademark army tranquilizer darts stuck in their foreheads right next to the bullet holes. Powell’s army was here. That translates to a real possibility that Powell’s men saw me with Brock, and Brock’s cover is now blown. That dumbass was followed.
Sirens sound in the near distance, and damn it to hell, the last thing I need right now are more dumbass nuisance humans. I push to my feet and snag my phone from my pocket, calling for a cleanup crew. I’ve just slid my phone back into my pocket when my gaze catches on blood several feet from the bodies—too far from the bodies to fit the scene. I close the space between me and it, squatting beside it and touching it, and as one of the rare Zodius we call “trackers,” I use my unique ability to read the metaphysical energy that all living organisms produce, acid forming in my gut at what I find.
This is not the blood of a human.
“Creed,” I whisper, aware now that it wasn’t Powell’s men who did this.
It was him.
Motherfucking Creed.
The wind shifts, and I shove to my feet again, just as Tad appears beside one of the bodies and bends down, snatching the tranq dart from a dead soldier’s forehead. “Defeated by humans,” he says, and snorts. “You let this happen, and you actually think you’re capable of replacing Creed as Julian’s second? Do you really believe Creed would ever be defeated by a human?”
It's all I can do not to end him now—I could and I should. I step toward him, my intention being to do just that, when the cleanup crew manifests near the bodies. Tad is saved by the fucking death squad, but not for long. I’ve had enough of him and his arrogance, and attitude cannot save him. I wave the crew into action, and moments later they, and the bodies, are gone.
Tad smirks in my direction and then barks out laughter. “You’re nothing but wolf bait when Julian finds out about this.”
Now it’s me who laughs. “You’re nothing but trailer trash. You think Julian will allow the likes of you inside his royal circle? My father was a senator. My grandfather, a five-star general. I am the reason we know Red Dart exists. What can you do besides hunt down weak females?” I look the brawny piece of crap up and down. “You are nothing but one of Julian’s pets. A dog who does tricks.”
Tad’s expression is pure hate and anger, and now it’s him who steps toward me. Bring it, I think, give me a good fucking reason to kill you, but the wind shifts abruptly, halting what would become a battle. No doubt Tad feels the sharpness of Julian’s approach, the bite of his anger like splinters in the wind. Tad’s face transforms from pure anger to gloating arrogance. “We shall see who the ‘dog’ is now.”
Julian materializes, his all-black fatigues as dark as his mood, two snarling wolves at his feet. Much to my irritation, windwalking doesn’t kill the little bastards as it would a human, at least not when they travel with their master.
“Why has my evening of pleasure been disturbed?” Julian growls, sounding more and more like his wolves every day. This pleasure he speaks of is game night in his arena, of course, where a group of humans are thrown into a ring and ultimately fed to his wolves. The humans are promised that whoever survives will be rewarded with a dose of the highly in-demand serum. So far, no one has survived.
Tad holds up a tranquilizer dart and then tosses it in my direction. “Lucian went and got two of our men killed by Powell and his army.”
Julian arches a brow in my direction, his voice low but tight, with a deadly edge to his words. “Have you failed me, Lucian?”
The wolves snarl at me, growling as if picking up on their master’s anger. Those damn beasts would never have growled at Creed, and my agitation is a living, breathing being of its own. I am not the traitor. Creed is the traitor.
I hold up my blood-tinged fingers. “It’s Tad’s limited tracking abilities that have failed to garner the full story,” I inform him, cutting Tad a short, demeaning look before my attention returns to Julian. “Creed followed Brock West here, no doubt trying to find out something about Red Dart.”