Betrayals

CHAPTER 27

After so long walking it was weird to see the road slipping smoothly away underneath the car. The windshield wipers marked off time, back and forth, and Christophe hummed along with the classic rock station I’d found. He drove the speed limit, too, not a hair over or under. Shanks was breathing softly with his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open a little; Graves stared out the window. Dibs bounced up and down every once in a while, but otherwise kept quiet.

It was, in other words, completely awkward.

Christophe also stuck to the less-traveled roads, not even glancing at a map. If it had been Dad driving, I would’ve been navigating him. Instead, I sat there uselessly, clutching my bag and staring at the wet world outside the window. Naked trees pressed close to the blacktop, their bare arms reaching out to clutch empty air. Water gleamed on the road, the tires made wet shushing sounds, and Christophe kept turning the radio up in tiny increments when music was on, then turning it down when advertising took over.

Lunch was in a small town on the far end of the county, a pizza place that looked like it had seen better days. All three of the boys in the backseat headed straight for the bathroom as soon as we got a table, which meant I could fish the paper out of my bag as Christophe motioned me into the red vinyl booth.

“Unless you need the facilities too, kochana.” He ran a hand back through his hair, shaking random drops of rain out.

“I have to talk to you.” I dropped down, then handed the sheets of paper over. It all came out in a rush while he looked at me, blue eyes narrowing. “Dylan gave me this, right before everything… well, it’s important. When Anna showed me the transcript of the call, she wanted me to think you made it. And it was an edited version.” I felt like I wasn’t making any sense. “She wanted to find out what I knew, too. Dylan said this was the original version of the call. When someone gave my mother’s location.”

Christophe lowered himself down next to me in the booth and scanned the paper. His mouth turned itself upside-down, the corners pulling toward his jaw. “He gave this to you?” For a moment I thought I saw something close to his true age, eerie on his unlined face.

“When he told me to hide the next time the Restriction bell rang.” It was a relief to tell someone, to get at least one secret out of my chest. “It’s a good thing he did, too, or they would have caught me in my room.”

“They?” His aspect slid over him, his hair sleeking down and turning darker. His fangs peeped out. He took a deep breath and they retreated. I stared at his profile, fascinated.

“Well, the bell for first classes rang. Then, a little while later, the Restriction bell. I hid in a closet and heard them running by. They had to have been nosferatu.” The word felt strange in my mouth. Even now I was half-lying, keeping a secret.

“Were you going to class like a good girl?”

No, I was heading for the hills. Why does that even matter? “I was out of my room. It was like a tomb in there.”

The two sheets of paper rustled a bit. His hand was shaking. “Anna.” Slowly, thoughtfully. Like the word had a bad taste. He folded the papers back together and handed them to me. “Hm.”

“She said you…” I swallowed. My throat was dry. “She said you were the one who made that call. I think she wanted me not to trust you.”

Christophe stiffened. His fangs peeped out again, retreated. “I would never—” he began.

I hurried to cut him off. The flush threatened to rise up my neck again, and I didn’t want that. “I already told you I didn’t believe her. She wanted me to, and she wanted to know what I knew. If I suspected something, if I’d seen you.”

The emotion submerged. It was eerie to watch, his face smoothing out and the blond streaking back into his hair. “So. Milady is meddling.”

Dylan said that too. “I want to know what’s going on.”

He opened his mouth, but Dibs appeared at the booth, smoothing his damp hair down. “Can we get pepperoni?”

Christophe dug in his pocket, pulled out three twenty-dollar bills. “Get one meat pizza and one vegetarian, no onions or olives. And five drinks. Off with you.”

Dibs took the money and bounded away. Christophe’s hand turned into a fist, resting on the table, then relaxed with an effort. The difference between his smoothed-out face and the way he had to force his fingers out and loose was jarring. “Keep this secret. We’ll talk later.”

It was hard to look tough when my heart was thundering and I was sweating. I folded my arms and stared at him, uncomfortably wedged in the booth and suddenly aware he was between me and any possible escape. “I want to know now.”

“I don’t know enough myself to tell you anything useful. There is a traitor in the Order. We know that much. Now we know that the traitor is highly placed, and that I wasn’t the target. I haven’t been the target so far, just incidental damage.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, and the aspect retreated even further. His eyes were still cold. I wondered why I’d ever thought they could warm up.

“How do you know?” The edge of warmth I felt from him was the uncomfortable sterile heat of the blue-threaded flames. I shivered.

“This is a vendetta. The sins of the parents visited on the children, though your mother was blameless. You have my word on that, at least.” In one quick, economical movement, he slid out of the booth. He wasn’t looking at my face; he was looking at my chest. At the tiny lump under my sweater. “Put that away. Don’t speak of it where others can hear. And for God’s sake, Dru…”

I waited, but he didn’t finish. Instead he stalked away to the counter, where Dibs was all but hopping with impatience and the bored woman working behind the register was punching buttons too slowly.

The aroma of crust and tomato sauce, baking cheese, and the sticky smell that always fills a pizza parlor closed around me. I slid the transcript back in my bag and found out my hands were shaking too.

Go to the Schola, he’d said. You’ll be safe there.

But I wasn’t safe anywhere, was I? And I didn’t even know why. Because someone in the Order had hated my mother enough to want to kill her? And, years later, kill me?

Jesus. How could you hate someone that much and still be human? Or even just better than a sucker?

Graves dropped into the booth right next to me. “Hey.” He’d slicked his hair back behind his ears and his face was still dewed with rain from outside. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

Oh, I’m just fine. Not. I reached down under the table and grabbed his hand, slipping my fingers through his. His skin was warm, and my heart took off pounding in an entirely new way.

“Everything’s all wrong.” I squeezed his fingers hard. “It’s fucking awful.”

He squeezed back. A flush crept up into his sallow cheeks. Under the Asian coloring he could really change it up. “Not everything. We’re here, right? And we’re safe during the day.”

“Yeah.” A million questions boiled up inside me. Everything from Do you mind that I ruined your life? to Can you imagine hating someone so much you sell them to a sucker?

“Hey. Whoa.” His grip intensified, stopped just short of pain. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Dru. It’s gonna work out.”

“I don’t know.” I stared at the fake wood of the tabletop, its plastic topping peeling up. “We haven’t seen any of the djamphir from the school.”

“Yeah, I been thinking about that.” His tone dropped confidentially. A trickle of customers had started in through the swinging glass door. “Dru, if things happen…”

“What kind of things?”

“You know what I’m talking about. If it gets bad, Dru, I’m going with you.”

My hand cramped a little. Neither of us let go. He took a deep breath and his eyes met mine squarely, the green circles around his pupils glowing even with the electric lights in here. Rain coated the front window of the pizza parlor, shadows moving like weeds underwater.

“I…” Words failed me.

“’Cause I’ve been thinking. You had your bag and you had three sweaters on. You were heading out.”

Oh Christ. I opened my mouth. Shut it.

“See, normally I’d get upset about that. But I think you thought you were going to help me out by leaving me someplace you thought was safer for me than you. Right?”

My head fell down into a nod. I picked it back up. My mouth felt like it was hanging open.

“Don’t do that.” He leaned a little closer, and the rest of the world went away. “Okay? Don’t leave me behind.”

“They’re looking to kill me,” I whispered. “You don’t get that. It’s for real. It’s—”

“What do you think I was doing at school, playing footsie?” Irritation made his matching whisper sharp. “You’ve got a better chance with me, Dru. Don’t do something stupid again. If something happens, it’s you and me against the world. Got it?”

I was saved by Dibs showing back up at the table. “You’re supposed to get your own drinks.” He popped a stack of red plastic cups on the table. “I think this is the only place in three states that serves Mr. Pibb. Awesome, huh?”

“Completely.” Graves gave my hand another meaningful squeeze under the table, then slid out and grabbed two cups. “Whaddaya want, Dru?”

“Um. Coke. Pepsi. Whatever.”

“Not diet?” Dibs wanted to know.

“Are you kidding?” Graves bumped him with a shoulder, but gently. “That shit’ll kill you. Back in a flash.”

Dinner was fast food in another weird little town, and the light was failing when Christophe finally found a freeway he liked. “No smoking in the car,” he said for the fifteenth time.

I’d kept count.

“Do you really want to see me in nicotine withdrawal?” Graves flicked the lighter, inhaled, and exhaled. His window was down and the sound of wet tires on the road melded with the hum of the engine and the back-and-forth of the windshield wipers, and the Rolling Stones singing about a beast of burden on the radio. “Tell him, Dru.”

I rolled my eyes. None of them would see it, but it made me feel better. “Since when was I appointed referee? I hate to ask, Christophe, but how much longer?”

“We’re almost to a safe location. Or what passes for one.” He rolled his window down a little and wrinkled his nose, and I took a pull off my vanilla milkshake. “Moving after dark isn’t a good idea.”

“Because that’s when the vampires are out,” Shanks chimed in, a singsong that managed to be creepy and sarcastic all at once. “And they like to eat little svetocha.”

“Blow me.” I propped one boot on the dashboard. It wasn’t like a trip with Dad. He and I could go just about forever without talking, with only my brief comments to navigate him through tangles of overpasses and surface streets.

“Don’t make me stop this car.” Christophe turned the radio up a little. The Stones faded and the Beach Boys started singing about California girls.

Shanks made a retching noise. “God, when are you going to play some decent music?”

“What’s wrong with the Beach Boys? Brian Wilson was a genius.” I tapped my foot to the beat.

“Amen,” Christophe muttered, and twisted the radio dial another increment. “Now everyone shut up, I have to find this place.”

“If you had a map, I could help.” I wasn’t liking this not-knowing-where-we-were thing, but Christophe had refused to buy a map when we stopped at a gas station, and I had to save my cash.

I didn’t know when I’d need it.

“No need.” He slowed down, hit the blinker, cut left across two lanes of traffic, and zoomed us onto a side street. Horns blared behind us, and I almost dropped my milkshake. “We’re here.”

“Goddammit!” I clutched at my waxed-paper cup. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The boys in the back were laughing, troll-like snickers and chuckles. We turned right, then left, and plunged under a canopy of bare branches. It looked like this street had been paved sometime back in the ’50s, and the trees marching down either side were wet and black and naked under the iron-gray sky. Dark was approaching.

“Was that really necessary?” I popped the top back on my milkshake, I’d crumpled the cup, dammit. “I mean, really?”

“Streets change.” Christophe cut the steering wheel hard again and bumped us up into an overgrown driveway. “I actually wasn’t sure until I saw that water tower. All right, kids. Everyone out, and you’ll find the garage unlocked. Bobby, open it, if you please.”

The boys in back scrambled out in a trice, and I reached for my door handle. The house was narrow and dark, white siding and a peaked roof. It had a glassed-in storm porch, and dead leaves covered the postage-stamp-size front yard. The street was quiet and had the air of genteel shabbiness most really old, expensive neighborhoods do. I’d bet the neighborhood association really went overboard for Christmas and probably held meetings when someone didn’t rake their leaves. They must have righteous fits over this place.

“Dru.” Christophe reached over and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were warm and very hard, just short of bruising. The milkshake teetered. “You stay.”

A slice of darkness opened, Shanks hefting the garage door like it weighed nothing. The car nosed forward as he made little shooing movements with his free hand. He grinned, white teeth flashing.

When the engine shut off, the silence was deafening. It was a familiar silence, though, one I heard every time Dad shut off the car someplace that was supposed to be our new temporary home.

“I think it’s best you ward your room tonight. Since you can.” Christophe pulled the keys free of the ignition. “And sleep in your clothes.”

I was planning on that anyway. “Yeah.”

“I’ll sleep at your door.” He gave me a sideways glance, blue eyes firing in the gloom as Shanks pulled the garage door down. There was barely enough room to get the car doors open, and the entire cube of concrete-floored space was empty and bare. “Do you understand?”

I wouldn’t bet a penny on me understanding anything right about now. I was tired, my entire body ached from all the excitement and sitting in a car for hours and hours, and my stomach was unhappy with the fast food. I never thought I’d be missing school food or having to cook my own damn meals, but there it was. “I guess so.” I pulled against his hand. “Let go.”

“Not until I’m sure you understand. I did not betray your mother, Dru. It… it just isn’t possible.”

Oh. Was that what he was talking about? “Yeah, Christophe. At this point, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you.”

Graves tapped at the half-open driver’s window. “Hey, Christophe. Pop the trunk, will you?”

Christophe let go of me reluctantly, and I yanked the door handle. Dibs already had the door open into something that looked like a utility room, and warm electric light flooded out when he flicked the switch.

“Smells all right.” The blond wulf half-turned. “Like nobody’s been here in a while, but the lights are on.”

“Check every room.” Christophe rose out of the car gracefully, and I wrestled my bag out and slammed my door. “Robert?”

“On it.” Shanks bounded up the steps and pushed past Dibs. “Stay back, Dibby. Let the professionals work.”

Dibs snorted. “Just tell me when I can pee.”

I seconded that emotion, and headed for the bright opening. “When will we get to the Schola? I mean, the other Schola?”

“Tomorrow, a little after noon. I want to do it in broad daylight, and I want everyone to be able to see you. That way, you’re safer.” Christophe took a step forward, and the hot tension invading the air made me stop and look back over my shoulder.

Graves stood near the back of the car, hands in the pockets of his long dark coat. He wasn’t looking at Christophe, though. He had his chin tilted up, and he was staring straight at me. His irises were rings of green fire, the pupils reflecting an odd gold-green tint. Like a cat’s eyes at night.

Christophe’s shoulders stiffened as he stepped forward, right over the barrier between “space” and “someone’s personal space.” Graves didn’t move.

Christophe took another half-step. “You’ll have to get out of the way.” His tone was deceptively mild, but I’ve seen so many shoving matches erupt in school hallways. All the signs were there.

Graves lowered his head a little. He stared directly at the djamphir for just two seconds longer than he would have if he was being polite, but just a second less than an actual challenge. “Close quarters. Hey, Dru. Wait for me.”

I ducked through my bag strap, settling it across my body. “Hurry up, will you?” My voice cracked. For some reason, I didn’t want to see the two of them get into the same stupid petty grandstanding I’d seen a million times.

Graves was loup-garou, and Christophe was djamphir. Werwulfen and djamphir pushing each other, the violence and disdain boiling just under the surface. Like jocks and nerds, no, that wasn’t quite right. Like two sets of jocks, each with a reason to hate the other. And I didn’t so much blame the wulfen. The way the djamphir treated them wasn’t quite a crime, but it was close.

There was something else between these two boys, though. Something vicious and snarling just under the surface.

It probably had to do with the heat rising up in me, staining my cheeks with fire. I took a deep sharp breath.

Graves turned on his heel. His back was presented like an insult, and he skirted the rest of the car.

I stood, watching. When he got to me, he reached down and grabbed my hand. His fingers were warm too, but they didn’t hurt.

The sound of the trunk opening was very loud, but when I glanced back, Christophe’s head was down. “Samuel. Come help.”

Samuel? I blinked.

Dibs twitched. “Right. Sure.” He hopped past us. The car dripped, its hood ticking as the engine started cooling down, and I decided I really needed to be somewhere else. Rain swept restlessly against the roof.

I pulled Graves up the two steps into the utility room. There was an ugly avocado-green washer and dryer, a big utility sink, and not much more. The kitchen past it was likewise bare, and I felt more than heard Shanks prowling the house.

“What did you do that for?” I whispered, but Graves just grinned. Not his usual pained half-smile, and not the wide-open sunny grin I liked best on him. No, this was a wide, wolfish grimace, showing every centimeter of tooth he could dredge up.

“Just so he knows, Dru. I’m gonna go help Bobby. Stay here, right?” And he slipped through my fingers and was gone.

Oh, for the love of, I couldn’t even finish the sentence mentally, it was so ridiculous. Dad used to time me while I swept every new house we moved into; he and I also practiced doing it as a team.

Graves was getting all he-man, when a couple months ago he hadn’t even known the Real World existed.

Yeah, things were changing all right.

I stood in the middle of a kitchen that looked like it had last seen a meal cooked back in the ’70s, breathing and listening to the house creak. The windows were full of the bruised, fading light of dusk. I could hear all of them, wulfen and djamphir alike.

And I still felt completely alone.

The Schola burned around me as I ran, my arms and legs too heavy. It was like running through molasses, not the clear Lucite the world turned into when the muscle inside my head flexed, but a brown-tinged tide of terror dragging at every inch of flesh.

They were behind me. I could hear them howling, something between a vampire’s glassy, hateful cry and the screams of an enraged werwulf. They ran in lockstep, boots hitting the ground in parade cadence, and the walls cringed and burned away from the sound.

There were doors on either side of the hall. I blundered into them, tugging at the knobs, but they were all locked. My fingers scorched, and as I rattled each door I could hear the boys behind them screaming. The smoke stung my eyes and filled my nose. And it was my fault they were there, because the things that were after me didn’t care who they hurt.

It was all my fault, just like Dad. He was dead because I hadn’t told him about Gran’s owl, and Gran was dead because I was just a kid and couldn’t save her, and Mom was dead too because—

“Dru!” A fierce whisper.

It was because of me, all because of me, and the growls and shrieks rose as the hallway stretched out into infinity and the jackbooted footsteps got closer. There was no turn in the corridor, and any moment they would be able to see me. The flames hissed and whispered, cackling in dirty little voices that reached inside my head and scraped the curves of my skull dry.

“Dru! Wake up!” Someone shaking me.

I sat bolt-upright, clawing at empty air, and swallowed a scream. Graves had my shoulder, his fingers biting in as he avoided my thrashing. The mattress in here was thin and cold, set on the empty floor, but it was better than downstairs, at least the bedrooms were carpeted.

“Hey.” Graves’ eyes gleamed. The blinds on the window weren’t tilted up or down, and thin moonlight shone through, fighting with streetlamp light. The rain had stopped. “You were dreaming.”

I grabbed for him. He put his arms around me and squeezed. My heart pounded so hard it threatened to come out my throat. He’d unzipped the two sleeping bags and laid his coat over both of us, and it had been surprisingly comfortable until, I guess, I started thrashing and kicked them off. I buried my face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck and breathed him in. Cigarette smoke, whatever deodorant he used, the tang of loup-garou.

He held me, and it didn’t seem awkward at all until he patted my back clumsily. “Dru.”

“What?” My whisper cracked in half, fell down his shirt. I breathed out, back in. Don’t move.

Just for a second, don’t move. Let me pretend I can count on someone.

The thought was gone as soon as it showed up; I shoved it hastily away. I was doing a lot of that lately. As a coping mechanism, it sucked.

His arms tightened around me. “There’s something outside.”

I tilted my head a little, trying to listen. My heart was making too much noise for me to really hear.

I gulped in another deep breath and tried to calm down. “What does it sound like?”

There was a sharp creak from the door. As if someone leaning against it had shifted his weight.

Christophe hadn’t said a single word when Graves followed me up the stairs.

Which was probably a good thing.

“Like it’s trying to be quiet. But I can hear it. Breathing, kind of.” Graves shifted again, a little uncomfortably. I tried to let go of him, but he still kept holding onto me. My heartbeat started to slow down a little. I was sweating. The thin blue lines of warding in the walls glowed soft and reassuring, not sparking or running together in quick distressed lunges.

Gran would be proud of me. That’s quite a few times I’ve done wards without her rowan wand.

I swallowed the lump of pain in my throat. The dream lingered inside my head, screams and the burning somehow just as real as Graves’ arms around me and the sound of my breathing, quick and hoarse. “Shoes.”

“What?” He cocked his head.

“Get your shoes on. And give me mine.” I squirmed away from him and found my boots right where I’d put them, right against the mattress. A quick double yank had my feet inside them, and I grabbed for my bag, slid the strap over my head. The gun was still inside. The clicks were very loud as I checked the clip, racked it back in, and slid the safety off.

Graves shrugged into his coat. I let out a soft breath and knee-walked over to the window. My back ached, but not as bad as it could have. Maybe I was healing.

The warm-oil feeling of the aspect smoothed down over me, and the locket pulsed reassuringly.

The room got brighter. I almost glanced up to see if the light had turned on. I knew it hadn’t, though.

I was just seeing better.

I made it to the wall next to the blinds, cautiously inched myself up, and decided I could peer out there. The room was dark, and nobody would see me looking out, or I hoped they wouldn’t.

I peered out and realized what was wrong. There was no taste of wax oranges and danger on my tongue. Whatever was out there wasn’t suckers.

So it could be something else. Or it could be, you know, all of us in a strange house and nervous.

Be quiet, Dru. The silent imperative nailed me in place, my eyes focused on the narrow slice of roof and tree branches I could see, then, something moved, pouring up over the edge of the roof with scary silent grace.

I let out a soft, wondering breath. The shape was long and lean, fluid with hair. A streak of white moved smoothly on its narrow head.

It was Ash.

He paused on the roof, three paws down and one up in an eerie imitation of the way a cat will stop in mid-stride when something catches its attention. The orange gleams of his eyes shuttered themselves for a moment, and his whole body slumped on three legs.

“What is it?” Graves whispered. I didn’t look at him, but I could tell he knew I’d seen something.

Maybe it was my face. It certainly felt funny, bones under twitching skin as I froze, peeking out between the slats of the blinds.

The hall outside the bedroom door was deathly quiet. If Christophe was moving, I couldn’t hear him.

“Dru?” Graves stepped forward. A floorboard groaned under his feet.

Ash’s narrow canine head jerked up and swung around. He stared right at me for what seemed like an endless moment, and the sure voice of instinct spoke inside my head. I took two steps to the side and grabbed the cord, yanking the blinds up with a sound that ripped through the sleeping quiet.

“Dru!” This time it was Christophe sweeping the door open, but I already had the window unlatched. I tugged on it, and wonder of wonders, it wasn’t painted shut. It hove up with a screech just as Graves yelled and Christophe swore.

Ash tumbled through the window. He left dark prints on the roof and the sash. Blood looks black at night, and he was covered in it. The liquid length of him hit the floor with a wet thud. The same nameless certainty made me kneel down beside him. Chill night air poured through the window.

Ash made a soft canine sound when I touched his furry head. A half-growling yip that went down at the end, like he was too tired to finish it.

“Dru.” Christophe, with the careful tone of an adult telling a kid not to pet the nice foaming-rabid pooch. “Dru, malutka, little one, move away.” There was a click, and I didn’t have to look at him to know he had a gun out. Maybe it was even the shotgun he’d driven Ash off with once before.

What the hell am I doing? But Ash had saved my life twice. It didn’t feel right to let Christophe shoot him. Just like it hadn’t felt right to leave Graves behind once he’d been bitten. “He’s hurt.”

The wulfen made another tired sound, and turned his head slightly toward me. He sighed. And the uncomfortable thought rose up in me, what if I had left Graves behind?

How many times had he saved me, too?

Christophe swallowed, audibly. “Dru, moja ksi aniczko, please. Move away from him.”

The hair was amazingly silky where it wasn’t matted with water and blood and filth. I touched the white streak and Ash made a sharp, quivering noise. “He’s hurt. He saved my life the other—”

“He’s dangerous, just like any Broken. And he’s probably led them straight to you. Move away, and I will end his suffering.”

I leaned forward over Ash’s head. “Goddammit, Christophe, listen to me. We’ve got to help him. He saved my life, and—”

“He could have done that for any number of reasons—”

“So could you.” I looked up. His eyes were all but glowing, winter sky. Graves had his hands up and stood to one side, staring fixedly at Christophe’s profile and the shotgun. It was the shotgun, the same one he’d had before.

And it was pointed right at me. A thin river of prickling fear ran down my spine. The end of a gun looks very big and very black when it’s staring you in the face.

“Christophe,” Graves said, very quietly. A growl rattled under the words. “Put that fucking shotgun down.”

“What are you going to do? Jump me?” Christophe snorted. “Shut up, dogboy, and let the adults talk. Dru, kochana, please. I beg you, move away from the animal and let me dispatch him.” The spaces between his words got odder, and I wondered again, inconsequentially, how goddamn old he was.

“I’m not going to. We’re going to help him.” I stared at the shotgun’s oiled barrel, its deadly snout. My teeth tingled, turning sharply sensitive. “And I think we’d better do it fast.”

The thrumming growl in the room wasn’t coming from Ash. A crackle of bones shifting their shape and density brushed the air like the soft sound of a bird’s wings.

And the taste of wax oranges bloomed on the back of my tongue. Christophe looked up, a quick birdlike movement, and dropped the shotgun’s muzzle toward the floor. “Time to go. He’s led them here. God and Hell both damn it.” He turned sharply on one heel. “Robert! Samuel! Wake up!”

It was amazing to hear him bellow. Even more amazing was Graves hunching his shoulders, his eyes glittering green. “Dru?” My name came out half-mangled, because his jaw was changing.

“Come over here.” I tried not to sound scared half to death, crouching over a broken, bleeding werwulf. “Help me. He’s pretty beat up.”

Ash made a convulsive movement. Blood spattered on the floor, and a low hurt sound escaped his muzzle. His teeth looked very sharp, and very white. He sighed, and slumped bonelessly into the floor.

“Graves?” Oh please don’t lose your temper now. Please.

“Time to go,” Christophe snarled at the door. “Get downstairs, Dru. Now.”

“We’re taking him with us.” I stared at Graves, willing him to help me out.

The crackling went away. He took two long strides, ending up next to me and the streak-headed werwulf. Knelt down carefully, and I could see how pale he was under his ethnic coloring. His hands shook when he reached down, getting a handful of bloody pelt.

It occurred to me then that Ash was the one who’d bitten Graves. “Help me get him upright.” I wanted to apologize, but there wasn’t time.

Because the thin blue lines of warding in the wall had begun to sparkle and run together uneasily, sensing the approach of something inimical.

“Jesus Christ,” Graves said, breathlessly, and pulled Ash’s arm up. “Okay, Dru. Okay. All right.”

Oh, thank God. Because I didn’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t backed me up.

Between the two of us, we got the wulfen heaved up. He hung like wet laundry, and he was heavy and bloody. Christophe’s hair was slick and dark as the aspect folded over him, his fangs touching his lower lip and his eyes incandescent.

“If you think I’m going to—” he began.

Graves actually snarled in return, a deep thrumming noise. “Shut the fuck up if you’re not going to help.” He took an experimental step, and Ash’s weight got easier to handle. “Come on, Dru.”

I let out a sobbing breath of relief. We moved forward, Christophe backed up, and I heard a sharp, hateful cry rise in the distance. It scraped against the inside of my head, and it meant that the vampires had found us. And were moving in.