Chapter Seven
Trees. Lots of trees. I think they're the first things I ever saw. Actually, I'm sure of it. The woods. I feel like I was born of the woods. Not just in them.
When I was little Finn would say that all things natural and wild in the world were pulled into one seed, which sprouted from the ground with a little girl wrapped inside, and that little girl was me.
I dream of those trees sometimes. I'm dreaming of them now. Ignoring the dull pain that wants me to wake up.
The tint of green is bright and vivid. It must be summer. A soft breeze cools my wet body. I remember. I'm not alone. The trees are there with me. And someone else.
There's a scream, the faces of a woman, a man, the silhouette of another baby.
It startles me awake and I grasp my head. Then the dull pain from before doubles in my knee and side.
I'm in Finn's office, in the Bank, lying on the brown sofa. The concrete ceiling twists and pulsates as the veins behind my temples throb.
We're alive, I say to Wolf, searching for her presence.
But she's silent. She should be fine. She heals when she's back inside me. I start to panic. Why is she so quiet?
Where are you? I ask into the darkness of my mind.
There's no answer.
Wolf, where are you? Are you okay? A sense of dread fills my stomach. She made it right? We switched before she was hurt too bad didn't we?
My fingers twist in the blanket that covers me.
Wolf, please. Are you okay?
...Okay, she finally answers.
I release the breath I'd been holding and with it come tears upon tears.
No cry.
Screw you, "no cry!" I thought I lost you. Damn right I'm gonna cry, you ass.
"Steady, love," a voice says from the corner of the room.
Of course I didn't smell him.
"Finn," I whisper. My chin quivers as he rises from the chair in the corner. If I weren't already crying, I would be now.
"Quite the scare you gave us, love," Finn says, sitting next to me. Cringing with pain, I move myself into his arms and he holds my head against his cold chest. "You've been taking a long time to heal. Almost considered taking ya to the hospital. That was a first. And what the bloody hell would they do with you?" He laughs.
He rubs my back, encouraging me to get it all out. The tears fall in streams, big blobs landing on his shirt.
"Ten minutes later, Falon... What would we have found on that beach? And even now, you're not healing like you should be. You've never taken this long to heal. If your wounds don't change, I might have to contact—"
This is so unlike him, blabbering on like this, a worried mother hen. I look up at his face and he averts his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
"Christ, what a bloody mess," he whispers.
I try to sit up, to comfort him, but gasp in pain. His eyes snap back to me.
"Your new friend was a pain in the arse," he says, distracting himself. "A right beast, that one. I haven't seen a werewolf in a long damn time. Usually keep to themselves. Especially don't go trespassing on our territory."
His words remind me of the morning's events. And of the one that got away.
"There was another one," I blurt out, ignoring the stinging in my side and knee as I quickly stand. My words come out in a rush, "A vampire. He ran off. He could be anywhere, you've got to get him, he should be blind, I don't know if it would've healed, I—"
Finn stands and puts his hands on my shoulders, all at once silencing me and encouraging me to sit back down. His eyes alight and his grip tightens. "We're after him, Falon. Just relax."
"Finn, they were after me. The vampire said they wanted my—my blood. I don't know if he was telling the truth. What in the name of holy shits going on?"
His eyes narrow. A dollar in the swear jar.
He sighs and considers my question."Something that goes much deeper than I
thought." His face dims, his usually bright eyes blacken, and even his manly scruff seems
a bit less... scruffy.
I study his face and wonder about my father. I know he must not have had Finn's dark brown eyes and equally dark brown hair, his gruff stubble, or square jaw. It might've been his face I was looking at instead, under different circumstances. But that man doesn't matter; the one with me now, the one that's always been here, is the one that does.
I blink away my straying thoughts. "That's not an answer. That's an evasion. Were they the danger you were worried about?" I ask.
He sighs again.
"Well, tell me something, Finn. For Christ's sake, I almost died!"
Wolf yips in warning and I pull back on my temper. Finn's lips purse and his eyes shine with guilt. Not the effect I was going for.
"I'm not a damsel in distress," I say, taking his hand, "Don't lock me up in the tower, give me a damn sword."
Squeezing his hand, I smile, trying to bring him back from the dark hole he so often falls into.
"The werewolf is—was—Garrick, and the other one," he starts.
"Ramsey," I spit.
Wolf growls.
"Yes, Ramsey," he continues, "aren't the ones I went looking for."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I was sent on a wild goose chase. I caught someone north of here who said they were after Simon for the circulation system. It was a distraction. Ramsey and Garrick were the real deal."
"What would make a werewolf and vampire team up? Do they work for the Order?"
Finn's eyes widen. That was the right question to ask then. He opens his mouth, but clicks it shut again.
All I know about "the Order" is the name: the Order of Eucharist. And that they're basically a vampire cult Finn used to work for. He's very hush-hush about them—about his past in general. He's haunted by the life that came before me. And I know better than to ask. If there's one thing I've learned from growing up with vampires it's that everyone has a past. And it's usually a painful one.
But I've never been too interested in asking more about them. Religion is a weird human thing I've never been able to wrap my head around. And I can't imagine the reasons why vampires would seek it out. If humans could start wars with it, commit genocide, it's terrifying to think about what vampires could do with that kind of belief behind them—or what they've already done.
As long as they're not poaching in my forest or planning to build a parking garage in the Refuge, I couldn't care less. But, after this morning, I guess I should start.
Finn tugs at his beard. For the first time in my life, Finn looks his age. Not like the never-aging immortal he is. In this moment, the gray in his hair and beard aren't dignified and mysterious, the wrinkles around his mouth and on his forehead aren't full of wisdom: they're signs of a hard and stressful life.
He sighs. "No. They're not with the Order, love. We have a... deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"They stay away from me and I don't mess with their blood supply." Finn walks over to the big bay windows that line one side of his loft office to look down at the first floor of the Bank.
I struggle off the couch and limp over to stand next to him. The warehouse space is wide and open, with heavily tinted windows positioned against the high ceiling. The area, despite its size, feels claustrophobic. Every few feet is occupied by a massive steel refrigerator. At least two hundred are lined up in neat rows, filling the center of the warehouse. Finn used to carry me through them when I was a toddler. The humming would put me to sleep.
Which is a bit morbid considering they're full of human blood. This place is the blood bank for the entire East coast, hence "the Bank." But my childhood was never going to be normal and the blood has really never bothered me. I try to think of it as a commodity. Humans keep a few steaks or a bag of chicken filets in the freezer. Vampires keep blood. Finn only takes donated blood, though I know not all vampires worry about getting consent, even if it comes from a lie, from their donors.
Out of place amongst all the steel is a large, walnut desk, behind which Finn's secretary, a graying woman by the name of Blythe Bastion, sits, clicking away on the computer keyboard with her manicured nails.
I've known this woman most of my life and her face hasn't changed; no sagging of the skin, no extra wrinkles. A benefit to being one of them. And, in the entire time I've known her, never once has she indicated any sort of fondness toward me. My fashion and hygiene always manage to offend her. I think she'd get along really well with the gossip quartet.
A few white-coated employees walk along the aisles, all checking on the temperatures inside the freezers while scribbling notes onto their clipboards. None of them ever acknowledge me. White-coats do their job, nothing more and nothing less. I fell down the stairs once when I was little and not a single one came to help me, just stole a quick glance at my crying, seven-year-old self, and continued on with their business.
Finn's fist against the window startles me. I pull my gaze away from the white coats to look at him, his shoulders drooped and a hand over his eyes.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you from them. From all of this. I just wanted you to have a normal life." He looks up out the window again.
"Normal is overrated." I put my hand up on his shoulder.
"Normal is easy," he returns, his sideward glance accompanied by a grin.
"Exactly."
Movement below draws my attention and I look down just in time to see Blythe lunge from her chair to grasp Dunn by his chin, lifting him clear off his feet. Hicks pulls his gun and aims it at her temple.
"That idiot," I say, sliding the window open.
I hear Blythe hissing at Dunn. "If you raise your voice to me one more time, young man, I'll pluck your eyes out of your head and feed them to the crows."
Her pale fingers and long nails dig into Dunn's tanned cheeks. "Mr. Byrom said no visitors. You will wait."
It's nice to know that Blythe dislikes someone even more than me, though Dunn has a bad habit of making everyone he meets want to push him down a flight of stairs. In an endearing kind of way.
I take a deep breath to yell at them, while my ribs scream in protest, but Finn grabs my arm. He has his cellphone pressed up to his ear.
Looking down, I see Hicks answer his own phone.
"Stand down, mate. I'm on my way out," Finn says. "Hand the phone to Blythe."
Hicks lowers his gun, shoving it back in the holster, and hands the phone to Blythe.
"Now, now," Finn teases, "Thought I told you kids to play nice."
Blythe looks up at the windows and sees Finn and I looking at them. Even from here I can see her blush. Her eyes flick back and forth between Dunn and I, fly-aways sticking out every which way from her normally sleek coif. Her eyes are ablaze, pupils dilated so much the whites of her eyes have vanished. She looks like a great-white shark about to devour a baby seal.
Blythe hands the cellphone back to Hicks and places Dunn back on his feet. He bounds backwards, drawing his gun on her. She furiously smoothes at her hair, tucking away loose ends, while readjusting her meticulously ironed skirt-suit. She returns to her desk, which was shoved cock-eyed when she lunged, picking it up to reposition it like it's made of cardboard.
Dunn keeps his gun trained on her with one hand, the other rubbing vigorously at his chin and cheeks. Hicks puts his hand over Dunn's gun and motions up at the window. When Dunn sees me his eyes go wide and he releases a shaky breath. Finn motions for him to come up.
"I need to speak with Hicks. Stay here and rest," Finn says.
"I'll go with you. I'm fine," I lie. My knee throbs.
"Not by the looks of you," he says. He points at the mirror hanging on the wall.
I stalk over to it then recoil in disgust. "Eck, what are those? What's wrong with my face?"
"Like I said, not healing as fast as usual."
"Holy—it looks like I was hit by a truck!" I squeal, touching at my cheeks and nose.
The bruising is the worst of it, blotches of yellow and a deep, veiny purple discoloring my face in such a way that it looks like I'm in the early stages of decomposition. Wolf scoffs at my vanity.
"No, love, not a truck. A werewolf." Finn smiles and moves me away from the mirror, turning me to face him. "And we hit him back." He kisses the top of my head.
My mind knows vampires don't have a scent, but I can smell oak and moist earth so clearly on him. I inhale.
He lets go and walks towards the door, but pauses at the handle. "Stay here, we'll talk more later. Then we'll look into getting ya 'a damn sword.'"
He disappears into the hallway for about three seconds before sticking his head back in. "Oh, Dunn and Hicks are back on babysitting duty for the rest of the day. Be nice." He gives me an award-winning smile and ducks away from the pillow I throw.
"I don't need babysitters!" I yell after him. Wolf huffs in agreement.
Dunn rounds the corner into the office just in time to see my tantrum. "Says the baby throwing cushions." He picks up the pillow and tosses it back at me.
"I don't need babysitters, Dunn," I say, plopping back down onto the couch. I gingerly put my leg up on the table, and let my hair curtain my face so he doesn't see my smile.
"Sure you don't, mutt face. Eager to get your ass kicked again, yeah?" he smirks, but looks at me anxiously. He's testing the waters.
Wolf huffs.
"I'm in the market for some asses to kick," I growl.
A real smile replaces his nervous one and he laughs. "Wow, your face looks... well... ouch," he says. He tosses a backpack onto the couch. "Brought you some clothes from home." He settles down onto the edge of the dark cherry desk.
Looking down for the first time at my garb, my face drains of blood then pumps it back into my cheeks. A large button down shirt covers my upper body, barely reaching my upper thighs.
"Whose is this and who put me in it?"
"Hicks'. And Blythe," Dunn answers respectively. "...But I gave you the sponge bath." His grin is all teeth and gums. Shark-ish.
I look for something heavier than a pillow to throw at him, but nothing's within reach. "Screw off." I tug down on the hem of the shirt.
He laughs, a crisp sound like lapping waves, and flashes a smile that would make most women's estrogen levels soar.
But not mine. Not anymore at least.
"So, who were they?" I ask. "Finn says they weren't the Order."
I move to take one of the seats in front of the desk and place my hands on my thighs to cover up some of the exposed skin. Vampires have a tendency to look at humans like they're a piece of meat; Dunn has a tendency to look at women like they're ripe apples ready for picking.
He leans back on the desk and stares up at the ceiling. "They said they were sent down from somewhere up north I guess. Thought they were after Simon. Obviously they weren't." He frowns as he looks at me from the corner of his eye.
"What else do you know?" I push.
"That this is getting complicated. The Order's goons have been creeping around all morning. Another one just got here. Wants to talk to Finn," he says. He twists to look out the windows.
"What do they want?"
He gapes at me. "You don't know?" He scratches at the back of his head, his mouth a slanted frown.
"No. I don't," I snap. There's a lot I don't know, apparently.
He massages half of his face with his hand. "You're such a headache." He shakes his head then leans forward, pokerfaced. "Do you know how terrifying that was? To know they were coming after you? To have you answer the phone and not say a word? To not find you at your house?"
There is no humor in his voice and even Wolf is urging me to avoid eye contact. A moment passes in silence while he stares me down.
"I'm sorry I worried you."
His mouth twitches. "I wasn't worried," he asserts. "But damn, Hicks lost his shit."
"Hicks did?" My brows rise.
"Yeah. They brought you in, half-dead and covered in blood, and no one would tell us anything. All these guys we didn't know running around, giving orders. And Finn just stayed locked up in here with you, wouldn't talk to anybody. Hicks pistol-whipped one of them."
"Nanny goat did?" I can't imagine Hicks, calm, quiet, and composed, smacking some vampire with his gun.
"Yeah, like I said, totally lost it." Dunn chuckles. "Then Finn came out and everyone calmed down."
"Wow..."
A warmth spreads across my chest and I realize how happy Wolf is to hear that Hicks stood up for us.
"He was like a bald, black Clint Eastwood. Raising hell and taking names," Dunn laughs.
"Where is he?" I ask, wishing Hicks was here too.
"Talking to Mr. Byrom." Dunn unties his tie, puts it next to him on the desk, and unbuttons the collar of his white, pressed shirt. He pulls out the fishhook necklace and lays it over the material. Always so eager to take off the uniform. "What? It's been a stressful morning. Tie feels like a noose," he defends.
My smile is sarcastic.
"Well, what are you waiting for, yeah? Get dressed," he says, motioning to the backpack. He doesn't move save for the widening of his grin.
"Perv," I reply, but grin back at him. Even I can fall for his charm sometimes.
"Don't go anywhere," he orders, rising from the desk. His eyes narrow, "I'll be right outside the door."
My hand waves him away and when he closes the door, I dig into the pack. Then cringe when I pull out a bra and underwear, deciding not to wonder who packed them. My cheeks are hot again as I dress in the red t-shirt and jean shorts provided. I toss the bra back in the bag.
Fully dressed, I look at myself in the mirror again and attempt to smooth down the wild, knotted waves of my hair. The bruising isn't as startling now. Even as I watch they fade a bit. Finn will be relieved that my healing ability has kicked back in.
Turning, I look over the room. Finn has three different offices in the area. One for dealing with, well, the "people" part of the majority, the Mains, because it's on the mainland; another for dealing with the "not-so-people" of the minority, the Garage, literally the underground floors of a parking garage; and a third, the Bank, for keeping away from all of the above.
But this is the only one I've ever been to. It's always substantially warmer and brighter in his office than the rest of the building, like a safe haven amongst the sterility and coldness. When I was little this was my favorite place to be.
Except for when I was in trouble.
If I got sent to the principal's office—and I did, many times—I'd end up in Finn's office at some point as well, which was much scarier.
A dark mahogany desk sits in front of the big windows. He's had this desk for a long time. I used to curl up and nap underneath it when Finn had to stay for long hours. I spent most of my childhood here in this office, sat underneath this desk for hours while Finn worked, listening to him shuffle through documents. Sometimes he'd hum a song or tell me stories about when he was human. But most of the time I was alone, waiting for him to get back from some important meeting.
The wooden leg of his desk chair still has bite marks from when I gnawed on it during one of my tantrums. It was much more difficult to control my wild impulses when I was younger.
Walking around the desk, I push the chair back and crouch down to peer at the space beneath. I crawl underneath, the pain in my knee and side finally subsiding. The space is much smaller than I remember. But I feel safe. Even Wolf relaxes. I can just barely make out an old etching in the underside; "Wolf." From when I'd finally decided on her name. A bit unimaginative, but up until that point I just called her "she," or "her," or "the other one."
I trace the etching with my finger. I don't know what I would've done if she hadn't answered me earlier.
Here, Wolf reassures.
Good. Don't ever leave me, okay? Pinky?
Promise.
There's a crash outside the door and lots of yelling and I jump, whacking my head on the bottom of the desk before scrambling out from underneath.
A thud against the wall dislodges the mirror from its hanger and it shatters on the floor. That's vampire strength at work.
Wolf welcomes the challenge. We've already blinded one vampire today. And my wounds are healing fast enough now to blind another.
But it's Dunn who bursts into the room, locking the door behind him. His face is white, like the pigment's been sucked dry with a straw. He says nothing, rushes over, and then pushes me behind the desk and against the back wall and windows. He draws his gun, taking careful aim at the door.
"What? What's happening?" Dunn doesn't answer. I take hold of the arm holding the gun, "What the hell is going on?"
Wolf starts growling, so loud I can't think. There's a slam up against the door. The wood splinters and cracks under the pressure from the other side.
Another slam.
Then another.
Finally the wood cracks and gives way as a suit-clad body is lodged into the hole it creates. I recognize who it is just as he's pulled out and thrown down in the hallway.
"Hicks!" I scream, but Dunn throws his hand up, halting me. Wolf pushes hard on my legs, so hard that I take one more step forward.
I bend to look through the hole and find my eyes locked with another pair.
Eyes an unnatural mahogany color, more red than brown, stare back at me. A gaze so purposeful and raw that my breath hitches in my throat.