Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

She felt around in her hoodie pocket in case she’d missed an oxy tab last night, but no such luck. Not even a smoke. She felt her muscles coil tighter. She needed something to push back the pain and clear her head. Needed something to sweep away all the dark shit bouncing around in her mind.

Your dad contacted a member of the SB…the SB decided to bring you in for tests to determine what he did to you. And how .

Heather must have realized that Annie had blabbed her secret to Dad. Heather probably hated her now. At last, right? The last chain has fallen away . No reason to stick around. All she’d ever been was a thin shadow angling away from Heather.

But not to Silver. He’d been fun in and out of bed and, unlike mortal guys, could keep it up forever. Even though he was twenty-six, he’d been turned at fifteen, so rolling around with him had made her feel a little pervy, but in a delicious way. Silver had also made her feel lighter than air, an upward-bound leaf falling into the sky.

Silver wraps his fingers around her hand. He slips his arm around her waist, and then he moves. Annie’s breath catches in her throat as they streak through the crowd on the sidewalk and everything rushes past in thin finger-trails of color and light, of sound .

Annie’s flying .

She feels like Silver is her training wheels as she wings through the sky, low to the ground, her hand in his, his arm around her waist—hell, her feet might be only inches above the sidewalk—if that. But she flies, glides, in his arms .

And she never wants to stop .

But when she’d told Silver she wanted to be nightkind and asked him to turn her, he’d refused. Had said he was trying hard to get back on Dante’s good side after fucking up big time, and that turning her probably wasn’t the best idea in the world.

Silver’s pensive face and tight muscles had told Annie plenty, as had his wistful voice—he loved Dante, pined for him. She’d known that she had no hope of changing his mind. At least, not in the time remaining before the band left for the airport.

Annie’d decided if she couldn’t fly or be transformed, then she wanted to disappear. And get blind did-we-just-fuck drunk. All she needed was a beer or twelve.

And man, Heather was going to be so pissed when she discovered Annie had swiped a few souvenirs from Dante’s duffel bag on her way out.

Annie laughed, the sound as brittle as she felt. If she tripped and took a header to the pavement, would she shatter? Like good old Humpty-Dumpty? She drew in a deep breath of air and immediately regretted it as the spicy smells of curry and sausage made her migraine-queasy stomach clench.

Tires hissed over the wet pavement as cars passed her, headlights unfurling banners of blue-white light along the glistening street. A pair of headlights bright as twin suns going nova blinded Annie. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes. The vehicle—a big, rumbling pickup—pulled over to the curb. She walked up to the passenger-side door just as it swung open.

The cute curly-haired blond Heather had been questioning at the house was leaning across the seat, a warm smile on his lips. “Need a ride, Annie?” he asked.

Because a tiny voice inside of her was yelling no, Annie climbed into the pickup and, pulse thundering, shut the door.

Seattle, WA

March 24

N ah-nah-nah! I’m out having fun! Leave a fucking message! Or not!

Heather didn’t bother leaving a message. She ended the call, then spiked the cell phone onto the rumbled bed in frustration. “Shit!” She couldn’t help but think that Annie had taken off because of what she’d heard Lyons say.

She doesn’t know I blame Dad, not her .

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Annie’d ransacked Dante’s duffel bag on her way out the window, had stolen his iPod, a couple of shirts, a bottle of absinthe, and his song journal.

“She can fucking keep the other stuff. The only thing I care about is that journal,” Dante had said softly, then had shrugged—no big deal. But Heather had heard the distress in his voice; the journal was special.

She had a feeling that, somehow, Annie had gut-known which item’s loss would hurt Dante the most. Maybe because she was a musician too. Heather wasn’t exactly sure why Annie wanted to hurt Dante, maybe just to see if she could, maybe because she liked him. And maybe it wasn’t even Dante she wanted to hurt, but Heather.

Maybe it’d been all of those things.

Heather could puzzle out a killer’s identity, decipher his motives, and sometimes predict his next move, but she couldn’t figure out her own baby sister no matter how hard she tried.

Heather plopped down on the bed and rubbed her face. She felt drained, tired. Annie could be anywhere, with anyone, doing anything. And time was running out fast. For herself, for Dante, for Annie, even. Heather refused to leave her sister behind to be used by their father or the powers that be.

The SB exists . A chill rippled along her spine.

And Dr. Robert Wells…

Though Dante hadn’t said anything, she knew Lyons’s words— Every minute you let my father breathe, you’re denying her justice —had cut deep. Dante wanted Wells and she didn’t blame him. But it’d be impossible. How could he confront the man when he couldn’t even keep Wells’s name in his mind?

Dante walked into the bedroom, his hair wet from the shower, a blue bath towel tied around his waist. “Still nothing?” he asked.

Heather sighed and shook her head. “She might be headed to Portland. She’s got an apartment there and our dad’s in Portland too. She might want to confront him.”

“Yeah, she might.” Dante took off the towel and draped it over the doorknob. “I would. I bet you would, too.”

“Still might.” Heather’s pulse raced as she watched Dante dress, muscles rippling beneath his pale skin. She wished she could keep him naked for a while longer, wished they had the time to play.

Dante pulled on black leather pants and a twilight-purple PVC shirt crisscrossed with black latex-and-metal straps. He sat on the bed beside her. She caught a faint whiff of her honeysuckle shampoo laced beneath his autumn scent.

“We’ll find her,” he promised. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Heather closed her eyes and leaned into him. “You need to fly home with the guys,” she said. “It’s not safe for you here.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do, chérie . I ain’t leaving you alone.”

“Lyons could’ve been lying through his teeth.”

“Lyin’ Lyons. Probably, yeah. But not about everything. I think he told the truth about you. I ain’t leaving you alone.”

“Pigheaded.”

“And you ain’t?” Dante brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “Where you planning on going?”

Heather opened her eyes. “I don’t know, to be honest. Just out of Seattle. My brother’s in New York, but I hate the thought of bringing trouble or worse to his doorstep.”

“How ’bout you, Annie, and Eerie come to New Orleans? Stay with me until it’s safe,” Dante said. “I’m the reason you’re in this fucking mess. Let me help, Heather.”

“ None of this is your fault.” She held his dark gaze, studied his beautiful face. She could tell he thought otherwise. “I got into this by doing my job. And I don’t regret that. We’re in this mess together.”