Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

“You do your mate proud,” Kyle said. For a moment, I thought he was talking to someone else in the car, maybe Shelby. But no, he was staring right at me with those sad, coffee-colored eyes. I’d forgotten that in the eyes of the Therians, Wyatt was my mate. He’d declared it so during my disappearance/kidnapping, in order to secure the assistance of the Assembly. Although we weren’t technically together (if we ever were) anymore, the declaration stuck. Therians didn’t divorce. Mates were chosen for life.

Maybe if we humans chose for life, we’d pick more carefully the first time around.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“You’re here, continuing to assist in the rescue of others while he lays dying of a disease wrought by one of ours.”

“You’re wrong.” Kyle blinked, surprised by my snapped response, so I hurried to clarify. “The Lupa are not one of yours, Kyle. They’re nothing like the Therians I’ve met since coming to the Watchtower.”

He tilted his head, a gesture of understanding.

“Besides,” I added, “Wyatt would want me here.”

Phin’s cell phone rang. Crap. I yanked it out of his discarded jeans—Astrid—and set it to speaker.

“Yeah?” I said by way of greeting.

“Why the blue hell did one of my Pinnia scouts tell me that a crow about the size of the average osprey just flew onto one of those ferries?” Astrid asked without preamble. Oh yeah, she was pissed.

“I have no idea why the Pinnia scout would tell you that,” I replied. Not exactly denying it, just not confirming it.

Astrid huffed. “Regardless, they confirmed your target. Two boats, one on each side of the loading pier. Backup ETA is five minutes. If your crow returns before we get there—”

“We’re going in from the pier. Tell Baylor’s team to come down the loading driveway from the north, and Kismet’s to come up the parking lot side from the south. Everyone else, straight into the pier.”

A pause, then, “Okay. I’ll signal when we’re in position. We go in hard and fast.”

“We’ll tell you which boat we’re hitting first as soon as the crow gets back.”

“Good enough.”

After I hung up, I gave the others a wry smile. “That went better than I expected.”

Our “crow” returned before two more minutes had passed and, sure enough, Phin shifted back with black streaks running across his torso, arms, and legs. One smudge went straight across his forehead like a painted-on bandanna. “North boat,” he said.

“Did you see them?” Kyle asked as we piled out of the SUV.

“No. They’re likely being kept in interior rooms, and I couldn’t get in without being spotted. Michael Jenner’s scent lingered on the pier and deck of the northern boat. He was there within the last few hours. No scent carried to the southern boat.”

“Fabulous,” I said. I texted the information to Astrid and reported my conversation with her to Phin at the same time.

Shelby stripped off his T-shirt and sneakers, leaving on only a pair of loose workout shorts. “I’ll shift once we’re onboard,” he said. “Should scare the beejeebus out of some of those damned half-Bloods, coming face-to-face with a five-hundred-pound polar bear.”

“No doubt.” I glanced around for Kyle; he’d already shifted into his dingo form and seemed eager for the hunt. Eager to find and rescue his love.

Phin put his jeans back on, then adjusted the strap holding his Coni blade close to his hip. Blue eyes blazing, he looked at each of us in turn. “Let’s go hunting,” he said.

Street traffic was moderate for midmorning—mostly delivery trucks and the occasional lost motorist. We stuck to the alley we were in, and it led us due west. Past the next block, we crossed a one-way street and came out close to the boarded-up Terminal building. In the shadows of its cracked-glass walls and faded aluminum roof, Phin bi-shifted, allowing his majestic, powerful wings to appear. Streaked in black paint and as menacing as I’d ever seen him, Phin no longer looked the part of the angel I’d once mistaken him to be. He looked like a demon about to unleash his wrath upon unsuspecting victims.

His phone chirped; he checked it. “Other teams in position,” he whispered. “It’s now or never.”

My pulse sped up, as did my breathing. Adrenaline coursed through me. My toes tingled, and I pulled one of my guns, testing its unfamiliar weight. Hard and fast, just like I liked it. I pulled at threads of loneliness, fueled by my need to have Wyatt battling by my side today, and my tap to the Break sparked. I kept that spark close, tickling the front of my mind, just in case I needed it.

“Time to have some fun,” Tybalt said.

Boarding the north ferry was something of a blur, spurred by adrenaline and fraught with the lingering fear that, by doing this, we were ensuring the deaths of those we’d come to save. Shelby had shifted, and he used his furry white bulk to break down the passenger loading doors. The ferry was anchored so close to the pier that a ramp wasn’t necessary. Just a quick jump across a slice of stagnant water, and we were onboard.

Onboard and in a stairwell of sorts. Most of the glass partitions were shattered, only metal frames remaining. Straight ahead was an empty area where the loaded cars parked. To our right and left, metal staircases led to the upper passenger decks and observation areas. Nothing stirred in the car lot, so up we went. Phin, me, and Kyle-the-dingo to the left; Tybalt, Paul, and Shelby-the-polar-bear to the right.

Our entrance must have both alerted and confused the Halfies we found on the next deck. I barely caught a glimpse of dormitory-style futons and cheap furniture behind the bodies of the Halfies swarming toward us from all directions. Young, in shape, and clear-thinking due to whatever it was Thackery was feeding them, they attacked with a precision and coordination I didn’t expect.

Phin launched himself at the crowd with a cry and a gust of wind from his wings. Kyle snarled and pounced on the nearest bare throat.

I aimed away from them and began firing. I’d never be a perfect marksman, but human torsos made nice big targets. Three half-Bloods went down right away, screeching and clawing at their chests. Bullets hurt no matter who you were; bullets laced with something your kind was violently allergic to hurt like fucking hell.

I fired again, and a fourth went down. The crush of bodies increased. A hand crashed down on my wrist, and I lost the gun. Air exploded from my lungs—I felt the ache in my back a split-second later. My knees buckled. Instead of fighting it and losing my balance, I instinctively dropped to a crouch—well timed, as the air of a missed punch whizzed past my head. Using my right hand for support, I plucked a blade from my ankle with my left hand, then shot that foot out backward. Connected with something hard and made someone scream.

The roar of a bear vibrated the floor, as did the thundering of additional footsteps in the metal stairwell nearby. Backup or more Halfies—we’d soon see.

I sliced upward with my left hand. Blade met skin, and warm blood splashed my arm. I contemplated my backup gun just as a symphony of shots popped off nearby. Too many to be my lost weapon. Backup was here.

A Halfie about my age, long blond hair done up in dozens of small braids, slammed into me sideways. We hit the deck in a tangle of arms and legs. Fangs snapped at my throat. Her breath smelled like old pennies. I worked one leg up between us and leveraged her away, rolled us somehow, and came up on top. I drove my knee down into her stomach. She hissed and kept an iron grip on my left wrist, the blade angled away.

A hand tangled in my hair and yanked so hard that I saw stars. I lost my hold on the girl and was pulled, via hair, to my feet. I couldn’t stop the scream of shock and pain. Strong arms looped around my waist and held me tight to a strong chest.