Kelly Meding - Another Kind of Dead

“No.” Milo’s bark attracted everyone’s attention. He looked up at Kismet, his face a queer mix of dread and fascination. “David wasn’t the only person who knew about you guys stealing the goblin-hybrid. You’re all missing the obvious.”

I stared, not following his train of thought at all, and willing him to just say it and end the suspense. It was Wyatt who supplied the answer. “Boot Camp,” he said, gazing down at me. I met his onyx eyes, cowed by the sudden fury I saw in them. “Erickson, or someone at R&D. You said you heard somebody coming right before you teleported out. They knew almost immediately that Token was gone.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. Putting the pieces together still wasn’t my strongest suit. “And?”

Kismet made a choking sound, obviously coming to the same conclusion as the men in the room. “You think someone in R&D told Thackery you stole Token, and Thackery guessed at what you wanted him for, don’t you?”

My insides quivered, and I felt faint. Absolutely impossible. Accepting their theory meant accepting that someone inside Boot Camp was a traitor. Or playing both sides, which amounted to the same damned thing. I couldn’t look away from the blazing fury in Wyatt’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s exactly what I think.”

I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, cracked the top off, and gulped down half of it before taking a breath. The cold liquid spilled into my empty, roiling stomach and did little to calm it. But my mouth was soothed, my lips less parched. My brain more able to correctly process thoughts and participate in planning our escape.

Priority one was killing the hounds and getting the hell out of Dodge. All other discussion of traitors and backstabbing had ceased in favor of pondering that particular problem. The simplest fact remained unchanged, taunting us: all the weapons we needed were outside, at least twenty feet from the cabin, trapped in the twisted remains of Kismet’s SUV. Anyone who tried going outside would be attacked. I’d briefly entertained the notion of teleporting to the car and testing my luck, but I didn’t dare broach the idea. The storm continued raging, screwing with my control, and even if I did manage to materialize in the correct place, I’d have to somehow get to the weapons before the Hounds got me.

No, no one was going outside.

A warm hand pushed a lock of damp hair off my shoulder. I offered Wyatt the water. He finished off the bottle and cringed, probably as seasick as me.

“I wanted to ask,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When we teleported in, did you feel …? I don’t know, could you tap into …? How did …?” He couldn’t quite figure out the question he wanted to ask.

“I think we shared our taps,” I said, turning to face him. For the first time, I noticed a darkening bruise on his cheek, probably from the crash into the tree. “When I was struggling to get us into the cabin, I felt your power. It gave me what I needed to get us here.”

Curiosity changed to wonder. “I didn’t know Gifted could do that.”

“Maybe no one’s ever tried.”

“Or tried during a thunderstorm when our energy is amped up.”

I nodded, then froze as an impossible scenario became suddenly less so.

Wyatt took a step closer. “Evy, what?”

“I just had the wildest idea to get the weapons cache in here with us. You can use the power of the storm, have me as a backup battery, and summon it right into the cabin.”

His eyes unfocused as he considered my suggestion. I could almost see the hamster wheel going. He smiled proudly. “I think that just might work. But it’s risky.”

“So’s sitting around all night hoping to be rescued.”

“I’ve noticed.” He spun around. Kismet and Milo were still sitting with Felix, giving us room. She looked up when Wyatt walked toward them. “Which window’s got the best view of your car?”

Kismet pointed at the refrigerator. “There. Why?”

“We’ve got an idea, so just bear with us a minute. And you might want to take Felix into the bedroom.”

She seemed poised to question him. Instead, she stood up, and she and Milo began dragging the bloody mattress and its burden into the other room.

Wyatt and I pushed the fridge a few inches to the right, just enough to give him a peek outside. Two of the panes were broken, the rest cracked, but the frame was intact. Rain blew inside, peppering his cheek. He peered out, then jumped when something roared. We shoved the fridge back into place.

“Okay, I can see where it is,” he said, wiping the water from his face. “Are you sure—”

“Yes, I want to do this.” I squeezed his arm. “Phin and Felix are counting on us.”

“Guys?” Kismet asked from the bedroom doorway. “What exactly are you up to?”

“We’re getting those weapons,” Wyatt said. “Close the door.”

She acquiesced without argument. I shoved the coffee table into the corner, giving us a completely open space. We went to stand by the cold fireplace.

“I’ll need my hands free,” he said. “Maybe if you’re behind me?”

I circled to his back and looped my arms beneath his, up and around to clasp his shoulders. My breasts pressed hard into his back, and our heartbeats hammered together, speeding faster with the strength of the storm.

“Tell me when to tap in,” I said, resting my chin on his shoulder. Power crackled through him, and I felt his tap as keenly as I’d felt it before, energized by the electrical output of the thunderstorm. Wild and unpredictable and laced with the scent of ozone. My nose tingled.

“Now, Evy.”

My emotional trigger was easy to find, and the input from the Break surged through me like a lightning strike. The hairs on my arms and neck stood straight. Faint tremors traveled between our bodies, tiny sparks of power being shared through our connection. I pushed that power forward, feeding everything I could into Wyatt’s Gift.

He made a noise—not quite a groan, but nothing pleasant. I held on, fighting my own Gift’s attempts to break us apart and send us flying elsewhere. I concentrated on the wood floor beneath me, the walls around us, the exact spot on which we stood. We weren’t leaving; we were bringing something to us.

The air snap-crackled. Thunder broke overhead, and the rumble seemed to last forever. Over and over, growing louder, until it broke again in a deafening clap. I squeezed Wyatt tighter, pressing my face into his shoulder. Just held on as raw power coursed through me and into him. My throat hurt, and I realized too late that I was screaming.

So was he.

A sound like a cannon shot rattled the walls, and the pressure in the room changed as air displaced. Wyatt collapsed, and I fell with him, afraid to let go until I was certain it was finished. His tap was gone. I no longer felt power from him. I let my tap go, and the surge of storm energy ceased, leaving me shivering and cold. Drained like a wrung-out sponge.

I opened my eyes and blinked away the dryness. Stared over Wyatt’s shoulder. The entire rear half of Kismet’s SUV was in the middle of the cabin, dripping with rainwater, a twisted hunk of metal and tires and broken glass. The stink of motor oil joined the already rank smells inside the cabin.

“Holy fuck,” Kismet said from the bedroom door. “You did it.”

“We did it,” I said. “Wyatt?”

Nothing.

I pulled out from beneath him and gently rolled him onto his back. His chest rose and fell. Blood trickled from both nostrils and stained his upper lip and chin. He was paler than his complexion had any right to be. I checked his pulse with trembling fingers—weak, but steady.

“Is he okay?” Kismet squatted on his other side, her green eyes wide.