Kelly Meade - Black Rook

The front door banged open. Devlin rushed inside, out of breath and sweating. “What’s going on?”

Bishop stood up. “I need you to stay here with Brynn.”

Devlin nodded, not even questioning the order. “Where are you going?”

“Jillian and I are going out to find Knight and Jonas.”

Devlin’s mouth opened, a question forming that he didn’t ask, even though he clearly wanted to. He stepped aside so Bishop and Jillian could leave, then crossed into the small waiting room.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“Not really,” Brynn said. Her knees hurt and her right ankle was starting to throb—had she twisted it?

Devlin squatted in front of her and untangled her hands from the sweatshirt. She allowed him to help her put it on, unable to do it properly by herself anyway. He had to be so confused, and she couldn’t tell him anything. She didn’t know if Fiona was still a threat. Devlin stood up, then glanced at the exam room door and sniffed the air.

“How badly is Rook hurt?” he asked.

“He held off two shifted loup as a man.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit. It’s bad, then.”

“He lost a lot of blood. His father is in there, too.”

Devlin started to sit beside her. The exam door opened, and he jerked to attention. McQueen stepped out wearing only a blood-spattered surgical apron.

“Your cousin Winston is A-negative, right?” McQueen asked.

“Yes, sir,” Devlin replied.

“Get him. Rook needs blood.”

Devlin nodded and bolted, and McQueen returned to the exam room. Brynn couldn’t even speculate on how McQueen knew what Devlin’s cousin’s blood type was. All she knew was that Rook needed someone else’s blood because he’d lost so much of his own. She sank back against the sofa cushions, unable to do anything except stare at the door and hope—and hate her stupid Magus power for not seeing this betrayal coming.

Coming down from the creek was an exercise in extreme patience for Knight, and he truly had none left. Jonas’s burn left him in screaming pain and was slowly making his throat swell. Instead of waiting for help to find them, they’d begun the long trek back to town with Jonas leaning against Knight for support. They kept a slow, plodding pace so that Jonas didn’t have to overwork his gradually closing windpipe and risk choking to death.

They’d left Fiona’s body where it fell in a bloody pile of bone bits and brain gore. The bitch could rot.

The forest footpath ended, and they circled around the boulder. Headlights flashed through the thin tree line, and a truck engine cut off. The lights stayed on, though, and Knight altered their direction.

“Here!” he shouted.

Two bodies crashed toward them through the underbrush.

“Knight?”

Bishop. The familiar voice loosened some of the anxiety sitting heavily on his chest. Jillian and Bishop ran toward them, both dressed in sweats they hadn’t been wearing earlier. They reeked of fresh blood and the sour tang of fear.

“Where’s Rook?” Knight asked, and Jonas followed up with, “Is he alive?”

Bishop snarled at Jonas. “He’s at Dr. Mike’s. He’s bad.”

“Jonas didn’t know,” Knight said. “Geary must have made a deal to help Fiona in exchange for not killing Jonas.”

“When?”

“No idea. Can’t you ask Geary?”

“I would, but he tried to kill Rook, so I ripped his fucking throat out.”

Knight shuddered. “Fiona’s dead.”

“Good.”

Part of Knight felt the same way. Another part of him was terrified of the way the remaining hybrids would react to her death. The night hadn’t turned out like he’d expected. The poison capsule he’d planned to use was still in his pocket, Jonas was back in their good graces, and Rook was fighting for his life.

Victoria sends her regards. Daddy.

His stomach sloshed. He gave Jonas a rude shove toward Jillian, dropped to his knees, and vomited next to a bush. Acid scorched his throat and tongue, and he retched until the liquid turned to dry heaves. Bishop was beside him, hands on his shoulders. He pulled Knight back from the mess before he could collapse into it, and they sat there in the dirt while Knight shook.

“Jillian,” Bishop said, “take Jonas to Dr. Mike’s, then come back for us.”

Knight didn’t hear if she replied, and he was only vaguely aware of the headlights disappearing. He felt like a fool for losing it so badly in front of Bishop. He also felt safe. Bishop wouldn’t make him talk about it, wouldn’t ask for details. He’d accept Knight was upset and do whatever he could to soothe the pain.

“It’s never easy,” Bishop said softly a few minutes later. “Taking a life isn’t easy.”

“She deserved it,” Knight said.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be okay with doing it.” Something in Bishop’s tone hinted that he wasn’t just talking about Knight’s kill tonight. Enemy or not, self-defense or not, Bishop had taken the life of a run Alpha. The action would have consequences.

They were waiting in the field when Jillian returned with the truck, and a scene of barely organized chaos greeted them at Dr. Mike’s. Word had gotten around, and dozens of people stood on the sidewalks and in the street, waiting for information. They were respectful enough to not pepper the trio with questions as they climbed out of the truck. The only people Knight didn’t immediately notice were the other enforcers, or the refugees from Potomac. Father was likely having the refugees detained by the enforcers until proof of loyalty was established.

Knight couldn’t seem to think past the need to hear Dr. Mike say that Rook would live.

Devlin was sitting with Brynn when they walked inside. They both looked up with spooked expressions, which changed to relief when they saw him.

“Rook’s getting blood,” Devlin said. “Your father is sitting with him while Dr. Mike sees to Jonas.”

Knight nodded, then walked over to the door with blood streaked on the knob. He knocked softly, then went inside without waiting for an answer. Father stood on the other side of the exam bed, one hand on Rook’s forehead. Father wore a pair of sweat pants and his bare chest and throat bore drying bloodstains. He looked old, older than Knight had ever seen, and he ached for his father.

Rook lay flat on the bed, his left shoulder and neck heavily bandaged, pink and red already seeping through the white here and there. He was beyond pale and too damned still, his only movement the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Two IV lines led into Rook’s right arm—one from a bag of clear liquid, and the other attached to Winston Burke’s vein. Winston sat silently in a chair by Rook’s bed, freely giving blood to try to save a life. Doing his duty as any good enforcer would.

Knight circled the bed to stand next to his father, who gazed at him with watery eyes, the joy and gratitude at having his middle son back clear in their copper-flecked depths.

“Fiona’s dead,” Knight said.

Father blinked slowly, then inclined his head toward the bed. “Geary did this.”

“I know. He was trying to protect his son.”

“So far that’s the only part of this I think I can reasonably understand.”

“You’re one up on me, then.” Knight touched Rook’s left hand, the skin warm and slightly swollen, and the only place on his arm that wasn’t covered in bandages. He felt no emotional backwash from his brother. Nothing at all. Such a deep level of unconsciousness frightened him. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Do you know why it did?”

“Brynn told you about the exchange. Geary was in the room when she did it. That’s how Fiona found out. She warned Brynn this would happen if she told anyone but me.”