Day Reaper. Melody Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ I realized belatedly. They probably weren’t any more reassuring than my talons.

      Dominic growled softly and moved to step in front of me. I shook my head, not daring to take my eyes from the barrel of Greta’s gun. If I didn’t do this myself, she would never see me in the vampire I’d become.

      Even though I was mostly still me, I couldn’t deny that Greta’s instinct to defend herself was dead-on accurate. The urge to tear her throat out and guzzle her blood was there—I couldn’t deny that as a passing thought. It had merit, especially when the savory flavor of her fear, like wafting grill smoke, made me salivate—but like with any addiction, I could simultaneously crave it and know I’d regret it. Choosing to resist that craving was just that, a choice, and one I’d probably have had more difficulty making had I never previously experienced and overcome addiction. I knew what the bottom of the gutter looked and smelled and felt like. I knew the hell of being completely abandoned by my last loved one and knowing it was all my own fault. No matter how irresistible a craving seemed, I knew it for the illusion it was, and no matter what form it took—pills or blood—I would never make the wrong choice again.

      Although, looking at Nathan trapped in that cage, I had to strongly remind myself that he could escape of his own free will if he really wanted to. We were all on the same side: I was just the only one who knew it.

      “Hey G,” I said, overlooking the sight of her gun, the smell of her fear, my brother in a cage, and Dr. Chunn’s horror-movie shriek as she whipped around at the sound of my voice and dropped everything in her arms. The binders and laptop crashed to the floor. The loose paper inside her manila files burst into the air and slid across the room in random sweeps, and the half dozen pens in her hand clattered over the mess like sprinkles on a sundae.

      Greta didn’t flinch. Her hands were rock-solid. If the silver cage surrounding Nathan was any indication, Greta probably had silver bullets too.

      Meredith poked her head through the swinging door. More than anything, even Greta’s gun aimed at my head, the sight of Meredith made me freeze with dread. I wasn’t ready for this. If I hadn’t been ready to face my half-Damned brother, I certainly wasn’t ready to face my full-human, best friend.

      “I heard a scream. Is everything al—” She blinked at Greta’s gun. “What are you—” And then she invariably followed Greta’s aim to me and didn’t blink at all. “Oh, God.”

      “No, just us,” Dominic rumbled behind me, attempting and failing to bring some levity to the conversation. “But I understand the confusion. Happens all the time.”

      I didn’t have the ability to contribute with a witty rejoinder and prove to everyone that everything was fine and under control. It wasn’t—I wasn’t—because Meredith wasn’t. Her confusion and fear and relief and grief bowled me over like a gale force wind. My ears were deafened by the howl of her denial. My skin was shredded from the grate of her terror, and my mouth was flooded by something thick and cloying. It had the consistency of honey but the flavor of acetone: tar, maybe, or wet cement. Whatever it was, it constricted my throat, and when I breathed, all I could smell was cinnamon.

      My talons, which I still hadn’t successfully retracted, unwillingly extended another inch.

      “Meredith,” Greta said, her voice so calm and careful, I wanted to scream. “Please return to the lab.”

      No one moved.

      “It’s me,” I said, finally breaking the horrible, flesh-eating silence. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m telling you, it’s me. I survived, and I’m here to help.”

      I might have been more convicting if my last few words hadn’t ended on a growl. It came rumbling up my throat of its own accord, like a growling stomach, never minding that friends don’t growl at each other.

      I tried to mask the noise by clearing my throat.

      “What should I tell Rowens?” Meredith asked, and it took me a confused moment to realize that she was speaking to Greta.

      “Tell him,” Greta eyed me up and down. Whatever she saw made her sigh. “Tell him Susanna needed her notes.”

      “My notes are on the floor,” Dr. Chunn whispered.

      “Her other notes,” Greta snapped. “And Susanna will stay here for now. Until I need my notes.”

      “Right,” Meredith said. She ducked out of the room without a second glance, and the dead muscle in my chest throbbed. All of Meredith’s aching emotions remained in the room, flaying me even worse in her absence.

      It killed me not to go after her, but no one would see that as anything but an attack. I turned away from the swinging door to face Greta and her gun instead. “Sorry I missed all your meetings this past week. Want to catch me up?” I asked, striving for normal and failing miserably.

      Greta narrowed her eyes. “Have you seen the streets? Take a look around; it’s pretty evident what happened.”

      I crossed my arms. “I know what happened. I want to know what you’re going to do about it. What’s the plan? What’s our next move?”

      “‘Our’ move?” Greta shook her head. “You bailed on me, DiRocco. Whatever plan I have is my own.”

      “That’s bull, and you know it. You wanted me to bail. ‘Get out of the city,’ you said. ‘Get Meredith, Rowens, and Dr. Chunn as far away from ground zero as you can.’” I shook my head. “As if.”

      “You disobeyed a direct order.”

      “I’m not one of your officers, G. I don’t take orders.”

      “And look what happened to you.” Greta’s voice cracked. She didn’t put up her gun, and her hands never wavered, but the stone-cold shield of her expression faltered. “Jesus, Cassidy, look at you.”

      I caught myself before I could wince from the disgust in her expression. Regret was there too; I could taste its bitterness and swallowed the knee-jerk urge to apologize for the creature I’d become, as if I’d willingly chosen to switch teams. As if I was even playing for a different team.

      Never apologize for surviving, I reminded myself, and lifted my chin up a notch.

      “I think you look great, sis,” Nathan interrupted from behind his bars. “Better than you’d look if Lysander hadn’t saved you.”

      Behind me, Dominic snorted.

      “Thanks, bro. It’s always a comfort to know I look better than death.”

      “Anytime.” Nathan smiled, and his grin was all fangs.

      Dr. Chunn gasped. As if Nathan had pressed a reset button, she unfroze from her fright, pounced on the nearest pen and paper scattered on the floor, and jotted a note.

      I eyed Dr. Chunn pointedly before settling my gaze warily on Greta. “I don’t need to look in a mirror to know who I am, but seeing how you’re treating Nathan, I’m not sure I know who I’m looking at.”

      “He’s dangerous. Until we know what we’re dealing with—”

      “He went with you willingly,” I reminded her.

      Greta СКАЧАТЬ