Blood Cross (Jane Yellowrock 02)

"I'll get them back."

 

The words were brittle in the high-ceilinged room and Molly started, the brush stopping halfway. She closed her eyes and, with a visible effort, controlled her misery and completed the brushstroke. When it reached the tips of her hair, she set it aside and wiped her face. "I know you will." She forced a smile on her mouth and held out an arm. "Come here. I have things I need to say."

 

I forced my feet to cross the room and sat stiffly beside her on the edge of the mattress. She curled an arm about my waist and, with my own eyes prickling, I held myself rigid against the comfort she offered. I didn't deserve it, though Molly wasn't likely to accept any of my opinions. She pulled me over to her, against her hip, and laid her head on my shoulder. And she burst into tears.

 

My voice froze. So did my body. Inflexible as a day-old corpse, I raised one hand and clumsily patted her shoulder. And then Beast put a paw on my mind and took over. Jane is predator only. I am mother of kits. I am alpha. The words resonated in my mind; surprise radiated through me with the echo. Beast took over my hand and stroked Molly's hair. Took my other arm and encircled Molly, drawing her closer.

 

I'm more than a predator--

 

No. Jane is predator only. Not mother of kits. Not mate. Jane is nothing except part of Beast. Killer only.

 

The words stilled my thoughts. Pain spiraled through me, cold and crystalline, like frozen, shattered quartz.

 

My mouth opened, and it was Beast's words on my tongue, falling from my lips. Her tone was lower than mine, raspy as a coarse sponge on stone. "We will take back kits. We will kill predator who took them. Jane and Beast, together, will rend them. Bone from flesh, blood from veins. We will kill. Will retake kits. This I swear on my own kits."

 

Molly stopped breathing. Her heart beat hard twice and then smoothed to a fast cadence. Carefully, as if fearful of springing a trap, Mol pulled back and stared into my eyes. Her pupils widened. Her lips parted. I heard her heart rate speed, her breath hitch. "Son of a witch on a switch. Beast?"

 

I purred softly. Stroked her hair once. Then I stood and walked from the room.

 

It was dawn, and heavy heat was already starting. I'd never been in a place where the air had weight and pressure, like a pressure cooker forcing the air to bear down against my body. It had a sensation of urgency to it, the way that holding my breath underwater created the necessity to rise and breathe, as if each breath was possibly my last.

 

We were on the road out of town, wending through the traffic and the heat, before Beast let me go. My mind was still in shock mode, trying to see why Beast said I was only a predator. Only a killer. It wasn't true. It wasn't. But it was going to take a killer--and a pretty dedicated one--to bring Angelina and Little Evan back to Molly alive. And Bliss. Had to remember Bliss.

 

I bent over the bike and sped past a semi belching diesel fumes. The cars in front of me blurred together as I rode and thought. I took the streets by instinct and muscle memory, thoughts banging around inside my head like a heavy-metal drummer on meth.