“Oh, shit. He’s going to eat me.” The cat twitched, launching himself nearly a foot in the air, then scrambled past her, skidding for shelter behind Ascher’s legs, peering at the pup in horror. “Don’t let the devil’s spawn eat me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Ascher stilled, his expression pained, and she couldn’t help smiling at the irony of a cat hiding behind a hellhound. The cat was more than twice the size of the gardog and should’ve been able to wipe the floor with Loki. Draven coughed, struggling to hold back his laughter, while Ryder and Kincade appeared as bewildered as she felt.
Morgan leaned down, snatching up the little pup before he could pounce. His butt wiggled in her hands, his paws running as if he was still on the ground, his tail lashing back and forth as he struggled to escape.
“Bad dog.” Morgan tapped him on his nose, and he stilled, peering up at her. His face was so close to hers, his red eyes were slightly crossed, and she couldn’t resist kissing his snout. “We’re sure not in Kansas anymore.”
He jumped off her hands, landing on her shoulder, before he stretched out, curling his tail around her neck as he made himself comfortable. His eyes slid shut, and he pretended to sleep while he watched the cat through the narrowed crack of his eyelids.
“What are you doing down here?” Morgan peered down at the large…cat?
“My job. Without me, rodents would take over this place.” His chest puffed up and his yellow eyes sparkled in pleasure as he licked his lips. “The mice are delicious, but I would suggest you stay away from the rats. They’re sneaky bastards.”
He ran a paw self-consciously over his right ear, where a notch was missing at the edge. Some of his whiskers were broken, his fur missing in spots, probably a result of old battle scars. While he might be a cat—well, except for the wings—he was definitely a scrapper. “Where are the dungeons?”
His eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head, strutting away, his tail full of swagger. “You don’t want to go there. The best place to find the mice is on the third level. They get the table scraps, making them fat and juicy.”
Morgan swallowed hard, a tad nauseous at the idea, and shook her head. “I’m searching for a friend of mine. He came in two days ago. I need to find him.”
“Then you’re too late. He’s already dead.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his ears twitched back against his head, his lips curled up in disgust. “They don’t keep their specimens alive that long.”
Her heart felt like it was free-falling.
“You’re wrong.” He had to be wrong. She would know otherwise. “Can you show us where they keep the specimens?”
The cat paused, cocking his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for me?”
“Besides sticking it to the elves?”
“Hmmmm.” He lifted his foot, cleaning it.
“The elves are up to no good.”
“They are always up to something.” The cat snorted, lowering his paw slightly. “Take me with you when you leave.”
“What?” That was the last thing she expected him to say.
“When you go back to the Academy, I want to go with you.” He set his paws on the ground and held perfectly still.
“Morgan—”
“Agreed, but you must remain within the Academy grounds at all times.” Morgan didn’t hesitate, ignoring Kincade’s warning. They didn’t have time to haggle. The elves would discover they were gone sooner rather than later, and they would come looking for them. They’d drawn too much attention to themselves, and their absence would be noticed and questioned.
The cat might be a scrapper, but he wouldn’t last much longer living here. None of them would.
“Your word.” The cat didn’t move except for the excited twitch to his whiskers, his yellow eyes gleaming brighter in the darkness.
“You have it.”
He pranced toward her, light on his feet for twenty-five pounds of solid muscle. He stopped in front of her and held out his paw. Morgan stooped and gently shook his hand, er…paw, feeling the drag of his claws against her palm.
“I’m Stanley.”
Morgan blinked at hearing such an ordinary name, when she expected something exotic to match his appearance and personality.
“What?” The cat narrowed his gaze, glaring at her suspiciously.
“I’m Morgan.” She rose to her feet, not wanting to offend their new friend, but anxious to be on their way.
Time was running out.
If they didn’t find Atlas soon, she feared they never would.
Chapter Ten
Morgan followed Stanley for ten minutes before he lifted up a paw and signaled for silence.
That’s when she smelled it.
Death.
As they silently stole past a room, curiosity got the best of her, and she peered inside.
And stopped short.
The room had two rows of crates stacked on top of each other, every one of them crammed full of people. They were barely clothed, a few of them rocking violently back and forth, while others were picking at themselves, pulling away chunks of their own flesh. They looked pale, the veins under their skin streaked black…it matched their eyes. When one lifted his head, pure madness stared back.
The fog did that to them.
Instead of killing them, they were infected with something…evil.
Morgan frantically scanned the cages, nearly slumping in relief when she didn’t find Atlas.
“We go.” Stanley tugged on her leg, but when she continued to ignore him, he set claws into her shin. “Now. Before it’s too late.”
Morgan nodded mutely, too dazed to move while her mind continued to catalog everything.
A scream from the opposite side of the room startled her so badly she jumped, the cuff on her arm melting down until she had a knife clutched in her hand. She spun, blade raised to see an elf standing over a table with one of the infected strapped to it.
She watched as the elf, without a care to his patient, picked up a scalpel and ran the blade down the center of the pitiful creature’s chest. The man screamed again, but more in rage than pain. Black tar oozed out of the wound.
They were vivisecting people.
Horror washed through her, bile rising in her throat at the lengths to which they would go to find their precious immunity. She took a step forward, when a hand wrapped around her mouth, another around her waist, and she was picked up off the floor and swung out of the doorway.
Morgan struggled, instantly recognizing Kincade’s touch, but his hold was like stone.
The bastard.
Only when they were a good distance down the corridor did Ascher speak. “There is nothing you can do.”
“You can’t be serious.” As soon as her feet touched the ground, she wrenched out of Kincade’s hold, and immediately missed the ass’s warmth.
“Those people are already lost to reason and beyond help.” Draven was grim, his eyes dark with the thirst for vengeance.
“You have a choice.” Ryder hunched over until he could look at her in the eye. “You can save them or Atlas. They will know we attacked as soon as the fighting starts.”
“Not to mention you will put the rest of the Academy in danger.” Kincade didn’t back away when she marched right up into his face.
“How can we do nothing and leave them there to be tortured?” The question was directed at herself more than him.
How could she justify rescuing one man compared to the dozens who were trapped?
“The choice is yours.” Kincade cupped her jaw and lifted her face up to his. “We will stand by your decision.”
The weight of that choice threatened to suffocate her. The logical choice was to protect as many people as possible. Atlas could take care of himself.
Draven grabbed her arm. “Them or Atlas. You can only save one. What will it be?”
“Atlas.” His name emerged as a croak.
It was no contest, but the guilt over her decision nearly strangled her.
“Even if we rescue them, they will die without the cure.” Though it was the truth, it wasn’t the whole truth.
Atlas was more important to her.
Every instinct said they needed him.
She needed him.
Loki curled his tail tighter around her neck in comfort. The tattoo on her back heated, barely warming the chill that had invaded her soul.