Ian clucked his tongue as he settled into the seat behind us.
“You don’t? Shame on you, Crispin. Married how long, and you haven’t spanked your wife with a metal spatula yet?”
I’d gotten used to Ian’s assumption that everyone was as perverted as he was, so I didn’t miss a beat.
“We prefer blender beaters for our kitchen utensil kink,” I said with a straight face.
Bones hid his smile behind his hand, but Ian looked intrigued.
“I haven’t tried that . . . oh, you’re lying, aren’t you?”
“Ya think?” I asked with a snort.
Ian gave a sigh of exaggerated patience and glanced at Bones.
“Being related to her through you is a real trial.”
This time, Bones didn’t attempt to conceal his grin. “That’s why you can pick your friends but not your family, cousin.”
An emotion flashed across Ian’s face before he covered it with his usual I’m-a-pain-in-the-ass-and-proud-of-it smirk. If it were anyone else, I’d swear it was childlike joy at hearing Bones call him “cousin.” Recent events had revealed their long-lost human connection, making Ian both Bones’s vampire sire and his only living blood relative.
That meant I was never getting rid of him. Then again, considering what my blood relatives had done, Ian was almost a saint by comparison.
“You didn’t say much when you rang me, so what’s the crisis this time?” Ian drawled, sounding bored.
Bones outlined Madigan’s plan to create supersoldiers by blending vampire, ghoul, and human DNA. When he was finished, Ian no longer looked as though he were fighting a yawn.
“Soon as I heard that humans were cloning sheep, I expected this day to come. Figures you’d be hip deep in it, Reaper.”
“Our priority is eliminating the program while also minimizing collateral damage,” I said, fighting a pang as I added, “And rescuing our friends, if they’re still alive.”
Ian grunted. “That’s not all. If Madigan was successful, you’ll also have to destroy any fruits of his labor.”
I was glad Bones was driving because that made every muscle in my body freeze. I’d been so worried about the consequences of potential species merging that I hadn’t considered how awful the fallout would be if it had already happened. If vampires or ghouls found out that their strongest attributes could be synthesized, then added to any member of the human race, their reaction would be brutal. It wouldn’t be World War III—it would be World War V and G.
“You’re right.” My voice was a croak. “If he’s already made genetically blended soldiers, they’ll have to be eliminated before the vampire and ghoul nations realize it’s possible.”
Or other governments try to do it themselves.
I didn’t say it out loud, but it hung in the air nonetheless. Suddenly, Marie’s sixty-day deadline seemed generous.
“It might not come to that, Kitten,” Bones said, expanding his aura to wrap a soothing band around my emotions. “Likely Madigan’s still at the lab rat stage.”
“I hope so,” I murmured.
If not, I’d be setting myself up to execute people for the crime of being genetically different—a charge I’d been guilty of since the day I was born. Could I really do it? I wondered.
The more troubling question was, what would happen if I couldn’t do it?
Charlottesville, Virginia, reminded me of a bigger version of the town Bones and I lived in. It, too, was located in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the sight of their cloud-coated peaks caused a pang of longing in me. I grew up among the gently rolling hills of rural Ohio, but since the very first time I saw the mountains, they’d felt like home to me.
That’s where I wished I were right now. Home with Bones, surrounded by mountains that seemed to hold the rest of the world at bay. The past months of relative uneventfulness had introduced me to what most people called a normal life, and to my great surprise, I’d loved it. At home, the only sharp metal objects I handled were for the new garden I’d put in, and the only screams I heard was Helsing yowling if the kitty felt he wasn’t getting enough attention.
I used to get a rush from going on a hunt, but as much as I wanted Madigan dead, if I could have traded killing him myself for all of this being over, I would. In a hot second.
Maybe this was what people called getting older. Or maybe, after so many years of “hunt, kill, regroup, and repeat,” I realized I had nothing left to prove, either to myself or anyone else. Hatred of vampires—and myself—had put me on this lethal track at sixteen. Thanks to Bones, all that hatred was long gone, and existing had been replaced with actually living.