Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

But that was a subject for another day. Assuming I lived another day.

I returned to the door and slowly opened it wide enough to peer through. The hallway seemed empty, the voices continuing upstairs. I gathered the courage to step out, casting one last fleeting glance at the young man lying in front of the fire, before shutting the door behind me.

I moved back toward the staircase, then stopped. The voices were too muffled for me to make out what they were saying, but the more I listened, the more I pinpointed a depth and cadence that reminded me of Navan and his brother. None of the voices sounded like Jethro, who had a much older tone. Which might be good news. If I slipped upstairs now, I might be able to corner the brothers on their own.

I cringed as I placed my right foot on the first stair, my gun feeling slippery in my hands from the sweat. I imagined Navan’s face as I stepped into the room. Please don’t be too pissed off with me. Given the news I had come with, he had no right in hell to be. I just have to be sure to spit my message out qui—

Something sharp pressed against the base of my neck. I had been on the verge of planting my left foot on the next stair, but was instead dragged backward, before a hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my yelp. I heard heavy breathing in my ear, followed by a whisper:

“I thought we got rid of you.”

Jethro’s voice was unmistakable, and I had only a few seconds to wonder how I hadn’t sensed him approach before he slammed me headfirst against the wall and grabbed the barrel of my gun. Reflex made me squeeze the trigger, and the gunshot rippled through the house. His hand loosened around my mouth—long enough for me to scream up the stairs at the top of my lungs:

“JETHRO SENT HUMAN BLOOD TO VYSANTHE!”

The next second, Jethro let go of me and took off down the hallway. I felt so dizzy from the heat and having my head bashed that I could hardly see, but I had enough sense to know that I had to fire after him. My aim was terrible, though, as my hands were shaking, and I shrieked as he raced toward the door. Ianthan burst out from a room as Jethro rushed by, and he hurried after him.

Footsteps thundered down the staircase, and then I was face-to-face with Navan and Bashrik, shirtless, their skin back to golden-tan. In any other circumstances, I would have found it comical how closely Navan’s expression resembled how I had imagined it would look—a mask of unadulterated shock—but before he could say anything, I pointed down the hallway and screamed again:

“Jethro and Ianthan are stealing your ship! GO! NOW!”

I couldn’t imagine that my words made much sense to him, but something about the sheer panic in my voice jolted both brothers into action, and they darted down the hallway, toward the back door. Pounding after them, I heard Angie and Lauren’s gunshots firing outside.

I made it to the door in time to see a bullet hit Jethro, who had spread his wings in mid-flight. He staggered, falling to the ground, and Ianthan, who had almost made it to the ship, hurried back for his father. But Jethro was already standing, even as blood the color of molten lava dripped from his right wing.

“GET IN!” he roared, pointing at Soraya, before half running, half limping after him.

“Ianthan? Jethro?” Navan’s voice carried across the clearing in utter shock, as he and Bashrik raced across the yard, their wings exploding from their backs as they took to the air and shot forward.

“Lauren! Stop firing!” Angie yelled, right as Bashrik suddenly faltered in the air.

Everything had happened too fast. It had taken seconds for Bashrik and Navan to fly within my friends’ shooting range—during which time Lauren’s reflexes hadn’t been quick enough.

“Oh my God!” Lauren’s horrified voice infused the already chaotic scene. “Bashrik! NO! I’M SORRY!”

Bashrik let out an agonized groan as he fell and hit the ground, and I raced to him, giving Navan—who had stalled in the air—a furious look that told him to keep going. He hesitated only a second longer, and then went after them while I dropped down next to Bashrik. He’d been caught in the wing, like Jethro had. Only, his injury appeared to be more severe. Lava-colored blood oozed out near his right shoulder blade, the bullet having torn through both wing and the flesh in his back. Without thinking, I tore off my shirt, not caring all I had on now was my sports bra, so I could use it to stem the bleeding.

Before I could breathe a word of reassurance to Bashrik, Navan let out a curse that reverberated through the yard. I looked up to see he had reached his ship a second too late. Ianthan and Jethro had managed to lock themselves inside. The ship hummed to life, its sleek surface glimmering, and began to rise at alarming speed. It bashed into Navan, sending him hurtling back.

He steadied himself and launched after it, shooting straight for the hatch—an indent in the sphere I hadn’t noticed before. His wings beat heavily as he wedged his hands around the indent, gripping the door tightly, even as the ship continued to rise. Metal groaned and creaked, and barely a heartbeat later, the hatch separated from the mainframe and plummeted to the ground, landing six feet away from Bashrik and me.

I gaped at the damage Navan had done with his bare hands. The door’s metal was inches thick, and the edges where Navan had gripped had been bent as if it were silly putty. His strength was unreal.

I looked back up at the rising ship. Navan was no longer within view. He had hurled himself within it, and I could hear the sound of grunts and groans, violent cracks and smashing. The entire ship shuddered, and a chill rushed down my spine as Jethro let out a blood-curdling cry.

The ship plummeted, and I gasped as it crashed to the ground. Two tall figures sprang out of it, rolling onto the grass—Navan on top of Ianthan, gripping him by the throat. Lava-colored blood coated Navan’s bare hands, arms and chest, and his entire body heaved as he dealt a crushing blow to Ianthan’s face.

“You bastard,” Navan snarled, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you’d do this.”

“I’m sorry, Navan.” Ianthan was crying. “I didn’t want to go along with it—and the plan was never to betray you or your brothers personally. We were only going to use a sample to buy ourselves into Queen Brisha’s good graces—that was all.”