Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

I swallowed as the sounds of the lycans’ voices faded behind the closed door. “What do they mean by ‘cleanup job’?”

“I imagine they have their own memory-wiping formula,” he replied. “I doubt they’ll bother with the people at the concert, given that I never revealed myself fully—you’ll probably see the story on the cover of tomorrow’s National Enquirer. But that scene in the alleyway was too graphic. They’ll have to go after the humans who’d gathered at the end of the street.”

The hairs on my arms stood on end as the chopper propelled forward to God knew where. I felt terribly vulnerable. We had no idea what these lycans were going to do with us, or if they would even arrange the meeting we needed. They could be on their way to a remote location where they could execute us. If anything was keeping us alive, it had to be what I’d said regarding blood being on its way to Vysanthe. We had to hope that would last.

I slid closer to Navan on the bench, craving his warmth. It was chilly at this altitude, and although I knew Navan’s heat would fade soon, he still held some warmth from the mild city night. He must’ve sensed my insecurity, as his hand touched my knee again, squeezing. “You’re doing great,” he said. “I mean that. You really are brave.”

If those words had meant something to me before, they meant a whole lot more now. “Thank you,” I whispered, squeezing him back.



It was hard to say how long the journey lasted—maybe a few hours, though with the black hood over my head, it felt like eternity.

We knew we were nearing our destination when the cockpit door opened, and footsteps spilled into the room. They stopped a few feet in front of us, where they remained, until the aircraft slowed, and then descended at a rapid speed, making my stomach flip.

When we shuddered to a stop, the footsteps moved forward and a viselike grip hauled me up. I was lofted over somebody’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and I spluttered, winded from the unexpected movement. I had no choice but to get used to the position as the lycan carrying me descended a set of stairs, and then stepped onto what sounded like rocky terrain, judging by the crunch beneath his boots. I heard more footsteps climbing down the stairs— Navan and the others following us—and my lycan continued to move forward, in what quickly became a very bumpy ride.

The air felt distinctly different from New York. It was also chilly, with a sharp wind that carried the scent of saltwater. We were by the ocean, but which ocean? Were we even still in the United States?

Finally, the lycan put me down. We walked forward, and after a few feet, the gravel turned into a sharp ridge that I would’ve tripped on had it not been for the strong man gripping my arm and pulling me over it. We then stepped onto a flat surface, perhaps polished stone or marble. I heard the sound of doors sliding apart in front of us, and then closing once we were through. We had stepped into some kind of hall, perhaps a lobby or a reception area, judging by the soft echoing of voices.

We stopped in front of something hard and wooden that felt like a desk, and my escort spoke up. “Is Interrogation Room 3 available?” he asked gruffly.

“It is. You can go through,” a higher-pitched voice replied, which I suspected belonged to a female lycan.

We started walking again, the lycan guiding me across the room, and I heard another door slide open in front of us. He yanked me through and then after another minute of walking, we came to a stop. There was a beep, the swish of another door opening, and then I could sense a blinding white light. The fabric over my head was tightly woven, but this light was so bright, some still managed to get through.

I was lowered into a seat, and I heard Navan settling next to me. Then the bags were pulled off our heads, forcing us to face the full brunt of the fluorescent lighting. I had to cover my eyes with my hands, the light stinging my pupils, and was only able to look around after a minute, by which time our escorts had left the room—except for one. I glanced at Navan, who seemed to have adjusted to the light faster than me, his eyes fixed on the remaining lycan.

His mask was still on, his vibrant coral eyes glaring through. But as he lowered himself into a seat opposite us, he removed the mask, revealing a face that was… quite extraordinary. Its bone structure was narrow and angular, with eyes set deep beneath an overhanging forehead. He had ashy brown hair that was more like a mane about his face, with the longest sideburns I’d ever seen on a man, and fine brown hairs covered every inch of his face and neck. His thin lips parted, revealing two sets of jagged teeth, and as he clasped his hands together in front of him, I realized just how inhuman they were—gnarly and elongated with unretractable claws.

He looked between Navan and me, raising a thick eyebrow. “So,” he said, his voice gravelly, “who would like to start?”

I looked uncertainly at Navan, but he was staring straight ahead, a cool expression on his face. “Before we begin, surely you don’t mind telling us what your rank is?” he said. “I carry sensitive information that needs to be relayed directly to your chief, or whoever makes the decisions around here.”

“Well, I am not the chief,” he replied tersely. “I’m the head of interrogation—it is my job to decide what matters are worthy of the chief’s attention. Did you honestly think he meets with just anyone we pull off the street? I suggest you start talking, coldblood, or the guards will go with their first instinct to execute you, and wipe the memory of the human girl and pack her back to her city.”

A muscle in Navan’s jaw twitched, but he kept his composure. I knew the potential consequences of Navan’s betrayal, if any of his people back home found out that he had given information about Vysanthe’s activities to the Fed.

Navan cleared his throat. “I take your point. I will explain everything, but, as I’m sure you can understand, I won’t reveal my identity until I have a guarantee that you will keep what I say in complete confidence. You need to understand that I’m putting our lives in danger by coming to you and spilling secrets. My homeland would kill me for it.”

The head interrogator had a good poker face, but not so good that he could pretend his interest wasn’t piqued at the mention of “secrets.” Navan looked at one corner of the ceiling, where a camera was positioned. “I will also ask you to switch off that camera, and obliterate the footage of us stepping in here,” he said.

The lycan’s eyes widened at the request, as though he couldn’t quite believe that Navan had dared to ask it. He opened his mouth and I was sure that he was going to refuse, but then he seemed to have second thoughts, and instead detached a device from his belt, and issued the order, “Rus, switch off the camera in IR 3—and wipe all footage from the last five minutes.”

“Are you sure about that, sir?” a gruff voice spoke back through the loudspeaker.

“Just do it.”

“Camera’s off, sir, and working on the footage deletion.”