Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

Navan paused. “There’s been an infestation of shapeshifters in the area, and all I have to do is pinpoint their main location and report back an estimation of how large it is.”

I frowned at how Navan was downplaying the task, when only a few hours ago he had been telling the lycan how difficult and dangerous it would be. Bashrik wasn’t buying it either. In fact, he exploded. “Navan, no. Forget that! You’re taking this whole Earth-saving obsession way too far. You were almost killed multiple times on your way to the Fed! Ianthan was killed. That should be a sign that you need to stop and turn around, if nothing else.”

“Bashrik—”

“No, listen to me, brother. I was nervous when you set out on this trip that you’d end up doing something like this. You just admitted a shapeshifter was trying to kill you. Now you’re suggesting actively seeking out a whole infestation of them? You’ve finally taken this to the level of suicide!” His voice cracked. “I’ve already lost one sibling—I’m not going to lose another.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I wondered what he was talking about. There was a long pause, and when Navan replied, it sounded as though he’d lined his voice with steel, closing himself off from Bashrik’s emotions. “You weren’t the only one to lose a sibling,” he replied coolly. “I have no intention of putting you through that again, either. I’ve got equipment that will help me, including a fast aircraft that I suspect is also knife and bulletproof.”

“But Navan—”

“No,” Navan finally snapped, and I realized that his hands were shaking slightly. “I can’t deal with you being stubborn, too.” And with that, he pressed a button on the side of the device, shutting it off completely, before tossing it back into his bag.

His face was contorted with agitation, and he was breathing heavily as he turned and set his eyes back on me. “I can’t deal with all of this,” he said. “So I’m going to count to three to give you an opportunity to walk back to the ship by yourself. One.”

“Navan, no—”

“Two.”

“I’m not—”

“Three.”

As soon as he uttered the last word, he launched forward and grabbed me by the waist. His hard chest crushed against mine as he hauled me back to the ship. Anger boiled up in me to a level I hadn’t felt in a long time.

As he reached the cockpit and began to wrestle me into the seat, my right hand reached out, as if on its own accord, and slapped him hard across the face. So hard my palm left a mark where it had landed.

His hold on me immediately loosened, and he stepped back and stared at me. Judging from the flicker of surprise in his eyes, he clearly hadn’t been expecting that, which bought me a few seconds to catch my breath.

“What about free will?” I asked. “Aren’t you all about that? I’m adopting this as my responsibility too, and you’re not going to stop me. I’ve already come this far. I’ve already put myself in a lot of danger. I can agree to sit in the aircraft for some of the time if that’s what it takes for you to accept this, but I am not leaving you here alone. What if you got into trouble and needed someone to call for help? Just let me help you!”

There was a long pause. “I’m not used to relying on others for help,” he replied. “And I’m certainly not used to getting slapped in the face.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not used to getting manhandled and forced to do something against my will.”

We glared at each other for several moments. “You’re right,” he finally said, his voice low. “You do have free will, and if you’re going to insist on staying, I can’t force you to do anything. I just . . . I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, okay? I’ve got enough guilt hanging over my head, and I honestly don’t think I could handle it if you got hurt under my watch. Don’t you get that?”

“Of course I do,” I replied. “And I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of us. But there’s no way you’re sending me back now, so you might as well hand me some of those files so we can get started.” I held out my hand expectantly, trying to keep my gaze firm and resolute.

Navan hesitated, but then went and got the file. He opened it and took out half the papers, which he passed to me, our fingertips brushing.

He sighed again, and gazed down at me. “I guess we really are in this together.”





Chapter Twenty-One





We quickly decided that we’d be better off sitting someplace warm down in the nearby town to examine the documents, so I slipped the file into my coat, along with the plastic bag of rubles. Navan picked me up and we flew toward the town. Luckily, there was enough daylight for Navan’s skin to absorb and change to a more normal-looking color, though his temperature was much colder than I would’ve liked.

The restaurant we arrived at was something of a tavern, sparsely furnished with wood tables and chairs. Our waitress looked like she’d been working there for the past century, and if she was at all surprised to see two faces she didn’t recognize, she wasn’t letting on. I was famished though, and ordered a plate of dumplings, which was one of four main dishes on the menu.

“This place sure is hopping,” Navan said as he glanced around the near-empty space. Aside from us, there was one other occupied table, and it was an old woman, who had a teacup and saucer in front of her and nothing else.

I divvied the papers up and we started to go through them. It was mostly reports detailing the missing villagers, along with some maps with black X’s indicating the exact location where people had disappeared from. The reports were chillingly similar, though the shifters did not seem to discriminate when it came to their victims. Young and old, male and female—so long as it was a human, that seemed to be the only criteria.

Navan threw his papers down. “Riley,” he said. I stopped reading and looked at him. He had an agitated expression on his face.

“We’re going to figure this out,” I replied. “I know it seems like a lot, but we’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not it.” He shook his head. “Well, it’s part of it, sure, but . . . about what happened back there. I shouldn’t have dragged you onto the aircraft like that.”

He still had a mark on his face from where my palm had made contact. “It’s okay,” I said. “I know you did it because you didn’t want anything bad to happen to me. And I appreciate that.” I hesitated. “For the first half of my life, I didn’t really have anyone looking out for me. So . . . it means a lot that you’re concerned about my well-being. Even if maybe you didn’t go about showing it in the best way. Slapping you wasn’t really my finest moment, either. I’m sorry for doing that.”

“I’d never be able to forgive myself if something bad happened to you,” he said. “I’ve got so much guilt about everything that sometimes it doesn’t seem like I can withstand any more. How dramatic can I sound, I know. But it’s true.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” I said. “What good is that going to do? You had no idea what your father was up to. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“It’s not just that.”