Full Blooded

After a long pause, my father said, Jessica, we’ll discuss this later. We have strict Pack rules and guidelines that must be followed. No exceptions. You don’t know our ways yet, so I am going to give you some leeway. Using your wolf is acceptable, but shifting is not. But I’m more concerned about your safety right now. It’s my top priority. Do you need a cleanup crew? I can have James and Danny there in five minutes. All supernaturals had a strict “cleanup” protocol. If we called in the human authorities every time a fight happened between us, our secret would be out with the first dead cadaver. When something with fangs, no working organs, yellow eyes, or pointy ears showed up in the morgue it tended to get noticed. There were breaches, but for the most part every Sect followed the rules.

I considered taking my father up on it. I’d never used a cleanup crew before, and it would be so much easier to have Drake disappear. No, this one will have to be aboveboard. We have a teenage civilian. Something streaked by my peripheral vision. It was Becky. She took one look at Jen, who was lying where Drake had left her, and dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around her pal crying. Make that two civilians. There’s going to be a huge scene in about ten minutes. Police, ambulances, concerned parents, the whole nine yards.

What can I do?

There’s nothing you can do here. Are you at the Compound?

Yes, I’m here. The wolves are still … in some unrest. I am occupied for the moment.

What about the tranq? I knew Ray would be breathing down my neck as soon as my involvement with Drake came over the wire.

Jace is putting together medical papers for you and he’ll fax them down tomorrow. He’s confident the lab won’t be able to identify the serum. He’s going to label you as having some kind of a seizure disorder.

Got it. Becky was beginning to get hysterical. I have to run.

Jessica? There’s one more thing. I heard—or rather felt—tension in his voice.

Yes?

What I say to you now has to be kept between us at all costs. I can’t stress this enough. Do you understand? Anxiety thrummed through the connection.

Yes, of course I understand. I won’t repeat it.

Tonight? What you did? Blocking me like that? He took a breath. It’s never been done before. There has never been a wolf strong enough to block me the way you just did. I’m fairly certain that’s what you were doing—whether you intended to or not. No matter how much power I pushed toward you, and even though your wolf had called to mine, I couldn’t break through. I felt his fear then. Jessica, I felt all your emotions … and I couldn’t do a damn thing to control them.

Well, f**k.

8

As predicted, the scene was chaos in under ten minutes. Huge spotlights drenched every inch of our little pocket of grass. It was lit up like a stadium during the Super Bowl. The place was crawling with reporters, cops, firefighters, curious moviegoers, theater staff, and a double set of furious parents.

Nick and I sat half perched out of a squad car, giving our statements to the attending officers. Thankfully, Ray hadn’t shown up yet, but there was little doubt he would materialize soon enough.

I hoped I’d be excused before then, but it seemed doubtful.

“Okay, Ms. Hannon. We have what we need for now. Someone will be in contact with you soon. Mr. Jensen’s final condition”—the female cop nodded toward the ambulance—“will affect this process, as you know.” She meant, if Drake managed to survive, I would be expected to testify in court, and if he died, well, there would most likely be a detailed investigation into his death. I wasn’t looking forward to either scenario.

Before we put a call in to 911, Nick had persuaded both girls, changing the story of what had really happened to something easier to swallow. Poor Jen would retain most of her “before” part clearly—but watching me almost kill her attacker bare-handed with stupefying speed had been tweaked as necessary. In the spirit of things, Nick had even coaxed her out of severe shock before the paramedics arrived, which had been a big task because he’d also had the wailing Becky to contend with.

My right hand, where it’d connected with Drake’s jaw, had completely healed in a matter of minutes, so blaming hand-to-hand combat on what had happened to Drake’s face was completely implausible.

While Nick was busy tending the girls, I’d devised a quick solution with an appropriately sized rock. I pressed it into the contours of Drake’s face, smearing the surface of the stone with an adequate amount of blood and tissue. Thankfully Drake hadn’t stirred during the process—and to my relief, he hadn’t been quite dead either. Supernaturals, on the whole, were tough to kill. But that didn’t mean he’d be waking up anytime soon. His injuries were severe—even for a supe.

The story I told the police was that I’d snuck up on him with the trusty rock, interrupting his attack, and hit him with more force than I’d intended. The story hadn’t accounted for any of the other injuries to his body, but there was a chance Drake would heal some of his own wounds by the time he arrived at the hospital. That would certainly help.

I glanced over the officer’s shoulder as they loaded Drake into the back of the ambulance. He’d already been in a human jail, but I had no idea if he’d ever been in a hospital. An imp’s blood wasn’t exactly a red flag. Most of the time their blood was classified as hemophilic.

The officer handed back my ID. “I understand the process,” I said. “Is there anything else?”

“Will we be able to contact you at this number tomorrow?” She read back my cell phone number.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re free to go.”

Nick was still giving his statement, so I stood outside the car and waited. Our story should hold as long as the persuasion held and Jen didn’t decide to change her side of the story to, “The girl with the glowing violet eyes beat him to death with her fists.”

Unfortunately, blue-sundressed Jen would likely have dreams containing pieces of the true events her entire life. The subconscious was a powerful thing, and this had been an extremely traumatic event for her. Lucky for us, and her, Nick was one of the strongest wielders of the gift. There were only a few humans who hadn’t succumbed to his efforts, and the guy heading straight toward me was one of them.

Cripes.

No matter how many times Nick had tried, Raymond Hart’s mind had never taken to persuasion. The alterations in his line of thinking never stuck for more than an hour at most. And Ray always acted crazy for the next few days. He had no idea what had happened to him, just that something had, and he always blamed me, his anger becoming more intense every time we tried. It was a lost cause, so we’d stopped trying.