Darklight 2: Darkthirst Page 11

  My throat tightened painfully.

  “What happens when you’re not valuable to the vampires anymore?” Uncle Alan asked, his voice laced with concern. “The very purpose of their existence is to kill humans. What makes you think you’re the exception?”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. The horror he went through… I had never imagined that was the story behind his injury. Was he afraid I was going to end up like that?

  Uncle Alan spoke. “One day, you’ll find yourself next to Dorian or Bravi or Rhome or Laini or some other vampire when they realize you no longer have anything to offer them. They’ll feed on you, then do the same to Zach and Gina and Captain Bryce, just as they did to my team that day. It won’t matter to those creatures what you’ve sacrificed for them.”

  His words sliced into me like an ice-cold knife, and for an instant, I saw what he saw. He believed it was inevitable that the vampires would turn on me. To him, vampires were an eternal reminder of his misplaced trust. They were a danger.

  “What are your plans for them?” I asked reluctantly. Hearing his devastating story had softened my edge, but if he expected me to believe the vampires were truly masterminding an evil plan that stretched across two planes of existence, then I needed more evidence.

  “Humans can never truly be safe with vampires around,” Uncle Alan said gravely. “They have to be eradicated.”

  What had happened to him, and to his team, was terrible. I couldn’t deny that. That he had to carry the permanent scars, both physical and mental, of such an experience, upset me deeply. After all, he was family. But an ambush over thirty years ago didn’t justify mass murder now. He could only see vampires as monsters, but I could see their potential as allies. I could see the possibility of a world where we worked together for the mutual benefit of both species. He was blinded by his own experience and injury. He won’t listen to me.

  I couldn’t change his mind, that much was clear. All I could do was confirm for myself and those waiting back in the caves whether he was as dangerous as we feared. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

  “The plans you saw will have to be reworked now. The vampires have lost all trust in the Bureau. Months of hard labor, undone. Years of planning, ruined.” Uncle Alan’s eyes drilled into me, aiming for any soft spot of guilt. His tone stopped just short of direct accusation. Frustration thrummed beneath his professional tone.

  Years of planning? I kept my face blank but felt questions bubbling up in the back of my mind. Supposedly, the Bureau only knew about the resurgence of vampires for a matter of months. How was it possible I had undone years of work?

  “Why didn’t you come to me, Lyra?” he asked, sounding hurt.

  I shifted against the wall, a sense of discomfort rising at his question. Why hadn’t I trusted my uncle enough to confront him? But in that meeting, I’d heard him talking about their calculated plans to take out the vampires with my own ears. And he’d just reiterated his intentions. Our conversation wasn’t leading anywhere good.

  I wish I could’ve trusted you after hearing you in that meeting. He was still my uncle. If I had come into his meeting to demand answers, would he have told me anything real? I still felt a familial attachment to him, despite everything.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you first,” I said and genuinely meant it. “But I still need time to think about all this and decide. I need to talk to the others, too.”

  Uncle Alan stared at me, disappointed.

  “I would like to leave now,” I said, eyes flickering briefly to Grayson, who was staring at the table with a blank gaze. Uncle Alan’s story had entranced me, and I hadn’t been able to watch Grayson’s reactions like I’d intended.

  Uncle Alan nodded, apparently realizing he wasn’t about to convince me otherwise. “Will you at least speak with the rest of your team before you leave?” He made a motion to someone behind the two-way mirror. “We can lead you to them.”

  I frowned. Why couldn’t they come here? Grayson had told me they would join us before Uncle Alan arrived. Maybe they knew I had vampire backup and expected another battle between our parties?

  I took another, closer look at Grayson, sensing something strange but not quite able to put my finger on it. While my uncle and I talked, he had sweated more under the hot lights and the pressure, the drops trickling down the sides of his face. The strange part was that I could see them. Like tracks running through paint.

  There! The tracks revealed a discoloration around Grayson’s cheekbone, next to a too-perfect shade of flesh melting into the sweat. My heartbeat quickened with panic. He’s wearing makeup. A bruise bloomed beneath it, a nasty purple contusion.

  They had beaten Grayson!

  I stared hard at my uncle, a cold realization coming over me. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

  It had all been a lie. My uncle had planned this whole thing. He had dragged Grayson into his sick ploy by force.

  The comm came to life in my ear.

  “I’m on my way,” Dorian said, just as the door burst open.

  Uniformed soldiers poured into the room, their guns aimed at me.

  My uncle sighed. “Unfortunately not, my dear Lyra.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The soldiers, none of whom I knew, ordered me to put my hands in the air. I raised them warily, watching Uncle Alan. He grabbed his cane while two soldiers pinned me into the corner. The size of the room meant the other two soldiers stood in front of the two-way mirror. They looked at him, waiting for confirmation.

  “We don’t have to do this,” my uncle said coldly, his demeanor shifting from worried uncle to the agency director I had overheard discussing mass murder. “It would be better for you to cooperate, Lyra. Your parents want to see you.”

  Grayson’s makeup continued to melt, revealing more wounds underneath. He refused to meet my eye. His breathing was uneven and shallow.

  I gritted my teeth. Grayson hadn’t helped me. He didn’t deserve to be beaten. My hands shook, fury rising. If this was how they treated him, what had they done to the rest of my team?

  “Is that what I’ll get if I come along with you?” I asked angrily.

  Uncle Alan opened his mouth to respond, but gunshots rang out in the distant halls. Dorian must be close. The soldiers turned toward the door as a shot resonated outside our room. The ones behind Uncle Alan instinctively shifted their aim to the doorway. Good.

  I took advantage of their mistake, leg-sweeping the soldiers closest to me. One dropped to the ground, the butt of his gun hitting the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack. The other fell forward, knocking his head against the mirror hard enough to create a spiderweb of cracks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Alan pull a pistol from a shoulder holster hidden beneath his sharply pressed suit. My heart froze in fear and betrayal. Would he be willing to use it against me, his own niece?

  Grayson instinctively attempted to rise from his chair, but he winced and fell back. There must be more injuries than the ones on his face. God, how far had the Bureau gone? The sounds of bodies being forcefully brought to the ground made their way through the door.

  There was a half-second of silence, and then Dorian tore into the room. Before the remaining two soldiers could react, he flung them full force into the mirror, the reflective glass shattering into hundreds of shining shards. In a flash, he pinned Uncle Alan against the wall, not sparing a glance for the two soldiers who slumped to the floor amidst the pieces of broken mirror. The cane clattered to the floor. Lifting the man up, so his feet dangled in empty air, Dorian squeezed Uncle Alan’s arm with enough force to make him drop the gun with a pained cry.

  Shadows streaking his face, Dorian leaned in close to my uncle’s face. Like two ivory needles, his fangs lengthened, flashing beneath the fluorescent lights of the room. A primitive growl escaped his lips.

  No, not Uncle Alan! No matter what he’s done.

  “Dorian, stop!” I cried out. “You can’t kill him! Please don
’t. He’s my uncle!”

  Dorian turned toward me, the veins in his neck popping, struggling between hunger and restraint. I choked back a shocked gasp. My memories of Dorian’s hungry face as I fought to restrain him in the woods flashed to my mind.

  I stretched out a calming hand. “Control yourself, Dorian.”

  “I was created for this,” he hissed, twisting his hands tighter around Uncle Alan’s arms.

  I took a step closer, moving around the table toward him, and saw that his eyes were swirling with black. Remembering Laini’s reaction to the human traffickers back at the gated community, my heart sank.

  Uncle Alan was dark. Very dark.

  The stark realization settled around me like a cloak. Dorian couldn’t fight his urge to consume darkness. He would carry it for the rest of his life. If I remained close to him, I would have to juggle the ethics of it along the way. I took in the tableau before me: Dorian with his fangs out, face writhing with shadow, his eyes clouded with rage and swirling darkness; my uncle, face twisted in a sneer even as he dangled three or four inches above the ground, hate and fear evident in his eyes.

  Why does it have to be like this?

  I couldn’t let Dorian kill him. Alan was still my uncle, even if he had evil inside him. I couldn’t watch him die.

  “Please,” I begged, my voice little more than a whisper.

  Dorian halted, his pupils constricting as he focused on my pleading face. He loosened his grasp on Uncle Alan but didn’t release him.

  The flash of surprise and cunning that crossed my uncle’s face didn’t go unnoticed by me. Dorian kicked Uncle Alan’s gun toward me, and I snatched it up. We needed to keep it far from his hands.

  With a lightning-fast movement, so swift I saw little more than a blur, Dorian struck Uncle Alan in the solar plexus with substantial force. The director gasped, sinking to the ground without his cane, head rolling to one side. He would be disoriented long enough for us to flee.

  Just to be sure, Dorian picked up Uncle Alan’s cane and snapped it into two pieces with a snarl. I winced, some part of me remembering that my dad had designed the cane for his brother and how delighted Uncle Alan had been when it was presented to him.

  I stooped to check his pulse, and although he was gasping and gagging for breath, he was definitely alive.

  Dorian’s hand wrapped around my arm. “We have to leave.”

  I shook my head. “I know you’re angry and understandably tired of the Bureau’s betrayals, but we can’t leave without my teammates.”

  He whirled, gesturing toward Grayson with a scowl. “Oh, their second betrayal wasn’t enough?”

  Grayson winced.

  Not now, Dorian. I needed him to trust my judgment. I crossed my arms. “Look at his face, Dorian. They beat him. And he didn’t even side with us back in the Canyonlands.”

  Dorian opened his mouth to say something back, probably something foul. A soldier popped up from the hallway, his gear slightly askew.

  “Don’t kill him,” I shouted preemptively. “We don’t want to make our relationship with the Bureau any worse than it has to be!”

  “Yeah, because their planned massacre of my species shows we’re just the best of friends,” Dorian growled as he spun around, using the movement to put force behind his strike. The soldier fell to the ground with a grunt.

  “Happy?” he asked gruffly. “Lyra, we need to leave. This place will be crawling with soldiers soon. It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

  “My team is here somewhere, and I can’t let that happen to them,” I insisted, pointing at Grayson.

  He stiffened awkwardly. I was sure he wasn’t pleased to be the subject of the world’s most mistimed dispute.

  “He could betray you. Again,” Dorian pointed out. “If he hurts you—”

  Grayson flinched back as Dorian pointed an angry finger at him. His pleading eyes found mine. He didn’t want to stay here.

  “Please,” I begged Dorian. “Trust me.”

  “Fine.” Dorian jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s move.”

  “Grayson’s hurt,” I said, rushing over to help.

  “No, I can do it myself,” my teammate assured me.

  To my surprise, he limped toward the director’s dazed form and yanked free a set of sleek plastic keycards with Uncle Alan’s credentials that was clipped to his breast pocket. They were high-security clearance cards, the kind needed to open the most restricted areas in Bureau buildings. Then he hobbled toward us.

  “Of course he’s injured. Just perfect,” Dorian muttered darkly. “That won’t slow us down at all.”

  Another soldier came skidding to the door, and Dorian merely raised his arm, knocking the man back with a forearm strike to the windpipe. “Let’s go!”

  I made it to the doorway with Grayson at my side and Dorian ahead of us. A pained gurgle came from behind me. I looked back to see Uncle Alan shaking his head bitterly. A small trickle of blood ran down his neck. My eyes widened fearfully. Dorian’s attack was a close call.

  “You don’t understand what they’re capable of,” Alan croaked ominously. “You’re making the wrong choice.”

  My stomach twisted with apprehension. My uncle looked weak, barely conscious and bleeding in this tiny room. But I couldn’t ignore what he’d done. He could keep his warnings.

  We closed the door behind us and sealed it with one of the keycards. It wasn’t much, but it might keep the news of our actions from traveling quite as fast.

  “You know where the others are?” I asked Grayson, letting him slip his arm around my shoulders.

  He nodded weakly. “They’re keeping them in holding cells.” He tried to gesture in their direction but dropped the motion, wincing in pain.

  Dorian hovered impatiently. Another soldier’s body had joined the pile of unconscious operatives while we delayed.

  Thankfully, I had an idea where the holding cells were, thanks to most HQ layouts being generally the same. I half ran, dragging Grayson along with me. Although obviously in quite a lot of pain, he limped swiftly along without complaining.

  A soldier slid into the corridor as we rounded a corner. Dorian punched him, and the man went down with a sickening thump.

  We won’t kill anyone, but almost everybody will get a concussion today.

  “I’ve got three in front,” Dorian announced as oncoming footsteps neared.

  I heard more soldiers behind us. We would have to fight our way out of this situation. More soldiers could be expected.

  “Grayson, up against the wall,” I barked.

  He obeyed, pressing himself flat against the wall. Dorian rushed forward as a soldier fired off a shot. The bullet missed everyone but shattered a conference room window somewhere down the hall. Dorian tackled the three guards in front of him with an ease that made me jealous.

  Two more arrived as I turned around. I lunged at the first, thankful for the years of sparring Bryce had put our team through. These soldiers were office-bound. They likely had field experience, but they were used to protecting buildings that didn’t face attacks often. I’d been in active, high-pressure situations almost nonstop for months.

  Aiming low, I rammed my fist into the soldier’s stomach, and she sucked in a wounded breath, instinctively folding to protect her middle. Grabbing her short black hair, I brought her face down into my knee then swept her legs, knocking her to the ground.

  “The other one!” Grayson cried out.

  I looked up to see a young man barreling toward me, a knife in his hand. I dodged the blade, which was far longer than the standard-issue knives I was used to. We were arming building guards with small swords now? Remind me to complain to Bryce.

  I grabbed his wrist and twisted outward, forcing him to drop the knife and pulling him across my leg sweep. He dropped, knocking into the woman’s body below him. She cried out in pain. Good. I hoped they continued to stay down.

  “Clearance keys,” Dorian bellowed. He had run ahead to a se
t of heavy-looking doors. “I don’t think I can rip these doors out.”

  Grayson limped quickly toward Dorian, grimacing on each step. “The red one,” he muttered.

  Dorian swiped the third card, crimson like blood, into the key slot on the door. A satisfying click sounded as the door unlatched. He jerked the door open and waved us in. The pounding of our heavy boots echoed down a long hallway. Gray concrete and dull steel bars greeted us.

  “At the end,” Grayson said.

  “Are they hurt?” I asked as we hurried along the passage.

  Muffled voices rose in the last cell. Three faces swiveled toward us from behind bars. Roxy and Louise were in the second-to-last cell, Colin alone in another. I felt a wave of relief upon seeing them, followed by a cold realization when I studied their faces.

  “You’re here,” Colin said, confused but happy.

  Louise seemed to be on the same wavelength, but something was off about her. She pressed herself against the bars. Her eyes were glazed over, her cheeks flushed pink.

  Roxy seemed less pleased, wearing a sullen expression, but I couldn’t blame her. Out of the three, she looked the most battered… more on par with Grayson, minus the makeup.

  My stomach soured with fearful impatience. If the soldiers caught us, we would be in for worse treatment than my team had received. Dorian could be caught in the crossfire. What would the vampires do without him? We needed to leave as soon as possible.

  “We’re getting out of here,” I said.

  Grayson helped us with the doors, using the correct keycard on each cell door. Louise and Colin came along easily enough. Roxy didn’t resist, but from the way she could only briefly meet my eyes, I got the sense she felt bad about the Canyonlands, as Grayson did.

  But would they trust me? And Dorian?

  “The Bureau is sending the whole building after us,” I informed them. “Is anyone well enough to fight?”

  “I am,” Roxy and Colin said in unison.