“You can’t do this,” Alonzo wheezed.
Canines flashed again. Sharp, extended. Prepared.
“Good-bye, you little motherfucker. May you burn in hell.”
He turned to run, but there was really no place to run. His screams tore through the night, but there was no one there to care. The gurgle of death, the spurt of blood, the sound of flesh ripping open was a symphony that filled the soul, as the taste of tainted blood touched the tongue.
It had begun here. In these mountains. The dream of freedom had turned to horror. Pain and death and the knowledge that there was no true life, no true freedom. There was this though. The taste of blood. The feel of a diseased soul leaving the body, and the sound of a scream of triumph as life slowly gave its last gasping attempt to survive before succumbing to death.
Alonzo had once sought a Breed known for her killing abilities. She had been called Death. But she hadn’t been Death. She had been living, breathing. She had a soul, a mate and a life. That wasn’t true death. Death had no soul. It had no mate. It had no life. True death had no dreams and no heart.
Crouched over Alonzo’s lifeless body, tasting his blood, feeling it like warm silk flowing through fingers that knew only cold, knew only pain. This was Death.
And Death screamed in triumph rather than pain. Death howled in pleasure rather than horror.
Or was it all the same?
NEW YORK CITY
The email arrived after midnight. Cassa Hawkins stared at the pictures in the file and tried once again, without hope, to use the tracking program she’d installed to track the origin of the email.
User location unknown. The answer was always the same, but this file, just like the others that had come in the past few weeks, held blood and horror. They were emails she knew the Bureau of Breed Affairs was tracking as well, straight from her damned computer. Her tech person still couldn’t figure out exactly how they were doing it, but she knew they were. Jonas Wyatt, the Bureau’s director, had been quite clear when he had called the day before and warned her to stay out of Breed business.
Cassa stared at the photos. The violence in them sickened her, causing her to swallow tightly to hold back the bile that would have risen in her throat.
She should call Cabal, or at the very least Jonas, she thought. She should do something more than the attempts she had been making to track the emails and the locations of the deaths.
Unlike the others, this email contained at least the location of the murder. The killer had even been nice enough—she snorted at the idea—to send a detailed map of where the body could be found, as well as a letter.
Good evening to you, Ms. Hawkins. You will find enclosed the proof of H. R. Alonzo’s execution, completed on this day, just after midnight.
Glen Ferris, West Virginia. It began here, Ms. Hawkins, and with God’s help, it will end here. You should know, the past never dies. As long as there is a memory, there is life. I hold the memories. I hold life. And I’ll take yet more.
I’ve tasted their blood and now I hunger. I’ve warmed myself with their fear, and I’ve laughed in joy at their deaths. And there will be more.
Six down.
Six to go.
Tell the world. There is no honor, there is no hope. I am what was created.
Tell the world. Grief ripped through her chest at the thought. If she actually went on the air with a story showing a Breed kill, the consequences would be horrendous. The world, unstable as it was in its opinion of Breeds, would turn against the creations instantly.
Their safety depended on the world believing in the justice and the honor that Breed Law demanded. It depended on the goodwill of citizens who were as fickle in their loyalties as they were in their trust.
She pushed her fingers through her hair and swallowed back a curse before saving the file and encrypting it on her laptop. She couldn’t risk its discovery, not yet, not until she figured out exactly what was going on in Glen Ferris.
The story involved more than just the deaths Jonas and Cabal had spoken of the night before. It involved much more than the Reverend H. R. Alonzo’s execution at the hands of the very creatures he preached as abominations and the scourge of God. This involved the preservation of an entire race of individuals fighting for survival.
HR was executed just after midnight. She looked at the time on the laptop. It was just after one in the morning. One hour.
She covered her face with her hands and blew out a hard breath. She couldn’t report this, not yet. But she couldn’t let it go either. She needed to know more.
Jumping to her feet, Cassa jerked the silken robe from her shoulders and tossed it to the bed. She threw open the doors to her closet and pulled out jeans and a sweatshirt, before striding to her dresser for socks and underclothes.
Glen Ferris, West Virginia, was perhaps a nine- to ten-hour drive. She could make it. She’d be dog tired by the time she got there, but she could do it.
Twelve hours, she guessed, before she could even get started finding the location. And if the body were still there? The ramifications of what she was preparing to do began to flash through her mind.
She dressed quickly, threw several outfits into a bag and grabbed an additional, already packed overnight bag from her closet. She shoved hiking boots into her bag as well as a pair of flat dressier shoes. She laced sneakers onto her feet, then grabbed her purse and cell phone.
She was hitting speed dial as she packed her laptop.
“Marv, it’s Cassa, wake the hell up,” she snapped into her news director’s answering machine. “I don’t have all night here.”
She tapped her foot, waited until the machine beeped, then hung up and called back.
“What the bloody f**k do you want, Hawkins?” Marv Rhi nard snarled with sleepy ill humor as he answered the phone.
“I’m out on a story,” she told him as she zipped up the laptop bag, pulled the strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Have Shelley cover me. I’ll call you and let you know what’s going on as soon as I know.”
“What’s the story?” Marv was definitely awake now.
Cassa didn’t fly off on wild-goose chases, and he knew it. If she was dumping her airtime on her stand-in, then there was a reason, and usually a damned good reason.
“I’m not sure enough of the details yet, Marv,” she informed him as she locked the door and moved down the hall to the elevator. “I’m heading to Glen Ferris, West Virginia, now. I’ll call you once I’m there.”