The conversation in the hall made more sense now that Brynn had these details, but she still didn’t understand what that had to do with—oh. “Rook’s quarterly was the night of that concert he couldn’t reschedule. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes. He’d been very lucky until then, able to schedule his concerts and classes around it. It must have been incredibly embarrassing for him not to show up that night, and I can only speculate as to the lie he told his bandmates. His bandmates never forgave him for sabotaging that concert and their shot at performing for so many producers. He couldn’t tell them the truth for obvious reasons, so he quit the band and gave up his music. But I think it also made something very clear to Rook.”
“Which is what?”
“That our people live together for a reason. We have sanctuary towns so we can be ourselves without running the risk of discovery. I think he realized where he belongs, and it isn’t out there entertaining humans at rock concerts. His family needs him here.”
“To be their next Alpha?”
“If that’s his choice.”
“It sounds like the only choice he’s left to make for himself.”
Jillian scowled, but Brynn didn’t retract the statement. Rook had tried to go out and explore his passion, to have a life of his own, and he’d been forced to return to what he’d always known. She understood that more than she could express, having never felt completely at ease among the Magi—like something else was waiting for her. Nothing waited for her at home in Chestnut Hill except disappointment and an ongoing scandal. Perhaps this was her chance to have something different.
“You don’t know what it means to be loup garou,” Jillian said. “The Alpha forms the identity of a run. The entire community lives and dies by their leader’s strength and character. Rook is in a very unique position. Don’t ever misunderstand the weight behind the decision he has to make.”
Before Brynn could offer a response or attempt to defend herself, Jillian stood and stormed out of the library. Her boot heels clicked all the way to the front door, then disappeared into another part of the house. Brynn closed the book of Shelley poems she’d forgotten about, then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She didn’t care that Jillian disliked her now. She was grateful for the extra information, both on the loup garou and on Rook.
A flash of white behind her eyes was Brynn’s only warning before images flickered through her mind in a crash of pain. Three images, on a never-ending loop, fraught with agony and fear.
***
A black-haired girl, no older than a teenager, bares white fangs and sinks them into Rook’s neck. They are in the woods, in darkness, indistinguishable from others around them, moving.
Rook in a fireman’s carry over the same girl’s shoulder, taken into a camper. Still in darkness. Rook doesn’t move.
Rook tied to a chair in a room, maybe inside the camper, while someone looms over him.
Brynn held on tight to the visions, despite the throbbing in her head, desperate for every detail she could get. Two visions in one day were rare. Three at once, about the same person, had never happened before. She wasn’t certain of anything, except that they were about Rook, and she had to remember everything.
Night. Woods. A fight. A camper. The black-haired girl had to be a vampire.
A vampire had been in Stonehill.
She stumbled up off the couch, and her book hit the floor with a bang. “O’Bannen!” she yelled.
He was there in an instant, braced as if for an attack. “What is it?” he asked, already taking in the room.
“I need to see Mr. McQueen right now.”
He didn’t argue with her, just nodded. “He should be at the auction house.”
“Good.”
She practically bolted out of the room, panic urging her to run faster than she’d ever run in her life. This was happening soon, she was sure of it. The detail stuck out of her vision like a neon sign—Rook was wearing the exact same clothes he’d left in that morning.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner was served later than Rook expected, and the smell was driving him crazy. In a good way. Most of the food the Potomac run ate came from the mountains around them and the river on which they lived. Tonight’s meal arrived in the form of two large deer carcasses that had been hunted and skinned just a few hours earlier. Rook had never actually had fresh venison before, but the scent of roasting meat coming off the fire pits was mouthwatering.
He’d called home an hour ago to check in. Geary had invited him and Devlin to stay the night, rather than driving late into the evening, and they’d agreed. Geary offered his cabin, but Rook told him that unless it rained unexpectedly, they’d be fine in the truck bed.
With the matter settled, Rook had spent some time fishing the river with a mixed family named Woodson. The father was a full-blood loup, the mother a human, and their three children an interesting assortment of half-breeds. All three kids were over the age of four (when first shift occurred), but only the oldest and youngest could actually shift into their beast. Few half-breeds could maintain a full beast shift, so learning that two of those three children could had surprised him.
They were amazing fishermen, too, casting their lines like pros even though the eldest was only nine. Rook found himself enjoying the experience, despite his own longstanding dislike of half-breeds. They were inferior to loup and would never be able to have children of their own, but they were still living creatures. Adorable, mischievous, talented little living creatures.
As the sun dipped lower, someone rang a cowbell. The three kids squealed and reeled in their lines, shouting that it was time for supper. Rook laughed at their enthusiasm and followed them over to the fire pits. The deer had been removed from the spits and placed on a wide table for carving. Residents went in and out of cabins and tents, collecting plates and utensils and thermoses. The beasts had disappeared, and several new human faces entered the mix gathering for supper. The air was rich with the scent of cooked meat.
A little girl with red pigtails ran over and tugged Rook’s hand. He squatted to eye-level and smiled. “Yes?”
“Jonas says you play music,” she said with wide, starstruck eyes.
“Yes, I do play music.”
“Can you play for us after supper?”
He hadn’t played for an audience in months, and he itched to perform again. “What’s your name?”
“Iris.”
“I’m Rook. I’d love to play for you after supper, Iris, but I didn’t bring my guitar. I could sing for you, though.”
“Yay!” She scampered off to find her family.
“Looks like your reputation precedes you,” Devlin said with a grin.
Rook cuffed his friend on the shoulder, then joined the various families for food. The meat was excellent, and Rook found himself enjoying the company even more. The Potomac loup were garrulous and loud, but the love they had for each other came through in words and actions—even for the half-breeds. Devlin struck up a conversation with a brown-haired girl named Rachel, whose mixed scent clearly identified her as someone he and Rook should distrust. But she also smelled of the river loup, and that made her family.
It was all too confusing.
As the evening waned into twilight and the venison settled in their bellies, an elderly loup male produced a banjo and began strumming chords to “Oh, Susannah!” Rook knew that one well, and he launched into the first verse with a smile. It produced a loud squeal of joy from Iris and several other children, who tried to sing along. The entire camp seemed at peace, enjoying a meal as a run, basking in each other’s company—something Cornerstone was simply too large to do in the same intimate way.
The last verse of “Oh, Susannah!” ended to a scattering of applause.
“Do ‘Shenandoah’ next please,” Iris said.
Rook glanced at the banjo player, who nodded. They both knew that one, too.
A shriek pierced the serenity of the evening, followed immediately by a second. Heads turned. Rook stood, alert to danger, and scanned the woods, unsure of the source of the screams. He reached for his cell phone out of habit, not sure who he’d even call or why. The third shriek was followed by an agonized squeal. A dozen loup surged to the east, away from the river, while others grabbed children and headed for the cabins.
Rook followed the men into the woods, Devlin on his heels. Adrenaline shot through him, speeding up his heart, urging him to give in, drop to his knees, and shift. His beast growled, angered by the screams of fear and pain from his fellow loup garou.
A black blur cut through the dozen men, knocking several aside like they were dolls. One screamed. Red spurted into the air, and the heavy odor of blood joined the sour scent of fear permeating the forest. The blur came fast. Faster than Rook could move to defend himself, and he slammed sideways into a tree before he felt the blow that knocked him there. Breath exploded out of his lungs, and he gasped for air.
Devlin hollered his name. Rook couldn’t respond.
Two black blurs raced past him, a bit slower than the first. Slow enough to get the vague idea they were humans—or at least shaped like humans. Short humans, slim, in black clothes.
Rook rolled onto his side, coughed hard, and levered up onto his knees. His chest ached. A few feet away, a man lay on his back, his throat torn out, blood soaking the earth beneath him. Dead.
Just like Stonehill.
Three other bodies were scattered and bleeding. He didn’t see Devlin, and with the sun nearly gone, the forest was thick with shadows. The sounds of battle—screaming, gurgling, thudding—were ahead of him, closer to the camp. He reached for his t-shirt, intending to shift and do what he could to save lives.
A black-haired girl dropped down from the tree above, landing with preternatural grace. She smiled like they’d just shared pleasant conversation. She had blood on her hands, which were oddly deformed—long fingers, deadly hooked claws. Rook growled, low and deep. A warning.
“Hello, Rook,” she said.
Ice skated down his spine. “Who are you?”
“Won’t you be surprised?”
He snarled and lunged. She laughed.
Someone latched onto him from behind like a giant tick, skinny arms holding his tight against his sides. As he stumbled and fell, something sharp pierced the side of his neck. The rotting stink of vampire filled his nostrils as blood flowed out of his body.
***
Knight wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into his father’s office less than two minutes after receiving the 911 text and location. Jillian and Brynn were seated in the two chairs opposite Father’s desk, where he stood with both fists pressed hard against the wood surface. O’Bannen nodded from his position near the far wall. Knight was struck by the oddity of a 911 meeting without Rook or Bishop—as well as a wall of tension that filled the room like thick fog.
“What happened?” Knight asked as he approached the desk, instinctively absorbing some of the tension.
“Nothing yet,” Father replied. “But there’s a good chance something is about to. Ms. Atwood?”
Knight circled to stand near the bookcase so he could face both Brynn (who looked miserable) and Jillian (impatient and curious), positive that Brynn had had another vision. “What did you see?”
“I saw Rook,” Brynn replied. “Three different things in succession. I’ve never had visions like that before. In the first, a female vampire bit him on the neck.”
Vampire. He shuddered, revolted by the idea of Rook being fed on by one of those bloodsuckers. Dread rolled off Brynn and his father in waves.
“In the second, the same girl was carrying him into a camper or trailer of some kind, and in the third he was secured to a chair.”
Jillian looked as confused as he felt. “Wait,” she said. “You’re saying that a vampire first bites Rook, then kidnaps him and ties him up in a camper?”
“If the visions are in order, then yes. He’s bitten in the woods when it’s dark, and it’s still dark at the camper. Inside, I can’t tell. There is very little detail to the final vision.”
“A vampire was part of the group that attacked Stonehill,” Father said. “This is why I’m concerned. I’m afraid Rook and Devlin will come into contact with this group in the very near future.”
“Why near future?” Knight asked.
“Because Brynn said that in her vision, Rook was wearing the same clothes as he wore today.”
“Did you—?”
“I tried calling him twice. He told me earlier today that the area has terrible cell phone reception, so he’s supposed to check often and call me back when I leave a message.”
“But in Stonehill no one was taken,” Jillian said. “Everyone was killed.”
“Shay wasn’t,” Knight said.
“No, but she was still attacked and gravely wounded. She wasn’t drained to unconsciousness, and then carted off by her attackers.”
“Assuming this is the same vampire from Stonehill,” Father said. “It’s entirely possible, if unlikely, that this is a rogue vampire, or related to something else that has nothing to do with Stonehill.”
“I wouldn’t place odds on that, Alpha.”
“Neither would I, Ms. Reynolds.”
And neither would Knight. “So what do we do? Wait and worry until Rook calls us back so we can warn him?”
“Something like that.,”
Knight’s cell phone beeped, alerting him to a text message. Brynn jerked in her chair at the sudden noise. He yanked his phone out of his pocket and checked. His heart hammered against his ribs, too fast.
From Rook:
If u are not alone, go somewhere private. Now.
“Knight?” his father asked.
He fumbled for a lie that would get him out of the room. “It’s someone else. Someone needs me.” It wasn’t unusual for a resident to require his calming White Wolf for various reasons.
“All right. I’ll let you know when Rook calls.”
“Thanks.”
He excused himself from the office, then forced himself to not run downstairs. To walk slowly out of the front doors of the auction house and around the side of the building to the merchandise loading doors. There were no security cameras angled here. No one could see from the street. He returned the text:
Okay. What’s wrong?