Hotbloods Read online

  But there was simply too much at stake not to try.

  Angie cast a glance toward the Churnleys’ house, and I followed her gaze. It was bizarre to look across the pretty garden surrounding the couple’s home, flowers strewn and buzzing with honeybees—so at odds with the turbulent world within my brain.

  “We could take some guns with us,” Angie said, her voice coming out as a croak.

  “Guns,” Lauren murmured. “How will they help, exactly?”

  “Well, obviously we’ve got to go back to that house and warn Navan and Bashrik,” Angie said, running her tongue over her lower lip. “And with guns, at least we won’t be as helpless as we were last time, against… whatever obstacles we might face.”

  “Do you know how to use a gun, Lauren?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

  “My uncle showed me how to use one, but…”

  She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Angie knew how to work a gun, and so did I, though I wouldn’t say either of us were experts. “We have no choice but to do our best,” I whispered.

  We rose from behind the blackberry bush, checking the sky briefly to be sure that the coldbloods were truly gone, and then raced toward the house. Luckily, the Churnleys weren’t downstairs, so we hurried over to the wall opposite the kitchen counter, where Mr. Churnley kept a collection of rifles. We each grabbed one, and then stocked up on ammunition, which Angie found in one of the kitchen drawers.

  I did worry what would happen when Mr. Churnley came downstairs, if he noticed that three of his guns were gone—but I couldn’t think about that now.

  We left the kitchen as quietly as we could, keeping the guns positioned in front of us, in case one of the Churnleys looked through a window and spotted us. As soon as we were out of direct view from the house, we broke into a sprint toward the coldbloods’ fence.

  This time, at least we had the advantage of knowing how the enclosure was laid out. I knew approximately where the house was situated, in relation to the fence, as well as where the backyard was. Instead of breaching the fence at the same point we had the night before, we traveled along the length of it, keeping our heads low, trying not to pant too loudly, until I sensed we had made it far enough to be approaching the backyard.

  I peered through a crack in the fence, and was relieved to find my prediction accurate. Half of me had feared that we would arrive too late; that for some reason, Navan and Bashrik had decided to leave earlier—perhaps encouraged by Jethro—but I could see Soraya’s peculiar metal surface shimmering beneath the canopy of leaves.

  Apart from the ship, the yard was empty. For how long, there was no guarantee, but for now, it was a good sign.

  “Okay,” I whispered, so softly that I could barely hear myself. “The ship is still there. Now…” I’d been trying to figure out our next step, and though I was far from confident my idea would work, it was all I had. “I was thinking,” I continued, “you two should watch the backyard. Climb into one of these trees,”—I gestured to the low-hanging branches by the fence—“and if Jethro or Ianthan show up, you… do whatever you need to do to stop them from getting into the ship. I’m going to try to get inside the house and reach Navan or Bashrik.” Without bumping into Jethro or Ianthan myself. If I did, we’d all be dead. Jethro had made that perfectly clear.

  “My God, Riley, are you serious about going in there?” Angie gasped, horror filling her and Lauren’s eyes.

  Their expressions did not exactly help with my nerves. “I’m not sure,” I replied, my voice uneven, “but I-I have a gun.” It had to be me—I wasn’t about to volunteer one of them.

  None of us took much comfort in that last statement, but we didn’t have time to sit around and argue. I turned to leave but they grabbed me and hauled me back, giving me a tight hug.

  “Be careful,” they whispered.

  “You too,” I whispered back. Then I nodded, and took off, keeping my head low and my footsteps light as I traveled back along the fence.

  This idea had better work, or I might have just sentenced us all to death. The thought played over and over in my mind like a broken record while I jogged. I stopped once I figured I had arrived about level with the front of the house, and glanced behind me. My friends were no longer standing outside the fence, which meant that they had already positioned themselves in the trees. Good. I hoped that they had managed to find spots to perch in that were well concealed.

  I reached for the tree branch in front of me and, after securing the gun over my back using the strap, climbed up and over the fence. The moment my feet hit the ground, I sprinted toward the house, my eyes darting in all directions.

  I reached the porch and found the front door had been left ajar, which both relieved me and made me nervous. Someone could’ve recently stepped through the entrance, and be hovering nearby on the other side.

  I listened for any sounds of talking or creaking floorboards, but there was nothing, so I dared to slip through the gap. The heat of the house engulfed me, and I broke out into a sweat. I gripped my gun, trying to ready myself to take aim if I had to, but I made it several feet into the house without any ashen beasts flying at me.

  When I reached the staircase, I halted, finally picking up on voices. This time, however, it sounded like they were coming from upstairs. I moved closer to the first step, gazing up, the dim gaslight allowing for deep shadows on the landing.

  A creak sounded from above, as if someone was barely a few feet away from the top of the staircase.

  I backed away, stepping through an unlocked door. The heat intensified and my head throbbed. As I whirled around, I realized which room I had entered.

  I barely managed to contain my gasp as my eyes fell on Ronad, lying on the floor beside the fiery hearth, on the same stretcher as before, which I now realized was more like a narrow mattress. He was wingless, and his skin had lost all hues of gray and turned a full golden tan color. And he was asleep. Or at least, completely still. If he had detected me entering, he didn’t show it. The footsteps were growing closer on the staircase—someone was descending.

  I eased the door shut as quickly as I could, then looked about the room wildly for a place to hide. I didn’t know who it was on the stairs, but I couldn’t take any chances that it might be Jethro or Ianthan.

  A low coffee table stood in one corner of the room. It was the only option I had in this almost bare room. I groped through the heat and slid myself underneath it. I curled up in a fetal position, waiting for the footsteps to pass.

  There were several tense moments when I wasn’t sure that they would pass, when I feared they would enter to check on Ronad—but then they ventured deeper into the house. I allowed myself to breathe again as the creaking grew distant, and then, after another minute, dared to slide out of my hiding place.

  I staggered to my feet, moving toward the door.

  “No, don’t!”

  Ronad’s voice suddenly rang out, making me leap out of my skin. I whipped around, gun at the ready, only to realize that he was… still in a stupor.

  His face was contorted with pain as he continued to yell, “Naya, it’s me! Please, stay with me, don’t . . . you can’t . . . Naya . . .” He lost his voice then, but his face remained stricken with pain and despair, his lips moving in silent protest.

  I stared at him, my thudding heart slowing a little, then softening. He was obviously having a nightmare, and I couldn’t help but wonder what his story was. He looked younger than Navan and Bashrik—no older than nineteen. What had driven him to such lengths, to such pain, to undergo this radical transformation?

  And hadn’t Navan started to say we’ve suffered? But then he caught himself and said that Ronad had suffered a great loss. Perhaps Navan had just misspoken, though a part of me felt there was much more to the story than he was letting on.

  But that was a subject for another day. Assuming I lived another day.

  I returned to the door and slowly opened it wide enough to peer throug
h. The hallway seemed empty, the voices continuing upstairs. I gathered the courage to step out, casting one last fleeting glance at the young man lying in front of the fire, before shutting the door behind me.

  I moved back toward the staircase, then stopped. The voices were too muffled for me to make out what they were saying, but the more I listened, the more I pinpointed a depth and cadence that reminded me of Navan and his brother. None of the voices sounded like Jethro, who had a much older tone. Which might be good news. If I slipped upstairs now, I might be able to corner the brothers on their own.

  I cringed as I placed my right foot on the first stair, my gun feeling slippery in my hands from the sweat. I imagined Navan’s face as I stepped into the room. Please don’t be too pissed off with me. Given the news I had come with, he had no right in hell to be. I just have to be sure to spit my message out qui—

  Something sharp pressed against the base of my neck. I had been on the verge of planting my left foot on the next stair, but was instead dragged backward, before a hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my yelp. I heard heavy breathing in my ear, followed by a whisper:

  “I thought we got rid of you.”

  Jethro’s voice was unmistakable, and I had only a few seconds to wonder how I hadn’t sensed him approach before he slammed me headfirst against the wall and grabbed the barrel of my gun. Reflex made me squeeze the trigger, and the gunshot rippled through the house. His hand loosened around my mouth—long enough for me to scream up the stairs at the top of my lungs:

  “JETHRO SENT HUMAN BLOOD TO VYSANTHE!”

  The next second, Jethro let go of me and took off down the hallway. I felt so dizzy from the heat and having my head bashed that I could hardly see, but I had enough sense to know that I had to fire after him. My aim was terrible, though, as my hands were shaking, and I shrieked as he raced toward the door. Ianthan burst out from a room as Jethro rushed by, and he hurried after him.

  Footsteps thundered down the staircase, and then I was face-to-face with Navan and Bashrik, shirtless, their skin back to golden-tan. In any other circumstances, I would have found it comical how closely Navan’s expression resembled how I had imagined it would look—a mask of unadulterated shock—but before he could say anything, I pointed down the hallway and screamed again:

  “Jethro and Ianthan are stealing your ship! GO! NOW!”

  I couldn’t imagine that my words made much sense to him, but something about the sheer panic in my voice jolted both brothers into action, and they darted down the hallway, toward the back door. Pounding after them, I heard Angie and Lauren’s gunshots firing outside.

  I made it to the door in time to see a bullet hit Jethro, who had spread his wings in mid-flight. He staggered, falling to the ground, and Ianthan, who had almost made it to the ship, hurried back for his father. But Jethro was already standing, even as blood the color of molten lava dripped from his right wing.

  “GET IN!” he roared, pointing at Soraya, before half running, half limping after him.

  “Ianthan? Jethro?” Navan’s voice carried across the clearing in utter shock, as he and Bashrik raced across the yard, their wings exploding from their backs as they took to the air and shot forward.

  “Lauren! Stop firing!” Angie yelled, right as Bashrik suddenly faltered in the air.

  Everything had happened too fast. It had taken seconds for Bashrik and Navan to fly within my friends’ shooting range—during which time Lauren’s reflexes hadn’t been quick enough.

  “Oh my God!” Lauren’s horrified voice infused the already chaotic scene. “Bashrik! NO! I’M SORRY!”

  Bashrik let out an agonized groan as he fell and hit the ground, and I raced to him, giving Navan—who had stalled in the air—a furious look that told him to keep going. He hesitated only a second longer, and then went after them while I dropped down next to Bashrik. He’d been caught in the wing, like Jethro had. Only, his injury appeared to be more severe. Lava-colored blood oozed out near his right shoulder blade, the bullet having torn through both wing and the flesh in his back. Without thinking, I tore off my shirt, not caring all I had on now was my sports bra, so I could use it to stem the bleeding.

  Before I could breathe a word of reassurance to Bashrik, Navan let out a curse that reverberated through the yard. I looked up to see he had reached his ship a second too late. Ianthan and Jethro had managed to lock themselves inside. The ship hummed to life, its sleek surface glimmering, and began to rise at alarming speed. It bashed into Navan, sending him hurtling back.

  He steadied himself and launched after it, shooting straight for the hatch—an indent in the sphere I hadn’t noticed before. His wings beat heavily as he wedged his hands around the indent, gripping the door tightly, even as the ship continued to rise. Metal groaned and creaked, and barely a heartbeat later, the hatch separated from the mainframe and plummeted to the ground, landing six feet away from Bashrik and me.

  I gaped at the damage Navan had done with his bare hands. The door’s metal was inches thick, and the edges where Navan had gripped had been bent as if it were silly putty. His strength was unreal.

  I looked back up at the rising ship. Navan was no longer within view. He had hurled himself within it, and I could hear the sound of grunts and groans, violent cracks and smashing. The entire ship shuddered, and a chill rushed down my spine as Jethro let out a blood-curdling cry.

  The ship plummeted, and I gasped as it crashed to the ground. Two tall figures sprang out of it, rolling onto the grass—Navan on top of Ianthan, gripping him by the throat. Lava-colored blood coated Navan’s bare hands, arms and chest, and his entire body heaved as he dealt a crushing blow to Ianthan’s face.

  “You bastard,” Navan snarled, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you’d do this.”

  “I’m sorry, Navan.” Ianthan was crying. “I didn’t want to go along with it—and the plan was never to betray you or your brothers personally. We were only going to use a sample to buy ourselves into Queen Brisha’s good graces—that was all.”

  Navan’s grip barely let up—if anything, it tightened. “You were my best friend!” I could hear the anguish in Navan’s voice. “I trusted you!” He punched Ianthan in the face again, and I heard a crack that made my stomach turn. Navan raised his fist again but stopped. “How long?” he asked. “How long had you and your father been plotting this? Scheming behind my back?!”

  “My father… probably ever since he helped you build that ship. It was one of his motivations for helping you, I am sure, given that you had an Explorer license and he did not. He hoped you’d make a discovery he could take advantage of. But me? I swear, Navan. It was less than a month ago. When you first asked us to come down here for Ronad. I… I felt cornered. Father told Elida to put pressure on me to agree to his plan, and she swore she would leave me if I didn’t go through with it. I-I know these are excuses but, I promise I will make it up to you. I don’t expect you to ever trust me again, but I will do any—”

  “You already sent off a sample?” Navan growled, releasing his grip on Ianthan and balling both blood-splattered hands into fists.

  “Yes—Riley’s blood,” Ianthan wheezed. “My father did it, early this morning. But that wasn’t part of the plan I agreed to. At least, he didn’t tell me he was going to do that—”

  “How far is the pod?” Navan demanded, racing back into the grounded ship, and his expression sent shivers down my spine. He was in his full-on beast mode—his eyes looked like they could burn holes through iron.

  “I don’t know. B-But the pod is slow compared to Soraya. We can catch up with it!”

  Angie and Lauren reached my side, their faces drained and pale. Lauren looked horrified as she approached Bashrik. I had Angie press my shirt against the wound and I stood up shakily, ignoring the nausea that was still roiling through me. I hurried to the ship after Navan.

  I leaned my head inside the smooth steel interior of the sphere, large enough to fit ten people. Jethro was sprawled ou
t on the metallic floor, his head separated from his body.

  I turned away, vomit rising in the back of my throat. It was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on a dead body, never mind one as mutilated as this. Though it wasn’t a surprise that Navan had killed him. Coldbloods were brutal, not ones to mess around. Their physical appearance alone was enough to glean that.

  I managed to tamp down the bile in my throat and focus on Navan, who was hunched over, examining some kind of complex control board—or what was left of it. I didn’t need to be a mechanic to see that it was wrecked. Dials had been smashed, buttons ripped off, levers mangled beyond recognition. Not to mention the fist marks that had been punched into the walls—and of course, the door was missing. I had learned how to fix cars, thanks to Roger, but this was way above my pay grade.

  My breath hitched. “Navan,” I said softly, “how will you go after anything in this?”

  He ignored me as he opened up a compartment beneath the control board. The top half of his body disappeared inside it. I heard the crackle of electricity and saw sparks flying, and then the entire ship shuddered, before it sputtered out. He hauled himself out of the compartment a second later and stood up, his eyes blazing.

  “They betrayed us,” he said hoarsely, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. I could hear the anger in his voice, but also the disbelief. “And you’re right. This ship won’t take off without major repairs.”

  Ianthan approached us tentatively. There were bloody patches where his long blond hair had been torn out, and his face was coated with blood, his nose lopsided—definitely broken.

  Navan’s eyes landed on him, and Ianthan stood there like a dog that knew it was about to get kicked.

  “So what do you suggest we do now?” Navan demanded of him. “I could fix the door with the tools I have in the cabinets,”—he gestured toward the back of the ship, though I refused to look, not wanting to lay eyes on the corpse again—“but I’m not equipped to fix the control board. You know, I wasn’t planning on being stabbed in the back by my best friend while we were here. That was actually not on the list of things I had expected to have happen.”