Page 30 of Heir of Ashes

Kincaid stepped in front of me, halting my progress. He reached for my chin with his thumb and forefinger, tipped my face up, and examined my wound. He gestured to someone behind me and a moment later, he was given a small first-aid kit.

“Sit down,” he said in a gravelly voice.

I sat on the rapidly warming desert ground. No protests, no questions asked. Kincaid crouched in front of me and opened the kit. Without a word, he took out a needle and thread. My stomach churned, but my face remained impassive.

“Don’t move,” he ordered and began cleaning the gash on my forehead before stitching it. I felt every prick, every pull of the thread, but I didn’t flinch, didn’t show the pain.

Once done, he covered his handiwork with a strip of gauze, fixing it in place with medical tape, then danced his fingers over it once, his blue aura flashing white. A tingle of magic rippled through the wound, dulling the sharp edge of pain. Without warning, he took hold of my twice-dislocated shoulder and jerked it back into place. I bit down on my lip to stifle a gasp, the taste of blood flooding my mouth. His hand probed the area around my swollen shoulder, his aura flashing white once, twice, four times. The tingle of magic pulsated with his touch, each time dulling the pain further.

I gave him a thankful look, knowing what voiced gratitude could do to either of us. He gave me a hand up, stayed long enough to ensure I’d stay vertical, then stepped away. I was then ushered toward the closest SUV by Beady Eyes. With grim satisfaction, I noted two guards changing the tires of the other SUV. My satisfaction, however, was short-lived. When the door of the van slid open, my heart sank at the sight of Logan slumpedunconscious in the backseat, his hands bound, his lips bleeding, blood covering the lower part of his shirt.

I paused abruptly and was shoved from behind, and—not able to help myself—I turned around to glare at Beady Eyes, only to find myself staring down the barrel of his tranquilizer gun.

“In,” barked the guard.

So, in I went.

I examined Logan as best as I could but, like him, I was shackled and couldn’t do much. His lower lip oozed sluggishly, but I didn’t think the tiny cut was the source of all the blood on him. As it was, I couldn’t find any bullet holes either.

Kincaid and Beady Eyes climbed in and took the seats opposite us. Both wore the golden, starry button of The Elite on their lapels. Both were armed with shotguns, aside from the tranquilizer guns.

The door slid shut with an ominous electric whir. Another guard—also from The Elite Team—climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

So that was it,I thought, as we began moving.I was going back to the PSS.

Kincaid’s blue-gray eyes met my accusatory ones for the briefest second before shifting to a point between Logan and me.

“Let him go,” I said and waited until his eyes met mine again before adding, “You’re not here for him.”

He stared at me for a moment, then turned to look out the window.

“Come on, Kincaid, you got me. Let him go.”

He didn’t acknowledge my words, staring at the endless desert, looking bored. If it were anyone else, I’d say he wasn’t listening.

“You heard about what happened in 1872,” I pressed on. “You don’t want there to be a repetition. Let him go.”

That got a reaction. Kincaid turned and looked at Logan, his gaze piercing.

“Shut up,” Beady Eyes sneered. “You’re nothing but a freak, and we’re returning you to your cage. If he was stupid enough to aid a monster, then he’s as bad as you.”

Kincaid gave him a hard look, and Beady Eyes clamped his mouth shut. Kincaid had arrived at the PSS when I was sixteen—at least he was first assigned to me when I was sixteen—and I suspected he’d prevented many unpleasant things from happening to me since. Even Dr. Maxwell had been able to “sneak more goodies” to me with more frequency. Other staff and guards didn’t sneer or give me disdainful looks when Kincaid was around. I had a hunch he’d vouched for me when I began taking driving lessons. He had been one of the twelve Elite that formed my escort team, one who’d been missing—along with the best seven Elites—that last fortunate day, called to an emergency on a sub-level.

I ignored the glowering guard and turned back to Kincaid. “His friend knows he’s with me. If he disappears, his friend will call his clan for reinforcements and come looking for him. It won’t be long before they connect the dots and find him.” I knew I was giving away Logan’s other nature, but if they thought he was an ordinary human, they’d consider him expendable. This way I was giving him a chance.

I didn’t know if Kincaid was listening to me or if he just didn’t want a repeat of the slaughter that had happened when the PSS was still a fledgling government research facility dabbling in the preternatural. Back then, they had no reservations about kidnapping anyone they deemed abnormal, subjecting them to brutal experiments without any regard for their lives or emotions. They justified their cruelty by convincing themselves it was all for the greater good of the nation, believing they were making the world a better and safer place. Until theycaptured the wrong were. His clan managed to track him to the facility, somewhere on the wild side of Montana, and they descended upon the place like hungry, rabid wolves on a nest of rabbits. They killed and destroyed everything in their wake, and when they found their kin just on this side of the grave, the clan went berserk and buried the entire facility under tumultuous amounts of debris, dust, and blood. Following that incident, laws were erected for the safety of both the scientists and the preternatural community.

***

By the time Logan gained consciousness, we had reached Forebay, about an hour’s drive from Sacramento, and I was still pleading his case.

He woke up alert, his eyes furious, a stark contrast to Kincaid’s indifferent gaze. I assumed he’d be able to pull off the stoic act if he wasn’t so angry. It told me my earlier assessment was wrong and that Logan was capable of hot, furious, impulsive anger.

“You alright?” I asked.

He gave a curt nod, his eyes scanning me. “You?”

I shrugged, grimacing with the sudden spike of pain. Although it subsided quickly, I made a mental note not to shrug again. My gaze skipped back to his blood-soaked clothes.

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