Page 49 of Heir of Ashes

“Maybe I didn’t see the point when the bus is full of trigger-happy people who’d shoot me and consider it their good deed for the day.”

“A monster would have considered that one less person to face is one better chance to escape. A monster would have tried to get leverage and use me as a hostage.”

“Maybe I’m a clever monster waiting for a better opportunity? Say, once I’m uncuffed?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. The truth was that the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. Maybe I was just a dumb monster.

“No. You might be different, like my daughter’s best friend, but you’re not evil.” His voice held fierce conviction.

I didn’t tell him that his daughter’s friend had probably never killed anyone, or that the worst she could have done in her shifter nature was eat a steak rare.

“This from the same man delivering me to the very people who have treated me like one for most of my life,” I murmured.

“Unfortunately, I have no choice in the matter.”

Whatever.

“Believe me when I say that if I could dispute the Scientists’ claim, I would have, if for no other reason than that I serve to protect.”

“Lucky me.” I looked down at my cuffed hands. He might not think the entire preternatural nation were monsters, but he was nonetheless delivering me to those who did. Even the woman who had raised me for twelve years had done so. Twice. Maybe I really was a monster and, because I didn’t knowany other way, I didn’t know the difference. Could an insane person tell if they were insane? I’d heard even psychiatrists had differing opinions on that question. How could a monster tell if they were a monster if they’d never known anything else?

The bus came to a sudden, screeching halt, sending me face-first to the aisle floor. Abrupt, short orders were shouted from the front, followed by the vibrations of stomping feet reverberating through the ground. I got up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. My stomach fluttered with unease. Even without knowing why we had stopped, I knew something was wrong.

At the front of the bus stood the army, distinct from the Elite’s by their crisp military uniforms. All of them—whether standing or crouched—were at attention, their weapons drawn. Some faced me with suspicion, while others focused on the darkness outside.

Behind us, static crackled, and something incoherent was said. The general/lieutenant responded, “Negative. I’ll keep watch. Take Wallace, Connor, and Midget to check the back. The Scientists’ lapdogs can divide themselves however they like, as long as they follow protocol.” After a brief pause, he added, “Whatever it is, if it’s not openly threatening any of you, do not open fire. That’s an order. Do you copy?”

There was an affirmative “sir” from the front, echoed through the radio behind me.

I got to my knees and met the icy blue gaze of the general/lieutenant. He held a tranquilizer gun—different from those issued by the PSS—aimed at my torso. I didn’t bother telling him I had nothing to do with whatever was happening. My word meant nothing to him. His eyes flicked to the left, out into the dark night, and I followed his gaze, bracing my cuffed hands on the back of the seat in front of me for support.

As far as I could see—no doubt farther than he could—there was nothing but the cold, arid desert night. Yet something felt off, an expectant presence, heavy and foreboding, there but not. Then suddenly—chaos.

Glass shattered. Shouts echoed. Guns fired. Hissing? Yes, hissing echoed somewhere ahead.

We were under attack. I looked just in time to see one of the quadruplets shooting at something outside. My throat constricted with fear and hope. Had Logan come after all? No, not Logan. He didn’t know I’d been captured, much less where they were taking me. If I harbored any hope Logan would rescue me, it would be by accident when he came for his friend Archer, and that was only if I was at headquarters. More shouting and loud gunshots came from inside the bus. I didn’t hear any return fire. More windows were breaking, and the hissing continued. A plume of smoke was rapidly filling the front of the bus. Gas. That hissing was from whatever gas the attackers were shooting into the bus.

“Damn it! Do something!” I shouted at the general/lieutenant. The commotion up front was dying down. I could hear—but barely see—bodies thumping as they fell one by one, followed by sporadic gunfire.

Hardly a minute had passed and the defense was collapsing like fragile petals in a violent storm.

A stray bullet hit the cushion beside my head. I caught a glimpse of a raised weapon aimed in my direction before its owner collapsed.

The gas was almost upon us, but the general/lieutenant didn’t move from my side.Watch duty, my ass!We were being attacked by an unknown, and all he did was frown at the fallen soldiers, then at the dark window outside. So much for protecting his men. A quick glance showed him staring atthe window to my right. I twisted, wanting to see what he was looking at, managing to kneel by the window.

What I saw made my breath hitch with sudden fear and apprehension. Outside my window stood a bear—a big one. Very huge. It was at least five feet tall on all fours and three feet wide at the shoulders. Until I took a second look. A squeak of terror escaped my mouth, and I fell back without being able to brace myself. I pushed with my feet to get as much distance as possible between me and that thing.

A glance back at the general/lieutenant told me the gas had reached us, the white wisps curling lazily in the air.Hallucinogenic gas?Because the thing outside was no bear at all. It resembled a bear from afar and in the dark, ignoring the six paws and yellow glowing eyes. There were two curving protrusions on its back, like folded horns. This was no animal that could be defined with the English dictionary—or any other human alphabet, for that matter.

Its paws were huge, easily the size of both my hands side by side. One careless swat could no doubt decapitate a person. It stalked closer and closer, a predator in its prime, a hunter with cornered prey. No more shouts came from the front.

“If I don’t do this part, it’ll look suspicious,” slurred the general/lieutenant just before a tranquilizer dart hit my shoulder. I was completely helpless. In a second, I’d be unconscious too, at the mercy of Remo’s minion. I didn’t want to die. I remembered the attack by the guardians of the paths and was sure Remo would kill me this time.

The monster raised its paws to the bus, bracing itself to look inside. I remembered two things before I died: the gesture was like that of a child peeking into a candy store, expectant and eager, and that the animal’s yellow gaze held a certain human-like intelligence.

***

For the second time that night, I woke up moving. This time, instead of a vehicle, my front was pressed against something warm while cold air slapped my back and whipped my hair into a frenzy. There was a hand on my lower back, another on my thighs, one on my shoulder blades, and another cradling my head against a warm, soft pelt.

I stiffened. The enormous bear-like beast had me, and it was carrying me deeper into the dark. I struggled, but he held me firmly. I screamed. I could hear the distant thump-thump-thump of a helicopter, but it was faint, far away. I thrashed and screamed, trying desperately to break free, but the beast never faltered. Never wavered. Never missed a step.

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