Page 88 of Heir of Ashes

“Miss Fosch,” the closest man said, his voice a rich, deep rumble.

I didn’t acknowledge him.

“Miss Fosch,” he repeated. “My name is Roland Mackenzie. This is my second, Vincent Vagner.”

Childishly, I had the urge to stick my fingers into my ears. Instead, I just sat there and ignored them. The names rang a bell, but I couldn’t place them. They were probably important scientists I’d had the displeasure of meeting before.

“Miss Fosch, we have a proposition for you. Will you please turn around?”

“My answer is no to both,” I said, not bothering to raise my head.

“Miss Fosch,” he began again.

“I said no,” I snapped without any heat. “I’m not interested in cooperating with anything you have to offer. I am not, and will not, help you exploit me or my differences, no matter how you dress it up. And if you force a situation where I either comply or die, rest assured, I won’t further your cause. Now go away.”

Heavy silence followed my words. I knew I sounded tired, but my voice held enough conviction and determination to be clear.

“You’d throw your life away?” he asked, his voice quiet.

I wouldn’t. Not without a fight. I would take as many as I could with me.

“No,” I said, “but since you can’t coax any reaction from me while I’m unconscious or under an obedience spell, you’ll have to approach me.” I got up and turned to face him. “And when you do, I’ll take you down and as many as I can with me. If you tranquilize me, there will be a next time, and a next, and a next.” I extended my talons for show—knowing he could see the useless bracelet—and examined it from front to back before meeting his eyes again. “One day, you’ll either run out of men, or someone will have enough and just shoot me, but I won’t let you get any satisfying results to write down and discuss with a bunch of young scientists who think they are superior just because they have a high IQ.”

The man I faced studied me curiously. I had the impression that my response had pleased him. Dressed in a dark business suit, he struck the figure of an imposing, successful businessman. Oddly, he wore no lab coat. Maybe he was higher up the chain—a supervisor, or maybe a donor—one of those who wanted to ensure they were getting their money’s worth. He had some gray mixed into his dark, short hair and a trimmed, thin mustache that framed a strong jawline. His dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, assessed me with a piercing gaze. His posture was rigid and alert. He seemed familiar, but I was sure I had never met him before.

My attention shifted to the man by the door, and I recognized him instantly. Except that now his aura was plain blue, as ordinary as that of a human, where once it had a silverysheen to it. His eyes studied the tear and blood on my right knee, then he looked up and met my gaze.

I braced myself for the yellow flash, but nothing happened. His expression was guarded and neutral, betraying no sign of recognition. His steady regard tugged at a vague memory in my mind. A sudden vision of a cold desert night and the steady drum of a heartbeat filled my head. A bolt of shock zinged through me as I realized I’d seen this man not only with a different aura but also in an alternative form.

Another piece of the mysterious puzzle of my life fell into place. Vincent was the person General Parkinson had mentioned. He was the one who helped me in Vegas … the reason Remo Drammen had left me alone in the penthouse. Did Logan know? Had they teamed up to rescue me? One distracted, the other extracted? And oh, I just remembered why the names seemed familiar. Surprise, surprise—weren’t Roland and Vince two of the names Logan and Rafael had mentioned when I was eavesdropping from the bathroom?

“I know you. I saw you in Vegas.” My gaze shifted back to the older man, and he nodded affirmatively. His aura was blue, but considering his companion’s aura had been different the last time I saw him, that didn’t mean much.

I looked back to the younger man—Vincent Vagner—and wondered if Roland was ordinary? And if so, did he know that his second wasn’t?

“Miss Fosch, may I call you Roxanne?” Roland asked.

I looked at him and waited.

“Very well. Let us start from the beginning. My name is Roland Mackenzie, and this is my second, Vincent Vagner. I am in charge of an elite group called the Hunters. We are a small but efficient team dedicated to ensuring that those with extraordinary abilities adhere to the law and prevent them from abusing their powers against ordinary humans. Wehave a permanent base in Manhattan but respond to unusual occurrences across the United States.” He laced his hands behind his back. “In simpler terms, Miss Fosch, we are the law enforcement for the preternatural community.”

A thought flashed through my mind. Was he here to supervise my punishment for all the damage, the bodies, the laws I had broken?

“That’s great,” I said flatly. “Now, tell me what you want and get it over with.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “I have been following recent events and am interested in recruiting you as a new member of my team.”

Wait, what? Caught off guard, I replayed his words in my mind to make sure I understood them correctly. Events? What events? Recruit me? Since when? I studied him for any signs of humor. Surely this was a joke. If he was the equivalent of the police in the preternatural community, he should know I was a criminal.

“Let me see if I got this straight. You want me to join a group that polices preternaturals?”

“Indeed.”

Still no humor.

I turned to Vincent. “That’s what you do?”

His reply was a mere nod. His black eyes remained fixed on mine.

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