Page 98 of Fae Devoted
Inside the compound’s makeshift garage, an older man in a suit and glasses held a brown-haired child in pajamas and pink slippers high on his chest. He had one hand clamped around her middle while the other pressed the muzzle of a gun to her cheek. His chin was tucked into Charlie’s shoulder, protecting his head. The bastard was using the squirming child as cover.
Jeremiah rose from a crouch a good distance from the open barn doors, a solitary soldier on the ground at his feet. The human’s neck was bent at an unnatural angle, an assault rifle clutched in one hand.
“Let her go,” his brother ordered, pushing the power of a high-level dominant’s compulsion into the command. Although as an Alpha without a pack, the effectiveness was diluted.
The human didn’t react to Jeremiah’s vocal influence, and the macabre scar scoring the curve of his brother’s cheek puckered as his upper canines lengthened and punctured his lower lip.
A blonde woman knelt in the dirt near the dead soldier, her mouth bloodied. “Please, she’s just a little girl.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken. She isn’t agirlat all.” He sighed and shook his head. “You’ve forgotten who you work for, Miss Eriksen. Whose side you’re supposed to be on.”
Tucker prowled to Jeremiah. his eyes locked on the man’s trigger finger.
“You’ve chosen to throw in your lot with the monsters of the world.”
“Monsters?” Charlie’s teacher struggled to her feet. “You’re the only monster I see here.”
The Director’s gaze skittered over Jeremiah’s gleaming fangs and Tucker’s gray, then turned in the direction of the farmhouse. “Then you’re not looking close enough. Is she, Queen Rose?” He didn’t raise his voice, his tone conversational.
Lady Rose approached the tense scene with calm and grace, the ruby shining in her eyes the sole indication she was furious. Ethan was right on her heels. The Anwyll’s lethal hands were tucked inside his pockets, his long sleeves and dark shirt hiding the faint glow of activated tattoos.
“That’s far enough, milady,” the Director warned. Rose stopped.
“Release the child,” she said with the authority of a queen, as though expecting to be obeyed without question. “You are violating our treaty with the American government by holdingthe witchling against her will. The Fae Accord unequivocally states—”
“Witchling?” He chuckled, retreating with Charlie farther into the garage and closer to an armored black Hummer. “My moral obligation to humanity is above any law our gutless ancestors negotiated a hundred years ago.”
Commander Baxter and Thlán Rutgers stepped from the shadows of the trees. The Alpha bond, along with this nose, told him Samuel, Remington, and Anand remained underground.
Tucker turned as the internal radar for all things Jopinged.
His she-wolf’s spine was ramrod straight as she moved to Tucker’s flank. She pointed the borrowed Glock at the Director, her hand steady and finger firm on the trigger. But Jo’s self-doubt leaked through the bond. Her worry that swollen hands and iron-fatigued muscles might hinder her ability to make the precision hit without endangering the child was easy for him to read. But no human would suspect her misgivings by the way she confidently held the gun.
And if push came to shove, Tucker didn’t doubt Jo would take that shot.
“Miss Johnnie?” Charlie whimpered, tears streaking her flushed cheeks.
“It’s gonna be okay, honey,” Jo promised. “You just have to be brave a little while longer.”
“I’m happy to see you’re feeling better.” The Director expression appeared sincere, but the hint of rotten fish in his sweat proved his honesty was laced with mental instability. “It seems the facility has been critically compromised,” he said, pushing the muzzle deeper into her cheek. Charlie cried out as he guided them along the exterior of the nearest vehicle.
His wolf snarled. Insane or not, Tucker wanted to shred the man’s throat for what he’d done to Jo, Abby, and now an innocent child.
“Not yet.” Jeremiah words were too low for anyone but a wolf and vampire to hear. “Wait, brother.”
“Leave the child, and you may live,” Lady Rose said, eyes narrowed on the gun digging into the little female’s petrified face.
“It’s not nice to tell fibs, is it?” he asked Charlie, shuffling to the driver’s door. The outbuilding’s structure guarded him on three sides, the rear wall lined with spare parts, refueling tanks, and automotive tools. The only way in was through the main entrance.
“Miss Hannah, Miss Hannah,” the witchling cried, freeing a scrawny arm and reaching for her teacher. “I’m scared.”
Distraught, the woman rushed forward. Jeremiah caught Hannah around the waist before she made it a yard. She shrieked in rage, thrashing in his arms, and crying as hard as Charlie. His brother spoke into the woman’s ear, the words too soft for even Tucker’s sharp ears to hear. The teacher went limp as she listened, then wiped the tears from her face and nodded.
“Open the car door, Miss Charlotte.” His sharp features twisted with the first sign of indecision. If he took the gun off Charlie to do it himself, it would give the team a window to strike.
Stuart Rutgers’ slender frame stretched tight on the other side of the loose ring they’d formed in front of the barn, his pupils focused needle points of blood-red light. As the vampire closest to the Director, DuPont’s Thlán would get to the pair first.
In either form, a Ferwyn was stronger than a Dádhe but somewhat slower.
