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Nick motioned Jax close to the man’s body, and Zan knew what his best friend would be asked to do. As the Pack’s RetroCog, Jax could touch a person or hold an object in his hand and get a reading on past events. Sometimes that event was a movie clip of the last moments of the person’s life, or some other significant happening tied to the mystery they were trying to solve. Other times he got only snapshots of the past that didn’t make sense until much later.
As Jax laid a hand on top of the man’s head, Zan stepped up close to his friend, ready to catch him if necessary. These sessions usually left Jax drained.
Exhaling a long breath, Jax closed his
eyes and grew still. Zan pictured how his friend always described the process of reading a body—there were threads attached to every person and object, and those threads led to the memories. Jax gathered those threads and pulled them close to see where they led.
For several long moments Jax was still. Then his body began to shake, and a soft moan of distress passed through his lips. Suddenly he fell backward with a cry, and Zan caught him from behind, steadying him.
“I’ve got you.”
Before Jax could protest, Zan sent gentle waves of healing energy into his friend’s system, cleansing the bad remnants of the memories and chasing away the exhaustion. As he finished, a dull throbbing began at his temples and crept to encompass his skull, and he knew it would get worse before it went away. But he’d do it again and again, to take care of his brothers.
Jax pulled away and turned to glare at him. “You shouldn’t do that when you don’t have to. Save your energy.”
“Save your breath,” he countered. “The day I can’t heal, you can put me in the ground.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
Looking frustrated, Jax let the subject go for the moment. He hadn’t heard the last of it, however. His friend was like a dog with a bone when it came to making sure the people he cared for stayed safe.
“What did you learn?” Zan asked, changing the subject.
“I saw how he died. Lived it.” He shuddered. “It was horrendous, what he suffered. They played with him, enjoyed causing him pain and . . . fuck, you don’t want to know the details.”
“What about the vamps themselves? Did you see any of them?”
“Yeah. There were two who killed the victim, but there were more hiding deep in the woods. Of the two, one was younger, blond, maybe early twenties when he was turned. The other was a few years older, brown hair, tall and slim, sort of dirty. I didn’t get names.”
Zan helped his friend to his feet. “You did good.”
“It’s not enough. I don’t have a sense of whether they’re still around.”
Nick made sure Zan was looking at him before he interjected. “They are. I don’t know how many, but they’re here. Waiting.”
“For what?” Zan asked.
“Us, maybe? I don’t know. But I do know we have to go after them.”
That was creepy as hell. Especially since Nick frequently knew things about the future that he either couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell them. He didn’t believe in interfering with free will or tampering with the future. Rumor had it he’d once tried to change a terrible outcome, with disastrous results.
None of that mattered at the moment. Any of them would follow Nick into hell on his word alone. The Pack waited as he told the disgruntled Feds that he was taking charge of the body and removing it. Unbeknownst to the suits, the dead man would wind up at the Pack’s top-secret compound being studied from head to toe for any clues they could glean about the rogues. Eventually, the body would be released to the man’s relatives, if there were any.
They split up into twos and threes to search the woods, spreading out. Zan found himself walking with Nix and Micah, which was fine by him. It was good to work alongside his old buddies again. He’d missed them even more than he’d realized.
Keeping a sharp eye out, he studied his surroundings despite his growing headache. It was strange not to hear the birds in the trees, the crunch of leaves underfoot. No wind, no voices. Just the steady presence of his companions. He had his knife and laser gun, not to mention his wolf’s teeth and claws. He could do this after all. Be a contributing team member still.
It was that exact moment when things went to hell.
A rush of air and a scrape on his neck was his only warning as a body barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. He had a split second to realize Nix was the one who’d shoved him—saving him just in time from having his throat ripped out by the razor-sharp claws of a rogue vampire.
And now Nix was fighting for his life.
Zander unsheathed his knife and threw himself at the rogue, just as more of them emerged from the trees and flew at them like the hollow-faced horrors they were.
