“Exactly. And do you know who will be pissed as fuck if we bring a Watcher back into the clubhouse?”
“Andras,” Zeke answers again.
“Bingo,” I respond, not taking my eyes off Sterling. “You saw what he made us do to Tyge for bringing High Quarter shit into our streets. Imagine what he'd do if we brought a whole ass Watcher into his territory." As the pause lingers, I leave no room for imagination. "Shoot first and ask questions never.”
A large part of me wants to save her. Claim her. But the rational side of my mind demands ruthlessness, order. She’s a liability in every damn sense of the word—for me and my bloodlust, and for all of us getting in shit with Andras. And the Blood Order member in me knows this can't happen.
Sterling mulls over my points, frustration in his tense face. But he shakes his head, shifting his hold on the female. “I don’t care. That bite on her arm is fresh. Which means she needs treatment. As soon as possible. We can't leave her out here for the ghouls to come back and feast upon, Aamon.”
I cut my gaze down to her hands tucked carefully in on herself, moving swiftly to pull her arm free so I can seethe bite myself. She jumps at my actions, but I don’t let her go.Fuck.She was bitten. Ghoul bites fester, poisoning their victims over time. Which means Sterling is right. We need to get her to Laurel. I look quickly to Zeke, hoping he has some other insight to offer. I desperately need his brash sense of duty and cold-heartedness to come through for me now, to talk me out of taking this female home and risking Andras’ wrath on my crew. But he just crosses his arms over his chest, refusing to go against Sterling. As always.
I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck.
“Fine,” I growl. “But I’m making her your personal responsibility. I’ll have the seven hells to pay with Andras if something goes wrong.”
Sterling flashes me a look of gratitude and ushers her over to his bike. The female averts her gaze and cowers closer to Sterling when they pass me. Quinn follows, helping her get settled behind Sterling. Because of course he does.
Zeke shakes his head as he moves back toward his own bike. “This is going to cause nothing but trouble, Aamon.”
I grunt dismissively. If he had such a strong opinion on the subject, he should've voiced it before Sterling flashed his big, silver doe eyes at me.
Quinn finishes securing the female on the back of Sterling’s bike and trots back over to me just as I mount mine. He’s grinning ear to ear, which I can see plain as day since our veils only cover the top half of our faces. And I can practically see his erection through his jeans.
“Calm the fuck down, Quinn.” I roll my eyes.
“Come on, Aamon. Am I not allowed to be optimistic?” He smirks, situating himself on his bike.
“Zeke thinks she’s going to be trouble.” My eyes linger on Zeke as he makes his way back to his bike.
“Who says I don’t like a little bit of trouble?” Quinn elbows me, snickering to himself.
I ignore him, watching as the female clings to Sterling's back. He starts his motor and they take off, Zeke trailing behind them. My jaw hardens, my teeth grinding together. I hate to admit the irritation I feel in my gut that she’s riding on the back of his bike—not mine.
Idon’t know if it’s shock or fear, or something my father’s power did to me, but I can’t seem to get myself together. One moment I was sitting beside him in the plush leather interior of his opulent towncar, begging for him to listen to me, to accept me. To keep me. The next I was staring up at the greying sky, crowded out by masked males hovering over me.
Haunting replicas of skulls hide their features. The masks are dipped in black, the obsidian pigment running down the surface and fading into the bone-white fangs connected above their exposed mouths.
The one said they were here to help me. Sterling? I feel the name float to me through the fog in my head. Had I heard them call him that? He’d promised that they wouldn’t hurt me. But I know who they are, and I can’t believethat’s true. Even still, I cling tight to his leather jacket as he guides his bike effortlessly through the dirtied streets of the ungoverned district. I try to keep track of where we are, some survival instincts still kicking in. But the motion surrounding me makes my stomach turn and before long I’m burying my head into his shoulder.
“Not much longer,” he calls back. I can barely hear him over the rumble of his motor. But something about his words, his tone, softens the ache in my chest. Eases my worries, just a fraction.
Before long, we pull into a parking lot outside of a compound building. On the left is a motel with flickering lights and a less than impressive entrance; to the right is a mechanic’s garage with the roll up doors open to reveal a few rundown vehicles and more motorcycles like the ones we are riding. The male I’m with rolls his bike into a parking spot in the lot, swinging a leg over once it's stopped and hopping off the leather seat. He extends a hand for me, offering me a kind smile. He shed his mask at some point, though I can’t remember when. I can hear the distant rumble of the other males, their approach imminent. I swallow, taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead me inside the main entrance to the motel.
The inside is dim, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. He leads me through the entrance, over to a couch on the far end of a makeshift living room. Everything is worn, dingy, and I can’t even think about the brown stains I spotwith just a first glance around the place. But as he eases me onto the couch, I’m suddenly thankful for its comfort.
As the shock wears off, the pain grows, my body sore and achy from the combination of last night’s attack and today’s turn of events. I don’t know what all the ghouls did to me, how much damage they were able to inflict before these males found me. But I can tell there’s new wounds, can taste the metallic tang in my mouth from fresh blood. And they had made sure to point out the bite on my arm. I’ve never encountered ghouls before, but my arm feels like it’s on fire, the bite flaring with heat as I cradle my arm against me.
“Hey." The male I think is called Sterling crouches before me, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face. “We’re going to get you patched up. Just sit tight while we evaluate the damage, okay?”
I try to nod, feeling the way my eyes flutter as I attempt to focus on the words he’s saying. The front door bursts open, the rest of the males trampling in. I wrap my arms around myself defensively, burrowing into the corner of the couch closest to Sterling. Exhaustion and shock must have numbed me of the fear that now comes back in waves, the realization that I have jumped from one threat to another.
“Easy,” Sterling calls over his shoulder, turning just enough to show his frustration. My eyes dart from him to the others, trailing over each male. The one before me looks kind, sympathetic, now that his mask is off. But the othersare still cloaked in the dark coverings—like something out of my worst nightmares.
It’s how I know who they are, how I knew even back in that alley when I first laid eyes on them. Why I know I'm not safe here.
They are the Blood Order. Enemies of the Watchers. And as much as my father reviles them, I’ve heard endless tales of how they punish our kind for wandering too far into their district. I know only too well that their methods can be worse than any death I would have met at the hands of those ghouls. They are our sworn enemies. And they have come for me.
“Why did you save me?” I force myself to say. “What do you want from me?” But the words are too dry, too weak.
