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There’s no way you understand what any of that means. You have a brain the size of a fucking peanut.
I have your brain. And you have mine. We’re a unit. I am no longer just a bat. You are no longer just a human.
Mace hated that the flying rat made sense. He’d spent three years in denial, pretending his genetics hadn’t changed. Ignoring his other half as best he could. Now he wondered if his lack of acceptance was the reason his animal was so difficult to control.
Striker’s diamondback doesn’t talk as well as you do, and he’s been talking for longer. According to Striker, the animal spoke broken English, unless he was cursing Striker—then he had an extensive vocabulary.
He felt the bat shrug in his mind. I’m smarter. I’ve been in your head for a long time. I learn much.
Great. He’d landed the Einstein of bats. What’s going on now?
There was a pause as Mace made his way as fast as possible along the ledge. In the distance, he could see a line of yellow on the horizon, signaling sunrise was heading their way.
An image of Keiko bound and gagged filled his mind, and he almost stumbled.
The small man is crying and begging. He is distressing our mate. I need to make him stop.
No, Mace said as an image of Rueben Granger wailing beside Keiko entered his head. Keep your distance, Mace ordered, although he had no idea what the bat thought he could do to shut the man up. You need to remain safe so you can look after our mate. I need your eyes for this plan to work.
Save mate, the bat agreed solemnly.
With care, Mace slowed his steps as he rounded the corner onto the ledge above the terrace. It looked like a battle zone. Furniture had been overturned, people were huddled together in the center of the patio area, and there were dead bodies scattered everywhere. In the middle of it all, on the stage, knelt Keiko—right next to the body of her friend.
Mace’s heart clenched at the sight. She’d been hurt. Bruised. But her chin was up, and she was staring at the Freedom fighters. She was a queen, dressed in torn and borrowed clothes. Her hands had been fastened behind her, and a silencer covered her mouth. Around her head was an EMP band—one she’d placed there herself, according to his bat.
Mace clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He hated that she was positioned beside the bodies of the people she’d worked with. People she’d cared about. He hated that she was fodder for the press assembled in front of her. Sure, they were terrified, afraid Freedom would turn on them next, but he would still bet everything he owned that they were making mental notes about Keiko for when they were freed. They’d write about how she had been brought low by Freedom. How her usual immaculate style had been replaced by torn and borrowed clothes that didn’t fit properly. They’d describe in detail how she’d knelt before her captors, silenced, cowed.
Only, she wasn’t cowed. She was glaring at her captors. Silently challenging them.
“That’s my girl,” Mace whispered to the wind.
Our girl. Our mate.
For once, Mace agreed. Dragging his eyes from Keiko, he studied the terrace, looking for a way down onto it. It was easy enough to find. The pergolas offering shade for the workers were close enough to the walls to allow him to jump onto them and scale down the wooden structures to the terrace below. He’d get to Keiko within seconds. Unless the jump forced a broken rib into his lung.
His first priority—his only priority—was to get that EMP headband off her head.
Who has the detonator? he asked his other half.
The evil one.
I need a bit more information, buddy.
There was a pause, and he realized it was the first time he’d used a friendly name with his other half. Guess the rat was finally growing on him. Who knew?
An image of a woman with blond hair entered his mind, and he recognized her from the earlier broadcast during which she’d killed Abigail. Mace spotted her easily. The woman was deep in discussion, a group crowding around her as she gave orders. He’d found the leader of this assault. And he marked her for death.
Do what you can to get that headband off Keiko. I’ll get to you both as fast as I can.
Don’t die, was the droll reply.
It’s time. Get ready.
He looked out across the terrace, noting the position of each Freedom fighter. The terrorists were confident enough to believe they were untouchable. They were relaxed, and instead of spreading out to guard their weak points, most of them were chatting or listening to their leader.
He reached into the bag he’d stolen from a dead Freedom fighter and retrieved two hand grenades.
It was time to end this.
