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“A bit of both. Probably mostly mine.”
He nodded. “Bringing me home to meet the family? Big move, McQueen.”
“Don’t let your head get too engorged there,” I warned. “You’ve already met my dad. And I think you’ve had a passing introduction to my mother when she was trying to rip my throat out. My family isn’t the warm, cuddly type.”
At the mention of my father, a lump grew in my throat. I felt guilty for having left him behind in New York to go on this manhunt. We’d only just met, and getting to know him was a trying endeavor for both of us. Sutherland Halliston had gone crazy during his transformation into a vampire, and now he was permanently frozen at seventeen years old, with the mental capacity of an insane grapefruit.
Having a conversation with my dad was a lot like trying to get into an intellectual discussion with a talking parrot. The words made sense but were rarely in context. He was now in my care, since I’d taken him from the West Coast council, and his appearance in New York was rocking a lot of boats.
I hoped Holden was looking out for Sutherland in my absence because I didn’t particularly trust the council to have my father’s best interests at heart.
We made our way down the metro steps, flanked on either side by evening commuters. We earned ourselves a few grumpy looks, but mostly because the bulk of the duffel bag meant it kept bumping into innocent bystanders. If I’d known I could walk around a major city carrying a sword and no one would bat an eyelash, I’d have gladly worn it all the time back in New York. Guns were great, and I loved my SIGs in a somewhat unhealthy way, but the sword had more cache in certain crowds.
Mainly the crowds I liked to kill.
Desmond and I moved towards the end of the platform, away from most of the bustling crowd, and waited for the train to arrive. We determined the quietest time to go would be right after passengers had boarded. As the train exited the station, most people would be on it or making their way to the exits, and we wouldn’t be noticed edging our way towards the employee door.
If I’d been willing to take more time planning, I might have considered getting fake uniforms so we could head to the door at any moment without anyone questioning us. But I was impatient for the kill, and there was no time for elaborate Ocean’s Eleven-style plans.
I was more of a kick-down-the-door kind of gal anyway.
Once the train started, Desmond and I rose from our blue plastic seats and moved towards the exit. Across from us a few people were milling about on the opposite platform waiting for the other train, but none seemed too interested in paying attention to us.
Sometimes I got bummed out about living in a world so devoted to technology. I had a smartphone I didn’t know how to use, and only dusted off my laptop when my running playlist needed updating. I was odd for a twenty-three-year-old, and I knew it. But seeing everyone across from us more focused on their phones or tablets than anything going on around them, for once I was grateful. The only way they’d pay attention to us was if someone else were to film it and post it on YouTube.
Which was fast becoming an entirely different kind of problem in the supernatural community.
But for the time being it was working in my favor, and I’d take whatever luck I could get.
We continued to walk past the steps and along a narrow ledge leading into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Once we were at the end of the platform, the only light available was a few small lamps mounted along the entrance to the bowels of the metro. Their dim yellow light was enough to show us where to go, but not to illuminate us to potential prying eyes.
I disengaged the safeties on both my guns, and Desmond played with the strap on the duffel bag. I’d have felt better if he were already armed, but he told me back at the hotel he had no intention of pulling out a weapon until we were inside the sewers. He wasn’t able to hide guns because we hadn’t brought a holster big enough for him, and I think he was angling to use the shotgun in the bag, which would stand out a lot more than two handguns.
I’d once seen Desmond carry a medieval broadsword into the fray, and while he didn’t get much of a chance to use it, the sight of him holding the massive, ancient blade had stuck in my mind. Up until then I’d relegated him to the sidelines. Sure, he was a big, strong man, but I had somehow believed he couldn’t hold his own in my rough-and-tumble reality. But seeing him pick up a sword that weighed almost as much as I did had totally shifted my perception of him as a warrior.
The dude could kick ass.
Not to mention it was a pretty hot thing to see your boyfriend wielding a weapon right out of Arthurian legend. I’d be lying if I claimed that hadn’t been added to the spank bank.
I put aside thoughts of Desmond as a white knight and hopped off the platform onto the gritty dirt path running alongside the train tracks.
“Watch the outside rail,” he warned.
“I am.” I hadn’t considered if they were electrified, but I was generally of the opinion it wasn’t smart to jump on subway tracks, regardless.
He set the bag down in front of the metal door, and I found a few of the basic tools we’d stashed inside. I wasn’t a skilled cat burglar, so picking locks wasn’t something I did with any style or finesse, but when I couldn’t kick down a door, I had to find a way in somehow. Plus, my human mentor Keaty had found an interesting way to teach me to pick locks by keeping me trapped until I managed to get out.
Too bad those skills had failed me when The Doctor had me caged.
My gaze cut to the dark tunnel, and an itchy discomfort crept up my spine. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stave off the threat of a flashback and counted from ten repeatedly in my head.
“Des, can you…?” I hesitated, not sure I wanted t
o depend on him for something as tenuous as my sanity. What if I learned to need him too much and he left? How would I cope? Oh, fuck it, I needed all my wits about me for what we were about to do. “Can you touch me?”
The werewolves—more Lucas than Desmond—had this habit of putting me into a calm state by touching me. It was nothing like the power Sig, leader of the Tribunal, had, but I didn’t have Sig right then.
“Touch you?”
