Keeli jumped down the first tunnel entrance she found and raced through the wide corridors so quick she almost dropped to four legs instead of two. She fought to keep the wolf at bay—she was already running on instinct, but it was tempered with humanity. If she went to the beast, she might lose that. She might get everyone in a stir, when what was needed now was calm.
The werewolves she passed shouted after her—“What is wrong, do you need help?”—but Keeli ignored them. She had no time. She had to find her grandmother. Michael.
Please let him be here. Please, oh God.
She reached the Alpha core, turned a corner, and found the Grand Dame standing in the doorway of her brightly lit home. She held herself straight, clad only in an elegant silk robe that draped around her bare feet. Lower Alphas surrounded her, keeping a respectful distance. Leroux stood in the back, shoulders hunched, the front of his shirt covered in blood.
Jas was there, too. He noticed Keeli and glanced quickly away. He seemed tired.
Hargittai touched the Grand Dame’s shoulder and gestured at Keeli. The Grand Dame pretended not to notice. She continued speaking to the other wolves, some of whom gave Keeli and her grandmother curious looks. It was quite apparent that none of them missed the old woman’s slight against her granddaughter.
Keeli’s cheeks warmed; her pounding heart tightened into an unbearable ache. She knew her grandmother very well, and it was clear that the woman was angry.
I don’t have time for this.
She approached slowly but with intent, throwing confidence into her every step. If she were the challenger, an Alpha in principle, then it was her right—though it pained her to use that against her grandmother, especially now.
“Grand Dame Alpha,” she said, lowering her chin. “I need to speak with you. It’s very urgent.”
“Later,” said the old woman, without sparing Keeli a glance. She continued talking with a skinny red-haired Alpha, whose gaze flickered past the Grand Dame’s shoulder to Keeli and her dirty, nearly naked, body.
“Grand Dame,” Hargittai murmured. “You should at least look at her.”
“She is being disruptive,” growled the Grand Dame. “Now be silent.”
Hargittai blinked, as did everyone else. Keeli gritted her teeth.
“Fine. Ignore me.” Keeli gestured at the other Alphas, who were paying attention. “All of you need to keep your wolves off the street tonight. There’s something—”
The Grand Dame snarled, whirling with claws outstretched, teeth sharp. She faltered when she saw Keeli’s body, the signs of a fight, but then her eyes hardened and she stalked forward with vicious intent. Keeli felt slapped upside the head by her grandmother’s anger, but she steeled herself past the pain and held her ground.
“It is not your place to give orders,” snapped the old woman.
“You wouldn’t listen to me,” Keeli replied, trying to keep her voice steady, quiet. “There is something out hunting wolves tonight. Hunting vampires. It almost killed me.”
“It obviously didn’t try hard enough.” The words came out fast, angry; Keeli stifled a gasp, and for a moment imagined she saw regret in her grandmother’s eyes. But it was too late for that. Keeli’s heartache turned to anger.
“Fine then,” she spat, backing away. “Don’t listen to me. But if a wolf is found dead in the morning, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
The Grand Dame threw back her head and barked—sharp, and piercing. The Alphas backed away. When there was a respectable distance separating the Grand Dame from her subordinates, she approached Keeli. Gold flecks blazed within her blue eyes. Keeli felt trapped by that gaze, by the unfamiliar rage that for the first time—awful, stunning—was directed at her alone.
“How dare you,” whispered the Grand Dame. “How dare you come here and undermine me like that. In public, no less.”
“Jas did it earlier,” Keeli said, licking her dry lips. “You were not so angry at him.”
“Despite what I told him, I expected it. I’ve known for some time he would make a bid. But this, from you …”
“What has you so mad?” Keeli asked, desperate. She could not stand this. “If it’s because of the bid, I’m sorry! I had no idea who Leroux was when I fought him, and he was hurting—”
The Grand Dame bared her teeth. “No excuses. You made your bid, Keeli. You made your bid for Alpha, just like your father did all those years ago. They killed him for that. For his temper. They called him unstable, because he could not control himself, even against other wolves. A threat. A mad dog. Your poor mother tried to protect him, and they …” She shook her head and leaned close. “They will do the same to you, Keeli. You with your temper. And your vampire.” Her nostrils flared. “Everyone can smell you. Smell his seed on your body. It’s sick. Disgusting.”
“You’re disgusting,” Keeli said, fighting back tears. “To use my father’s death against me like this. I know why he died, and maybe the same thing will happen to me, but I don’t care. I don’t care.”
The Grand Dame moved so fast Keeli barely had time to gasp. Hands pressed down on her shoulders; her heart clutched, twisting. Voice breaking, her grandmother whispered, “I won’t lose you. I won’t take the risk.”
“Don’t,” Keeli breathed. “Don’t do this to me.”
“It is too late. Everyone knows. Brian O’Dell was here, asking questions. He is going to write about your fight with Alpha Leroux. He is going to tell everyone what you are doing with—with him.”
“Good,” Keeli spat. “I want everyone to know.”
“Idiot.” The Grand Dame’s lip curled. “You are just like your father. Brash, impulsive. Arrogant. So arrogant. He thought he could claim leadership of any clan he wanted.”
“I am not him.” Keeli shook with anger. “But I loved him, and he loved us. Don’t you dare speak badly of your son.”
“I dare what I like! You are my blood, my wolf. I cannot make you give up your bid—that would go against all our laws—but you and the vampire are done. Do you understand? He is dead to you. He is dead.”
“You had your chance to prove control, but in every way you have failed me. After the negotiations are over, I will abdicate to Jas. Until then, you will remain in your room. I am ashamed of you, Keeli. I am so disappointed. You smell like trash.”
Keeli snarled, breaking her grandmother’s hold. The Grand Dame’s hand shot out and slammed into Keeli’s breastbone. A crack, and pain made her blind. She fell hard to her knees, unable to breathe. She heard shouts. Hargittai, maybe. More than one wolf; a clamor of voices.
The Grand Dame knelt close and brushed cool fingers against Keeli’s flushed cheek.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I do this because I love you.”
Keeli would have laughed, except she thought it would make her faint. Instead, she choked out, “Love’s not … supposed to hurt … this much.”
The Grand Dame’s sorrowful eyes turned cool. Keeli felt a moment of fear, and it was horrible, terrible, being afraid of her grandmother. All those soft memories of warmth, safety—gone.
“I thought you knew, Keeli. Love is pain. Perfect love kills.”
Her grandmother rose, elegant and distant. Keeli heard quick footfalls, and then Jas said, “Grand Dame?”
“Put Keeli in her room. Do not let her out until I give you permission.”
Jas picked Keeli up, cradling her against his chest. He turned away from the Grand Dame and carried her down the hall. Keeli tried not to cry, but tears raced down her cheeks, hot and salty. She watched Jas’s face, and clutched his shirt.
“Don’t,” she gasped. “Please.”
Jas’s neutral expression cracked. Compassion filled his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And that was all he said, even when he set Keeli down on her bed with a blanket pulled over her body, and locked the door behind him.
It was a bad night to be on the street; Michael felt it in his bones, in his ears with that elusive song soft like a lure. He thought he came close once or twice, but the music eventually stopped and the trail went cold.
He hung high in the sky, savoring the wind rushing tight around his body. For a moment, his heart thrilled hard with joy—the first time in ages—and he knew it was because of Keeli. He wanted to see her so badly, to be reminded again and again of her light, quick voice and searching eyes. Being with her took away the loneliness of exile, the poison of his people’s contempt for him. The torment of his actions and past. With her he felt new. He felt … good.
Oh, Keeli. I don’t deserve you. He did not deserve much of anything at all. And if she knew what he had done, the atrocities he had committed with his own two hands …
She will hate me. She will kill me.
But maybe that would be preferable to keeping the truth from her. She certainly deserved the truth. Tough, strong, compassionate Keeli—who could take her hate for vampires and still find it within herself to hold one, kiss one.
Perhaps even love one.
He launched himself into movement with just a thought, riding the air currents—riding, riding into the blue sky horizon, away and far—feeling for a moment the past upon his soul, the peace before blood and dark. Or at least, now, it felt like peace. In the days before his transformation into vampire, nothing had felt peaceful about his life. It was only hunger and poverty and disdain.
Nothing had changed. Nothing.
I was such a fool. A fool to believe anything that Malachai told me.
Well, Malachai was dead now. No more words, ever again, would pass through those lips. Michael had made sure of that. Burned the body and scattered the ashes.
His tattoo throbbed. He rubbed the hard gold.
An unnatural shift in the wind caught his attention. He whirled, glimpsing something large and dark at the corner of his eye. It moved incredibly fast, staying just out of Michael’s line of sight until he felt like a top spinning round and round, and it was too much—Michael shot up, so fast his eyes watered.
Hands grabbed his neck. Michael struggled to break free but the creature holding him was incredibly strong and supple. It moved as Michael moved, fluid and graceful, smelling strong of blood.
“I’m sorry,” whispered a low voice. Hot breath swept over his neck; teeth scraped against his iron collar. Leather-clad fingers slipped beneath, pressing hard on his throat, puncturing skin. Killing him.
His attacker stopped—still, so still. Hushed.
“You carry her scent,” he whispered, and with those words, Michael stopped thrashing. Terror filled him, hot and biting—so unfamiliar that at first he had no name for it. That blood he smelled …
“Wha—” Michael tried to speak, but his vocal cords were held too tight. He wanted to scream with frustration, and in his mind he did, again and again, howling.
“She told me it was impossible,” said the creature. “Told me never, not ever, not even in a dream.” He released Michael.
Michael spun around, reaching for his sword. He glimpsed red eyes in a torn mask.
“Did you rape her?” asked the creature, shaking. “She did not look raped, but I don’t know about those things. Did you hurt her? Did you? Is that why you have to die?”
“What do you want?” Michael rasped. His throat hurt.
“You’ve had sex with a werewolf,” said his attacker—a man, a creature—some strange mystery. “A vampire and a werewolf. You smell so strong of her.”
Michael lashed out, dancing on air, his sword flickering quicksilver in the moonlight. The creature whirled, turning against the blade, cutting his clothing on the razor edge. Michael plummeted feet first to the earth. The creature followed; when they were less than twenty yards from concrete, Michael threw himself flat and shot sideways, up. His pursuer barely managed to stop himself. Michael fell on him, stabbing. He reached for the mask.
The creature caught Michael’s hand and tossed him away. Michael skidded into a dumpster.
“I thought she smelled strange,” said the creature, breathing hard. “Strange, familiar. It’s why I followed her. I … I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Did you hurt her?” Michael staggered to his feet. Wildness spun through his heart, biting, hard.
The creature touched his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I am going to kill you,” Michael said, raising his sword. “I don’t care how strong you are. I will kill you for that.” “Please,” said the creature, and something in that voice made Michael hesitate long enough to hear, “Do you love her?”
Michael stared.
“Please,” said the creature again, floating closer. “Please tell me. Do you love her? Is it possible for a vampire to love a werewolf? Please.”
If Michael held any doubts about the her his assailant was referring to, they were completely erased by that one question.
“Who are you to ask such a thing?” Michael asked, so quiet he was not sure the creature would hear him.
“I …” He stopped, and those red eyes became so anguished Michael felt the creature’s pain as surely as if it was his own. “I … don’t know.”
“Fight me, then,” Michael said, gliding close. “Fight me, and maybe you will remember.”
Because he wanted a fight—oh, he wanted blood from the man who had tried to hurt Keeli. Nothing less would satisfy.
The creature backed away. “You don’t want me to fight you. I’m too hungry. It will end badly. It is supposed to end badly. You are supposed to die tonight.”
Memory stirred in Michael’s heart, centuries old, of a moment when conscious thought penetrated the fog of savage hunger that had clouded his mind for months, and he stopped—stopped before the kill, and the ragged man beneath him still wanted to fight. I am so hungry, Michael whispered. Please, don’t. It will end badly. It will end—
Michael looked hard at this new creature—no, no, not another mirror, not another Malachai—and swallowed his terrible desires as he had done so long ago. Familiar dread filled his heart as he said, “Who is hurting you?”
The creature made a low sound.
Michael glided forward. He lowered his sword. “It was done to me,” he said, as though they were holding a normal conversation that had nothing to do with death and torture. “My master put me in a hole where he starved me until my body shriveled, until my mind held nothing more than instinct. No thought, except for hunger, for survival. And when I was near death, but still strong enough to kill, he released me in the middle of sleeping families, to watch me feed. It was his sport, his entertainment, and I was helpless to that game for a very long time.”
“There is no entertainment,” said the creature. He touched his neck, and Michael noted a bulge beneath the tight outline of his dark clothing. “But she does watch me. She has always watched me.”
“Who are you talking about? Who did this to you?”
The creature shook his head, backing away. “No, I can’t. This is wrong. You’re the enemy. You’re food. You don’t talk to food.” His voice broke. “Please, go. Just get away from me.”
“Why were you going to kill me? Who told you vampires were food?”
“Reversal of fortune,” whispered the creature, floating off the ground. “Karma.”
And then he shot up into the air. Michael tried to follow, but the creature quickly lost him amidst the tangle of city buildings. Lost him so easily, in fact, that Michael wondered if he’d had training. No one ever had escaped him like that; Michael was too fast, too skilled at the hunt.
Please tell me. Do you love her? Is it possible for a vampire to love a werewolf? Please.
He remembered that pleading voice, asking the one question Michael could never have foreseen.
And then he remembered the scent of blood.
Werewolves guarded the first tunnel he tried to enter. They held sharpened wooden pikes, guns holstered to their sides. It was the first time Michael had ever seen the werewolves arm themselves, and he thought it was bad timing, considering the second negotiation with the vampires was scheduled for that night.
He tried to pass them and they blocked his path.
“The Grand Dame is restricting all access to the tunnels,” said the shorter werewolf, all muscle and beard. The taller held his pike loose, ready to stab.
“The Grand Dame knows me. I am helping her granddaughter investigate a murder.”
A tight grin passed over the short wolf’s face, though his companion remained tense. Worried, even. “Yeah, we can smell all the help you’ve been giving Keeli. You’ve been doing a real good job, haven’t you?”
“Dan, stop that,” said the tall wolf. He looked at Michael and lifted the pike, aiming the point at his heart. “You better go. We have our orders.”
Michael held out his hands. “I do not want to fight. Please, where is Keeli? Did anything happen to her?”
The second wolf began to answer, but Dan lashed out, stabbing at Michael’s chest. Michael blocked the pike and twisted it out of the werewolf’s hands. He broke it over his knee and tossed the pieces away.
“Where is she?” he shouted, advancing on the two werewolves. Dan pulled out his gun, while the other wolf lifted his pike—warier now, with a tight grip on the wooden shaft. Michael smelled their sweat, heard the racing thrum of fearful hearts—and underneath it all, the hot promise of blood.
But if he fought these wolves—if he hurt them in any way—Keeli would be the one to suffer. He had already made her a target, without inciting even more resentment and rage. Michael backed away. He left the tunnel entrance and took to the air.
He found another entrance, and the result was the same: armed werewolves, with orders to keep him—and it was only him, he was sure of that—out of the underground.
What happened? What changed in the Grand Dame’s heart to make her do this?
Or was it Keeli herself who had begged for the order? Had she changed her mind about him? Was this what her rejection looked like?
No. He did not doubt the possibility of her rejection, though it was not something he wished to contemplate, but he could not believe she would do it like this. Keeli was too straightforward. She would never ask anyone else to fight her battles.
Which meant that something was very wrong.
He was turned away at the third tunnel, and it was difficult—almost impossible—not to knock aside the wolves and run rampant through the underground, searching and screaming her name.
Enough of this. Forget control. Do you think Keeli would apologize for being tactless? No.
He unsheathed his sword, preparing to jump back down into the tunnel he had just left.
Someone whistled.
Michael glanced over his shoulder and saw a familiar face peering out from behind a dumpster. Suze gestured furtively and pressed a finger to her lips. Michael glided close, ducking into the shadows beside her. Their shoulders pressed together; he did not miss the way she shuddered, but for once, he didn’t care.
“Keeli,” he whispered.
She refused to look at him. “There was a fight between her and the Grand Dame. Keeli got knocked flat and locked in her room. You’re bad guy numero uno.”
“I need to get her out.”
“Sure, fine. That’s why I’m here. We got word that you tried to get into the South Street entrance, and guessed you’d end up here eventually if you didn’t lose your cool. Richard is looking for another way in.”
Michael stared. “You hate me. Why are you doing this?”
Suze finally looked him in the eye. “Because Keeli took up for me. She slammed an Alpha and his goons, for Christ’s sake, just because he was beating on me. Your fault, don’t forget.”
“I haven’t,” he said grimly.
“Yeah. Well, Richard and I remember when people do good things for us. When you’ve got nothing, a little something becomes real important.”
“If the others find out—”
She cut him off. “They can’t do anything worse to us than what’s already been done. Richard and I will just stick with the original plan. Go to Mexico or something.”
Michael shook his head. “Do you have a good memory?”
Suze gave him a strange look, but nodded. Michael gave her his address and made her repeat it back to him.
“There’s a briefcase with five thousand dollars in it. I’ve got it at my apartment. If you and Richard get into trouble and I’m not around, the money is yours.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’re fucking nuts.”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s why Keeli likes me.”
“I’m cool with that,” Suze said, still looking dazed. They heard a scuffling sound and Richard appeared. He frowned when he saw Michael sitting so close to Suze, but only gestured for Michael to follow him. He had some papers stuffed in his hand.
Michael, Suze, and Richard jogged down the alley, turning out on the street with headlights flashing bright in their eyes. They walked for two blocks in complete silence, and then Richard dragged Michael down a series of steps that led to the front door of a basement business, closed for the evening. There was a drainage grate in front of the door. Richard pointed at it.
“There’s your door. It’s not guarded.”
“How did you find it?”
Richard grinned. “When you live rough, you learn to play rough.” He held up the papers in his hand. “The first thing I did when Suze and I moved in was find the clan’s blueprints of the place. Told them I didn’t want to get lost.” He sneered. “Made sure I found all the back holes, the ways in and out. Made drawings. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Except for Suze,” Michael commented, lifting the grate free. The hole smelled wet and dirty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Richard snag Suze around her waist and pull her close. Michael thought of doing the same thing to Keeli. He sat down on the edge of the hole and dangled his legs in the darkness.
“Thank you,” he said, looking up at the two teens. They shrugged, but it was enough.
Michael dropped through the hole, scraping the sides of his arms. He did not hit the ground, stopping mere inches above it so he would not make a sound. Michael saw the rough outline of pipes, the accumulated debris. This place was very old.
“It’ll run out three tunnels over from the Alpha core,” Richard whispered, replacing the grate. “There shouldn’t be too many wolves in the halls. The fangs are supposed to arrive soon.”
Earlier than what Michael had expected. Frederick must be feeling pressure to get this resolved.
Michael almost felt sorry for the elder vampire; the Grand Dame was not going to be in a pleasant mood tonight. An alliance between their two peoples was looking less likely, and this time, the blame could be put squarely on his own shoulders. Michael did not doubt he was part of the reason Keeli and her grandmother had fought.
Do you know what would happen to Keeli if the others found out? Her reputation would never survive. She might not survive. Such alliances are not tolerated.
Or maybe such alliances were not tolerated by certain individuals. It was clear to Michael that every werewolf near them had smelled the sex on their bodies, and only a handful had made an issue of it. Perhaps that had to do with respect for Keeli’s position and her temper, or maybe the werewolves—even if they were disgusted—were far more polite than Michael had ever given them credit for.
Or maybe this was the consequence the Grand Dame had spoken of when she begged Michael to do the honorable thing. A promise Michael had found impossible to uphold.
Please forgive me, he begged Keeli, flying through the tunnel, watching the shadows for movement.
The tunnel narrowed. The smell of dirt and damp disappeared, and everything, even the pipes, looked cleaner. Michael glimpsed light, and slowed his approach. The main corridor was empty. Michael took his chance and flew down the hall. He heard a rustling sound just before he turned a corner, but he could not stop—did not want to stop—and he ran into a werewolf who barked sharply as Michael tackled him to the ground. They tumbled over each other, grappling, punching, and he heard the wolf say, “Michael, it’s me.”
Michael bared his teeth. “I know. Don’t stop me now.”
Jas hissed. “I thought you’d manage a way in. How did you do it?”
“I have my ways.”
“The Grand Dame wants you dead.”
“I suspected that.”
“I’m of two minds, believe it or not.”
“Since you haven’t tried to kill me yet, I also suspected that to be the case.”
Jas snorted. “I hate your guts, but Keeli … likes you, and Emily wants to use you. You have my ass over a barrel.”
“Thank you,” Michael said.
“Don’t. Really. I’ll puke if I hear it.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you for helping me, Jas. You’re an inspiration. Watching you I am overcome with the urge to do greater things with my life.”
Jas took a swing at Michael’s face. Michael caught the werewolf’s fist in his hand and held him there.
“I’m going to kill you,” Jas growled.
“But not today.” Michael released him and stepped back. He watched the conflict in Jas’s eyes—hate and uncertainty and confusion—and waited. Waited for the next move.
Jas sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know what she sees in you.”
Michael briefly closed his eyes. “I wish I knew.”
Jas opened his mouth, hesitated. A moment later, he turned and walked away. Michael followed him. They did not speak again.
Keeli healed. Thirty minutes after her grandmother left and Jas locked the door, the pain was gone. Or at least, her breastbone stopped hurting. There was still a lot of pain.
Keeli just wished she could stop crying. There was something broken inside the soft part of her chest, buried deep beneath the bone. She scrabbled at the flesh, digging her nails into the yielding bits, trying so hard—so hard, and oh my God what just happened, what did I do, this is my fault and I hate her, I love her and—to touch that broken piece and hold it tight, safe. She hadn’t felt this way since her parents died.
All I wanted to do was help someone. Help the clan.
Keeli staggered to her feet, knocking over books. She kicked them aside, but that wasn’t good enough so she picked up some of the heavier ones and threw them at the door. She threw herself next, screaming, her throat raw with sound as she punched and kicked at the metal, abusing it almost as much as she was abusing herself, and she did not care—she did not care—because it felt too damn good and when she got free, oh, God, when she got out of this trap she was going to kill her. She was going to kill her with words. She was going to make her grandmother’s heart break and die, and it would feel so good. So good she would do it and smile.
Stop. Stop this now. Granny May was trying to protect you. You know why. She has a good reason to be afraid.
Because she’d thought the clans would do the same thing to Keeli as what had been done to Keeli’s father, all those years before: a slaughter in the night.
But that had been different. Keeli was not her father. She was not Mad Dog Maddox, who had been so sweet to his family, but addicted to the ring, to the werewolf games, who’d had to find some outlet for the temper always raging beneath his skin. Better a strange wolf than a familiar one, she remembered him saying, always with that grin, that white smile, and she never knew until it was too late, never knew the injuries he caused, the anger he stirred with just one fight, because no one liked a constant winner—no one liked a man with a temper who lost himself in a fight and beat a wolf into a coma, and then acted like it was just blood, just—“In my nature,”—and then with that smile and that charm made a bid for Alpha of a different clan. A strange wolf with a bad reputation, marking territory where he had no business. Arrogant.
No, Keeli was not her father, though the temper was the same, and the reputation only slightly better. Granny May had the same rage, but she had learned to control it at an early age, used it in her prime to make her bid and win. It was a powerful thing, the Maddox temper. Keeli’s father had misused his, while Keeli had tried to bury it.
Not anymore.
Exhausted, Keeli slumped against the door and slid down to the hard cold floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and sat, angry and dozing. An hour passed. She thought of Michael, alone and looking for a creature that hunted werewolves, who might hunt vampires. And didn’t that raise some interesting questions?
I need to get out of here.
Keeli tested the door, but except for some dents and scratches, the hinges still seemed strong. They were hidden behind a metal frame so she couldn’t unscrew them. She tried banging on the door again, lighter this time, and calling out for help. She heard people pass her room, but no one responded. Probably too frightened of getting in trouble. That, or they were happy Keeli was finally getting her comeuppance.
She was just about ready to light fire to her room—maybe that would get someone’s attention—when the lock turned. The door opened.
“Michael,” Keeli breathed, startled, and then he was there, pulling her into his arms for a hard tight embrace that left her breathless. She clutched at his back, drinking in his wild sweet scent. Just beyond Michael, she heard boots scuffing the ground. She tore herself away, ready to fight. Jas held up his hands.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.
“I have too much pride to answer that question,” Jas said. “Now get out of there.”
Michael snatched a black sweater from Keeli’s closet and gave it to her. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked, as she covered herself. Keeli’s breath caught. She knew what he was really saying.
You may not be here again. You may never be able to come home again.
Jas stepped into the room. “Do what you have to, Keeli. Stay or go.”
“Will I be welcomed back?” She felt proud that her voice did not break.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he said, rough. “Now, hurry.”
It was not an answer, but it was not an outright rejection, either. It was the best Keeli could hope for, given the circumstances. Michael grabbed her hand and led her out of the room. Jas closed the door behind them and locked it. His face was hard, but calm; the key turned steadily in his hand.
“The vampire envoys arrived five minutes ago,” Jas said.
“You’ll be missed,” Keeli said.
Jas shook his head. “They came early, which gives me an excuse.” He pointed down the corridor. “You know the way out, right? They’ll be coming this way any minute. The negotiations are being held in your grandmother’s rooms.”
Keeli nodded. She began to thank Jas, but he held up his hand. “Later,” he said. “I’m fucked sideways to Sunday if I’m caught.”
“You’re the only one who can lead the clan after she’s gone,” Keeli said sadly. “She won’t exile you.”
“I disagree,” he said. “On both counts.”
He did not give Keeli a chance to respond. They all heard footsteps; Jas turned and jogged down the corridor, toward the sounds of approach.
Keeli tugged on Michael’s hand. “Come on.”
He did not run. He touched her cheeks. “You’ve been crying.”
“I’ll keep crying if we’re caught,” she said, swallowing hard. His eyes were soft, dark with compassion. Her throat hurt, looking at him.
They padded down the corridor at a careful run, listening hard.
“They have all the exits guarded,” he told her.
“I know another way,” she said.
“There’s someone coming.”
“We’re close.”
Just outside the Alpha core, Keeli took a left down a narrow unlit corridor. It was a maintenance hall, nicknamed the Tunnel of Love because so many people took advantage of the shadows for some heavy make-out sessions. She hoped it would be empty tonight, and her wish almost came true; after a minute she heard heavy breathing, the wet smack of a sloppy kiss. Michael squeezed her hand; Keeli glanced over her shoulder and mouthed the word “speed.” He understood instantly and picked her up.
Michael ran fast. Keeli sucked in her breath at the rush, the terrible wonder of life passing in a blur. He blew past the engrossed couple leaning up hard against the wall. Keeli heard a gasp, but was reassured by the embarrassed giggling that followed. And then she and Michael were completely alone, running, running. …
Near the end of the maintenance tunnel, Keeli told Michael to stop.
“How did you know this would be unguarded?” he asked, his hands moving on her back as she slid down his body.
“You’ll see in a minute.” She walked to a rusty ladder screwed into the wall and began climbing the ten-foot distance. Michael, his arms folded against his chest, floated upward beside her.
“Funny,” she said. He smiled, and then blinked, looking up. Keeli heard cars roar above her head.
“I see,” he said quietly.
“Bad access,” she added. “No one ever uses this place to come in or out. It’s a death trap.”
“I came in a safer way.”
“One I’m sure you would have mentioned, if there hadn’t been an ass-load of vampires and werewolves in that direction.”
“You’re a mind reader now,” he said, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. The iron manhole cover was heavy and smelled dirty. Keeli and Michael listened for silent intervals between cars. Some were short, others long—there just wasn’t a way to know which they would catch.
“The next one,” Michael whispered. He kissed Keeli, and she pushed against him, hard. His teeth scraped her bottom lip.
Michael shoved upward with one strong hand. The cover popped free and he pushed it aside. They heard a car and froze, helpless, as the chassis sped over their heads in a dark blur. Another car followed, and then another. Sweat rolled down Keeli’s back.
Michael pulled her off the ladder and shot upward. Headlights bore down on them—fast, fast—but he kept moving and Keeli felt the rush of cool air as the car passed beneath, horn blaring. Adrenaline rode her hard; she felt like she had wings, that if Michael let go she would float beside him and it would be like that scene in Superman, the one where Lois flew by her fingertips beside the Man of Steel.
She threw her head back and laughed. Michael stared at her upturned face like she was insane, but a moment later a smile touched his lips. He whirled her around in a tight circle, and Keeli threw out her arms, trusting him to hold her tight, to keep her safe.
“Dance with me,” she said. “I want to dance on a cloud.”
“It’s not safe,” he said, but rose higher, past the apartments, past the sharp edges of business buildings, past the safety net of steel and glass and light. The city sat beneath their bodies, a delicate web.
A trap, Keeli thought, with the spider sleeping, invisible until it needs to feed.
The air cooled as they rose, higher and higher. Keeli did not notice the temperature change, though her breath left her mouth in white puffs. She watched clouds, tinted by city light, resting low to hug the sky. Closer, so close, and her mouth went dry with wonder as Michael carried her into the soft embrace of her first cloud.
“Oh,” she sighed, surrounded by mist. The city disappeared—the world, gone—and the only person left was Michael, holding her tight. Clouds suddenly seemed less important than his eyes, the line of his mouth, the hard strength of his arms. Their white breath mingled.
“Thank you,” Keeli said, awed by the moment. Michael pressed his cool lips against her forehead.
“Put your feet on top of mine,” he said, and she did.
They danced.