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I stand surrounded by cars on all sides. Halogen lights shine brightly on me, rendering me bare. My eyes water as I look around, assessing my situation. Several dark figures stand silhouetted in front of the harsh headlights. I take a step toward my fallen bike, more out of concern than out of an impulse to escape.
“I said don’t move!” the booming voice reminds me. I stop and squint in that direction. I shake on the spot, both from fear and anger.
My hand inches to the gun at my hip.
“Don’t even think about it.” The warning is quiet and sends a chill across my back. Some basic instinct I’ve managed to ignore other times holds me in place.
The owner of that powerful voice steps away from the SUV and its blinding lights. His steps are unhurried and confident. By degrees, his features reveal themselves under the light of the lampposts overhead. My head begins to drone as if a jet engine swallowed me whole.
The sight of him sends my anger skidding straight into its accompanying fear. Here, in front of me, is another creature that shouldn’t exist. My spirit, my very essence, recoils inwardly, more horrified than when confronted with half-crocodiles and oversized, humanoid bats. Though, in this case, it’s not the hideous quality of the features that sends primal shivers up my spine, but—as in Luke’s instance—the unsettling, inhuman beauty.
“Ms. Guerrero,” the man says in an exquisite baritone. “That was a nasty fall. Did you hurt yourself?”
My first instinct is to throw a curse at him. He just threatened to shoot me and now he’s worried about my fall. I say nothing. My throat is dry and no words make their appearance. I’m still too enthralled by his aspect, trying to process all the ways that make him different—other than the long set of pointed horns that sit on top of his head, that is.
“My name is Tauro,” he says, taking a step closer, as if willing to satiate my curiosity.
He gives me a crooked smile and a perfect raised eyebrow. I gasp as I get a better look at his eyes. They’re dark as the night. No whites. No irises. Just black and shiny like the purest obsidian.
My arms break into a million goosebumps. Logic dictates he’s looking at me. He’s standing just a few paces away, talking to me, so he must be looking in my direction. But the truth is, I can’t be certain. His attention could be on something else entirely.
Tauro stands in silence as I drink him in. His eerie eyes look immobile under a high, chiseled brow. Like Luke, this man’s face is fashioned of flawless angles, calculated in perfect mathematical proportions. His smooth, taut skin makes it impossible to guess his age. He has no laugh lines or creases that may suggest his temperament. He is elegantly tall with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Black hair sits in a casual tussle on top of his head, giving way to a set of polished horns that, instead of making him a monster, grant him a strangely regal air. He’s dressed simply in a pair of dark slacks and a gray shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He clears his throat. “Ms. Guerrero, my colleagues and I are here to take you to Mr. Hailstone.”
Mr. Hailstone? I nearly burst out laughing, but something about this man makes me stop and reconsider. The respect in his words feels genuine, and laughing in his face feels like an insult. Not that insulting seemingly educated jerks has ever been a problem for me. Elliot can attest to that. But I don’t feel on even ground with this man. I feel out of balance, in desperate need of a firm grip of the situation before I do anything stupid.
“Please, will you come with us?” Tauro extends a hand toward the SUV behind him.
I hesitate, casting a regretful glance toward my bike.
“Don’t worry about your motorcycle,” Tauro says in a reassuring tone. “I’ll send someone to retrieve it and make repairs, if necessary. This way, if you would.”
I take a slow, reluctant step forward, seeing no way out of this.
“First, your backpack, please,” Tauro says, extending a hand in my direction.
I practically bare my teeth at him.
“Don’t worry. I promise I will return it.”
Shrugging the pack off, I hand it over.
He herds me toward the SUV, an arm curving over my shoulders, never touching me. Two men flank the vehicle, weapons held securely across their chest.
“Gentlemen, put your weapons away. I’m sure Ms. Guerrero has no intention of causing us any trouble tonight.”
“Marci. Call me Marci,” I say almost compulsively.
The men eye my gun distrustfully.
“Oh, yes. Your weapon, too.” Tauro gingerly reaches forward and unholsters my gun so quickly I barely have time to blink.
Damn it!
“You might get it back. It all depends,” he says.
If he knew I want to shoot him between his creepy eyes, he wouldn’t be saying that.
Tauro opens the SUV’s back door and ushers me inside. I climb in, heart in my throat, thoughts of torture chairs and torn fingernails flashing through my mind. I slide all the way across the seat. My gaze flicks to the door handle. I’m considering slinging the door open and fleeing, but the idea is cut short when Tauro presses his cold fingers to my wrists.
“You don’t want to do that,” he says in a tone that suggests I would regret it. But not because he would make me pay for daring. No, it’s not a threat, but an admonishment that suggests I would wish to be back if I actually managed to escape.
I intertwine my hands over my lap, lower my head, and make myself as small as possible. The other two guys take the driver and passenger seats. They look straight ahead, not saying a word. They look perfectly human, and their quiet, stern attitudes scare me more than any outward hostility might.
My hands sweat. I place them face down on my thighs and take a deep breath to gather myself. Certain that my head will explode if I don’t, I turn off the incoming buzzing, but let them sense mine. I don’t want these Eklyptors freaking out if they stop sensing me. Besides, no one needs to know I’m capable of doing that.
We drive down Airport Expressway in silence until we park by the curb in the departure area. Tauro gets off, and the driver opens my door to let me out.
“Watch your head,” he says.
I give him a dirty look, but manage to hold back a sarcastic comment. I go around the back and meet Tauro who waits for me with a smile beautifully drawn on his perfect mouth.
“This way.” He leads me through a set of sliding doors guarded by a score of guards dressed in khaki camouflage. They nod respectfully at Tauro. We step into the carpeted lobby. Against the far wall, the different airline counters lie deserted. Cords delineate narrow corridors for nonexistent passenger lines. The sight of these things waiting for life to resume its course unsettles me. What if their wait is fruitless? What if it goes on forever?
I shake myself when Tauro calls my name. I’ve been standing frozen on the spot without realizing it.
We walk further in, past the TSA checkpoint. It’s now-useless metal detectors ignore the armed Eklyptors who walk behind me as if they’re carrying lovely teddy bears and not deadly assault rifles.
Moving down the wide, long hall, we pass restrooms, duty-free shops, and magazine stands. I’m surprised to find that everything inside is still in order, not pillaged and destroyed like everywhere else in the city. I’m also surprised the place looks empty, not many soldiers walking around.
“If you would like a novel to read or a new t-shirt,” Tauro points toward the stores, “you’re welcome to anything in there. Just make sure you put the book back once you’re done with it.”
Is he serious? I scrutinize his face, trying to find the glint of a joke there. There is none. I’ve never seen an Eklyptor reading a book. All Whitehouse soldiers ever do is go out on raids, eat, sleep, and bitch about IgNiTe. Maybe Tauro is offering me a book because he knows I’m still human. But if nobody else is going to read it, why would he care whether or not I put it back?
After the stores, we come into an area with three fast-food restaurants. It is here that the first signs of faction life begin. Several people sit at small, round tables enjoying burgers, fries, pizza, chips—all sorts of junk food. They chat in relaxed tones while others stand in line, placing their orders. The smell of oil and grilled meat suffuse the air, making the situation feel eerily normal. They could have fooled me, if not for the furry faces and vibrant skin patterns on a few of them.
When they notice us, the chatter stops abruptly. Everyone’s gaze turns our way. At first, I think they must be looking at Tauro and his hypnotizing appearance, but they’re looking at me. I stare back at them, even though the weight of all their curious gazes makes me want to turn away.
Fingers point in my direction. Whispers are exchanged. To my surprise, a few people smile and wave, as if I’m some sort of celebrity they recognize. My gaze finally snaps to the floor.
“What the hell?” I murmur.
“They’re glad to see you are finally here,” Tauro says. “But let me say no more. Mr. Hailstone will explain everything.”
“When you say Mr. Hailstone, you mean Luke, right?”
“Yes, Luke Hailstone.”
“You realize he’s not a ‘Mister.’ He’s just a snotty brat who never even finished high school.”
Tauro chuckles. “Much like you, I suppose.”
“I would say touché, but there’s a big difference. I don’t go around letting people call me miss anything.”
Tauro presses past the restaurants and into the area dedicated exclusively to the terminal and its numbered gates. “Well, we believe in respecting our leader.”
“He wouldn’t be anyone’s leader if Zara hadn’t been murdered by Elliot’s faction,” I say, hoping the comment will be salt on a fresh wound.
“An unfortunate incident that has granted our new leader quite a bit of sympathy from our faction members.”
“What do you call that? A win-win?” The edge of sarcasm is sharp in my voice.
Tauro makes a small sound in the back of his throat in disapproval of my cynical streak. He looks down at me, eyebrows slightly pinched in the middle. I try to read his expression, but his all-black eyes make it impossible. I wonder if that’s why he changed them.
Further down, the waiting areas around each gate are occupied by a few more Eklyptors. They are watching television, playing games on their phones, reading, some are even sleeping curled up on the floor, their heads resting on rolled-up jackets or book bags as if their flights have been delayed and they’re simply waiting to get to their final destinations. They aren’t even wearing uniforms like everyone does at Whitehouse’s. Again, several faces turn in our direction. This time, I follow my instincts and stare straight ahead.
After passing most of the gates, I begin to get impatient. “Where exactly are we going?”
“We’ve actually arrived.” Tauro points toward a sign that reads Gate B14. “Ladies first.”
Panic settles in the pit of my stomach. “I’m not getting on a plane,” I say, planting my feet firmly on the floor.
Tauro laughs condescendingly. “Don’t worry. We won’t be taking off. I assure you. Mr. Hailstone simply likes privacy.”
He seems sincere enough. Still, I’m not taking any chances. “He can come out here and talk to me. That would work just as well, don’t you think?”
Tauro takes a step closer and leans into me. “I haven’t given you any reason to distrust me, so please don’t make demands, Marci. Be a good girl.”
His quiet, almost gentle words seem to brush over my skin, sending a spider creeping up my spine. I get the feeling this is the kind of person you would deeply regret upsetting.
It’s not easy, but I swallow my pride, step through the gate and walk down the narrow jet bridge, hoping Luke isn’t about to fly me across the world.