Blood Bond (43 page)

For a moment, his expression softened and he
looked compassionate, human. “She’s the best of what’s left of this
family now. I’ve done what I had to, in order to protect her.”

Cord shook her head. “You haven’t seen your
daughter lately. She doesn’t need protecting. She’s the one others
need protecting from.”

The softness faded and his jaw hardened.

She says it’s okay to kill you, by the way.”
Cord’s eyes danced as she tipped her water bottle up and gulped the
contents.

Cord made it halfway through her drink when
it hit me. Sharp pain needled the inside of my ribs, ratcheting
from mild to stabbing in a matter of seconds. My eyes widened. I
lifted a hand, a silent signal to Cord, but it was too late. My
stomach lurched and I retched up what little I’d eaten.

“Finally,” Mr. Lexington said. There was a
hint of impatience in his voice, nothing more.

I took a step but it landed me on the
ground. I struggled to get up past my knees.

Cord finally noticed and lowered her bottle.
“What is it?” she demanded. She stalked Mr. Lexington, every inch
the predator. “What the hell did you do?” she hissed.

He glared at her. “What was necessary.”

I couldn’t move. My muscles twitched but it
was more spontaneous than deliberate. I opened my mouth to ask what
he’d done, and why, but no sound came. My jaw barely moved.

“Olivia wants to kill us, then,” Cord said.
Fire shone in her eyes. I wondered why she hadn’t leaped at Mr.
Lexington yet. Then I saw the twitch in her knees, the set of her
jaw, and I knew the paralyzing pain had begun.

“The outcome is not my concern, although
according to her, a fair amount of retribution is in order,” he
said.

“Retribution for what?” Cord demanded. Her
legs were shaking now. I was surprised she was still on her
feet.

“Death, at your hands, the way I heard
it.”

“Did I kill someone she cared about?” Cord’s
breathing hitched on the last word. She sank to her knees. The fire
in her eyes was dying, replaced by agony. My eyelids drooped
heavily.

“Indeed. I believe you knew her son.” Mr.
Lexington’s voice sounded far away.

“Who is … her son?” Cord managed.

“Miles DeLuca.”

Then it all went black.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Acid coated the inside of my mouth. Acid and
cotton. Dirt rubbed against my hands and legs, and I forced my eyes
open while my brain screamed resistance. I had no idea how long I’d
been out. My stomach felt hollow and crampy. I twisted around,
taking in the small space, the closeness of the walls. They were
made of wood—pine if my sense of smell was working right—and nailed
together in a hurry. Splinters stuck out every few inches where the
nail heads had been beaten too far into the grain. Whoever built my
makeshift cage had no clue what they were doing.

The access door was on the box’s roof and
looked as if it was made a little more securely than the walls,
since it was steel and iron locked into place by bright, black
hinges.

“Cord?” I whispered, trying to see past my
cage. “Can you hear me?”

I waited but no answer came. I’d assumed and
hoped, really, that she’d woken nearby in a box similar to mine.
Somewhere within talking distance. Maybe she was still knocked out.
I didn’t want to think about the alternative.

I listened for any sound that might tell me
where we’d been taken. Birds chirped but they weren’t close. Leaves
rustled in a breeze. The air carried on the wind might’ve been
fresh or clear but it didn’t penetrate my wooden box. Every inhale
left a musty taste in my mouth and underneath it, something else I
couldn’t identify but made me think of rotting fruit.

Movement between the slats caught my eye and
I slouched down to see who—or what—it was. The itchiness on my neck
was muted. Maybe I’d grown numb to it, or maybe the hybrids were
keeping their distance. Either way, I didn’t feel ready to crawl
out of my skin yet, which was good since I wasn’t sure this box
would be big enough if I suddenly wasn’t human anymore.

Something moved outside my box.

A human hand flashed by,
smooth and tanned, then another, also human and thick with muscle.
They spoke in low voices, one male and one female. At the sound of
the female’s voice, Mr. Lexington’s last words flashed through my
mind.
I believe you knew her son. Miles
DeLuca
.

The hollow cramping in my stomach became a
heavy brick of dread. I had a moment to wonder what sort of reading
George would get from me after so many hours of numbness, and then
someone yanked my cage door open from above. A stubbly face with
dark eyes peered down at me before moving aside for another. The
woman’s features were so similar to Miles’s it made my breath
hitch.

“Get up,” she said.

I pushed to my feet. My movements were
awkward, my muscles stiff. None of that compared to the smell or
the roiling in my stomach as soon as I stood. I crawled upward
through the opening onto the box’s roof.

I wrinkled my nose and held my arm up to my
face, trying in vain to block the stench. If my stomach had held
anything, it would’ve come up as I dry-heaved over the side. Bodies
littered the dirt below. Emaciated, shriveled, some already
decaying though their chests still rose and fell with labored
breaths.

Beyond them were trees as far as the eye
could see, the brown of wide trunks interspersed with hues of
green. Their leaves extended upward into a thick canopy, blocking
out most of the sunlight, shaking in a whispering breeze. The wind
wasn’t strong enough to carry away the acrid odor leaking from the
bodies.

“They smell dead,” I said.

“The dead don’t smell nearly as bad as those
still living.”

I turned to her, clutching my stomach.
“You’re Olivia, Miles’s mother.”

“And you’re Tara, the girl whose rejection
got him killed.”

“His own violence and insanity got him
killed.”

Her eyes flashed with rage, wild and
unpredictable. She stepped in front of me and leaned toward my
face. I scooted back as far as I dared without losing my balance.
No railing prevented me from jumping, but the ground was so
littered with bodies, I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid them, and
the thought of touching them horrified me.

“My son was a visionary, like his father.
You are a weak little girl, a mindless puppet. My son’s only
mistake was compassion. You won’t find that here.”

Miles had compassion? I didn’t want to think
what it said about her personality if she thought so. I kept my
mouth shut until she retreated enough that I could move my feet
away from the edge.

“Let’s go. We’re wasting daylight, and the
smell is giving me a headache.” She went to the far edge of the box
and began climbing down the ladder mounted there. The man who’d
opened my cage door motioned for me to follow.

I hesitated. The reason for coming had been
to meet with Olivia, to find out who she was and what she wanted,
and to live up to my end of the deal so my friends would be safe.
But seeing all of these bodies wasting away, on the brink of
death—suddenly getting out of here seemed like a great idea. Except
I had no idea where Cord was.

“Chris! Get her down here now!” Olivia
screamed.

The man with the burly arms took a step
toward me. I put my hands up in surrender and stepped onto the
ladder. He hovered over me, watching without a word. This close, I
could see his dark eyes were glassy and unfocused. A thin sheen of
sweat coated his face and neck. His cheeks held a flush that looked
like fever.

When I reached the ground, Olivia began
walking without a word. She wove in and out of trees on a narrow
path that was littered with overgrown brush and downed branches.
Within seconds, we’d left the scene of bodies behind us and woods
closed in. Was I being executed already? Had she already done the
same to Cord? The fact that I hadn’t seen a sign of her yet made me
very nervous.

“Where is Cord?” I asked, picking my way
along the trail to keep pace. Chris followed behind. I could hear
him breathing.

“You mean my son’s murderer? She’s none of
your concern.”

My stomach leaped into my throat. I stopped
walking. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing … yet. Cooperate and keep it that
way.”

“And Mr. and Mrs. Lexington? Where are
they?”

“On vacation,” she said. Her words dripped
with sarcasm and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know exactly what she
meant by that.

Before I could ask, she stopped at a door
that I hadn’t even noticed, it was so covered in branches and
vines, and turned a key in the massive lock. It swung inward and
Olivia disappeared inside. I followed slowly.

Only every third bulb worked. All I could
see were dirtied walls as we made our way down a narrow hallway.
The same smell from the woods lingered here as well—sickly sweet
made stale by the confines of the space. Alcohol and disinfectant
mixed with it, cutting through the worst of the stench. My chest
tightened from the combination of the fumes.

The hallway ended and opened into a larger
space. Gurneys, reminiscent of an ’80s horror flick with their
yellowing sheets and rusted joints, lined the walls. All of them
held bodies in the same condition as those I’d seen in the woods.
Faces flushed with fever, skin hanging loose around their bones
like victims of famine or plague. Some of their eyes flickered to
me but none reacted. Here and there, I could hear wheezing, bodies
straining to breathe. Not many were conscious. My eyes watered,
partly from the smell, partly from the horror.

“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.

If the sight or smell of the room affected
Olivia, she didn’t show it. She went to a glass-fronted cabinet and
rifled through, filling her arms with various medical supplies
before she answered.

“They are dying.” She said the words so
simply, so matter-of-factly, it gave me chills. “Here, hold this.”
She shoved a handful of empty vials into my hands and readjusted
the supplies she held. “Come here.”

“Dying from what?” I asked, following her to
a small alcove between a wall and a cabinet.

“Sit.”

I sat in the scuffed chair she motioned to,
barely paying attention to the contents in her hands as she spread
them out on the small table in front of her. Her lips moved, but no
sound came. I looked over her shoulder at Chris.

He stood like a sentry a few feet away. His
eyes darted quickly from spot to spot. I suspected it was more from
disease than alertness. The sweat on his face and redness in his
cheeks had not diminished since our walk. If anything, he looked
worse. He caught me watching him and I noticed for the first time
the faded yellow ring around his irises. As he stared back at me,
his pupils dilated and the yellow rim glowed. Then he blinked and
they returned to normal.

I looked at Olivia again. “What are they
dying from?” I repeated.

When she continued to ignore me, I grabbed
her arm. She snatched it away and glared at me, her lips pulled
back from her teeth like an animal. “Do not touch me,” she
hissed.

“Answer my question. Why are they
dying?”

She regarded me with disgust. “From the
change. Now, give me your arm.”

“What?” All I could hear was the echoing of
her words.

The
change
.

They were dying from the change. A shadow of
the powerful, monstrous hybrids I’d seen in the cave with Miles, a
sicklier version of the zombie-like creatures I’d faced in the
forest that night with Wes. Human-shaped. Emaciated. Dying.

They looked like … people.

Like a bad infomercial advertising
famine-ravaged villages and war-torn countries, looking for
“pennies a day to feed an orphan.” No image I’d ever seen on TV
could’ve prepared me for this.

“Give me your arm,” she said again.

It wasn’t until she’d grabbed my wrist and
held it still that I noticed the butterfly needle in her hand.

“What are you doing?” I jerked back, holding
my arm protectively against my chest.

“It’s not what I’m doing. It’s what you’re
going to do. Now give me your arm.”

“No. Not until you tell me what this
is.”

Her eyes flashed with the rage I’d seen
earlier. It boiled behind the controlled mask for a few moments
before she gained control. “Chris!” He jumped and took a step
forward. “Bring out the girl. The other one,” she added.

He left without a word, back the way we’d
come. I heard a door open along the hallway, then feet scuffling
and the sound of something being dragged.

A second later, Chris reappeared, struggling
as he dragged a barely conscious Cord behind him. Veins stood out
on his neck, deep blue and purple, pronounced against the pallor of
his skin.

It was nothing compared to Cord. Her face
was a canvas of bloody bruises and welts. One eye had swelled shut,
and I could see a trail of blood leaking from the inside of her
mouth—her lip?—down her chin. Her arms were dirty and red. I
couldn’t see her hands where they’d tied them behind her back, but
I suspected they would look the same as her arms. Her feet were
bare, her ankles bound by plastic cording. She blinked her good eye
at me, but it was slow, exaggerated.

I gasped and jumped up to go to her. Olivia
shoved me back, the motion so unexpected that I fell back against
the chair with a thump.

“What did you do to her?” I demanded.

Olivia didn’t answer.

I pushed off again, this time ready to knock
Olivia aside to get to Cord. I could take Chris without difficulty.
I probably only needed to shove him one good time and he’d topple.
I wasn’t entirely sure he’d even attempt to stop me. I hadn’t seen
anyone else that wasn’t half-dead since they’d let me out. Escape
wouldn’t be too difficult. Olivia was the healthiest person
here—and she was half my weight.