13 to Life (35 page)

She shook her head. “It’s complicated. And I’m still bleeding. Let’s get the hell out of here. Alexi, take Catherine home on the ATV. She’ll keep you in check, I’m sure. Max, you drive. You two”—she pointed at Pietr and me—“backseat.”

Doors closed, Wanda made a call. “Yeah. Clean up on aisle one. Location—” She looked at a GPS unit on the dash and read the coordinates. Then she handed the keys to Max to start the SUV. “Okay. We don’t have much time,” she explained. “The severe pruning we just gave that Mafia branch will be noticed.”

I took Pietr’s hand and shuddered, trying not to think about what made it damply crimson.

Wanda continued. “They will send more men. Soon. Things won’t get better until they get waaay worse.” Pietr slid closer to me, his body still hot from the Change, warming me against chills that had nothing to do with the breeze swirling around the vehicle. We bumped back along the path it had carved earlier. “I want to bring you all in to our local headquarters. We can hole up safely there; plan.
Crap.
”

I closed my eyes, exhausted, but all I kept seeing was Grigori and Nickolai dropping. Bleeding. Dying. As if it were etched into the insides of my eyelids. I resigned myself to living with my eyes open as often as possible.

Wanda was still rambling. “Nobody outside my team will ever believe this. Crap.
I
barely believe this. A family of werewolves!” Wanda laughed hysterically, ponytail dancing, her shoulder wound nearly forgotten in the afterglow of adrenaline. “Good thing we had your phones tapped.” She sighed. “Thank goodness
that’s
become easier.”

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out my pietersite worry stone. “I think I may have been carrying this for you as much as I rub it
because
of you,” I remarked, holding it out to Pietr. “It’s for helping with change and transformation, right?”

He looked at me, his eyes glowing. “Keep it,” he insisted. “I have the feeling we’ll all be dealing with big changes.”

Wanda continued as I again pocketed the stone. “Now, the most important thing to remember is that none of this happened. The Rusakovas need to stay here. In Junction. Nobody leaves. Nobody moves, unless I know about it first—unless you have my
permission
first,” she corrected. “We’ll make this the new epicenter of the action. We can protect you, keep everything hush-hush. You’ll just need to be willing to eventually do
your patriotic duty for Uncle Sam at some point . . . but that’s a while from now.
Shit
.” She pounded the dash with both hands. “If you knew how hard it was to find you!”

I looked past her and out the windshield as the SUV thudded along, Kent groaning (and still cursing) in the back. Out of the corner of my eye I saw just the edge of Wanda, the rest of her obscured by her seat and my position. There was something strangely familiar about that hair, that shoulder—the very edge of her face and amazingly determined jaw.

And all the blanks in my head suddenly filled in. Two Phantom Wolves in Farthington: one dead; one MIA, according to the retraction. Pietr’s mother defending his father. The auburn-colored beast at my farm, roaming the school halls, tearing Guidance apart while hunting answers . . . What Kent said before the shooting started . . .
Werewolves!
The CIA swamped with files as an agent with pale hair pulled tight in a ponytail watched. . . .

I said the one thing capable of dividing our strange alliance before I could even stop myself. When I’m nervous, I talk. And sitting in an SUV with werewolves and the CIA has an uncanny way of making a person nervous.

“Oh shit, Pietr,” I hissed. “Your mother’s alive. And Wanda and Kent know where she is.”

Max hit the brakes.

The glove compartment flew open, a box of microscope slides tumbling out. Max moved so fast they didn’t even reach the floor. Cradling the curiosity, he touched them with amazing delicacy for a guy who could shift into a raging beast. “You’ve been hunting us a while now, haven’t you?” Max snarled at Wanda.

He tossed a slide to me and one to Pietr. They were labeled with names and dates. My slide, my name, this year. A single strand of hair plucked off my shoulder.

Pietr’s slide: “My mother,” he whispered. Another hair sample. The collection date was clearly visible. Two years ago.

Werewolves. The CIA and the Russian Mafia.

I knew I was
definitely
going to need to talk to a professional, after all. Some things you just can’t handle on your own.