New Regime (10 page)

Rune straightened and retracted her claws. “Crew, meet the
fuck who shoved me into the well. Epik, meet my friend Jack. That big guy
standing behind you, ready to take off your head, is Raze.” She pointed her
chin at Strad. “And this is the berserker.”

Any of her crew could easily have pinched the malnourished
boy and killed him. Jack narrowed his eyes at Epik and slowly cleaned his
bloody blades on his pants. “I will kill you for what you did to Rune—right
after I kill your master and have him for my supper.”

Rune lifted an eyebrow. “A little over the top, Jack,” she
murmured.

He shrugged and grinned at her.

“Tell me what you know, Epik,” Rune said. “If your information
is good, I’ll let Colley go.”

“Swear it,” he said.

“I swear.” Her reply was so quick and glib she wasn’t sure
he’d believe her, but he didn’t seem suspicious.

“She won’t keep her word,” Sean Colley said, his voice
hoarse and weak.

Rune strode to him and kicked him in the head. “Shut up,
asshole.”

Epik held out a hand. “Don’t…”

She shook her head. “How can you want to protect this piece
of trash, Epik?”

“Protect,” the pike alpha said, and snorted.

She ignored him.

“He’s what I need.” Epik looked at the ground. “Dr. Johnson
is in Reverence, Kentucky.”

“That’s in Eastern Kentucky,” Rune murmured. “I’ll need an
address or directions to his house.”

“I don’t know the address but he lives in a big yellow house
on Pine Road. He took me there once for punishment. I stayed for two weeks.” He
shivered.

“Hmmm.” Strad narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard of that town. Take
us a couple hours to get there.”

“People are not going to be happy with you, Epik,” Sean
muttered. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“What else you got for me, Epik?” Rune asked, ignoring
Colley.

“You’d better destroy the labs.” He looked up through his
eyelashes at her, a spark of malice in his eyes. “Someday they’re going to
figure out how to trap you and take you in. You
really
don’t want to be
taken to the labs.”

She almost stepped back. She couldn’t decide whether Epik
was a victim or a lunatic. Maybe he was both. “What’s your problem, little
dude?”

From the water, Sean Colley laughed. “Oh, if only we had the
time.” But there was fear in his laugh.

She turned to him, shooting out her claws. There was no
reason to keep him alive.

“Yes,” he said. “Kill me. I’m dead anyway and at least
you’ll make it quick.”

“You swore,” Epik cried.

Shit.

She strode to the pikes and sliced through the silver around
their necks. She held onto Colley as the other pike sank beneath the water and
disappeared. “I’ll be back for you,” she promised.

He curled his lip, then flipped and followed the other pike,
shifting as he went. When she turned back to Epik, the boy was already gone.

“When do you want to leave?” Strad asked, striding with her
to the gates.

“Go grab some lunch. I’ll report to Elizabeth and let you
know.”

“What are you doing?” Raze asked, when she opened her
passenger side door, grabbed a box, and turned to go back inside Wormwood.

“I need to check on Gunnar.” She hefted the box. “I have
candy. I’ll meet up with you all later.”

Strad stared at her for a long moment. “Be careful.”

“I will,” she said, and slipped back through the gates as
her crew drove away.

She loped through the graveyard, watching for Gunnar. Ten
minutes later there was still no sign of the ghoul, so she stopped running and
sat down on a rock to wait.

If he was in Wormwood, he’d know by then she was there. He’d
find her.

And if he didn’t show up in a few minutes she’d leave the
candy on the rock and hope like hell he hadn’t left the cemetery for good.

Two minutes later he slipped up behind her. “Your Horror.”

She turned with a relieved grin but the grin changed to a
frown when she got a good look at him. “You’re still not completely healed?”

He brushed his fingers over his face and glanced away. “I am
healing.”

She tossed him the box. “I brought you a present, sexy.”

Usually Gunnar waited until he was off by himself before he
ate the Baby Ruth candy bars. This time, he opened the box, gazed at the two
dozen bars inside, then took one out and unwrapped it.

He ate it as she watched, his eyes closed, his thin, ravaged
face lit with delight.

“Good?” she asked, smiling.

He nodded, then tossed the empty package into the box and
took out another bar. He began to devour it.

“Sorry it took me so long to bring it to you, Gunnar.”
Watching him eat, she got an idea of how addicted he really was to the candy.

He stopped chewing and frowned. “It is not right that you
apologize. You’ve softened and that is not good for you. Not in this world.”

She scratched the side of her nose. “Fuck you, ghoul.”

He smiled, and the first spark of the old Gunnar shone in
his eyes. “Better,” he said, then continued eating his candy.

“You have anything interesting to tell me?” she asked.

“I do not.”

“Is the assassin still around?”

“I have not seen him.” He didn’t look at her, and she
wondered if he had already begun his move to another graveyard.

The thought caused her breath to catch.

“I’ll see you again soon.” She paused. “Don’t go anywhere if
you have a choice. Okay?”

“Go away, Highness,” he said, politely.

All was not right in Gunnar’s world. She trotted away,
leaving him with his candy and his fears.

Outside the gates, Cruikshank was waiting.

He leaned against the front of her car, his ankles crossed,
and nodded hello when he saw her.

“Are you fucking crazy?” she asked him, unable to believe
the reporter was standing there in front of her with Owen and Strad gunning for
his ass.

He shrugged. “Your two thugs are being kept busy right now.”

“How do you know?”

“I have a radio, Rune. I have it turned always to your
channel. You or your crew gets called out, I know about it.”

He was sick. His pale cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were
lusterless. His fingers shook when he lifted them to brush his unkempt hair out
of his thin face.

She frowned and opened her car door. “Stay away from me,
Cruikshank.”

“I told you. I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Wanting to hurt me is not a good enough reason to
risk your life.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what his motives
were. Asking him wouldn’t get her answers.

“I warned you about Owen,” he said, the wet his dry lips. “I
did that.”

“So?”

“I’d think you’d pay me back for the information.”

“You want fucking money?”

“No. No, I don’t want fucking
money.
”

“Do you want to die? Because that’s something I can do for
you.”

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Maybe that’s exactly
what I want.”

She dropped her fangs, suddenly and unreasonably hungry. She
left the car door open and strode toward him.

“I’ve gotten addicted to your blood,” he said.

She almost tripped. “What did you say?”

“I’m addicted.” The second time his words were whispered,
but no less real. “I need you to…” He shook his head and motioned helplessly.
“Fix me. I need my fix.”

“That’s not possible.” She’d never fed him, and she’d never
bitten him.

“I’m getting more and more desperate. More and more sick. It
wasn’t bad at first, maybe because I’d gotten such a tiny amount. But it grew.
Every day.”

“What the fuck are you addicted to?” she asked him. “It
can’t be me.”

His attempt at a smile was pathetic. “I’m sorry. I’m too
tired to keep chasing you, too tired to keep trying to think of ways to make
you feed my addiction.”

She clenched her fists. “I’m not feeding you, dude, and the
only way I’m going to bite you is if I eat you after. Believe me. You wouldn’t
like that.”

“I was there when Jeremy was cutting you. I was there.” He
rolled his hand into a fist and hit the hood of her car. “Your blood splashed
into my eye.”

He listened to her shocked silence for a moment, then gave a
terrible giggle. “A tiny little drop. Into my
eye!
What are the
chances?” Quickly, he sobered. “I was the one recording that shit, Rune.” He
shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

But then he glanced at something behind her, and his face
paled further. “The end,” he muttered.

She shot out her claws and turned in a crouching whirl. Owen
stood a few feet away, a blade in his hand. “I knew you’d show up sooner or
later,” he said to Cruikshank.

Cruikshank said nothing.

“Owen,” Rune said, withdrawing her claws. “I’ve got this.”

He blanked his face, but a cold darkness slid through his
eyes.

“Owen,” she repeated, her voice sharp. She waited until
finally, he looked at her. “I said I’ve fucking got this.”

“Do you?” Owen put his stare back on Cruikshank, as though
looking away might somehow release the reporter and he’d lose him once again. “Are
you going to kill him?”

“I…” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Cruikshank.
Jeremy. Cutting, watching…

Damn him.
Damn
him.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered.

“Then you don’t
have
this,” Owen said, and he went
after Sam Cruikshank.

Gunnar was right. She was becoming soft.

And right then, as she watched one of her men handling
something she should have handled, she hated her softness.

She didn’t want it.

But Owen wouldn’t have listened to her, no matter what she
wanted. Owen was gone, lost in his killing zone, and she would have to fight
him to have a chance at bringing him back.

He paid no mind to the injury she’d given him. With her
crew, injuries were often pushed aside. Ignored. They had to be.

“Owen,” she said, once, barely aware she’d opened her mouth.

Owen tossed Cruikshank the blade, then pulled his gun from
its holster and threw that to him as well. “Do your best, bitch,” he said. “You
shouldn’t have fucked her up.”

He stalked Cruikshank, his face dark, his hair flopping over
his slender shoulders but all she could really see was an image of herself tied
to the bed and her blood
flying
into Cruikshank’s face as Jeremy sliced
her up.

She put the back of her hand to her mouth when she unintentionally
released a sound a little too close to a sob, then shoved her other hand
against her stake wound. The pain in her chest sharpened in response to the
pain in her mind.

Sam’s bullets flew wild and pinged off Wormwood’s gates, and
finally he threw the gun at Owen’s grimly smiling face and held up his hands.
He seemed to have forgotten he still held a blade, but it didn’t matter. It was
not a fair fight. Cruikshank was not a fighter.

He, as Jeremy had been, was better suited to hurting the
restrained and helpless. Or watching as they were hurt.

And Owen was a stone cold killer.

He pursued the reporter, his hands empty of weapons, his
face blank, throwing hits that wouldn’t disable Sam, but would prolong the
agony of his death.

But Cruikshank wasn’t Owen’s responsibility. He was hers.

She shuddered and dropped her fangs, reaching deeply for her
monster and shaking off the emotions and memories of a different time.

She refused to cower and cry while one of her men destroyed
her enemy. She ran at Owen and even though he had to have caught a glimpse of
her coming, he had no time to react.

She shoved him—not nearly as hard as she could have but he
hit the fence anyway and slid to the ground. “Sorry baby,” she said, her voice
growly and rough. “But I told you I’ve got this.”

Her monster smiled.

Cruikshank backed away, his blade still firmly in his grip, the
look in his eyes changing from terror to hope. He thought she was going to save
him.

“Why?” she asked him. “Why wouldn’t I kill you?”

“Because I have your blood inside me,” he said, gently.
“Because we are linked by my brother. By your need.”

“Hmmm,” she said. She walked to stand before him, almost
curious. “Your reasoning is skewed.”

“But I’m right.” He glanced behind her to where Owen stood
waiting, and he looked a little less sure. “He’s the one you need to kill. He’s
the one with secrets he doesn’t want you to discover.” He offered her his
blade, as though she had no other way to kill Owen. “Go on.”

She laughed, breathing a sigh of relief that her monster
hadn’t melted into a puddle of gooey softness. She was still Rune. She was
still a warrior. She did not shrink from doing what needed to be done.

“I can end your suffering,” she told him, “but I can’t feed
you to do it.”

With Cruikshank would go the last of that part of her that
needed someone to make her pay for who—and what—she was.

She would always, as Lex had said, find the silence through
violence and sex. But she was finished beating herself up.

“Feed me,” he whispered, “and I’ll tell you what else I
discovered about Owen.”

She shook her head. “You know I won’t.”

He dropped his blade and spread his arms. “Kill me then,
because if you don’t, I’ll be one more desperate man causing you no end of
pain. Also,” he went on, “it’s fucking miserable. You’re worse than a zombie,
Rune.”

He didn’t want to live with his addiction, and she couldn’t
allow him to anyway. He was right—he’d cause her constant pain to get what he
needed. He knew he could do that by hurting the ones she protected.

She scooped the blade from the ground and thrust it into his
heart, unwilling, for some reason, to impale him with her claws. Maybe it was
just too personal.

His blood seeped onto the thirsty ground and she watched it
go, shocked that the moment was a little sad.

The end of Sam Cruikshank.

The end of anything that had remained of Jeremy Cross.

She felt Owen beside her. They stared at each other for a
long moment, something unfamiliar passing between them. Something new.

And she had no idea what it was.

He leaned over to pull his blade free, wiped it on
Cruikshank’s shirt, then slid it into his belt. “I’ll take care of the body.”

“We’re okay,” she said.

“Yeah, we are.”

Still, she didn’t move. “Are you the good guy or the bad
guy?” So ridiculously simplistic, so crucial.

He said nothing for a long moment, his smile fading. He
shuttered his eyes and blanked his face, as though she might see something he
wasn’t willing to share. Finally he blew out a hard breath. “That, Rune
Alexander, depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

He looked away. “I don’t know anymore. And that’s the
fucking truth.”

No answers. More questions.

And she hadn’t really expected anything else.