Page 48 of Heir of Ashes
“What makes you think I have a choice here?” I raised my cuffed hands as if he hadn’t noticed them before. “I don’t see myself overwhelmed with them.”
His face hardened, something I didn’t think possible, and his piercing blue eyes turned glacial. “Let me make something clear to you, Miss Fosch. Above all else, I protect my men. If Ithought you were planning to harm my men, I wouldn’t hesitate to put you down. I don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”
I believed him. And I had no doubt he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I nodded.
“I find it strange and disconcerting that the Scientists have legal documents claiming ownership of you …” He spat the last words with disgust, earning a small speck of respect from me. “Despite my knowledge that your kind put a lot of effort into staying hidden. It’s disconcerting.”
My heart stuttered. Did he actually know what I was? Or was he baiting me to glean information? I didn’t put it past him, or the PSS for that matter, to offer him a reward for uncovering something valuable about me.
Paranoia and I are a match made in hell.“You talk like you know what I am, and yet, even the Scientists, who have had ownership over me for over nine years, have no clue,” I sneered, held my breath, and waited, my pulse quickening at the sudden gleam that entered his eyes.
“Oh, I know. I know what you are, and I’ve interacted with your kind before, probably more than you’ve had the chance to.”
If he was telling the truth, then he was damn right about that. My face didn’t give anything away, though. “Yeah? Then what am I?” I challenged. The roar in my ears was so loud, I was sure the general/lieutenant could hear it even with his human ears.
He glanced to the front of the bus and then lowered his voice. “I know you’re one of the Rejected.”
The Rejected? Rejected by whom? Or did he mean I was one of those street bums? It didn’t seem likely. It seemed he knew what he was talking about. “That’s just a title,” I told him, my voice subdued.
He gave me a level look. “Dhiultadh,” he whispered, or something to that extent. I gave him no sign that the word meant something to me—or otherwise. “I know that your kind has no interspecies relationships, and that they look out for each other when it matters. I’ve heard rumors of your kind being spotted, only to disappear just as quickly—sometimes along with those who reported them.” He leaned in further, his gaze intense. “Your kind is secretive, fiercely protective of their anonymity. The fact that you’ve remained in the clutches of these scientists without intervention from your own is deeply unsettling.”
I was struck speechless. Was that anger in his voice? But most important of all were his words. Did that mean my own kind rejected me?
“Maybe they don’t know? Maybe you should call your friends and tell them about this,” I suggested, my voice tinged with desperate hope.
He glanced down at his watch and shook his head. “They know about you. They know exactly where you are, and what’s happening to you.”
I was the reject of a group of preternaturals.
“Besides, I heard one of your kind ran some sort of interference when you were in trouble back in Vegas.”
I opened my mouth to demand he explain when it hit me—he was talking about Logan. I felt a mix of disappointment and relief. Disappointment because he was categorizing me as just another preternatural rather than identifying what I truly was. Relief because I hadn’t been rejected by my own kind. It was stupid to think he knew what I was when I didn’t even know myself.
I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. The general/lieutenant grabbed one of the cushions from the seat beside him and placed it on the floor behind me. Then he surprised me by leaning forward and gently pulling me up andback onto the cushion, supporting my back against the seat next to his. He smelled of cologne and soap. When he sat again, there was a fierce gleam in his electric blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. I had the uneasy feeling that I had missed something important.
“Thank you?” I said, though it came out as a question. He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.
“Why make me comfortable?”
He shrugged, a small movement of his left shoulder. “I have a daughter your age. She’s wild and likes to get into trouble more often than not.”
“And?” I prompted, sensing there was a story beneath his words.
He studied me in silence before saying, “When she was eleven, she came home from a sleepover and told us that her best friend, the one she’d known since kindergarten, was a shifter. Naturally, we didn’t believe her until a couple of years later, when I was briefed about preternatural beings for a special assignment. I got worried. Her friend’s family and mine had been close for years, and I never had any reason to suspect them of foul play, but I kept a wary eye on them.” He checked his watch again before continuing, “With time, I learned I could still trust them.”
I stared at him, trying to grasp his point. If there was one, I was missing it.
“I don’t understand,” I finally said.
He smiled, a genuine smile that softened his features. “There are monsters everywhere, Miss Fosch. If one dangerous criminal is black, does that make the entire black population criminals? If one Muslim is a terrorist, does that make the entire Islamic nation terrorists? If one preternatural is a monster, Miss Fosch, does that make every preternatural a monster?”
I snorted. “Tell that to the humans.”
“Being different doesn’t make you a monster, Miss Fosch. Just like my daughter’s best friend is not.”
“How would you know? You don’t even know me.”
He eyed me intently. “A monster would have seized the opportunity when I bent down to prop you up into a comfortable position.”