Page 37 of All Saints Day (Lucifer and the Saints #2)
Quentin
E arly morning and I find myself once again on my own, out at the edge of the lake.
I can't help but keep replaying snippets from the interrogation over and over in my head, trying to see if there was something we missed—an avenue we could have accidentally turned into a road untraveled—but it seems as if we've gotten everything that we could out of Frank. Like it or not.
Some part of me had been holding out hope that it was something other than Frank's own mind that had caused the fracture—though I’m not sure what that might have been.
Though, I suppose it's a bit of a comfort in and of itself to know that Frank—as broken and damaged as he may be—he’s still just a man.
Of course, there's the matter of whether to bond him.
He is still one of our fated mates— just now we have a fuller picture.
We know that the reality is Frank is not just Frank Stone, or even Francis Stone.
He is Francis Castle, son of the late, hired-muscle tycoon, Patrick Castle.
He is also Rook, brutal inquisitor and trigger man for the Windmill.
For all we know, there may even be others that we haven't met; more splinters that may not have yet split off from the core.
Even though we’ve learned a lot in the past few days, none of us is ready to make the decision yet.
How much time will be allowed for us to make such a delicate decision remains to be seen .
With the information we gathered from Frank, we know the Windmill is planning on releasing the augmented Zeitnot virus with or without a cure.
Since the Windmill never got positive confirmation that Louise is definitively part of the solution, it is likely that they will continue on under the assumption that they can create their own cure along with their own preventative vaccine if given enough time.
However, from what we can tell of Seb and Doctor Perla's research, Louise is the keystone to the Zeitnot virus and any other potential iterations. Without her, there would be no cure—no hope.
Now that we have Louise back, and knowledge of the Windmill’s plans, our priority has shifted to reconnecting with Doctor Perla in order to prepare for the Windmill’s release of the augmented Zeitnot virus.
With all the Saints and Louise bitten into the pack, we're in the best possible position to take these next steps.
For now, the plan is to drag Frank along with us, keeping him drugged up so that he can't do any harm to himself or anyone else—at least until we reach a point where we can decide more definitively what to do with him.
I've been in touch with the old CI contact who allowed me to use this cabin along with its prep-tastic fallout bunker—to endure Frank’s rut and Louise and Quentin’s dual heat.
Kindly, Ytzhak volunteered to help us to our next destination. Our next step is to rendezvous with Doctor Perla in Paris and travel by train back to her laboratories outside of Florence in Italy—keeping us far away from the FBI’s jurisdiction and the long-reaching arm of the Windmill.
I hear the gentle clicking of pebbles behind me, and I don't need to turn to know that it's Dennis. I can feel the gentle, resonant hum of his enjoyment as he looks at me, silhouetted by the sun rising over the glittering lake before us.
“Are they all still asleep?” I ask.
“Every last one of them—all still in the cabin sawing wood,” he chuckles, stooping to the ground beside me to find a long, flat rock.
“Fine, let them sleep; they need the rest. We've got a long journey ahead of us, might as well let everybody have the rest of today to get their strength up.” I sigh, watching as Dennis picks up the rock and turns it over in his hand, deciding it's not what he wants before he reaches down to pick up another.
“The container ship we’ll be taking—you said it's your buddy's boss who owns it?” Dennis reviews the plan, finding a dark blue stone—wide and flat, almost as large as his palm.
“Yeah, he works for a real proper ‘businessman.’” I make air quotes around the word, giving Dennis a knowing smile. “Nobody will be looking too closely at the cargo on that ship,” I assure him.
“Perfect. Nothing to worry about,” he scoffs sarcastically, nodding slowly before he pitches the rock out over the glassy surface of the lake—the stone skips several times before disappearing beneath the water.
“I've made the necessary arrangements for Frank.
We'll have plenty of night-night juice to keep him under for the duration of the journey.
He shouldn't be an issue while in transit. Of course, we're going to have to find a more long-term solution than keeping him doped up and unconscious, but that’s a problem for later. For now, the goal is to get to Florence and Doctor Perla in one piece,” I explain calmly.
Before I know what I'm doing, I reach into the space between us for Dennis's hand. I don't need to say anything. He reaches for me and clasps my hand in his, squeezing tightly as the two of us look out over the glittering water in silence.
I'm trying to find the words. To express my gratitude to Dennis. Not just for everything he's done for the Saints—for our pack—but for being an invaluable source of support for me, a pillar that I can lean on.
I can feel my heartbeat under my tongue, a blush rising in my cheeks. I'm almost worried that Dennis can hear the low, steady thumping of my heart in the quiet between us—when I realize that the low, steady thumping noise that I hear is not in time with the beats beneath my tongue.
Both of us turn to face each other, holding our breath a split second before I realize that low rhythmic thumping—is the sound of helicopter blades.
By the time the two of us spin back around to get eyes on the cabin, the unmistakable form of the chopper—like a massive black insect buzzing against the pale morning sky—confirms our worst fears.
My stomach clutches as I see men begin to emerge in a low, crouching run from the trees; encased in shining black goggles, helmets and body armor—like a swarm of ants descending upon the cabin.
Dennis and I are in motion before we can say a word—both of us sprinting for the cabin with our pack mates still inside.
We're still about 100 feet from the front door when I hear the first tinkling of broken glass, the first reports of gunfire.
I'm relieved to see one of the black shining bodies of the soldiers limply draped over the pane of a broken window—his comrades slowing to a stop as they move in behind him.
I can hear Sébastien calling to Caz inside.
More gunfire sounds as two men attempt to break into the front door—a thick lilac-colored smoke pouring from the open door frame.
All the men in black begin coughing and bending double as they come into contact with the smog.
Dennis and I split off, rounding different sides of the cabin in an effort to meet up around the backside without breaching into the smoke bombs Seb has laid out for our unexpected visitors.
As soon as I crash through the back door. I am filled with the awful sight of Cazimer pinned to the ground by a fine metal mesh net—a man in body armor and dark glasses standing over him, his gun trained on Caz's head.
Luckily for both Caz and myself, the Windmill lackey isn't expecting me, so when I round the corner, he barely has a chance to look up and see me before I put a bullet between his eyes.
As he drops to the floor, I free Caz from the netting, pressing the fallen minion's gun into Caz’s hand before we take cover beneath the kitchen table as a hail of gunfire rains in through the front window.
“Where's Louise?” I shout, but I can tell from the panicked expression on Caz's face that he doesn't know.
“She's not with you!?” he stammers.
I shake my head, then duck out from beneath the table to fire at a man aiming his gun through the blown-out front window.
Caz looks as if he's about to go to pieces, but we can't afford that right now.
“Don't panic,” I grip his shoulder and give it a firm shake.
“If she wasn’t with you—then she's probably with Seb.
He won't let anything happen to her,” I assure him.
“Right now, the best thing that we can do is focus on getting ourselves out of here, out into the woods with a plan and a path for escape.
The others will see us down the bond. They'll know what to do,” I explain with more confidence than I feel.
Caz bobbles a string of nervous nods and the two of us take stock of our surroundings, preparing to make our exit through the blown out back sliding doors—as it seems the bulk of the breach efforts are focused on the front entrance and the access to the bunker below.
Though none of us were particularly enamored with the idea of handing Frank back to the Windmill—regardless of our own intentions to bite him into the pack or not—he is considered more than an acceptable loss in exchange for getting out with Louise in tow.
Caz and I triangulate our path to escape as I reach down the mating bond to Seb.
I can see Seb and Dennis with Louise—they're pinned in the kitchen with the entrance to the cabin covered in Windmill stooges. I can hear the helicopter growing louder, but blessedly there's still a line from the back door to the trees that we can traverse, albeit under fire.
None of this looks good. I could send Caz on his own to make a run for it—or I could send him to back up the others while I make for the trees and potential safety, but that leaves only one of us to back Seb and Caz up.
If both of us stay here and all of us end up trapped along with Louise… Well then there would be no hope whatsoever.
I rack my brain trying to find another way.
Caz calls to me down the bond. None of the rest of us want to hear it, but his idea rings with truth—Frank is awake and locked in the bunker below. He also happens to be the best shot any of us have ever known.
We still have his sniper rifle and his handguns in our possession—everything he left with on the day we split ways at the yacht.