Page 83 of White Raven (Nevermore Duet #2)

BATTLE CRY

Leigh might have had good reason for her whining, but Rhaena couldn’t stop herself from voicing the threat.

All she could think about was Athan, and the hell he had to have gone through being buried alive in some grave where no one had been there to help him.

Suddenly, hearing Ryan’s voice nearly had her shifting from anger alone.

If Leigh wanted to run off with the bitch, then she’d be free to do so once they figured out what kind of other threats they were looking at.

If Ryan was right, and there were bloodthirsty vampires coming, then everybody’s first priority had to be protecting each other.

Having each other’s six…

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” Leigh bitched, following Rhaena around the apartment with her eyes. “You promised me!”

Rhaena had finally had enough and stopped pacing to shoot her a cold stare.

“Look around, Erickson! Do you see her anywhere? For now, she’s safe.

Likely on a plane by now. She’s the last thing I’m concerned about.

Now stop acting like a pussy and get your game face on.

You’re gonna need to be ready to use your claws if the shit hits the fan. ”

Brandon laid a calming hand to her shoulder. “Rhaena…maybe you’re being a little harsh, babe.”

“Not as harsh as these cronies are gonna be, if they’re brave enough to bust through that door. I think it’s finally time to get our heads out of our asses and get ready for a fight.”

Wren nodded, and glanced over at Leigh, who looked like she was about to puke. “She’s right, Jenkins. We gotta tough up, Leigh.”

“What exactly are we up against? You guys forget…I only found out about all this other-worldly shit a few hours ago,” Leigh asked, crossing her arms.

Brent’s turn. “If I had to imagine a lion’s den…with a single warthog to fight over…and a dozen starving lions? That might be close.” They all looked at him like he was an idiot. Brent shrugged. “We’re the warthog, if anybody was wondering.”

“You’re so fucking cringey,” Wren huffed, rolling her eyes with a grin.

“Really know the way to my heart, Red,” he winked, shuffling back into the kitchen, and looking for God knows what.

His heart…

“Go for the heart. They can’t live without one…even if it doesn’t beat.”

Brandon walked to the window and peered through the curtains. “She was telling the truth…got some very unfriendly faces staring up here.”

“Well fuck, let’s just wave some flares so they know right where to find us, Brando …Jesus,” Wren snarled, stomping after Brent in the kitchen. The clang of utensils implied that Stratford wasn’t completely useless, after all.

“Their venom is lethal to humans. Mine is lethal to them.”

Sykes wasn’t just a vampire…or a werewolf. She was both. So was Rhaena. If her claim held any water, then that could only mean that Rhaena’s bite could be lethal to them too. “Brandon…you remember the night I called and said I needed you at the hotel? The night of the benefit?”

He cocked his gun, glancing over and nodding. “The vampire chick we turned into a burn pile?”

“Yes,” Rhaena nodded, pointing at him. “Athan emptied his gun into her. But she didn’t die. He ripped her heart out, remember?”

Wren and Brent came in with every pointy thing they could find, and handed a couple over to Leigh, who looked absolutely terrified. “So,” Wren started. “Are you saying that filling them full of holes won’t kill them? Cause it sure killed the one I shot in the street.”

“He wasn’t turned,” Rhaena corrected. “He was human. Working for Dahlia. She had used Sarah’s blood to turn the girl at the benefit.”

“But blowing holes through them should slow them down, right?” Brent asked.

“It should. How many do you see, Brandon?”

He bristled, turning away from the window. “They’re in the building now. But I counted six. We don’t know how many more are out there.”

Leigh swallowed, gripping a large butcher knife. “So…six of them, five of us…and there could be more?”

“Could be. They’re already technically dead, so don’t feel too bad about hacking them up. If you get them down, carve the heart right outta their chest. Got me?”

Wren tossed her bag onto the couch, pulling her revolver from it. “I hoped I’d never have to use this again, but you know what?” She checked her ammo, and snapped the cylinder back in place, handing the gun to Leigh, and trading her for the knife. “I’m feelin’ stabby.”

Brent grasped his belly in the spot where he’d been shot and swallowed hard. “It’s okay if you don’t know how to use it. Point and shoot. You’ll be fine at close range. Just…you know…I’d rather not go through that again. If you could refrain from pointing it my way, it’d be delightful.”

“We need more bodies,” Brandon added. “Can we call Cap, and Foster?”

“On it,” Rhaena said, pulling out her phone. “Wren? Can you check the hall, and pull the fire alarm? We need to get this building evacuated.”

“What if they attack these people?” Wren asked.

“Fire alarm means any residents use the stairs,” Brandon answered. “I doubt the vamps will worry about them. They’re probably already in the elevator, and they’re not here for them anyway. This is a hit. Not a hunt.”

Foley sat across from Foster in a booth as he ripped the meat from a rib bone and picked up another. She was staring at him, half the food on her plate untouched. He stilled as the rib he held staggered in front of his open mouth.

“What?” he asked, shrugging.

Foster smirked, rolling her eyes, and picking at her greasy french fries. “How you managed to keep what you really are a secret is really shocking—you eat like a fucking animal.”

“You’re the one who wanted to sit down and dine with one. I’m starving. My body feels like it’s begging.”

“When was the last time you had an actual meal , Captain?” she asked, shoving a fry into her mouth.

He considered it for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually sat down and eaten something that sustained him. Everything that had been going on recently had him poking at snacks, hurrying through sandwiches, losing too much sleep, and hardly taking care of himself.

“I don’t remember.”

Foster sighed and dropped her elbows onto the table. “How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Don’t you know everything there is to know about everybody?” he smirked, biting off more meat.

“Your age isn’t something I cling to. You’re not like your hot, tattooed detective. His age would be a detail worth remembering.”

Foley lowered his brows. “Ouch.”

Foster huffed a laugh. “How old?”

He dropped the bone into his plate, and started on another, pausing to sip water from his straw. “I’ll be sixty at the end of this year.”

Her low whistle made him roll his eyes.

“So?” she started, leaning back against the booth. “When does a decorated veteran such as yourself decide it’s time to retire?”

He’d thought a lot about that recently. About how the constant chaos was wearing him down bit by bit, and the matter of his werewolf heritage wasn’t even all that significant if one were to really consider it.

He’d been turned by accident. Rhaena Northwood’s pack…

wasn’t exactly his . He’d earned the title of captain but paid for with the blood of his partner…

the only woman he’d ever been in love with.

Even that small detail was bullshit. It was obvious now that Lindsay never loved him that way.

She’d never been truly honest with him. All of it was a mistake.

Every choice he’d made was a mistake. Maybe the choice of settling down and living a more quiet existence was the right one by everybody.

He was growing increasingly tired of all this shit.

“I’ve thought about it. Brent Stratford might be selling his place. I’ve let him know my interest. I don’t wanna leave Boston, but…I could use some quiet.”

Foster sipped her beer, and it clunked on the table before her. “I’ve heard it’s nice. Who would replace you? Northwood? Her sweet boy-toy?”

Foley chuckled. “Brandon Jenkins is a damn good cop. An even better person. I wouldn’t say he’s sweet.

But he might be a little soft to be captain.

Northwood would be a great fit, but…I don’t know that she’s ever been interested.

And that would mean losing Kane as her partner, which I know she’d never go for. ”

“You ever talked to her about it?”

He thought back to the past few years. About their sparring sessions in the training center. How she flawlessly laid grown men on the mat, and every single time, not smiling in their face…instead helping them up and urging them to go again. Rhaena was a force of nature. Determined. Strong.

A leader of the pack…an alpha if there ever was one.

“I haven’t,” Foley said, wiping his hands on a wet nap. “But I know she’d pass that exam with flying colors. I don’t think the board would argue her capacity for leadership, either. She’d be perfect as captain.”

Foster smirked. “Captain Northwood.” It definitely had a nice ring to it. There’s nobody he’d trust more with the 12th than Gloves. Just thinking about it put a proud smile on his face. “You love her, don’t you?”

Foley glanced up, shocked by the audacity of her question. “She’s like a daughter to me.”

As if merely talking about her had conjured her up, his phone started buzzing on the table. It was Rhaena. Foster snickered, and gestured a hand toward it, urging him to answer.

“Evening, Gloves. You’re up late.” He checked his watch. “ Really late.”

“Cap…we need you.”

Her tone sent alarms firing off in his head…under his skin. He tensed and pushed his plate forward. Foster paid closer attention. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m at my apartment. Wren and Brent are here. So is Leigh Erickson. Brandon is with me but…we’re about to have some unpleasant company. I need more guns. I need…”

“Claws…” His voice was a choked, rasp.

“You’re the only pack I have, Cap. My only family. Everybody in this room is human, and we’re outnumbered. I wouldn’t ask you if—”