Mason is dead. He’s lying on the ground, covered in blood, and he’s dead. No heartbeat, no pulse, no breathing. He’s still warm, though, and blood trickles from his nose. That’s the only source of blood I see. It’s a lot—far more than his earlier nosebleed—but it all seems to come from there with no obvious signs of injury.
I’ve taken first aid. If a Pack brother goes down, we need to treat him until we can get him to Jeremy. Kate hopes to fill the role of Pack doctor one day, but for now, Jeremy is our medic. Kate has learned all that she can from him, and I’ve sat in on every lesson. Now, finding Mason still warm with no sign of what stopped his heart, my brain switches into paramedic mode. His heart has stopped very recently, which means there’s a possibility of reviving him.
I open his mouth and check inside. There’s blood here, too, but it comes from a gash inside his cheek, as if he bit it. There’s no sign of vomit or stomach bile. I clear the blood, and then I set him down, making sure he’s flat and stable.
I have to be careful with chest compressions so, in my panic, I don’t use more strength than necessary. Otherwise, I could crush his ribs. I count off thirty compressions and then switch to rescue breathing. Under normal circumstances, someone like me, not a medical professional—would stick to
chest compressions and wait for help. But there’s no ambulance coming, and it’s highly unlikely there would be when I’m trying to resuscitate a downed Pack brother, so I’m trained in rescue breathing.
I tilt Mason’s head back and put my mouth to his, and breathe into his lungs, pull back for thirty more chest compressions, and then press my mouth firmly to his, give two more breaths and—
Mason’s eyes open. Or I presume they do because I’m too busy to be looking. I see a flicker at the edge of my vision, and then he gasps. I pull back, and he flails, shoving me hard.
“What the—” he says, breath raspy. “What the hell?”
Before I can respond, he hits me, his fists slamming into my chest as I’m already backing away.
“What the hell were you doing?” he snarls.
“Bringing you back to life, asshole.” I back out of swinging range and glower at him. “I’m not into necrophilia.”
He blinks, as if processing that.
“Making out with a dead guy?” I say. “We call that necro—” “I know what the word means,” he snaps. “You were . . .” “Administering CPR. After finding you dead on the ground.” “Dead . . .”
“No heartbeat. No pulse. No breathing. We call that dead.” His face spasms with sheer panic.
“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no.”
His gaze flies to mine, his eyes round and terror filled. “Am I breathing now? Is my heart . . . ?” He pats his chest, eyes widening even more when he doesn’t find what he’s searching for.
The guy is sitting up, talking and moving and wondering whether he’s actually alive. The obvious answer should be that he’s mocking me.
But the look in his eyes is unmistakably terror, and there is only one reason he’d be asking this. One reason he might think he was sitting up,
conscious and yet not alive. With that, I get the answer to my question, one I hadn’t considered because it doesn’t quite make sense. It’s the only logical solution, though.
I don’t confront him with that. The guy is freaking out, and I would never be so cruel. I’ll get my answers later. He needs his answers first.
“Are you breathing?” I say.
His gaze locks on mine again, and his eyes narrow with a flicker of the Mason I know.
“You’re breathing,” I say. “I can hear it. I can see your pulse from here.
But if you need reassurance, hold your breath.”
He doesn’t do that, but he does pause, getting a grip long enough to realize I’m right. He is breathing. He is alive.
His whole body goes limp with an exhale, and his fingers dig into the grass, as if to steady himself.
“You didn’t die and come back as a vampire,” I say. “That’s what you were afraid of, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps breathing, deep ones, as if needing to hear them, reassuring himself as he calms down.
“You’re a hereditary vampire,” I say. “Not a vamp yet, but you will be after you die. You’ll rise again for your second life.”
He just keeps breathing. He’s not interrupting through, so I keep talking. “That should have been the obvious answer,” I say. “But from what I
understand, you don’t know if you have the gene until you die. Is there some advance I don’t know about? A test? That should be possible with DNA.”
“You like to talk, don’t you?” Mason says. There’s no snap to his words.
His head is down, hair hanging as he catches his breath.
“Not usually,” I say. “My sister’s the chatty one. But if you get me on a subject that interests me, I’ll make an exception.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You know you have the marker. That doesn’t explain the secondary
powers, though. Hereditary vamps don’t get any powers until after their natural death. But you have a vampire’s speed. Also the brooding. You’ve got the brooding down pat.”
“Ha-ha.”
“I believe, having saved you from death—sorry, from undeath—that I deserve an answer to my question. From the way you reacted, you’re obviously in no hurry to begin your second life.”
He grunts. Then he pushes his hair back and straightens. “Yeah.”
“I presume that means yes, you’re a hereditary vampire. As for how you know that and why you seem to display secondary powers . . .”
He sighs. Leans back, arms braced on the ground, gaze fixed somewhere else. “Yeah, I’ll turn when I die. Yeah, I’m in no fucking hurry for that to happen. Yeah, I know what I am. A lab rat.”
“Lab rat?”
“Genetically modified supernatural.” “The Edison Group?”
His head whips my way.
I continue. “I know about Project Genesis and Project Phoenix. Genesis was about minimizing side effects. Phoenix was about resurrecting extinct supernatural races. Neither included vampires, though.”
“Valhalla.”
“Project Valhalla?” I consider that. “Valhalla being the Norse afterlife. I’m guessing that branch has something to do with eternal life, which would logically involve vampires. You’re only semi-immortal, but it’s as close as we get in our world. I know that’s one danger vampires face—amateur supernatural scientists experimenting on them to unlock the key to invulnerability and semi-immortality.”
“Yeah, well, the Edison Group aren’t amateurs. I’ll become a vamp when I die, and I have some of the secondary powers now. As for what else will happen? I have no idea. That’s the joy of being a second-generation lab rat.
Especially when all the first-generation ones escaped before they could be tested. Thanks, guys!”
“You can’t blame them.”
He snorts and pushes to his feet. “Enough chitchat. If you can point me in the direction of camp, I’ll get my not-yet-undead ass out of here.”
“Hold on. You were dead, Mason. You’re covered in blood. What happened?”
“I got hit, remember?” He points to his nose, but his gaze shunts to the side.
“That’s much worse than it was earlier.”
He shrugs. “Something hit me from behind.”
“And bloodied your nose? That’s on the front of your face.” Before he can respond, I say, “ You called, ‘What the—?’ and then you bellowed in pain. That means you saw something and then you got hit.”
“I’m fine now, and I just want to get back—”
“To the camp you couldn’t wait to escape? Sorry, saving your life grants me an all-access pass to answers.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“You can give me answers or you can thank me. I suspect you’d rather stick to answers. You saw something, and you got hit in the face, but that wouldn’t stop your heart. It also doesn’t explain why your trail ends fifty feet that way.” I point. “And why you ended up dead on the ground over here.”
“What?” His brow knits. “No, I got hit right here . . .” He trails off as he looks around.
“This isn’t the same clearing,” I say. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know, like I said. I spotted something flying at me. A person? An animal? It was a blur, and I thought it was you. I turned, and before I could see what it was, something hit me from behind, and I slammed face-first into
. . .” He shrugs. “Something. I don’t know what.” “Can you tell me—?”
“Christ, has anyone told you how annoying you are? You’re a werewolf.
Go be the strong, silent type. Very silent. Please.”
I draw my knees up, arms around them. “You died, Mason, and we need to discuss—”
“You’re not a werewolf at all, are you? You’re some kind of shifter who turns into an annoying yappy dog.”
“You’ve had a scare. A huge scare, one that you consider embarrassing. Then you thought you were dead, and your response to that was even more embarrassing, not at all in keeping with the tough-guy persona you’re working so hard to perfect. To recover, you’re insulting me. I understand that. I won’t accept it, but I understand it. If you must compare me to a dog, I’d suggest you go with pit bull. I have questions, and I’m not letting you go until you answer them.”
He bristles, shoulders squaring. “Yeah?”
“Yes, and if you’d like to turn that into a physical threat, please feel free.
Attacking me went so well for you the last time.”
“I don’t know what happened. For all I know, the Edison Group planted a goddamn genetic time bomb in me. When I turn eighteen, it’ll explode and turn me into a vamp.”
“That doesn’t explain how you ended up fifty feet away.”
He throws his hands up. “Maybe I turned into a bat and flew.” “Vampires don’t—”
“I know that. If they’re going to screw with my genetic code, might as well give me one cool power. But no, I’m sure I’ll just become a regular old vampire. You get super-strength, super-senses, the ability to change into a wolf. I get to live alone for hundreds of years, just me and my chalice of blood. What a deal.”
I’m opening my mouth as a stick cracks, and I turn sharply.
“Oh, thank God,” Mason mutters. “Saved by a psycho killer in the forest.”
I creep forward, but whoever’s coming is making no effort to stay quiet. I hear several sets of footfalls and the low murmur of a male voice I vaguely recognize. Then someone answers in a voice I’d know anywhere.
“Kate,” I whisper, exhaling in relief.
I motion for Mason to wait, and I jog to meet my sister. As I round a tree, I see her walking with Holly and Allan.
I’m opening my mouth to greet them when I notice movement in the trees. Someone’s following them. Stalking them. I tense, ready to charge.
Then I see who it is. The guy from the cabin. The one I’d caught watching Kate. Rage fills me, and I charge before he can disappear into the forest again.
“Logan,” Kate says, grinning. Then she sees my face. “Uh, Lo?”
I tear past her. The guy freezes. He wheels, as if to flee, and I leap, taking him down.