Chosen - Kiersten White Page 0,43

of the tree line. There’s a huge dead oak. Can’t miss it. The other Slayers are waiting there for my signal.”

“Cool.” He sticks his hands back in his pockets and meanders out of the clearing.

Tracker on me, I go the opposite direction. In the end, it’s too easy. I climb a tree, wait until I hear two hunters approaching from either side, and then snap a branch. They both shoot their tranquilizers at each other, and then two bodies go down with loud thuds.

I drop back to the ground, relieve them of their weapons, and then give them the same tree treatment as Beard. Too bad they’re human, I think. Then I cringe. Where did that come from?

Feeling a little dirty with the realization that I would have liked to hurt them a lot more than I did, I run toward the dead oak. I don’t want to leave Doug in that house any longer than I have to, and my work is almost done.

I pause at the base of the tree, looking up.

“Hey,” I call.

“What’s the signal?” Maricruz calls back down.

“Um. Me? Calling hey?”

“That’s a terrible signal. You didn’t even try.” She drops to the ground next to me, her rather glorious eyebrows writing disappointment all over her face.

“That’s not fair. I took out all three hunters and saved your werewolf … ish … guy.”

“Whatever.” She turns away from me, arms folded. Chao-Ahn lands in a crouch, and then Taylor, a tall, lanky blonde, slowly climbs down. The not-werewolf is last.

“I have questions for you,” I say.

“Math? I’m good at math. Oz, by the way.”

“Oz?”

“I’m. And I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Oh. Nina.”

“Nina. Well, we can worry about the math later.”

Still confused and also oddly disappointed and unsettled, I walk out of the trees with the three Slayers and the alleged werewolf. Von Alston stands, and I can’t see whether he’s surprised, but I sure hope so. He’s flanked by three security guards. I shoot tranquilizers at all three before they can draw their own weapons.

I walk up to Von Alston and grab him around the throat. “Monopoly would have been easier. For you. Now let’s go see about my friend and my prize, and then we can play a fun game called Hostage Negotiations, where I use you to get all of us out of here without any problems.”

He sputters until I release some of the pressure. “No prize. The werewolf is still alive.”

“Do you see a werewolf here? Because I don’t. Besides, alive is such a temporary state of being.” I tighten my grip again, a small, mean thrill of pleasure coursing through me seeing panic on the face of this man who threatened my friends and tried to kill innocent people. Something pushes me to go further. To squeeze harder. Because I can.

I let him go and take a step back, shuddering. That’s not me. That can’t be me. Where did that come from? “Come on. No funny business or I’ll let the nice man bite you, and then we’ll see if your stance on werewolf rights changes.”

“I’d really prefer not to bite you,” Oz says. “We’ve only just met, and I don’t think we’re at a biting stage of our relationship yet.”

Chao-Ahn and Maricruz each take one of Von Alston’s arms and frog-march him back toward the manor. Two figures appear on the distant steps of the front door and I lift the tranquilizer gun to use the scope to view them.

One is Doug, having obviously freed himself. But I can’t even wonder how, because I can’t process who the other person I’m viewing through the crosshairs is.

Leo.

Leo Silvera.

Who is not dead.

I twitch. My finger pulls the trigger. Leo collapses.

15

“HEY,” A SOFT, EVEN VOICE says. A hand comes down on my shoulder. “Hey. Deep breaths. Focus on your breathing.”

Leo is there, lying on the porch, unconscious. And even though I know we’re outside, we’re safe, I can almost feel the remora demon expanding all around us. I know what will happen if I try to drag Leo away. I won’t be able to, and he’ll die, just like he did before.

Just like he didn’t before.

“Breathe,” Oz says again, moving to stand in front of me. He blocks my sight of Leo, and I feel like I’ve surfaced from too long underwater. I gasp for air, gulp it desperately. “Good. Breathing is good. I really dig breathing.” He smiles but doesn’t move, keeping one hand on my shoulder.

“I’m okay,” I say. I’m not okay. I’m not. I