Last Kiss Goodnight - By Gena Showalter Page 0,125

to be released. Performers were shouting and running in every direction. Her father’s body was motionless beside her. Matas was splayed a few feet away from her. Or rather, what was left of him. The crimson-soaked Targon stood over his body, arms lifted as he danced in the man’s blood. Audra stood in the same spot she’d occupied before, still holding the gun. She was pale and shaking—and she was no longer tattooed. The spiders were gone.

Audra noticed her gaze and shuddered. “I didn’t mean to kill your beast,” she said. “I just wanted to hurt Jecis the way he’d hurt me.”

“Solo wasn’t a beast! He was the best man I knew.” Horrified by her words, Vika hurried to correct herself. “He is the best man I know.” He was still alive. She wouldn’t believe otherwise. He was too strong, too vital, and he’d promised. He never broke his promises.

Audra nodded, as though ashamed, and dropped the gun on the ground. Sirens blared in the background. Sirens Vika heard. Not as clearly as before, in the cabin, but enough. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“What should I do?” Audra asked.

She could hear the girl’s voice, as well. “Start a new life,” Vika told her.

Where was Solo? Where had X taken him? Home, the creature had said. Did that mean the farm? Or perhaps X’s home, in that other realm?

A tap on her shoulder caused her to look up.

The Targon peered down at her, and he was smiling. Splattered as he was with blood, it was a chilling smile. “You might want to close your eyes for this next part,” he said.

He didn’t wait for her response, but turned to her father and unsheathed a blade. Vika watched. With one sharp motion, he cut off Jecis’s thumb. The brutality of the action barely registered. She knew what he planned to do with the appendage, knew it was necessary.

He picked up the detached piece and rolled it along his palm. “Mara was my wife. Matas killed her.”

Mara. Vika’s Mara. “Killed her? No. I freed her.”

“You did. Your father found her and gave her to Matas. I was bonded to her, and I witnessed the entire thing through her eyes.”

Mara was dead. Mara hadn’t abandoned her. Hadn’t forgotten her. She’d been caught, killed. “I’m so sorry. I—There are no words. I loved her.”

“I know you did. That’s why you’re still alive.” He moved to the cage nearest him and began freeing the otherworlders.

Most sprang from behind the bars and ran, never looking back. Tawny fur grew from Kitten’s pores, covering her entire body as she disappeared around the corner, but she quickly returned with an unconscious, bleeding circus performer. She dumped the body on top of Jecis, kicked it—the performer was still alive, judging from that gust of pained breath Vika heard—and disappeared again . . . only to return with another body. This time, she was a little bloody herself and missing several patches of fur.

The Bree Lian raced toward Vika, his claws bared.

The Targon grabbed him by the back of the hair and jerked him to the ground. He loomed over the otherworlder and scowled.

“You don’t touch the girl. Ever. She took care of you and was your only means of protection.”

A trembling “All right.”

The Targon freed him, and he lumbered to his feet. He didn’t bother glancing or glaring in Vika’s direction, but sprinted away.

Criss strolled out, stopped and checked her cuticles.

“Run,” the Targon said. He’d finished releasing the otherworlders and dropped her father’s thumb on the ground. “I don’t owe you any protection, Cortaz, and I won’t offer it. You’ve got an attitude that needs adjusting.”

“I think I’ll stay,” the girl said with a confident smile. “When Jecis died, my brothers were finally able to get a lock on me. They showed up a few seconds later.”

The Targon spread his arms. “And where are they? Because they can feel free to bring it.”

A brighter smile. “You see the fires?” Looking beyond the otherworlder, she called, “The circus is charbroiled now, guys, so stop showing off. I’m ready to go home.”

A second later, five glittering lights surrounded her, blocking her from sight. Those lights were shaped like men, and when they faded, Criss was gone, her footprints nothing more than charred grass.

Kitten dropped another body in the ever-growing pile and turned to grab another victim. But cops suddenly swarmed the area, their guns raised, stilling her. She held her hands up and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m with AIR, and