The Nightmare (The Mist #2) - Regine Abel Page 0,86
shouted back, interrupting him.
“You don’t—”
“Sit your ass down now, or I will make you,” I hissed in a threatening voice.
Thomson swallowed hard, his anger giving way to fear as my tendrils came out. More waves of fear and confusion wafted to me from behind. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know that the handful of agents who hadn’t gone home for the Mist, were panicking at the sight of what they could only interpret as me having turned on their boss… on them.
“You tell them to stay outside,” I warned in a dangerously low voice. “Anyone comes in, I will hurt them.”
A slew of emotions crossed the Director’s features before he gestured at the people outside to stand down. He then resumed his seat, no longer knowing what I would or wouldn’t do. Over the past month, he had become complacent, overly confident that I was ‘tamed’ by my mate.
Foolish man.
I crossed my legs and leaned against the backrest of my chair before brushing off a non-existent piece of lint off my pants.
“Every time a human goes to sleep, his Wish, Nightmare, or Dark Desire gets an open window into that person’s thoughts, hopes, dreams and, naturally, fears,” I explained in a conversational tone. “Humans also use that time of rest to sort out the things that plague them, the problems they couldn’t solve, or to confirm if the steps they have taken to address an issue were right. Just like you have your daily physical hygiene routine, humans do their nightly mental hygiene.”
Thomson let out a shuddering breath, and his shoulders drooped with understanding.
“If I thought you had deliberately betrayed the men and women of this organization, you would be drawing your last breath as we speak,” I said in a harsh tone. “I do not fault you for creating that monster or for involuntarily giving him the ammunition to fire back. It is the natural way the human mind works in conjunction with the Mist. But I do blame you for not seeing it sooner. My mate has already mentioned that her preliminary evaluation of your agents has led her to believe they are spawning half of the Nightmares haunting your streets. And that if they haven’t yet, they will soon, without steady stress and PTSD therapy.”
Thomson nodded, a pained expression on his face. Although I couldn’t read his mind in my human form, with the Mist increasingly approaching, I could feel his emotions with a greater acuity with a hint of the thoughts that had fueled them. In this instance, I could clearly sense the guilt gnawing him at the thought of the agents and the civilians that had died because he hadn’t been able to manage his fears.
This whole remorse business was such a waste of time. Humans devoted too much energy crying over spilled milk. It was absurd. People had died… oh well. Rather than wallowing in a pointless sense of guilt, he should channel that energy into focusing on preventing this from happening again.
“I need to remove myself from this situation,” Thomson said.
“Yes,” I said, surprised he didn’t seem intent on arguing.
“But if he’s been reading me, he knows the plans about the Squad,” he reflected out loud with a frown. “He knows that Letho and Merax are coming back tonight.”
“To be interviewed by me,” I countered. “He doesn’t know the outcome. He also doesn’t know their power level. If they were diligent and committed to their promise to build their energy level until the next Mist, those two will have gorged for the entire month and should be of a respectable level. The three of us combined will be a force to be reckoned with.”
Thomson cast a glance at the clock on his desk. “If I leave now, I can make it home before the sirens go off. To think I told Tate to take some time off this Mist, and Belinda is home with her family,” the Director said with annoyance.
“Tell Tate to return,” I ordered in an imperative tone.
“He’s out of town. He wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning,” Thomson argued.
“Bring. Him. Back,” I snapped. “Do you really want me running the show?”
Thomson blinked, taken aback by my comment. I could literally read the thoughts fleeting through his mind as he assessed the current situation. He knew damn well Tate was the only one of his agents whose authority I would defer to. All others would be my bitches.
“I will call him,” Thomson said with a heavy sigh.