Chapter 6
The pub Detrick’s directions led them to was relatively nice—not that Katra had much with which to compare it to—and she couldn’t help but admire the inviting simplicity of the décor as she followed the guys to a booth in the far corner. It was a round booth, and Kaster pulled up a chair and sat it at the end of the table, before moving to sit next to Marclan in the booth. Finley was positioned on Marclan’s other side, with Katra next to him on the other end from Kaster. She had purposely waited until they were all seated. After years of being on the run, this habit had been ingrained into her DNA. Always be at the end, so you have a quick way out. Know where all the exits are. Keep track of the number of people in the room, along with their height, weight, and bulk, which all added up to the total amount of possible damage they could do in a fight.
Presently, there were five other people in the room aside from them, one of them being the burly old bartender watching them like a hawk. She could sense, even from here, that he was a supernatural, just as he could undoubtedly sense them—well, not her, but definitely the guys.
She was simply guilty by default, judging by the hostility coming off the old man.
The other parties in the room seemed human, without any smell or taste coming off them, and with their enhanced ability to scent others, there was no way they could have been hiding it.
“Hey, I’m gonna go get a beer. Anyone want one?”
The guys simply stared at her.
“What? You guys don’t drink?”
Kaster snorted. “We’re not staring because we don’t drink. We’re staring because…how old are you?”
Katra felt her spine stiffen as she glared at the offending dragon shifter. “18. Why? What’s it matter to you?”
His response was another snort combined with an eyeroll. “We can’t have you getting shitfaced while we’re trying to keep you out of a crazy sorcerer’s hands. Besides, technically, you’re too young to drink.”
She grinned brightly. “Not in Ireland, I’m not.”
“You’re American.”
“Who’s in Ireland. Shut the fuck up and let me get a beer.”
“You got any Irish currency?”
That shut up her real quick.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. No beer, sweetstuff.”
“Don’t call me sweetstuff.”
“Can we call you hotstuff?” Finley piped up.
Katra’s glare swung over to him as he sat next to her with an almost innocent expression on his face. “I am still armed, and I will hurt you.”
“We do look mildly out of place sitting in an Irish pub without a single ounce of liquor in front of us.” Marclan quietly interjected, glancing around at the other patrons in his usual wary manner, which was such an odd look on him considering his massive size. “If not to drink, we should at least get something to keep from standing out so much.”
Katra turned a ‘told you so’ look on Kaster, not at all attempting to hide her smug grin.
“If I believed for even half a second that you could manage to sit with a beer and not get completely sloshed, I might consider it. As it is, we won’t be here long enough to garner enough attention to be considered worrisome, anyway.” Kaster leveled a look of his own back at Katra, one that clearly said ‘stop asking, it ain’t gonna happen’.
“If we get thrown out, I’m blaming it on you.”
Rolling his eyes again, Kaster rubbed his temples with his index and middle fingers, muttering under his breath about ‘babysitting’ and ‘being too old for this shit’.
“Why are you rubbing your head? We don’t get headaches.” Finley queried in confusion, staring at Kaster like he’d grown a third eye or a set of horns.
“Well if there was anyone to test that theory, it would be you lot!” Kaster boomed in response as he glared at each of his three companions.
“Hey. There’s Detrick.”
Katra’s head turned towards the door at the sound of Marclan’s quiet words, and her eyes fell on a surprisingly small man with rumpled pale blonde hair and grey eyes. Granted, he was nowhere near as small as her, but standing at roughly 5’8”, he was still considerably small for a male shifter. And from the smell of deep woods wafting towards her from his direction, she could tell he was a wolf shifter.
Quickly striding up to their table, Detrick stared at the chair at the end of the table momentarily before looking back at the four of them. He quickly took a seat in the chair after realizing that none of them were planning on moving to let him in. The chair creaked under his weight, and Katra watched as he nervously glanced around at the other patrons before looking back at them.
“I got your message. You were asking about a sorcerer who put a hit out on someone? Says this ‘someone’ stole something of his, right?”
Kaster nodded in confirmation, offering up no other information.
“Well, looks like he put this hit out everywhere. And I mean, everywhere. Every damn merc, bounty hunter, and Joe-Schmoe with a gun and silver bullets is on the lookout. Hell, from what I hear, he’s even got some human hunters in on it. The weird thing is, I guess he’s been giving these people he’s contracted with some crazy, new-fangled magical tools that can track this person down. Supposed to be able to sense shifters and other supernatural beings that give off a high enough power signal or something.” He paused for a moment, watching the guys intently.
They didn’t react, didn’t even blink. They looked completely and utterly unimpressed by the information.
Katra, on the other hand, was damn near terrified. If this were true, then there were gods only knew how many supernaturals out there with a device that could lead them straight to her.
It took a moment for the realization to hit, but when it did, it took every ounce of her control to keep from showing her shock on her face.
Of course. That’s how they guys were able to find her. Alekter hired them, gave them the tracking device, and when she used her power, it led them straight to her.
After a moment, Detrick continued. “But, here’s the crazy part—these hits he’s putting out? They keep coming. For well over a year now, they’ve been coming out. And I think it’s working.”
This caught Kaster’s attention. “What do you mean, it’s working? What’s working?”
Detrick leaned forward, lowering his voice and glancing around before speaking again in a hushed whisper. “People have been disappearing. Shifters. Witches. Mages. Even some of the fae living here, and those suckers are hard as fuck to grab. Just—POOF—gone. So, I did a little digging, and you know those tracking things he gives them? He also gives them a paralyzing spell, one that can take down any supernatural creature out there. Word is, it can even take down another sorcerer.” He paused again as he waited for the surprising information to settle on them.
This was bad. This was so, so bad. Katra didn’t even have words for how bad this was. If this Alekter was kidnapping powerful supernaturals, there must be a reason. But why? Why would he want them? What was he doing with them? And, most importantly—was Daromir one of them? Was he even still alive?
“I don’t get it.” Kaster interrupted her internal loss of sanity with his deep, measured voice, giving her something to latch onto to keep from spiraling further out of control. “If he’s looking for such strong, powerful supernaturals, why didn’t he just use us?”
Detrick shrugged. “Maybe he is.”
A brief look of confusion passed over Kaster’s face before it smoothed back into emotionless stoicism. “Explain.”
Another shrug preceded Detrick’s reply. “Well, I mean—even with the paralyzing spell, whoever goes after these supernaturals has to be pretty damn tough and capable, or they could be mowed down before they even get close enough to the supe’ to throw the damn thing. And who better to get close to powerful supernaturals than someone who’s impervious to their magic?”
This theory did not go over well as Finley swore under his breath and Marclan paled, though his face betrayed no emotion, save for the despair that flittered briefly through his eyes.
Turning her head to Kaster, she found him staring at her with a heated look so intense she thought his black eyes might burn a hole right through her skull. She couldn’t place an emotion on it—as was usual with Kaster’s heated stares—but it was clear that Detrick’s theory was just as unsettling to him as it was to the others.
Reaching over Katra, Detrick smacked Marclan’s arm, causing him to jump and forcing Katra to lean further back into her seat. “Whoa, there, Marcy! You look pale as a ghost! Maybe get yourself a beer or something, eh? Before you pass out.”
It was exceedingly uncomfortable being this close to the wolf shifter, and she had to force herself to keep from shoving him away, clenching her jaw until he finally moved back to sit in his chair.
Kaster spoke again, reining in the conversation and taking the lead again. “Did you happen to hear any information as to why he’s taking all these supernaturals?”
Detrick shook his head, looking a bit chagrined. “Nah, man. I’ve got some pretty good sources for this kinda shit, you know I do, but there’s not a single person around who knows. Seems like the only people who would have that answer…are the people who were taken.”
Standing abruptly, Kaster pulled a small wad of bills from his pocket. “Thanks, Deet. Keep us posted. We’ll keep you paid.” Tossing the cash at Detrick, he turned to leave, not bothering to look back and see if Katra and the others were following. Not that it mattered, because of course they were following. They were all suddenly very anxious to be out of the place where they received possibly the worst news of their lives.
Well, maybe not the worst, but it was undoubtedly right up there near the top of the list.
Stepping out into the crisp autumn air, Katra breathed in deeply, trying to wash away the harried thoughts plaguing her mind with the strong scent of ocean. As they began moving back down the road towards Daromir’s parked car, Katra tugged on the sleeves of her leather jacket, trying to fight off the chill in the air.
“Oh, shit.”
Finley, who was closest to her, turned to gaze at her in question. “Oh, shit, what? What’s wrong?”
“My bracelet.” Katra was frantically pushing her hand up the sleeve of her jacket, before she pulled the jacket off altogether and began shaking it. Nothing. “My bracelet must have fallen off in the pub! I gotta go back for it. You guys head to the car, I’ll be right there.”
“Why? It’s just a bracelet. Forget about it. I mean, really—I never would have pegged you as the girly type.” There was no hiding the demeaning tone in Kaster’s voice as he stared back at her from the front of their group, halfway back to the car. His eyes were a mixture of mocking and confused, as though he couldn’t possibly fathom why she would bother going back for a measly little bracelet.
“It’s not a fucking girly thing, you ass, it’s a fucking important thing that is the only thing I have left from a very dear friend. So, yeah, fuck you, I’m gonna go back and grab it. It’ll take me two minutes, tops.” Waving them off, she whirled around and ran back into the pub without waiting for an answer. She half expected one of them to follow her in—probably Finley, possibly Marclan, definitely Kaster if only to drag her ass back out in an overtly manly display of who was in charge—but was pleased to find no one behind her.
She quickly moved over to the booth in the corner they had been sitting at, looking around on the seat and feeling in between the cracked leather cushions. Finding nothing, she kneeled down beside the table, peering underneath it.
“It’s not there.” The sound of Detrick’s voice was immediately followed by a sharp sting at her neck. She reached back and grabbed hold of an arm, twisting it roughly and thoroughly enjoying the squeal of pain that went with it, and realizing only then what the sharp sting at her neck was as she heard the faint sound of something light hitting the floor.
She looked down and stared blankly at the empty syringe lying on the ground.
“You fucker.” She tried to grab his arm again but found that her muscles weren’t quite listening, and what was meant to be a painful yank turned into a small tug, and she looked up in shock at Detrick’s grey eyes.
He looked sorry. The fucker actually had the gall to look sorry.
“You fucking…” Katra’s words began to slur, and the reached behind her to grab onto the table and pull herself up, but her arms weren’t listening, and they just bumped against the table edge uselessly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do this. I never wanted to do this. You have to understand—all I want is my Annie back. He said he would give her back to me if I just…when the tracking cuff went off, I knew it was you.” He stared down at her as he pulled a thin, golden cuff out of his pocket. “I don’t know what you’re using to hide yourself, but I think it’s starting to fail. I can’t smell what you are, but this thing knows. It vibrated as soon as I sat down at the table. I knew. It could only be for you.”
His words were becoming jumbled in her ears and in her mind, and she stared up at him as her body slowly began to slump to the ground. “What…what did you…do to…” She couldn’t finish a sentence. Hell, she could barely finish a thought at this point. Her eyesight was beginning to narrow, with fuzzy blackness leaking in to her peripheral vision.
“Elephant tranquilizer. It’s really the only thing that can take a supe’ down, aside from the paralyzing spell. You’ll be fine. You’re just gonna go to sleep for a few hours. Three at the most.”
If he didn’t stop looking at her with sympathy, she was gonna…she was gonna…
Her thoughts were becoming muddled and slippery, like a fish in a raging river, and she couldn’t see to grasp onto one long enough for it to have any meaning.
“Relax. You’ll be fine. And I’ll get my Annie back.”
Her vision faded to black.