Blooded

I slid my gym bag closer, unzipped it, and plucked a towel out with my left hand. My right was so swollen it didn’t even look like a hand anymore—it looked like a cartoon glove. It throbbed, but it hadn’t overcome me yet. It was about time something swung in my favor. I cleared my throat, which was still bruised and sore. “I had no other choice but to fight him.” Surprising myself with honesty. That hadn’t been the plan. “It was either we clashed here or the bullshit was going to escalate to violence on its own. So I made a decision. Things have changed. Pack has gotten less tolerant of my presence, and I was hoping if I took Mitch down a few notches, I could breathe again for a little while.” I glanced up at my father, blotting the towel carefully on my face. “I know there are ‘sanctions’ against harming me—that you will kill any wolf who touches me—but I needed this fight. It’s time for me to choose a battle to fight, or it’s time for me to leave.” The word “leave” hung in the air with unspoken meaning. “The wolves and I can’t coexist here any longer. Now that I’m of age, the wolves are too restless, too fearful of what my presence means. You know all this already; you’ve seen the signs. You’re just choosing not to see what’s right in front of you. I’ve asked you to send me away, begged you to send me anywhere, but I’m still here.”



“I see just fine,” my father growled. “I understand there’s posturing with the young ones. I understand there are dominance issues with having a female in Pack, and there’s fear, but that doesn’t mean it can come to blows and end up like this.” He gestured to the ring in frustration. “You could’ve died tonight, and I won’t allow that to happen. If the wolves are agitated, I’ll institute more changes and deliver steeper penalties for any behavior involving you. I can fix this without sending you away, where you would be in more danger without my protection.”



I sighed. Mitch had been willing to die tonight to rid the world of me. What penalties could be more severe than his own death? I tossed the bloodied towel onto the ground. “I’m not Pack.” I fished around for another towel but couldn’t find one, so I settled on a T-shirt instead. “You and Tyler are the only ones who consider me ‘in Pack,’ because we’re family. I’m not a wolf; therefore I don’t qualify for the elite membership—and, honestly, not being Canis lupus is pretty much the biggest obstacle I face. The wolves don’t want me around, haven’t wanted me since the day I was born. And now I’m old enough to fight. They will find a way to get rid of me.” My throat closed for a second without my permission, but I shook it off immediately. “I’m a threat to their existence, a mistake, a witch, a problem, the Daughter of Evil—take your pick.” I lowered my voice and threw the soiled T-shirt on the ground. I was tired. “And guess what? I don’t want to be here anymore, which is exactly why I chose to come here tonight.” I waved my swollen cartoon hand at the ring. “I’m making the fight public. Beating Mitch tonight would’ve given me an edge and was the only way to slow down what I know is coming. In the end, we both know, I’m either going to die fighting, or you’re going to have to finally let me go.”



My father’s eyes sparked violet, his face cemented in rigid lines. I’d never been shy about my feelings, but I’d never been this blunt either. My leaving home was a prickly subject, and had become a polarizing disagreement between us over the last year. The moment I’d turned eighteen, I’d started petitioning for my independence, even more so when the wolves had become more aggressive. He’d gone as far as allowing me to submit a police academy application down in the cities, but after that hadn’t allowed me to attend. I’d had elite tutors my entire life, and had passed all the tests at the highest level, but he cited too many dangers and left it at that. My father was worried about how the supernatural community would view me, how they would treat a female born to a wolf, and in the process he’d blinded himself to the dangers right here at home.



“We’ll talk about this after you get cleaned up,” he said.



“Fine.” There was slim to no chance things would change, even with this fight. I was stuck in limbo with no safe place to go.



But I knew one thing.



I’d just celebrated my nineteenth birthday, and if I wanted to see twenty, I had to find a way to get the hell out.



Chapter Two



Jessica, it won’t work.” My father rocked forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his desk. We were sitting in his office. I’d left the ring six hours earlier, the infirmary a mere twenty minutes ago. My wounds were stitched and bandaged as well as they could be, considering the damage. I wore a thick cast on my broken hand and a number of Band-Aids dotted my body. In order to set the broken bones, Doc Jace had reduced the swelling with anti-inflammatories and loaded me up with Percocet. Being high on hallucinogenic painkillers was bound to make this conversation more entertaining than it had any right to be.



But there was no avoiding it. My father wasn’t going to let me out of his sight until we hashed this out, injuries or not. It was time for me to explain myself and make another case for leaving Compound life for good. Contrary to what it seemed when I fought Mitch in the ring, I did want to continue living. Starting a new life somewhere else was the only option I had left, even though batting it around again so soon with my father was taking a toll on my sanity. “Of course it can work,” I said. “You just don’t want it to work. That’s your stubbornness talking.”



My father blew air out of the side of his mouth, his exasperation building. “There’s no stubbornness involved. This is a simple situation. I’m not letting you walk out of here without adequate protection, and I can’t supply an army of wolves to make sure you stay safe. Logistically it’s not feasible.”



An army of wolves? Maybe an army who wanted me dead. “I’ll have plenty of protection. Nick is coming with me, and our applications to the police academy were already accepted, as you well know. We deferred for a year, and it’s almost up. Now’s the perfect time for us to leave. I’ll be issued a gun after I graduate and be allowed to chase down the bad guys. Sounds like a career tailor-made for me. If you believe in fate—and I know you’re a big fan—the stars are finally in alignment. This fight with Mitch couldn’t have happened at a better time.” Even if the stars weren’t exactly lining up in my favor in real life, they were certainly aligning themselves around the room. My Percocet-filled vision was playing tricks on me, and for a moment mini fireflies appeared to be zooming along the ceiling. I tired not to follow them with my eyes.



“Having Nicolas accompany you is not enough. He doesn’t have the means to protect you from everything you could encounter off Compound.” Nick Michaels, my best—and only—friend, was a werefox. He’d been adopted into Pack by my father as a child, as a favor to Nick’s dad when he died. Nick had it almost as bad as I did on the Compound—almost. “Nicolas isn’t skilled enough to handle the job of your protection by himself.” Which tactfully implied that Nick wasn’t strong enough, meaning not as strong as a wolf, therefore inadequate to protect. Egotism abounded.



“You’re right,” I agreed. My father’s eyebrows arched. “Nick won’t be able to protect me from everything in the entire world, but the last time I checked”—I turned my wrist to glance at my nonexistent watch like a smart-ass on drugs—“I was a fully functional human being who could protect herself just fine. I have these.” I raised my fists, one moveable and one fully casted. “I can hit anything dead center with my throwing knives, and I’ll have a handy new gun. That sounds locked, loaded, and ready to go to me.”



“Jessica.” My name came out in a staccato, my father’s sky blue eyes flashing a violet warning. Most wolves’ eyes spark gold with emotion, but my father’s eyes were a striking amethyst, unusual and completely arresting. “You’re delusional if you think I’d risk your life by sending you away with no plans in place and no adequate protection to speak of. It’s not going to happen. You’re too fragile to deal with the supernatural community. You don’t have any abilities or defenses. I’m not going to risk it, and there’s not a damn thing you can say to make that change.”



I leaned forward, narrowing my goofy firefly vision back into sharp focus with concentrated effort. “You’re the one who’s delusional if you think my life’s not at risk right here.” I tapped my index finger against his desk to accentuate my point. My father sat back on his chair and crossed his arms. “The way things have escalated in the past six months, I could be killed the moment I walk out of this office and there’s nothing you could do about it. Just like you said, I have no natural defenses to fight off the supe community—including werewolves. I have these.” I held up my hands again and wiggled my fingers. “And my brain.” The drugs had liberated my tongue. But, honestly, I wanted to settle this now. These were the facts. “I understand your distress about supernaturals, but they’ve never even seen me. And I’m not jumping continents; we’re only talking about a move two hours south. There are literally ten thousand ways we can figure this out if we put our heads together. I know we can find a compromise.”



Before my father could reach across the desk and choke the insolence out of me, James strode into the room. He took the chair on my father’s right, facing me. The tension in the room lessened a little, like a puncture in a tire, which was a relief.



I glanced at him, assessing his intent. His face was drawn and serious, his eyes focused on me. I slumped back in my chair. James was my father’s most trusted companion. He’d been so for too many years to count. When James appeared, it usually meant it was time to close down the argument. James would back my father and expound—which meant he’d say a few choice words—and then I’d be excused like an errant child. Case closed.

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