Mine to Possess

Jonquil could hear the sounds of their shoes in the corridor. His hearing had always been good. Better than good. It had saved his life more than once, helped him avoid getting the crap kicked out of him even more times. But today, he knew danger approached and he had nowhere to run.

You have every right to be proud. Stand up straight.

Talin’s voice was a whip in his head. She’d said that to him the day he’d been nominated for some dumb city medal. All he’d done was pull a scared little kid out of a building going up in flames. The small burns he’d sustained hadn’t even hurt much. But they had wanted to give him an award. He’d been planning to sneak out of the whole deal-like his posse would care that he had a medal-but then Talin had come along, bullied him into a stupid-ass suit, and brushed his hair.

That was when she had told him to stop slouching and be proud. Damn if he hadn’t walked onto that stage and taken that worthless bit of tin from the frickin’ mayor. Stupid. Except that he’d never thrown the medal away, hiding it in his stash of important stuff. He hoped his stash was still where he’d left it when he got out of this hellhole. And he would get out-he had to apologize to Talin.

The footsteps were getting closer. Closer. They stopped in front of his door.

Fear coated the back of his throat, but he pushed himself upright, back straight, head held high. They could hurt him, but he wouldn’t let them break him.

The door slid open to reveal two figures. For a second, before his eyes adjusted to the light, he thought they were painted white. Then he separated out the elements that made up the whole. Their hands were gloved, their faces covered with white surgical masks, and they wore white scrubs like he’d seen at a clinic once.

The only points of color came from their skin, eyes, and hair. The tall one on the left had dark skin, sort of like the color of really thick toffee, the kind that made your teeth stick together. It was all sort of glowing and rich and would have been pretty if he hadn’t known that she was there to hurt him. Her eyes were a freaky, pale bluish gray-like a wolf’s, he thought-her hair so dark brown it was almost black. He decided to name her Blue.

The one on the right had deep blonde hair, hazel eyes, and the kind of golden skin he’d seen on some rich tanned babes, but never on a woman who looked like she sprayed her hands with antiseptic after shaking, she was that clean.

“This way.” It was the Blonde who spoke, but as Jon walked out without argument-no use in fighting before he knew the lay of the land-he was certain it was Blue who was in charge. That woman had hips, serious shoulda-been-hot curves, but there was something off about the way she walked, the way she watched him.

In fact, there was something weird about both of them. Before they’d started walking, he’d looked straight into their faces and could have sworn that there was nothing looking back at him. Those eyes. Dead eyes. That’s what they were. They reminded him of the eyes he’d seen on some of the street girls, the ones that weren’t quite there anymore.

But that made no sense. These women were dressed like scientists, not street pros.

Then they turned a corner and he heard the screams. “Jesus,” he whispered. “That’s a little girl.”

No answer.

“What kind of monsters are you?” He’d meant to play this cool but fuck it, there was some stuff you didn’t do, not if you were human.

Blue glanced at him over her shoulder and he realized she wasn’t human, not by a long shot. “We’re the kind of monsters responsible for your nightmares.” Then she opened a door. “Come inside.”

CHAPTER 19

Clay nodded to the shopkeeper and jogged back to where Nate stood waiting by a lamppost. “Tally did a good job. That guy confirms he saw Jon. He remembers the kid.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Nate looked down at the holo-slide Talin had salvaged from her apartment. It bore a jagged crack down one side but was otherwise undamaged. “He’s even prettier than Dorian.”

It was true. The boy was male without question, but he was also good-looking enough to be on a catwalk. “Boy like that on the street-” Gut tight, he shoved a hand through his hair. “We could be looking in the wrong direction.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too, so I checked up on the gang tat.” Nate tapped at the spiderweb pattern on the boy’s neck, half-hidden by long white-blond hair. “The Crawlers aren’t some toy gang. If the kid survived in there, he’s got brains and balls. I can see him taking up a career as a bank robber but not as a pro selling his body.”