Out of Tune Page 4

  “She saw something,” I murmured as Slate cursed.

  “And didn't see a need to share it with the rest of us.”

  “She's Inlonka.” I shrugged. “She shared it with her people and ran. That's what they do. The question is; what was so horrible that she felt it warranted a full-scale evacuation?”

  Slate glanced at me, silver eyes darkening as if taking on a patina. “Jago!”

  “Boss!”

  “Shut the gates. No one in and no one out.”

  Silence.

  I gaped at Slate.

  “Jago!” Slate shouted. “Do it now! And raise the wards; no one slips through!”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Sir, not Boss. Jago didn't approve.

  “Slate, you can't trap people here. Especially not if there's something bad coming,” I said gently. “Why would you want to?”

  “Because I don't want to lose my zone, Elaria!” Slate growled at me. “If it gets out that the Inlonka have fled, more Beneathers will leave. Once a zone is abandoned, it's dead. There will be no reviving it. And we just got back on our feet.”

  “These people helped you with that.” I waved a hand out the window. “All of the zone residents helped you rebuild. They trust you but that trust will disappear if you hold them hostage.”

  “My decision is final.” He stared straight ahead.

  “And what do you think they'll do when you finally open the gates? Don't you think they'll leave as soon as they're able?”

  “No, because I'm going to tell them this is a matter of law,” Slate said grimly. “There have been two attacks on the Felinae, and I cannot allow the perpetrators to escape justice. The residents will understand and support me.”

  “Slate, this isn't the way to keep your zone.” I stared at him in horror.

  “That's rich, coming from you,” he snarled.

  “Excuse me?” I gaped at him.

  “You murdered the entire Demos family to protect what belongs to you.” He glanced at me and a shiver went down my spine. “Don't lecture me on how to protect what's mine.”

  I went still.

  Slate's shoulders drooped and he hung his head briefly. “Forgive me; I'm scared, sweetheart. I didn't mean to say that.”

  “It's okay.” I laid a hand on his thigh; his muscles were strung tight enough to snap. “We'll figure this out.”

  He nodded but didn't look at me.

  “Slate, it will be okay; I promise you.”

  “I can't lose my zone, El,” Slate said brokenly. “It's all I have. It took me centuries to get it to where it is.”

  “It's not all you have,” I said firmly. “And you won't lose it. Maybe you're right about the lockdown. If a person is doing this—a living person—then we can't let them leave or we'll never know what happened here.”

  Slate let out a long breath and squared his shoulders. “I won't let anyone hurt what's mine. I'm going to find whoever is behind this and kill them. Slowly.”

  He parked before the palace, got out, and stood there, staring back at the zone. I climbed out and went to stand beside him.

  “Come on, baby.” I took Slate's hand and pulled him toward the palace. “I think we could both use a pick-me-up.”

  Slate frowned at me in confusion as I led him inside then locked the doors behind us. I didn't want any interruptions. As I climbed the stairs ahead of him, he began to lose his scowl and even drew abreast of me. Then, just before we reached the landing, he scooped me up and carried me the rest of the way.

  “I see that you've figured out my plans,” I teased.

  “If you had shaken your ass any harder while you were climbing those stairs, it would have slapped me in the face,” he shot back.

  “Which you would have loved.”

  A grin was his answer.

  Slate set me down beside the bed, and I kicked off my heels as he rapidly undressed. He was naked before I got to my panties. I reached for them but my Gargoyle snarled and spun me around to face the bed. I inhaled sharply as he shoved me forward; my forearms landing hard on the mattress and my ass going up. I felt Slate yank my panties away then his legs wedged between mine and his hands drew me apart more intimately. I cried out as he shoved into me without preamble. Luckily, I was ready for him and the movement was eased by my desire.

  Slate groaned. “Eager, sweetheart?”

  I pushed back onto him instead of answering.

  “So fucking wet...” He groaned again. “You were right; I needed this.”

  Slate's hands went to my breasts and squeezed roughly as his hips pounded violently against my ass.

  “So fucking hot.” His hands moved from my breasts to my hair. He wrapped the mass of it around one fist and used it to yank my head up. His free hand reached around and started rubbing me. “I love watching your ass move, but I want to see your face, sweetheart.”

  Slate pulled out, leaving me bereft, and climbed onto the mattress beside me. He leaned back against the spray of crystals and held a hand out to me. I crawled over to him and straddled his lap, sinking onto his shaft to start a slow grind. Slate made a low rumble in his throat as he watched me. His hands stroked the sides of my face then slid down to my breasts reverently. Slate rubbed circles over my nipples with his thumbs before he drew me forward and sucked one into his mouth. I cried out, my head arching back, and undulated wildly against him.

  “That's it,” he murmured against my skin. “Take your pleasure, Spellsinger. Sing for me.”

  Slate went back to sucking me—hard—and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and clutched him closer. Riding him faster and faster, grinding against him, I brought myself to release rapidly. My screams echoed in the spacious room, and when they faded, I looked down to find Slate watching me avidly. His eyes held wonder and dark lust as if he'd never seen me climax before.

  “That was beautiful,” he whispered.

  “But over too quickly.” I grinned and clenched my sex around him.

  A rumbled grated past his lips.

  “Don't worry, baby,”—I slipped off him and angled myself between his legs—“I've got you.”

  I slipped my mouth over him; my lips conforming to his flesh as I drew his shaft in as deep as I could take him. Slate's hands went to the sides of my face.

  “Elaria,” he said softly as he stared down at me, “I... oh, sweetheart.”

  I moved over him faster, adding my hand to my efforts, and soon his thighs were clenching around me.

  “Oh, that's the magic,” Slate growled, his hands tightening on my face. “Suck that cock, Spellsinger. Just like that. Don't stop.”

  He shouted incoherently and pushed me down, holding me there as he emptied himself. I went with it; sometimes Slate likes it a little rough and, if I'm honest, so do I. After he was spent, he released me, and I licked my way off him then gave him a wicked grin.

  “Feeling better?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Slate murmured. “Like myself again.”

  Chapter Seven

  By nightfall, there had been three more catfights. Every Felinae race was represented in the jail cells; from the Simba to the Rys (Werelynx). All but the Inlonka, of course. Once behind bars, the shifters inevitably woke from their daze and became their normal selves again but there was no way to know if they'd become infected—or whatever was happening to them—once more. The Felinae neighborhoods were no longer under surveillance, they were under quarantine. The official statement was that the Felinae were targets of a possible chemical attack and had been segregated for their protection. In addition to that, the entire Zone would be on lockdown until the perpetrator was found and dealt with.

  Beneathers weren't panicking yet—everything else was business as usual in the Zone—but rumors of the absent Inlonka had begun circulating and Gargoyles were patrolling the streets in greater numbers than ever before. It felt like an occupied state.

  I stood at the window behind Slate's desk as he met with his brothers, Jago, and a few other high-ranking G
argoyles. As they tossed theories around, I wracked my brain for a way to help them, but I couldn't come up with a single song that I could use to discover who or what was doing this. I didn't think your average hunting song would cut it this time. Mainly because I didn't know what I was hunting.

  If it was a person, sure, it could work but what if it wasn't? What if it was what Slate and I feared; a Gargo haunting? What song could find a spirit? But I didn't know if it was a spirit either. I needed something encompassing. General. Perhaps a song about revealing secrets? No. I needed to focus on what we wanted to know; who was behind this. Okay, now I had to simplify that desire into lyrics. We needed to find a criminal. The perpetrator, whoever or whatever that was.

  Smooth Criminal? Kyanite offered.

  I considered it. The song was about murder and the repetitive question in it, about the wellbeing of the victim, wouldn't help me. Annie was not okay.

  No, I dismissed it. This isn't a murderer, not yet. It's someone who instigates violence. A manipulator. A warmonger. They might even consider themselves a vigilante. One person's terrorist is another's freedom fighter. It's all in perspective. I just needed to find the right way to look at this.

  Perhaps a song to put you in the shoes of the attacker? Kyanite suggested.

  Yes! That's it, Ky! Either way, this is malicious. Someone wants to hurt people, and I need to find out who they are. The best way to do that is to think like them!

  I have the perfect song, my love, Kyanite declared.

  The hesitant piano of Summer Kennedy's “Bad Things” started so gently that no one noticed it at first. I let my magic rise with the music, ignoring the men behind me as I focused on the Zone. I sang softly at first, mournfully, and my words revolved around vengeance. The men went quiet, their attention shifting to me just as the music leapt into a dramatic drumming. I opened the window and leaned over the ledge, letting my song drift across the city beneath the earth.

  The Zone Lord stepped up beside me and stared at his domain with me, but I couldn't look at him, not even a glance. I was caught up in the music and magic; in the feeling of bitter fury and the burning need for justice. Hadn't the Kaplan said something about anger? Perhaps they had felt their assailant's emotions. I needed to feel them too; to sink into the perspective of the criminal.

  My magic heard my desire. It took me there; sent me down into a darkness so consuming that it was acidic. Burning in a way even I, with my fire magic, couldn't enjoy. I knew I was experiencing exactly what the shifters in Slate's cells had. They had all reported similar experiences; feeling wronged and then focusing that anger on a target. The need to do something bad rose inside me. Something terrible that would make up for... for what?

  I pushed out further with my voice and magic; into the neighborhoods, over the quarantined cats, and beyond them. No answer presented itself. I needed more. Where was this rage coming from? Was Gargo's soul taking shelter in the Felinae; leaping from one to another to cause as much damage as he could? But that felt wrong to me. Off. Nearly there but not quite. How would he possess several people at once? I pushed my frustration into the lyrics; straining to discover why. Why?!

  There was nothing but that ache. A pulsing need for vengeance. An urge to rise and reclaim. To stamp out my enemies and conquer. Take what was mine. It had to be Gargo. I could easily imagine him feeling those very things. But if Gargo's spirit was loose in the Zone, my magic couldn't find it. It just kept pulling me deeper, spreading me wider. It felt as if... could it be? But how?

  I let the song fade away and turned slowly to face Slate.

  “What is it?” He asked urgently. “What did you see? Who is doing this?”

  “The Zone,” I whispered and shook my head. “I can't explain it. I don't know; maybe I'm wrong. Maybe—”

  “What do you mean; the Zone?” Slate growled and grabbed my upper arms.

  “Slate!” Aaro snapped.

  “Shut up,” Slate snarled at his brother without looking away from me. “Tell me, Elaria!”

  “I must have misinterpreted it.” I stepped back, dislodging Slate easily; he hadn't been trying to hurt me, only compel me to answer. “The song spread over the Zone, it couldn't focus on any particular person or group. Either they've already fled or they've gone...” I gaped at him and blinked.

  “What?” Slate demanded again.

  “Is there anything below the Zone?” I asked.

  “Below it?” Slate scowled. “You mean besides Gargo's old prison?”

  “There's the river that leads to the Pacific,” I murmured thoughtfully. “And you found the lake with all those crystals. Why not something else?”

  “What else?” Jago asked. “You saying that the Beneathers behind this have gone even more beneath?”

  “It would explain why my magic kept wanting to take me deeper, below the Zone,” I said. “Slate, I think we need to search for tunnels.”

  “Tunnels?” Slate shot a look at Aaro.

  “We didn't make any,” Aaro said firmly. “If there are tunnels below the Zone, they were either dug by other Beneathers, without our consent, or they're natural formations.”

  “Whoever this is and wherever they are, they're enraged,” I said. “They want everyone here, not just the Felinae, to suffer.”

  “Why?” Slate asked. “Did you see that? Get any hint of a reason?”

  I shook my head. “No, but this kind of rage is personal. It feels like Gargo, Slate. I'd assume it was him if the magic hadn't practically said otherwise.”

  “The magic told you that it's not Gargo?” Binx asked. “I didn't think you could have a conversation while singing.”

  “Some people, and by that I mean those of us with working brains, can do what's called multitasking,” Jago explained as if he were talking to a child.

  “I will kill you,” Binx said simply. “My brother won't be able to save you.”

  Jago rolled his eyes, completely unaffected.

  “The conversation wasn't with words,” I said to Binx before he made good on his threat. “When I brought Gargo to mind, the magic just spread wider and sank deeper. It felt like an answer and that answer was...”

  “Well? What was it, Diva?” Jago asked. “Shit, stop pausing for effect, it's fucking annoying.”

  Binx snorted a laugh and held his fist out to Jago to get bumped. Yep, that's how it works with Gargoyles; they rag on each other and then stand by each other. I suppose they're not much different than any other family.

  “The answer wasn't a yes,” I said with some confusion. And I was confused; thus all the pauses. This had been the strangest song I'd ever sung; giving me what I wanted while also giving me nothing. “It wasn't exactly a no either.”

  “What does that leave?” Slate huffed. “Maybe? Maybe is right where we started, El.”

  “I know.” I shook my head. “The best way I can describe it is to say that it was almost Gargo but not him.”

  “Almost Gargo but not,” Slate growled. “Great. You know what that sounds like, right?”

  “I don't think it's his spirit,” I protested. “That would be him.”

  “So, what's almost Gargo but not?” Aaro posed the question.

  “His body?” Jago suggested. “It did have a life of its own. But it can't be that; you guys burned that thing to ash.”

  “And we didn't even burn it here,” I added. “We took it up to the surface.”

  “So, what is it?” Slate asked, turning to look out the window again. “What the fuck is attacking my zone? Again.”

  “Or making your zone attack its residents,” I amended. “As I said, the Zone is doing this; it's being used as a weapon.”

  “How can the Zone be making the Cats crazy?” Binx grumbled.

  “Do we have any facts?” Aaro asked, ignoring his brother.

  “Facts.” Slate turned back to the others. “It's a fact that Felinae are more sensitive to things than other Beneathers.”

  “Things including spirits; something I didn't b
elieve in before the whole Gargo episode,” Aaro added.

  “Fact two: Felinae are the only victims; only they have been targeted by this strange rage and targeted by those infected with the rage... so far,” Slate went on.

  “Fact three; Elaria's magic didn't give us any facts.” Binx smirked.