These things never went as planned.
Marcus, Astrid, and Kyle were waiting in the car when I arrived in the parking area—along with almost every Therian in the Watchtower. They stood in a line, at attention, in a silent salute to their brethren. I didn't understand a lot about Therian duels and codes of honor, but this seemed like an even bigger deal than I'd thought. Wyatt stood to the side with Kismet, Rufus, and Alejandro.
I didn't have time to do more than wink at Wyatt. He mouthed the words "Be careful." I gave a thumbs-up before climbing into the backseat with Kyle. I was anxious, but not scared. For once, this wasn't my fight. I was going along purely as backup, not as the primary contestant.
The change was pretty novel.
The drive to the Black River Ferry port took all the time we had. Marcus's explanation of Kyle's presence took about five minutes, and I was totally on board with the plan. Good plan that, again, went beyond my knowledge of Therian politics and cemented the reasons why I was a soldier, not a general.
The hulking glass building of the Terminal Station came into view at exactly six-thirty. A weed-strewn, cracked parking lot spread out around the Station and dock, which was surrounded by a chain-link fence. Ostensibly, the fence was meant to prevent vandalism and trespassing, which was kind of hilarious, considering. Even after Thackery sunk one of the ferries last month, police rarely patrolled the area. The security entrance remained broken.
We rolled through the gate at the same moment that a blue SUV with tinted windows turned into the parking lot. It followed us inside. Marcus drove around behind the Terminal Station to hide our vehicles from street view. The SUV stopped a dozen yards from us, at almost the other end of the Terminal Station.
The downside to this particular location smacked me in the nose the moment I opened my door. The stink of tepid water, oil, and burned things combined in a nostril-tingling odor that turned my stomach. The smell would also make it impossible for Therian noses to tell if Tybalt, or anyone else, was lurking nearby.
We assembled at the rear of our car, while Vale and his entourage moved to the front of his SUV. I hadn't looked Vale in the eye since the moment he tried to turn Wyatt on me in that jail cell, and I curbed the impulse to stride across the asphalt and plant my fist in his eye. Vale stood tall, straight backed, a nervous man pretending he was bold. I couldn't guess as to his backup until our two groups began walking toward one another, and their eye colors flashed in the brightening morning light.
The blonde woman to Vale's left had copper eyes—female Felia, probably the same one who'd tortured the pups. Starr Tuck, if we were lucky. An older, silver-haired man also had the copper eyes of a Felia. The third man, barely a teenager, had the bright green eyes and multiple-shades-of-brown hair of the Ursia Clan.
What the hell?
Not that I had room to judge, since Marcus's backup was a Felia, a Cania, and a human.
We all stopped with a safe distance of five feet between us, give or take. Marcus stood in front of us, Vale on point with his own group. A low, feline growl came out of them both, and something rippled in the air between them, as though their hatred had become a tangible thing.
"Where are the items you stole?" Marcus asked. His voice was deeper than its usual baritone, dripping with violence.
Vale snapped his fingers. The Ursia boy scampered back to the SUV and retrieved something from the rear compartment. He left that door up, open, then rushed back to us with the leather pouch and cylinder in his hands. The boy took a moment to show us that both the scroll and the powder were intact.
Kyle returned to our car and grabbed the briefcase of money that Eulan had provided. After showing Vale the cash, we made the exchange. A tiny part of my heart lightened, knowing we had the vampire cure back in our hands.
"And the Lupa?" Marcus asked.
Vale's eyebrows twitched, as if to say Marcus was pressing his luck. "Ben, show the human."
A bear named Ben. Sure, why not?
I followed Ben to the SUV, aware of each of my weapons and their distance from my hands. Aware of Ben's proximity. He led me to the rear compartment, where a thick green blanket covered a large lump. He stepped aside, seeming as eager to keep me at a distance as I was to return the favor. I yanked back the blanket.
John was wearing what looked like an entire roll of duct tape—around his arms, legs, ankles, wrists, even his mouth. He'd been trussed up like a hog in the most uncomfortable backwards position possible. Both his eyes were blackened, and a few other bruises peeked out from beneath his layers of tape. Layers over naked skin. Fuck, that was going to hurt coming off.
He was unconscious, and the only thing that kept me from flying into a rage was the lack of a silver collar. Eight hours in one of those things when already beaten up might have killed him.
"Stone?" Marcus hollered.
I stepped around the SUV and headed back for the group. "He's alive."
Ben slammed the rear door shut, then shadowed me to Vale. So far, Vale was being way too cooperative. He had a Tybalt-shaped ace up his sleeve somewhere so why hadn't he played it yet?
I was still a good ten feet away when Vale stepped forward, his hand extended. I thought he was offering to shake Marcus's hand because Marcus likewise reached out. Only Marcus withdrew quickly, holding something bright and metallic. He glared at the item, then passed it to Astrid without ever breaking Vale's gaze. Vale was speaking, but he shut up before I reached Kyle's side.
All three of my friends were livid, anger blazing in their eyes. Astrid handed the metal item to me, and I nearly dropped it—the prosthetic knife attachment Tybalt had been wearing when he left last night.
"Son of bitch," I said.
Marcus angled toward me, careful to never give Vale his back. "My life or Tybalt's. If I kill Vale, then Tybalt dies."
Vale had played his ace, the fucker. But we still had one move he wasn't expecting and—
The gentle rumble of an approaching car engine put Vale's group on high alert. We were expecting the black sedan that circled around Vale's SUV and parked between our two vehicles.
Elder Macario Rojay of Cania stepped out of the front passenger seat. He was a young Elder, with wild brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, and a ruddy complexion. He wore a snappy suit and carried a tablet in his hands. He was one of the few Elders actively involved in Watchtower activities and he had pledged the support of the Cania Clan to our cause. Kyle's Clan.
"Elder Rojay," Vale said. He looked stuck between wanting to cower and wanting to stomp his feet in a tantrum. "What are you doing here?"
Stupid question, really, since Vale was a fugitive wanted by the Assembly of Clan Elders. But he was pretty baffled by the Elder's planned appearance.
"This is a duel of honor," Kyle said, speaking up for the first time. "Duels are often fought in the presence of the Clan Elder in order to ensure all promises are kept. As the Felia Elder is unable to perform his duties, my Elder graciously agreed to oversee the fight."
Vale sputtered, clearly knocked on his ass by our little trick. He'd couldn't object because Marcus was completely within his rights to retain an Elder as a kind of referee. Vale's blonde touched his shoulder and whispered something that seemed to calm his indignation a little bit.
"Shall we observe the fighting grounds?" Elder Rojay asked.
He led the way. The doors to the Terminal Station weren't locked—someone had broken that long ago. We walked into a cavernous room three stories tall, mostly glass walls with a high tin roof. A line of boarded up ticket windows was on the left, and a dusty, linoleum floor spread out in front of us. Broken benches had been shoved to the side, piled up against walls in a feeble attempt to store them for some purpose or another. The air was stale, despite a few broken panes of glass. The rising sun shone through on the east-facing side, creating partial glare and partial darkness.