This Savage Song (Monsters of Verity #1)(63)

The woman nodded absently and bagged the supplies. “Overprotective?”

“Something like that.” August paid, and pulled up his collar as he headed back out into the rain. He looked up, expecting to see Kate waiting beside the subway entrance where he’d left her.

But she wasn’t there.

“No, no, no,” murmured August as he jogged across the street, holding his breath until he reached the exact place she’d been, as if that would somehow make her reappear. The puddle at his feet was stained red. Rain soaked into his hair and dripped from his case as he spun in a circle, resisting the urge to call out her name. Umbrellas swirled around him as people came and went.

And then, at last, he saw her, standing beneath an awning down the block. Relief washed over him. The force of it caught him off guard.

“I thought you’d left,” he said, jogging over.

Kate gave him a long look and said, “I thought about it,” before her eyes went to the bag of supplies in his hand. “But this sounds like so much fun.”





They walked three blocks to a motel—the kind you paid for by the hour—and used the majority of Kate’s cash to pay for a room. The place claimed it wasn’t linked to Harker’s feeds—only a closed loop, for security purposes—and the man at the front desk gave her a seedy smile as he handed her two keys.

“This place is dirtier than the subway,” said Kate, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed while August laid out the medical supplies. She thought of yesterday morning before school, the way she’d laid out the zip ties and duct tape and iron spikes. How had it only been a day? “Do you really know what you’re doing?” she asked when he tore open the suture kit. And then when he started to answer, she held up her hand. “Flynn. Surgeon. Got it.”

He tossed her a bottle of painkillers and she swallowed three dry, then peeled off the jacket and shirt. August didn’t even try to sneak a glance as he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. She should have known he wasn’t human.

The tooth marks on her shoulder weren’t deep, but the gashes across her stomach were angry and red. Kate lay back, wincing as August cleaned the cuts and sprayed the area with a numbing agent. She drew a steadying breath as he took up the needle.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“Wait.” She dug the pack of cigarettes out of her bag. The package was a little soggy, but they still lit.

August shook his head. “Of all the ways to die—”

“I’ll be lucky if I live long enough for these to be a problem.” She put the cigarette between her lips and took a drag. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The whole thing hurt like hell, but Kate had to hand it to August: He was careful. Gentle. As gentle as someone could be when they were stabbing you with a needle and thread. But he obviously wasn’t trying to hurt her—if anything, he seemed put off by the whole thing. Great. A squeamish monster. Go figure.

But halfway through, Kate felt her resolve failing. The room was too quiet and the pain too sharp, and before she knew it, she was talking. She didn’t know why, but the words just started coming, and she didn’t stop them.

“I grew up with stories of my father,” she said, trying to keep still. “That’s all he was really, for years, a good story. But I wanted him to be real. Mom made him sound so strong, invincible, and I could barely remember him myself—I was so young when we left the city—so over time, all I wanted was to see him again. To be a family again.” She winced, continued. “And then we finally came back to V-City, and it was all wrong. None of it was like the stories. Dad was never around, and when he was, it was like he was a stranger. Like we were strangers in his house. Mom couldn’t take it.”

“The night she died,” continued Kate, “she dragged me out of bed. Her mouth was too red, and she’d been crying.”

Get up, Kate. We have to go.

Where are we going?

Home.

“She kept looking back. But no one stopped us. Not when we snuck through the penthouse. Not when she took the car. Not when the city blurred past.”

He’s going to be mad, Mom.

Don’t worry, Kate. It’s going to be okay. Sit back. Close your eyes. Tell me where you are.

It was her favorite game, a way to turn where you were into where you wanted to be.

Go on, Kate. Close your eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but before she could come up with a place, she heard the skritch of claws on metal, saw the sudden flash of headlights. The horrible shift of gravity before the crash. The deafening screech of metal and tires and breaking glass and then . . . silence. Her mother’s face, cheek against the wheel, and in the glass behind her mother’s head, the fractured light of two red eyes.

Kate gasped, and tried to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” said August, a hand against her good shoulder. “It’s over. I’m done.”

No, no, what had . . . Kate scrambled for the memory, but it was already falling apart. It was like waking up too fast, the dream crumbling before you could grab the threads. She’d seen something, something . . . but she couldn’t catch it. The pieces were broken again. Her bad ear was ringing.

“What was I saying?” she asked, trying to shake off the strange panic.