Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)(19)

Coldblood?

“Anyway, what’s done is done,” the older voice continued. “There’s not a lot we could have done to prevent it, and I would rather focus on deciding what to do next.”

“What if, come morning, they still refuse to take the Elysium?” another voice asked. It sounded like Navan’s brother. “It’s not like we can bring them back to Vysanthe.”

Vysanthe?

“They will take it,” said the deep voice I now clearly recognized as Navan’s. Chills shot down my spine as I recalled the demonic vision of him.

“They’re going to have to take it within twelve hours of their arrival here,” the older voice pressed, “or even the Elysium won’t be an option, and we will have no choice but to knock them off.”

“That is not an option,” Navan replied pointedly, and in spite of all the other questions crowding my brain, I wondered why he appeared to be so against “knocking us off.” Maybe he was afraid of the police after all? I couldn’t imagine why he would be, when they could all just apparently fly away.

My curiosity burned, wishing I could better gauge his expression, and that of everyone else in the room. I lifted my head, searching the floor for cracks. I spotted one that I figured might just be large enough to peer through, a few feet away, and cautiously made my way over to it. The floor was thin enough that I could see through the hole and still hear what they were saying at the same time.

The room was small, about the same size as the one we had been locked in, and lit by three gas lamps. It was bare, except for three long sofas positioned around the edges, and some sort of coffee table in the center, which held a round steel bowl filled with a large pile of the same silver vials Navan had showed us earlier.

Navan, in his humanoid form and still wearing his ripped shirt, was prowling around the room, while three other men were reclining on the sofas. The three men consisted of Navan’s brother, the fair-featured man with long blond hair who I guessed might be Ianthan, and another man with similar fair features, but clearly older… though not nearly as old as his voice sounded, which was odd. He looked perhaps in his late 30s or early 40s. I wondered if he and Ianthan were related.

Silence engulfed them as Navan continued to prowl, and I tried very hard to breathe only as much as necessary. My eyes bulged slightly as Navan’s brother leaned forward and plucked one of the vials from the bowl, opened the lid, and downed it. Ianthan did the same, which made me realize that those silver tubes were probably just general containers they used for various liquids—in this case, some kind of beverage. Surely, they wouldn’t be taking Elysium.

The older blond-haired man, after reaching for his own silver container and drinking from it, interrupted the quiet. “Killing them might have to be an option, unless you force the Elysium down their throats,” he stated. “We simply can’t afford to have leaky holes. Those girls will not keep quiet, despite what they may promise you now—especially not after your display, Navan.”

Navan stopped walking, and I could make out the deep scowl settling over his face as he looked at the older man. “Jethro, this conversation is going around in circles. Just leave this mess to me—I’ll deal with it, one way or another. In the meantime, I suggest you all get some sleep.”

With that, he headed for the door and left the room, closing it sharply behind him.

Panic suddenly washed over me, as I feared Navan might be heading upstairs and would find me, but his footsteps did not reach the staircase—rather, they seemed to be heading deeper through the house, in the opposite direction. Hopefully, he was retreating to another room downstairs to rest.

I refocused on the room beneath me. The two younger men exchanged glances, and then sighed, before settling themselves down on one sofa each. The older man, Jethro, on the other hand, looked a little twitchy, like he wasn’t quite done with the conversation. But after a few moments, he too sighed, before dimming the lights.

I waited for the sounds of him settling into his own sofa, and then dared to crawl out of my room and back into the hallway. When I reached the staircase, I waited, listening. My heart twisted as I thought of my friends, still waiting helplessly in that stuffy room, but I didn’t want to risk going back there now to check in with them—it would only waste time and, after the conversation I had just witnessed, time was something we didn’t have a lot of.

Once I’d gathered enough courage, I dared to broach the stairs, moving down them painfully slowly. My mind fixated on what Jethro had said about their “senses” being impaired by this level of heat, and I just hoped that would work to my advantage every time I hit a creaky floorboard.

When I reached the bottom, my blood was pounding in my ears. I looked right toward the closed front door, and then left. My heart leaped into my throat as I saw moonlight trickling in from that end. The back door… it was open.

Balling my fists to keep my hands from trembling with anticipation, I moved at a snail’s pace toward the door, my eyes fixed on the moonlight. As I neared, I felt the cool breeze slinking through the gap. I followed it, stepping out into the fresh night air. It felt incredible on my skin, after the intense heat of the house.

Feeling my racing heartrate slow a little, I looked around. A dense line of leafy trees surrounded a backyard, leading into the same woods that connected with the creek and the edge of the Churnleys’ property. Tucked away in the shadows, the moonlight caught the edge of something… peculiar. I squinted, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me.