Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)(73)

I could hear sounds, but I couldn’t see anything. A shiver of fear coursed down my spine. The noise was terrible, like a pack of hyenas in a feeding frenzy. On top of that was agonized screaming, distinctly human. First, yelling for help, then just yelling. But where? I looked all around, and above me, I could tell Navan was doing the same.

He lifted the gun and took a shot; the dart arced through the air and then stopped. There was a thud and the air shimmered and a shifter suddenly appeared, lying on the ground, the dart stuck in its flank. The screaming continued, though, and Navan shot another dart. Another shifter appeared on the ground, blood dripping from its mouth. The dart had lodged itself into its eye.

Navan let the dart gun drop and pulled out one of the pistols. He took careful aim and then fired off a shot; another shifter seemed to appear out of thin air and slump to the ground. Navan fired once more, and my breath caught in my throat. A man appeared, underneath the shifter Navan had just shot. The shifter was dead, and the man was, too, his throat torn out, his torso ripped open with entrails trailing.

Navan landed, his wings spread, trying to block my view. “You don’t want to see this,” he said. He went over to where the first shifter he shot lay. He pulled the dart out. “It’s still alive,” he said, looking down at it. “Judging by its shallow breathing, though, it’s not going to be waking up any time soon. I might have been a little too liberal with the dakhye.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s either going to die or stay asleep for longer than I had planned.” He squinted, scrutinizing the thing’s face. “I don’t think it’s dying. Yet. Come on—let’s get it back to the ship.”

Navan picked the shapeshifter up like it was nothing more than a pile of wood and slung it over his shoulder. He tied its hands and feet together and then handed me one of the pistols.

“I’m going to bury the bodies,” he said. “It won’t take me long. And I’m about one hundred percent certain this thing will be in dreamland for quite some time, but just in case, keep your eye on it and hold onto this pistol until I get back, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. I took the pistol and sat down, wondering how long it would be until the thing woke up.

The shifter showed no signs of stirring. I stared at it. If you had told me two weeks ago that I’d be sitting here, in a lycan ship in Siberia, watching over a drugged shapeshifter . . . no way in a million years would I have ever believed it. There was still a part of me now that was having a hard time believing it.

The shifter hadn’t moved a muscle by the time Navan returned, so he said that we should head down into the village.

“You’re probably starving. It’s been a while since you had anything to eat.”

“I . . . I don’t have much of an appetite,” I said, an image of the dead man flashing in my mind.

“I know it’s not easy to see,” Navan said gently. “And I’m obviously not going to force you to eat. But you do need to keep up your strength, so we should at least go down to the village.”

I looked at the shifter. “Can we really leave it here?”

“Yeah. We’ll close up the ship and even if it wakes up, it’s not going anywhere. It can’t change shape. But I really don’t feel like sitting in the ship staring at it all night, so I think heading down to the village would be a good idea.”

“Okay,” I said. “If you think we should.”

There was a surprising amount of activity down in the village, which I hadn’t been expecting. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits; several people smiled and waved hello, and a woman selling noodles from a food cart asked us if we were just visiting or had decided to make our home here.

“Just visiting,” Navan replied with a smile. “Though this is certainly a lovely place.”

“Believe it or not, this used to be a very popular tourist destination, for people from all over the world,” the woman said. There was a note of pride in her voice. “We have some of the very best hot springs in the world here. Only in recent years has word gotten out that . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“That what?” I asked gently.

“That bad things have happened here. An American tourist disappeared two years ago and was never found. It wasn’t the first time such a thing happened, but it certainly got the most press. Him being American and all. We had a lot of Americans here, actually. That’s how I perfected my English. Oh, well, those times have gone. We’re thrilled that you’re here now!”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll try a bowl of the noodles,” I added, watching as the steam swirled from the big pot on the portable burner.

“Gladly,” the woman said. She dished me up a brimming bowlful, and I paid her with money from my plastic bag. “It’s not too often we see new faces here, as I’m sure you can imagine. Will you be going to the festival?”

“Festival? I didn’t know there was a festival.” I glanced at Navan, who was shaking his head.

“There was some talk about not holding it this year,” the woman continued. “On account of the disappearances. People are scared, you see. But life goes on, now, doesn’t it? No matter what else is happening around you, you’ve just got to keep on living. So it was decided that we weren’t going to stop doing something that has been a tradition in this village for generations. It’s not supposed to start until dark, but people usually begin gathering early. It’s a lot of fun—you should come.”