Chapter 1
ONE
GRYPHON
Five Years Later
My fingers grip the steering wheel with a deceptive sort of ease, muscle memory taking over so I’m not wrenching the damned thing around in my frustration.
There’s nothing about today that’s special, or alarming, and yet I woke up with my skin crawling and my temper itching for a fight.
My bond hums in my chest in anticipation, eagerly egging me on, and no matter how many times we’ve come up empty-handed, it still writhes like it’s furious at being stuck inside me.
I should be past this bullshit by now, especially after five years of a fruitless search for my missing Bond, and yet this isn’t a rare occurrence.
But today, after a week of Wastelands and scouting busts, I don’t have it in me to play nice. Instead, I get out of dodge before I cause a mess that only North could dig me out of.
Staring out at the tree-lined highway curving before me, I ignore my phone when it starts to buzz in my pocket. I got into the driver’s seat of my Camaro to escape from the never-ending voices I'm subjected to daily, and I have no interest in whatever emergency is lighting up the cracked screen.
I don't take days off, but I feel a ripple of irritation that even stepping away for an hour to cool off is impossible without someone calling me. Especially since it’s, no doubt, to sort out some bullshit council-demand-turned-logistical-nightmare.
They’re over-grown toddlers who should’ve been left to fend for themselves decades ago, in my opinion.
North insists on killing them with the Draven brand of kindness, and despite the fact that no amount of intervention from me will satisfy any of the council’s woes, I’m constantly dragged into meetings and presentations.
I’m sure I’m just being used as deflection though, because it isn’t lost on any of us that the Draven name is a far more powerful weapon against the West Coast Gifted Council than my own could ever be.
The Shores don’t have a long and blood-soaked Death Dealing legacy.
I’m not losing sleep over that fact, either.
Growing up, all I wanted was a Top Tier Gift that would ensure I kept my father’s approval.
I used to think highly of the man, a high-ranking TacTeam Lead, and I’d have given anything to see him proud of me.
Well, all that hoping worked a little too well and I ended up with Neuro abilities that outmatch almost every other known Gifted alive today, only my plans backfired spectacularly and I learned firsthand how incredibly fragile the General’s ego really is when faced with a son who is a better version of himself in every aspect.
That’s not my own ego talking either; it took a lot of therapy and not-so-gentle conversations with my sister before I could admit it.
These days, thanks to our Bond’s disappearance, we’re firmly in the ‘too much notoriety’ field for me.
From the moment she disappeared, I devoted all of my time and efforts to the Tactical Response Units in my efforts to find her and, as a result, I climbed the ranks quickly.
By the time we figured out she wasn’t taken, and instead had simply run away from the prospect of her Bond Group, I’d already been appointed the lead position when Vivian Wentley stepped into teaching full-time.
An entire childhood of indoctrination by the General isn't so easy to let go of, despite my shame at letting his influence have a hold over me for so long. There are many good reasons to be afraid of what Gifted are capable of and thanks to my Neuro gift, I’m also more keenly aware of the true depth of power the Dravens wield than most. There's a perfectly valid reason the entire community is so afraid of them and it's not solely petty jealousies.
Just because I understand her reasoning, doesn't make Oleander Fallows running from us—from me—any easier to take.
There’s no questioning the fact that every day since she disappeared, I’ve lost every drop of sanity I might’ve held.
At first, it was the gut-wrenching months of searching through the Resistance camps we could find, only to come back empty-handed every fucking time.
Sure she was abducted by one of their psychotic scouting plants they have infiltrated into the community, the relief I felt when North’s intel found evidence that she was safe and simply working in some tiny restaurant in Maryland was short lived.
Once again, she slipped through our fingers before we could reach her, and after years of tirelessly searching for her under the assumptions she was in danger, finding out she just walked away from her Bond Group was earth-shattering.
It didn’t stop me from searching for her. If anything, it only spurred me on.
Letting myself linger for too long on this train of thought is definitely playing with fire and the whole point of this drive is to cool my head off, so I force my thoughts back to the road ahead as it curves around a sharp bend.
Pine trees tower on either side of the narrowed strip, ominous clouds overhead darkening the sky into a moody reflection of myself, and I enjoy the effortless glide of my Camaro for a brief moment.
Then the buzz of my phone starts up again and I want to throw the fucking thing out of the window. Cursing viciously out loud, I wait until the road straightens a little in front of me once more before I finally dig it out.
Barely bothering to glance at the screen, I answer with a snarl. “What is it this time, Black? I told North I was stepping out for an hour, is that too much to ask—”
He cuts me off. “We found her.”
Tyres screeching obnoxiously, I veer off of the road and slam to an abrupt halt while the car behind me blasts its horn as it's forced to swerve around me. I barely notice the driver flipping me the bird as he passes, all of my focus is now centered on those three small words.
We found her.
Words are falling out of me with a panicked urgency before I can think them through. “How? Where? Fuck, aren’t you on recon? How soon before you can get to her? North is meeting with Sharpe today but I’ll call him and get him armed—fuck… where's Nox?”
Kieran’s voice is completely devoid of any of our usual sarcastic camaraderie, but we’ve been friends long enough that it’s no surprise to me that he’s dropped the bullshit for this.
“Don’t worry about him, North pulled him away from the mission last minute, thank fuck, because—listen, Gryph, I don't need to go to her; I'm staring at her right now.”
I want to bathe in his blood and the vehemence of that feeling knocks the air from my lungs.
I’ve never been the jealous type, I leave that shit to North, but the idea of Black being close to her while I'm stuck on the side of this road has a frustrated groan bursting from my lips before it even registers that Black will hold this sort of embarrassing shit against me for an age.
He doesn't comment on it, though, and when the silence only stretches down the line, a bolt of panic sends ice racing through my veins. “What is it, what’s happening? Tell me what the fuck is going on, Kieran!”
He blows out a breath. “Shit, sorry, it's nothing to worry about. She just—she looks different from the photo.”
Another snarl tears out of me, only this one is intentional. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He hesitates, clearly intent on shredding my last inch of patience, before he finally answers. “Her hair is white.”
I wait, but when he doesn’t say anything else, I scoff. “That's it? You're sending me off the fucking deep end over a trip to the stylist? Set up a perimeter and get your ass here to Transport me.”
He huffs under his breath at me. “It's not a dye job, asshole, her hair is fucking glowing. She’s standing in a cafe in the middle of nowhere, dressed like she’s trying really hard to blend in with the non-Gifted population, but the entire building is sneaking glances at her because her hair is… it’s eerie as fuck, man.”
I don’t like him talking about her like that, not one bit, but before I can ream him for it, he blurts out, “Makai can't get a read on her.”
That stops me in my tracks. Makai might not be the strongest Tracker alive today but he’s never had an issue reading Gifted before. He can’t accurately gauge power levels or exact Gifts, but he can always tell the ‘flavor’.
“How close did he get to her?”
“I sent him in to grab a coffee. She knew he was Gifted for sure, avoided getting too close to him, but it’s a small building, so she had to walk right by him. He got nothing, Gryph.”
He stops abruptly, cursing softly under his breath, before he murmurs to me, “She’s packing up her shit to leave, I’ve got to move now before the real reason I’m here arrives. I doubt she’s hit his radar, but you know what that asshole will do if he gets a look at her.”
Silas fucking Davies; the boogey man of the Resistance. He’s a sociopath, a murderer, and a vicious dictator intent on wiping out all non-Gifted from the country. I’ll do anything to keep my Bond away from his clutches, especially if she’s some anomaly he’d enjoy breaking open.
I’ve read far too many reports detailing his sickening acts to the Gifted who catch his eye.
“Do it. Whatever it takes, get her to Draven.”
By the time Kieran arrives to Transport me, I’ve made it back to the mansion to get the Camaro parked up securely in the garage.
The drive was a piss-poor distraction from the desperation clawing at me, the innate urges of my own bond demanding I find my Bond and get her to safety.
My skin is practically crawling off of my body as I try to hold on to the last of my senses.