35. Chapter 35 #3
Fernanda eyed the fading bruise on my cheek that I hadn’t tried to hide. “When exactly was this?”
I gave her the dates. “Wilson admitted everything and said no one would believe my word against his. Men like him tend to enjoy bragging, for some reason. He’s using the shifter registration vote as cover for something bigger.
There’s footage verifying that Apex kidnapped me.
Drew Turner, the Northwestern Pack’s technology strategist, has it. ”
Fernanda stared at me. For the first time since we’d sat down, her composure cracked. Something raw moved across her face. Not just shock, but a deeper, colder understanding of what I was telling her, and what it meant.
Over the next hour, Fernanda asked me dozens of questions. I couldn’t or wouldn’t answer a few, but in the end I gave her more than enough to verify my story.
“Is there anything else you wish to say before we conclude the interview?” Fernanda asked.
I turned and looked directly into the camera.
“You were right, General. I did go back to Mary Mountain to search for more than an insignificant missing park ranger. In the end, a few of those insignificant park rangers are the ones who exposed you and Apex. I hope you think about that when they come for you.”
When I stopped speaking, Fernanda turned to the cameraman. “Cut.” The red light blinked off.
I reached up and unclipped the mic, setting it on the table. My fingers were ice-cold.
“You need to release this story as soon as possible,” I warned her.
Fernanda stared at me. “You realize what’s going to happen when the public finds out you can Spool.”
“I know, but this way we can expose them and their conspiracy before it happens. Not that the current Administration is much better.”
She smiled humorlessly. “Better the devil you know. I took a crew to the holding facility in Trenton to meet a few of the operatives they had modified. They scare me. When I looked into their eyes, it felt like staring into my own death.”
“They scare me too, but most of those people were kidnapped and tortured. They aren’t that way because they want to be. Please remember that.”
Fernanda nodded. “I need to verify and corroborate your story.”
“Do it quickly.”
Ash moved toward us, his jaw clenched. The calm, steady energy I associated with him had vanished, replaced by something sharp and urgent.
“We need to go. Now.” He took my arm, his grip firm but careful, avoiding the bandages. The hellhounds surged to their feet, Mangus letting out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the room.
Ash hustled me toward the elevator, the hellhounds flanking us, Mangus’s massive body barely fitting. He stepped inside, pulled out his phone, and texted our driver. Then he made a call.
“Flint, we need to get out of New York and back to the Pack compound in Denver now. Can you have a Pack vehicle waiting when we land?” A pause. “Thank you. Either me or Jamie will fill you in later.” He disconnected and stared up at the floor indicator.
I didn’t try to talk to him, knowing I’d just made his job twenty times more dangerous.
Outside, an SUV waited at the curb. Ash pointed to the driver, then to the hellhounds.
The driver got out and opened the back hatch, then stood back as the hellhounds jumped in.
Ash guided me into the backseat and slid in next to me.
The driver took one look at Ash’s face and didn’t ask questions.
“Put the partition up.” The driver nodded and rolled up the glass partition separating the front seat area. When it was up, Ash pulled out his phone.
“Conall, get somewhere private. We need to talk.” His voice had dropped, and a sheen of gold glowed in his eyes. It was the first time I’d ever seen Ash’s eyes turn wolf.
“Ash, I’m sorry I put you in this situation.”
He turned to me, his face blank. Except for his eyes. “I’m still here. Riley just gave an interview to the New York Times about Wilson, Apex, the planned coup. And her ability to Spool.”
I tuned out the rest of their conversation.
As we pulled away, I looked up at the Times building, its glass and steel catching the midday sun.
Somewhere inside on the twenty-eighth floor, Fernanda Stratton was furiously combing through evidence and verifying my story.
She would see the energy signature requests and watch footage of me being taken from a pediatrician’s office and carried unconscious into a black-site facility.
She’d see an ogre’s body lying in a pool of blood in the parking garage, and General Wilson, Director Langston, and maybe even Marlowe.
I let out a shaky breath and sat back. My time living anonymously under the radar was down to mere hours.
If all went according to plan, I would help protect shifters and supernaturals from being taken and modified against their will.
By helping to keep another corrupt, marginally functional government in power.
My life had narrowed to a series of choices. I’d made my choices, and now I prayed I could live with the consequences.