Arachna

It was gone. All the years of hard work, all the men and women she’d befriended then grown to see as a family.

Gone.

Destroyed in a breath of flame and a cloud of smoke.

Kaela shuffled along the sidewalk with Derek. She hung her head low, watching mindlessly as her steps dragged lazily across the concrete.

That was all she could bring herself to do.

Keep moving. One step at a time.

Derek walked beside her, scanning every rooftop and shadowy alley. At any sound or indication of an incoming car, they ducked into an alley until it was gone.

They didn’t speak. There was no conversation to have after what they’d just been through; what they’d witnessed.

Her bicep pained her every few breaths, a constant reminder of what she’d had to do to survive. How desperate she’d been to get out of danger when, as she looked back on it, she regretted even trying. She should have burned in that building with her people. A captain going down with her ship.

Though, if she hadn’t, Derek would have burned with her. Still, regret dug a hole in her chest, right through bone and muscle. A gaping hole where her heart had once been.

Caleb… He would die. At the first chance she got, she would take him down. It didn’t matter who got in her way. It didn’t matter if he took her down with him.

All her people had been slaughtered like animals within the confines of a place they’d thought was safe, all because of her stupid decision to bring Malcolm there.

Kaela looked up at Derek, the first time she’d lifted her head in minutes, and eyed his wound.

It had finally stopped bleeding.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She was still staring at him. He looked at her, concern etched on his features. She had no right to have his sympathy, no right to have his concern.

None.

“Everything is wrong,” she said back. No point in lying. “And everything will be wrong until Caleb is dead.”

“We’ll get him.”

Kaela scoffed. “Oh, I know we will.”

Derek’s stare lingered on her. “Don’t do anything drastic, Kaela. We can’t afford to lose you too.”

She balled her fists, which made him tense. “I shouldn’t be alive at all. And that puts me at an advantage. I don’t care if I have to strap a bomb to my chest, I will kill him.”

She nearly stormed ahead, but her body was tired. Too tired to even keep her fists clenched. They loosened, and her legs turned to jelly. Suddenly, she was on her knees, and a hand was on her shoulder.

“Do you need me to carry you?”

She huffed a small laugh then broke it when he showed no signs that he was joking. She put one hand to her head and used the other to slap Derek’s away. “Don’t touch me.”

But Derek put his hand on her shoulder again.

She looked back up to curse at him. But she met his eyes, those watery eyes, and the curse fell flat. The tears fell before she could stop them. She grabbed him and put her head to his chest, bawling her eyes out.

He shook. She wasn’t the only one crying.

Derek led her into an alleyway and sat across from her. Kaela couldn’t stop the sobs as they forced themselves out of her. Derek shoved his head into his hands, failing to hide his own tears.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Kaela said through sobs, trying to catch her breath. “I’m so tired of fighting.”

Derek sniffled and wiped his face. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know.”

Kaela didn’t know how long they cried together in that alley, but she kept sobbing until her head ached and no tears were left to trail down her face.

“What are we going to do about Eric and Lance?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know,” Kaela responded, wiping her eyes. “There’s no telling where they are in that sewer right now. All we can do is hope they make it out alive.”

* * *

It wasn’t the grate next to the Rose, but it was good enough. Lance nearly forgot with each step that his leg had healed and that he needed to pretend. Eric didn’t seem to notice, but he didn’t seem to notice a lot of things until he brought them up later in conversation. Lance’s chest tightened with every confident step he took by accident on his once-bad leg.

Having to pathetically hiss an occasional “Ow” grated on his nerves.

They walked along the empty streets, the sewer behind them mostly forgotten. The smell clasped onto both of them.

As if to confirm, Eric pinched his nose. “Phew. We smell like shit, huh?”

“That’s because we’re covered in shit, Eric.”

Lance imagined a warm shower, a soft bed, and a hot meal, all awaiting him at the Rose. He could stand in the shower now, though he would still have the chair in there with him. But that didn’t matter.

His only problem would be keeping George quiet about his leg. Lance wondered if HIPAA laws applied to him.

Regardless, he pressed on, putting as much weight on the cane as he cared to. Eric was smiling, despite his crinkled nose.

“Happy now?” Lance finally asked.

The anger of following Eric into a nasty sewer to kill a man almost melted away because he had his leg back—not to mention the cure. Maybe it was worth it after all.

“Oh, I’m very happy,” Eric said, his eyes wide and bright like a child’s. “We have one less Landreau brother to deal with, and we have what we need for the cure.”

“It didn’t seem that necessary to kill him.”

Eric shrugged. “I still got revenge for my beautiful building.” He fake sniffled and wiped his eye. “But I have a feeling if we’d killed Caleb first, Daniel would’ve gotten control of the soldiers.” Eric furrowed his brows. “And once we kill Caleb, the soldiers and officers are sure to calm down with the man controlling them dead.”

“And when they’re calm, Malcolm can administer the cure.”

Eric sent him a pair of finger guns, and Lance rolled his eyes.

“Please don’t do that,” Lance said.

“Aw, but what kind of dad would I be if I didn’t embarrass you a little?”

Lance glared at Eric.

Eric’s smile faltered. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck, where a dark bruise was forming.

That word still stung Lance’s ears at its every utterance.

Dad.

He shuddered. The closest thing to a father-son activity they’d had was killing a man together and lopping his head off.

Eric opened his mouth, but the smile he was growing back disappeared as they rounded the corner. Lance lost his breath and had to brace himself on the cane.

The Red Rose had several fire trucks parked next to it. The firemen looked as if they’d just finished putting the fires out and were getting ready to leave.

When Lance stepped forward to ask them what had happened, Eric put a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him back around the corner. “We can’t. We’re wanted criminals now, remember?”

He looked back at the firemen climbing into their trucks and allowed Eric to drag him into an alley.

George, Kaela, Derek… the employees. Were they okay? Where were they?

They disappeared into the shadows. Malcolm, Lance thought. It had to have been an experiment gone wrong. A fire started, and it spread. That made sense.

“What now?” Lance asked.

Eric paced in and out of the shadows. He lingered in the darkness for an extra second as a fire truck passed by, then continued his back and forth. “I don’t know. The only place they have left to go is Derek’s bar.”

“Which one?”

Eric shrugged. “The one closest to the Rose, I guess.” Something flashed in Eric’s eyes—for only a split second—then he looked away.

Lance didn’t need to read into it to know what he was thinking. How many people died in this fire? He shoved the thought away even though some deeper part of him knew that this had not been a victimless fire.

The beast within him shifted, and nausea swelled within Lance’s stomach. He’d nearly gone inside the Rose. Nearly allowed Eric to shuffle through the sewers alone. Yet the beast had demanded that he go along with his father. How could the beast have possibly known?

The only answer he received was a whine. The beast whined. Something told him this hadn’t been a simple fire, and he hoped with all his heart that the worst hadn’t happened.

* * *

Lance and Eric stepped into the dark bar, dimly lit by a small neon sign on the wall. The same as the one from Derek’s other bar, a beer being poured into a glass. The chairs were stacked on tables, and the quiet creaking of the floor below them broke the silence. The familiar smell greeted him. The greasy food, the cigarette smoke, the alcohol.

The door to the kitchens burst open, and Derek pointed his gun at them.

Eric raised his hands. “I’m starting to think you just like pointing your gun at me.”

Derek relaxed. “You guys are okay,” he said. “Thank God.”

“What the hell happened?” Lance asked.

“Come on.” Derek disappeared into the kitchen.

Lance followed, sighing in relief at the sight of Kaela fast asleep against the fridge. Derek sat on the counter and stared down at his hands. Desolation haunted his face, and his arm was wrapped in a bandage—Kaela’s as well.

Though Lance didn’t ask, Derek looked at him and shook his head. “Caleb.”

Lance’s heart fell to his stomach.

The beast had warned him to stay away, and it had been right in the end. But why? I could’ve helped. Fought off Caleb, maybe. Right? Lance asked. Why didn’t you let me help?

Another whine. An apology. Surely Caleb wasn’t so powerful that it scared the beast, making it back down and choose to fight someone else instead. Daniel had been bad enough.

Eric wordlessly walked to a separate corner and sat on the floor. His face was gaunt, his eyes empty. “George?” he asked.

Derek shook his head. Eric took a deep, shaky breath and leaned his head back on the wall, closing his eyes and going still.

Lance looked around at all of them. No words came to his mind, so he left the room. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. He fake-limped to the bar and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a light click.

The light in the bathroom was bright and cheery against the beige tiled walls. Something about this small space, with the exhaust blowing above him, calmed his nerves. It was the one place he could shut out the world for just a moment and collect his thoughts.

He leaned the cane against the wall and breathed. Slowly, he turned toward the mirror and looked at himself. Those piercing green eyes and that black hair—hair that wasn’t his mother’s after all. Yet those eyes were his mother’s eyes. He could only imagine how beautiful they were on her. If only he could see them…

With a careful look behind him, Lance locked the door and propped his leg on the sink. He coaxed his pants leg up, revealing the bony limb underneath. It was perfectly intact. Not a lump or even a bruise left. No swelling, nothing.

He ran a hand over it, carefully touching and prodding it. No pain. He couldn’t help smiling. His leg was healed. Better than healed.

Then he noticed something peeking from under his pants leg. A jolt shocked his heart. He lost his balance and fell backward, slamming into the wall.

Footsteps marched to the door, and Derek’s voice rang out. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance called out, putting two fingers to his neck and breathing slowly.

He stood and propped his leg on the sink again. He reached with a shaky hand to pull the pants leg up just a little. He recoiled again from the sight, bracing his hand on the wall to keep his balance this time. He was out of breath, on the verge of tears as he lifted the fabric again.

Nothing stared back at him, and Lance realized with a relieved sigh that it had just been a trick of the light.

Then the beast purred.

And the veins in his leg glowed a dim purple in response.