Page 33 of Artificial Moon

How in god’s name had he known that? Did Allie keep an online diary that he somehow accessed? I haven’t a clue, but, for now, I ignore the taunts. “What’s your plan, Norm? You really think messing with nuclear waste is a good idea for anyone, you included? Remember, you’re flesh and blood now, and can die with your host.”

He sighs dramatically. “You lack vision, Sam. This facility is still wired to national security networks. If I wanted to, I could trigger afakemeltdown alert, cause widespread panic across Southern California, and happily skip off to wherever I want to go. A free man, all but forgotten. Tell me, how do you think the government would react to a meltdown alert?”

I narrow my eyes. I know exactly how they would, having been trained to help with such a situation. Pure chaos is accurate. “They’d shut down every major city on the coast. Evacuations and full-blown chaos…”

Norm grins. “Exactly. It’s perfect.”

I lunge.

But before I can reach him, my inner alarmscreams, and I turn my body as another gunshot rings out. Fire explodes through my left shoulder, searing, burning—another silver bullet. Shit. My body locks up, and my legs buckle. Pain floods my system. The shooter, another one of Norm’s men, lowers his smoking rifle from the catwalk above.

Kingsley is on him before he can fire again, leaping up and tearing the gun from his grasp with a savage growl. The man screams, falling over the railing with a hard thud. He’s alive, but just barely. Luckily for him, Kingsley doesn’t always have a taste for fresh flesh. My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. For now, he deems the man incapacitated, which he clearly is, and lets him live.

I force myself to stay upright, pressing a hand against the wound. The silver bullet, still lodged within, burns like acid, slowing my healing. But... I can’t stop now.

Norm’s already moving. He sprints toward the emergency exit. Kingsley considers pursuing, but the big wolf head turns toward me, clearly at an impasse. I want the big fella to pursue the cyborg, but I can’t speak through my gritted teeth. Instead, Kingsley dashes over to me, rubbing his furry head against me in comfort before turning back into a naked man.

Through the dark window, I see Norm making his way to the beach. A sleek, black speedboat bobs in the dark waters.

“Kingsley...” I gasp, trying like hell to utter the words. “Stop him.”

He hesitates, then sprints off in human form, shifting to wolf before he exits the building through the still-open door. Through the window, sweat pouring down my face, I watch as my wolfman launches himself toward Norm just as the cyborg—or whatever the hell he is—reaches the boat, but Norm’s men, waiting in the boat, fire at him, forcing Kingsley to veer off-course. The bullets don’t penetrate his thick hide, but they do slow him down.

Norm jumps into the boat and gives me an awkward salute before the speedboat peels away, disappearing into the night.

Damn.

Kingsley returns to me, shifting back to human. “You okay, Sam?”

I manage a strained smile. “No, not really.”

He looks at my wound, his jaw tightening. “We need to get that bullet out. I know a guy.”

I exhale, frustration burning hotter than the pain. “Yeah. But first, we need to figure out where Norm’s headed next.”

“Not right now, Sammy. Bullet first. Bad guy, second.”

Chapter Seventeen

Unable to teleport, Kingsley is forced to drive, which he does with one hand on the wheel and the other pressing a makeshift bandage against my shoulder.

The silver bullet burns, a pain unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time, if ever. I tighten my jaw, hissing through my teeth. I’m literally feeling myself bleed out, which can’t be a good thing for a vampire. Outside the Jeep’s window, the lights of Orange County’s beach cities blur past in streaks of yellow and white.

The silver in my shoulder is preventing me from teleporting—or even summoning the single flame. The Jeep happened to be in the maintenance garage of the nuclear compound, complete with key and a very large man’s sweat suit in a gym bag. The engine hadn’t turned over, but the garage came equipped with battery starters.

“You’re lucky,” Kingsley says, voice calm but edged with concern. “Silver burns, but at least it didn’t hit anything vital—as far as we know.”

Of course, if it had, I would be talking with the Origin right about now and not my boyfriend. I roll my head to look at him. “I assume ‘your guy’ is someone who knows how to keep secrets?” Speaking is coming a little easier, now that the shock of the moment has passed.

The attorney smirks. “You could say that. We’re headed to St. Jude’s. Should be there soon. No traffic at this hour. Sure is easier when you can teleport.”

“Tell me about it.” I frown. St. Jude’s in Fullerton is one of the best hospitals in the area—for mortals. “You’re taking me to amortalhospital?”

“Not entirely.”

He explains. Kingsley isn’t taking me to theregularemergency room. No, he’s taking me to the secret immortal emergency room—the one that doesn’t appear on any public records—and only appears as a nondescript ancillary building behind the hospital proper, the kind of place that leaves no lasting impression, just another building in a cluster of such buildings.

Forty minutes later—the time it takes to drive from San Clemente to Fullerton with no traffic—we pull into the rear of the hospital, where an unmarked steel door sits beneath a flickering fluorescent light. No ambulances, no posted signs, just a blank facade that could be mistaken for a supply entrance. Kingsley rushes out and, keeping a firm hand on my uninjured arm, leads me forward. He raps his knuckles against the door in a rhythmic pattern—three fast, two slow. A secret knock? Maybe. How had I not known of such a place?

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