Page 88 of The Firebrand
Not the reaction I expected.
“No. It has nothing to do with him. His name is Rein, Dad. It’s about the family business. My duty.” Braelyn pressed her lips together.
“Under the circumstances, you can shirk your duty.”
“I can, but I think this is a good move for me. A distraction.” She reached across the table to pat her father’s hand. “I need this, Dad.”
George sat silent for some time, his eyes misting. “Okay. I do not want this for you, sweetheart, but I understand. I’ll support your choice, but promise when your training is over, you’ll stick to simple, non-dangerous cases.”
“I will, Dad. In fact, I have a plan. It needs your go-ahead. If I continue working at the tabloid, I’ll use the call-ins to track down problems. If a story proves suspicious, I’ll be the liaison between the paper and the Alliance. Sort of like a reporter in a combat zone, not in the direct line of fire. What do you think?”
George nodded. “I can appreciate this plan, Braelyn. It sounds safe. Limited contact. Takes some work off my shoulders. Let me make a few calls to get this rolling.”
Her father was a man of his word, and influential. Braelyn reported for an interview the next day and began training at the Alliance facilities in Seattle the day after that.
It helps to have a BMOC in the family.
Per procedure, the Alliance assigned an experienced agent to each trainee. Braelyn partnered with Nico Abello, who had an excellent reputation, having led a team that captured and executed two renegade Eaters before they caused any harm on this side of the portal. He had been in on several other big busts, too, such as a serial rapist incubus and an escaped blood-raged vampire. He handled all the jobs swiftly and with no press reaching the general pop.
Braelyn worked out day and night at the gym, practicing the classics as recommended—jiu-jitsuandtaekwondo. She fared much better in training without a wall of muscle like Rein to overcome. In fact, her trainers were impressed with her speed, strength, and skills. She took down some top-notch agents. To their surprise.
Thanks, Sabine, Galena, and Jezzi.
Since the Alliance encouraged the use of guns, she frequented the shooting range where they practiced. Her instructor marveled at her aim. Almost from the start, she clustered her shots around the kill zone.
Still partial to blades and spikes, though, she visited a martial arts store in Pioneer Square that stocked Gil Hibben double-edged knives and a variety of throwing spikes to add to her collection. She also selected a few more stars for practice. Nico, confessing that he was no expert at blades or the like, found someone else to coach her in their use.
When she wasn’t in the gym or at the shooting range, she sat in classes listening to dry lectures about Scath. Real Aeternals were so much more interesting. When the teacher got to the section on mixed breeds, he explained that only one of their gifts dominated. A warlock-satyr mix could be warlock or satyr, but not both. Braelyn did not correct him. Her Rein was special. He was a mix with the powers of each of his breeds, and she protected his secret.
Her Rein? No. Not her Rein.
After a full day, she stumbled into bed, too exhausted to think or dream. At least, there were fewer nights now when she buried her face in a pillow and sobbed herself to sleep.
ChapterNineteen
Sabinebent forward to stare into the oak barrel. Not too close. “That’s icky.” She jerked her thumb toward the back wall. “I’ll wait over there.”
Dragging her chair far from the action, she pulled alongside Ram, propping an ankle on her knee. She had a good view of the three gaffers. They were working on Ulfur, who had resisted questioning despite his drug-addled brain and his serious case of heebie-jeebies.
The Cubes referred to a panopticon, a prison of cells arranged in a circle around a central well. Interrogations took place in that well so all convicts could appreciate the torture. Even the most hardened Aeternals cringed in the far corners of their spaces.
“What’s in the tub?” asked Ram, idling away his time by playing games on his D-chip.
“The warlock gaffer filled it with a conjured nest of snakes. Real or not, they’re creepy as hell, and bite.”
That got his attention. He shuddered. “I hate snakes.”
Using a blade, Sabine cleaned under her long, candy-red fingernails while Ram returned to his entertainment.
The mage jailer, having failed at mind manipulation—hence the barrel of vipers—figured the shifter had too many chemicals in his system. Either that, or a pro had spelled him.
An older gaffer gripped the shifter’s wrists behind his back, letting him get a good view of the hissing serpents. Ulfur whimpered, struggled, bones cracking, shoulder joints popping.
“You ready?” asked the third jailer, a bull-necked guy with an excited smile curling his lips.
When Ulfur squirmed out of the hold, he tried to run, but the older guard stepped on the chain shackling his feet.
Splat. A very ungraceful face-plant.
