I crossed my arms and resumed questioning. "How did you set the gas off?"
Nerida swore as pulled her leg out from under Berna's rump. "Small incendiary device we snuck in."
I wasn't going to ask how they'd managed that, because given all the bags had been thoroughly searched, there was really only one place they could have hidden it. And I was mighty surprised Starr hadn't brought in measures to cater for such occurrences. Hell, I knew for a fact many of the cartel employed female assassins. A good amount of Directorate time was spent hunting down the bitches after they'd completed their bloody deeds.
"And you didn't ever stop to consider who else might be in the way of the explosion?"
Nerida's gaze met mine. "Not once I saw Moss."
Insane with revenge and blind because of it. Great. "And have you ever stopped to consider that the picture is way bigger than the piece you're concentrating on?"
"No."
"Then I suggest you fucking start, before you end up on the wrong end of someone else's revenge." I flicked on the light. "Moss, Merle, and Starr have destroyed more lives than you could ever imagine. Stop being so blinkered, start seeing what is really going on, and for God's sake don't blow anything else up. Or I'll have you taken out so fast your heads will spin."
I glanced down the corridor to see the guard headed our way again. And he looked even unhappier than he had the last time.
I leaned forward and grabbed my towel, soap, and the handkerchief. "Now, if you don't mind, ladies, I need to complete my shower."
I flung the towel over my shoulder and headed for the shower stall Nerida had originally used. It had a good line of sight via the mirrors, and while I needed to get clean, I wasn't fool enough to turn my back on either of them.
The guard stalked in as I stepped under the water. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Just a little disagreement," Berna muttered. "Nothing to worry about."
"It is when I'm wasting time coming down here to sort it out. You two, back to the rooms now. And you in the shower, hurry up."
Though the heat of the water did a lot to wash the smell of death from my skin, I didn't want to linger too long. That would only piss off the guard more and maybe bring our little scuffle to the attention of those higher up. So I washed and dried and meekly made my way back to my bed.
"No more," the guard said from the doorway, once I was settled, "or I'll report all of you."
I resisted the impulse to snap that we weren't kiddies - mainly because that impression was far better than the real reasons for the fight.
I waited until the guard had gone, then reached my hand under my wet towel and grabbed the handkerchief. "You dropped this earlier," I said, and tossed the scrap of cloth across to Nerida. "Don't do it again."
"Oh, I won't. You can be sure of that."
Meaning next time she would ensure there was no telltale signs were left behind. I blew out a breath and laced my fingers across my belly. After a while, their breathing grew slower - or in Berna's case, noisier - indicating they were slipping into sleep. Whether they actually were, or whether they were foxing, I couldn't say. But I wasn't about to let the desire to sleep overwhelm me, not with Berna's threat hanging over my head.
I Hipped off the sheets and headed out the door.
Voices and the growl of machinery rode the night, and lights now lit the far end of the house. Starr wasn't wasting time getting down to repairs, it seemed.
I headed in the opposite direction, getting as far away from the sounds and the smells as I could. But even deep in the trees, where the moonlight failed to pierce the thick canopy of leaves, the dead were with me.
And they wanted their revenge. orce of the blast sent hot air scurrying past my skin and rattled the nearby windows. A plume of flame reached skyward, fat fingers of yellow and orange that briefly illuminated the western edge of the house and the trees that grew nearby. These fiery fingers were accompanied by chunks of wood and concrete - weighty missiles that thudded to the ground with bone-jarring force. The spurt of flame died, becoming little more than a sullen orange glow that lit the night, but the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, mingling with screams that spoke of fear or pain or both.
I didn't even stop to think about what I was going to do or how safe it might be, just ran like hell around the side of the house. I wasn't the only one. Guards filled the night, pouring out of the buildings like a well trained military force, some of them running for the end of the building, others forming a line to cordon off the area. Starr's men were efficient, you had to give them that. I kept the cloak of night wrapped around me as I slipped through the cordon and followed those heading for the explosion area. The closer I got to it, the more the air sizzled. Not just with heat, but with steam. The building's sprinklers, inside and out, were working, and the remaining flames were swiftly dying under the assault.
And the flames weren't the only things. The explosion had happened in the wing that housed the kitchen and dining areas and had basically blasted them apart. In normal circumstances it wouldn't have mattered, because most places who had live-in staff didn't often house them in the main building let alone in the same area. But the staff here were. With the force of the explosion tearing apart the ground floor level, the upper ones had no place to go but down.
I couldn't see any of the dead or dying in the black and burning rubble, but I could feel them. Their agony rode the night, surrounding me with the scent and despair of death, until every breath, every pore, was filled with it and it felt like I was drowning under the weight of it.
My stomach rolled, then rose. I spun away and bent over, losing what little dinner I'd eaten. A hand touched my back, and warmth spread like fire across the chill that was encasing me, holding it back if not totally erasing it.
"You are not an empath." Though I couldn't see him, his voice was next to my ear, indicating he was leaning close. "You should not be feeling what you are feeling."
His shadow-held fingers caught my hair, holding it away from my face. I sucked in a breath, battling the roiling in my stomach. "I'm a werewolf. Death is something we can smell."