woman. A soul-sucker. The Segue Institute, a private organization that had teamed with Spencer’s government group, had been dedicated to discovering the source of the human-wraith transformation and curing it, if possible. The focus had shifted to full war when Talia deduced that wraiths were monsters by choice, forgoing humanity for immortality.
Pop. Custo’s hand twitched in an acute spasm of agony, double that of the first break. He breathed deeply, lungs straining for control.
Spencer selected another.
Heart lurching in his chest, Custo ground his teeth together as the pressure on his thumb increased to liquid fire, but pissed himself anyway.
Spencer lurched back with a laugh. “Whoa, buddy! Ya scared to die?”
“Not as scared as you.” Custo’s voice was gravel, the sound rumbling from his chest.
“I’m not the one who peed my pants.”
The sour-sweet smell lifted into the room and burned through the coppery scent of blood.
“You”—Custo put his tongue to his loose tooth—“you turned coward the moment you sided with the wraiths.”
The wraith woman winked. “On the contrary, takes nerve to be in the same room with a hungry one.”
Spencer ignored her. He gave a huge sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward. “You just don’t get it, Custo. You never did. There’s no fighting immortality. Adam and I have been over this a million times. What the wraiths do may not be pretty—feeding on the life essence of their human forebears—but it is a natural evolutionary step toward conquering Death. I merely read the writing on the wall.”
“You got scared. I always knew you were chickenshit.”
“I got smart.” Spencer’s tone rose with anger. “Who are you to talk anyway? I know what you’ve done.”
What I’ve done?
“Heinrich Graf for starters.”
Oh. The German bastard who’d had a contract out on Adam’s life. A shot at long distance had taken care of him. “Scum.”
“You seduced his daughter to discover his whereabouts. Scum, yourself.”
“I didn’t suck out her soul.” Custo’s gaze darted to the wraith.
“Splitting hairs. You used her to kill her own father.”
A mistake, and not the worst of his wrongs. Some things simply had to be taken care of, and Adam couldn’t do it. Didn’t have enough of the dark side in him to see it through. But yeah, if there were a God, there’d be no mercy when this was through. Just more hell. Once there, at least, he could scream. Not here. Not for a piece of shit like Spencer.
Bad life. Good death. He’d settle for that.
“Where’s Adam?” Spencer repeated. “You’ll tell me before we’re through.”
Custo gave him his best, bloody smile. If Spencer and his wraiths hadn’t found the emergency escape, he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him. Not even to save his own life.
Custo gathered the saliva and blood that coated his mouth and spat in Spencer’s face. Got the asshole’s chin and neck.
Spencer drew his sidearm. He touched the hard tip of the gun to Custo’s forehead while he wiped himself clean with his other sleeve, a sneer of disgust stretching his face.
The wraith woman sat up on the bed and whined. “If you’re giving up on your questions, let me finish him. I’m hungry.”
Spencer’s eye twitched. “No. He’s mine.”
He drew his arm back. Struck. Knocked the sight from Custo’s eyes.
Pain wedged through his cheekbone to split his skull. Custo blinked hard against a thick film obscuring his vision, and yet, strangely, he was able to see perfectly: The room changed, brightened. Long fluorescent lights glared overhead where the bedroom had been lit by recessed cans. A sense of constriction bound his chest in a different, suffocating kind of discomfort. Thick, earthy smells of blood and fluid and sweat filled his nose.
A man masked in soft blue-green stared down at him and commanded, “One more push!”
Oh, dear God. His birth.
Then a cry, the squall of an infant, offered up from his own throat.
A nudge under his chin brought Custo back to the bedroom in the loft.
Spencer leaned in, and Custo could feel his breath on his face. “You can die fast and easy or slow and miserable.”
Custo’s heart labored while he refused to inhale—no used Spencer air for him, thank you.
“It’s your choice,” Spencer said. He scratched his cheek with the barrel of the gun.
“Schl—” Custo’s jaw wouldn’t work right. He tried again for slow and miserable. Give Adam time.
“Let me have him,” the wraith complained. “Adam and the girl are probably long gone anyway.”
“No. And stay out of my business,” Spencer answered.
The wraith stood, hand on the doorknob. “What a waste…”