Superior

Chapter 46

Chapter Forty-Six

Caleb

I didn't move my hands away from my face until the shooters ceased fire, bathing the room in resounding silence. It was a while before I realized that I hadn't been shot—my brother had never fired his gun. That became obvious when I saw the man and woman standing in the doorway, weapons raised and surprise evident on their faces. However, rather than the two guards that had found us minutes before, the two people were Fairleigh's Pro-Inferiors, easily recognizable by the bombs strapped to their backs. One of them, the woman, was the one who nearly sent a bullet into my skull. And here we were, in a similar position once again, with her pointing a gun at my face.

But not looking at me. No, it appeared that she hadn't even noticed me. Instead, her eyes were trained downward, widened in horror at whatever she saw on the ground. My stomach clenched in fear as I followed her gaze.

I couldn't stop of strangled cry of disbelief from escaping my lips, immediately drawing the attention of the two Pro-Inferiors. They quickly became reengaged in the situation, though I saw that the woman's hands were shaking.

"C-Caleb?" she breathed, recognition dawning on her features. I was unable to respond at first, too appalled by the sight on the ground before me.

Then another voice whispered my name, but this time in a pained, wispy murmur that was probably only audible to my finely-tuned ears. "Caleb?"

It was Jeanette. My head snapped toward the source of her voice, my eyes roving the dimness until they found her, kneeling on the ground with one hand clutching her shoulder. She stared up at me with doe-like eyes, looking confused. When she saw that I was watching, she moved her hand slightly. Even with the lack of light, I was easily able to identify the dark liquid seeping like molasses from between her fingertips.

I whirled to the Pro-Inferiors.

"What have you done?" I demanded, intending a fierce snarl but only managing a pathetic screech.

The woman fumbled for her voice, but it was the man who answered coolly, as if nothing had happened. "We shot down a hostile Superior," he drawled in a light Southern accent. "He was about to kill you. No need to thank us." He shrugged amiably, almost smugly, looking for all the world like he thought he had just done me a solid.

An inferno rose in my stomach—blessed, lovely anger that forced words up my throat and tore them from my lips in a ragged scream. "That was my brother!" I stared down at Christopher's body, mangled on the floor, torn through with a dozen bullet holes that even a Superior had no hope of surviving. His gun lay where it had fallen from his hand, just out of reach of a growing pool of scarlet blood. I swiped it up in one quick motion.

The man stepped back as I advanced on him, and he sure wasn't looking so confident anymore. In fact, as he took in the height difference between us, he began to look a little bit frightened. A flicker of doubt passed through his eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry, man," the guy said, holding up his arms in a placating gesture. Through narrowed eyes, I examined him. He was young, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, with dark olive skin and inkwell eyes. Judging by the muscles bugling from beneath his shirt, he was strong—though not nearly strong enough to have a chance against me. It was obvious from the desperate expression on his face that he knew it, too.

I said nothing, simply flicked the safety off the cool iron pistol that fit snugly in my hand.

He tried again. "Hey, it was you or him. Maybe he was your brother, but I ain't got a doubt that he was gonna shoot you. Man, we were just trying to help." He reached discreetly for his own weapon, but froze when he saw the look of death on my face.