THREE TRACKERS GLIDED out of the forest toward Trinity and her group. Mirra and Nirankan were not among them.

“This is not good,” said Gaar.

“Where’s Mirra and Nirankan?” she asked.

“Nowhere close,” said Dad, peering into the woods.

“Do you think they’re on their way?” She scanned the brush, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mirra.

“They left holding hands. I doubt that they’ll miss the others,” said Gaar.

“Oh, right,” she blushed.

“Do you think we have a chance against them?” whispered Dad.

Gaar shook his head. “One sure. Two maybe, but three? No. We stand no chance.”

Jackson must have seen the Trackers because he was rowing as hard as he could back toward them.

“We swim,” she said. “Swim with me and Christian should leave you alone.”

“Who?” asked Gaar.

“He’s a River-Man,” she answered.

“I did not need to hear that,” mumbled Gaar. “I hate those things.”

“What are they?” Dad looked from her to Gaar.

“Vile creatures,” said Gaar. “Not something I want to tangle with on land, let alone water.”

The Almighty glanced behind him and quickly stepped away from the lake.

“He’s been nice to me,” she said and shrugged.

“I’m sure you think he’s your friend.” Gaar’s tone was beleaguered.

The Trackers were only a few yards away.

“But we don’t really have a choice,” said Gaar. “So, water it is and hopefully, the River-Man is well fed.” He followed her into the lake.

“Are you sure I can’t out run them?” Dad hesitated at the shoreline.

“Come on,” she urged. The Trackers were nearing. Dad had to get moving.

“I hate the water.” Dad put one foot in the lake. “I can’t swim well.” He took another step.

“Stay by me and I’ll help you.” She waited for him.

The three of them walked farther into the lake, together.

“What about me?” The Almighty stood on the shore. “I don’t want to swim with some river-monster-thingy that’s going to eat me.”

“Suit yourself,” said Gaar as he lowered into the water and began to swim.

The Almighty raced after them, making huge splashes. “Wait, wait for me,” he sobbed as he threw himself into the water.

“Quit splashing so much. It draws the River-Men like a dinner bell,” said Gaar.

“Great,” said Dad. “You couldn’t have told us that before the idiot splashed halfway across the lake.” He began a slow but steady stroke after the others. “Did I ever tell you that I hate, absolutely hate, the water.”

She sighed. Her father could be a bit of a whiner. She didn’t respond and they all continued swimming in silence.

The water was dark and still except for the waves created by them. Maybe, Christian was no longer haunting this area. There was a splash behind them and she glanced back. Two of the Trackers had entered the water and were swimming toward them.

“We have company,” she said, panting. “Trackers.”

“They hate water,” said Gaar, looking behind him.

“So do I,” said Tim. “And yet, I’m in it.”

“Swim faster,” said Gaar. “They may dislike water but they’re fast.”

Sure enough, the Trackers were gaining on them. They all increased their strokes but it was no use. The Trackers were more physically capable in all areas. She was in the lead, closely followed by Gaar with her father a little distance behind and the Almighty struggling in the back.

“Hurry, Dad,” she yelled. “You have to move.”

“I’m trying,” he gasped between mouthfuls of water.

There was a scream and a splash. The Almighty struggled in the lead Tracker’s grasp. At first, the Tracker attempted to drag the Almighty behind him but he must have tired of the struggle because after a few moments he twisted the Almighty’s neck and then swam back to shore, dragging the body.

“Don’t watch! Keep swimming,” yelled Gaar.

She’d been treading water, watching the scene play out behind her. Crazy was gaining on her father. Dad was too slow. He would never out swim the approaching Tracker.

“Swim, Trinity, don’t worry about me,” yelled Dad.

Crazy was almost on him. She wasn’t going to lose him now, not like this. She started to swim back. Gaar reached out to stop her but she ducked under the water, dodging his hand. She was never going to make it in time. Crazy was fast, too fast and then Jackson and the canoe zoomed up to her dad. He pulled her father into the boat and rowed away, leaving the Tracker with a wave splashing over its head. She released her breath. Dad was going to be okay. Jackson grabbed her and Gaar and then rowed toward the island.

Near the shore, they stepped out of the boat. Jackson and Gaar began securing the canoe while she and her father ran onto the land. Suddenly, Crazy lunged out of the water tackling Jackson. The two, struggling, rolled back into the lake.

“No!” She raced toward the water. This couldn’t be happening. Jackson did not deserve this.

Gaar ran to help Jackson but the canoe started to drift away. He grabbed it and carried it to the shore. Dad and Hugh rushed toward them at the sound of her scream.

Crazy was on Jackson’s back with his teeth at the Guard’s neck. Jackson’s face was underwater and his arms flew wild, striking at the Tracker but without any force. Jackson would lose consciousness soon. She had to do something. She launched herself at the Tracker, knocking him off Jackson. Crazy threw back his arm, hitting her and pushing her farther into the water. Gaar headed toward her.

“Get Jackson,” she yelled. The Guard floated face down in the water.

Gaar hesitated but she dove under the water, dodging Crazy. She popped her head up. Gaar was dragging Jackson toward shore. She took another deep breath, preparing to dive again when Crazy captured her in his grasp. The Tracker was strong but she was wet and slippery. She wiggled to break free and managed to push away from him, her feet contacting with his stomach. He hissed and snatched her by the hair, dunking her. She slashed at his hands with her claws but couldn’t break his hold. Her chest ached with the need for oxygen. Her heart pounded in her ears. Bubbles slipped past her lips. She’d have to draw breath soon. She wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer and when she did inhale, only water would greet her lungs. She floundered for release but her strength had deserted her. She peered into the murky depths. Nothing but darkness. Another bubble slid out of her nose and there was a flash of something silver below. Death should be dark not bright like stars, but the sparkles glimmered, coming closer. She couldn’t hold out any longer. She opened her mouth to breathe when the shimmering sparkles below formed into a shape. A large creature zipped upward past her to break Crazy’s hold while pushing her to the surface. She gasped in air as Christian pulled Crazy under, spinning in circles. Soon, Crazy stopped struggling and the two disappeared in the depths.

She treaded water, staring at nothing beneath her. It was so fast. One minute Crazy had her and the next he was gone. Suddenly, something grabbed her around the chest. She struck out with her claws.

“Stop, it’s me,” said Hugh, refusing to release her. “Just float.”

It was good he didn’t want her to do more, because right now she could barely do that. She retracted her claws and relaxed in his hold as he swam back to shore, dragging her behind him. They passed her dad who had swum out to save her. She wanted to smile at him but couldn’t quite make her lips obey. Dad paddled behind them, trying to keep up. Gaar met them and grabbed her, carrying her onto the land. Dad and Hugh crawled out of the water. Jackson was on his hands and knees in the shallows coughing.

“What in the name of Araldo was that?” Dad looked back over the lake.

“Christian.” Her body trembled as Gaar gently placed her on her feet.

“What has Conguise been up to?” whispered Hugh.

What did he mean by that? She shot him a questioning look, but he continued scanning the surface of the water.

“That was in the lake the whole time we were?” Dad shivered. “I knew I had a reason to hate the water.”

Dad wrapped his arm around her and the small group went farther ashore toward the fires that someone had built. The others already sat huddled in small groups near the warmth and light, waiting out the night.

She sat by her dad and Hugh. “Where’s Mom?” she asked, shoving aside the recent events. She wasn’t ready to sort through them.

“Safe. I’ll take you there tomorrow.” Dad nodded at the nearby Almightys and House Servants and then put his finger to his lips.

She motioned for him to follow her. When they were several feet away, she leaned in closer to him so that even the House Servants shouldn’t be able to hear.

“I have something I have to do first.”

“What?” he whispered, cupping his mouth to help quiet the sound.

“We freed the Producers at the Finishing Camp. They’re still there. They need help navigating the forest.” She looked over at Gaar.

He was sitting across from them whittling a stick. He met her gaze and nodded.

“Gaar will travel with us.”

Dad glanced at the Handler. “Your mother is safe in the forest. We can travel there with the other Producers.” He hugged her. “You did well, Trin. I’m proud of you.”

Her throat tightened. He’d often told her that he was proud of her, but this was different. She was proud of herself. They moved back to sit next to Hugh.

In the other groups, the Almightys sat close to the fires, soaking up the warmth. The Grunts and House Servants sat back, huddling together, even though the Servants probably started the fires. That needed to change. She stood and went to each group, insisting that everyone move closer together. If an Almighty started to argue, they met either a glare from Hugh or Gaar. No one argued much. When she was sure that the strangers were as comfortable as possible, she moved over to Jethro and his family.

Jackson leaned against the statue with Kim snuggled against his side. Martha lay asleep next to her daughter. With eyes closed, Jackson stroked Kim’s hair. Jethro sat off to the side, alone, staring out over the lake.

“You guys okay?” she asked quietly.

Jackson opened his eyes and nodded. He held his finger to his lips for a moment and then whispered, “She’s finally sleeping.”

“Thank you for saving our lives in the lake and your help at the Tracker Camp,” she said. “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“No. Thank you.” He rested his head against the statue, his hand still caressing Kim’s hair, and shut his eyes. “I owe you more than my life.”

There was peace and contentment on his face. Funny, that he should find that here, stranded on an island while Trackers hunted the nearby forest. It must have more to do with who he was with than where he was. She moved over by Jethro and dropped to the ground next to him. His face was blank, his eyes staring into the darkness, probably, seeing nothing but memories.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry about your father.” She meant it. Benedictine was going to have her killed and eaten, but her heart hurt for what Jethro had gone through.

“Leave me alone,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Jethro.” She touched his arm.

He jerked away and looked at her, anger and hatred marring his attractive features. “You brought them to my home.”

It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t wanted anyone to get hurt.

Then his face crumpled and he fell into her arms, sobbing against her shoulder. She held him tightly, making shushing noises and stroking his silky hair.

He inhaled shakily and then pulled away, lying back on the grass. He reached out for her hand and gently pulled her down next to him. He entwined their fingers and soon his breathing became steady in sleep. The warmth of his hand in hers and his gentle breath falling across the top of her head coaxed her into slumber.

Someone shook her shoulder. She woke slowly, a warm body holding her close. She opened her eyes and stared into the disapproving face of her father. Jethro lay alongside her, his arms wrapped around her waist. She blushed.

“You need to come back over here.” Dad’s tone brooked no arguments.

She sat up. Jethro murmured in his sleep and then turned over. She followed her father back by the fire. The moon was still high in the sky. She hadn’t slept long.

“What is there between the two of you?” he asked.

“Nothing. We’re just friends,” she answered.

“Friends don’t cling to each other in sleep.” He stopped and grabbed her shoulders. “Listen, Trinity. Take it from one who knows. Interclass pairing is not easy. Choose another road if you can. It’s illegal and it has to remain hidden. That’s hard on any relationship. If you can, look elsewhere for a mate.”

She nodded. They walked back to the others. She sat between her father and Hugh.

“Don’t go back over there,” ordered Dad.

She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him. She’d been on her own now for weeks. Plus, she was almost seventeen years old. She should have been mated by now with her own offspring.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow is not going to be easy.” Dad lay back on the ground.

Hugh stared pensively into the crackling fire, the hoots and hollers of the Trackers fading in the night.

“Can you still hear them?” he asked after several moments.

“Yes,” she said. “You?”

“No. My hearing’s not as good as yours. My eyesight either. Or my strength, jumping, endurance…” He laughed, harshly. “Shall I go on expounding on the benefits of being an Almighty?”

“But you have all the power,” she said, confused at his mood.

“Somehow, that is true.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

She studied him covertly. She couldn’t help it; she was curious about this Almighty. He had risked his life to save hers and had been more than honorable in the rescue of all those surrounding them. He could have easily saved himself first.

“Did you know Viola?” he asked.

In all the excitement, she’d forgotten about Viola’s sacrifice. “A little. She seemed kind. She was beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.” He frowned. “And she died unnecessarily.

If Viola hadn’t taken her place it would have been her head lying on the cart.

“I’m sorry.” He turned to look at her. “In no way, did I mean that it should have been you. It shouldn’t have been anyone.” After a long pause, he continued, “It was my fault that she was there. I didn’t trust her. I thought she was working with her father.” The edges of his face hardened with anger. His visage was frightening in the glow from the firelight.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Conguise deserves to die for what he did to his daughter,” she said.

“He didn’t know,” he said quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning back toward the fire.

“How did he not know?”

“I saw him when the cloth was removed. He was as shocked as the rest of us. He probably ordered the Stocker to slaughter…her, not even taking the time to meet…well…you. Stockers can’t see or smell worth a damn.” He shook his head. “They’re even worse than Almightys.” He tossed a piece of wood into the fire. “I don’t understand why she didn’t say something.”

“Maybe, it happened too quickly.”

“I hope so.” He paused. “He ate her. He ate his own daughter.” He looked around the area. “They all did. All the Almightys ate her.”

She fought the urge to throw up. Her father ate meat sometimes. Had he eaten anyone that he’d known? Any of his children? “The secret of meat should be told. It shouldn’t be hidden. Let everyone know and make their choice.”

“I agree and I will make sure it happens.”

She believed him. Not because he was an Almighty, but because stubbornness was written into every line of his frame and face. Nothing would stop him from bringing this to light, not now. After a while she asked, “So, what happens next?”

“I have some battles to fight, but I think our tiny world is going to change drastically.” He told her about the last few days, including the test results and what else he expected to find when he was able to better study the DNA of the different classes.

“So, we are related.” She looked around. “All of us.”

“Yes,” he said. “You and I are a little closer than most.”

“Yes, Uncle.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “I’ve never had an uncle before.” He was easy to talk to. She was happy to add him to her small family.

He smiled at her. He looked a little like Jethro when he smiled. No wonder Viola had been attracted to him. She glanced away.

Gaar was sitting by himself, studying the forest. She stood. Hugh grabbed her arm. She fought her instinct to slash at the restraint. He raised an eyebrow and she pointed to Gaar. He nodded and released her. She was going to have to straighten him out. Being her uncle didn’t give him the right to monitor her actions. She frowned at him and then walked over to Gaar, sitting down next to him.

“Little One,” he said, a small smile welcoming her.

“What do you hear?” she asked, since his senses were superior to hers.

“They are farther than before. Deeper into the forest. The other predators are scared.”

“Mirra is okay?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes. I cannot feel her as closely, but she is well.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “She’ll come back to you. You’ve said it yourself. There is something that binds you, even stronger than a mating pair. She will mate and have little Mirras.”

He laughed out loud. “That is trouble waiting to happen.”

“Then you can find another Handler and make Mirra an auntie.” She poked him in the side.

He remained silent.

“You can find someone too, Gaar.” She looked up at him.

“Perhaps. I felt no connection to any of the other Handlers at the camp.”

“Give them time. They were born there. They don’t yet know who they are.”

He grunted.

“And even if you don’t, when Mirra births, you will be an uncle.” She smiled against his shoulder.

He laughed again, tension broken for the moment. “I’ll be Uncle Gaar-Mine.”

She giggled and they fell into a companionable silence. She stared at Hugh, her uncle, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he gazed at the fire, anger and determination hardening his features. He had many burdens for one so young. He couldn’t be more than thirty, and he’d lost his mother, his mate, his house and his Guard Buddy all because she’d escaped. Yet, he was preparing to battle society over everything that they believed, everything that the Almightys found sacred, to restore right to their world and to let everyone know that the ones they suppressed were not so distant cousins.

She looked over at Jethro as he slept. His dark hair lying against his slightly tanned features. Would he be angry with her again tomorrow, still blame her or would he blame himself? That would be harder for him to overcome. He had held her close, cherished her. What did that mean?

She sighed. Her father was right. A mating between classes was not easy and not fair to the offspring. Just look at her and her siblings. Things had worked out okay for her, but the others were all dead. Is that what she wanted?

Jethro’s eyes met hers through the darkness. He was awake. Could he see her? The fire lit the night, but he was an Almighty. She smiled shyly at him. He continued to stare in her direction, no change on his features. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then waved. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her. Had he been looking for her? Did it matter? Here, in the darkness in the wild, she was happy. She looked at Jackson sleeping near Kim. If she could, she would choose another road, but if not, she would dig up happiness wherever she could. She shut her eyes and drifted off to the soft snores of Gaar and the lone howls of a Tracker.

**********************

Thanks for reading Lake of Sins: Secrets In Blood. I hope you enjoyed the story.

Grab your copy of the next book in the series

https://www.lsodea.com/books/hangmans-army/

or keep reading to see what happens next.

Hangman’s Army

CHAPTER 1: Hugh

HUGH PULLED THE THREADBARE blanket tighter around his shoulders as he shuffled back and forth in the darkness of his cell. It was getting colder every night and that meant the day of his execution was drawing near. He slid down the concrete wall to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. He—High Hugh Truent, the prodigy, the rising star, the Almighty who was supposed to change the world—was a naïve, arrogant fool who’d accomplished nothing but destruction. His mother was dead. His Guards and House Servants were dead or on the run and Viola…

He closed his eyes and she was there, smiling up at him from his bed, and then her mouth opened on a silent scream as her head rolled to the floor. His eyes flew open and he stared into the darkness. Of all the crimes that’d been piled on his shoulders, her death was the one that kept him awake at night.

The lights flickered to life. It was morning. One day closer to his execution. In jail, time almost stood still. His four years here seemed like a lifetime, but the betrayal by his friend Jason, the Supreme Almighty, burned like it’d happened yesterday. He’d trusted Jason with his reports and they’d disappeared as if made from smoke. Conguise’s lab had been clean. The only evidence that had remained had convicted him. He’d declared that the classes were genetically similar but without proof that was treason and treason was punishable by death.

Years ago, he’d come to terms with his fate even though it was based on lies. It was the truth that was hard to accept. He’d become the failure that his father had predicted. He’d never make Conguise pay for what the professor had done to Scar and the other Guards. He’d never bring to light the secret of meat and the genetic similarities between the classes. He’d never do anything except die a traitor’s death. His body left hanging in the Central Commons until it rotted and fell to the ground, serving as a reminder to all of what not to do and who not to become.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and stopped in front of his cell. It was too early for breakfast. Solitude was bad, but this would be worse. It always was. He stood, his muscles aching from the cold, hard floor. A key scraped in the lock and the bean slot slid open but instead of food there was a clean uniform and shackles.

“Change your clothes,” said the Guard from outside the door.

“Why are they a different color?” He wasn’t due for new clothes yet and these were black not orange like he’d worn since he’d been incarcerated.

“Just do what you’re told,” said the Guard.

His hand trembled above the tray. In here, change was never good. “Why didn’t they give me these yesterday when I had my bath?”

“Do I have to come in there?” The Guard jangled the keys.

“No. No. I’m changing.” He didn’t want to make the Guard angry. Besides his bath, the only other place he was taken was to the basement. Some of the Guards liked to brighten their day by beating the prisoners. He smirked as he put on the clean uniform. He’d be in the best shape of his life for his execution. He exercised every day—the stronger he was the easier it was to withstand the beatings—and he hadn’t had a drink in over three years. He’d said he was going to quit, and he had. One goal accomplished. Hurray, for him.

“Don’t forget the restraints,” said the Guard.

He tightened the cuffs around his ankles and the other set around his wrists like a good prisoner. Delaying only upset the Guards and that made the beatings worse. “Done.”

The door slid open with a groan. Curtis stood in the doorway. He was one of the newer Guards at the facility, having replaced an elderly Guard who’d been retired or put down. Hugh wasn’t sure which, but he’d bet on the latter.

“Come on.” Curtis stepped away from the doorway.

He didn’t move. All the Guards who worked in the prison were solidly built but Curtis was at least twice the size of the others and he really didn’t want to be this Guard’s punching bag. “Where are we going?”

Curtis glared at him a moment and then smiled, his large teeth gleaming in the dim light from the hallway. “Don’t worry. We ain’t going to the basement.” He waved Hugh forward. “The Supreme Almighty would have our heads if so much as a scratch marred your pretty face on execution day.”

It seemed there were benefits to everything, even dying. “Then where are we going?” he asked again, dread keeping his feet in place. This wasn’t routine. This wouldn’t be good.

“It’s visiting day.” Curtis grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the cell.

“Visiting day was two days ago.” He’d been told that his sister was waiting for him and like every week for the past three years, he’d refused to see her.

During the first year of his incarceration, his sister and her family had suffered for his crimes. Little Sarah’s husband had lost his job and the kids had suffered at school. He’d told her to publicly disown him, but she’d refused. So, he’d stopped receiving all visitors and all correspondence but every week she arrived as steadfast as the sun. Their mother would’ve been proud of her daughter and although he wouldn’t admit it, he was glad for her stubbornness. He didn’t want to stand on the gallows and stare out at nothing but hatred and violent memories.

“Wrong visiting day.” Curtis’ face was grim.

“Already?” That meant that tomorrow was his execution. “I thought I had a few more days.” His throat was tight and the words came out as a whisper.

“Sorry.” Curtis gave him a slight shove.

He stumbled forward but didn’t move any farther. Yesterday, at his bath they’d made sure to remove every scrap of hair from his body. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now it made sense. The Supreme Almighty and his council didn’t want any questions about why an Almighty would have hair like the other classes.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” Curtis grabbed him by the arm.

He tried, but his feet wouldn’t move. At his trial, he’d been shocked by the vehemence directed at him. Jason and the Council had convinced the public that the massacre at the Remore household had been his fault. They’d said that it’d been his responsibility to make sure that the Trackers took their serum. It made no difference that he hadn’t known there were any Trackers besides Mirra. All the blame and anger had been given to him, like a gift of sorrow and pain, linking his name for eternity to the tragedy known as the Night of the Trackers.

Curtis must’ve gotten tired of waiting because he began walking, dragging Hugh along. The door to the visiting chamber was getting closer. This was the second to last part of his punishment. He’d sit, chained in the room while family members of those he’d harmed came to have their final say. They wouldn’t be allowed to touch him but he feared their words and heartache more than any beating. He deserved hatred for Viola’s death and Buddy’s and his mom’s, but not the others.

“It’s time, High Hugh.” Curtis stopped.

“I don’t go by that anymore.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it’d slipped out. He hadn’t been called by his title in a long time.

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.” Curtis winked as he opened the door.

The room was empty except for three, burly Guards, a two-way mirror on the wall, a table and chairs. Curtis handed him over to one of the Guards and stepped outside, closing the door. The Guard guided him across the room and hooked his cuffed hands to the table and then his feet. He could move about six inches in either direction but there was no escape.

“Sit,” said the Guard, pushing down on Hugh’s shoulder.

He dropped onto the chair behind him, saying a quick prayer that Little Sarah would show up soon. If he could see her first, he might have the strength to face the others—the widows and orphans and the parents morning their dead children. The Trackers had killed many that night. He stared at the wall. It was blue with a hint of purple. It was similar to a flower but he couldn’t recall which one. He’d focus on figuring that out and not what was to come.

One of the Guards coughed. All of them were staring at the door, noses wrinkled in disgust. He sniffed. He couldn’t smell anything but he did hear the footsteps. There were different treads. It could be Little Sarah and her family, but he wouldn’t be that lucky. No, it’d be some mother or parentless child. He tried to focus on the wall, but his eyes kept darting to the door. He didn’t deserve this. The deaths at the Remore party had not been his fault.

The door opened. There were three of them standing outside with Curtis. As they entered, the heavy scent of perfume invaded the room. He breathed through his mouth to protect his nose, but that was worse, the odor clinging to his tongue like the taste of rotten meat. Curtis shut the door, trapping them inside with the stench. The three Guards shifted away, tucking their heads toward their arms to try and block the scent.

Two of the three visitors were Almightys dressed in their black, ceremonial capes. Their bowed heads were covered by hoods, so he couldn’t make out their faces. The other was a Guard. He looked familiar. It was Jackson, but with a beard. The Guard had finally yielded and grew the facial hair of his class. Hugh started to smile but stopped. If Jackson were here, then the other two had to be Benedictine’s family.

He sagged against the chair as the tension fled his body. Of everyone, the Remores knew he wasn’t to blame for the Night of the Trackers. Before his trial, Kim, Jethro and Jackson had wanted to come forward and explain their part in the mess, but he’d convinced them that it’d make no difference. He was going to be executed for treason; there was no point in anyone else dying.

The three guests moved across the room. The male had to be Jethro, but the boy hadn't filled out like he’d expected. Jethro was still lean and lanky. The other was a woman, a young woman by her posture and stride. So, it was Kim and not Martha. They stopped in front of the table, Jackson behind the others. The Guard wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was for the best. The warden was probably watching from the two-way mirror. It wouldn’t do for him and Jackson to seem on friendly terms. The Guard didn’t pay much attention to Kim either which was odd. Usually, the sexual tension between the two was palpable. He held back a grin. Maybe, the tension had been relieved. Without Benedictine’s watchful eye, his daughter was free to do as she pleased and from what he’d witnessed after the Night of the Trackers but before his imprisonment, what Kim wanted was her father’s Guard.

Kim was different than he’d remembered too—tall and lean with the promise of lush curves shaping the robe. Wait a minute. He may not have seen a female in years but something was wrong. Kim was not and never would be willowy like this female. Kim was short and curvaceous. His eyes narrowed. Since when was Kim taller than Jethro? The boy might not have grown over the years, but he shouldn’t have shrunk.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Kim raised her head. Golden eyes framed with lashes the color of soot met his gaze.

“Hello, High Hugh.” Trinity grinned.

In one fluid movement she was across the room, slashing at the Guard on his right. Jethro, who wasn’t Jethro at all but Tim, launched himself at the Guard on his left while Jackson grabbed the third Guard, placing him in a chokehold. In a moment, the struggle was over. The three Guards lay on the floor and he was standing—he didn’t remember standing—with his mouth hanging open.

“Tie them up.” Trinity grabbed his hands. “Where are the keys?”

“Jackson, stop.” This was all happening too fast and yet not fast enough. They’d come to save him. He had no idea why and he didn’t care but it’d be for nothing if they didn’t act fast. He pointed behind him at the two-way mirror. “The warden and who knows who else is back there. They’ll signal for more Guards if they haven’t already.”

“Don’t worry. We got this.” Jackson slipped out the door.

“I…I.” He had no words. His throat was filled with hope. He wasn’t going to die. He started to run his hand through his hair and stopped, his arms still chained to the table.

“I can’t find the keys.” Tim searched the Guards.

“I got this.” Trinity pushed her hood back and pulled a long needle from the bun in her hair. “Start undressing one of them.”

“This is taking too long.” He turned toward the door. “Where’s Jackson? There was another Guard outside the door. Did you get him?”

She grabbed his hand. He jumped at the contact. It’d been years since he’d been touched by anything but a fist, let alone the soft skin of a female. She dug her claws into his wrist, scraping slightly as she stared up at him, her golden gaze angry.

“Stay still or we’ll all get caught.” She began picking the lock.

“Do you know how to do that?”

Her head was bent over his hands and the light reflected off her hair as it slipped free from the bun and flowed onto her shoulders. Brown was too tame a word for it as highlights of red and gold created a cacophony of glorious hues. It was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. The latch clicked open.

“Yep.” She grinned at him as she grabbed his other hand.

The breath caught in his chest. She used to hide her fangs when smiling. She’d been young and unsure of herself, but now she accepted who she was. Her confidence was in every gesture and move she made. She was magnificent. His eyes traveled down her body, searching for the curves hidden by the cloak. He blinked and raised his gaze to the wall. This was Tim’s daughter. But she’s not your niece. That didn’t matter. She was young and innocent, not for him. He took a deep breath, choking on her perfume.

“If you don’t like the smell, stop breathing.” She continued working on the lock.

“That was the Council’s plan, so unless you want to join me you’d better hurry.” He’d forgotten about her smart mouth.

She raised a brow at him as the second latch opened. She knelt and started working on the chains around his ankles.

“This is taking too long.” He repeated as he glanced at the door. “Other Guards will be coming.”

She unlocked another latch and moved on to the next. “One more to go.”

The door burst open. Trinity jumped to her feet, claws bared. Hugh shifted to block her, but she pushed in front of him, sending him a dirty look.

“It’s us.” Curtis held up his hands as he and Jackson stepped into the room.

“Curtis is with you?” That’d explain why the young Guard had never taken him down for a basement beating.

“Sure am, High Hugh Truent.” Curtis slapped him on the back.

“I…don’t call me that.” He hated that title. It represented the fool he’d been and he wasn’t that man anymore.

They all glanced at him.

“Okay, Hugh. Whatever you want.” Curtis’ smiled faded a bit.

Trinity gave Hugh a disgusted look as she knelt back at his feet. She looked up at Curtis from under her lashes. “Don’t pay any attention to him. If he’s not griping about something, he’s not happy.” She smiled, her eyes meeting his for a moment in challenge and then flashing over to Curtis.

Curtis blushed.

“Hurry up, Trinity.” Tim glared at the young Guard.

“I’m only irritable when you’re around.” He hadn’t missed the exchange between her and Curtis. He didn’t envy Tim. Shy, unsure Trinity had been trouble. Confident, flirtatious Trinity would be a nightmare for her parents.

“Almost done, Dad. I told you that you’d be glad I learned how to do this.” She unhooked the last cuff.

“It’s who you learned it from that I don’t like,” said Tim.

“Let’s go.” Hugh rubbed his wrist and moved toward the door.

“Wait. We need to check you for a tracking device.” Jackson blocked his path, a Tracking Pinpointer in his hand. It was long and thin like a metal stick.

“What are we going to do if I have one implanted?” It’d have to be removed, but sometimes the devices attached deep in the tissue.

“Whatever we have to.” Trinity bared her claws.

“Freedom comes at a price.” Tim grinned.

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it.” Having a device the size of a piece of rice dug from his body by claws was not an experience he wanted to have.

“Sorry. Has to be done.” Jackson turned on the pinpointer.

“I’ll do it. You need to change.” She grabbed for the device.

“I got it.” Jackson jerked away from her.

“Stop arguing and let Jackson handle it.” The words came out almost a shout. He’d forgotten how annoying the squabbling of the other classes could be. “Jackson has experience with locating tracking devices and we need to hurry.”

She stepped closer to him. “You’ve been locked up a long time, Hugh. You have no idea how experienced I am.”

His eyes flew to Tim. She couldn’t mean that the way it sounded.

“Don’t even,” said Tim, sending a glare at Curtis who was grinning at Trinity.

“What did I say wrong this time?” Her eyes darted from one male to the next, red creeping into her cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” said Tim.

“I’ll never learn if you don’t tell me.”

“You’ll never learn by spending all your time hanging out in the forest with Gaar and Mirra,” said Tim.

“Now, Dad? Really?”

Tim closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “No. You’re right. We can talk about it later.”

“We’ve talked about it enough,” she said under her breath.

Jackson was trying unsuccessfully not to smile as he ran the wand up and down Hugh’s body.

“What’s that about?” he whispered to the Guard.

“Tim and Millie want her mated but”—Jackson glanced at her—“she’s not ready.”

“I can hear you.” She didn’t bother to look up. “I’m sure Dad will tell you all about how I constantly disappoint him and Mom, but first we need to get out of here.”

“We’re not disappointed in you, just your choices.” Tim’s tone was weary as if they’d had this discussion too many times.

“That’s so much better,” she said.

“All clear.” Jackson slipped the device into his pocket and started changing into the prison Guard’s uniform.

“I told you they wouldn’t waste the money on a dead man,” said Curtis.

“We had to be sure.” Jackson grinned at Hugh as he buttoned his shirt. “It’s too bad. It would’ve been fitting if they’d put your own invention inside of you.”

“Yeah, a real shame.” He’d also forgotten what a warped sense of humor Guards had. He collected the weapons from the prison Guards. They didn’t carry guns but they did carry clubs.

“You can’t have these. Not yet, anyway.” Jackson took the nightsticks from him. “Let’s go.”

“As soon as we put the shackles back on him,” said Curtis.

“No. What if I have to run?” He didn’t want to be chained, not ever again.

“We won’t latch them.” Trinity grabbed his hands.

“Be careful as you walk. You don’t want to lose these at a bad time.” Curtis tucked Hugh’s socks around the cuffs to keep them in place.

“Kind of ironic, a Producer chaining an Almighty.” She hooked his handcuffs loosely around his wrists. “I like it.”

“I don’t.” He wasn’t truly restrained. He could slip his hands free with little effort but after all these years, he didn’t want chains or locks anywhere near him.

“Neither do we.” Her large, gold eyes were brittle.