Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

The ship flew through the invisibility shield and landed in front of a bunker that looked like it had been there for centuries. It was a low concrete building with no windows. Jagged cracks like scars ran down the sides of the building. The two coldbloods dragged Navan out, and I scrambled out from under the bench, anxiety coursing through my veins. I followed them into the bunker and down a hallway lit with flickering fluorescent lights.

They kicked open one of the doors off the hallway, which led into a room with nothing but a metal table with a couple chairs, and a bench—much like the one I’d just been hiding under—shoved up against the back wall. They shoved Navan into a chair, one of them tying his hands behind his back with something that looked like red twine, but glistened in such a way that it made me think it had come from something living. I slipped underneath the bench.

“Loser,” one of the coldbloods snapped, and it spat, the globule hitting the side of Navan’s face before it slowly dripped off. Navan didn’t flinch, though; he barely reacted. He stared straight ahead, unmoving, except for his hands, which were behind his back. His hands opened and closed into fists, and I could tell he was straining against the ties, but they weren’t budging.

The two other coldbloods looked toward the door as it opened. A large, imposing figure stood in the doorway for a moment, retracting his enormous black wings so he could fit through. His hair was the color of mud, and his eyes were dark and seemed to reflect the light.

“That’s enough,” he said.

“We can’t stay?” one of the coldbloods asked.

“No.” The big coldblood didn’t even look at them as he pulled the second chair out from the table. He didn’t sit, though; instead, he walked the perimeter of the room, coming to stop right in front of the bench. He was so close, I wouldn’t even need to extend my arm all the way to touch him.

“What is your name?”

Navan stared straight ahead. His lip was split, and a dark bruise was forming on the side of his face.

“Let’s start this a different way,” the coldblood said. “I’ll tell you my name. I am Ezra, and like you, I am originally from Vysanthe. I hope that you will recognize that we can be on the same team here. We can work toward the same objective.” He moved away from the bench and sat down at the table.

“How do you know what I’m working toward?” Navan asked. His voice was low, a throaty growl.

Ezra smiled. “Well, that’s the problem—I can’t completely know what it is you’re working for if you don’t tell me. That’s what this is about right here. Think of it as getting to know each other.”

“What is this—a date?” Navan shook his head. “Not interested, sorry.”

I could tell that Navan was struggling to keep his cool. His look of confusion and anger made it clear he really couldn’t believe there were other coldbloods here. I remembered how adamant Navan had been about keeping Earth a secret for as long as possible, about doing whatever was necessary to prevent the other coldbloods from finding out we were here—yet they’d been here all along.

“What is it you’re doing here?” Ezra asked, leaning forward.

“Sightseeing.”

Ezra took a deep breath. “I’ll ask you again—what is it you’re doing here?”

Navan rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, as if he was going to find the answer there. “I took a wrong turn. I meant to take a left at the Andromeda galaxy and I ended up going right, then I got caught up in a really turbulent plasmapheric wind and was blown right here to Earth.”

“Likely story.”

“If you think I give a damn whether you believe me or not, you are mistaken.”

Part of me wanted to run over to Navan and shake him, tell him to just answer their questions. He didn’t have to tell them everything, but he needed to reveal enough to satisfy them—otherwise, they’d probably kill him. Ezra was being amicable enough right now, but who was to say that wouldn’t change in a second? Who knew when his patience would run out, and if he decided that Navan wasn’t going to give him the information he wanted, what would prevent him from killing him right then and there?

“Look,” Ezra said. “I can understand that you’re not thrilled to be here right now, and that for you to open up, I’m going to have to extend a bit of trust. So again, I’ll go first.”

“You’re acting like I actually care about who you are or what you’re doing here.”

Ezra laughed. “But you do,” he said. “You’re very curious—and quite perplexed—as to what all these coldbloods are doing here on this planet. We found your base in Alaska, you know. We detected irregular frequencies—frequencies that indicated Vysanthian technology. That was our first clue that there was a coldblood here who had arrived on his own, not with the rebel faction, and we sent our shifter allies out there to investigate…and, if necessary, assassinate.”

Navan swallowed. “Rebel faction? You mean the ones that the sisters banished from Vysanthe?”

“The very one. Brisha and Gianne should have done a better job of killing us, but they were too wrapped up in the idea of ruling that they didn’t consider some of the finer details of democracy.”

“Well, democracy would not involve killing dissenters.”

“Ah, but it would. You seem to be a learned fellow—I’d guess a fairly smart one, given that you’ve figured out a formula to camouflage your skin.” He eyed Navan, taking in his human-colored tone. “What democracy isn’t based on bloodshed and tyranny? It’s simply the way things are done. On this planet and every other. And of these innumerable planets, Vysanthe is indisputably superior.”

Navan snorted. “I know some who might disagree.”

“Vysanthe deserves to be united,” Ezra said. “None of this ruler to the south, ruler to the north nonsense. There should be one leader that all of Vysanthe can rally behind. This is not just an individual desire—this is for the greater good.”

“And you’re going to see to that from here . . . how?”

“Our plan has always been to return to Vysanthe, once we regrouped, strengthened our forces, organized our faction. We want everything to go right, the first time.”

“Because it worked out so well for you before.”

“That’s exactly my point. Things didn’t work out so well for those who wished to see democracy on Vysanthe, and so we must be more diligent this time around to ensure that our vision is realized. This takes time, this takes resources. Would you not like to see a united, peaceful Vysanthe?”

“Of course I would,” Navan replied. “And the probability of that happening is about . . . oh, I don’t know. Zero?”

“The probability is actually much greater than that. The numbers grow in our favor with every individual we recruit to the cause. We are not out to do harm, we are not malicious. Violence is kept to the minimum.”