CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
The Baker Corporation train came to a stop.
Finn pulled his suit jacket off and rolled up his white shirtsleeves to his elbows. His blades flashed in his hands a beat later. He pointed one at me, ordering, “Do not exit this train. The windows are bomb proof, so you’ll be safe. And the technology can’t be hacked, thanks to Wolfe’s update last night.”
I nodded. “Let me know if you need me. I want to help Poppy if I’m able to.”
“I know.” His severe eyes softened briefly. “But stay in here where it’s safe for now.”
The words spilled from my mouth with a grin. “Happy hunting, tiger.”
He blinked. “White tiger. I’m very proud of my coat.”
My chest shook with restrained laughter. I choked, “Okay. Happy hunting, white tiger.”
It just didn’t have the same ring to it as the other one, but I wouldn’t tell the proud man that.
He smirked, his chest expanding with his vanity. “See? I told you. That sounds much better.” The knife pointed at me again. “And accurate.”
Definitely not telling him. I nodded and smiled.
My hands shooed toward the door, perhaps flirting a bit with him. “Your best friends are out there fighting already. You better join them before they think you’re becoming lackadaisical in your old age.”
There was a mass of black golems around Mr. King’s home, the mansion built on a peninsula of rocks with the water on three sides. It was a magnificent property—when there weren’t magical creatures trying to destroy it and to get inside. The golems were on the ground, in the water.
Megan had been wrong. They could climb.
Or possibly, they had been enhanced?
I couldn’t be positive, but they looked faster.
No longer at an elderly person’s pace, but more like stumbling toddlers.
Black creatures were climbing all over the outside of the mansion, and from this distance, they appeared like monstrous spiders on a white, elegant home. Except they jammed their nails into the stucco walls to climb up, searching for entry. With the window still intact, I was betting they were bomb proof as well—even though our world no longer had those.
For immortals, who had been through the final war and viewed its horrors firsthand, their paranoid, cautious approach to safety wasn’t unexpected.
Finn bent down, staring out the window. “Cass isn’t there.” He shook his head as he straightened and walked to the train door. His tone was worried. “He didn’t come home last night like he said he would. His bed wasn’t slept in at all.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. Immortal, yes?”
“An immortal can still get into trouble. The mental kind. He’s got one fucked up job within the shifters.” He tapped on the panel, and the door opened up. I jerked back against my seat as I heard aroarerupt from outside. Finn hummed, “God’s pissed.”
He jumped out the doorway without using the stairs.
I lurched forward in my seat and watched as he soared through the air, landing smack in the middle of a group of black withering golems.
I whispered, “Damn. He has a nice ass.”
Finn’s shout rang through the air. “I heard that!”
The door automatically shut without a sound.
My cheeks flushed. Well, that was embarrassing.
If he heard it, then they all had.
I moved to another seat closest to the window for a better view. I pressed my hand against the glass, hoping they would make it through the fight. Double the amount of golems from yesterday were on this property, and if any had made it inside, then Poppy was fending for herself.
My lips pinched as I considered my options.
I wasn’t going outside. I would only hinder the shifters’ battle. Blades and I were not friendly. I had played with my father’s once and almost sliced off my little finger—and that wasn’t too long ago. Father kept his weapons dangerously sharp, a man who knew how to use them.
The panel’s glow caught my attention.
I eyed it. And a plan formulated in my head.
A foolish plan. But one that might save Poppy.
