by Rhea Watson
The huge tiles slated together on the floor, grey and faintly glittery. The fountain in the middle of the mall, in which human children threw coins. The fake greenery around pillars. The silent moving staircases between floors. The multilevel food court, some clumps of booths sunken into the ground, others propped up on podiums, surrounded by producers of fried, greasy nonsense. Humans flocked to them, to the fat and the salt and the false coloring.
I much preferred Hazel’s cooking.
Everything about this place brought me back to that day when I’d followed her, and now here we were again, searching for her scent, trying desperately to find the trail that would lead us back to our mate.
Shoving my prisoner along, we followed the corridor’s curve into the food court, the sudden burst of chattering humans and smelly food vendors an assault. But the man in my grasp didn’t flinch; perhaps he lacked heightened senses. Yet another clue into his origins.
Knox had already returned to base camp, the alpha standing with Declan in the center of all the chaos. Humans occupied a few of the tables on our platform, but the teens seemed to prefer the booths to the smattering of two- and four-seater tables. My packmates muttered to one another, close in proximity, their expressions tense. Had they discovered something in my absence? Nothing of note rang through our bond, but those looks suggested my capture wasn’t the most promising news of the day.
They parted on my approach, eyes narrowing at the bloody bastard, our high-value prisoner. We’d all stayed naked, clothes long since abandoned. After all, it would be even more shocking for three naked men to materialize in the middle of this food court should opposing forces provoke us.
“Found this one sniffing around the hospital,” I announced as I steered my captive up the steps to the platform. The fucker’s lips parted and he drew a sharp breath, but before he could utter one miserable word, I cuffed him hard by the back of the neck, lifted him off his feet, and hurled him to the floor. He crashed in a heap before me, crying out for mercy and shielding his face as the pack closed in. Declan and I knelt on either side of him, the blade back at his throat, while Knox lorded over everything, a menacing giant to the figure on the ground.
“Please, please,” the man whimpered, a few of the many bloody incisions on his face splitting open as he spoke, “I’m just as much a victim as your reaper. Please.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Declan growled, eyes flitting to me, then Knox, then back to the pathetic creature on the ground, belly-up and cowering.
“She’s alive. I swear it, she’s alive—”
“We know she’s alive,” I said coolly. While the admission was music to my ears, it didn’t mean anything. The pack could sense our mate—and that was the problem. “Alive and in pain, right? We can fucking feel it.”
So that he could feel it too, I nicked the blade’s tip over what little unmarked flesh remained on his throat. His skin split and wept red, and I forced a cruel sneer, like I relished my addition to his collection of carved runes. In reality, I was falling apart inside, racked with such fear, such worry, that it threatened to drown me.
“She’s being held by a god,” the man told us, shaking in his perfectly polished shoes, that grey suit too fine a material for some useless nobody. “I don’t know his name, but he found me after I fled my coven. I-I killed another warlock… It was self-defense, I swear, but the code is strict, and they would have killed me—”
Declan cut off the fucker’s rambling with a good, solid punch to the face. The crunch of bone suggested a broken nose, and his upper lip split on impact, the air around us saturated with iron.
“Stay on topic, asshole,” Declan ordered, so confident and poised—so unlike the hellhound I had known all these years. While our captive might have been ranting, he had given us plenty in just a few words. An ancient being of unknown power had Hazel trapped. This shit was a warlock, a creature who had no business on the celestial plane but was clearly proficient in magic of all kinds. I pressed the dagger to his flesh, not breaking it, but hard enough that one deep breath would slit his throat.
“Where is Hazel?” I asked, a sudden calmness thrumming through me, a focus to silence the fear inside.
“My n-name is Richard,” the warlock replied, another off-topic response. Blood smeared across his front teeth, dribbling in from his busted lip. “And he made me… He carved the symbols so I could collect souls for him—as payment for his protection. He wants her to do it now because I… Being on the celestial plane—I’ll die soon. My body can’t take it.”
Another warning slice to his flesh silenced him, and this Richard pressed his eyes tightly shut, squeezing out a few tears. Crocodile or not—I couldn’t say.
“Tell us where she is,” I ordered softly. “Better yet, take us to her.”
“Of course, of course…” The warlock’s eyes snapped open, the madness fleeting but present. “He sent me out to fetch his dinner, but I had hoped to find you all instead. I don’t want to die. If you kill him, we’ll be free. Her and I. Please. I’ll take you.” Boldness struck, and he sat up on his elbows; I let him, both of us painfully aware that he had information we so desperately needed. “He’s holed up in Luna Pass, the mountain range north of the city. Inside… It’s warded, but I can get you through.”
“Then let’s go,” Declan snapped, shooting up and taking hold of Richard’s arm. “We don’t have any more time to waste.”
We hauled the warlock to his feet, the blade remaining at his throat. A flicker of excitement plumed in my chest, but as eager as I was to find her, hold her, hurt the villain who dared hurt her, I couldn’t get ahead of myself. This journey was only just beginning—and Hazel was still very far away.
“Knox,” I started, “do you think—”
“I’m not coming with you.”
A beat of intense stillness echoed through our bond, squashing all of today’s noise to nothing. Knox had been strangely hands-off during our brief interrogation, and to hear the certainty in his voice now, like he had just been biding his time to say—that…
A huff of disbelief whooshed out of me. “What?”
“This could lead to our death at the hands of some god,” Knox remarked, gruff and unnervingly firm, his arms crossed. “We have an opportunity here. Go. Get out of all this for good. Start a new life.”
Declan and I exchanged fleeting, frantic looks across Richard. The warlock all but hung between us, weak on his feet, head drooped—and, as far as I was concerned, inconsequential for the time being.
“W-what are you talking about?” Declan adjusted his hold on our prisoner, shaking his head. “No, we have to find Hazel.”
In the human realm, time ticked on, the food court slowly filling, lines building in front of the vendors. So ordinary out there—so normal.
“Ever since you two came to me, my priority has been your safety, your freedom,” Knox insisted. “That is what an alpha is supposed to do—”
“It’s different now,” I argued, incredulous that this was even a discussion, “and you know that. She’s a part of our pack. Someone has kidnapped a member of our pack. They’re hurting her. Our mate. We can’t just leave her.”
Seldom did I struggle to get a read on a situation, especially when it came to Knox and Declan. Not only did we share the pack bond, but I had been studying their moods and expressions for years now. Declan had grown these past three months into a stronger hellhound, the abuse of his past finally fading, allowing him to blossom into the packmate he was always meant to be. Hazel had changed Knox, broken down his walls, made him a little softer. I understood all that. Recognized it. Catalogued it, saw the root of the subtle but distinct shifts in their personalities.
But this?
I didn’t understand this.
Didn’t understand him—my best friend, my brother-in-arms, my alpha.
I knew how he felt about her because I could fucking feel it. Literally. How could he even entertain this train of thought anymore?
“No.”
Since arriving in Lunadell, we had watched a lot of television, movies—and I had read a great many books. The weight of that one word—no—hit me as I imagined a bullet might, shot at point-blank, straight to my heart.
Declan seemed to crumble beside me, a stray shot hitting him too.
Knox didn’t even blink.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought since she was taken,” our alpha said, his words lacking inflection, emotion. “We should seize our freedom while we can. This could easily be a trap.”
“So what if it is?” I shoved the warlock into Declan’s arms, and for the first time in my life, raised a weapon to Knox—the dagger, square to his chest. My arm trembled as he stared me down, his aura overwhelming, and I dropped it to my side and stepped back. “If it’s a trap, then we’ll spring it and fight.”
Never had either of us gone against Knox. Conflict shone bright along our bond, Declan’s mingling with mine, weaving together, stronger as one.
From Knox I got… nothing.
“We leave,” he said flatly. “Head north—”
“I’m going to get Hazel.”
Declan’s declaration possessed the strength Knox and I had always wanted for him. Not once did his words waver. He stood tall, overpowering our captive, staring back at our alpha like he was seconds away from shifting—attacking, even. Certainty pounded through the bond now, confidence. He had made up his mind.
And it could shatter our pack.
I swallowed hard, but the lump steadily growing in my throat refused to budge.
“You love her, Knox,” I whispered, pleading with my eyes, unable to fathom ever begging the huge hellhound before me for anything. “You’re mated. Declan and I are mated to her. She is who Fate chose for us. Don’t do this. Don’t walk away under some misguided sentiment that no longer applies.”
“I’ve made up my mind.” Knox took a step back, away from us, away from the life we had fought so hard to build. “If you don’t follow… then I am no longer your alpha.”
Fury sparked amidst the conflict brewing in my chest. “Don’t make me choose between her and you.”
Because we both knew who I would pick—who I would always choose now.
Knox said nothing.
He had always reminded me of a mountain: strong, steadfast, rising above all those around him. Today that felt truer than ever, for today he felt cold, stoic, ice-capped and untouchable.
Tears filled my eyes, anger and frustration and misery and heartache crashing about inside. How dare he make me choose between him and my mate?
Our mate.
How fucking dare he?
“Gunnar…” Declan placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, his eyes fierce, his voice steady. “She’s suffering. We have to go.”
I focused on Knox. Look what you’re making me do. Look at what you’re doing to me.
Again, he said nothing. Just stared back, his gaze obsidian, black as the deepest pits.
Betrayal. I’d never felt it so profoundly before—and I had been fucked over a great deal in my lifetime.
“Goodbye, old friend,” I said hoarsely, struggling through every word. “You’ll regret this as soon as we leave.”
I knew that for certain.
“No, Gunnar,” Knox rumbled as I grabbed hold of Richard. My alpha offered a slight shake of his head, then a weak and resigned smile. “Not this time.”
My nails gritted into the warlock’s sleeve, and Declan grabbed hold of my free wrist so that we wouldn’t lose each other in transport. Just the two of us now.
Hot tears streaked down my cheeks, but when I cast Knox one final look, he had already turned away, his back to me as he padded down the stairs. The food court blurred around us, and I jabbed the tip of the warlock’s dagger into the nape of his neck.
“Take us to her,” I demanded. “Now.”
32
Hazel
I had traded the chair for a cage.
Knees hugged to my chest, butt numb from sitting on stone for hours on end, I stared at the angry orange shimmer of my cell, the bars staticky and sizzling. As soon as Richard had left, Charon dropped the dramatics—like he missed having an audience. With a wave of his bony hand, he reconstructed the cage I’d arrived in, then dragged me inside by the back of my chair. Once all the orange bars slanted into place, effectively trapping me, muffling my magic more than it already was, my bindings had disappeared. As had the chair. As had Charon.
And soon enough, it was just me in this awful cavernous pit. Charon’s threats had hit home, and the wait to see if Richard found my boys was agony. There was nothing else to do but worry—sit there and ruminate in silence. Sure, I’d attempted to teleport, to attack the bars with whatever magic I had inside this reaper body. Nothing. The plethora of runes, the fierce sting of the magical enclosure, was enough to beat me.
It would be enough to beat them too.
A part of me wished the pack had run off as soon as I was taken. Maybe if this had happened a few weeks ago, they could have saved themselves. But I knew without question that the three hellhounds I’d fallen for were still in Lunadell, looking for me, searching frantically. Every so often, I felt—something. A shiver of panic skittering down my spine, a whisper of fear on the back of my neck. Before they had left their marks on my skin, I could have chalked it up to my own panic, my own fear.
But mine roiled in my gut. The feelings that danced down my spine, tingled on the back of my neck… I was starting to suspect they belonged to them. By shifter lore, we were bonded.
So, maybe, just maybe, I could feel them in a way I couldn’t before.
Maybe inch by inch, I was being let into the pack bond they all shared.
What a time for it to happen—when I wished they were far away from this nightmare.
Somewhere in this godforsaken cave, water dripped, dripped, dripped. A kind of consistent, delicate torture that would drive me mad one day. For now, it reminded me that there was a world out there, that it went on without me… and that my boys could too.
Unlikely, but—
A brilliant blast of light flashed down one of the nearby corridors, its rounded mouth briefly illuminated bright white. Magic hummed through the air, thickening it, and I shot to my feet when a pained yowl reverberated against the stone. I knew that cry, that deep, angry, pained cry.
My heart sank.
My boys had come for me.
And they’d tasted Richard’s magic.
I rushed toward the bars on the left of my cage, hissing and whimpering when I accidently brushed one, the burn as intense as ever. Footsteps thundered down the narrow offshoot from this great room, followed by the sound of claws on stone, barks and snarls that were so obviously Declan—
A violent snap of metal.
A high-pitched yelp that cut straight to my marrow.
“No!” I cried, burning my hands again as I tried to get closer, to see what that bastard was doing to them. Not that I wanted to see—but I had to. I had to know. They were here because of me, and whatever happened to them deserved to haunt me for the rest of my miserable days.
Silence blanketed the cave for one, two, three painfully long beats—and then the most agonizing wails I’d ever heard shattered the quiet. Declan. I knew the sounds they all made, could detect the minute subtleties between each bark and howl. And that was my Declan.
A figure appeared in the corridor’s opening, moving along haltingly, his back to me.
Richard.
I’d thought him a victim of Charon, same as me, until I realized he was hauling something by a chain into this main cave.
At the end of which—Declan.
A shrill, shrieking Declan in his hound form, being yanked along by his back leg, around which was an enormous bear trap. The teeth ripped into his flesh and stained his shaggy fur red, leaving a trail of it in his wake. He struggled hard against the restraint, twisting and clawing at the ground, trying desperately to stand and toppling back down
with every hard jerk of the chain attached to the trap.
“Declan!”
Charon had lit dozens of candles when I last saw him, a crowd of enormous white, flame-tipped columns littered around the cave—I now realized it was so I could witness every gruesome detail. The metal trap caught the light here and there, highlighting the runes carved into it, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my sob.
Those markings probably prevented Declan from shifting.
I’d heard of shifter traps before, inked in magical sigils to keep the captured in their animal forms. Maybe they were easier to control when they couldn’t access opposable thumbs.
“You bastard!” I screeched, wishing I could slam my hands against the bars of my cage, make my fury known with more than just my voice. “Please, let him go! He doesn’t deserve this—”
“Please, please,” Richard parroted back to me, mocking me in a singsong tone. Fresh blood dribbled down his face, and not just from the sigils carved into it. My pack had roughed him up a bit. Good. From the horrible twist of his mouth, that cruel smile he wore as he yanked Declan into the cave, hopefully whatever they had done to him hurt.
Declan reared up suddenly, lunging for the warlock with a mouth of razor-sharp teeth that could strip flesh from bone, but Richard snapped the chain hard, wrenching Declan’s wounded leg sharply to the right. He stumbled with a whine, more blood splattering the stone floor, filling the air with a metallic tang that I tasted with every breath. That bear trap had such vicious teeth, so sharp and jagged, intended to score into the bone.
I knew that feeling, knew precisely what Declan was going through, my wrists painted with dried gold blood, my previous wounds healing slowly and tenderly. Aching with every slight movement. Limiting me. Maybe even scarring me.
Panic made my throat tight. This time, when Declan lurched forward, Richard clocked him across the face with the bulky end of the chain, and I stifled another sob when my sweetest hellhound tumbled down and didn’t get up.
