by RJ Blain
“It’s Ryan, isn’t it?”
Why else would both witches seem so nervous and smell so anxious? Dad was far from harm’s way; he wasn’t welcomed on Inquisition missions. He wasn’t a witch. He wasn’t a Fenerec.
Unless someone had gone hunting Dad, he was safe. Ryan wasn’t.
Harriet refused to meet my gaze, and even Audrey hesitated, which answered my question without them needing to say a word. It took every scrap of my willpower to keep my body relaxed.
If I wanted answers, I couldn’t afford to frighten off the people who could tell me what was going on. I inhaled, held my breath, and then released it. The witches weren’t responsible.
“Please tell me.”
Audrey sighed and nodded. “Dalton and his pack are on route now, but none of us know if they’ll make it in time—or if they even have a chance to. I’m sorry. Something went wrong, and we don’t know what. We didn’t have time to relay the communications to Dalton; we sent the extraction order and the last known location, and he was on the move before we could ask him if he recognized any voices on the tape.”
Something had happened to Ryan, something the microphones I should have been monitoring picked up. It took a lot of effort to avoid clenching my teeth or otherwise displaying my growing anxiety. “Maybe I’ve heard them before. Can I help?”
Both witches stared at me in disbelief, and I recognized their reactions from business negotiations. Being reasonable in stressful situations surprised people, and while I worried for Ryan, I couldn’t afford to shut either woman out.
They were the only ones who could tell me what was going on.
“We brought a part of the recording,” Audrey admitted, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Why don’t we sit and go over it? If you know anything at all, it might help.”
The room had a small table barely large enough for three to sit around. I offered both armchairs to the witches while I grabbed a stool from the suite’s kitchen. Audrey set her phone in the center of the table and tapped the screen.
“Why my pack?” I didn’t recognize the male’s voice, but I tensed at the suspicion in his tone.
“Tired of the bullshit.” The vehemence in Ryan’s tone made me wince, and my wolf whined her worry.
“They’ll kill you if they find out.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need any trouble in my pack.”
Ryan didn’t reply, but I imagined him shrugging without even trying to meet the other Fenerec’s gaze.
“Get rid of him before someone follows him.”
I sucked in a breath, recoiling from the phone. After so many years of working with him, and especially after the days I had spent as his captive, I’d never forget the sound of Harthel’s voice.
“He’s got a mate, sir. Can smell her on him. Not wise; getting rid—”
The crack of gunfire blasted from the phone’s speakers, and I flinched away from the sound. Moments later, I heard a sickening thump.
“Must I really do everything myself?”
Audrey reached over and tapped on the phone’s screen, heaving a long sigh. “We believe the man who pulled the trigger is a human.”
A numbing cold took root in my bones. I recognized the feeling from work. “Charles Harthel. He used to be Vice President of Pallodia Incorporated.”
Both witches straightened, and Audrey asked, “You’re sure?”
“I’ve known him most of my life, Audrey. I’m sure. I have no doubt it’s him.”
The women stared at each other without saying a word. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to remain silent when I wanted to open my mouth and scream. I wanted to howl, as did my wolf.
I wanted to cry, but the numbing cold within robbed me of my tears. Instead, I watched the witches and waited.
Harriet bit her lip, her gaze fixed on her sister’s phone. “Dalton’s doing everything he can. If anyone can work miracles, it’s him. He didn’t waste any time leaving. They’ve been given orders to shoot to kill. If something can be done, he’ll do it.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Harriet grimaced. “For now, wait. I know it’s hard, but please be patient until we find out more. Right now, we know nothing. When Dalton reports in, we’ll let you know. If there’s anything you can do, we’ll tell you. For now, let us do our jobs without distraction. If we can bring him back to you, we will.”
Mindful of Dalton’s warning Fenerec could smell lies and uncertain if witches could sense them, I nodded and stared at the tabletop. I stayed that way, motionless, until the women left, locking me in the suite meant for two.
Chapter Twenty-Six
If Harriet and Audrey thought I was going to wait like an obedient dog told to sit and stay, they were insane. Glass and metal stood between me and the outdoors, and I had no intention of remaining a prisoner any longer than necessary. I grabbed hold of the bars. My hands throbbed from contact with the silver, blistered when I held on too long, and bled black before the pain drove me back.
A wolf’s strength wouldn’t get me through the window. Burning the building down wouldn’t help me, either. All setting a fire would do was draw unwanted attention. Melting the bars and shattering the glass would get me out, but how long would I have before the Inquisitors hunted me down and dragged me back?
Once outside, I needed to get away, fast and far—too fast and too far for any Inquisitors to hunt me down. Harthel’s voice and the deafening blasts of gunfire replayed in my head and ignited my fury.
A wolf could run fast and far; nothing would stop me from hunting Harthel down and ripping him into bite-sized pieces and scattering his broken body for the vultures. In that, my wolf and I were of one mind.
Harthel would die for hurting Ryan, for taking him from me—from us—when we were too far away to defend him. My throat tightened and my eyes burned. I couldn’t even tell if Ryan lived.
The cold spot in my chest, born the instant the gunfire blasted the microphones, refused to ease. It hurt to breathe.
My life narrowed to one point, one man: Harthel.
The Inquisitors could take their precious taboos about killing Normals and shove them up their asses. I would earn whatever punishment they deemed fit, even death.
But first, I needed to get through the bars and glass. Maybe the silver was impervious to my wolf’s strength, but it wasn’t invincible. I hadn’t manifested any flames, not since my purported destruction of Harthel’s cabin in the mountains.
Fire could melt silver if I could make it hot enough—if I could summon it without burning myself and everyone around me in the process—if I could summon it at all.
If Ryan lived, I would find him. If he didn’t, I would find Harthel, and I would show him I wasn’t sick, weak, or defenseless, not anymore. I clenched my teeth, reached out, and clutched the silver bars. The metal seared my fingers, and I welcomed the pain.
It anchored me to what I needed to do, what I desired, and what I needed to do to accomplish my task. If it became my final mission in life, I was prepared.
Until I watched Harthel’s world burn around him, I wouldn’t quit. Closing my eyes, I fought to hold on until everything narrowed to my burning hands and the metal barring me from freedom.
It didn’t take long for the silver to burn me so badly I couldn’t grip the bars, and my fingers twitched, peeling free of the metal. An acrid stench scorched my nose, triggering a coughing fit.
I cracked open an eye, grimacing at the blackened state of my hands. Skin wasn’t supposed to smoke, but mine did. Drop by drop, molten silver streamed down the wall, trailing a dark path to the floor. It should’ve burst into flame, but I remembered the witches’ reassurances the room was safeguarded against fire.
Maybe the silver would’ve flamed, too, without those protections, but their magic wasn’t enough to stop the two bars from puddling on the floor, leaving a gap large enough for me to wiggle through.
Hope revitalized me, and I fisted my abused hand, drew on my
wolf’s strength, and elbowed the glass as hard as I could. A web of cracks appeared. On the second blow, it broke enough fresh air washed over my face.
Once the window was too broken to use my elbow, I resorted to my fists. I stopped counting my strikes, but it took longer than I liked to bust a gap large enough for me to climb through. To escape, I’d have to cram myself between two bars of silver. With time against me, I couldn’t afford to stop long enough to clear away the glass shards.
A few cuts and burns wouldn’t stop me. I wanted Harthel’s throat between my ruined hands. I’d put my wolf’s strength to the true test when I strangled the life out of him.
I grabbed hold of the window sill, sucked in a breath at the pressure on my blistered skin, and put every last one of my gymnastic lessons to good use as I scrambled through the window.
The silver scorched my arms and legs, but it didn’t stop me from pushing through. I dropped several feet to the ground, smacking face first into the gravel. The impact stunned me, and my wolf howled her anger in my head, her fury at my incompetence stinging more than my burns.
I snarled back, aware of gravel sticking to my cheek and chin. “Stuff it, bitch.”
Maybe if she had helped me figure things out, I would’ve been with Ryan instead of locked in a room shielded with silver. Maybe if she hadn’t retreated whenever I tried to assume her shape, I could have done something to stop Harthel.
In that, she was to blame, and instead of shielding her from my resentment, I allowed it to simmer so it could boil over the boundaries dividing us.
Without Ryan, I’d be dead.
Without me, Ryan wouldn’t have been put into a position to face Harthel alone.
Killing Harthel wouldn’t bring Ryan back, but it would prevent him from hurting anyone else, including Dad. I loved my father, but he wasn’t the one I wanted.
I wanted Ryan back. I had so many questions I wanted to ask, so many things I wanted to see with him, so many things I wanted to experience with him at my side. My lack of control had ruined everything.
My wolf’s grieved howl stuck in my throat, and I swallowed it back. Until I found Harthel, I couldn’t afford to waste a single breath. I scrambled to my feet and ran.
Long after I should have collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss, I ran. The Inquisition’s headquarters skirted the New York mountains, allowing me to avoid the roads. Mud specked with thin patches of melting snow reminded me of the late-season blizzard, making me remember everything Ryan had done to help me.
I stumbled to a halt and gasped for breath, bracing my hands on my knees. Wolves ran faster than humans, didn’t they? Speed mattered.
While I doubted Ryan still lived, if I didn’t hurry, Harthel would escape me. If he did, I’d have to hunt him, no matter where he went. I’d been warned what the Inquisition did to those who broke the rules and violated their taboos.
I couldn’t die without taking Harthel with me, not just for myself, but for Ryan, for Dad, and for those Harthel would target in the future. A wolf could do what I needed, no matter how badly I wanted to strangle the life out of the man.
Wolves could run fast and far.
Once again, I was aware of my wolf’s resentment.
I straightened, taking in the forest. The thick canopy blocked a lot of the sunlight, but the sky darkened with the promise of night. Her eyes saw better in the dark than mine, too—yet another reason I needed to rely on her.
Maybe other Fenerec had amicable relationships with their wolves, but I didn’t. She didn’t want me; her interests narrowed to mating, hunting, and being the top dog of the pack.
Her anger flared, and I smirked at how calling her a dog stirred her ire. “As long as you treat me like a living mule for you to reside in, I’ll call you a dog. That’s how things are going to work from here on out. You want me to respect you? Fucking earn it. You saved my life. I get that. Nice of you, but you didn’t have to—you decided to. You regret the decision. Don’t expect me to roll over and treat you like a delicate little princess in a glass tower. If you wanted someone to push around, you should have picked someone else.”
My wolf stilled and quieted, and I was aware of her listening, her curiosity stronger than her dislike of me.
“I want to kill Harthel, and I need your help to do it. However satisfying strangling him would be, you run faster. You have teeth. You heard what he did to Ryan. Fine, you’re pissed at me. I’m not the ideal little pack mule for you to ride around on. I’m not going to always do what you want. Maybe you liked it when you could make me dance to your tune, but your tune? It’ll get people I care about hurt. I won’t let you do that. Get used to it. You want to hunt? Fine. We’ll hunt deer. Not people. Not my dad, not Ryan, not anyone. Maybe we’re supposed to posture for other Fenerec, but we can figure that out later.”
Sucking in deep breaths, I straightened and balled my hands into fists. “I want Ryan back.”
Maybe I was no longer human, but my desires were as human as it got; I wanted what I couldn’t have. Harthel had taken Ryan from me, and I’d never forget the crack of gunfire and the thump of his body hitting the ground.
My wolf wouldn’t forget, either.
It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough.
Pain distorted time, and my fear of Harthel escaping before I could catch him drove me forward. My bones broke, my muscles tore, and my body reformed, and I needed it to go faster, no matter how much it hurt.
I needed to kill Harthel and watch the life die out of his eyes. I longed to watch the black aura surrounding him fade and wink out along with his existence. When I caught up to the man, I would do as Ryan had threatened and shred Harthel to pieces so small investigators would need tweezers to gather his remains.
When the transformation completed, my front paws throbbed. The sharp, metallic stench of blood hit my nose. With a single sniff, I identified it as mine.
My wolf worried, but I remembered what the witches had said; silver burns took a long time to heal, and wounds opened with silver bled longer than they should.
It didn’t matter if I left a trail of blood for others to follow. All that mattered was reaching Harthel first and killing him before anyone stopped me. My wolf’s agreement warmed my head. Her desire for the hunt strengthened.
The only evidence of Ryan’s involvement in my life was a faint tug. At my wolf’s encouragement, I broke into a lope and followed it, pausing to breathe in deep to hunt for Harthel’s wretched odor.
Night made way for dawn, and in the early morning light, I found where my mate had been shot, his blood left to dry on the gravel of an abandoned lot. A gutted, decaying building reeked of Fenerec. My wolf fixated on Ryan’s scent.
His fear lingered, staining the ground as much as his blood did. I lifted my nose and inhaled. Harthel’s scent went one way while a trail of Ryan’s blood went the other. The hope Ryan somehow lived froze me in place.
If I followed the blood trail, I might find Ryan.
If I followed Harthel, I might never find Ryan, dead or alive.
My wolf whined her distress in my head. Grief cloaked me, smothering me and numbing me inside. Wolves couldn’t cry, not like humans, and my throat itched with the need to voice a mournful howl.
Instead, I gathered my resolution, turned away from the blood trail, and followed Harthel’s rancid odor. My memories of the man and his vile miasma haunted me. The thought of the cold, black tendrils touching Ryan infuriated me.
Had Ryan been chilled by the man’s presence in his final moments? Had Harthel somehow done something to my mate in the moments before firing?
If I had been with him as I had wanted, would things have been different? Guilt and regret chased me every step of the way. The pain in my paws intensified the longer I ran. The scent of my blood made it difficult to pick out Harthel’s odor, but whenever I lost the trail, I stopped, concentrated, and circled until I found it again.
For such a fat man, he managed to hike a significant distance. The trail too
k me up into the mountains, and when his rancid odor grew so strong it choked me, I slowed to a prowl.
I allowed my wolf to voice a single growl, which promised violence against the human who had caused me—and her—so much misery.
Harthel’s trail led to the outskirts of a decaying town tucked away in the valley of two mountains. A single street led through boarded up homes and shops. The acrid bite of burning gasoline guided me to a dirt road twisting through the trees and up a steep hill.
Rusted out cars overgrown with weeds dotted a cracked and broken parking lot. The garage had survived better than the buildings in town. A thin trail of smoke rose from the roof, and it smelled of cooking meat.
I licked my muzzle and approached. The spice of Fenerec teased my nose, so varied I couldn’t isolate a single wolf nor count their number. The garage’s three bay doors were closed, but light shone through the clouded glass. I skirted the parking lot, hiding in the dense weeds surrounding the place. When I reached the side of the building, I spotted a door with clouded panes of glass. Instead of concrete or pavement, a gravel walkway stretched from the door to the asphalt. I placed my paws with care, choking back my whines when the small stones dug into my ruined, silver-burned pads.
Harthel’s stench strengthened with each step, and I bared my teeth and pinned my ears as I drew closer to my—our—enemy. My wolf quieted, and she demanded silence from me as well.
She reminded me of Ryan when he hunted, in the moment before he struck and felled his prey.
Shifting on my own had had an unexpected benefit; I’d grown large enough I could stand on my hind paws and peer through the window. The glass was so clouded I could only make out the dark shapes of figures moving within.
One of them was Harthel; I heard anger in his voice although I couldn’t make out what he was saying. He spoke with a deep-voiced male.
