Grave Threat: Grant Wolves Book 3

by Lori Drake

  The man smiled broadly as he grabbed a spatula from the counter. “You’re just in time. Would you like a cookie? They’re fresh from the oven.”

  Chris didn’t know how to respond. The man seemed so delighted to see him, and yet he was a prisoner here.

  “Unfortunately, we’re not at liberty to partake,” Adelaide said, not missing a beat. “The accommodations were… less than ideal on the way here.”

  The man began moving hot cookies from the tray to a wire rack on the counter. “Were they?” he asked, glancing at Eric and lifting a dark brow.

  Eric rolled his eyes. “You said to bring them. I brought them.”

  “Untie them immediately,” the man said, gesturing with the spatula.

  “You sure about that? They’re feisty,” Eric said.

  “Do not question me again,” the man said, an edge to his voice as he resumed shuffling cookies from pan to rack.

  “Yes, sir,” Eric said.

  Chris gaped openly as Eric swiftly untied Adelaide, then him. Once freed, Chris flexed his arms and hands, rolling his shoulders some.

  “Mr. Madrigal, I presume?” Adelaide said.

  “Please, call me Marc.”

  Karina brought the plate of cookies to them and silently offered it. Chris knew he ought to think twice before accepting anything from this man, but his stomach betrayed him. He snatched up a cookie, bit into it, and swallowed a moan. The cookie was heavenly. Still warm, just the right balance of chewy and crunchy, sweet and savory. The texture of the oatmeal and the explosion of chocolate on his tongue left him wanting more, and he reached for another cookie before he’d finished the first one.

  Chris could’ve eaten the whole platter, he was so hungry, but a few bites into the second cookie, he realized that Adelaide hadn’t reached for even one. He wasn’t the only one that noticed.

  “Not hungry?” Marc asked, setting the now-empty baking pan on the stovetop.

  Adelaide held up her hands—her swollen hands, mottled in various shades of purple and green. Chris’s mouth went dry. The cookies in his stomach threatened to come back up. She must’ve been in terrible pain, but her stoic face gave nothing away.

  Marc frowned and walked over to stand across the counter from them. He held out his hands. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  Adelaide hesitated, then stepped forward and placed her ruined hands over his. A muscle in her cheek twitched as his fingers closed on hers, but it was the only hint of discomfort she showed. Marc was soon wreathed in a magical glow. The glow intensified around his hands and Adelaide’s until it was too bright to look at. Adelaide’s eyes slid shut, and her lips parted as a subtle tightness eased from her features.

  When the light faded, Adelaide’s hands were pink and perfect once more.

  “Th-thank you.” Adelaide’s voice was little more than a breathless whisper. She opened her eyes, appearing dazed but serene.

  Marc caressed her fingers and smiled. “You’re quite welcome.”

  A protective instinct flared inside Chris. He yanked his mother’s hands away from the witch’s. “You okay, Mom?”

  “Hmm? Yes, fine, my dear.” She still didn’t sound like she was quite all there, but she squeezed his hands reassuringly and slid onto a stool.

  Frowning, Chris shifted his focus to Marc. “What did you do to her?”

  Marc didn’t answer. His eyes had lost focus, though they remained fixed in Adelaide’s direction. His frown returned. “Eric, who is this?”

  Eric had withdrawn to lean against the wall by the door. “Uh, his mom.”

  Adelaide smiled and extended a hand. “Adelaide Grant. Pleased to meet you, Mr.—Marc.”

  Chris pushed Adelaide’s hand down. Her cheeks were flushed. What on earth was wrong with her?

  Marc’s eyes refocused, but his frown lingered. “This isn’t her.”

  “He’s adopted,” Eric said.

  Marc turned his gaze on Eric, eyes narrowing.

  Eric held up his hands. “I brought you the old bitch, just like you asked.”

  Marc slammed his fist on the counter. Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Witch, Eric. I told you to bring me the old witch.”

  Finally, Chris understood what’d happened. Marc didn’t want Adelaide. He wanted Cathy. Chris laughed, unable to help himself.

  Eric’s eyes widened. “I don’t— I thought—” He wet his lips and swallowed. “I’ll go back.” He looked like he wanted to vanish through the wall.

  Marc took a deep breath and composed himself. “That won’t be necessary. Karina, escort Eric to his room and remove his protections.”

  “No! No, you can’t! Please!” Eric’s eyes were wide and he held an arm against his chest.

  Karina headed for Eric. “You heard the master. Give it to me.”

  Eric’s panicked look lingered, then he pushed up his sleeve and unfastened a woven leather bracelet from around his wrist. Chris had no doubt that if he’d been able to take an astral peek right then, Eric’s face wouldn’t be blurry anymore. He hoped Roger made good on his promise not to kill him before leading Joey to Adelaide. If they were even in range anymore. He had to get a message to Joey, but how?

  Karina tucked the bracelet in her pocket, then grabbed Eric’s arm and escorted him from the room.

  “I’m so sorry for the mix-up, Mrs. Grant,” Marc said, once the three of them were alone.

  Adelaide shook her head, smiling. “It’s no trouble at all.”

  Chris eyed his mother, then turned his wary gaze on Marc. “Why are we here?”

  “The same reason everyone is here, Christopher,” Marc reached for the plate of cookies, lifting it. “To serve. Would you like another cookie?”

  13

  By the time Joey finished telling Mike the whole story, the Silver Springs Alpha had abandoned his casual lean against the desk and moved around to drop into the chair behind it. The chair’s ball bearings squeaked quietly as he swung it slowly left and right by degrees. He seemed to need a minute to process everything she’d told him. She let him think, eyes straying to the door as she wondered if her food was sitting on the bar getting cold yet.

  “So, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Mike said, drawing her attention back to him. “Your friend ran away from the cult with some of their money, and when they came after her, they killed your boyfriend. Your pack sent them home with tails between legs, your boyfriend came back from the dead, and now they’re back for revenge and in cahoots with a rogue alpha your boyfriend beat in an Alpha Challenge.”

  He had a way of boiling it all down to essentials. “Right.”

  Mike whistled through his teeth. “You sure have a knack for making enemies, girl.”

  Joey bristled, more over the “girl” part than anything, but before she could retort, there was a knock at the door.

  “Yeah?” Mike called.

  Rita came into the room, holding a plate of food and a cup of coffee. “Thought you might want this. Dean said you’re probably pretty hungry.”

  How she’d opened the door with her hands full, Joey couldn’t fathom. She also didn’t care. She shot to her feet and relieved the bartender-slash-waitress of her burden with a heartfelt “Thank you!”

  “No problem,” Rita said. “You want ketchup or anything?”

  Joey’s mouth was already full of food. She shook her head vigorously.

  “Thanks, Rita. The boys settling down out there?” Mike asked, glancing at the security feed for the first time since Joey had started her tale. He’d probably forgotten all about it until then.

  “Yeah. Her boyfriend’s been talking shop to distract them. The guy knows his bikes, I’ll give him that.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Joey said around a mouthful of food.

  “Good to know.” Rita smiled and withdrew, closing the door behind her.

  Mike leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling while Joey consumed a few more bites of food. Her stomach felt like a bottomless pit, demanding more wit
h each bite swallowed. She wasn’t sure exactly how long Mike mulled this over. The only measure of time she had was the food disappearing in front of her, and it was vanishing faster than she would’ve liked. Yet not fast enough.

  Mike leveled his gaze on her once more. “Okay. So, what are you looking for from me?”

  Joey hadn’t expected him to offer unconditional support, but it would’ve been nice. She toyed with a French fry. “At the minimum, a place to crash for the night and regroup. But it sure would be nice to have help from people who know the lay of the land around here. Have you dealt with this Madrigal guy before?”

  He nodded, but said no more.

  Joey studied him while she chewed. “What’s he like?”

  Mike’s eyes shifted to the security feed. Seconds ticked by. “Like two sides of a coin,” he said eventually. “Heads you win. Tails you lose.”

  “Capricious?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s more like… he’s all smiles and generosity unless you cross him.”

  “Looks like tails for me, then.” Joey smirked and took another bite of her fast-dwindling sandwich. For a hole-in-the-wall dive in the middle of nowhere, the food was good. “Is he reasonable?”

  “In what way?”

  “Can we negotiate with him? I’m not opposed to throwing money at the problem if it’ll help.”

  “Worth a shot, but I dunno.” He leaned back in his chair again, lacing his fingers behind his head. Joey couldn’t help but admire the way his tee shirt stretched across his muscular torso. She may have been on a diet, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look at the menu. He was closer to her parents’ age than hers, but he was a fine specimen of lycanthrope.

  “Is assault an option? He’s holding two pack Alphas, Mike. I’ve got a dozen pissed-off wolves that want a piece of him right now.” Or she would if the Granite Falls pack knew Chris had been taken. For now, that was something best kept on the down-low. Chris’s pack was fiercely loyal. She wouldn’t be able to stop them from coming out here if she tried. Truth be told, she could barely control her own.

  “I wouldn’t advise it. His people, they’re mostly innocents. But they’ll die for him, if that’s what’s required.”

  “So?”

  The question earned her a surprised look.

  Joey put down her sandwich and leaned over to retrieve her coffee from the floor. “Don’t look at me like that. All I’m saying is that in war you can’t get too bogged down in shades of gray.”

  Mike’s brows pinched together and he rubbed his knuckles along his clean-shaven jaw. “Is that what this is? War?”

  “Not yet,” Joey said, and sipped her coffee. “I just want my family back, and I’ll do whatever it takes to bring them home.”

  Mike studied her for a long moment in silence, then pushed back his chair and stood. “You and your friend can stay the night. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I appreciate it.” She started to rise, but he waved her off.

  “Come out when you’re finished.”

  Mike strode out, leaving the door partly open in his wake. Music, laughter, and smoke spilled into the room, but Joey focused on finishing up what remained of her meal. Mike had left her with little idea of whether they’d help, but at least he hadn’t said no. She finished her food, then called home to update her family on the situation. Dean poked his head in while she was on the phone, and she waved him in. He closed the door behind him and wandered over to set Roger’s can on the desk.

  “I’ll call you in the morning and let you know how it goes,” she told Sam, and they hung up after mutual admonitions to be careful and stay safe.

  “How’d it go?” Dean asked.

  Joey flopped back against the cushions and peered into her coffee cup. It was nearly empty, but she wasn’t quite ready to go out into the bar proper in search of a refill. “With the family, or with Mike?”

  “Both.”

  “Okay on both counts,” Joey said with a shrug. “Sara finally convinced Dad to get some sleep. He’s not doing well. He and Mom haven’t been apart this long in nearly a century.”

  “Hopefully not much longer.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, as for Mike, not sure where he stands just yet. He says we can stay the night and talk more in the morning.” She drained the last of her mug. A thought occurred to her in the process. “Are you okay with that?”

  “Me?” Dean scrubbed his fingers through his short, curly hair. “Yeah, fine. Whatever you need.”

  “Thanks,” Joey said, finding herself smiling despite the circumstances. It’d been a shitty couple of days, but it was nice to have a friend. She hoped she didn’t get this one killed.

  “What?” Dean asked. Her smile must’ve faltered.

  Quickly shaking her head, Joey got to her feet. “Nothing. How’s Roger holding up?”

  “He’s fine, but says he can’t find Chris anymore. He’s not sure if they took him out of range or if they finally got around to spirit-cloaking him.”

  Joey stretched her arms overhead, then bent down to touch the floor. The stretch down the backs of her legs felt divine. “What’s his range like?”

  “Hard to say. Maybe fifty miles?”

  “Let’s take him out tomorrow. He can scout the place out for us.”

  Dean sighed. “Thank god.”

  Joey lifted her head to look his way. “What?”

  “I don’t want to sound like a wimp, but after two days on the road, I don’t really want to ride any more tonight than I have to,” he said, flashing her a tiny smile.

  Grinning, Joey collected her plate and mug. “I won’t tell your new buddies. Don’t worry.”

  Chris sat on the edge of the bed in the small room where Karina had left him. Adelaide’s was across the hall. Guests, they called them. Prisoners was more like it. The doors locked from the outside, and the windows were nailed shut. He’d checked. His fingers drummed lightly against the tops of his thighs.

  Now what?

  A simple locked door wouldn’t hold him, not unless he allowed it to. But if he knocked down the door, then what? It wouldn’t be quiet. He might get down the hall, down the stairs, maybe even to the front door before someone caught up to him. No, when they escaped, it’d have to be late at night. Or, better yet, during the day when everyone was distracted, when he wouldn’t have to do anything as attention-getting as busting down a door.

  The ancient wind-up clock on the nightstand said ten thirty. Chris’s head was heavy with fatigue, but he wasn’t ready to go to sleep. Not yet. For all he knew, Karina and Marc would visit him in his dreams again, and he didn’t like the way that made him feel. He unfastened the chain around his neck and slipped Cathy’s charm off. Remembering what his mother said about being able to smell magic, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed at the metal, but smelled nothing but copper and nickel.

  He started to put the charm on the nightstand, then thought better of it and slipped it into his pants pocket instead. As long as it wasn’t in contact with his skin, he’d be able to leave his body and return to it. He didn’t want to risk someone finding it in his room and taking it. It might come in handy, and he didn’t have a lot of tricks up his sleeve.

  Chris untied his shoes and dropped them on the floor, then stretched out on the narrow mattress. It was lumpy and barely long enough for his tall frame, but he was no princess. Closing his eyes, he slipped out of his body. When he opened his eyes again, he was still in the small guest room. The decor was so muted that he barely noticed the shift in the color scheme, but he didn’t have to look down at his body to know he’d been successful. His emotions were a tangled knot in his chest, annoying but manageable, and the world was fuzzy around the edges, as usual.

  Leaving his body behind, Chris set out to explore the house. He drifted through the walls, from room to room. Occupied rooms were more common than empty ones. Some were set up with bunk beds or cots so the space could be shared. Others had just one bed. Most of the cultists were
asleep. The ones that weren’t either read or finished up some sort of domestic chore.

  His mother lay on the bed in her room across the hall, staring up at the ceiling, wide awake. The way she’d reacted to Marc after he healed her was unnerving as hell. She’d seemed a little more like herself by the time they were separated for the night, but it was still troubling. He longed to talk to her, and cursed their captors for splitting them up. They still had air to clear too, and if they were together, maybe they would’ve been able to work on some sort of escape plan.

  Now that he thought about it, that was probably exactly why they’d been separated.

  There were a few rooms warded against spirits that he couldn’t enter. By the time he was done searching the house, he suspected Marc, Karina, and Eric were in those rooms, because he hadn’t encountered any of them. He wondered if Eric was sweating bullets, not realizing he was still protected even without the charm Karina had taken from him. Then again, he had no reason to believe Roger could reach him this far south. If he’d been able to, he would have. Chris knew that for certain.

  Chris expanded his search outward. The compound wasn’t large, but there was a vast area surrounding it that was completely uninhabited. He remembered Joey telling him that Eastgate was an unincorporated community, so it was likely that the coven was the sum total of its population. There were a few outbuildings—a barn, a garage, a storage shed—and a chain link fence surrounded the perimeter. A large portion of the land had been irrigated and cultivated. Early spring crops were already planted.

  Once he’d learned everything he thought he could learn, and familiarized himself enough with his room that he was confident he could jump back with ease, he focused on Joey and took a big step. He found himself in an unfamiliar room. A child’s room, judging from the decor, but there was no child present, just Joey and Dean. Joey lay on the bed, while Dean was stretched out on the floor, wrapped in a sleeping bag. His thirsty eyes lingered on Joey, drinking in the sight of her, scanning for any signs of lingering injury. She looked fine to him, but appearances could be deceiving.