by Tanith Frost
Tonight is the full moon, and Irene’s pack will likely all be wolves now, unable to answer questions. There’s a chance I won’t find them here either way, if Silas came out to warn them. I know he likely hasn’t. He’ll take care of his own pack first, warning the others only if it doesn’t interfere with the safety of those he’s responsible for and loyal to. Pack before species and self.
I’m starting to understand.
The cabins are dark, save for a light in the little cabin that’s set apart from the main building. My stomach sinks as a trio of wolves runs through, pale coats darkened by rain that’s getting heavier again, snapping playfully at each other. Another appears at the corner of the cabin, walking with a faint limp, large ears pricked forward as she approaches me.
“Hi, Violet,” I say, and she lowers her head in greeting. “Is Irene around? And still…” I gesture to my own bipedal form.
Violet nods toward the cabin where light glows behind the white curtains.
“Thanks.”
She follows me, then sits with her massive tail wrapped around her feet, sheltering under the quilts that hang from the clothesline outside the door.
Irene answers my knock. She’s dressed in a pale blue housecoat in a thin, loose fabric. Her eyes are glassy, pained. I’d say she was sick if I didn’t know better.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” I tell her. “You’re changing soon?”
Her mouth pulls into a tight grimace. “I am. Sasha just finished, and she was the last besides me. I’ve held it off, waiting for that poor girl to accept the inevitable. I can’t wait any longer.” She pulls in a long, ragged breath. “If this isn’t an emergency…”
“It is, I’m sorry.”
She steps outside. “It’s fine,” she says, though it’s clearly not. “Fresh air helps, and the clouds. The moon’s light isn’t reaching us.”
Another wolf skulks through. Her coat is darker than Violet’s. I’ve never seen her in wolf form, but when she bares her fangs at me I have no doubt it’s the blonde who so hated me when I first visited.
Her grey muzzle and front paws are stained with blood.
I gasp. “Irene.”
She looks at the wolf, and another that trails after her, similarly filthy. She smiles affectionately. “Caribou on sanctuary land. They got to hunt. That almost never happens.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “How do you know?”
“Violet reported back to me. We’re going to feast after I—” She winces, and her fingers hook into tight arcs that she holds out in front of her as she collapses to the ground.
Headlights break out of the forest, blinding me as the Escalade pulls to a quick stop.
Irene’s eyes go wide.
“Shit,” I whisper, and grab a quilt to cover her. I lean in close over Irene’s trembling body. “I didn’t know they would come,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry. We’ll figure this out. Please trust me.”
Her lips pull back, exposing teeth that are slowly lengthening into a wolf’s. I look away as her face begins to stretch out and ignore the long, low moan she’s obviously trying to suppress.
I let the blanket fall, covering her completely. It won’t be the most dignified change she’s ever gone through, I’m sure, but at least no one will be gawking at her.
“Aviva,” Royce calls. “What’s happening?”
“The female pack leader is changing,” I tell him when I’m close enough to speak confidentially. I glance back. Violet is standing over the shifting lump under the blanket. “She was waiting, but they can’t hold it off forever under the full moon.”
Royce scans the rest of the wolves who have gathered around, maybe twenty-five in all. I had no idea there were this many in the female pack. I don’t think anyone knew. They’re all here on sanctuary land, all obeying the rules about staying out of sight during their change, but not all of them are registered.
Fuck.
Royce nods toward the bloodstained pair. “Did you see that?”
“I did. Irene was explaining that—”
The sound of a shotgun cocking cracks through the air as Erica slips out of the back seat, taking careful aim at the bloodied wolves.
I don’t make a sound, don’t even think, as I lunge at her.
Royce grabs me around the waist, but I get close enough to push the barrel of the gun aside as she pulls the trigger. A spruce trunk just to the left of the dark-furred wolf’s head explodes into matchstick splinters, filling the air with the sharp scent of sap.
Just a little bump of my fingertips at the source, but enough to change the bullet’s trajectory and keep it from going between her eyes. The wolf races off into the forest, but stops and turns when she’s found shelter. The others don’t move save to flatten their ears against their heads and bare their teeth.
Erica turns on me with a snarl that turns her cherry-stained lips into an ugly wound. “Who do you think you are?”
“Listen to me,” I gasp, fighting against Royce’s tight grip that’s now squeezing my ribs. “They were hunting. Caribou.”
“On sanctuary land?” Royce asks. “There hasn’t been anything that large to hunt here in decades. We provide all of their food.”
I push against his chest, and he lets me go. The wolves are snarling behind me. I’m not afraid. I wonder whether Royce and Erica are noting that. Yet another item to go in my file.
“Let’s give them a chance,” I tell them, and look back to Irene. She’s emerged from beneath the quilt in wolf form, leaving her robe behind. She’s shaking and panting, but she holds her head high, looking defiantly at the three of us. “Irene, can you get them to take us to the carcass?”
I have no doubt that she was telling the truth. Erica and Royce will see that I kept them from making a mistake that could have ruined vampire-werewolf relations forever.
The clouds break with a flash of lightning, releasing a deluge that reflects painfully in the Escalade’s bright headlights.
Irene hurries to the other bloodied wolf, who takes off into the forest at a slow lope, followed by the rest of the pack. Irene and Violet hang back at the rear, allowing us to follow them on foot.
Erica and Royce may be closed off and unfamiliar, my perceptions may be low and my energy drained after long days without tasting blood, but I still sense their power and the ill-will they’re feeling toward me swirling hot and red through the familiar blackness of their power. I’ve undermined their authority in front of the wolves. Defied them. Disrespected them.
I pick up my pace and push through sodden tree branches until the wolves in the lead stop in a small clearing and sniff around. Irene stops and Violet pauses beside her, eyes glued to her alpha. The others seem confused, milling around in the woods beyond.
Irene joins them, sniffing the ground, then looks off into the forest, teeth bared at some unseen threat. I don’t see anything.
The wolf who led us here wolf whines and paces in front of Irene. She seems confused. Lost. Asking her leader for answers.
Irene glances back at us and exchanges a significant glance with Violet, whose eyes widen.
Irene flares her teeth.
I can almost read it. Go.
I don’t stop them.
Violet howls, a blood-chilling cry, and the wolves all take off into the woods. A few look back, reluctant to leave their alpha, who’s still standing in the clearing. Erica steps forward, and Irene places herself between the vampire and the retreating pack. Erica steps to the side, and Irene does the same.
She’s not snarling. Not attacking. Just preventing progress.
Erica points the gun at Irene’s head.
“Don’t,” Royce says before I have a chance. “We’ll take her in, question her.” He looks to me. “When will she change back?”
“I’m not sure.” And it’s true. I know Irene has to change at the full moon, but she changes at other times, too. Whether that counts toward her week, I have no idea. There are too many questions I haven’t a
sked.
Royce pulls a small gun from his pocket, then aims and shoots in one smooth motion. A tiny dart hits Irene in the shoulder, and she collapses onto the rainy leaf litter of the forest floor.
Chapter Twenty-One
I pace the confines of my room, a place which since last night has become more like a prison than a retreat. No one has said I’m under arrest, but if they haven’t thrown me in one of the kennel cells, I suspect it’s only because they think I might be in deep with the wolves and don’t want me conspiring with Irene.
I haven’t seen the female alpha since they brought her in, but Erica or Royce will be here in a few minutes to take me down to feed her. I insisted on that, and surprisingly, they agreed. They don’t seem to have a problem with me being able to talk to her as long as we’re supervised. Maybe they think they’ll learn something I’m not telling them.
No matter how many times I try to explain, it’s obvious they consider me a fuck-up at best and a traitor at worst. Either way, they’re running the show now. I’m not to leave my room except to use the bathroom, shower, or grab a coffee.
Not that I have a lot of places to go or energy to get there. I’m depleted, and there’s no sign that I’ll get a meal any time soon. Not until those in authority feel their work here is done.
I should conserve energy, but I need the momentum of my footsteps to focus my thoughts. I’m feeling weak and mentally fuzzy, and I have a lot to figure out.
They took my phone and my keys. I can’t go anywhere, though Erica managed to fix the Jeep within twenty seconds of popping the hood. I can’t contact anyone. Maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t need a lecture from Daniel, who wouldn’t dare step far enough out of line to come help me. I don’t want to hear him tell me I should stay out of this and let things happen as they will.
I can’t. I won’t. I feel it in my bones that Irene’s pack isn’t guilty. Whatever my feelings about that hostile blonde or hers toward me, I don’t believe the blood on her muzzle implicated her or her friend in the murder. I believed Irene when she said they were hunting, and I believe her now.
But the others won’t. Irene is only alive because Royce and Erica want her pack, and they want answers before they do away with the lot of them. Including Irene.
The lock thunks and the door swings open without so much as a courtesy knock. Royce looks in and motions for me to follow him.
The moose meat he’s left in the sink is still half frozen, but it’s all I have to offer Irene. It will be better than nothing. We don’t both have to starve. I carve it into chunks the size of what I remember Paul offering to Violet, shove the mess back into the bag, and follow Royce down the hall. My keys jingle in his hand.
“Was there a spare set of these?” he asks.
“None that I know of,” I tell him, blocking any thoughts of Silas. I doubt Royce or Erica can read my mind, but it’s best to be careful. “Do you not have Paul’s?”
“We do. Just making sure.”
Just making sure I won’t have access to any, is what he means. I square my shoulders and don’t answer.
He flicks the light on, and Irene blinks up at us. Royce leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching.
I dump the meat into a bowl that I push through the opening under the bars. “Hey.”
She looks despondent. I would be, too, if I had a family to care for like she has and had no idea what might be happening to them.
I look back at Royce. “Are you drugging her?”
He shakes his head. “Haven’t needed to since the arrest. So far.”
I fetch a blanket from the pile by the door and push it through the bars. Irene doesn’t come to get it, but she looks up at me at last. Her pale eyes search mine.
I have to be careful.
“Irene, do you know where we can find your pack?” I ask.
Her ears twitch.
“Erica and Royce have questions, but there’s no sign of them. If you can communicate with me, tell me where they might have gone…”
Her shoulders and back relax, and I could swear a little canine smile pulls up at the sides of her muzzle. She shoots me a wink from the eye Royce can’t see from where he’s standing.
I don’t say you’re welcome. Letting her know they got away is the least I can do for her after accidentally drawing enemy attention to the pack she works so hard to protect. At least she seems confident in Violet’s ability to watch over them.
I need a lieutenant. A second. Someone I can trust like that to have my back, to work with me toward whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to be doing now. Not an easy thing to find in my world.
I turn to Royce and shrug. “I don’t know if they even understand English when they’re in wolf form.”
He gives me a hard look and leads me back to my room.
It’s not even midnight yet, and I’m tempted to go to bed instead of reading or thinking. I’m bone tired, and though sleep won’t refresh me in the way I need, it will at least let my body recover a little. And while I’m asleep, I won’t have questions chasing each other through my head.
I don’t bother undressing. The other advantage of complete unawareness during sleep is that I won’t notice how uncomfortable my jeans are.
I’ve just closed my eyes when something hits my window with a sharp tap.
My eyes snap open.
Tap.
I force my heavy body out of bed and open the curtains. Silas stands outside. The window is just high enough that it would have been difficult for him to reach over the wide ledge and knock. He’s tossing and catching another pebble in his left hand.
The window can’t open, but I crank open the vent at the bottom.
“Hey there, Juliet,” he says. “Where’s your balcony?”
I offer a tired smile. “I thought you hated school.”
“I did. And that story was especially stupid.” A small frown creases his brow. “Guess you can’t be Juliet. You’re already dead.”
“You’re hardly Romeo yourself.”
“Damn right.” He cocks his head to one side. “What’s happening in there?”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of stuck. No keys. No phone.”
“Irene okay?”
“So far.”
“You look like shit, Aviva.” He doesn’t say it like he’s teasing. Or judging. It’s just an observation.
I sink to my knees and rest my forearms on the wooden window frame so I can prop my chin on them. He steps back so he can still see me. “I haven’t eaten in a while,” I confess. “You could definitely take me in a fight tonight.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I always could have.”
I muster a derisive snort. “Sure you could.”
“Come with me, then. Let’s bust you out of there.”
“And go where? I can’t leave Irene.”
He shrugs. “You also can’t help her right now, can you?”
My stomach sinks. He’s right. But I’ll be in more trouble than ever before if I leave. Right now they only suspect I’m not on their team. Breaking out would confirm it.
On the other hand, I’m doing no one any good in here. I need to choose: self-preservation, or potential progress?
My exhausted brain thinks it through slowly. I’ve chosen progress so far, letting my good intentions regarding my position within Maelstrom slide in the hopes that I’ll get closer to solving the murders and saving the werewolves. And because of that, I’m pretty sure I’m already past the point of no return as far as my reputation goes.
In for a penny, in for a pound, as my grandmother used to say. Double or nothing. Maybe if we put our heads together, Silas and I can figure this thing out.
I examine the window. It’s not made to open, but I might be able to break the frame. I’d be out of luck if Maelstrom had sprung for new windows in the last three decades, but it’s obviously never been a priority. The outside is sturdy enough, encased in metal to prevent break-ins, but the decorative interior frame isn’t built
to withstand break-outs.
I’m going to be in so much shit if this works.
I brace my hands against the upper edge of the frame so that my palms are pressing up against the old wood, gather my remaining strength, and push up.
At first, nothing happens. I shut the world out, eyes closed and ears unhearing, and focus everything I have and am on the strength of my hands. They’re small, but powerful. I don’t have a lot of strength at the moment, and I’m draining what’s left. I don’t care.
The crosspiece comes off in one long strip, separating with a loud crunch from the metal that’s screwed into it. The side pieces follow, coming more easily when I wedge a pen from the desk in to add leverage to my own strength.
But the glass is stuck. Not, I suspect, glued, but held in place by long years in one spot and whatever grime and dirt have worked their way in there.
“Little help?” I ask.
Silas runs for the wall and jumps, clinging to the ledge and placing his big hand against the glass when he reaches the top. He shoves hard, and the pane falls inward.
I catch it before it hits the floor and set it under the bed. I won’t be able to replace it from the outside. If anyone walks around the building to do a security check, I’m screwed.
Too late to change my mind now. I pull my boots on and toss my jacket out to Silas, then shimmy awkwardly out the window, exiting ass-up and feet first. It’s a tight squeeze, even for someone as small as I am, and I’m not feeling particularly coordinated.
The window ledge makes my shirt ride up as I exit. I’m out past my waist, pushing out against the window frame to get my chest out, when a low wolf whistle sounds from beneath me.
I wiggle the rest of the way out and hang from the ledge for a second before I drop to the ground. It’s not a long fall, but I land badly. Silas catches me as I stumble.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“You are in bad shape, aren’t you?”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get out of here.”
He leads me to a spot at the north end of the yard where the trees crowd up close against the fence. Without any hesitation, he reaches out and untwists a bit of fine wire wrapped around a small section of the chain link. I look closer. It’s almost invisible, but it’s there, winding downward and holding a gap in the fence closed. The overlap is so perfect that I never saw it, even when I looked.
