by Raand, L. L.
“If one can believe appearances.” Francesca rearranged her gown, crossing her legs and allowing the flimsy material to slide up her thighs. Charles’s gaze sharpened. He had fed as well by now and would be potent. And all the more eager the longer she made him wait. “On the face of it, that’s true. We don’t know that the wolf involved acted under Sylvan’s orders, however.”
Charles laughed shortly. “Any wolf who doesn’t is a dead wolf.”
“As that may be, we have seen that the wolves can be tempted—look at the one who became blood addicted and nearly managed to kill Sylvan and her mate, for instance.”
“How do you propose to determine the truth?”
“Sylvan is not capable of subterfuge. If we have the right leverage, she will tell us what we need to know. If not in words, by her actions.”
“Leverage?” Charles asked softly.
“Mmm.” Francesca looked at the monitors again and studied Michel bent over her desk in the offices. The time had come for her senechal to prove her allegiance. “I believe I know just the thing.”
*
Sylvan sat on the floor of the Rover with her back against the side wall and Drake cradled in her arms. Drake had shed pelt halfway back to the Compound, but she hadn’t awakened. Sophia had put a needle into her arm and fluids ran in, helping to restore her lost blood volume. Sylvan’s wolf prowled, hungering to fight, images of death and carnage consuming her. Sylvan caressed Drake’s face and nuzzled her pale cheek.
Drake, can you hear me? Mate?
The silence was worse than a bullet in Sylvan’s heart. Drake should be getting better. Her wolf should be healing her. Sylvan growled, and her fury filled the Rover.
Niki tensed on the seat beside Sophia, ready to jump between her and the Alpha if the Alpha lashed out in her pain. Sophia stroked Niki’s arm and said softly, “Now that the bleeding has stopped, she will begin to heal. She is strong, the strongest of us all. She just needs rest.”
Sylvan looked up, her wolf’s eyes blazing. Had it been anyone other than the Omega, she might have snapped. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Alpha.”
Sylvan went back to stroking Drake and did not look up again until the gates of the Compound opened and the Rover roared through, cutting across the yard to the infirmary. When the back doors opened, flickering light from the fires flooded in. Sylvan’s eyes burned brighter than the flames. Elena appeared in the open doorway.
“Bring her inside, Alpha. Let us care for her.”
Sylvan hesitated, her wolf wary, distrusting. Her mate was injured, defenseless. She wanted to secrete her away, protect her until she was well.
“Alpha,” Sophia whispered, kneeling on the corrugated metal floor next to Sylvan. She kept her hands folded in front of her, unthreatening. “You can stay with her and see her safe. Please.”
With a low rumble, Sylvan picked Drake up and climbed down. “Where?”
“Come with me,” Elena said.
All activity in the Compound stopped as Sylvan stalked across the yard and pounded up the stairs into the infirmary. Whenever the Alpha was out of sight, the Pack was uneasy. Now every Were within miles of the Compound resonated to Sylvan’s rage. All across the yard, Weres snarled at each other or pressed close to the shadows, the submissives uncertain, the dominants restless and edgy.
Misha rose from her seat on a log in front of the fire pit where she’d been eating her evening meal, suddenly so agitated she couldn’t sit any longer. The Prima was hurt. The Alpha was in a fury. Drenched in pheromones, Misha’s wolf circled, hungry to hunt. Rubbing her belly, the burn burrowing deep inside, Misha headed for the barracks without questioning why.
Inside, Jazz guarded Torren’s door. His eyes gleamed as Misha approached, his expression hungry. “What’s going on out there?”
“The Alpha has returned. The Prima is hurt.”
He shivered and tilted his head toward the shadows a little ways away. “The prisoner has been quiet. I can watch her door from the end of the hall.”
Jazz had always been a fun tangle—sleek and playful. He’d satisfied her restless urges before, but tonight the ache went too deep. She shook her head. Like the last time she’d refused him, he shrugged and grinned.
“The prisoner refuses to speak with anyone but the Alpha,” he said. “Even the imperator couldn’t change her mind.”
Misha snarled softly. “Did she—”
Jazz gave her a curious look. “Why do you care?”
“I’m going to talk to her.”
“Just talk?” Jazz asked.
“Yes.” Misha reached for the door, ignoring his unspoken challenge, and let herself inside.
Torren sat on her narrow cot, looking elegant enough for a royal court. Her gaze was steady, and a small smile lifted the corners of her wide mouth. “No dinner this time?”
“Are you hungry?” Misha leaned back against the door and tried to settle her wolf. She hungered. Craved contact. Or a fight.
“I find that I am.” Torren rose, her skin as luminous as moonlight. Her turquoise eyes glittered as if shot through with diamonds.
Misha took a deep breath and honeysuckle flooded her senses. She growled softly, her canines and claws extruding as her sex pulsed.
“I wondered when you would come,” Torren said softly, crossing to her.
“What made you think I would?”
Torren traced her thumb over the slanted arch of Misha’s cheek, absorbing the wolf’s call as her hawk took wing. A hunter called to hunt. “Your taste has been in my mouth all day.”
Misha growled, wrapped an arm around Torren’s slender waist, and yanked her close. She kissed her, gentling her mouth at the last second, holding back her wolf’s need to claim. Spice and flowers exploded in her mouth, and every fiber of her body burst to life. Her wolf bounded through fields of wildflowers, chasing white-tailed deer in the spring sunlight. Joy and power flooded through her. She drew Torren’s lower lip into her mouth, nipped the inner surface with her canines.
Torren laughed, her long-fingered hands raking through Misha’s hair. The wind ruffled her wolf’s pelt while the clouds overhead streamed through her blood, bright and cool as spring water racing down a mountain face. Earth and wind and sky filled her until she overflowed.
Misha and her wolf were one. The chase was on. Hunt fever flooded through her. She cupped Torren’s ass, pulled her tight between her thighs, kissed her neck, the arch of her collarbone. “Your scent torments me everywhere I go.”
Torren pulled her to the cot, dragged her down until they lay face-to-face. Thousands of stars shimmered in her eyes. “Taste me, then.”
Misha rolled on top of her, slanted her mouth over Torren’s, and the forest enveloped her in deep green and dappled sunlight. Torren’s fingers entwined with hers and suddenly she was soaring, carried by the hawk over the mountain ranges. The forest swirled away beneath her and she pulled back, gasping for breath. “What are you doing to me?”
“Only what you desire,” Torren whispered.
Misha trembled, drunk on spice and honeysuckle. Her wolf lunged for freedom, and she let her run.
Chapter Sixteen
Niki paced up and down the long empty hallway, her skin prickling uneasily. The closed door to the treatment room was as potent as a predator in her territory, a threat that had her wolf on the verge of erupting. She was locked away from the Alpha and Prima when both were injured, but worse, her mate was in that room, unprotected and in danger. The Alpha was beyond reason, enraged and likely to strike out at anyone who seemed a threat. Niki’s wolf gnawed at her insides, wanting out, wanting to snap and snarl and stand between Sophia and anything—anyone—who might harm her, even the Alpha. She didn’t care if the odds were insurmountable. Her wolf had no concept of suicide, only the innate imperative to protect. She would fight for what was hers even if the Alpha dragged her down and tore out her throat. Even if the choice between mate and Alpha tore her soul apar—
Behind her
the door opened, and Niki swung around with a warning growl, canines jutting down and a haze of fury clouding her senses.
“Hush now,” Sophia said, closing the door gently behind her. “Everything’s all right. There’s no need for you to fight. No harm will come to me.” She opened her arms. “Come here. I need you.”
Niki bounded to her and pressed her face into the curve of Sophia’s neck. She breathed deeply, steadying herself in the sweet power of her mate’s clear mountain scent. “Are you all right?”
Sophia stroked her hair. “Of course I am. Maybe a little tired. As you must be.”
Niki held her tight, afraid to let her go, afraid her strength would desert her if she didn’t have Sophia’s to lean on. This need would have shamed her before, but was precious to her now. Sophia, with her steely calm and tender strength, banished the darkness from Niki’s heart and made her twice the warrior she had been for knowing she had a reason to come home. “I…I missed you.”
“I’m here.” Sophia raked her fingers through Niki’s long auburn hair, kissed her cheek. “Always, right here.”
Shuddering, Niki straightened, keeping Sophia in her arms. “The Prima?”
Worry settled in Sophia’s deep blue eyes, but she smiled faintly. “She’s very strong. She’s still…resting.”
Niki frowned. “She hasn’t awakened? She should have by now—her wounds were many and she lost blood, but none appeared lethal.”
“I know.” Sophia’s voice was a low murmur even though any Were nearby could hear them. “But Elena says the Prima may not heal the same as other wolves, because she is…different.”
“Different,” Niki said flatly. The Prima was neither born Were nor turned—she was genetically altered by some man-made agent. Just as Sophia was. Even though they both appeared to be completely Were in every way, no one knew the extent of their alterations.
“The Prima may need more time, that’s all. But Elena is a wonderful healer—”
“So are you,” Niki said gruffly.
Sophia’s smile widened and she kissed Niki softly. “Thank you, but I am just a pup compared to her. Elena says the Prima needs only to shift and draw on the strength of the Pack, and she will heal.”
“And the Alpha?”
Sophia rested her cheek against Niki’s shoulder, one hand stroking Niki’s chest. “She is a little more settled now that the bleeding has stopped and the Prima seems to be without pain.”
“I must speak to her. Can I go in?”
Sophia nodded. “Just step cautiously.”
“When I’m done, I’m taking you home.”
“Elena will need—”
Niki shook her head. “She’ll have plenty of help. And you need to rest.”
Sophia gripped Niki’s shirt, pressed tightly against her, her breasts supple and warm against Niki’s, her thighs cleaving to Niki in seductive welcome. Against Niki’s mouth, she murmured, “I need you. Not rest. Just you.”
Niki snarled, her canines brushing Sophia’s throat. “Yes.”
“Come,” Sophia said and eased open the door.
Niki followed slowly. The square timber-sided room held nothing more than a treatment table, shelves laden with medical supplies, a few tall metal stools, and a single bed beneath the sole window. The air vibrated with the lingering scent of the hunt, a vicious fight, and the Alpha’s rage. The Prima lay naked and motionless on the bed with a snowy white sheet, for warmth more than modesty, covering her to midchest. Sylvan, wearing only jeans, sat on the floor, her back against the bed, her arm stretched out protectively over the Prima’s body and her feral gaze tracking every movement in the room. Her eyes glowed golden in the dim light from a shaded bulb on the wall beside the door. The push of her power nearly brought Niki to her knees. Shuddering, on the verge of shifting, Niki stared at a spot on the rough wood floor midway between them. “Alpha, I’ve come to report. I interrogated the prisoner.”
Sylvan said flatly, “Tell me.”
Niki checked for Sophia out of the corner of her eye. The Alpha was not herself, and Niki feared what would happen if she angered her by mistake. Sophia stood by Elena next to a counter on the far side of the room, where Elena, her face strained with fatigue, prepared medication. Sophia nodded imperceptibly to Niki, and her faith settled Niki’s wolf. She was Sylvan’s second, and she was needed now more than ever.
“She’s a Blackpaw, like we thought.” Niki hunkered down in front of Sylvan, keeping her head slightly below Sylvan’s, her gaze fixed in the center of Sylvan’s chest. She did not look at the Prima. “She is injured and weak, but so far refusing to say much.”
“I should see to her injuries,” Elena said.
“Leave her to heal on her own or die,” Sylvan snarled. “She does not deserve our mercy or our care.”
Elena pressed her lips together but did not argue.
“Who orchestrated the attack?” Sylvan’s voice was little more than crushed glass and gravel.
Niki whined low in her throat and fought not to shift. “She claims the three acted on their own, on no one’s orders.”
“No.” Sylvan’s eyes glowed above hatchet-carved bones grown heavy and broad. “Bernardo does not tolerate independence among his Pack—none would attack without orders from someone above, if not their Alpha, then one they believed was acting for him. And why would the three cross into our territory and strike for no reason?”
“She and the younger male are siblings. The one who attacked the Prima an older cousin. She swears they were retaliating against us because we attacked first.”
Sylvan’s brows drew down. “That makes no sense.”
Niki drew a breath, choosing her words carefully. “She says we killed or kidnapped several of their wolves.”
“Who told her that?” Sylvan’s canines lengthened and silver pelt blanketed her torso. “If she will not speak willingly, you have my leave to force a confession—”
“Alpha,” Sophia said gently. “The prisoner is a wolf, and she might have believed she acted on good information. If we help her, she might—”
“They attacked my mate.”
Sophia shivered, and beside her, Elena gasped. Niki slid a few feet toward Sophia, ready to block Sylvan’s path should she leap.
“I will question her again,” Niki said.
“This is Bernardo’s doing,” Sylvan growled. “He is inciting his Pack to attack us.” She shook her head, the demands of leadership forcing her wolf to retreat, letting her think. A welcome quiet settled in her depths, the first since she’d seen Drake locked in mortal combat and covered in blood. “But why? We must know what games Bernardo plays.”
“The prisoner may not know any more,” Niki said.
Sylvan stroked Drake’s face, and in the recesses of her mind, a gentle hand returned her caress. “No, but we have another prisoner who does. Bring the Fae to my headquarters.”
Niki backed away, closed her fist over her heart. “Yes, Alpha.”
*
Gray slung her rifle off her shoulder, cradled it in her arms, and squatted down in front of the cell. Callan had awakened her at midnight and assigned her to guard duty. She hadn’t been to the prison area in months. They rarely had use of the cells, but cleaning the detention zone was one of the regular duties of soldiers assigned to the Compound. She’d never thought very much about it as she’d swept and, wearing protective gloves, checked the mechanics of the silver-impregnated cages. Now, she viewed everything in the long narrow room with its three cells differently. Without windows, and only weak bulbs interspersed along the ceiling, it was impossible to tell day from night. The air smelled stale and unused—nothing like the mountain air full of the scents of life everywhere else in the Compound. She expected to smell fear, but the air was impregnated with rage.
The prisoner, a slender redhead with tangled auburn curls down to her shoulders, had deep gouges and bite marks on her chest and arms. Glaring at Gray, she hunched against the back wall, her knees drawn up and her arms
wrapped around them. She looked to be a little older than Gray and not as well fed. Her bones showed tight beneath her angular cheeks, and her ribs tented out the pale bruised skin under her breasts. Her hipbones were sharp blades capping narrow hips. Callan hadn’t given Gray any instructions—only to stand guard. She’d done that until the silence became as oppressive as the dead air.
“What’s your name?” Gray asked, somehow feeling that was important. She remembered how anonymous—how invisible—she’d felt in captivity. If Katya hadn’t been there to remind her of who she was, she might have lost herself completely.
“What do you care?” The redhead’s voice was low and angry.
“I don’t.”
The redhead frowned. Her golden brows, thick and gracefully arched, drew down over eyes the color of spring grass. “Then why did you ask?”
“I don’t know.”
The prisoner’s jaw jutted out. “What’s yours?”
“Gray.” She didn’t know why she answered, either, but with just the two of them alone in the dark, with only silver-impregnated bars between them, it was difficult to tell which was the prisoner.
“I’m Tamara.”
“Tamara,” Gray murmured. The name tasted a little like fall leaves on her tongue—deep and mysterious. “You should shift, your wounds will heal faster.”
“I will,” the redhead murmured, “as soon as I can.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the air. There’s no silver in the walls. Nothing will poison you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Gray remembered the acrid bite of the poisoned air she’d been forced to breathe, the burning in her back where her skin touched the tainted wall they’d shackled her to. She felt anew the torpor in her muscles, and the way her wolf had been chained deep inside her. Her body had functioned—she’d felt pain and hunger and excruciating release—but she couldn’t shift. Being cut off from her wolf, from the source of her strength and power—from her self—was worse than the chains. “We’re wolves. We have honor. You’re a prisoner, but we won’t torture you.”
