by Sierra Dean
I opened one eyelid, feeling nauseous when I couldn’t see what he’d found. Wilder held up a short, bloody screw for me to look at before he tossed it in the sink, which was a mess thanks to the other things he’d found. Bits of branch and gravel sat in a bloody pool, stark red against the yellowing white porcelain.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“I can’t believe you ran here.”
Neither could I, after seeing what had been in my skin.
After one final inspection he seemed satisfied. The water in the tub had begun to cool and was now a dark pink shade. Wilder pulled my feet into his lap and dried them, patting the bottoms so gently it was actually a relief compared to what I’d just felt. The healing wouldn’t take long. Maybe a couple hours and I’d be good as new.
I tried to argue I could walk on my own, but he wasn’t having any of it. He carried me back into the main room and set me on the still-made bed. I flushed with embarrassment, realizing what a mess I’d made of the sheets and comforter on his.
“Lay down,” he instructed.
“No, we have to go.”
“Look, Princess, I get it. Danger lurking at every turn. The world is against us. I know.”
He had to think I was going to be okay. He was calling me Princess again. “You don’t under—”
Wilder pushed me down when I tried to get up. Not in a way that might have normally made me uneasy, considering I was half naked in his bedroom. It was just him keeping me in place, not menacing me. I didn’t think I could ever feel unsafe with him after tonight.
“I know we’re in trouble. But up until fifteen minutes ago I thought you might be dead. Anything else is a secondary concern to me right now.”
“What about Hank?”
“Cash is still with Hank. He and his lawyer buddy have been there all day. His phone is off, and I haven’t had a chance to tell them what happened yet. Which is good because he’s not going to be all that happy when he sees what I did to his car. Or what happened to you.”
He nudged me, and this time I yielded, putting my head on the pillow. My whole body felt like it weighed a hundred thousand pounds. Now that the pain in my feet was bearable, the splitting headache I’d been ignoring came roaring back.
“Can you turn off the lights?” I asked, burying my face into the dark comfort of the musty hotel pillowcase.
His weight shifted off the bed, and soon the room was flooded with perfect, beautiful darkness. He walked past the bed, and a moment later, his comforter was draped over me. A notification light blinked on the phone in his hand.
“Wilder?”
“Mmm?”
“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for getting us into this mess. I wanted to explain that it would be my fault if the Church went after Hank as a sacrifice because they’d lost me, but none of those words came out. I found it impossible to be sorry for saving my own life. I’d survived, and I was damned proud of myself for it.
“Yeah. I can stay with you, Princess.” His weight settled on the other side of the bed, and as if it were habit, I rolled over, nestling myself against his side. I needed his warmth, the smell of forest and home. He froze briefly before he let himself yield to it and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“What happened to you?” I asked. Now that I felt safe, I wondered how he’d gotten away and why he hadn’t come back for me.
He sighed, and I knew he didn’t want to talk about this, but instead of resisting he said, “They were really focused on you. They hauled us back to this cabin area and split us up. I didn’t know where they took you, and with all the smells there, I couldn’t find you again. I managed to get away from the guys who were holding me, but… I couldn’t find you.”
I was quiet, hanging in the precipice between alertness and exhaustion. The worry in his voice was real and I felt grateful he hadn’t tried.
“I’m so sorry,” he added. “I got the hell out of there and went to find a cop. Spotted the sheriff at the diner and tried to tell him what happened. That was about as helpful as you might imagine.”
I mumbled my agreement, too tired to remind him I never trusted Sheriff McGraw in the first place.
“He dicked me around for over an hour, took me to the station to file a report and wouldn’t let me leave until it was finished. I thought I might see Cash, but he must have been with Hank. I’d just gotten back and was on the phone with Amelia when you showed up.”
“You were calling for help?”
He whispered something to me, but I was already gone, sleep stealing over me so quickly it felt like I hadn’t rested in a year.
It might be a long, long time before I’d get to sleep soundly again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wilder was gone when I woke up. The side of the bed he’d been occupying still held his form, but the comforter was cold. He’d been up awhile.
The lamp over the small table was on, and the fan was humming in the bathroom. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and gave myself a quick once-over. My feet had healed, and my migraine had downgraded to a nuisance headache. Nothing I couldn’t ignore.
My jeans were folded on one of the chairs next to the table, and the knife I’d stolen from Anderson was on the nightstand beside me. How thoughtful, Wilder had left me a weapon within arm’s reach.
That was the sort of thing a man used to living in fear would do.
It made me wonder what kind of life Wilder’d had with his other pack, and if maybe there were multiple reasons he’d returned to St. Francisville. It didn’t matter. If we got out of this place alive, I’d make sure he always had a home with our pack. I’d put him under my own damned protection if I needed to.
I slipped my jeans on, ignoring the stiff crust of blood around the hem. I’d need to find something to use for shoes before we ventured too far. The clock over the TV said it was three a.m. The motel office would be closed. No chance of getting plastic flip-flops at this hour.
Three a.m.
Where was Wilder?
As if on cue, I got my answer. Voices came from mine and Cash’s room next door. They weren’t hushed, but they also weren’t raised in anger, which was a relief. I considered the knife on the nightstand but decided to leave it for now.
It wasn’t Cash or Wilder who answered the door, but rather Cash’s lawyer friend, Matthew Chen. “Oh. Genie. Hey.” Each word was its own little sentence. His inky-black hair was a mess, and the bags under his eyes suggested it had been a long day for everyone.
“Hey, Matt. Can I come in?” It was my room after all.
He seemed to realize he was blocking my way and nodded vigorously as he stepped aside to allow me entrance. “Sorry.”
Cash and Wilder were seated at the table. The queen bed was untouched by any signs of sleep and was covered in papers. The guys looked up as I entered, falling silent in my presence. “You’re up,” Wilder said.
Cash got to his feet and came to me, wrapping me up in a tight hug that caught me off-guard and stole my breath. He pushed my hair back from my face with both hands and gave me a hard stare. “Don’t you go being brave anymore, okay?”
I nodded. I didn’t feel particularly brave at the moment.
When he pulled away, there was an uncomfortable tension in the air, and I wondered what the talk had been like between them when Wilder had to explain why I was asleep in his room rather than the one I was meant to be sharing with Cash. I hope he left out the part where I made Wilder stay with me. Or how he took off my pants.
Nothing had happened.
Weirdly hot tense moment aside.
That had been the culmination of a lot of stress. Emotions were running high. And besides, nothing had come of it. It was just a…thing. A thing that happened and was now done. Never to occur again.
Ever.
Right?
“How are you feeling?” Matt asked, I think in an attempt to keep thi
ngs from getting more awkward. “Wilder said you were hurt.”
I lifted my feet and turned so they could see the soles. “Score one for glorious werewolf healing powers, I guess. Though I’m going to need shoes.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Cash said, though his attention was elsewhere now.
“When did you get back?” I took the chair he offered, sitting across from Wilder at the table. Matt had to nudge some papers aside to sit on the bed, and Cash dragged an armchair over, its old springs groaning in protest when he sat down.
“Around midnight. I would have come sooner if I’d known you were hurt.” He shot Wilder a look that said this had already been discussed at length, probably with yelling.
“You were at the police station that whole time?” I couldn’t hide the disbelief in my tone. Wilder had been there and hadn’t seen them.
“No. Matt and I spent a couple hours at the bar after the fact, going over our notes, talking about what we could do to help Hank. When we got back, you weren’t here, but my car looked like someone had thrown a rock through the window.” Another scowl.
“That might be because I did throw a rock through the window,” Wilder told me.
Cash frowned. “You’d think someone who runs a body shop could come up with a better way to get into a locked car.”
“So sorry. I left my slim jim in my other pocket.”
“Good Lord, I’ll pay to get the fucking window replaced,” I snapped. “I think Wilder had other things on his mind at the time.”
They both got quiet, realizing they’d been squabbling like fat hens over the last corn kernel. In the grand scheme of things, a car window was not worth this much fuss.
“Sorry,” they both said.
“Forget it. We’re fine, right? For now, anyway. There are bigger problems we need to deal with. Like the fact that Timothy Deerling is a serial killer, and I think he has a secret family of creepy ginger children in the woods.”
They were all quiet again, and Cash gave me a puzzled look. “Did you hit your head when you were out there?”
Well, it had actually been hit for me, several times, but that didn’t seem altogether relevant right now. “On what planet could I dream up something that specific?”
“A planet where you’d sustained a serious brain injury?”
I let out a disgusted sigh. “My brain is fine. I know what I saw. I know what that insane asshole, Anderson, told me, so don’t try to convince me I imagined any of it. You weren’t the one hung up like a chandelier, okay? When someone ties you up like you’re being led to the slaughter, you can talk to me about what’s real and what’s imagined, but until then, just shut up and listen.”
The guys all gawped at me like live snakes had fallen out of my mouth. Their silence was the only invitation I needed. I laid out, in more detail than they probably wanted, everything that had happened to me while I was being held, and everything Anderson had told me about Deerling’s murderous history. I told them about the house, and the woman with all her kids, and what I’d overheard about how Pastor Tim preferred to kill women.
Women like me.
Once I was finished, I glanced around me, hoping one of them had had the common sense to bring beer. Alas, I had to settle for a room-temperature Diet Coke. I drank the whole thing in one long gulp, the fizz bubbling up in my throat.
The silence was long and heavy, with the men staring at each other, then at me. I wondered if perhaps men parsed information through the air, like intellectual osmosis. Finally Cash cleared his throat. I hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until he spoke, and every word was suddenly as loud as a shout.
“If all that is true, we need to get Wilder’s brother moved to a different jail immediately. Even county lockup will be safer for him than the sheriff’s office.”
“We might be able to use their treatment of Wilder as probable cause that Hank’s safety is at risk,” Matt suggested. He started rifling through the papers next to him, though I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what could be printed there that might help us.
He grabbed a thick, stapled list and began flipping through it. If he knew what he was after, all the power to him. I didn’t know Matt well enough to have an opinion on whether or not he was a genius or an idiot, but if Cash trusted him, it was good enough for me.
“There’s a judge in Hammond I’ve worked with before. He’s got a soft touch about supernatural issues,” Matt announced.
“You mean he thinks we’re people,” Wilder corrected.
“I mean he doesn’t sympathize with the Church of Morning, and he’s more likely than anyone else within fifty miles to get your brother moved. I can’t guarantee we can get Hank somewhere nicer, but it’ll be a hell of a lot safer than him staying here.”
Wilder and I exchanged wary glances. If the jail in another parish could offer Hank more security, that was great, but I didn’t think he was going to be truly safe until he was back with Callum.
“I think we’re missing the point,” I said. “If Deerling is crazy enough to kill ten werewolves in as many years, he’s crazy enough to kill a woman and frame a werewolf for doing it. I don’t think Hank was the one who killed that woman.”
Wilder frowned. “Even seeing what we saw at the church?”
“If you’re willing to think it was him, fine. I know what we saw was messed up, but we didn’t see him kill her. And as much of a dick as your brother can be, I don’t think he’s ever murdered anyone in cold blood before.” I wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but it sounded good in front of the humans. And if Hank had killed anyone, I imagined it more as a heat-of-the-moment bar brawl sort of thing. Not cold-blooded homicide.
“It’s not enough for us to take Hank and get out of here. We need to get this guy. He can’t be left to hurt anyone else.” I was shaking my head as if there might be any disagreement. Really, I think we all agreed if Deerling was responsible for killing someone, he needed to be brought to justice.
Even if he hadn’t killed her, he was still to blame for her death.
But the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that Hank hadn’t been the one to do her in. The signs of an animal attack were there, but he hadn’t had enough time to do that sort of damage. Only a minute or two had passed from the time Wilder and I saw Hank lunge at her until she had disappeared.
Nothing about this sat right.
“What do you suggest?” Cash’s tone was grumpy. Given how little most of us had slept over the last couple days, it wasn’t too surprising we were starting to get annoyed with each other.
“For starters, we should bring in the real cops.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Wilder countered.
“You wouldn’t.” Cash wasn’t looking at Wilder, but the way he spoke made me think he’d been doing some digging on the younger Shaw brother. My curiosity was piqued, but now was so not the time for this.
“Outside cops are less likely to be under Deerling’s influence.” I picked up a napkin left from the previous day’s lunch. I needed something to do with my hands. “They won’t have the same prejudices and preconceived ideas. I think they’ll be more willing to believe Tim’s a killer. Especially if we can show them that creepy-ass compound of his.”
“You mean the compound we were trespassing on? It’s all private property. They won’t be able to search anything without a warrant, and they’ll need a good reason to get one.” Wilder glanced at Cash. I suspected he was hoping for a voice of reason to back him up.
“Isn’t my testimony about being kidnapped and almost killed enough?” My voice hitched up. What kind of stupid world was this where I couldn’t get a man arrested for trying to murder me? Some justice system.
“It doesn’t look great that you were already arrested for trespassing on his land,” Cash agreed. “He could probably play the harassment card successfully, even with outside cops. There’s no evidence Deerling was responsibl
e for grabbing you. You said yourself you didn’t see him when you were there.”
I crumpled the napkin in my palm. I wanted something that would make a more dramatic show of how I felt. A pop can to crunch up or a glass to break under the pressure. Squishing a napkin didn’t have the same effect.
Wilder lifted his hand like he might touch me, thought better of it and scratched his chin. “There’s another problem with calling in outside police.”
“Jurisdiction?” Matt said.
“Well, that and something Genie and I did before leaving New Orleans.”
“You were in New Orleans?” Cash’s attention was all for me. “After you left?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to maybe come home? Or talk to me?”
I shook my head again. “We were only there for an hour. I knew someone who could help us find Hank, and that’s how we learned about this place.”
This goddamn stupid town, like a Southern version of a Bruce Springsteen song. If Bruce Springsteen sang about hell instead of dying New Jersey burgs. I would be glad to put it in my rearview mirror. I swore to myself if we all got out of here alive, I would never complain about St. Francisville as long as I lived.
Home was a heavenly concept to me. Whether that meant my house near Tulane, or my bedroom at Callum’s mansion where there would always be a warm meal on the table and a cold beer in the fridge. I missed those things, as though I would never have them again.
Cash didn’t seem appeased by my excuse, but he didn’t argue about it any further. I suspected that would wait for later. It was a safe bet there would be more than one thing he’d want to yell about when this ordeal was said and done. Some stuff he’d be justified to be angry with me for, and I’d let him be mad about those. But there were other things—Wilder-related things—that I knew he was mad about whether I deserved it or not.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, right?
Trust will only go so far when you run off with another man. I got it, but I didn’t need to like it.
