Apparently, they’d somehow signed up for it.
She looked around Jinx’s bedroom. It was furnished in clean, modern lines like the rest of the penthouse. Very few personal touches, she mused as she looked around.
It was then she noticed the books on the shelf.
The books . . . the titles she’d kept in her room at the hospital. They were here, neatly lined up on the bookshelves. Not the same books, mind you. No, these were brand-new, no creases on the spine.
He hadn’t been able to get hers back in time, because they’d probably thrown them out once they realized she wasn’t coming back. But he’d gotten her every single one and left them here. It was the only explanation.
When he came back in with a tray filled with bacon and eggs and toast, among other things, she was up rifling through the books, smelling the pages. “How did you . . . ?”
“I have a good memory,” he said. “It seemed like you really liked them.”
She put one to her chest. “They were all I had.”
“I didn’t want to bring back bad memories.”
“They’re not. You didn’t. Thank you.” She reached out and hugged him, not wanting to tell him that, at this moment, that was all she had of them.
Chapter 12
Cain dreamed of Angus almost nightly. Sometimes they were sex dreams, but most often it was his wolf stumbling on the battered, broken FBI agent, too late to do anything but mourn him. When he woke, his stomach knotted and he wondered what the thin line was between dreaming and prophesying.
Yeah, he much preferred the sex dreams. Because in those, no one was bloody or broken . . . well, maybe Angus was a little bloody from Cain’s teeth, but he enjoyed it.
Did Angus need him? He hadn’t changed his number but the man hadn’t called him at all.
You’re turning into a female.
“You were tossing around so much you shook the damned floor,” Cyd complained now. “I don’t want to be inside those dreams anymore.”
The twin thing assured that, more often than not, Cyd would feel whatever Cain did when he was in distress. And since Cyd knew all about the Angus situation, he knew who his twin was having those feelings about.
There was far more judgment that Cain felt that way about a human than the fact that it was another man. “I’d think you were too busy with your own floor shaking to worry about mine,” Cain said dryly and his twin laughed as he headed into the shower. Cyd’s back was covered in scratches, which would match the screaming werechicks who’d ended up in Cyd’s bed last night.
“Hey, I offered you one,” Cyd reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Cain lay back on the pillows, covering his eyes with his hand. It was dark out, but too damned light in the room since Cyd turned on all of the lights to wake Cain up. His cock was half hard, because this particular dream had them finishing what they’d started the night he’d saved Angus’s life.
He’d pressed Angus up against the sink—the fed was holding on and they were both staring into the mirror, his cock inside Angus’s hot, tight—
“Better get moving—you’re babysitting today,” Cyd called out from the shower, breaking the mood for the umpteenth time. Cain sighed and tossed the covers off.
“Don’t let Rogue hear you call it that,” he said darkly. The Dires had been staying with Rogue around the clock. According to Liam, who’d heard it from Vice, every time Rogue tried to sleep, he’d wake up screaming.
Cain could only imagine the literal hell he’d been through.
Speaking of dreams, he wondered if Rifter was wandering around in his mind too. He hadn’t exactly caught sight of the shaggy gray Dire but, then again, he really wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Angus.
Angus. Gone for just a short time but it felt like months. You’d think Cain would have better judgment or at least survival skills after all he’d been through.
He guessed love really did make you goddamned stupid.
* * *
Rogue had stayed up all night and all the next day, because fuck sleep. He’d had enough to last him a lifetime. Stray and Killian hung out with him, and then Vice came back and they smoked some hand rolls, because at that moment, Vice seemed more fucked-up than he was.
He’d heard the wolves talking in low tones about Liam’s big fight. The twins’ involvement. And then there were the visits to his room—the just-checking-on-you glances, the let-me-know-if-you-need-anything looks.
He was drowning.
It was after midnight by the time everyone cleared the fuck out for their runs and Rogue was alone. Semi-alone, since a much-subdued Cain trailed into the attic and he enlisted the young Were to help him burn the bed.
He wasn’t surprised by Cain’s quiet. Young Weres usually had enough energy to bounce off the walls no matter how hard they ran, but last night had been a battle. And even though they’d won, Rogue knew they’d lost something as well.
As they watched the giant bonfire roar in the middle of the yard, Cain said, “The female Dire escaped. She’s with Jinx now.”
“She didn’t look like much could hold her. If she could do that before a shift . . . well hell, from what I remember, the females were actually stronger than the males. Granted, I think it’s like that in every culture, although the males aren’t likely to admit that.”
Cain gave a soft snort but his eyes didn’t lose their sadness.
“You miss Jinx.”
“Don’t you?” Cain asked.
“I miss a lot of things,” Rogue admitted, ran a hand over his shaved head. It would take some getting used to for sure, but he liked the feeling of freedom. “Thanks for babysitting me.”
“That’s not what this is.”
But Rogue held out a hand to stop him. “Don’t bother. It’s okay. But I want to shift and run.”
Rifter had told Rogue to wait at least a couple more days before trying to shift. Cain didn’t seem all that worried about disobeying that order. Rogue supposed that, after the last couple of months, what he wanted to do was mild in comparison and as natural as breathing.
But hell, if he was going to shift, doing so with an omega around seemed like a good idea.
“Think you’re ready?”
“Brother Wolf’s singing. But he’s nervous.”
Cain put his hands on the bare skin of Rogue’s back, over the glyph. Rogue felt the warmth sink in until he was heated from head to toe.
The pup had gotten stronger since turning twenty-one. He was coming into his destiny.
Inside Rogue’s head, Brother began to howl. Without warning, Rogue shifted and although it seemed to take a little longer than normal, everything else appeared to have fallen into place. Brother shook his fur and howled. Cain walked around his big wolf as if checking to see if it was all systems go before stripping and shifting himself.
Brother watched the young Were’s pain, the way the scars on his back pulled during the transformation. Those scars had been put there purposely by a cruel packmaster, so Cain would always feel the pain of them during his shifts.
Cain always said it was a reminder of how lucky he was now that he’d escaped. The pup had a good attitude. And now, the wolf in front of him motioned with his head as if to say, you first. Rogue took him up on it and burst like a shot through the woods, his wolf humming as he picked up speed. The forest blurred as he ran, the scenting almost overwhelming, but welcomed. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to tolerate handing over the reins to Brother after what he’d been through, but Brother had suffered as much as he had. They both deserved this. Needed this. And with Cain on his six, they ran until they hit the lake.
It was still a little icy, because the nights remained cold, but his wolf walked in and splashed around in the freezing, clean water. Cain waited and watched, and Rogue swore he spotted some amusement in the lupine eyes.
Cain needed this as much as he did. And after several more minutes in the lake, he got out and shook. Prepared for another run when he scented humans. Cai
n obviously had too, and they moved toward a thicket of brush where they could camouflage and make sure there was no danger approaching.
Rogue’s hackles rose, but both wolves remained still as night as the humans passed them with weapons readied as if searching for someone. Or something.
Hunters.
Hunters were like Switzerland. They were equal opportunity, believing live and let live. They policed humans and shifters alike. They lived above human and shifter law, hated by trappers and rogue wolves, tolerated by most Weres and other shifters. Most humans didn’t know who or what hunters were, as they were also still in the dark about the existence of the supernatural world.
They hadn’t been seen in this area for a long while. Weres stayed clear of them for the most part, although some packs sent their wolves inside the organization to make sure the hunters were on the up-and-up. For the most part, any Weres that worked with hunters were seen as disloyal. Weres made their own laws and they didn’t want—or need—humans policing them.
So far, hunters had proven to be evenhanded, on the up-and-up, but Rogue knew that most organizations started out like that. Absolute power corrupted absolutely and all that crap. He’d seen history repeat itself on a loop like Groundhog Day for centuries.
He watched in silence as the group, who all bore the traditional hunter bow-and-arrow tattoos on the backs of both hands, met in a tight group. They were discussing Gillian, which was unsurprising, considering the five-million-dollar bounty was the news of the day, but as Rogue listened, it appeared they were simply patrolling the area, not looking for trouble—or Gillian.
“Listen, if they’re giving away that money, better that we find Gillian Blackwell and not the trappers or the Weres. At least we’ll bring her in safely,” one of the men was saying.
“I don’t disagree that we’re the best ones for the job, but I won’t pull us off our posts to hunt for her. If we come across her, we save her, deliver her to her parents before any harm comes to her,” another man said. “Beyond that, we’ve got a job to do.”
There were four humans in all, three men and one woman, not a Were among them. And they seemed serious and capable and Rogue wondered what would happen if he and Cain stepped out in front of them. That would tell the tale for sure.
But neither wolf did, their own sense of self-preservation more ingrained than that.
It was only after the hunters passed and he and Cain ran for several more hours did Rogue realize he hadn’t seen a single spirit. Not a real one, anyway, but it had gotten to the point where he’d begun to realize that his flashbacks of his time spent in hell might not be flashbacks after all.
Maybe, for the first time in his life, the spirits were as scared of him as he was of himself.
Chapter 13
The roof was the second-best place for this discussion. Jinx would’ve much preferred the woods, but everyone was on high alert looking for Gillian and her five-million-dollar self. So Jez would go out hunting around, making sure the monsters from purgatory weren’t out and about, and Jinx wondered if Rogue would be too.
When Rogue saw the monsters for himself, Jinx knew he’d hear from his twin. For now, he led Gillian to the rooftop terrace where he’d laid out Chinese food and beers and for the better part of an hour, they ate and laughed a little. She’d spent the day parked in front of the TV, getting angry with each sentence her parents spoke, but she hadn’t mentioned it yet.
Instead, she curled her feet up on the chair, her bare feet under her, beer balanced on her thigh. “That was great. Thanks.”
“Welcome.” He drained his own beer. It would take him at least a case to feel any kind of drunk, and tonight, he’d welcome that. He thought about Rifter—he could’ve gone to his king, asked what it was like to have to tell a woman who thought she was human that she wasn’t. Could’ve asked Gwen’s advice too. Hell, Gwen might be the best person to give this talk.
But Jinx’s wolf didn’t want anyone near Gillian. Brother was . . . attached. And ready to attack anyone who got in his way.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked finally. “I know you’re restless.”
Indeed, when she wasn’t staring at the TV screen, she’d been pacing so much he was sure she wore the floor down.
“I’ve got a lot of energy lately,” she admitted. “I wish I could go for a walk.”
He nodded in understanding, but they both knew it wasn’t possible, not with the amount of scrutiny her picture was receiving at this moment. Even if she cut her hair and dyed it, covered her eyes with contacts, he had an odd feeling she’d still be discovered.
And she’d told him she didn’t relish the thought of walking around in a disguise for the rest of her life. If it came down to it, however, she would do it before she ever went back to her parents or the hospital.
“I have a few things I need to know about you,” he started, breaking her from her reverie. She stared at him with something akin to disappointment in her eyes, but not surprise. She had to have known he’d need to know about all of it sooner or later. And maybe because he’d saved her or maybe for other reasons he didn’t yet know, she said, “You want to know more about why I was in that institution to start with.”
“Only if you want to talk about it.”
She shrugged, and he knew she’d rather talk about anything else. But learning her symptoms was an important lead-in. “I was always a little hard for them to handle. My mother always looked at me like I was some alien who’d landed on her doorstep. When I started to refuse to wear the fussy dresses, she shipped me off to a boarding school. I didn’t mind that so much. But when I came back for summer vacations, that was the worst. The year I turned seventeen, I was doing the same things as others in my so-called social circle—running around, drinking, smoking. Making out with boys . . . did you just growl?”
He touched his canines with his tongue, keeping his mouth closed because they’d extended. Down Brother . . . she’s talking past.
But Brother didn’t differentiate. “Just clearing my throat. So yeah, basically what teenage girls do.”
“Right,” she said, casting a doubting look at him. “I mean, I had my parents’ money behind me, so my idea of partying was probably more extensive. I felt indelible, like I couldn’t get hurt or in trouble. My behavior was wild—and it was escalating. Staying out all night, taking lots of dangerous risks. I had the means to get out of any kind of trouble.”
But whatever happened made her face grow dark with the memory. He wanted to wipe that pain away, stop her from thinking about it, but this was important shit. He had to know it.
She sighed, grabbed a second beer but held it instead of drinking it. “I’d had a lot of shots that night. I was spinning. I was high as well, but the weird thing was, I don’t think the drugs were actually making me feel the way I did.”
“How’s that?”
“Indestructible. I got behind the wheel of a car and I ended up crashing into a telephone pole. I was so lucky because I could’ve killed someone. As it was, I broke my legs and spent time in the hospital recovering. My parents told me they were placing me under psychiatric care because of the drugs and drinking, and I agreed. I felt so guilty. I was dangerous. They’d been warning me to get myself under control for months and months and I just kept ignoring them. I thought the hospital could fix me, but things got worse. I knew that I’d never be released. No one could figure out what was wrong with me. I didn’t respond to meds. I couldn’t just behave, no matter how much I wanted to. After a while, they placed me in a long-term facility and I figured I’d be there forever.”
“Plenty of kids are wild, Gilly, but not all of them get sent to psych wards.”
“I was clawing at the walls. One night, I woke up howling. I jumped through windows. I would get bursts of anger and adrenaline and throw tables at the staff. I was uncontrollable at times,” she told him in a burst of angry confession. “None of that’s normal.”
It was. His heart broke for just how damned
normal it was, but she continued. “I feel like I’m two people. Gillian—the girl who just wants to find a boyfriend and have fun and this other person who likes to run naked and lately, it’s like they’re blending and it’s getting harder and harder to separate them and I hear this voice—it tells me things. It calms me. The doctors said I’m the right age for schizophrenia to manifest.”
He put his hand over hers, his palm searing heat onto her skin. “I can promise you that you’re not schizophrenic. That you don’t have any mental illness.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you can’t. Genetically. Physically. You do not get mentally ill or get any other diseases.”
Maybe Gillian had been right the first time—Jinx did belong back in that mental ward. She could go back with him and they could grow old together there. Because that was all she wanted—to be together with him.
At least he appeared to want the same thing.
“What I’m going to tell you—well, you might laugh. Think I’m joking. And then you’ll probably get scared. But a part of you, the part you told me about, will understand.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“There’s no good way to do this,” he muttered. “Gilly, you’re feeling this way—the urge to be naked, to run under the moon—because you’re a wolf.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Held back a laugh as she waited for his.
None came, from either of them. “So all of this is happening to me because I’m a wolf?”
Still, no laughter. The man was serious. Dead serious when he said, “Yes. Part of you knows instinctively. And part of you has been taught it’s too crazy to believe. But still you do.” Jinx handed her the book with her moon drawings that he must’ve grabbed before they left the hospital.
She took it from him but refused to look inside. It represented so many years of pain. “I’m not a very good artist.”
“It’s the way you interpret her. Raw. Primal. Basic, like your needs.”
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