“Sorry,” she said, “Why is everyone so jumpy around here? Besides the obvious.”
Aaron didn’t reply.
“Alright, I won’t ask,” she said, “Still, strange company you keep.”
“You’ve met Frank?”
“No thanks to you; you’re not a very good host.”
Aaron nodded, simply because he didn’t want to apologise. “Frank’s good people. Damien too.”
“I haven’t met Damien, but I met Frank. Not sure what to make of him.”
“He can be a little over the top sometimes but he’s family.”
“He’s pack.”
“I guess.”
Jackal’s nose twitched and she rubbed it. “They are or they aren’t. Which is it?”
Aaron’s brow furrowed. What’s she getting at? “They aren’t wolves; how can they be pack?”
There were times when Aaron considered Frank and Damien to be part of his pack. But whenever he thought of them in that way something always seemed to be missing. They couldn’t change shape, couldn’t hunt with him, and didn’t understand a lot of his wants and needs. This was a concept he battled with often, whenever the wolf in his heart sang for other wolves and not humans.
“You know,” she said, circling around him and stepping over twigs and snow, “Back home I have two dogs; a French bulldog called Bowie and a Terrier called Ziggy. They were scared of me at first, but they’ve gotten used to the pecking order at home. It goes me, then them, then everything else. Dogs are pack animals so they understand this concept pretty well, even if I can’t get them to stop chewing the fucking couch.”
“Who’s looking after them?”
“A friend of mine. Anyway, that’s not important. The point I’m making is this; humans are pack animals too. They have a conscious, sentient mind that sometimes fucks with their baser instincts, but their instincts are still there and active. You might not see them as pack, they might not see you as Alpha, but the understanding is there just like it is with me and my dogs. They’re my pack and that bond extends to the others, too—Marcus and Rocky and stuff. So trust me. Frank and Damien are pack; and you’re their Alpha.”
Aaron turned his face into the breeze and took a deep breath. He pursed his lips, thought for a moment, and said “I’m not the Alpha. Amber is. They do what she says.”
Jackal’s right eyebrow went up. She nodded. “They were her friends first, weren’t they?”
He nodded.
“I get it. The Aaron Cooper I knew back in Vegas probably wouldn’t have friended guys like Frank and Damien.”
“He wouldn’t have, and he’d probably be worse off for it. Frank and Damien… they’re different, but they bring something to the table I can’t bring. Your toolbox can’t be full of only hammers; otherwise you’re only good for one thing.”
“Sounds like lyrics to a song.”
Aaron crossed his arms over his chest and turned toward the cabin. “We should get back inside.”
“You want to go to Vegas, don’t you?” Jackal asked.
Again he turned, this time to face her. “What?”
“That’s what you’re thinking right now. You hoped you had more pull with the pack there because you don’t feel like you have authority here. Now that Marcus said no, you want to go to Vegas and show him up. Prove to your dad you deserve more respect than that.”
“How can you possibly be so sure of this?”
“Because I know you, Aaron. I’ve smelled you at your best and at your worst. I was there every time you missed your girl and I was there when you brought your dad’s old car back to life and sent it roaring down the highway. I can smell it on you now—the need to be heard—I get it. But that isn’t your pack.”
“You’re wrong.”
Jackal squared up to Aaron. “Tell me how I’m wrong,” she said.
He could smell her now too; a warm, feminine smell like honey dripping on a batch of fresh roses. Her hair had caught the sun’s light and was waving like blood-colored smoke in the breeze. The swell of her breast drew his eye as if it had its own field of gravity. He wondered how any man could possibly resist her and wondered if he would have been able to stop her if she had truly tried to take him on any of the many nights they spent sleeping in the same room.
But nothing had happened between them, and the reminder of their loose familial ties broke the spell.
“Marcus can help Amber,” Aaron said. “Marcus is more experienced than I am. Better at this than I am. He would know what to do with her.”
“Yeah, he would know what to do, alright. He’d tell you to put her down before she hurts anyone else. Do you really want to drive all the way down to Vegas only to hear him say something like that?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Aaron said as the first heat of anger began to swell in his throat. He could imagine the words coming out of his father’s mouth in that gruff, old dog’s voice of his. Aaron figured his father was the kind of guy who would have no problem in saying to his son ‘Felix is dead and there’s nothing we can do for him. Now man up and bury the damn cat.’
But he wouldn’t do that to Aaron.
He just wouldn’t.
“Aaron, listen to me,” Jackal said, taking his hands in hers. “I can’t stop you from going, but I can get you to consider what I’m about to say because I’ve been a werewolf way longer than you have and I know what you’re thinking. Do you want to go because you really believe your father can help Amber better than you can, or do you want to go to satisfy your own ego?”
Aaron stared at the summer sky in her eyes and wondered for a moment what her angle was. She didn’t know Amber, hadn’t met her in person before, and had only really known Aaron since the first time he showed up in Vegas. Did she care for him enough to stop him from doing something stupid, or was she just protecting her own hide?
After all, if Aaron went down to Vegas to start some shit and Jackal—the beta—had let him, that wouldn’t look so great on her track record.
There was also all the things she had said about Frank and Damien to consider. Were they his pack? Did Aaron now, by consequence of his living arrangements, find himself one of two werewolves in a pack of five? No, four. Collette’s gone. He swallowed the anger and let it fall back into the recesses of his gut like the bile that no one wants to taste but comes up anyway.
“I don’t—”
A shriek tore through the house and spilled outdoors loud enough and sharp enough to cut Aaron off from what he was about to say.
In a split second, Aaron and Jackal were in motion; across the yard, through the back door, and into the kitchen. They stood, watching the cellar door, as beyond it a wild animal thrashed and raged. The high-pitched scream of agony dropped a couple of octaves and almost seemed to acquire a second tone as Amber’s human body succumbed to the wolf in an excruciating way.
Jackal went for the doorknob and got as far as touching it before Aaron grabbed her hand and yanked her away. She screeched as the magick protecting the cellar door lashed at her fingertips, ripping a few layers of skin off as if the knob were made of molten lava. He could see the anger come rushing out of her like a red tide, but she held herself and only kicked a wooden stool down.
“What the fuck!” she said.
“It’s magick. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Fuck. Is that… her down there?”
The mad symphony of howls, roars, and pained moans floated up into the kitchen through the door and bathed Aaron and Jackal in the story of a chained wolf yearning for freedom. Aaron’s breathing quickened at the sound as he saw, first hand, just how far apart Amber and her wolf truly were. The animal was wild and untamed, and stronger than any other he had ever heard before. And now Jackal had heard it too.
Frank and Damien came rushing down the stairs when they heard the sound too and stood, frozen, at the threshold to the kitchen. The blood drained from their faces as the cacophony continued. Minutes—hours?—passed and it was as if the worl
d itself had ceased to spin. And when the final furious, dreadfully sad howl sailed upwards, when the curtain fell and Amber’s beast lost its strength, Aaron dropped to his knees and cupped his face with his hands.
He felt, in that moment, for Amber, and he felt for the wolf too. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a howl doesn’t need a thousand words to make a point.
“It’s over,” Frank said, exhaling for the first time in what had felt like hours.
“Are you okay, Aaron?” Jackal asked. He felt her cool, healed, hand on his hot neck and didn’t have it in him to flinch.
“She’ll sleep now,” he said.
“Is it always like this?” Damien asked.
“Three weeks. This is how it’s been.” Aaron wiped his face clean and stood up. “I’ve gotta get her some food. I’ll need a towel, too. A fresh one. Should be some in the linen closet.”
“I’ll get that,” Frank said before disappearing.
Damien lingered, seemingly lost in thought—maybe eyeing the door up and down a little too closely—and then left too.
“No wolf should have to live like this,” Jackal said.
“She doesn’t have a choice. Neither of us do.”
“Is she really that dangerous?”
Aaron nodded. “She’s already hurt someone. She’ll hurt us all if she feels threatened.” He turned to the back door, removed his jacket, and laid it on the kitchen counter. “I have to hunt. You can come with me if you want.”
Jackal followed him, also leaving her jacket on the counter by the door. When they got outside she said “You think you can go to Nevada with her caged up in there?”
He looked at her then but he didn’t speak.
His mind hadn’t been made up yet.
Chapter Six
Consciousness hit me like a brick to the face. I woke up as an unbearable throb of pain with copper hair. Every time I went to take a breath something inside of me stabbed outward, and when I wanted to move I found only resistance. No. The feeling was more like defiance. No, Amber, I won’t get up. Not after what you just did.
Only I couldn’t remember what I had just done. The last thing I remembered doing was… which number replaces the question mark? That’s right; the logic puzzle. It was the only memory available to me as I lay on my back, breathing harshly but healing; my only point of anchorage to the world where I’m a normal, functioning human being.
As the throbbing began to subside and most of the pain points in my body numbed into almost nothing, I found my strength returning. It took a moment, but I got to my knees and from there was able to sit on my backside. My stomach demanded placation, but all I could think about was how I had let it happen again.
Every time I change forms, every time I allow the beast an inch, I would wake up to find a piece of me somehow missing. It wasn’t a feeling I could measure or quantify. I couldn’t give someone a percentage if they asked; only that with every passing ‘episode’ I could feel the wolf gaining more and more ground. And then what? Then it takes over entirely? To do what? To hunt, kill, and mate, I guess.
Mate. That’s what animals do, isn’t it? Mate. Breed. Expand the species. Werewolves aren’t bitten like in the movies, they’re born. Something in their DNA or genetic material makes them change one night under the light of the moon. Or maybe it’s spiritual; like a marking of some kind. But that only begs more questions about the werewolf condition: is it a medical condition or a spiritual one?
Whatever it was I didn’t want it anymore, and I was only going to get rid of it by not letting the wolf gain any more ground over my psyche.
It took a moment but I managed to find the lotus position with my legs and relax. Meditation would help. My body was healing but my bones and joints still creaked and ached when I moved. The pain wasn’t so bad; the sounds were probably the worst thing about the experience of shapeshifting. Bones weren’t meant to crack like that. They also weren’t meant to heal as fast as mine did.
What’s that about closed doors and opened windows?
After a while I decided to stand, stretch, and turn around. There, in the wall, behind a loose stone, was a key; the key to my shackles. I had had enough of being tied down for one day and needed a walk and maybe some water. The beast didn’t usually come back immediately after waking up from an episode so I figured I was safe, although the distinct chance of this being the exception sat on my shoulders like a fat, ugly, furry gremlin.
Cunning and clever as this beast was, it wouldn’t have the patience to pull a key from the wall and unlock the shackles. And if it tried changing shape, to a smaller form, while I was in them the shackles would shrink to match it. They were magick. So the only way it could break free from the restraints and head right for that flimsy wooden door at the top of the stairs was if I let it.
Still, I trusted myself. So I yanked the key out of the hole in the wall and, one by one, undid the restraints. My arms and legs thanked me, and as I washed my face in the adjoining bathroom I found myself appreciating what we had all built around the bones of the cottage we had found Collette in. It was meant for her, a place for her to call home; a place for her to turn into a home. But then Acheris happened. I knew Collette would have wanted us to enjoy the home we had built together with hard work, elbow grease, and magick, but then I happened.
Maybe, one day, we would get to enjoy this place as she would have wanted us to.
A soft moan coming from outside the bathroom door snapped me back into my skin and made it prickle all over. Was that a hum? Is someone in there? I had just washed my hands and face when I heard it, so I wiped off with a towel and approached the door that led back into my holding cell like I was walking on eggshells.
I heard it again, parts of a melody floating on a breeze, only this time the humming was louder and it was definitely coming from within the cellar. The voice was female, soft, and distant—but familiar. And it wasn’t until I stepped through the door into the other room that I found what I believed to be the source of the humming.
There, in the corner of the room, shrouded by a mantle of shadow even blacker than the darkness around it, the silhouette of a person existed. My heart started to thump hard against my chest, and with each pump of blood the terror groping for my throat from the inside seemed to get a little closer to its mark. All emotions eventually led to the beast, and I wasn’t in my chains.
The humming came again, though this time I watched the silhouette move, too. It shot from one corner of darkness to the other. The room was all dark save for a trickle of light coming in from the window in the bathroom, but the darkness was thickest in some parts more than most and impenetrably dark wherever the shadow stood. I watched, terror-struck, as the thing writhed and moved, entranced and dumbfounded by what I was seeing and hearing.
Then it hit me.
Demon.
I wanted to swallow, but my throat wasn’t responding. How did a demon get in here? Is it even a demon?
Fear mixed with impatience to produce a shot of anger that went straight for my heart. “Who are you?” I said.
The thing didn’t speak, instead it moved from the westernmost corner to the easternmost; the one closest to me. It had no legs that I could see, but the torso, the arms, and the head were all present and visible as black impressions upon a black backdrop. This is what a black hole must look like up close: the total and complete absence of light from a body with a shape defined by its surroundings. But as the shadow approached, and the aura of cold behind it—another telltale sign of the demonic—, I found that my heart started to slow, and my shaky hands had stopped shaking.
I circled into the cellar, avoiding the easternmost corner, and made my way toward the chains with the iron key firmly in my hand. The black impression seemed to follow me with its head, and it continued to hum. I was starting to think this thing wasn’t a demon at all but, rather…
A catch wedged itself in my throat.
“Collette?” I said, choking the word out.
<
br /> The faintest of cold spots caressed my cheek. My entire body shivered from the cold, and then the tears came. I wasn’t sure. Still wasn’t sure. But whatever this thing was, it reminded me of her. The memory of her moment of death came screaming out of the back of my mind like a hellhound straight out of the fiery pit which spawned it. Only the flames surrounding this hound were Darkfire green, and its face was that of Acheris; the devil’s whore.
I bolted across the room as the anger began to bubble and quickly shoved the key back into the hole, covering it with the rock. Before I could fit my leg into the open manacle, another cold spot on my other cheek stopped me. The shadow was directly in front of me now, writhing and swaying like black ink in water; ink with a shape.
“Cheri,” I said, struggling with the tears, “If it’s you, I need to know.”
Another piece of a melody came, only this one felt urgent, like a rushed lullaby.
“I can’t…” I said, “I can’t hear you. I don’t have my power.” The shadow started to retreat into the darkness. “No! Don’t!”
I took a step toward it and realized that anymore steps would bring me dangerously close to the staircase leading up to the kitchen. The staircase was under magical protection, but if Collette was in here—or even if this was a demon—it meant the wards were weaker than they had been when Frank first put them together.
If the wards were cracking, then maybe I could find a connection to my own power if I went high enough; like cell reception.
Cell reception? Really?
The shadow melted into the area of darkness beneath the stairs. I listened as the humming started to grow more and more distant. I took another step in pursuit of the shadow, scanned the stairs—even counted them—as pearls of sweat broke out on my forehead. For a moment I was considering it, considering a partial escape.
No! I can’t.
Like a startled animal I rushed at the chains, locked myself in, and let myself fall to the floor. I watched the shadow until it disappeared and listened to the hum fade into nothingness. If that was Collette, she had something to tell me. If it was a demon, it had almost tempted me into breaking free of my restraints and potentially killing everyone upstairs.
The Amber Lee Boxed Set Page 91
