Silver

by Rhiannon Held

  Then he shook his head and laughed. He flicked her chin with a thumb. “Just make your eyes real big. Maybe tear up a little. They’ll be eating out of your hand.”

  Silver batted his hand away, no real strength behind it. “You should try that sometime. Catch them off guard.” She was away and heading for the front door, laughing, before he could reply. He chuckled.

  Her burst of strength waned in the outside air. She slowed and hunched over her arm. “Shut up,” she hissed to nothing. “Shut up!”

  Andrew wondered if the scents reminded her of home. The Pacific Northwest air was unmistakable, sharp with the tang of rain still locked in the overcast skies. The lack of humid summer heat was a blessed relief, too.

  “Come on.” Andrew took a gentle grip on her upper arm, supporting a good deal of her weight when she didn’t quite straighten her legs and walk properly. “I was suggesting you act helpless. No need to be so convincing.”

  A female Were waited a little way into the parking lot by her BMW. She held herself like an alpha secure in her power, lounging with her ass hitched up on the trunk, one foot on the bumper, while the Were with her paced. Andrew assessed the woman, undoubtedly Michelle, first. Unless Andrew did something overtly threatening, the man wouldn’t move on him without his alpha giving the word.

  She was an interesting one, at first glance. She was short, but rather than wearing ridiculous heels to compensate, she dressed to fit her small frame. It gave her a look of compact, concentrated power. She had her arms crossed over a medium-sized chest, and dark hair in loose waves to her shoulders. Her cheekbones spoke of Latina blood.

  “You didn’t say it was the Butcher coming with the girl,” the man with her said sullenly, drawing Andrew’s attention back to him. It was hard to tell if he was beta or not—the fact that he was the only one there suggested it, but Michelle’s manner toward him was slightly cold. Perhaps he was standing in for the beta for some reason. The man looked weather-beaten, and his angular block of a jaw carried a load of stubble that roughed the planes of his face even further.

  “You wouldn’t have gotten a veto even if I had,” Michelle said, and dropped to her feet. She extended a hand to Andrew. He shook it, keeping his grip light. Not a good idea to go flaunting your strength when you were on a strange alpha’s territory. Especially a woman’s. She seemed confident enough so far, but he wouldn’t have blamed her for feeling a little hunted as the only female alpha in North America.

  The man with her didn’t offer his hand. “What if the girl’s just an excuse for him to get out here?” He moved closer to his alpha, protective.

  Michelle made an annoyed gesture to cut off the man so she could concentrate her attention on Silver. “I’ve made my decision. This is not the time to argue, Craig.” She returned to stand in front of Silver. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “I lost it,” Silver said, pain washing back over her face.

  Andrew pushed her to the side of the car before she could get too far gone. “We should get her back to your house before she gets bad again.”

  Michelle nodded, and opened the back door for Silver. Andrew nudged her in and then went to the other side. He discovered he’d missed more silent argument. Craig held the front passenger door open for him, rather than getting in himself.

  It might be better to stay near Silver, but Andrew needed this alpha’s favor, and she’d maneuvered him into the higher status position in the car for her own reasons. Probably to remind Craig of his place. It seemed counterproductive to maneuver himself out again.

  Once in his seat, he turned to watch Craig’s face as he climbed in next to Silver. The man looked worried, like he expected Silver to start sobbing or ranting at him any moment. Andrew couldn’t resist tweaking him. “Don’t worry. If Death likes you, you’re in.”

  Craig’s expression turned acid. “What?”

  “Don’t ask me. Ask her.” Andrew enjoyed confusing people as inflexible as Craig seemed.

  “Death got tired of all the flying. He’s hunting.” Silver’s lips quirked at Andrew. “I’ll ask him when he gets back.”

  Michelle pointed out a few local sights on the way to the pack house, but otherwise they didn’t really talk. Andrew liked her manner. The confidence she projected was restful. Even in suburbia, the scenery wasn’t bad, either. Everywhere was so green. Huge evergreens loomed up in the empty land between light industrial parks or in the yards of older neighborhoods.

  The house surprised him, when they arrived. All the other packs he’d encountered favored houses large enough to hold the whole pack, and huge yards filled with trees to prevent prying neighbors. This was just one house among many in a development, with a postage-stamp yard. It must have been built in the last decade, as the squeeze for space in the city was felt. One car was pulled along the sidewalk, and two in front of the three-car garage. Someone had put a kennel in the side yard in some vague effort to be discreet, at least.

  Michelle drove into the third open spot on the driveway. No one was so crass as to peek from the pack house windows, but when Michelle opened the door an awful lot of Were had tasks that seemed to require them to either be in the foyer or pass through it slowly. Their attention went first to Silver, with her striking white hair, but it wasn’t long before Andrew felt the weight of their stares. Roanoke’s enforcer and the Butcher of Barcelona right on their doorstep was the end of the world, obviously.

  One young man straightening the tangled mess of people’s shoes and boots in a cubby smelled of surprise, not fear. He set the sandal he was holding down on the cubby, away from its mate, and grinned at Andrew. “Dare!”

  Andrew frowned at the Were. His dirty blond hair was shaggy over his forehead, and he was taller than he should have been. Or taller than Andrew remembered him, Andrew realized. The boy’s scent rang a bell, and he was lanky like he’d finished his last growth spurt before hitting his twenties.

  “Ah, come on.” The boy pulled a face of mock disappointment. “Don’t tell me anyone broke my record for being the most colossal pain in your ass since I left.” He came forward and offered his hand. “Tom. Formerly of Boston.”

  Andrew left Silver looking amused in the doorway, and took the hand before slapping Tom on the back. The boy tried to throw him off balance with a jerk to their joined hands. Andrew grinned and kicked Tom’s feet out from under him. He kept Tom from falling by holding on. “Jackass.”

  “Dick.” Tom got his feet back under him and released Andrew’s hand with a smirk. “You still have that squeaky toy I sent you as a thank-you for posting my bail at the pound?”

  Andrew snorted. He’d forgotten that. He couldn’t recall any cub he’d busted more times after his Lady ceremony for stupid hijinks, but you could say this about Tom: he never endangered any Were secrets by shifting once he’d gotten himself into trouble. He just hunkered down and waited for someone to come fish him out. Even the times Andrew had beaten his ass to teach him a lesson, he’d absorbed it with good humor.

  “I thought you were on the road loning it for the foreseeable future,” he said, eyeing the boy. He’d grown into himself a lot, and looked more graceful in his size now.

  “Fell in love,” Tom mumbled, tipping his head until hair fell forward into his eyes. “So I got permission to join.”

  Michelle coughed, and Tom seemed to realize that he was keeping a guest in the doorway. “C’mon in,” he offered, gesturing through a side archway into one of the living areas.

  It looked much more lived in than any such room in the Roanoke house, where Sarah’s decorating scheme had added coordinated paint and window treatments. This room had two battered couches with matching slipcovers but different profiles beneath, and books and magazines and bills scattered over most flat surfaces. Michelle escorted Silver to a couch and gave Tom and another girl a pointed look—it was probably their responsibility to keep the place tidy. They hurried to corral the clutter into the next room where the guests wouldn’t be invited.

 
“Well, that’s one endorsement for you anyway,” Michelle told Andrew sardonically, returning to lean her shoulder against the side of the archway into the room. Craig gave a grumpy half-growl from behind her.

  Tom stopped with a bundle of newspaper in his arms. “What? No, he’s cool. I was such a punk-ass kid, I deserved everything I got. I used to do things like go out to the dog park to lick the cute chicks’ faces. Ended up in the pound several times.”

  “So not everything was a killing offense?” Craig shouldered into the room and flicked a glance to his alpha, but she didn’t stop him. Wanted to see how the argument played out, Andrew assumed. Lovely.

  “What in the Lady’s name are you talking about?” Tom put the newspapers back down on the end table they’d come from.

  “Oh, you know Dare. Practically European himself, with his Spanish wife. Didn’t you guys in Roanoke hear about what he did to the Madrid pack?” A muscle in Craig’s jaw clenched.

  “Barcelona.” Andrew squared off with Craig but kept his gaze on a point just over Craig’s shoulder. If he met Craig’s eyes now, it would turn into a straight dominance contest. He didn’t want to have to deal with the consequences of walking into a strange pack’s house and challenging their beta. He was secure enough in his masculinity not to have to challenge every new Were he met. “I was part of Madrid.” It was so hard to keep himself to those few polite words when he wanted to scream at the man. Would the rumors never die?

  “So? They probably deserved it.” Tom’s staunch tone bolstered Andrew’s shredding control. Oh, youthful idealism. He hadn’t earned the approval, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

  Craig growled outright. “Deserved to be beaten, maybe. Not killed. Not killed like that.” He jabbed a finger into Andrew’s chest. “What did happen, Dare? I heard they surrendered, and you just ignored it.”

  Andrew pressed one hand into the other, popping his knuckles. Control. He had to keep control. But he couldn’t help thinking the beta would have trouble throwing insults if Andrew was beating him.

  “Craig.” Michelle’s tone carried the snap of command. “He has permission to be here.” Craig looked back at her, weighed his possible punishment visibly, and then ignored her.

  “I heard you mutilated them. Burned the bodies to try to hide it.” Craig pushed forward into Andrew’s personal space. “How could you?”

  Andrew gave in, let the pounding of his blood swell up, and smashed his fist into Craig’s jaw. Craig rocked a step back and waited as the bruise on his jaw bloomed through a rainbow of healing colors. Then he smirked and raised his fist for a return blow, what he’d clearly wanted an excuse for all along. The expression drained away as he encountered the resistance of his alpha’s hand on his wrist, however.

  “Enough,” Michelle said to Craig, though her eyes went to Andrew’s immediately after. He could read the message clearly enough. She’d let the blow go as Craig’s punishment for disobeying his alpha, but nothing further.

  Andrew throttled the anger he’d just released back down. He needed space to breathe if he was going to manage this. He pushed past Craig and Michelle toward the door. “Why don’t you stay here for a bit, Silver. The rest of you will want to be careful, she runs sometimes when she gets a fit.”

  Tom skidded on the entryway’s hardwood floor in his stocking feet as he hurried to get in front of Andrew. “Did you want to go hunting, maybe? I mean, after a long flight, and it’s close to the full, so … We have a really sweet spot I can show you—”

  “Permission to hunt?” Andrew kept his voice flat and his eyes just over Michelle’s shoulder. He especially didn’t want a dominance contest with her.

  “Permission granted. We can discuss Silver when you get back.” Her tone remained even.

  When Andrew looked back to check on her, Silver was dozing, not even the tension in the room able to keep her eyes from slipping half shut. Tom pulled on his boots, ignoring the laces for the moment.

  Tom let out a sigh of relief as they got outside. He gestured to a crappy pickup parked along the curb. The body was blue, but one door panel was black. “Lady. Sorry about Craig. I think he wants to justify his place in the pack by protecting Michelle, but when there’s nothing to protect her against, he makes shit up.”

  Tom opened the door with his key and hit the electronic lock button inside the driver’s door a couple times before giving up and climbing across the seat to unlock Andrew’s door. Andrew knew he was supposed to answer, but if he did, he’d probably say something cutting to the boy since he couldn’t say anything to Craig. Tom didn’t deserve that.

  They drove in silence, Tom taking them to a place closer than Andrew had expected. The small highway took them from suburbia straight into farmland, and then it wasn’t long before Andrew spotted a sign for a recreation area. It didn’t look big enough to be completely safe, but being closer to the city gave security in another form. People wouldn’t be surprised to see a stray dog or two, especially when darkness disguised details.

  Andrew stopped to draw in the scents when they left the car. A stream off in the distance smelled somewhat dirty, but the spice of evergreens permeated everything. Maybe it was only the grass is greener effect, but Andrew liked the West. Back before he’d become Roanoke’s enforcer, back before Spain, he’d loved visiting, but of course all that had come to an end. Probably not even Alaska would give him permission to cross territory just for a vacation at this point.

  “This is a great place, you can’t see very far at all from the parking lot or the beginning of the trail.” Tom pointed, and pulled a pack from under the accumulated fast-food bags and soda cans behind the seats. A good idea, since it smelled like the ground would be damp, and a stashed pack attracted less notice than a random pile of clothes. If this trip had been planned, Andrew would have brought his bag. At this point, he didn’t really care. He pulled off his phone and his wallet, dumped them under the passenger seat and called it good.

  Tom led the way down the switchbacked trail from the parking lot for a little ways, and then diverged from it. He hopped over the tree-branch barrier placed to stop the erosion created by people taking the straightest path down. “I don’t get why everyone is afraid of you. I mean, you are a dick, and a hard-ass, but it’s not like you randomly kill people.” He cut off as if he was only just then considering that Andrew might not want to talk about it. “I mean—”

  Andrew stepped in before he could flounder too long. “It’s more complicated than that. You’re better staying out of it. I’ll either get the permission I need to cross or I won’t. You being a character reference won’t make much difference.”

  “I wish you could have pounded Craig into a pulp.” Tom snapped a low-hanging branch aside with a little extra violence. “I want to.”

  “Give it thirty years. It’ll help with understanding about picking your battles.” Some people avoided learning that lesson indefinitely, of course. Andrew wouldn’t wish Tom to have an awakening like his own when it came to the consequences of giving in to the rage.

  Before Tom could broach any more awkward topics, Andrew pulled off his clothes. He folded them into a compact bundle, Tom held out his pack in invitation, and he dumped them in with the boy’s. Shifting took perhaps a minute, with the full getting closer. The seesaw of man to wolf swung with the ease of nearly even balance, rather than feeling weighted down as it did when the moon waned. Time to hunt.

  8

  When Andrew told Silver’s story to all the Portland Were who managed to squeeze into the living room the next morning, their frozen silence made him see her injuries all over again. Time had dulled the shock for him, but even Michelle looked sick, and she’d heard part already over the phone. Tom’s girlfriend pressed her face into his shoulder and covered her ears about halfway through the explanation. Tom kept his body language strong for her even as his expression grew young and lost. Only Craig remained bland; impossible to tell if it was lack of reaction or camouflage for one. Silver herself looked
so calm it was probable no one was home at the moment. She sat with her bad arm draped open on her lap so people could see.

  Andrew could use everyone’s shock, as guilty as it made him feel. “She needs somewhere to stay, while I find the one who did this,” he said, and sensed the pack’s emotional tide flow where he channeled it. Michelle lifted her chin in slight annoyance, but then nodded to him. He’d have liked to know more about the reasons behind her agreement, but while the potent mixture of scents from the dozen pack members crowded into the room allowed him to guess at group emotions, individual signatures were lost. A useful sort of privacy, in many situations. They wouldn’t be able to get a good handle on his emotions either.

  An older Were scooted closer to Silver on the couch and patted her hand. Maria, Andrew remembered belatedly, the name coming back to him from an introduction last night. Maria had asked for details about Silver’s condition as the closest thing the pack had to a doctor.

  At least Andrew suspected Maria was older. Age was hard to judge in werewolves, more manner than crow’s-feet. Her skin had a Mediterranean tint to it and her black hair was pulled up in a severe bun. She started to help Silver tuck away her arm into a new hoodie someone had donated, but Silver pushed the woman’s hands away.

  “Death said you were trying to get rid of me.” Silver glared at Andrew. “I stopped running, I stayed with you. I trusted you when you dragged me back toward the monster. And now you just leave me?”

  “Death?” Maria knelt before the couch and cupped Silver’s face in her hands, olive skin against sickly pale. “She mentioned that before.”

  “Who knows what she’s seeing,” Andrew said. “She seems to talk to them, the Lady and Death.”

  Silver made an inarticulate, angry noise. “I no more talk to the Lady than you do, warrior. Perhaps you have chosen Death, but it was not a choice I made. The Lady turned away from me and now I can’t find Her or my wild self.” She gestured to the empty air beside Andrew’s feet. “At least you still have that.”