by S. M. Reine
“You have to fight me if you want to stay in this pack.”
“Seriously?” She tried not to whine about it, but she didn’t stand a chance against Stark.
He cracked his knuckles. “Seriously.”
Deirdre searched her memories, trying to figure out what she could have done to deserve this. She hadn’t talked back lately. She hadn’t defied him. She had been, by all accounts, an obedient little rebel recuperating in his asylum.
She decided that Stark was just a douchebag.
The onlookers fell silent as she stretched her arms across her chest, trying to loosen her muscles for another fight.
“Wait,” Gage said. “What’s going on here?”
Stark fixed a golden-eyed glare on Gage. “Stand back.”
It must have been compulsion because Gage immediately obeyed, moving to stand beside Niamh, whose jaw had dropped.
Now Stark was a douchebag and a liar, since he’d said he didn’t like compelling his followers. Deirdre couldn’t have been less surprised.
She eyed the batons they’d dropped on the mats, wondering if it would help to have a bludgeon against Stark.
Deirdre didn’t get much time to contemplate them.
The world exploded around her. She felt the blow a moment later. He’d punched her in the jaw, knocking her head back, sending her stumbling.
Stark was faster than Deirdre. Faster than Gage. Faster than anyone she’d met before.
And he was merciless.
He punched her again, and again, before she could even think to fight back. It didn’t matter when she shielded her head with her arms. He broke through her guard as though she were standing still. His moves weren’t telegraphed. They were too fast, too brutal.
Stark struck her in the stomach hard enough to crack a rib and suck the breath from her lungs.
Her vision went white. Her ears rang.
She needed to get out of his reach.
Deirdre ran for the training dummies, but he was on her in a heartbeat. Stark wrapped an arm around her throat, tight enough that she couldn’t breathe. He drove his free fist into her kidney.
She twisted and bit down on his arm—hard. As hard as she could. The taste of iron flooded her mouth.
When Stark moved his arm, the skin tore free in her teeth.
Deirdre barely had enough time to spit it out before he gripped her ponytail and slammed her face into the floor. Jacek had done much the same to her. No more ponytails.
He smashed her face into the floor again, and then stood.
Through the roaring in her ears, Deirdre could hear Jacek and the rest of those idiots cheering. They liked watching Stark beat on a woman. Good for them. She hoped it made them feel big.
His foot connected with her ribs. He was wearing motorcycle boots with heavy soles and the pain was excruciating. She was afraid that one of her ribs might have snapped and dug into her intestines. It’d be great to find out if an Omega could die from internal bleeding.
Deirdre could just barely see Gage and Niamh at the edge of the room through her blurry eyes. Lying down, it looked like they were standing on a wall, jutting straight out horizontally.
Niamh was trying to hold Gage back. Trying to keep him from getting involved.
Deirdre scrambled to crawl away from Stark, gripping the sweat- and blood-slicked mats. He let her get a couple feet away before he kicked her down again.
His foot appeared in her vision, aimed straight at her face.
It connected. Deirdre didn’t really feel it. She blacked out at the instant of impact—barely more than a second of blissful oblivion before she came back.
And then she saw Gage break free of Niamh.
He roared.
With shredding cloth, a bear erupted from Gage’s flesh. It was much faster when he was changing of his own volition rather than by someone else’s command. He went from tan-skinned and erect to a furred, four-legged monster within moments, spraying the shifting fluids across the floor.
The bear rolled toward them, claws shredding the mats.
Deirdre jerked her knees to her chest and threw her arms over her head. She remembered hearing that it was the way to survive bear attacks—curling into the fetal position. She doubted that it would work on a berserker, but what else was she supposed to do?
But Gage didn’t touch her. He launched straight over her body and plowed into Stark.
Now everyone was screaming, and Deirdre couldn’t tell if they were cheering or terrified that they were about to get eaten. All she knew was that Niamh was hauling her off of the mats, dragging her to the wall where she wouldn’t get caught in the fight.
Deirdre tried to get up and slipped. Niamh caught her.
“Wait,” Niamh said. “Don’t move.”
“But Gage—”
“Don’t move,” she said again, more emphatically this time. Niamh helped Deirdre stand, pressing towels to her bleeding face.
Deirdre could only stare as Stark and Gage wrestled. It seemed impossible that a mere man should be able to stand up against the force of an animal that size, but he did. Stark had his hands on Gage’s jaw, holding it open inches from his face as the bear tried to bite down on him.
Finally, Stark broke free. The bear swiped at him with a massive paw. Stark leaped out of the way, dodging the blow.
“Why isn’t he ordering Gage to stop?” Deirdre asked, clinging to Niamh’s arm. “Why isn’t Stark making him shift back?”
Niamh shook her head.
Deirdre understood. Stark wanted this fight. Maybe it was what he had wanted all along.
Gage managed to bite down on Stark’s shoulder, and the Alpha only grunted.
He slammed his fist into Gage’s skull hard enough that something cracked. The bear let go and rolled aside.
Stark was bleeding from so many claw marks now that he must have been weakened. Gage had gotten him good. But not good enough. Stark jumped on the Gage, and his face was impassive as he dug his hands into the thick fur—one hand on the side of his skull, the other on the back.
And then Stark snapped Gage’s neck.
Deirdre pressed a towel to her mouth, smothering her scream.
A broken spine wouldn’t kill Gage. It wouldn’t even disable him for long. But it still hurt to see him drop bonelessly to the ground, temporarily unable to control his body.
Stark stood calmly, wiping the blood off of his face. He spat into his hand a couple of times. His sputum was almost black with blood.
“Clean this up,” he said, waving at Gage. “Put him in the basement until he calms down.”
“With pleasure,” Jacek said.
Stark passed by Deirdre on his way out of the room. He dropped something small and hard into her hand.
It was one of Gage’s teeth.
—XIV—
The healer showed up in Deirdre’s bedroom shortly after the fight. She was glaring at her reflection in the mirror when she saw him enter over her shoulder. He didn’t knock. The old witch walked in as though he belonged there.
“Let me fix you up,” he said, waving an impatient hand toward her bed.
Deirdre refocused on her wounded features. Her light brown skin was mottled with bruises that yellowed as they healed rapidly.
She had been timing how long it took for her injuries to repair, fearing that she might be healing more slowly than usual. She’d never been hurt so frequently or to such a degree in the same week. Her body felt depleted. She still wasn’t certain if her already weakened shifter abilities were getting weaker.
“You might not want to heal me,” Deirdre said as the old man unpacked his bag on her side table. “Stark wants me hurt.”
“I’m not stupid enough to fix something he broke without permission. Trust me. He’s the one who sent me up.”
She finally turned from the mirror. Her fist was clenched around Gage’s broken tooth. “He told you to fix me?”
“Thank your lucky stars for it,” the healer said. “He’s left o
thers to die without batting an eye.”
“Like Gage?”
“Your boyfriend will survive. You can visit him when I’m done with you.”
That was enough to get Deirdre horizontal. She held still as the healer worked over her, burning incense and hovering crystals over her body as he chanted.
The worst of the pains faded. When she looked at her torso again, most of the bruises were gone. But the healer did leave some of it behind. “Consider it a reminder not to piss off the boss,” he said.
“I didn’t do anything to piss him off this time.”
“You must have, or he wouldn’t have done this to you.” He packed up his case again. “Your boyfriend can leave once he calms down, by the way.”
“Is he still shifted?” Deirdre asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He headed for the door. “Don’t get hurt again. I can only expend so much energy on one stupid shifter.”
Deirdre pulled her shirt down over her stomach. “Thanks.”
Nobody stopped her on her way down to the basement, but she caught more than a few looks. It seemed that everyone had heard about Stark beating Deirdre and Gage at that point.
She didn’t return their looks. She didn’t need to see the hate and disgust and pity they held for her.
The basement door wasn’t locked.
Deirdre moved down the stairs slowly, giving herself time to take in the sight of what was on the other side. The pungent odors of shapeshifting clung to the air. The scents were distinctive—a unique mix of body odors and fluids and earthen musk.
Gage sat behind a few crates on the far end of the room, wrists and ankles chained to the wall. He was in his human form again. There weren’t even any signs of injury now.
He tried to stand up when she came in, but he couldn’t. The chains were too short.
“You look better,” she said, crossing the room to his side. His spot on the floor was encircled in the fur he’d shed when shapeshifting back from his bear form. She pitied whoever had been forced to drag the weight of Gage’s beast down those stairs.
“You don’t,” Gage said. “Stark did this on purpose.”
“It’s not like he tripped and beat the shit out of us on accident.”
“You don’t sound upset about any of that.”
He was right. She wasn’t upset. But she wasn’t happy, either. “It’s not like I thought Stark would turn all hugs and puppies any time soon.” Deirdre sat next to him, wrapping her arms around her knees. “They said they’ll let you out once you’ve calmed down. Are you calm?”
“Don’t I look calm?” he bit out through gritted teeth.
“Not even remotely.”
Gage let his head fall back against the wall. His chains clanked as he readjusted his position to something more comfortable. “I’m calm,” he said, and it almost sounded convincing.
“Want to tell me what happened up there?” Deirdre asked.
“Not unless you want to see how many times I can go berserk in one day.”
“Yeah, all right.” She rested her hand on his arm, lowering her voice. “Just remember what we’re here for. Keep your eye on the target and don’t let yourself get distracted. Okay?”
“Easy,” Gage said.
Deirdre fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. It was impossible on such a hard floor. “You kissed me up there. Just trying to perpetuate our story?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Deirdre echoed.
They sat together in silence for a few minutes. It had all been so funny there for a minute—their fight, Deirdre’s accidental injury, even that brief kiss. But all of that had been ruined quickly and thoroughly.
“Well, at least we’re still alive,” she finally said.
Gage gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I’m not all that grateful about it. Damn it, Deirdre, I could have hurt someone. I’d never forgive myself for that.”
“Are you serious? Killing someone in this place would be no huge loss to society.”
He gripped her hand. “I could have hurt you.”
The door to the basement opened. Niamh stood at the top of the stairs, her hair falling over her shoulder in one thick ponytail. “Stark wants to see you, Dee.”
Of course he did.
Deirdre moved to get up, but Gage grabbed her wrist, chains rattling.
“Don’t go,” he said.
“Not a lot of options here.” Deirdre patted his hand. “Hang in there. Deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”
He looked like he was tempted to argue with her, but he forced himself to nod.
“Yeah. I can do that.”
Stark’s bedroom was identical to the one Deirdre shared with Gage, if not a little smaller and dingier. The curtains were shut to cloak the room in artificial night. The Alpha himself sat in the corner. A small lamp on a card table lit his lower legs, his boots, the dirty floor. The darkness draped over the rest of him was a cloak. Deirdre felt like she’d have to cut through those shadows if she wanted to reach him.
Not that she wanted to. She’d had more than enough Everton Stark to last her a lifetime.
She stood stiffly in the doorway, glaring at Stark’s boots. “You asked for me, sir?”
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
Deirdre almost laughed. “I’m healing.”
“Are you aware that your boyfriend mauled Geoff while he was being transported to the basement?”
She clenched her fists until her fingernails bit into her palms. “How mauled are we talking about here?”
“Mauled enough that he might die,” Stark said.
That was pretty mauled. It took a lot of damage to kill a shifter without silver.
“What happens to Gage if Geoff dies?”
Stark’s eyes glinted in the darkness. “You better hope that he doesn’t.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of the table. “Sit down.” She obeyed slowly, though she didn’t like having to get so close to him. “Do you get why we fought today?”
“Because you’re a miserable, bitter man who gets his rocks off throwing Omegas around?” Deirdre knew it was a bad idea to talk back, but what the hell, why not? She’d tried to behave herself and still gotten her ass kicked.
“Miserable.” Stark drummed his fingers on the card table. “Did you see the news reports that came out after our attack on the benefits office?”
“Unfortunately.”
“That mission was intended to reinforce the threat we represent to the public. Instead, you made me look weak. I don’t need to be defended by an Omega.”
He thought that Deirdre had deliberately stepped in front of him to take those bullets. She owed Gage an apology. “So I pissed you off by…what, by trying to save you from injury? I can’t have pissed you off that bad. You saved my life anyway.”
“Even I make mistakes.”
She snorted. “Fine. I’ll let you get shot next time.”
Stark pushed a small wooden box across the table, shoving it into the pool of light from the lamp. “Take one.”
He was wearing a metal bracelet around one wrist. His arm was turned the wrong way for her to see it, but there would be a square of mesh on the underside, exposing an inch of flesh where the veins in his forearm were closest to the surface.
It was an intake bracelet. People who were addicted to lethe, a drug designed for preternatural creatures, wore them so they could get a fast high.
She knew what was in that wooden box.
“I don’t do lethe,” Deirdre said.
“I’m not making a request.” Stark flipped open the lid on the box. Inside, there were little glowing cubes, each about an inch wide. Those cubes wouldn’t be for Deirdre—she hadn’t been fitted for a bracelet. She would need the needle and syringe if she wanted to shoot up. “Some people think lethe was designed to unlock gaean powers.”
“Some people just want an excuse to get high,” she said.
“You’ve got
walls, Tombs. You’re made of walls. I want to know what’s inside of them, and I know you do, too.” He inserted the needle into one of the cubes and extracted the fluid inside. It made the syringe glow blue.
Deirdre hugged her arms around herself, keeping them from Stark’s reach. “You ordered me to come in here to take drugs. Is that what I’m supposed to get out of this?”
“Ideally, you’ll get your animal out of this,” he said. Her betraying heart gave a flutter at the sound of it. “Give me your arm.”
She glared mistrustfully at the glowing syringe.
Niamh used to do lethe. Its primary lure was that it was a mild hallucinogen and mood booster, but lethe was also a long-term appetite suppressant. For someone as image-obsessed as the swanmay, the drug was a blessing.
She’d never taken enough to get addicted. It hadn’t ever hurt her. But Deirdre had seen many other shifters lose themselves in pursuit of the next hit.
How much was finding her animal worth? What would she risk for that?
And what would Stark do to her if she refused?
She’d only infiltrated Stark’s little asylum so that she could find out what her animal was. And now it was the only thing keeping her in a place where she was regularly smacked around, treated like trash, and shot full of bullets. If Stark could give her what Rylie had promised—if he could give her access to the ability to shapeshift—she wouldn’t need to stick around anymore.
Deirdre could leave.
She shed her jacket and rested her arm on the table. The needle sank into her vein. It was just a little pinch, but she flinched.
“Now that Sancho is dead, I need a new Beta,” Stark said as he pressed the plunger down. The lethe entered her veins as hot as boiling water. “What do you think about Jacek?”
Deirdre clenched her jaw, trying not to pull back. Gods above, that hurt. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’ve had a lot of experience with him in the last few days. I want an outsider’s perspective.” All the glowing blue fluid was gone from the syringe. Stark withdrew the needle.
“I hate him,” she said. “That’s what I think.”
“But what about his skill? Is he strong enough?”
