Brigg didn’t answer at first, but his grimace gave away a good deal. The strange thing, though, was that his features began almost immediately to slide between subdued rage and a strange, distant contentment at the same time, if such a thing was even possible.
“Okay,” Cillian said, “I have absolutely no clue if this meeting of yours went well or horribly. So you’ll have to tell me something, or I’ll go stark raving mad.”
“The meeting was…well, it was everything you could imagine, and then some,” the other shifter replied. “Everything bad, everything good.”
“Fuck, you’re being cryptic again, Briggsy,” said Cillian. “You’re going to need to give me just a little more to go on than that.”
Brigg turned his way, a strange, happy smile lighting up his face for a few baffling seconds. “I’ll tell you on the way. Listen, are you up for a drive to my place in the country?”
“I’ve got nothing but time,” Cillian said. “Roth told me to look after you and stay by your side, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re my sole job. I mean, if you’d actually tell me what you’re up to.”
“Just drive.”
Cillian hit the gas, and they traveled in silence for a few minutes. He’d learned by now that sometimes it was best to let Brigg divulge information on his own time. If they were headed out to the country, there had to be something going on. The country meant secrecy, seclusion. It meant an escape. It also meant they’d probably have lots of time to talk.
“As we anticipated, they have captives,” Brigg finally shot out after a several minutes of agonizing silence. “There are numerous cells under the headquarters, each holding shifters. The task force has no intention of letting them go or of granting fair trials. They don’t see them as people with rights.”
An immediate, hot wave of rage swept over Cillian, his Wolf roaring to life inside him. He fought it back, trying to process the information and keep his mind on the road at once. “So we break in and get them out,” he replied. “We have more than enough strength, between the pack and the Guild.”
“No,” said Brigg. “I wish it were so simple, but no. That won’t work. The place is armed to the teeth, and if they’re connected to Scotland Yard, they’ll have backup forces at the ready. Even now they’re working on securing a location where they can imprison more of our kind.”
“Okay, so help me out here. You’re saying we can’t help. So what’s your actual plan?”
“I don’t have one, not exactly.”
Cillian looked sideways at his friend. “I don’t know what the hell that expression means, mate, but you’re being even more enigmatic than usual. What did you see in there? I feel like you’re going to tell me you met a unicorn who vomits rainbows and the world will magically be all right as long as we find the portal to Happy Land.”
“It was far better than a magical puking unicorn,” said Brigg. “So much better.”
“Tell me.”
Brigg grinned. “I met a woman. A Lioness shifter. She’s one of the prisoners.”
“I see. This is good news why, exactly?”
The only reply was a deepening smile.
“Okay,” said Cillian. “So you met someone who’s locked in a cage and you have a hard-on for her, and I’m supposed to be celebrating for some insane reason.”
Brigg shook his head. “She won’t be in the cage for long. In fact, she will be in our custody as of tomorrow morning.”
“Wait—custody, you say? So we get to lock her in a cage of our own? Well, that’s very kinky, isn’t it?”
“Not kinky,” Brigg protested. “It’s something else entirely.”
“Again, I need a little further explanation,” Cillian chuckled. “This is getting a little weird, even for you, ya great plonker.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give any explanation; not yet at least,” said Brigg. “Not until one or both of us is sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“Sure that Roth was right. That our fate is tied up in the contents of that building. Sure that she could possibly be meant for us.”
“Us?” asked Cillian. “You mean you and me?” This day was becoming more surprising by the minute.
Brigg had to have known what he was saying. But it seemed so unlike him to suggest that he may have uncovered a future mate for the two men. For one thing, he was touch-averse; he recoiled at the slightest threat of contact from anyone, even a simple slap on the shoulder from a pack mate. Cillian had learned his lesson when he’d moved in to hug him after a close darts match, inspiring a look that had stormed across Brigg’s face, silently screaming touch me and you’ll die twice before you hit the floor.
But in spite of his reluctance to allow physical contact, Cillian knew well enough to take the man seriously. Brigg wouldn’t joke about such important matters as the potential of the Ritual. It was a solemn rite, an event that usually led to a life-long commitment between two male shifters and their female mate.
“Yes, I’m talking about you and me. The woman, she…she feels right, somehow. It feels right. Sod it, I don’t know quite how to explain it.” Brigg let out a strange sort of laugh and dragged his hand through his hair. If Cillian hadn’t known the man, he’d have said he sounded like an excited schoolboy. But it seemed impossible. Brigg never sounded excited, and he sure as hell never sounded like a schoolboy. “I know it sounds ridiculous. Fuck, I just met her. I know full well that it’s my Dire Wolf talking right now, not my rational man-brain. I feel drawn to her, Cill, despite the fact that our circumstances are awful. I want to help her. To free her, and not just from the prison in that building’s basement.”
“Free her how, then?”
Brigg shook his head and huffed out a sort of frustrated sigh. “I don’t know exactly. I sense so much fear in her, and pain. She doesn’t trust anyone—doesn’t have any faith in anyone, even shifters. It’s entirely possible, in fact, that she despises me for my affiliation with the men who work in that awful place.”
This was the most Cillian had ever heard Brigg talk. It was nice to see the man energized, a shock of revitalization granted to him by some strange faceless woman in a jail cell.
“But you hope she doesn’t despise you,” Cillian replied. “You hope there’s a chance, in fact, that she could grow to care for you.”
Brigg didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Cillian could feel his hope on the air, could smell his Wolf pacing below his human surface. Something had happened to Brigg in that place, and much as Cillian was pleased to see it, a sudden jolt of envy hit him directly in the gut.
He’d always been a happy man. He’d had a good life, a kind family. But lately, for no reason he could put his finger on, he’d felt lost, purposeless. He’d thought that it was London’s impending political mayhem that was causing him stress. Perhaps he was just feeling a delayed sense of homesickness. Cornwall wasn’t so very far away, but some days it felt like it was on another continent entirely.
But deep down, he knew that it was more than that. He’d seen Roth and Laird with their new mate. He’d seen the happiness she’d brought to their lives, the strength their bond had given all three of them. He’d seen the resurrection of an ancient rite brought to life, and a part of him had begun to yearn for that bond.
He wanted nothing more than to believe that Brigg was right, that perhaps he’d found a woman destined to be with them. But he hardly dared hope. It seemed too good to be true.
“I’m confused about something,” he said, his tone measured as he tried to keep his excitement at bay. “You say this woman is a prisoner? How is it that we’re to take charge of her?”
Brigg smiled—a rare occurrence that had miraculously become far less rare—and leaned forward to turn the radio on to a channel that played oldies. When Born to be Wild came on, he cranked it up. “The task force doesn’t know shite,” he said, chuckling. “It’s the best news I can give you. They don’t know about Lumen or Roth or our pack. They’re lost, because they don’t have the
first clue how to track shifters’ whereabouts.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“They know that the Lioness—Sinead is her name—is no threat. So I persuaded them to let me use her to track the shifters they’re so desperate to find.”
Cillian slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road, turning to face Brigg. Okay, now the man was talking like a complete sodding lunatic. Something had happened to him in the that meeting; he’d been injected with some drug that made shifters psychotic.
Somehow their roles had become reversed; Brigg had turned into an irresponsible idiot and Cillian, the one who was supposed to be laid back and relaxed about everything, was about to offer him a stern lecture.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” he asked. “We can’t track shifters. There’s no way in hell that I’m turning our own kind over to the task force, or to any humans, for that matter. Even the bears who abducted Emma were too good to be handed over to humans.”
“You mean the Grizzlies who tried to force her to enhance them genetically,” Brigg said.
The incident had been harrowing for the pack and had resulted in the current state of animosity between London’s Dire Wolves and its Grizzly population. But even hatred wasn’t reason enough for abject cruelty. “Yes, I agree. Much as I hate what those bastards did, I wouldn’t want them in the care of these particular humans. It’s cruel and unusual punishment, to say the very least.”
“So what the hell are you on about with this talk of tracking shifters?”
“It’s the only excuse I could come up with for getting her out of there. Besides which, she can help us; she can be complicit in our own plan. She’ll help us to find others and warn them. In return, we’ll help her find her way to freedom.”
“But the task force will find out what we’re doing,” said Cillian. “They’ll know you’re sabotaging the assignment.”
“Perhaps. Maybe this will mark the end of my career,” Brigg said, intertwining his fingers behind his head, leaning back and shutting his eyes. He was awfully relaxed for a man who might be looking at the end of a very long chapter in his life. “Fuck it. I’ve worked for humans for a long time and done a solid job protecting the city of London. My reputation as a tracker is unsullied, and if it’s about to crash and burn, so be it. But make no mistake—I’m still out to protect London. This time, though, I’m protecting it from itself.”
“All this to protect a woman,” Cillian said. “She must really be something special.”
“She is. You’ll meet her tomorrow, and I have little doubt that you’ll see for yourself.”
“All right, you raging rebel,” said Cillian, pulling out into traffic again as he let out a laugh. “I must say, this isn’t something I ever would have expected from you.”
“Well, as you’ve pointed out, you don’t necessarily know me all that well.”
“No,” said Cillian, pressing his foot onto the gas pedal, “I’m beginning to think that I really don’t.”
7
Sinead sat on the floor with her back to the wall, knees tucked up under her chin, arms wrapped around her shins. It was a protective stance, one that she’d grown all too accustomed to when she was a child. She’d always told herself that it kept the demons away. When she was a child, it was the posture that told the other children to keep their distance.
For all her adult life, she’d never talked about it to anyone. About the reasons she kept to herself, the reasons she’d always been alone. She’d never let herself get close enough to anyone to explain why she didn’t trust, why she’d built an invisible shield around her heart.
Even now, she pushed away the dark memories and tried to remind herself that she was stronger now; she didn’t need to keep demons away in silence. She had a fully-grown Lioness inside her, and maybe soon she’d even get to release her.
Because he was coming back this morning.
Brigg. The handsome, strange man with the light eyes was coming to take her away from this horrible place. He’d become her protector, and though she’d never wanted one, though she’d never confess it out loud, she was so grateful to him for it.
But there was still a part of her that wondered if she was about to leap out of the frying pan into the fire. Yes, she was going to leave her cell with the kind stranger, but the truth was that maybe he was only going to take her from a subterranean prison to be put into one above ground.
It was entirely possible that the handsome stranger wasn’t such a blessing after all. Maybe he was just a warden in a prettier package.
A knock sounded at the cell door, as if she had any choice as to whether it would open. Knocks meant nothing in this oppressive life of hers. It wasn’t as if there was any privacy; the bastards would have walked in on her while she was on the toilet without giving so much as half a toss.
The first person to stride in was the man they called Collins, the wanker from upstairs who seemed to run the task force. A right berk, he was, always staring at her with that disconcerting, horrid look that humans gave shifters, as though they were entitled to take a bite out of her, or worse. She could tell from his eyes that he thought himself superior, purely by virtue of being a man, if not by virtue of being human.
“Well, Sinead,” he said, walking over and kicking her foot in a way that he probably thought was playful, “it’s time that you and I say good-bye for a little.” He crouched down in front of her, reaching for her knee with stumpy sausage fingers. She winced and pulled back as tight as she could to the wall, stopping short of slapping his hand away. “You’ll miss me, I’m sure,” Collins added. She could hear the attempt at sweetness on his voice, tinged with cruelty. Saccharine and ghastly.
“Of course I will,” she said meekly. A meek Lioness. What a thing that must be to behold.
“Mr. Brigg is going to look after you,” Collins said, looking over his shoulder at the man who’d stepped into the doorway. Sinead’s heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him. Her saviour, come to help as he’d said he would. “I don’t need to remind you that in return you’ll help us, of course,” Collins continued. “That was your promise. I trust that you’ll behave while you’re under his care. If you don’t, you’ll end up right back here, and I’ll look after you.”
Sinead threw him a quick, tight-lipped smile. The fucker was talking to her as though she were five years old and mentally deficient to boot.
“Yes,” she said, “that was my promise.”
“Good girl.” Collins slapped his knees with his palms and rose to his feet, swinging around to face Brigg. “She’s all yours, mate,” he said. “Enjoy her. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Sinead’s gag reflex kicked in. Had she not been strong she might have thrown up. Collins was transferring ownership. That was how he thought of shifters, like pets for humans to move from place to place, chained up, submissive. He had no idea of their power, their strength. No idea how wonderful a shifter could be, how loyal. How protective. He didn’t begin to understand that shifters were better and kinder than humans. They looked after their own, and with a few exceptions, they didn’t ruin the lives of others for sport as humans did.
Brigg approached Sinead and slowly slipped onto his knees before her, not seeming to care for a moment how dirty the floor might be, how damp. An act of supplication. Such a contrast to the human. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t invade her personal space. Maybe he understood her need for distance, or maybe he simply didn’t find her appealing enough to touch. Well, who could blame him? She smelled like a moldy sewer by now.
He, on the other hand, smelled like everything wonderful. Clean, sexy, glorious.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, pulling her eyes to his for a moment. He was so handsome, so strong, so dignified. If she did smell like death, his face didn’t show it. He was too kind to act disgusted.
But she had to remind herself why he’d come; he wasn’t just her guardian, n
ot her saviour. He was a shifter who worked for the same people as Collins. She wanted to hate him for it, but she couldn’t. None of this was his fault. He was doing as much good as he could; he was bringing her into the daylight, out of this unnatural hell. For that alone, she already liked him more than she could say.
“I’ll take it from here,” Brigg said, turning to Collins and the guards who flanked the door.
“Before you do, there’s just one more thing,” said Collins. He nodded to one of the guards, who stepped into the room, crouched down, and snapped a thick metal collar around Sinead’s neck. A quiet, accidental growl emerged from her chest and the man backed away quickly, staring at her in horror as her eyes glowed yellow in the dim light. Her Lioness had just been shackled, and she knew it.
Collins stepped forward and slammed some sort of large needle into her neck just above the collar, pressing its plunger down.
“What the hell is that? I didn’t agree to any of this,” said Brigg, his eyes flashing bright enough to all but betray his hidden identity. Sinead stared at him imploringly. Don’t do it, she said silently. Don’t give yourself away.
“It’s all right,” she gasped. Whatever it was that they’d done to her, it didn’t matter. She just wanted him to take her away.
“The collar is to keep her from shifting,” Collins explained. “The other is a microchip. The sort that veterinarians put in pets to keep track of their whereabouts. Should she escape, we’ll know.”
“I see,” said Brigg, his voice edging too close to a snarl. Sinead could hear how hard he had to work to keep his emotions under control. He was furious, and his Dire Wolf must have been, too. “Well, you have to be careful with shifters, you know,” he added. “What you just did was hostile. You’ve upset her déor.”
“Déor?” said Collins. “Now there’s a strange word.”
Dire Wolves of London Page 4
