Cutting Ties

by C. M. Torrens

  August glared across the room at the hard concrete walls covered in fine tapestries. “Yes… sort of. We got the new batch back, but they were all waking and starry-eyed. We had our hands full. He snuck away, but not before he was mortally wounded. He died about fifteen minutes later and couldn’t have gotten to Dante’s territory yet, but we haven’t found his body. We think he wandered into the woods and died there.”

  “And the most recent batches? How are they?”

  August shrugged. “I just got back. I haven’t had time to look into them.”

  She stretched out across the couch and poked at the laptop a few times before she found the parts she liked best on the video. “You should do that, then, shouldn’t you? We don’t need any problems before the big event. And bring me one of the strays you picked up. I thirst for something different tonight.”

  August bowed. “As you wish.”

  August left the room and went to find one of the healthier strays they kept around to feed the hybrids. He dragged the young male into the room and shoved him to the floor in front of the Mistress.

  “Thank you, August.” She closed the laptop with a snap. “I’d like to see your mate tomorrow night. Arrange it.”

  He bowed again, fighting the glimmer of uneasiness that settled in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, Mistress.”

  He left the room, and a few seconds later, he could hear the stray whimpering and crying. He left before he had to hear any more and made his way down the long corridor. He was not a fan of torture for torture’s sake.

  Climbing the stairs, he went through the small cabin overhead and left, heading for the hybrid barracks between the cabin and the pack house.

  He watched as Claire skipped through the woods to fall in beside him. “Is William home?” she asked.

  He looked Claire over and nodded. Most days he wasn’t sure why he kept her around. But now that she was with his pack, she wasn’t the nuisance she had been with Jesse. She was still crazy. Less so—most days, anyway—but she was helpful and never questioned anything he told her to do.

  “Have you been keeping William company?” August asked.

  “Yes. When he’s here. You always go away so long.”

  “I’m a busy alpha. William’s in the pack house, if you want him.”

  She flashed him a bright smile and rushed toward the pack house. He watched her go and shook his head. He thought at first Jesse would find her and come for her, but almost a year had passed now and he hadn’t managed it. Smart of him; if he ever left Dante’s protective sphere, August would have no choice but to use the thing Dante loved most against him.

  Not that it would matter for much longer.

  He didn’t let himself dwell on that. He had to keep his mind clear and focused. His mistress would not approve of random wandering emotions. They weren’t productive and made it easy to get confused.

  He shook his head to be rid of idle thoughts of his twin and went to find the new group of hybrids. He had hopes there would be Primes in the group. So much to do and so little time to get it all done.

  After inspecting them all, he found two with Prime traits. August pulled them from the pit in the basement and tossed them into the showers outside. The young male was stained purple, which he thought was odd. Purple stain on top of countless bruises and cuts from his clutch mates?

  “Why are you purple?” August asked.

  The young male blinked. His hand trembled as he held up a handful of berries.

  August sighed with frustration and knocked the berries from his hand. “I’ll feed you a proper meal in a minute. Speak if you can. Who am I?”

  The hybrid blinked up at him, its eyes vivid yellow. “Alpha,” he said.

  “That’s right. Were you with the first batch or the second?”

  The hybrid frowned, clearly confused.

  “Were you in there a long time, or a short time with the ones that just went in there?” August asked.

  “Long time.”

  “Jacksonville, then.” August studied the hybrid closely.

  He did look much better off than any hybrid he’d seen yet. His muzzle was short and teeth looked almost pack-like. His shoulders were far more hunched and his claws weren’t retractable, but he looked pretty good. His hips worried August the most. They seemed off a bit, but when August made him run, he moved quickly, even if it was at a very odd sort of loping gait.

  “Very good,” August praised. “You will have a name, my young one. Jax. Can you say that?”

  “Yes. Jax,” the hybrid said.

  “Very good. And who am I?”

  “You are Alpha.”

  “And what is alpha?”

  “Alpha is law.”

  August smiled. “Very good.”

  The other one didn’t show as much promise as August hoped, and though he tried to mimic Jax’s responses, August ended up putting him back in the basement with the others.

  “Follow me, Jax.” August put him with the trainees. “If you do as you’re told and learn very, very fast, you could be Prime someday, little Jax. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, Alpha.”

  “And tell me, what is special about Prime?”

  “Alpha likes Prime. Alpha gives Prime special things.”

  “Very true, but only if they listen. If the Prime don’t listen to their alpha, what happens?”

  Jax frowned. “The stake and death.”

  August smiled. This one was very smart. He’d have to keep an extra careful eye on him. “Good.”

  August patted his head and shooed him into the training area attached to the barracks. With any luck, he’d have a good and loyal Prime very soon.

  18. Ancient Advice

  ODIN WALKED the last mile or so to the clan house. He needed the fresh air, and he had sent Velasco ahead so he wouldn’t have to listen to Baardsen and Morgana fight. The pair were like oil and water. One day he was sure they’d either end up killing each other or in bed together. Both thoughts were slightly disturbing.

  He was almost to the clan house when the air felt like it was being sucked from the area, and he gasped for breath. His heart beat faster as the sense of his father washed over him.

  He winced and forced himself to breathe.

  The sun was full up, but that didn’t make much difference to an Ancient like Shimon. Odin glanced around. The road was quiet and empty, and he fought back a shiver that rippled down his spine.

  “You went against me at the Meeting,” his father’s voice said. “And again after.”

  Odin dropped quickly to one knee and stared at the ground. The vibration of his voice rippled through Odin’s bones. “I did. I warned you I would. She’s dangerous. She’s killing our p—”

  The blow sent him flying into the ditch beside the road, and several more followed. Unable to move he could only endure until he finally lost count of the number and lay in a bloody heap, staring up at his father hovering over him.

  “You’ve killed your sister,” Shimon snarled.

  Odin fought to keep breathing and blinked the blood from his eyes. “Y—your guilt, Father. It can’t save her. Never could.” He coughed up blood and fought to stay conscious. “My sister’s dead. She died a thousand years ago.”

  He was jerked up from the ground, and Odin bit back a scream as his father sank his teeth into his neck and shoulder. Pain burned through every nerve until he lay in a trembling mess.

  He didn’t know when his father finished with him because the pain continued to burn through him. He had been bled near dry, and that sort of pain was like being burned alive from the inside out. And it didn’t stop. It just kept going and going and going until he could find a way to stop it.

  He clawed at the ground and tried to move but didn’t have the strength. He drifted in the pain, wishing he had the strength to scream.

  “Father!” shouted a voice.

  Odin winced and shook his head. No! No, not my son. Gods, no, anyone but my youngest boy. Never him. Please! He cou
ld almost hear his father’s laughter ringing in his ears. He could smell Velasco now. He was so close. So warm and alive, and the pain it was so bad. His mind reeled. It was so hard to think. He needed to think, needed to breathe.

  Velasco, not his Velasco. Not him.

  The hunger was too much. It was eating him alive. Hunger. Thirst. Need. Pain. He panted, his mind twisting and screaming. Thoughts vanished. Instinct raged.

  Warmth pressed against his lips, and he sank his teeth in deep, his mind blinded by the killing hunger.

  Someone was shouting, but he brought the warmth closer. Each sip teased a bit of pain away, but not enough.

  More shouting, and something ripped his food away. He screamed and snarled, barely aware of anything but the intense need to feed. Something smashed him over the head and consciousness slipped away.

  ODIN WOKE with a start and tried to sit up. Chains bound him to a heavy metal bed, and he looked around the room.

  He was in Elder Bauninsheg’s room in the basement of the clan house. He lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Time had gone by in a blur. He didn’t remember much of anything but Velasco’s voice. Gods, please, let it not have been him.

  The door to the bedroom opened, and Bauninsheg stepped into the room. “Good morning, Odin.”

  Odin winced and took a ragged breath. “Who… who found me?”

  “Don’t worry, it wasn’t your son,” Bauninsheg said, looking him over. “Shimon tried to kill you that time.”

  “If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

  “You always say that, boy. How many times does this have to happen before you do something? Your son could be dead today. Morgana got to you just seconds before Velasco. If she hadn’t stopped him, you’d have one less son.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Turn him in to the Council? That’s a joke. I could barely get the Council to help against Eveline right after an attack because my father didn’t agree.”

  Bauninsheg frowned and pulled the key to the chains from a vase and moved to unlock Odin from the bed.

  Odin didn’t move. “I try to think sometimes that all those who go mad are dead. I do it with Eveline, and did it with the twins, but… this is different. I can think it in my head, but when I see him, all I remember is how much I loved him. I hate him sometimes, but gods, I loved him. I loved him so much. When Eveline went mad, his guilt began to roll out of control, and he was never the same. I hate her so much for that. It’s easy to think of her as dead because she is the reason he is the way he is now.” He rolled over on the bed and stared at Bauninsheg. “How come some can live so long and never tangle with madness, and others sink, forever gone?”

  “Those of us who don’t sink, we try to do more good than we have regrets. Not as easy as it sounds because the past is always so much clearer from the eyes of the present. We all make mistakes, Odin. Some far more terrible than others.” Bauninsheg sat on the edge of the bed beside him. “Odin, he will never love you like he did back then. He can’t anymore, my boy. And if he ever starts to try, it will be a lie. Like all the other times, and you’ll find yourself back on my bed once again, only one day, you’ll be dead.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Odin said.

  “I’m your friend, not your keeper. I can’t tell you to do anything. You wouldn’t listen if I did.” Bauninsheg got to his feet, grabbed a robe from the closet, and tossed it at Odin. “Get dressed. Your son is worried. He’s been prowling the halls for three days. And you might want to thank Morgana for her quick thinking.”

  Odin sat up slowly, testing his condition. The pain was mostly gone, and the hunger was under control. His muscles ached and wrists and ankles were bruised, but that would pass with another meal in him.

  Three days lost was more worrying. There was so much to do. He should have been back in the States by now, working on finding the nest.

  “Thank you, Bauninsheg.” Odin slipped into the robe.

  He smiled slightly and nodded, then started to move away. Odin caught his arm quickly and pulled him close.

  “No, Bauninsheg, I mean it. Thank you.” He moved in close and kissed Bauninsheg gently on the lips. He heard Bauninsheg catch his breath before pulling away and shaking his head.

  “Stop, Odin. You know I don’t take payment like this.”

  “Who said it was payment?”

  Bauninsheg forced a smile and sighed heavily. “You’d be an easy one to love, my boy, so easy. But when the feeling isn’t mutual…. I’m not what you’re looking for. Leave Shimon at the side and go find it. Love is what helps keep us sane too, you know.” He patted Odin’s cheek. “Go see your son before he knocks on my door again. It’s growing tiresome.”

  Odin nodded and slipped from the room. Velasco was sitting outside in a chair. He jumped up and threw his arms around Odin’s neck.

  “I was so worried,” he said.

  Odin smiled gently and stroked his son’s hair. “I’m okay now.” He kissed his cheek before pulling away. “Come on, we have a lot of work to do.”

  19. Human Intervention

  GEORGE BENT over his laptop, scrolling through pages of news, trying to find more about the hybrids, but it was quiet on the human front. No odd attacks, no strange beings had been found, nothing.

  Sighing heavily, he sat back in his chair and stared at the screen. His gaze fell on the folder beside his computer. All the information Jesse wanted was in there. Jesse went so far as to say he would owe him one. That was huge when it came to the packs.

  He wasn’t quite sure how the pet thing worked in the packs. It was an odd and intimate sort of status within the packs. Not a mate, and Jesse implied Dante both was and wasn’t his alpha, which kind of confused him. Jesse and Dante were lovers, that much everyone knew, but how that worked in a pack seemed a bit different than the traditional roles.

  He grabbed the phone lying on top of the file and dialed Jesse’s number.

  “Hello?” Jesse’s voice came back with a note of caution.

  “Jesse? This is George. I have that stuff for you.”

  “Ahh,” Jesse said. There was a brief pause. “I can meet you, if you’d like.”

  “Sure. Say my hotel in about an hour or so?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “I’m staying at—”

  “I know where you’re staying,” Jesse said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

  George smirked and hung up the phone. Of course they knew where he was staying. Hell, they probably knew what he ate for breakfast.

  Breakfast. Had he even eaten breakfast?

  The sudden growling of his stomach said no.

  Grabbing his jacket, he shut down his computer and headed down the street to get a quick meal.

  A stray watched him from across the street as he grabbed some fast food. On his way back, he paused long enough to throw a biscuit sandwich across the street at him. The stray smirked, caught it, and ate happily while he continued his vigil.

  Jesse arrived right on time with the same heavy who found them at the bar a few days ago.

  He opened the door, and Jesse paused at the threshold, running his hand over the doorframe.

  “What is it?” George asked.

  “You need a better ward.” Jesse stepped the rest of the way inside and gave the ward an amused look. “This won’t keep out anything really dangerous.”

  “It’s the young darklings I worry about,” George said.

  “You might want to rethink that,” Jesse said.

  George frowned. “What would you recommend?”

  Jesse hesitated, picked up the pencil lying on the desk, and scribbled a symbol on a notepad. “This one.”

  He had never seen anything like it before. “What will it do?”

  “It’s very old. It’ll keep out the really dangerous creatures. Well, no ward will, but it’ll cost them.”

  He studied the symbol a long moment. He was going to have to look into it. “You’ve used this?” George asked. What
was Jesse before he was Dante’s pet to need something so old?

  “Once or twice,” Jesse admitted. “Your ward just keeps out the new bloods, which I guess works for your line of work unless you run into an angry parent.”

  “Is this what you use on the pack house?” George asked, trying to make the question come out as casual as possible, hoping to entice a natural response.

  Jesse laughed. “No. Dante uses something else entirely.”

  George hummed thoughtfully. “Really? What does he use?”

  “Something you couldn’t possibly use.” Jesse gave him a pointed stare. “You have the information I asked for?” The tone of his voice made it clear he wasn’t going to be answering any more questions.

  George reached for the folder beside his laptop. “I pulled up all the medical records I could, which of course are slim. But I also went through and made notes and observations. I’m not a doctor. I’m not sure how much help that’ll be.”

  Jesse stared thoughtfully off into the distance. “Would there be an objection to your friend seeing a pack doctor?”

  “Jess—” Seth said, his voice holding a hint of warning.

  Jesse waved the warning aside. “I’ll talk to Dante when he gets home. If he would call, I’d ask him now.”

  “I’d have to talk to his mother and see if she’d allow that. She’s very protective,” George said. And angry and bitter, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. “I’ll talk to her and get back to you.”

  George handed over the folder, and Jesse flipped through the pages. He seemed to be looking for something. He paused at one page in particular and read it over before closing the file.

  “Thank you. This is very helpful.” He tucked the folder under his arm. “And so we come to the debt owed. What is it you want? I can only give you what I have in my power to give. This is my debt, not Dante’s, so keep that in mind.”

  George had been thinking this over for a long time. Jesse would only give him something he found comparable to what he had been given.