Wrong Side of Dead dc-4

by Kelly Meding

  Sometimes we all commit that particular crime.

  “You didn’t want to kill Rain.”

  “Maybe they don’t want to kill Aurora and Ava.”

  My mental brakes ground to a halt on that one. It had never occurred to me that the Lupa would be anything except loyal, ready to agree with anything Thackery said and to do his bidding, no questions asked. “But they will, unless he tells them to stop.”

  “Yes. They’re his. They’ll listen.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “No.”

  “The Lupa are fiercely independent,” Phineas said, his voice an unwelcome interruption. He’d scrubbed himself of the black paint, remaining shirtless in his blue jeans and sneakers.

  I expected Wyatt to growl or snarl, maybe even jerk to attention. Instead, he gave Phin a cool glare, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I feel that, a rebellion against rules. Against order. An embrace of chaos.”

  Embrace of chaos—the very opposite of Wyatt Truman in every way.

  “Is that why the Lupa were hunted?” I asked. “Their independent nature meant they’d never submit to the rule of the Assembly, and they created chaos everywhere they went, and so were ordered to be executed?”

  “Yes,” Phin said. “Thousands of human lives were saved.”

  “By killing Lupa,” Wyatt said.

  “Yes.”

  “My people.”

  “You are more human than Lupa, Wyatt Truman,” Phin said. “With a human woman who loves you very much. Do not allow the Lupa in you to drive her away.”

  And then came the growling I was hoping to avoid. “I thought you’d be cheering me on to embrace the wolf,” Wyatt replied.

  “Why is that?”

  “You want her.”

  I would have laughed at the absurdity of his logic if I didn’t think it would piss him off even more. He was actually jealous of Phin. My temper flared to life. “You asshole,” I said.

  Wyatt blinked, stunned into silence by my challenge.

  “After everything we’ve been through,” I continued. “Four years in the Triads, losing Jesse and Ash, my resurrection … after Olsmill and Call and Thackery and getting blown up twice—no, three times … after what we did in that cabin with our combined Gifts and falling in love with you—you asshole!”

  Maybe it was my tone, maybe the short trip down Memory Lane tripped something in his mind, but Wyatt’s entire expression softened. Shards of black flickered behind the silver in his eyes, and his elongated canines seemed to shrink just a hair. His humanity was peeking through, and I wasn’t even done yelling.

  “You really think that you dying would send me running into Phin’s arms for comfort? You think his master plan is to see me completely shattered by your death, so he can be there to pick up the pieces? You think that little of both of us? Fuck you!”

  Wyatt shut his eyes with a pained whine and turned away, covering his face with his hands. I wanted to scoot closer and hold him, try to comfort him—but something kept me still. Allowed him to work through the storm of emotions churning inside so he could battle the wolf. So the human side of him, the side I loved and wanted back, could rise to the surface.

  We waited, silent, as he shuddered and shook. And finally went still, save the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed deeply.

  He looked up, hands falling away from his face. The canines were back to normal, though the puncture wounds in his lip remained. His eyes had returned to their mostly black shade, with a faint ring of silver around the outside of the iris—a potentially constant reminder of his new dual nature. He blinked hard, gazing around, both curious and chagrined.

  He ran his tongue across his teeth. “My vision is still different.”

  “Well, your eyes aren’t completely normal,” I said. “How’s the wolf?”

  “Subdued for now. I’m so sorry, Evy.”

  “Forgiven. I’m just glad that yelling snapped you out of it, instead of making it worse.”

  “She was unlikely to make it worse,” Phin said. “If memory serves, the Lupa were a matriarchal society, the Packs led by an Alpha female and her chosen mate. If Wyatt’s wolf understands that Evy is his mate, he’ll obey her instinctively.”

  What was it with Therians and the word “mate”? I hated that word, and I hated what it implied about a relationship—that it was about reproduction, not love. Phin’s admission about his late wife was proof enough that it was much more than simple biology for Therians. They were just as capable of great love as humans.

  “The wolf still doesn’t like you,” Wyatt said to Phin. He used the sleeve of his gown to wipe the blood off his lips and chin, wincing as he scraped the twin cuts.

  Phin nodded. “For good reason.”

  “I apologize for my insinuations.”

  “They were understandable, under the circumstances.”

  “You mean my split personality?”

  “So to speak. My intention in coming here was not to fight with you, despite its mood-altering benefits.”

  That got my attention fast. “What is it? Thackery?” I asked.

  “Sort of. I have an idea about how to find those three missing Lupa, and I need Wyatt’s help to do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  2:55 P.M.

  “To do what exactly?” Wyatt asked.

  Phin took a few steps forward, putting himself near the foot of the hospital bed. Over his shoulder Kismet remained silent and steadfast, listening and watching everyone involved in the conversation. “I had a chance to speak with Elder Dane a few moments ago, regarding his knowledge of the Lupa,” he said. “As you’ve already been told, the Lupa were once one of the most powerful of the Therian Clans, and not just because of their bi-shifting abilities. They were also the most magically sensitive of the Clans.”

  “What does magically sensitive mean?” I asked. “They’re Gifted?”

  “No, not in the sense that you use the word to describe humans and their Gifts. Consider the ability to sing. Most of us are average, many awful. A select few are extremely talented, and once or twice in a generation there is a truly magnificent voice.”

  Okay, I got that he wasn’t saying the Lupa were all opera stars, but the rest of the analogy wasn’t quite working for me.

  “Therians are considered magical by most because of our shifting abilities,” Phin continued, probably prompted by my blank stare. “However, unlike Gifted humans, we do not require contact with the Break in order to shift. We can travel from here without ill effects. From my experience, all Therians are like this. I would assume Lupa, as well.”

  “Then what makes them ‘a magnificent voice’?” I asked.

  “They possess, within a Pack, a sort of telepathy among their members. It is especially strong among siblings, and strongest if they are the offspring of the Alpha female.”

  “They talk to one another with their minds?” It was my clearest understanding of telepathy, even though I’d met a handful of Gifted telepaths with quite varied talents. Brett Lewis used his psychometry skills for us on a freelance basis (it was hard to believe that it was just last night when he’d identified Thackery as Aurora and Ava’s kidnapper). Claudia Burke had been a Hunter, and she’d used her telepathy to sense the truth in people’s words—until she was killed in the field last week by a trio of Halfies.

  “Not quite. Elder Dane described it as more of a proximity sensor. Siblings can sense the distress of other siblings, and the Alpha female can often sense all members of her Pack.”

  “So you think they’ll sense Wyatt?” Kismet asked.

  Phin nodded. “Or he’ll be able to sense them. He shares their genetic traits now, so it’s possible he’ll be regarded as a fellow Pack member. If they can sense his current distress, they may already be seeking him out.”

  “Even though Thackery ordered them to guard Ava and Aurora?”

  “They are Lupa first, trained dogs second.”

  Wyatt grunted.

  I abso
lutely hated the idea of taking Wyatt out of the Watchtower and making him a target, especially with his emotions on such an uneven keel. But I saw Phin’s point. It might be our only chance to find the Lupa before seven o’clock. I wasn’t going to speak for Wyatt, though; this was his decision.

  “The Assembly won’t like it,” Kismet said.

  “You’re right,” Phin said. “In my limited experience as a member of the Assembly, I’m fairly positive they would rather execute Wyatt, see the last of the Lupa dead, and sweep this entire incident under the metaphorical rug.”

  That comment earned a deep-chested growl from Wyatt.

  Unperturbed, Phin continued. “Many Elders still see the Lupa as a blight on our collective history and their removal as a cleansing of evil. It’s what they learned from the Elders before them, and I can only guess at my own Clan Elder’s thoughts on them. But none of them likes talking about it, and it’s why the information isn’t known among the general Therian population.”

  “I have a question,” I said. “If the Elders don’t like talking about it and would rather forget, why bother passing down the information? They thought the Lupa were killed off centuries ago.”

  “To learn from the past, I suppose. You still teach your children the evils of wars fought long ago, in countries thousands of miles away. The Lupa are part of our collective history. A dark chapter, probably the darkest, but it isn’t something we should forget.”

  “Just something to hide from the general population?”

  Phin’s mouth twitched.

  “Sounds like it works well as a boogeyman story, too,” Kismet said. “This is what happens when a Clan gets out of line, so make sure you and your people play by the rules.”

  Phin angled his body to face her, his expression blank.

  “That sounds oddly familiar and not a little ironic, coming from an ex-Handler.”

  She frowned.

  “Okay,” I said, “so what exactly is your plan? Put Wyatt in a car, drive him around the city, and hope his werewolf radar goes off?”

  “In a nutshell, yes,” Phin replied.

  “Really?”

  “Unless you have a more specific starting location in mind.”

  It sounded like a great way to waste our entire afternoon. Unfortunately, unless they managed to get something out of Thackery besides more fingers, it was also the only plan we had.

  I looked at Wyatt, whose lips were pressed tight, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He glanced at me with those eerie, silver-rimmed eyes. “This is our only real option, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “It’s the only good one,” I replied, “since none of us is about to sit around and do nothing.”

  “You’ll bring weapons?”

  “Of course.”

  “No, Evy, for me. If I lose control out there—”

  My heart beat just a little faster. “You won’t.”

  “But if I do, you need to be prepared to kill me before I infect someone. And I mean kill me. You know I won’t be able to live with myself if I do.”

  “I know.” I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. He was right. Taking him into the city while the infection was still fresh, before we’d had any real practice at keeping his wolf under control, was beyond risky. It bordered on suicidal. And yet, as with every other major decision in our lives lately, what fucking choice did we really have?

  “Promise me, Evy.”

  “I promise.”

  He held my gaze a moment, resolute and angry, then glanced past me. “You, too.”

  “I promise,” Kismet said.

  He didn’t bother asking for Phin’s word.

  “Elder Dane won’t like us taking Wyatt out of here,” I said.

  “The Watchtower isn’t exclusively run by the Therians,” Kismet said. “I’ll tell Adrian the plan. He won’t say no.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he might be a foot taller than me, but he knows I can kick his ass.”

  Impressed with the implied threat, I smiled. “Works for me. Wyatt’s going to need clothes.” We’d have to get food for him before we left, too. I could use a snack myself, after all that teleporting.

  “I’ll get them,” Phin said. “As well as some weapons. We’ll return in ten minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  They left together, and Wyatt and I were alone. We sat in silence for a moment.

  “Think you can stand?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Using the wall for support, he slid up it until he was on his feet, the gown still twisted awkwardly around his hips. I’d asked him before how he felt, and one of his answers had been “aroused.” Standing up, it was obvious he still was, although he didn’t seem aware of it. He’d also said “hungry” and “angry,” which meant he was likely still those things, as well, deep down below the wall of calm he’d built to contain the wolf.

  I wanted to reach out and tug the gown down, but was too afraid of startling him. So I stood up slowly, careful to avert my eyes. “Wyatt, you’re kind of hanging out.”

  He blinked, confused, then looked down. He pulled at the gown so quickly he almost ripped it. Red spots flamed his cheeks. “Dammit,” he said.

  “Should I be flattered?”

  As soon as the teasing question passed my lips, I regretted it. Instead of smiling, Wyatt only looked more miserable. He adjusted the gown, but wouldn’t look at me. “Don’t be,” he snapped. “Considering the circumstances, it’s pretty fucking inappropriate.”

  “What circumstances? The fact that you didn’t die today, like everyone was telling me you would? That you’re alive, and you haven’t hurt me, and you’re sane enough to beat this?”

  “There’s no beating this, Evy. It’s part of me now. I can feel the wolf prowling around. It wants to fight. It wants to fuck. It wants you.”

  Something in my chest tightened, as much at the implicit threat as the misery in his voice. “I don’t care what the wolf wants, Wyatt. All I care about is what you want.”

  “I want to be able to trust myself alone with you.”

  “We’re alone now.”

  His eyes flickered toward me, then back to a spot on the floor. “Why do you think I’m staying over here?”

  Oh boy. “So you’re saying what? If I walked over there and touched you, you’d lose control, throw me to the floor, and rape me?”

  He flinched, and his entire body seemed to wilt. “I don’t know.”

  God. The fact that he was entertaining such a scenario knocked the wind out of me. He knew what I’d been through—seen the results with his own eyes as he watched me die my first death. The idea of doing what a goblin had done to me, what a pùca had tried to do, had to be killing him inside.

  I was desperate to prove him wrong, to show him he could control the raging instincts of the wolf, but what if he was right? If he did hurt me before someone stopped him …

  Fuck no. I had to believe in him, or no one else would. He absolutely didn’t believe in himself, and no one else had as much to lose as I did.

  “Did you or did you not sacrifice your free will to bring me back to life?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t look at me, either. Finally, he said, “I did.”

  “Did you or did you not take a bullet for me and die for your trouble?”

  He still paused, but the second reply came a bit faster than the first. “I did.”

  “Did you or did you not save me from an exploding Halfie in a parking garage, love me no matter what bullshit you learned about my past, support my decision to save Phin by going with Thackery, and combine your Gift with mine to create a truly impressive display of human magic by summoning half a car through a wall?”

  His head turned in my direction, gaze still on the floor.

  “Yes. I did.”

  I took a chance on two steps forward. He tensed but didn’t draw away. Three long strides separated us. With my heart in my throat, I said, “You know I used t
o fuck around, Wyatt. I was no angel. I liked sex and I had a lot of it. Mindless, emotionless sex. Even, for me, our one time before I died.”

  His entire body flinched, and I hated that, but it was true. As nice as it had been, sleeping with him three months ago had meant a lot less to me than to him.

  “But that morning in the boys’ apartment, before I went to Thackery, was different. It was beautiful and it was real. So did you or did you not become the first and only man I’ve ever made love to?”

  That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes meeting mine. Wide with surprise and understanding, he opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He shifted until his body angled toward me, hands loose by his sides. I wanted to leap across the space between us and pull him into my arms. To feel him around me, holding me again. Physical proof that he was alive, heart beating, blood pumping.

  I stayed still. He had a question to answer.

  He took a step, then another, tentative and calculated. Three more small steps and he was in front of me, breathing hard, eyes brimmed with unshed tears. He raised a trembling hand; I forced myself to relax, let him do this. He brushed the pad of his thumb across my cheek, down my jaw. Warm breath gusted across my lips, and I breathed him in—the unfamiliar scent of earth, a tang of blood.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine. His skin was damp, hot, almost feverish. The hand on my jaw loosely cupped my cheek. He didn’t kiss me. He simply stood there, touching me, breathing me in. Working whatever inner demons he was fighting into a rational calm, despite our proximity.

  I almost didn’t hear him whisper, “I was.”

  “You are,” I said.

  “I want to be, always.”

  “I want that, too.”

  He turned his head and pressed his cheek to mine, breath tickling my ear. His skin was rough with stubble, his hair damp. The sweet hint of cinnamon I’d always associated with Wyatt was gone, replaced by something else—foreign and still somehow familiar. Our bodies remained apart by a few meager inches. It was too far …

  “I love you,” he said.