Now, after months of searing pain, he was beginning to break apart. He may have given his mental strength too much credit. By selling his soul in return for access to the black arts, he’d allowed the dark side to own him. He was no better than any of the demons he tried to get to do his bidding.
Their plan was so horrifying. He knew the Dires would survive, or maybe they wouldn’t, but there was no way to let them in on the scope of everything without hurting himself beyond repair.
Beyond the curse, the coven threatened him with possession if he tried to stop or leak information to the Dires. Possession was worse; to not be in control, to do irreparable harm—he couldn’t bear the thought.
His immortality was also now a curse, which the coven felt was a fitting punishment for abandoning them for the Dire wolves. And he was none too slowly going insane, losing any sense of humanity he had. The pain of death each time was nearly enough to make him renounce any and all wolves.
Seb was definitely being forced, but that detail wouldn’t matter to Rifter. To the wolf, loyalty was everything, no matter the cost. But if Seb hadn’t taken this curse, the coven would’ve given it to Rifter. And although it was impossible to tell if a cast spell would take on a Dire wolf, Seb wasn’t willing to take that chance.
Seb would never tell Rifter any of this because there was nothing Rifter could have done to free him. Pain was a powerful motivator—pain without the hope of any end could drive a man insane, no matter how strong he was.
The less the Dires knew of the black arts—or had ties to it—the better. It was the best Seb could do for his old friends before he was roped into trying to take them down the road to hell.
He was sure Rifter would have done the same for his wolves. Even as he thought of his onetime friend, the man he’d served proudly next to in the Navy, his body rejected the thought.
The Dires were memories of a distant time he did not want to be reminded of, because he’d been happy then. Today he knew happiness was the biggest illusion of them all.
Finally, he opened the door, behind which the weretrapper named Marlin Shimmin—aka Mars—waited none too patiently. He had to have heard Seb’s screams but was at least smart enough not to mention it.
“The wolves are growing in number,” he told Mars without a greeting.
“So are we,” Mars snapped back.
In reality, the trapper groups were spread too thin to be truly effective. They were attempting to gain force and rebuild the center the Dires blew up after Rifter and Rogue escaped, where the scientists could continue to experiment on wolves. Most of the trappers’ smaller efforts to that end had been semisuccessful in pushing their agenda forward. A few well-placed Weres in local government offices they could control was an experiment that was going well, but now Mars wanted more. His ultimate plan was to use the demons Seb raised to possess other government officials, no matter how many times Seb told him that demons were tricky to control once let loose.
Mars told him it would be Seb’s head if they weren’t controlled. Seb knew he wasn’t kidding.
Mars’s relatives traced back to Viking times, to those slaughtered by the Dire wolves. Those early weretrappers didn’t have the vision the group had today. Back then it was all about vengeance and honor—keeping the world safe.
At first the goal of these humans had simply been to destroy wolves. Over time, that morphed into a power play in which the leader and his followers wanted far more.
Today it was about glomming all the power and glory for their own group, and using the wolves to do so seemed the perfect revenge.
The weretrappers were now a paramilitary organization with human volunteers trained in the art of capturing and killing Weres. They’d been trying to do the same to the Dires, but that was a pipe dream. The methods they used, and their purposes, were secrets handed down over hundreds of years. During that time, they’d also kept the fact that there were such things as witches and werewolves to themselves, propagating myths and making sure that no traces of these real-life creatures were discovered. In time, to avoid detection, the individual weretrapping groups were forced to become as insular as the wolves they hunted.
“The world is too crowded,” Mars would tell them. “We need a simpler way of life. A better way to protect our country’s boundaries, since the politicians can’t seem to do their jobs.”
He would always get applause at rallies when he brought politics into the mix.
Currently, their main trapper cells were in California, Texas and Wisconsin, and of course the biggest group was in New York, mirroring where the largest Were packs were located. Smaller factions were scattered throughout other states as well, mainly wolf watchers who scouted areas and scoured the Internet for any chatter about wolf sightings from ghost-hunting groups and the like.
The Dires were the most slippery, despite their size. That was until Harm’s true Dire nature was discovered, thanks to Cordelia. She’d followed Harm to his current lover’s house and discovered that while the woman was human, Harm certainly wasn’t.
Humans had far too much greed and hubris—and the kind of power Mars wanted would drive him into the ground faster than he realized. Everyone around Seb was using black magic to take things further and making deals with demons. If they thought they had control over their decisions, they were truly insane.
“We need the girl,” Mars seethed now. He’d been practicing black arts with the coven for years, and he’d sold his soul for paranormal powers. That had turned him over the past year into an entity Seb no longer recognized. “And we need the Dires.”
“The house spell cannot be reversed,” Seb reminded him. “They’re protected.”
Mars moved closer to him, and Seb forced himself not to shudder under the man’s touch. Mars massaged his shoulders, and the pain of the regeneration made it ache more than comfort.
The demon who wrestled with Mars for control of the man’s body loved him, wanted him, body and soul. Sexually. Seb understood because the lure of his blood bond was now much like the fateful siren song. Like Vice, the Dire, no one could resist.
At one time, Seb thought he could use it to his advantage, to get Mars to help him leave the coven if he promised to help with other dark magic not related to the wolves, but the curse Cordelia placed on him wouldn’t allow it.
“Do what you’re supposed to and there won’t be any more punishments,” Mars murmured. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
If only it were that easy. “Linus’s son lives.”
“Liam will turn himself in for his mate.” Mars was confident in that; Seb less so. Liam was king and could not be expected to act like a silly fool for love. Rifter, on the other hand, seemed to be doing exactly that for Gwen.
It would be the Dire’s undoing. And that made Seb sadder than he’d ever thought possible.
Rifter walked up three flights of stairs, pausing at the second landing, where Gwen’s scent lingered. He realized he’d be able to track her easily now. He didn’t think she’d try to escape, but his brothers would no doubt have their reservations.
Having her here would be tricky. Letting her die alone wasn’t an option.
He climbed the last flight and didn’t knock before entering the room in the middle of the hallway, where Stray watched over Harm. He’d had Stray move him up to Rogue’s floor earlier, when he knew Gwen would be staying with them. No need for her to stumble on anything to arouse further suspicions.
Stray wasn’t surprised to see him. “I’ve been trying to rouse him.”
Rifter noted the Taser in Stray’s hand, as well as the burn marks on Harm’s neck and arms. Stray appeared calm and unruffled, but in actuality, he was probably the roughest of the bunch, a street urchin who’d done whatever it took to survive on his own. He was used to being a loner and was still having trouble with the pack mentality.
But Stray did understand that the pack was necessary for his health. He’d been grateful to find wolves like him. He’d been exploited by Wer
es and humans when he was younger and living on the streets.
He didn’t elaborate much about that to anyone besides Rogue, because that man knew how to keep secrets. And at the thought of Rogue—of the capture—the calm Rifter forced himself to have so he wouldn’t lose it in front of Gwen or Liam dissipated. He picked up the unconscious wolf without compunction and threw him to the ground hard enough to dent the floor. He wanted to kill this wolf, but Rifter knew he needed Harm awake for it to be any kind of a satisfactory mauling.
It didn’t stop Rifter from picking him up and slamming him to the ground several more times. Stray Tasered Harm for good measure. Twice. The Dire’s body shuddered, but nothing else happened.
Harm looked the same as he had when he’d been trolling stages all over the world, hypnotizing the masses with his golden voice.
Bastard had always been too handsome for his own good.
“You call me the second he wakes—I don’t care what else I’m doing. I want first words with him.”
Stray nodded. “You’ll be at the moon celebration, yes?”
He nodded. “We have two guests here—Liam, Linus’s son, and a human, but she’s sleeping. She saved Liam.”
“She’s the human from last night, isn’t she?” Stray asked. “You know I’m not the only one who’ll be asking.”
Rifter nodded. Not only would the weretrappers know, but the outlaw wolves would as well.
She was in danger with him—and without him. “We’re in some deep shit.”
“Let the moon celebration ease you,” Stray urged.
The party was always the day after the full moon. Until they had a proper way to vent their human urges, they would be too riled up to do much good for anyone. Full moons were for running wild. Moon celebrations were for feeding their primal frenzy, which followed when they morphed back to human form. The Elders knew they needed it badly, and it was a tradition the Dires continued to follow.
Stray would be relieved by Jinx because he was close to snapping. His calm countenance didn’t fool Rifter at all.
Too bad the only release Rifter wanted was with Gwen.
“Mistake,” Stray said, and Rifter pinned him to the wall.
“Cut that shit out.”
“You can walk through my mind but I can’t return the favor?” Stray asked.
“How long have you been able to do that?”
Stray didn’t answer directly. “It comes and goes. Feelings need to be strong, and yours are strong.”
Rifter pushed an arm across his throat. “Stay out of my head.”
“You do the same.”
“Did you forget I’m in charge here?”
“Then prove it.”
He would give Stray some rope because he’d been watching Harm. Even though the wolf hadn’t been with them when Harm left them originally in the early part of the eleventh century, he’d been privy to Rifter’s and Rogue’s capture, and the lone, rogue wolf inside of him was taut with untamed anger. “I’ll prove it and you won’t be happy, Stray. Watch your tongue and respect your elders.”
Stray’s eyes searched Rifter’s but he said nothing more. Rifter left, but not without a last look at Harm.
When he headed downstairs, he heard the first strains of the music start—no doubt Cyd and Cain had grown impatient with waiting, and the Weres who’d been invited would be equally impatient to party with the Dires.
Inviting the wolves was a bit like inviting sin to come out and play. Beyond Vice, whose extremes could never be ignored, both Dires and Weres were simply examples of walking primal needs. They exuded it without trying—it was part of their makeup as wolves, and they saw no reason not to revel in it.
Like the extraordinary strength and speed they possessed, it was simply a part of who they were.
Humans didn’t understand the power that lurked literally at their doorsteps, that if the Dires, no matter how small their numbers, decided to drop their tightly knit control—and that of the Weres—they’d wipe out a good deal of the population before anyone knew what happened.
It was much easier to play full human.
Sure, they’d all pushed the boundaries—dated movie stars, mingled with A-listers—but the charade and lack of resolution left them bored. It was easier to let the wolves have fun their way instead of reveling in the ways of humans.
But now the war of the Weres, the witches and the weretrappers was settling on them with a ferocity they couldn’t ignore.
“We could just get the hell out of here,” Vice would often say. “Not everything in life is our responsibility.”
But it wasn’t that simple. The Were packs had grown tremendously over the past hundreds of years. Unfortunately, so had the human population, as the area had become something of a trendy hot spot. They would need to move farther upstate soon, but some of the packs balked. Wanted to stay and instead thin out the humans.
That would be the worst thing they could do.
Linus had agreed, and he’d been killed for his views against the dissenting outlaws. And although the Dires had long stayed out of Were politics as much as they possibly could, the pack war threatened to expose them all.
But tonight all of that was put aside—a celebration of the moon, because they knew no other way.
The event was tied in with Rifter’s dreams now, and he willed himself to forget how those ended… and he hoped he wasn’t having any kind of premonition.
As for Gwen, he knew his brothers were right. Although she wasn’t going anywhere, he couldn’t risk her discovering what they actually were. He needed to make her think she was losing it a little—if she continued dreaming of wolves, she’d be less sure that what she saw was real… plus, he wouldn’t be able to help it.
Chapter 14
Gwen showered in Rifter’s black marble–tiled bathroom. The house, from what she’d seen of it, was far more decadent than she’d expected for some kind of Hells Angels gang. It was almost more like a rock star’s palace—all of the rooms were circular, and she’d caught a glimpse of the large kitchen in the center of the house, with a huge brick fireplace and leather couches and a white shag rug.
Somehow, it looked both modern and expensive. And pretty damned clean for a bachelor pad that housed giant men.
She wondered if the windows were bulletproof. Or at least fireproof.
She highly suspected no one was sneaking in here to plant a bomb. Still, she was glad she’d shared her worries with Rifter and told him the basics of what happened to people around her.
She’d been eight when her mother died, seventeen when her aunt and uncle’s house burned to the ground, destroying everything in it and killing them. She’d asked the judge for emancipation—couldn’t bear the thought of foster care for the year—and it had been granted.
There hadn’t been much money—no insurance because the adjustors claimed the fire was suspicious, believed her aunt and uncle had set it on purpose to avoid filing for bankruptcy. And so she’d started out alone and with nothing. Her high school counselor helped her get scholarships and loans for college. Gwen did the same for med school, but she was still pretty broke, except for a small savings she used to rent her house.
Now, as she washed the shampoo from her hair, she thought about the things she’d lost in the fire. There had been only a few things salvaged from her aunt and uncle’s house. Some paintings had made it through, albeit with scorch marks across most of them, nearly obscuring the curious wolf-and-moon theme her aunt was obsessed with. Now they were completely destroyed.
Maybe they were cursed. Or maybe she was, as she’d always suspected. If so, these men needed to be far more worried about her than she was about them.
And she’d keep repeating that to herself until she believed it.
Finally she stopped smelling the smoke on herself and she shut off the water and walked out into the mirrored bathroom. There were clean white towels and she wrapped herself in one and searched for a shirt to wear.
Rifter had left
one out for her, along with a pair of sweatpants that would never stay up. Since the T-shirt was thick and came down to her knees, she figured that would work well enough for now. She washed her underwear and hung them to dry.
Somehow, she’d have to get more clothes.
When she came out of the bathroom, she found an overflowing tray of food on the edge of the bed. She sat and ate until her stomach was satisfied—and until her head felt a little woozy.
Food coma. Coupled with all that had happened today, she was surprised she hadn’t crashed earlier. Until now, she hadn’t thought about seizing, and although she felt light-headed, she was able to lie back and relax.
She didn’t know if it was hours or minutes later, but she found herself walking through the halls of the mansion. She’d never been a sleepwalker, but this didn’t feel exactly like a dream. No, she was slightly suspended between reality and this floaty state that propelled her toward the music.
She stepped outdoors, the snow falling on her like some kind of fairy dust, the icy grass tickling her bare feet. She wasn’t cold in the least—on the contrary, her body seemed to radiate enough heat to melt the snow as it touched her skin.
There were lanterns hung, strung along the porch, and people wandered around, coupling off. The music was sensual, and she found herself swaying to it a little as she watched, trying to get her bearings.
Jinx was here, as was Vice. There were other big men too, and lots of women. She swore she recognized some of them from around town, but faces were fleeting, like there was some kind of haze over the whole scene. She wanted to push away the gauzy curtain, but rubbing her eyes didn’t help.
It was a party of dangerous men and beautiful women. The air was ripe with lust and sex, and there was no pretense of what this party was about.
Something surged inside of her—maybe something the meds suppressed, or maybe they weren’t out of her system yet. Or maybe it was simply being anywhere in Rifter’s presence.
Dire Needs Page 10
