by Noah Harris
Damian’s hand lashed out, and Dean’s head rocked back before the pain even had a chance to flare to life across his face. He hissed, trying to fight the tears that welled up in his eyes as the cave spun around him. Damian waited patiently, still hovering above him as Dean tried to focus his attention on the bastard once more.
“You forget where you are Dean. You’re not surrounded by Samuel’s pack. You’re here, with me. You aren’t untouchable anymore. You’re alive because I say you should be, so you should learn a little respect.”
Dean worked his jaw, fighting against the ache there. “I might not know much about werewolves, but I know enough about people to know you aren’t worth shit, let alone respect.”
This time he was expecting the blow, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Damian had caught the other side of his face, his head only jerking slightly this time as he had braced for it. It certainly wasn’t doing anything for the throbbing in the back of his head, and he knew he would have a full-fledged headache within minutes. It was sort of worth it to see the arrogance on Damian’s face be replaced by outrage in those brief moments.
“And you’re lucky you’re actually worth something to me. By all accounts, you are a little druid, which explains why Nox wanted you so bad. I bet he saw the potential in you, and the bastard never even told me. I thought he wanted a new pet, like I did. I still owe you for the loss of my shaman by the way. He was… very important to me.”
Dean snorted, “And which one of you bent over for the other?”
It was Damian’s fist that collided with his face this time. Unlike the harsh open-handed blows before, now the pain lit across the entire left side of his face. The room dimmed and he knew that he was on the edge of passing out. Struggling to stay conscious, he wavered as he tried to pick his head up once more to keep his gaze on Damian’s.
“Mikael cost me my victory, and you cost me my shaman. I will deal with Mikael, but now I have you as a replacement for what I lost. Which, if you ask me, is even better.”
Dean’s breath was ragged, and he spit the taste of blood from his mouth. “You really think I’ll do anything for you? You might as well just kill me and get it over with.”
“So eager to die. But I do try to not be wasteful, so even if you don’t get a little wiser, you’ll still serve your purpose. You think I didn’t want to kill Samuel’s whelp, that little freak of his? Of course I did, but I saw another purpose for her, and I see another for you as well.”
“Wait, you’re responsible for Lucille? You son of a bitch?”
Damian snorted, reaching down to hold Dean’s chin between his fingers. “You do know that’s not much of an insult to a werewolf, right? And to answer your question, no, we didn’t cause whatever is wrong with the little freak. She was far away from home when we found her, and we found her exactly as we left her. Unconscious and not waking up anytime soon. We made sure she wouldn’t wake up before dumping her just a little ways past your territory, where we knew she would be found by a scout or two.”
Dean yanked his chin away, trying to free it from Damian’s grip with little success, “Why?”
“You forget Dean, I was there before, in The Grove. I know what sort of things Samuel’s pack likes to keep around, and I know him pretty well too. It was a risk, but I gambled that he wouldn’t have what was necessary to care for his precious youngest. So we waited, and watched until you and Apollo left, and we tracked you to the warehouse. Where you would be delivered into my hands.”
“How the hell could you have even known I would be there? They could have sent any random member of the pack to go with Apollo,” he paused there, his mind suddenly ceasing on a terrifying thought. “Damn you, what did you do to Apollo?”
“As much as it would have amused me to kill him, and leave Lucille to languish longer as they waited for you two to return, I needed someone alive. You have no idea how happy I am that Samuel sent you out with Apollo, no idea. I was hoping that he would, being that you are human born, and in truth, you would have been safer in the human world rather than at The Grove. That is, if I hadn’t wanted you here in the first place.”
“Oh good, you did all this for me, I’m honored. Why? You left Apollo there, which means they’re going to know exactly where I disappeared from. If you were around long enough, they’re going to be able to track you. Even with the van and ATV, there’s going to be way for them to track you.”
Damian stood, now towering over Dean as he lay helpless on the cold floor of the cave. “Oh, the van ride wasn’t very long, I assure you. And only you were on the ATV with someone else to drive you here, to make sure you came here quickly. The rest that were with you went on foot, running their way here.”
Dean’s frown deepened. They had taken almost no precautions in being tracked down. They had been very careful in making sure no one realized that someone had placed Lucille where she had been found. Then they made sure they weren’t noticed breaking into the warehouse and killing the guards before knocking Dean out and dragging him off. They had been so careful, except for the part where they had made their escape, leaving a trail that would perhaps be a little tricky, but not impossible to follow.
His eyes widened as it dawned on him, “You want them to follow me.”
“Ah, there’s a smart man. Yes, I want them to find you. I want them to lead a charge, with your mate at the front, desperate to come and find you. I’m sure he will have some of his best with him, ready to tear us all apart as he tries to rescue you from us. It is more than just us here you know, the others are out keeping an eye on things just in case your mate’s noble rush comes sooner than expected.”
Which would mean leaving The Grove without as many warriors to protect it if it was attacked. It would be all too easy for Apollo to smell werewolves in the hallway where he had been taken. They would easily make the assumption about what werewolves would take him like that. Then, it would just be a matter of time before Mikael assembled whatever people were willing to come and find him. They would expect Damian to have quite a collection of people around Dean in order to keep their new catch well-guarded.
“So yes, I took quite the gamble. One to give up killing one of Samuel’s own to see if it would send someone out to fetch supplies. And another to see if it would be you they sent out, with only the barest of protection. And look how well that has worked out for me. Your mate is going to leave The Grove, with some of the best warriors they have. I bet even that irritating bitch, Katarina, will be right there with him.”
Dean’s eyes flashed open as he glared up at Damian. “It doesn’t matter what you do Damian. He’s going to show up and they’ll tear you apart. We’ve already proven that one of ours is worth five of yours. You and your men are going to die for your little gambit.”
“If Mikael were simply upset by your kidnapping, and leading the charge here, that is a very strong possibility. Now, if he were to be half out of his mind, frantic with concern for you, that wouldn’t make him a very effective leader, would it?”
Dean pulled back, the sight of Damian’s malicious grin sending a spike of fear through him. “How… are you going to do that?”
Damian glanced to the three men still lurking restlessly in the shadows of the cave. “Why, what if he were to sense his mate under a great deal of duress and pain?”
Dean’s gaze flicked toward his shoulder, “How did you—?”
“Oh come now Dean, you’re mated. I’ve been keeping an ear out for rumors from Samuel’s pack, and that was one I just happened to hear. Well that, and you smell like Mikael, not like before; trust me, our noses know the difference. Shared sensation between bonded mates is very common, and now you’ve just told me that my last gamble was correct. Ah, I love how measured bets can work out in your favor. Yes, he will sense your pain, and he will drive his war party even harder than before and be utterly useless on the field of battle.”
Damian bent down once more, laying a gentle hand on Dean’s cheek. “Don’t worry
, while it will hurt—and trust me, my boys are good at making people hurt—they won’t kill you. I want you alive. Perhaps after you’ve lost everything, you’ll understand that all you have left is my offer. Think it over for me, will you?”
Dean did the only thing he could think to do, pulling his head back and sinking his teeth into the soft folds of Damian’s hand as hard as he could manage. The pain flared around his aching jaw, but the sharp yelp of pain and the taste of new blood in his mouth made it worth it. Even the backhand, as Damian ripped his bleeding hand out of Dean’s mouth and hit him, was worth it.
Damian stood, nostrils flaring as he turned to the three behind him. “Have your fun, but keep him alive. I’m returning to the main group to make sure the attack goes alright. I don’t trust those idiots to handle it by themselves. And remember, don’t kill him… or maim him.”
Damian turned on his heel and strode from the cave, a new bounce in his step that hadn’t been there before. Dean craned his neck to gaze at the three men who approached him, their ugly faces alight with pleasure as they approached. They were big; they were probably strong, and they were definitely willing to do exactly what Damian wanted of them. There could have been any number of smart comments that he could make, as the thugs reached him.
Yet as they sneered down at him, he couldn’t think of a single one.
A deep, primal noise dug into the recesses of his mind, dragging him from the dark abyss that had been his sanctuary from the pain. He had no idea how long it had gone on; it could have been just a handful of hours, it could have been days. They had taken turns on him, first using the flats of their hands, and then moving onto fists. At one point, one of them had produced a thin, silver dagger, and began slicing into him just to hear him scream a different way.
He had tried his hardest to not give them the satisfaction, to keep his noises to only dull grunts and groans. Those had been all he could manage at first, since their blows had knocked the breath from his lungs more than once. When the dagger had come out, he didn’t know how long he managed to keep his noises stifled, but knew that eventually, his willpower lost out. Then they had taken to finding sensitive nerves and pressure points. Blood and pain filled his time, along with their sadistic laughter.
The noise came again, rousing him from unconsciousness further. It was a howl that ended in a snarl, echoing around the walls of the cave. It was then that he realized he could hear other snarls, yips, and yelps coming from outside the cave. The sounds of pitched, animalistic battle filtered in, becoming louder as he forced himself awake.
Pain rocked through him as his eyes flashed open, his body protesting at every little movement. Daylight was filling the entrance of the cave behind him. Now he could see the blood and bruises, not just feel and smell them. At some point they had taken the bindings off his wrists and ankles—the better to move him around as they pleased—the three of them easily able to overpower him.
Now only two of them remained, the third nowhere in sight. He couldn’t even decide which of the trio was missing. All three had become demons in his mind, ugly, cruel demons that had enjoyed every bit of what they had done to him. The rage that had dulled in the heat of the moment warmed itself as he stared at the back of their heads, knowing that his pack, and his mate, were not far away.
“Don’t sound too good out there,” one of them muttered, weaving back and forth as if trying to see something better.
“Eh, they’re puttin’ up a good fight, but we were ready for ’em. They ain’t gonna beat us, don’t be such a wimp.”
“Ya sure we shouldn’t go help?”
“Damian said not to leave this one alone when the fightin’ starts, had to be at least two of us. That way ain’t none of them sneakin’ up behind us and tryin’ to take him when we ain’t lookin’.”
Dean shifted, trying to sit up and earned himself a twist of pain down his back. He groaned, rolling onto his side as he pushed himself upright. Coughing harshly, he spat another dose of bloody spit onto the cave floor, glaring at the two men. At the noise he made, the two of them glanced over, one simply blinking at him, the other grinning evilly.
“Ah, you’re up. Well princess, your man is here to save ya.”
“Shame he ain’t gonna make it, though I’m sure he would love to see what we did to ya. Maybe if ya ain’t smart and ya don’t take Damian’s offer, he’ll let us have more time with ya. You were pretty fun.”
Dean’s hate for them burned harshly in his chest, spurring him to push himself up a bit more. Even if he hadn’t spent the past who-knew-how-long, getting beaten and cut up, he wouldn’t have been any match for them. It didn’t stop him from wishing he had the one guy’s dagger, just for the chance to drive it into one of their eyes. It was the least he owed them, but all he had was a body that wasn’t quite broken, but so beat up it might as well have been.
They were still watching him, looking pleased with themselves and whispering. Dean was distracted by movement past them, able to see between their legs enough to see the frozen landscape beyond the cave’s mouth. A flash of familiar light fur caught his eyes, moving through the dark brown of the forest surrounding the outside of the cave.
“How do you assholes want to die? Screaming, or choking on your own blood?”
They looked at one another, only to start laughing. Dean gave them what he hoped was an evil grin, just as a light-colored blur leapt from behind them. It didn’t take more than a glance for Dean to recognize Mikael in his wolf form, his large bulk having brought one of the two down, and the other stumbling against the wall with a clatter and a curse.
Dean had expected a scream and blood from the downed man, but he was already fighting to get Mikael off of him. Mikael had got a hold on him at one point during the attack, and the downed werewolf was furiously trying to detach him. The other, recovering from being knocked back, was already beginning to shift, hoping to fight Mikael on more even ground. With shifting hands, he began tossing his clothes away. The clatter of his knife hitting the ground brought Mikael around and he leapt once more.
There was no making sense of what was happening now, as the first pushed himself up from the ground, bleeding from his arm and shoulder. He pulled his own knife and advanced on his buddy and Mikael as they fought, with Mikael being the one obviously winning. Dean shouted a warning as best he could, finding his voice coming out in a rough croak. Mikael had been ready though, whirling around to skirt to the side, avoiding the blade and lunging.
He had to help, he didn’t know what he could do, but he had to help. In the tight confines of the cave, Mikael didn’t have much room to move and dodge away from the knife. Dean’s eyes flashed to the knife where the other one had thrown it so he could transform properly. Trying desperately to avoid being distracted by the nearby brawl, he pushed himself painfully to his hands and knees. Any attempt to stand was met with protesting limbs and a sudden wash of dizziness.
Mikael yelped, and Dean’s gaze whipped from the knife to the fight in time to see a red flower of blood blooming on Mikael’s fur. He was still standing, and he looked angrier than before now that they had managed to score on him. It was a standoff; the one could transform with Mikael keeping him occupied, but the knife wielding one didn’t seem able to hurt Mikael other than that one blow.
Dean threw himself forward, ignoring the biting pain radiating throughout his body and willed his fingers to close around the hilt of the blade. Pulling it to him, he painfully undid the clasp, looking up as Mikael circled, snapping at the other two. The two werewolves from Damian’s pack had chosen a new tactic. The knife-wielding one held Mikael off, providing cover for the other one, who was working on transforming now that Mikael could no longer reach him.
What they weren’t paying attention to was where they were, though.
Dean crouched, waiting until they were almost on top of him before charging forward with the the blade in his hand. Just like the sword of silver during the ambush, the silver dagger slid effortlessly in
to the knee of the knife-wielding werewolf. Unlike the last time, Dean felt a savage pleasure at the howl of pain as one of his tormentor’s knees gave out. Dean yanked the knife out and drove it into his back this time, narrowly missing being crushed as the werewolf fell backward.
Mikael wasted no time now that there was no longer an obstacle. He leapt toward the half-transformed werewolf with a snarl that normally would have sent a shiver of fear through Dean. He knew there was no contest there; a half-turned werewolf was pretty much helpless. It brought him a twisted pleasure, knowing that one of them was going to die, helpless and in pain.
“My legs,” the still-living one gasped, his own knife clattering against the cave floor as he scrambled to the side. Dean made another slash toward the man catching him from behind with the knife. He was propped up by the knife in his back, the hilt pressing hard against the ground as he thrashed. His legs were splayed out awkwardly before him, unmoving. Dean’s wild thrust had cut through his spine, and the silver of the blade would keep it from healing.
“Looks like it hurts,” Dean growled, grabbing up the embedded knife as he forced himself to lie beside his one remaining tormentor.
Eyes, wild with pain and fear, locked on him and the werewolf snarled, trying to grab for him as Dean hovered over his body. “You little bitch, what did you do to me? What did you do?”
It was the indignant anger in the man’s voice, that asked him how he would dare do this to him, that sent rage bubbling over and onto the surface. Using the werewolf’s body as a support, Dean gripped the handle with both hands and brought it down. The shocked pain in the werewolf’s face was accompanied by a strangled grunt of pain, and another, and another. Dean’s arms rose and fell, bringing the hate and fear he had felt for the past several hours to bear in a tempest of near-mad fury.
