The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1)

by Michelle Kay

  "Get dressed," Rainer ordered instead of acknowledging Elliot's insistence that he had no right to order her around.

  "Hey.” Elliot grabbed a fistful of his brother's uniform, demanding his attention.

  Like a striking snake, Rainer's arm caught his brother by the throat, shoving him into the door frame before his voice had even faded. The suddenness and strength of the movement made Clover jump, a yelp escaping her before she could stop it. The room went still and Clover finally realized what Elliot seemed to already know—Rainer would feel no remorse over choking his little brother to death. She wondered if Elliot wasn't, in fact, more scared of him than she was.

  Rainer, using his minor height advantage, looked down at Elliot in warning, and after a few moments of their silent struggle, Elliot broke the stare, turning his face toward the hallway, away from the bed Clover now felt trapped in. Keeping his grip on the already stretched collar of Elliot's T-shirt, Rainer turned his attention back to Clover, who felt any courage she had left begin to wilt under the stare that Elliot must have grown up under.

  "Get dressed." His voice was quieter this time, which only highlighted the danger of disobeying.

  Clover realized he wasn't going to look away. His message was clear. He was trying to humiliate her, strip her of those things that made her still feel independent. He was telling her that she wasn't even worthy of privacy to her own body. Being naked wasn’t something that usually bothered her—once you got used to waking up naked in a cage surrounded on every side by pack-mates once a month it became routine—but this man was not her pack-mate.

  She could feel embarrassment coloring her face and she hated that he could see it. Then he smiled—a tiny quirking at the corner of his mouth—and fury rushed back into her body, stifling the worst of her fears.

  Refusing to give Rainer even this tiny victory, she squared her shoulders and threw the blankets off herself, as though revealing some grand prize, then stood, keeping her own stony eyes locked defiantly with his. She'd cast her role as a slave aside with the blankets, and that was dangerous, but she would not let him use her own body as a weapon against her. His eyes flicked down her bare skin and she felt a nauseating shiver tear through her, the barely noticeable raising of eyebrows bringing furious tears to her eyes. She looked away long enough to snatch her uniform from the foot of the bed, then dressed herself, taking her time as if to tell him that she wouldn't succumb to his emotional harassment. Once she was covered, the wrinkles in her skirt smoothed with angry swipes of her hands, Rainer released his brother, that hint of amusement she'd seen gone.

  "You have surprisingly disgusting taste," he said to Elliot as he turned to leave the room, calling to Clover once he was in the hall. "Bring coffee to the office, dog."

  Despite her show of confidence, Clover wanted to throw up.

  "What were you thinking?" Elliot hissed at her as she made her way toward the door.

  "Shut up, he can hear us," was all she said as she left the room, passing by the door she'd once hidden behind.

  It felt like an invasion of a sacred place to have Rainer, a man she'd thought would be a single, traumatizing event, getting comfortable in what had become her safe-house, particularly in the room where it had all begun. Through the door she could see him making himself at home, lounging in the large leather chair behind the desk, the soles of his metal-toed boots facing her. He watched her as she rounded the landing and made her way down the stairs. She didn’t look, but she could feel his eyes on her, and it made her quiver.

  Once downstairs, she picked the chairs up off the kitchen floor, setting them properly on their legs. She could hear pacing footsteps upstairs and muffled voices, and once she felt alone, she sank into a wooden seat, clutching her stomach and trying not to scream. What had she done? Her instincts told her that what she'd done was right. She'd stood up to him. She'd made it clear that he couldn't bully. But she was supposed to be a slave. She was supposed to be submissive. Showing even silent defiance would only draw more attention to herself.

  She could still slip out the back door—it would be easy. To just go back to her aunt and the tiny curtained corner that was just hers in their freight car. By the time Rainer noticed, she'd be with her pack again, and in a few weeks, when Elliot failed to change at the full moon, he'd realize she'd been lying. She wasn't sure how she'd expected her weakly stitched plan to go, but she knew it wasn't supposed to be like this, and now, with Jeannette's words added to the chaos spinning round in her head, she wondered if her family would even want to be found. What if they were happy? Like Hannah was.

  She soaked up the silence of the kitchen then swallowed and forced herself to stand up again. If she wasn’t running away, then she would have to hurry to get the coffee that Rainer was expecting. As she fumbled with the machine, trying to mimic what Elliot had done that morning, she did her best to reassure herself. She knew her parents. Neither of them would to want to live, even for a moment of their lives, in bondage. She knew they would do just as much to save her if she'd been the one captured. As the smell of the dark roast filled the room, she tried to not think too hard on her father's chances of being kept in servitude, telling herself that he was clever and would have found a way to avoid termination, even with his defiant, strong personality.

  She was glad the coffee maker brewed slowly, because she needed every second she could get to steel herself. Finally stuffing her doubts as far as she could into the corner of her mind, and pointedly ignoring the back door, she made her way back up the stairs, a mug of coffee in each hand. When she reached the landing, their voices became clear and she could make out their conversation through the barely-cracked door.

  "If you're not careful you're going to keep driving him away, you know." Rainer's voice was more subdued now, a hint of what Clover might have thought was worry softening it.

  "Don’t act like you want me to do what he says." Elliot’s voice was docile as well, but distorted by a sharp edge.

  Clover wondered how young he'd been when he'd stopped dwelling on the outbursts of violence like the one she'd seen in the bedroom. She had no doubt that Rainer had lashed out at his younger brother like that before. It made her sad to think that he'd been conditioned to forgive such things so quickly.

  "Well if you’re not going to take the position then you need to refuse it flat out. Make it clear to him."

  “We both know that he won’t listen.”

  “Then you make him listen.” Rainer’s voice was hard now, like he was clenching his jaw tight. “This is why you aren’t cut out for the position. You lack fortitude.”

  “Fortitude?” The pure insult in Elliot’s voice made Clover wonder if all rich white boys used insults like this. “I think you’re confusing a fortitude with brashness. You need to remember that we’re not some giant garbage disposal here to get rid of werewolves. We’re a business. We have entire economic structures built on top of us that will collapse if we make the wrong choices.”

  “You sound like your father.”

  “That’s right, I do. Because he’s my father, not yours. Succession isn’t any of your business and even if I don’t take it, you’re hardly the person I would choose for the position.”

  Clover’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead. She’d not expected such direct, harsh words from the young man she’d just seen cowering in front of his brother.

  “You think you know how to handle these monsters? You honestly think that keeping them around like pets, like bed warmers, is appropriate? They’re an infection that will spread right under our noses unless we take care of them immediately. Succinctly and without exception.”

  Clover’s eyes rolled so hard they hurt. Seriously. Rich kids…

  “It sounds to me like you’re confusing ‘fortitude’ with ‘blood-lust’.”

  “Don’t give me that bleeding-heart bullshit, Elliot,” Rainer scoffed. "We knew you didn't have it in you to lead when you chose to be an evaluator instead of a real agent."

&nbs
p; "I'm tired of hearing you two complain about my decision."

  "Then what else should I complain about? Your new pet?"

  "Just stop," Elliot said, the tension in his voice giving his brother something to strike at.

  "Since you love keeping them around so much, I guess it was only a matter of time before you finally got one of your own."

  “We’re finished.”

  Clover heard the chair she'd seen Rainer sitting in creak as he stood, his hands slapping the top of the polished desk. “Endorse me for the position to Father.”

  "We’re finished!”

  Elliot's voice had a pitch of anger that Clover hadn't heard before. She wanted to see what that kind of anger looked like on his face, and before she could stop herself, she'd barged her way into the room. She'd caught them both off guard, effectively breaking the line of tension that ran between them. Doing her best to seem ignorant, she widened her eyes, looking between her enemy and the man who was playing her master.

  She'd only caught the ghost of the expression she'd wanted to see on Elliot's face. But his anger seemed different from Rainer's. There was something deeper to the outrage he was showing. Maybe something more righteous.

  Rainer stood straighter and smoothed his hair off his forehead. "You're slow."

  Grabbing the uniform coat that he'd draped over the side of the desk, he made his way toward the door, stopping near the chair Elliot still sat in—his little brother didn’t stand.

  "We'll finish this later," Rainer said before glancing into the coffee mugs, then at Clover's face. "He takes his coffee with cream."

  Daring a look into his frigid eyes, Clover saw suspicion there. He may have only mentioned coffee, but she knew that with those words he'd also brought into question her role as his servant. Any werewolf who had gone through training at a finishing school would have known how to make their master's coffee, after all. She swallowed, despite herself and knew he saw her throat working around the lump.

  "I take mine with two sugars," he said quietly, almost whispering in her ear. "Try to remember."

  Neither Clover nor Elliot moved as Rainer stomped down the stairs and out the front door. Several moments passed after the house went silent before Clover walked to the desk, setting the mugs down. She leaned against the edge across from her silent companion.

  "Should I get some cream?" she asked after another stretch of uncomfortable stillness.

  "No," he said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and fingertips.

  "I think the coffee made him suspicious."

  "What were you thinking, Clover?" His fingers stayed pressed against his eyelids.

  "How was I supposed to know what sort of coffee you drink?"

  "I'm not talking about coffee! Why were you naked?"

  She'd not expected the scene in the bedroom to be what he was worrying about, not after an argument as heated as the one she'd heard between them.

  "I was hiding evidence," she said, irritated that he'd be angry with her. "I didn't have enough time to get dressed, so I improvised."

  Elliot groaned, moving forward to press the heels of his hands into his eyes now.

  "What does it matter? If anything, it got him off our scent. If he thinks you're keeping me around as a bed warmer, then he's not going to suspect us of anything else."

  "He's going to tell everyone," Elliot muttered to his lap.

  "So? Isn't this the sort of thing you people do anyway?"

  "We're not all rapists, Clover!" A ferociousness in his gaze caught her as he finally looked up from his lap.

  It was rare for Clover to be shouted at without the urge to scream back filling her to burst. Both of these brothers seemed to have that strange effect on her, though. But, while Rainer froze her response in icy fear, the anger that Elliot flashed at her made her stomach twist in what she could only describe as guilt. He was right, after all. Even if she hated him, a notion she was still trying desperately to hang onto, she could tell he wasn't as barbaric as his brother, or the majority of humans, for that matter.

  "I'm sorry," she said, hoping it would make the guilty feeling crawling around inside her go away.

  "Forget it," he murmured after a moment, getting up from his chair. "Let's just get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be rough."

  "Will you try to get those records tomorrow?" She kept her voice soft.

  "Yes," he said simply as they both left the office. "I just need to come up with a believable reason."

  "Thank you."

  "Also, we should get you some new uniforms tomorrow as well," he murmured. "People will start noticing if you keep wearing the same one. It's too big on you."

  Clover nodded, then Elliot marched his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. As she dug her pallet out of the closet where she'd tossed it, she thought that things would have been so much simpler if Elliot had been as wicked as she'd hoped.

  - 14 -

  The soft feeling she’d thought might be guilt was gone by the time they reached the train the following morning. She didn’t care anymore if she’d accidentally marked him as a sexual deviant, or marked herself as a bed warmer. He may not be the type to force himself on women who were trapped under his charge, but she knew there were plenty who would, despite what he thought.

  Comforting herself with her anger, she spent the first leg of their trip glaring at his stupid, passive face. If he didn’t like her plans then he should come up with a few on his own. Just when she’d talked herself into hating his guts again, he shifted closer to her as the crowd swelled around them. He grabbed her round the arm as he pushed into her space.

  "Let go of me," she hissed, keeping her voice low, but infusing it with the frustration she'd been incubating all morning.

  "Shut up."

  His voice had been a whisper, and in contrast, Clover realized how noisy the car had gotten. When the din crested in a loud slapping sound and an answering yelp of a young girl, the situation became clear. She felt the familiar bubbling of her temper, but he refused to let her go.

  "I'm fine," she seethed quietly.

  She'd seen enough violence that she could manage her own temper, and she'd be damned if she let him think he was the one corralling her. The sound of another blow echoing up the narrow car made her stop, though, and she felt his hand tighten on her. He shook his head subtly enough that other passengers might not notice, but it was enough that she got his message. The crowd shifted again, moving away from the beating that didn’t stop at the first blow. The girl Clover never got to see was quiet after a half dozen swings, then only the sound of fists on flesh and bone filled the suddenly quiet train. She wondered if the girl was unconscious or dead.

  When the crowed thinned a few stops before their destination, Clover didn’t see a body, or a victim—she saw blood smearing the floor, and that was it.

  All the annoyance she'd felt, all the irritation that had been distracting her, seemed foolish now. She shouldn't need blood stains to remind her to stay focused. She was there to keep a beating like that from happening to her mother, or to her siblings. It didn't matter if Elliot was a friend, or an enemy. He was only there as a tool.

  With her temper effectively doused, Elliot's mood lightened as well. Even the accusing looks from other workers as they made their way into the Bureau seemed unimportant. They did, however, help Clover understand why Elliot had been so angry about the whole debacle. Gossip apparently traveled fast inside the Bureau.

  "I'm surprised," Clover murmured as they stood on the empty elevator. "I didn't expect people to seem so disgusted."

  "I told you," his voice was subdued, but she knew he was still offended. "It's not as acceptable as you think it is."

  "Can you really blame me for thinking it, though?" She looked at his profile as he watched the floor numbers light up.

  "I guess not," he said after a long pause. "I'm going to drop you off first, so you won't have to deal with my father when he comes looking for me."

  She wasn't sure which
prospect was worse, but thanked him anyway.

  Pierson greeted them at the door to the maintenance room, and the smile on her face suggested she already knew, but her silence suggested she was waiting for Elliot to leave before speaking her mind.

  Clover had never thought she’d be happy to be with her chaperone, cleaning up after the people she hated most, but at least he seemed uninterested in gossip. Pierson had kept whatever insults she was sitting on to herself, which almost made Clover more worried. Even without the hateful words, Clover knew the woman was saving for her, she still had to suffer the sympathetic glances from her peers.

  Jeannette, in particular, was nearly intolerable with her sad looks and reassuring touches. Clover told her it was a misunderstanding, but the mother-turned-slave was unconvinced, and by mid-day Clover thought she was going to lose her mind.

  "He seemed so upstanding, too." Jeannette lamented, pushing a small cart as Clover emptied little trash bins into it. The rows of cubicles were empty, all the workers away at lunch.

  "Please, Jeannette." Clover sighed, her patience frayed and weak. "Please, could we just drop it?"

  "Sorry.” She paused, and for a second Clover thought she would have a break. "It's just upsetting, you know? We'd all looked up to him. We thought he might be able to make things better for us."

  "I didn't realize he had such big reputation."

  After seeing his work space, it was strange to imagine him as a celebrity of any kind. Then again, that was the reason she'd taken him in the first place. And on top of that, his reputation seemed split down the middle—hated by his peers, respected by the lowest tier of workers that she thought he hated. She didn’t understand him. He seemed kind, but his apathy, his refusal to take charge, it confused her.

  Then again, he’d argued over the position with Rainer. Maybe he doesn’t want his brother to have it after all.

  "Of course he has a reputation," Jeannette’s voice was solemn. "I mean, we're all looking forward to him taking over his dad's position.”