by Lisa Ladew
Mine? she thought, digging around in her experiences, trying to sort out what was happening.
But no, that wasn’t quite right. They belonged with her, more than they belonged where they were, but they did not belong to her.
Sister, sprang to her mind and she clenched her teeth together again. This had nothing to do with Amaranth, or did it?
Dizzy, Rogue leaned against the post office boxes in front of her. Her touch created a cascading waterfall of clicks and all the little metal doors sprung open, revealing mail-filled boxes.
Rogue pulled her hand away, startled and appalled, dropping heavily to her knees.
Rogue, come now. You must come.
Unable to make any sense of what was happening to her, Rogue shot to her feet. Mailboxes flipped open all around her, creating cracks like gunshots as the moving doors slammed into each other. An employee yelled and another called back, their voices filled with confusion. Eyes fell on Rogue. She raised her hands, showing they were open and empty, then backed away from the post office boxes, turning and hurrying out of the building, leaving the confusion of the employees behind her.
Rogue pulled in on herself as soon as she got outside. She turned right at the bottom of the stairs, following the unwavering thumping and humming of power that was in her very blood, calling to her. She turned right again at the end of the building and hurried over the sodden grass, which was smashed flat by the weight of recent winter snow, then more-recent spring showers.
An overpass stood in front of her, cars whizzing by on top of it. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear them. She hurried to the side of the concrete overpass, pushing through the overgrown weeds and kicking aside an old smelly blanket to get close to it.
She reached out a hand to touch the wall at eye level, but her attention was called by something at knee level. Etched into the concrete wall of the overpass were three grooves in the concrete that met in a way that made it look like a small door, barely big enough for an adult to squeeze through. It stood no higher than her knees and was the size of a dog door for a rather large dog.
Rogue stared at it, understanding filling her. Oh no, she was not going in there. She didn’t care how right the voice sounded to her, how much power it was filling her with.
Rogue, yes, come. Come to us.
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut. The power hummed through her, and her hands moved of their own accord. They touched the concrete side of the overpass, but the door had no lock, no knob. It didn’t matter. As soon as she touched it, she heard levers spring, and the door that looked like concrete swung open, revealing darkness beyond. Rogue took a step backwards, her eyes locked on it.
“No, not underground. I can’t.” She almost whimpered and she hated herself for the weakness.
You can. We are here.
Oh God, she had to. She squeezed her eyes shut.
No. Choose to do it, or don’t do it. You have to do nothing.
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails scrabbled into her palms, digging at the skin there.
She chose.
Digging a tiny light from her pack, Rogue stepped forward, then knelt and shined it into the hole. Only the opening was small, as soon as she got inside, she could stand.
The air that hit her face was stale and old. But she would not tarry. Her decision had been made.
She shimmied into the hole, her eyes crawling over the dank walls and the dirty ground and the downward slope. She could feel that no eyes were on her as she entered, and no one saw the door swing shut behind her.
Chapter 5
Mac raised his hand to the leaving group of women, then closed the door to the bar and headed back inside. All of them were going to the rut the next night, but the realization gave him no satisfaction. He was over the ruts, and pissed off that he still had to do the leg work for them. Someone else needed to take over, stat. Someone who was still benefitting from them instead of being terminally frustrated by them, like he was.
If he could just scratch that fucking itch… but random females didn’t feel right. Jerking off was the only thing that his body was ok with recently, and that was no fucking fun. Fuck! If he had to wait another year or two for his one true mate to show up, he was going to flip his lid. If he got one at all. There was no guarantee…
To his right sat a pissed-off looking male with long hair mostly covered by a black leather do-rag. Not a cop. He’d been eyeing Mac and Bruin for the last hour, seriously putting himself on Mac’s radar. Ol’ boy snorted as Mac went by. Mac shot him a look. He wasn’t fucking, so he might as well fight, and if leather do-rag was a not-cop in a cop bar, that’s probably exactly what he was looking for. Wade would have his ass, but Mac could go for some knock-down, drag-out right about now. It would take the edge off.
Mac turned and walked backwards, glaring at leather do-rag, but the guy had turned his attention elsewhere. Just as well. Mac slid into the booth across from Bruin, shaking his head at the male’s burger and fries. “Hurry up. We have to be at the station by one. They are going to hypnotize Beckett’s girl to get more information on Grey. See if he said anything that might tip us off to where he was living.”
The guy in the black do-rag snorted again. Mac cast a look that way, but the male had already looked away. Fucking troublemaker.
“Beckett’s lucky,” Bruin said, around a mouthful of fries.
Mac snorted. Whatever. “Yeah? How so?”
Bruin shrugged. “You know, he found his…” His voice dropped and he looked around the room before he finished his sentence in a whisper. “His one true mate.”
Mac nodded. He knew the feeling of being ready but still having empty arms. It sucked. “You’ll find yours. It just might take a little while.”
Bruin shook his head and shoveled in a few more fries. “Nah, bearen don’t get any. Well, one might, but it won’t be me.”
Mac snuck a fry. “What are you talking about?”
Bruin dropped the last of his fries and pushed his plate away. He’d finally had enough. In Mac’s eyes, it was nothing short of a bear-freaking-miracle. A bearacle, Bruin might say. Mac snorted, but before he could tell Bruin, the big male’s eyes looked anywhere but at Mac and he spoke as if reciting something he’d memorized in school, something that pained him terribly.
“The bearen have lost their way and now they will pay. Only the Bear of Great Insight can renew them, make them worthy again. Through the strength and purity of his choices and the caring of his one true mate, all bearen will be restored to their former glory, able to work as one again.”
This time Mac was the one who looked around to see who might be listening. Leather do-rag was facing the other way, but that didn’t mean anything. Mac dropped his voice low and leaned over the table, almost talking in Bruin’s ear. “Is that a prophecy?”
Black do-rag turned and caught Mac’s eye as he sat his ass back in the booth. The male snorted and Mac shot him a dirty look. Mac looked back at Bruin, not liking the sick look on Bru’s face.
Bruin licked his lips and leaned forward, mirroring Mac’s volume. “Yeah, but our Citlali don’t get prophecy anymore. That was the last one that came through. Most bearen believe none of us will get one true mates until the Bear of Great Insight gets his and redeems us, if even then.” He hung his head. “We messed up.”
Mac frowned. “I’ve never heard of this before.”
“We are forbidden to speak of it.”
Mac leaned back in the booth and nodded heavily, surprised Bruin was telling him. Black do-rag guy snorted again. Mac curled his lip and turned that way, tension making his fists close. “I’m going to have to kick his ass soon.”
Bruin looked over. “He’s just jealous. You should feel sorry for him.”
“I can feel sorry for him and kick his ass at the same time.”
Bruin raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”
Black do-rag pushed away from the bar and stood, walking heavily past Mac and Bruin, his work boots thudding on the
floor. Mac locked eyes with him, assessing him. Finally, Mac would get to work off some of his tension. His peripheral vision ate the male up, looking for any sign of weapons or weaknesses.
But black do-rag’s feet kept going, steadily headed for the bathroom. Just after he passed Mac and Bruin he growled, “This bromance turn homance yet?”
That was it. Mac heaved to his feet, but Bruin grabbed his arm to keep him in place and called after the guy, “It’s not a bromance. It’s a bearmance.”
Mac shook his head and dropped back into the booth, still tight. “What in the hell is a bearmance?”
Bruin leaned forward, his hand on Mac’s arm, whispering, “He doesn’t know I’m a real bear. He just thinks we are big hairy gay guys.”
Mac pulled his arm out of Bruin’s reach and smacked himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand, rolling his eyes so hard they hurt.
Bruin snapped his fingers in front of Mac’s face and said, “Forget him. No fights today.” He looked around the bar. “Let’s practice your pick-up lines. You need a ton of work. Pick the hottest girl in the place.”
Mac frowned. He’d rather fight, but Bruin was right, he didn’t need the hassle. He ran his eyes over all the women in the place. None of them were quite what he was into, but a hottie in the far corner caught his eye. He pointed her out to Bruin and said, “Her.”
Bruin nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “I should’ve known you’d pick the only girl in the place who’s tall enough to walk the runway without heels. Short girls need love, too, you know.”
Mac snorted. “I’ll save them for you. You only weigh like 400 pounds. How do you not crush them?”
Bruin ran a hand through his thick hair. “We bears are rather delicate lovers.”
Mac snorted again and shook his head. Bruin shot him a look.
“You ever heard of tantric sex, Mac?”
Mac nodded, a frown on his face. “Sex without sex.”
“Not exactly. Just without moving so much.”
“What’s the point, then?”
Bruin tapped a finger to his temple. “The mental connection.”
Mac leaned back in the booth and folded his arms over his chest. He’d heard enough. “Sex isn’t in the mind, Bruin. It’s in the body. Are you sure you’re not a virgin? Go with me to the rut tomorrow night. I could show you how it’s done.”
Bruin’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward across the table. “So, you’re going then?”
Mac shrugged. He hadn’t decided, but he knew where he was leaning. “Maybe not. I’m not feeling it.”
Bruin leaned back in his seat and his hands fell to his sides, slipping off the table in a way that made Mac think of a drunkard. Bruin’s face went slack and his voice dropped an octave. His eyes stared through Mac and his words made Mac’s heart beat faster. “Good, because your mate will be there. And if she sees you with another woman, she’ll never accept you. You don’t want to get off to a bad start or you might never get another chance. She’s not a very forgiving one, your rogue.”
Tension shot through Mac’s body. His hands curled into involuntary fists and his mouth filled with saliva. “What?” he sputtered, still trying to put together everything Bruin had said.
Bruin shook himself and looked around for a second before he focused on Mac. He looked normal again, just confused. “What?”
Mac’s fingers dug into the table. “You just said my mate is going to be at the rut. You got all weird and then you said it.”
Bruin’s face reddened under his beard and his eyes slid away from Mac’s. He stood, his thighs hitting the table and forcing it a few inches towards Mac. His lips worked like he was flustered, and his face reddened more. Mac had never seen him flustered before. Bruin was always as cool as an icebox.
Bruin took a step away from their table. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and headed for the bathroom. Mac stared at the spot where Bruin’s broad back had been long after it turned the corner of the hallway. His mind raced. His mate would be at the rut? He couldn’t think of a worse situation, if it was true. If he recognized her in the act with someone else, he would kill the male, certainly. And her? He sucked in a deep breath, trying to cool the fire in his chest before he thought about that. He’d have to meet all the females at the door. Test them. Touch them. Make sure none of them belonged to him…
His mind took the image and ran with it, leaving him with no peace.
When Bruin finally returned, his sleeves and even his collar were wet, as if he had been splashing copious amounts of water on his face. He couldn’t meet Mac’s eyes, still seeming flustered, off his game.
Mac couldn’t wait for him to get himself together. He had to know. His voice a low growl, he said, “Bruin, man, bear, tell me what the hell is going on. I gotta know.”
Bruin pushed a hand through his hair again, then met Mac’s eyes. “I’ve never told you this before, but I do that sometimes. I haven’t done it in awhile and I guess I hoped it was over.”
“Do what?”
Bruin shrugged. “I guess I see the future.”
See the motherfucking future. Mac really was going to meet his one true mate. Hope and something thicker, almost like anxiety, threaded through him. What he was anxious about he couldn’t say, but the feeling was unbearable. Distract. Snark it up. Focus on something else. He shot out of his seat and rounded the table to get close to Bruin, pulling at Bruin’s shirt. “Holy shit. Are you a Citlali? Do you have a star renqua?”
Bruin swung an arm around and caught Mac in the chest, making Mac stagger back five steps, catching his lower back against the bar. Mac rubbed his chest, feeling like he’d been hit there with a sledgehammer. He watched Bruin’s face. Flustered and pissed. Two new emotions for Bruin. But was he really pissed? He didn’t look pissed. Just tired, and a little worried about how Mac would react, his eyes searching Mac’s face. Mac bet that Bruin hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, he was just strong.
Mac went back to the table and sat down in his seat, not quite able to identify what he was feeling. His face was hot and he couldn’t meet Bruin’s eyes. He grabbed Bruin’s discarded menu and began to tear up one of the corners. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Bruin rubbed a hand up the side of his face. “Remember yourself with your friends.”
Friends? Mac had never considered the dickheads he hung out with his friends. More like his acquaintances. Until now, he’d never known anyone he cared enough about to call them friend.
Mac stared at the big male and realized Bruin was right. Bruin was his friend, and Mac needed to figure out how to act right before he fucked that up.
Chapter 6
Terror clawed at Rogue’s cheeks and throat with scrabbling fingers she couldn’t ignore, slowing her footsteps, making her feet drag in protest, the sound a sick scraping over the ground. She stared at it, the broken concrete pattern that was occasionally overcome by dirt, looking so much like spider webs that it put her teeth on edge.
The concrete path she followed was tall enough to stand, but her shoulders almost brushed each side. Her eyes and her light bounced around the coffin-like tunnel, looking for bugs. Not just any bugs. Spiders. Those roly-poly things that had a million legs. Centipedes clinging on the ceiling, just waiting for the right moment to drop into her hair. Rogue cried out and covered her head with an arm, scraping her elbow painfully on the wall as she did so. She forced herself forward, her arm bent over her head, her tiny light shaking in the fingers of her other hand.
Bugs. There was nothing she hated more than bugs. Nothing she was scared of but bugs. Except maybe being underground where bugs loved to live. So far, she hadn’t seen one, but she was only a few feet in. She knew there would be many and she had no idea how she’d forced herself in there.
The voice. It was stronger down here.
No bugs. We have cleared them from your path in preparation for your coming.
Rogue stopped walking, startled, then spoke, her voice small and strange in the
enclosed space. “Are you reading my mind?”
No, we are reading your being. We know you, Rogue. We are of you.
The overwhelming smell of oil choked her, forcing her to take tiny little sips of air in through her mouth. At the same time, the comforting presence of whatever had called her filled her, giving her courage, threading it through her bones and flesh. She looked around a little more confidently. She didn’t see one bug. Anything that would and could do that for her couldn’t be bad, right?
The humming power in her body felt constant and strong. She had no backdrop for what was happening to her, and yet, she somehow knew it was right, natural.
To her right, the faint sound of a noise like a scream caught her attention. It seemed to come from directly inside the concrete wall, maybe fifty feet away if it had been open air? She stared at the rough wall, then dragged her finger across it to make sure it was real, then knocked on it. The sound it made was only in her bones, not in the wall. It was solid concrete. She must have been mistaken, so she pressed forward.
The tunnel twisted, even as it continued its downward slope, heading back under the doorway, and back in the direction of the post office. Rogue shivered, realizing the tunnel she was now walking in was the source of that yawning openness she’d always felt from inside the building above. The Englewood post office sat on the site of Chicago’s most famous “murder castle” from the year 1893.
Rogue didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe in something, trapped energy maybe. And evil. Anyone who had heard the stories of this place had to believe in evil.
The noise came again, this time from her left. She stared at the seemingly-solid wall, distressed to feel a cold wind buffet her cheeks and lift her hair.
The strong, feminine voice came again.
Ignore them. They cannot hurt you. Even if they could, we are stronger than them. We would never allow it.
Rogue swallowed, hard. “Ignore them?” She was getting her feet under her, and her own voice sounded stronger to her. “What are you?”
