by Lisa Ladew
The skin on the back of Mac’s arms prickled, telling him someone was watching him. He tried to act nonchalant, like he hadn’t noticed anything. Tried to eye the buildings and the nearby overpass, the parking lot across the street with only a few lone cars in it. He saw no one who could have been looking at him. The feeling faded.
Bruin got out of the truck and stood on the sidewalk. Mac walked over, trying to locate the source of that delicious smell. It wisped away on the wind, in threads no larger than a human hair. He captured each one that he could, burning the scent into his memory. Jaysus, he needed whatever it was so bad his teeth ached.
Ignoring Bruin, he headed down the sidewalk one way, then back the other, then back again. He turned to circle the building, but no matter where he went, the smell did not seem to have a source. It drifted aimlessly on the wind, remnants of something that could have been there hours ago, or maybe it had drifted to him from another location, like flower petals from a county away.
Mac’s fists tightened and he walked faster over ground he’d already covered, then broke into a jog, circling the neighborhood, running through the parking lot, casing wider and wider circles.
The bear caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Mac, take a breather. She’s gone.”
Mac turned on Bruin and grabbed him by his big dumb shirt, trying to shake him, although the bear was immovable. “What? Who’s gone?”
Bruin gently folded his hands over Mac’s and peeled his fingers away. “It’s your mate, right? That’s what you’re smelling? You’ve been running in circles around the building for half an hour now. If you haven’t caught her trail, you’re not going to. Not now.”
Mac shook his head sharply, then took a deep breath. Shit. Half an hour? He had to get himself under control before they attracted attention. He headed back for the post office, speaking low to Bruin as he did so. “We’ll head down this street and see if there’s any residences, but first I want to get a feel for the place. It’s supposed to be haunted. So you let me know if any ghosts grab your ass.”
Bruin nodded, a smirk on his face. “My bear ass. Ghosts love ‘em.”
They made a once-around, and by the time they got to the far side, Mac had caught that delicious scent again. He followed it, heading toward the overpass. At the base of it, he found tall weeds tramped down in a trail, like someone had been here recently. He followed the trail, whiffs of that smell drifting up to him. She’d been here. Mac closed his eyes and took another few steps, savoring the tangy scent.
From behind him, Bruin said, “That looks like a door.”
Mac’s eyes popped open and he saw a square shape marked in the concrete at knee level. “Yeah, for leprechauns.” He moved to it, crouched, and ran his hands along the grooves, then pressed his body forward to take a big sniff… “She was here. She touched this wall.” He dug at the grooves with his fingernails, thinking maybe if he shifted, he could dig his claws in there… He had to get that door open. He knocked on it, hearing only dull thuds of bony flesh on concrete. “If it’s a door, why no handle?”
Bruin looked around, then touched Mac on the shoulder. “You want it open?”
Mac stood and backed away. “Yeah.”
“Done.”
Bruin yanked his shirt over his head, kicked off his boots, and dropped his pants, piling the clothes in the weeds. Mac glanced around but saw no one. Until the businesses opened, this little corner of the city seemed to be a ghost town. Which was good. Naked, Bruin cracked his neck, shook out his arms, then began to shift.
Mac watched the transformation, fascinated. He’d seen Bruin shift before, but never had time to examine it, to think about the differences between a wolf shift and a bear shift. There weren’t that many, except a bear was a hell of a lot bigger than a wolf. Mac’s animal topped out at just under three hundred pounds, a lean-muscled fighting machine that did best when fighting in a pack, claws and teeth coming from everywhere, the pack instinctually working as a unit.
Bruin, though, his animal was monstrous. Mac bet it weighed a thousand pounds. Shit, it was a good thing the brown behemoth was on his side. Mac would be more scared to fight it than he was Khain. Khain was pure evil, sneaky, favoring fire and illusion and terror to create his messes, but always retreating when faced with Mac’s pack. This Kodiak bear in front of him? He could take a small pack of Mac’s kind, easily. One swipe with his heavy paws and razor sharp claws and Mac would be on his side, split from ears to tail, waiting to be lunch.
Bruin’s shift complete, the monstrous bear, so out of place next to the city overpass, backed up a few paces, then lumbered forward as quickly as his bulk would allow and hit the rectangle in the concrete with his head, the sound a dull thud that made Mac raise a hand to his own noggin and wince.
The bear was already backing up again, then hauling its bulk forward. Slam! Another back up, another slam. Bruin shook his head, then backed up again, farther this time, and roared to the sky. Mac was too fascinated by the process to even look at the concrete wall. His eyes were on Bruin, but when the bear started forward again Mac looked around. That roar was likely to bring them some attention. Mac would have to head anyone off quickly, or Bruin wouldn’t be able to shift back.
A dull, thunking sound split the air and Mac shot his eyes to their target. He’d done it. A nasty dent in the concrete with thick cracks spiraling out from it proved there was hollowness behind. “Shift,” he hissed at Bruin, shooting furtive glances all around and behind them. “Before someone comes to see if the circus is in town.”
Bruin’s shift back was faster, his fur sucking into his body quickly, his mass shrinking almost like a popping. It left him sitting on his ass in the weeds and panting, one hand on his head. Mac scooped up his clothes and dropped them in his lap. “Put these on so we’re not caught out here looking like cops gone wild, the gay edition.”
When Bruin was finally dressed, Mac breathed a sigh of relief and offered Bruin a hand up. “That’s one hard head you got there, brother.”
Bruin smiled, one of those genuine ones that made Mac want to squirm, then put his free hand on Mac’s shoulder. “I think of you like a brother, too, Mac. The brother I never had and always wanted.”
Mac’s eyes slid away and he pulled his hand out of Bruin’s, stepping to the side to get out from under his hand, too. He faced the concrete wall of the overpass. “Good, yeah, let’s get to work on this.” He bent and began to dig pieces of concrete out of the wall with his fingers.
Bruin knelt next to him, pulling a screwdriver out of some pocket. Mac flashed it a look, but didn’t question it. The bear was a regular Boy Scout. Mac liked that. The tool made short work of the concrete and within a few moments, they were staring inside a dark hole.
Bruin produced a flashlight, the bright beam revealing a kind of tunnel that opened up immediately, and sloped downward for as far as they could see. The concrete framing the hole they had their heads craned inside was several feet thick. No smashing through that.
“I might fit in there,” Mac said, “But you have no chance.” He wouldn’t try at all if that lovely smell he’d been following weren’t stronger in here. He’d call in a couple of shorties, let them do the dirty work.
“Didn’t I already tell you that bears are very bendy?” Bruin huffed, like he was offended.
Mac pulled his head out of the hole. “You go first then, no way I’m gonna be in there while your big ass gets stuck and blocks the exit.”
Bruin raised his eyebrows, handed Mac his flashlight, and wiggled around until his feet were in the hole, his eyes fixed on Mac the whole time, his expression a dry one that said ‘Watch this, motherfucker,’ or maybe, ‘I hope those words taste good cuz you’re gonna be eating them in a second.’ He pushed himself farther in with his hands.
Mac grinned. “When you get stuck at your shoulders, I’m gonna call you Winnie the Pooh until you die. Or I die. Should I bring you some honey? Make it authentic?”
Bruin stopped what he was d
oing and lifted his head. “Honey? You have honey?”
“Fuck me,” Mac moaned. “No, I don’t have any honey. Forget I mentioned it. Just keep going.”
Bruin’s eyes narrowed. “You holding out on me, wolf? Because that’s not nice.”
Mac leaned forward and pushed at Bruin’s head. “I don’t have any honey, but if you focus, I’ll buy you a honey pie.”
Bruin went limp, watching Mac try to move him, his voice suddenly shrewd. “I don’t think there’s such thing as a honey pie. You made that up, didn’t you?”
Mac gave up and sat on his ass in the prickly weeds, his elbows hanging limp over his knees, wetness seeping into his clothes. “I did. I made it up. Sorry. I’ll-I’ll take you to the Honey Place, that restaurant you wanted to go to. We’ll go today, as soon as we’re back in Serenity. I swear it, just get moving! I want to see what’s in there.”
Bruin grinned and pushed himself farther in, pure happiness lighting up his face. He almost did get stuck at the shoulders, but he popped his arms over his head and wiggled the rest of his body like a snake, until he disappeared.
Shit. Mac was gonna call him Winnie anyway. Or Pooh. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t already. He handed Bruin the flashlight. “What’s it look like?”
“Not bad. Lots of bugs. It’s gonna be a bit of a squeeze but at least I can stand up.”
“What’s it smell like? Gas or anything dangerous?”
“Maybe some oil, but it’s faded. Come on in.”
Mac dropped to his knees and pushed himself in feet first like the bear had. When his head passed the threshold, the tangy scent hit him from all directions, strong enough to make his mouth water and his dick pop in his pants again. He was going to have to go to therapy if he started popping a woody every time he smelled oranges. Good thing he didn’t live in Florida.
He rested his head on his arms for just a moment and took a deep breath, his face so close to the ground he would have sucked a spider up his nose if there had been one underneath him at that moment. He didn’t care. The scent was so pleasing to him, the smelling of it was practically orgasmic in itself.
The light around him brightened and he pushed himself to his feet, watching his head on the concrete ledge around the doorway, then slumping his shoulders so he could turn toward Bruin in the tiny tunnel, his elbows scraping the concrete on both sides.
Bruin’s eyes crawled over his face for just a moment, then he performed his own slump and shuffle maneuver until he was facing kind of forward in the tunnel, and off they went, both of them walking almost sideways, shuffling their feet. Spiders and centipedes ran from Bruin’s light but the two big males paid the creepy-crawlies no mind, until one fell on Mac’s head. It reminded him of the forest slash and burn they’d had to do a few months ago, when Khain had controlled the spiders somehow. “Shit, smash the spiders, bear.”
“What? No. They aren’t hurting us. And we’re in their home. I wouldn’t blame them if they did.”
The abject horror in Bruin’s voice made Mac roll his eyes. But he didn’t have any reason to believe these spiders were anything more than regular spiders, so he didn’t try to convince his friend. He just smashed all the ones he could reach with the heel of his hand. Spider guts. Yuck.
Bruin stopped in front of him, and when he spoke his voice echoed. “You feel that?”
“What?”
“Just, something. It’s creepy down here. I feel… something.”
Mac didn’t feel anything but like an anchovy in a tin. “Go.”
“There’s steps.”
“Come on, bear, that’s toddler shit. I know your mommy taught you to go down steps a few years ago. One foot in front of the other, you can do it. Slide on your butt if it gets too scary.”
Bruin snuffed softly under his breath, then started down the steps and Mac followed, glad when the corridor opened up slightly so he could peek around Bruin’s bulk as much as possible. At the bottom, he could see a doorway.
The lovely tart-citrus smell was stronger.
Mac held his breath as a spurt of adrenaline kicked through his system.
She was in there. He knew it. She better g-fucking-d be there of her own free will, or Mac would rip his way into the pravus and kill Grey himself. Never mind waiting around to see if Khain had already done it or not.
This was it. He was going to meet her. His body tingled all over and he ran through his best lines in his head.
Nothing but the best for his mate.
Chapter 10
Rogue stood under the ice spray of her shower, raising her face to it, trying to scrub away the overnight stint she’d just spent underground. But true to their word, the pendants had not let any bugs get on her.
She’d woken up only an hour before, in that dark room, her light dead, her cheek pressed to the concrete, her right hand and arm aching, two fingernails torn past the quick, blood seeping from three of her worn and achy fingertips. The pendants had gone dark and no light filtered in from anywhere. She’d felt around in a mad scramble for the pendants, finally finding them in the flat pack around her waist, then she’d run shaky hands up and down her skin, rising to her feet and stiff-legging it out of there the way she had come, trying not to whimper. And failing.
When she’d reached the end of the tunnel, she’d pushed open the concrete door and escaped into the sunlight, checking herself again for bugs, then sprinted across the grass, across the street, away from that place, an uncharacteristic franticness marking her every move. She’d stopped for just one look back from behind the business across the street, seeing a black truck pull up in front of the post office. The two men who had gotten out, although they hadn’t been wearing guns that she could see, had obviously been cops, which had made her move even faster. She had no idea why the tunnel existed or who the pendants belonged to. All she knew was, they were hers now. Not hers, but still hers, her mind had whispered. Yeah, that made a lot of sense.
She had walked toward downtown, sucking in great lungfuls of chilly morning air, glad when her mind had finally cleared enough for her to decide on a plan of action. She still had Soren’s file. She didn’t want to imagine the consequences of losing an item of such importance to him, although it might not be as bad for her as it would be for other people. She’d long known he had a thing for her, but he never acted on it, because he respected her, too.
Rogue stuck her head out of the icy shower and peeked at the clothes she’d dropped to the floor, including her pack. The pendants were in there. She’d chosen this bolt hole of the three she owned in Chicago specifically because it had a place to hide them.
Teeth chattering, finally forced from the shower, she stepped out and dried off. She still felt dirty, had never been underground for so long before, was very surprised that she’d even gone down there. The voice hadn’t just been convincing, it had charmed her somehow, convincing her to do what she hadn’t done on purpose since she’d been five years old.
The voice of the pendant. What a mindfuck that was. How could an inanimate object have a voice? A brain? Be able to convince anyone of anything?
She shook her head and attended to her right hand, which was bleeding and cramped, barely able to flex or open. If only she could remember what had she been doing with it.
She frowned as she spread some antibacterial ointment on her fingers, finding more scrapes down her forearm to her elbow, and attending to them also. What really was a mindfuck, if she allowed herself to think about it, was all the locks she had sprung with just her touch. The lock at the brownstone, the locks of the dozens of boxes in the post office, and then, if she wanted to be precise, she probably should include the jury-rigged lock on the bottom of the lantern that someone had used like a safe. Oh, hold up there, don’t forget the lock on the door at Chief Lorenzo’s condo. That was a lock of sorts.
She hadn’t had the time to consider all of this before, but now that she’d had a night of crazy ‘sleep’ on the floor of some nasty underground room, it was t
ime to face reality. And reality was looking awfully shaky, right about now.
Fuck. She’d always been a wizard at locks, picking simple ones with paperclips at seven years old. Two years after Amaranth disappeared, her mind supplied, even though Rogue didn’t need the reminder. She’d only made it look like magic, though. It had never actually been magic before.
Fully ointment-covered and bandaged, Rogue headed for the bedroom to pick out some clothes, her mind on the pendants she was leaving behind her. She would deal with them. When she was ready. She picked out an under-outfit, all black, then an over-outfit, more colorful but not her, then rooted around in her dresser drawer for accessories, dressed quickly, then headed back to the bathroom.
The clothes she had been wearing, she shoved into the tiny bathroom trash can, holsters, she’d strapped on her forearms, frowning at the one she’d placed on her right arm. The knife was missing. It was a solid blade, expensive, and she couldn’t imagine how she had lost it, but she had. She would get another. After. Her pack, she checked for dirt or tears. Finding none, she re-wrapped it around her waist, unzipped it, and pulled out the two pendants that were back in their cloth coverings.
Holding one in each hand, feeling the core of cold metal warm her palms somehow, she stalked through the one room of the small apartment, sending out all her feelers. No one was peeking in a window or surveilling her in any way. It was safe to do what she was about to do. She swerved right, away from the five-canvas picture of the wolf on the wall above the fireplace. Her safe was behind the largest canvas, with a satisfactory amount of money and jewels stashed in it, plus the only things she had left of her sister’s. Money she didn’t care about, the money and jewels were only a lure in case someone broke in, they’d think they found all the good stuff. The other two items? No thief would take them. They had only sentimental value.
