Behind them others approached, and he could only have faith that they were allies. The wolves before them bared their teeth in horrifying snarls, their fangs long, blood-tinged ivory scythes. Their ears lay flat, and hackles made them appear huge. The wolves behind them replied in kind, and he risked a glance back. His heart dropped. Their two rescuers were bitches, half the size of the males they faced.
Travis was unsteady, but the presence of the females had an effect on him. He stood taller, his hackles up, his teeth bared. One of the gray males vaulted at Travis, and a wicked black female darted out from behind them, locked her teeth onto the creature’s throat, and took him down in a clean, shocking attack. He lay as though dead, vivid red blood seeping from his neck.
The second gray wolf froze in his tracks, and Dylan could see a glimmer of sanity, a world of pain.
“Stop, please. All of you. Too many have fallen already.” He held his hands out in a gesture of peace.
Lupine eyes moved in his direction, and sanity once again fled. The brown wolf lowered himself to his belly, ready to strike. Another wolf circled from Dylan’s left and slowly faced down the aggressor. She was white, small, and moved with deadly grace. The attacker gathered himself to spring, but when he looked at her, he froze in his tracks. His amber eyes blazed, and he dropped to his belly, whimpering.
In shock Dylan looked around the small clearing, gazing at the tableau surrounding him. Travis shuddered, most likely from the gash in his shoulder. Slowly Dylan dropped to his knees, too weak to stand. He looked down at his belly and caught sight of something he shouldn’t be seeing. He swallowed and looked up again. The standoff seemed as though it would hold, until he heard the whisper of snow behind them.
“Fuck.”
He whirled, lunged to his feet, and threw himself into the path of the oncoming wolf. Around the clearing, all hell broke loose. He felt claws and teeth, but pain no longer registered. He went down under two hundred pounds of lupine insanity, and this time he didn’t get back up.
Chapter 9
It was a charnel pit. A war zone. Travis lay curled on his side, shivering from the cold, from blood loss, and from sheer fright. Blacque was sitting up, his back against the cab of the truck they rode in. He was bloody and battered, but alive. Next to him his vampire Oliver Bleu sat quietly, not commenting as Blacque’s head drooped down to rest on Oliver’s shoulder. He’d been drawn from his daysleep by the chaos and the scent of blood, then braved the setting sun to fight at Blacque’s side. He’d probably saved the big wolf’s life. Blacque had clearly been the main target of the attack.
Next to Travis, Dylan lay on a pad, pale and drawn, looking as though he was on the wrong side of death. Yet his heart beat faintly, and Bleu reassured Travis that the fae lived and would continue to live. His recovery would be slow, but he’d survive.
The truck jolted, and Travis bit back a moan. His mother reached over and brushed the blood-matted hair off his face. The initial shift back to human had been excruciating. Drusilla had helped, as had Michella. The beta had followed the others out with the large, covered truck they used for emergencies such as this. They’d quickly gathered up the injured and the surviving rogues and fled into Arcada after pausing to triage and treat the worst of the injured. Once there, those who were conscious and able shifted shape, forcing the cellular regeneration that would save their lives. It had been agonizing, but the broken bones were knitting, the open wounds beginning to heal. But Dylan couldn’t shift, and it was highly unlikely he could be typed for a blood transfusion or even surgery. He lay there, his wounds bound, the broken arm splinted. He was so still and quiet. For a brief, insane moment, Travis wondered if he could awaken the fae with a kiss.
Sensing a gaze on him, he glanced up and saw Bleu looking at him and then at Dylan. It was odd; the vampire and the fae were so different yet similar. Like Oliver Bleu, Dylan was ethereally beautiful. He was mysterious and quiet…and so solemn. Were the fae and the vampire related in some fashion? He knew Dylan was born fae, while Oliver had been turned on the cusp of his death. But there was a yin-yang sense about the two.
He looked away from Blacque’s lover and gazed up at his mother.
She’d fought for him. She’d very nearly killed the wolf that attacked him. He’d had no clue she had such ferocity dwelling within her gentle soul. Was this the core of parenthood? He had no doubt she’d have died for him. Instead of laying down her life, though, she’d risked it and battled to live and stay at his side.
Dylan had nearly died for him. Blacque had done his best to send Travis out of harm’s way. So many people had risked so much for him.
Sobering thought.
The truck hit a bump, and they were on the long road through the orchard, the branches skeletal, their leaves gone for the season. Even now he caught the scent of apple. He ached to see his father; the little boy inside knew all would be well if the alpha were here to set things to rights. Not that Blacque hadn’t been magnificent. Today’s attack had been the most frightening event of his life, and he’d fought in that bloody battle against Bleu’s maker, Yves. After seeing his father and sister at the mercy of that raving lunatic, Travis had believed nothing would ever shake him again.
A pack of rabidly insane shifters had proved otherwise.
“He’s a beautiful creature.”
His mother was looking at Dylan, an odd, wistful expression on her lovely face. She nudged the pale hair back and looked at his arched, pointed ears. The gesture made Travis want to check his own ears. She settled Dylan’s hair back in place and lifted a makeshift bandage, then frowned at the sluggishly bleeding wound. She always took care of the wounded in the pack, her skill with cuts and broken bones nearly as efficient as a trained doctor. Granted, shifters healed quickly, but some wounds were so dire the injured could not be saved. They still might lose lives if Blacque and the other dominants couldn’t recover enough energy to support flagging life forces.
Travis glanced at his brother, and his belly fluttered; Lukas leaned heavily against Oliver Bleu, his head resting on the vampire’s shoulder. He didn’t look wounded or in pain; Lukas looked weary and peaceful. Oliver’s eyes were closed, but he wore his love openly. Feeling as though he was spying on something private, Travis looked away and surveyed the truck full of wounded. The captives were in another vehicle, chained and under heavy guard.
What the hell were they going to do with a handful of crazy shifters? No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the truck coasted to a stop. When he heard the brake set, Travis sat up, ready to help transfer the wounded.
“He can’t stay long.”
“Where do you propose sending him, Lukas?” Oliver leaned against the wall, watching as Melody Feris neatly tied off the final stitches, closing the massive wound on Dylan’s belly. The injury was gruesome, but she’d calmly set him to rights. Once she finished, she started on other, smaller injuries. To all appearances Dylan had bled out. She didn’t seem overly concerned, though. She looked up from her work as Lukas and Oliver argued about the fae.
“I don’t know what to do with him. I just know Arcada blocked him earlier. He really shouldn’t be here.”
Travis gathered bloody towels and bedding, doing his best to ignore the discussion.
“Once he recovers consciousness, he can go back to the motel. Mel, will he need nursing once he wakes up?” Blacque paced, glaring down at Dylan’s serene face. He’d let Travis off the hook earlier but wasn’t so forgiving with the fae.
“He may. It depends on how long it takes him to regenerate. Since he’ll be without food and water, he’ll be in bad condition, even if he does heal completely before waking.” She walked to the little bathroom in what was basically a cell and washed her hands thoroughly. “If the town didn’t want him, it wouldn’t have allowed him in.”
Travis raised a brow. How often did his mom express an opinion? And he agreed with her. Oddly so did Bleu.
“The fae of his type are similar to vampires. They c
an take a great deal of damage, but the recovery is difficult. He’ll need some time. Plus, he saved your brother’s life, did he not?”
“Yes, he did.” Melody toweled off her hands. “Travis, I know you fought like a warrior, but you would have died if not for him.”
“You too, Mama. You did some major ass kicking out there! Drusilla too. But the truth is, Dylan’s pulled my butt out of the fire twice now. I owe him, Lukas.” He looked at his brother, who appeared alarmingly suspicious. “He didn’t have to do what he did, bro.”
Blacque sighed in resignation. “Okay. But for now he’s under the same security those rogues are under.”
Travis nodded, then turned back to stare at the still form on the narrow bed. They’d stripped him, and Travis carefully adjusted the sheet, making sure he was covered. The glimmer of tattoos at his wrists and neck were absent. He barely breathed; his heart beat only a vague echo of life.
“Speaking of rogues, why did you bring those three into the town?” Bleu glanced at the door, no doubt paying attention to the prisoners as well.
Lukas blew out a gust of air in a rare show of temper. “I don’t know. I wanted to keep an eye on them, to try to figure out who they are. I figure if they’re too dangerous…” The rest of the statement went unsaid. They all knew what fate awaited the injured rogues if the three didn’t recover their senses.
“I don’t think they’re completely gone; one of them seemed to recognize Drusilla. They seemed reluctant to fight the two of us.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Melody. They were all males. I wonder if it was a raid for females.” Blacque turned his head, scenting the air. “Don’t know why they were all so crazed, though. Doesn’t make sense.” He glanced at Bleu, as though waiting for input, but the vampire didn’t speak. “How are we gonna secure this guy?”
Travis frowned. “He’s not a threat. You know that.”
“He’s not a threat at this moment, Trav.” Blacque gently squeezed his shoulder. “Right now we’re too vulnerable. With Dane gone…” He shrugged.
“When’s he supposed to be coming back?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Bleu abruptly turn away and leave the room. Were his dad and April Bleu on some sort of romantic getaway? They flirted plenty, but Travis never got the impression the relationship went beyond that.
“He’s visiting a pack in another state. He’s been off-line for a while, but Dane doesn’t really like using his cell phone. I figured he’d be back by now.” Blacque glanced after Bleu, who’d gone down the hall. “So, back to my original question. How are we going to secure him once he wakes up?”
“Cold iron is the traditional method.” Melody looked at Travis apologetically. “Steel is basically the same thing, but it’s stronger and harder. It won’t burn him the way silver does us, but it can be toxic to the fae. As long as it doesn’t enter his bloodstream, it’ll only weaken him.” She ran a finger over Dylan’s throat, right where the elusive tattoo hid. “Silver is sacred to some branches of the Other Folk. I’m surprised he’s not wearing a crest or some sort of family symbol.”
Travis stared at her. “Mama, how do you know this?”
“I wasn’t born in Arcada, remember?” She flushed slightly. “My grandma was from the far north of Ireland. She knew a lot of lore that she passed on to me and my brothers and sisters. She was fascinated with the Others. Anyhow, even the most dangerous of the fae can be contained by cold steel—if you’re careful.”
Blacque nodded. “Okay, we can work on that. Hopefully we can get him back to wherever he calls home before any of this becomes an issue.”
Travis wanted to protest but knew he’d sound like a whiny kid begging for a toy. If he thought critically, he understood his brother’s point, but still, Dylan wasn’t a danger; he’d proved that by rescuing Travis not once, but twice. And while their sex had been basically a one-off, he felt connected to Dylan. He rubbed his neck, still feeling the throb of the fae’s bite.
If only Dylan had been a shifter…
But he wasn’t a shifter. And damn, Blacque was right. About so many things. Travis sighed. “Will you have a watch set up downstairs?”
“One on each room in three-hour shifts. I want you to rest, though.” Blacque hesitated. “If you want to stay with him, we can bring in a cot or something.” That must have taken a lot; Lukas clearly didn’t trust—or even like—Dylan.
“Thanks.” Travis felt humbled. Small. Lukas left the room without further conversation, and Travis was alone with his mother.
“Mama, I know you’d like to sleep at home…”
“I’m staying here for a few days. Your brother asked me to help with the injured. One of the rogues is in bad shape.” She gave him a brief hug, and Travis dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “The fae are hard to resist, Travis. I’m sure your friend will be fine, but Blacque has good instincts.”
“And I don’t?” He wanted to be mad but was too weary. He pulled away and wrapped his arms around himself.
“Actually you do too, but you’re a little too close to be objective.”
He felt his cheeks redden. “Mama—”
“It’s all right, Travis. I know he must have been a temptation. And I imagine you were a bit more of a temptation than he expected. It’s life, sweetie. And if you made a mistake—”
“I didn’t.”
She smiled, her blue eyes bright with humor. “If you made a mistake, you’ll survive. That’s how we learn.”
“Speaking from experience, Mama?”
“I suppose I am. It’s not inconceivable that I’ve let my heart love where it shouldn’t have.”
“My father?” He felt uncomfortable, but somehow he needed to know. It was important to see into this window of his mother’s quiet heart.
“No, not Dane.” Her smile returned. “His heart isn’t…accessible. Not anymore. But then…” She shook her head. “Listen to me running on. I’m just silly.”
“No, you aren’t.” He stepped forward into her arms and held her as tightly as he could without pain. “You’re wise and wonderful. You’re someone destined for something great. Greater than this.”
“Greater than being your mother? Than living in a place like Arcada?” Smiling, she shook her head again. “You have no idea how fortunate we are.”
He sighed, struggling to express himself. “Mama, you’re the sort of woman who deserves…a great, grand love. Someone to worship the ground you walk on.”
She went still, her smile fading just a bit. There was so much about her he didn’t know. He’d never realized it before. He’d been born in Arcada, had never known anything else. Where had she lived before coming here? Who had she known? Where was her family? His family? Had she ever been in love and he just didn’t know about it?
“Mama—”
She laid a finger over his mouth, quieting him. “There are many types of love. Not all are romantic; not all have physical elements. Just know I’m old enough to have made mistakes and learned from them. I have love in my life. My life is good, Travis.” She dropped her hand and stepped out into the hall. A moment later she returned with a cot and bedding. “Now you sleep. You’ve had a rough holiday. Later, I’ll bring you leftovers. I stashed some in the garage freezer.” She smiled impishly. His body struggled for a moment—food or sleep?
Sleep won.
He placed the cot close to Dylan’s bed and lay next to the fae, then curled up and studied his face in the dim light.
“Don’t go away too far, old man.”
Chapter 10
Wherever he’d gone, there were no dreams. There was only darkness.
That was when Dylan suspected he was indeed dead and in a hell of his own making. He’d never believed in the Western concept of damnation; fire and brimstone just seemed a bit tawdry. But this cold, black place threw him into a level of isolation he’d never dreamed of. And he’d been here an eternity, it seemed.
There was no sight or sound, no taste or touch or sensation whatso
ever. He was alone.
Except for the presence.
It came sporadically, overwhelming him with its enormity. It examined him with curiosity, staying for a time, as though waiting for Dylan to communicate, but his mind was incapable of reaching out and attempting speech. So he floated, the mental parade of his past and his present colliding, occasionally diverted by the observer. In time—if time really existed—he recognized the phantom but was unable to give it a name. He just knew he’d been in this place before…long ago, when he’d been injured during a hunt. But the presence was something new. It was comforting, speaking to him without words, listening though he had no voice.
He returned to the scroll of his life, ignoring some images, lingering over others, letting them play out repeatedly, cherishing some while reviling those that brought shame. He came to his time with a young male. Travis. He played those memories again and again, for they were recent and compelling. He watched the young man in the bar, sleeping on his bed—moving under his hand. Strange that such a wealth of emotion was gathered into such a short period of time.
“You have waited a long time for him.”
The voice didn’t register in his hearing, and Dylan knew he was injured—badly. He was in that limbo state fae entered when they were near death but not dead. He was healing—very slowly.
“I’ve waited for no one. I’ve waited only for the geas to end.” His lips moved, but he wasn’t certain he actually spoke. It didn’t matter; the presence understood, and he understood whom he spoke to. The town, now in its native state. Shapeless, without mass or form. Yet it was so very real.
“A geas… Of course. Your actions do not align with your values. I forget how binding a geas is to your kind.”
“If I don’t fulfill my obligation, I will die.”
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