Silver-Steel

by Belinda McBride

  “It doesn’t really make sense.” Travis touched the woody seeds, noting they were also old and fragile. “Nothing will grow from these.” He blinked as the sudden memory of a dream hit him: Dylan, but not the way he looked now. A smiling young man with rugged clothing and hair the color of redwood, eyes the vibrant green of young leaves in the spring.

  But that had been a dream.

  “And what might we have here?” From the bottom of the box, James withdrew a flat, heavy packet of stained leather. He carefully unfolded it, then bent down to sniff. “That smells like blood. Old… Oh shit.” He dropped the package, and Travis heard a heavy rattle from inside. James took a deep breath and gingerly folded back the leather.

  The packet contained an elaborate metal collar and cuffs—not the graceful torc Travis half expected, but dark, tarnished, and ominous. The metal was cunningly wrought, vaguely Celtic in appearance. The bracelets were actually wide cuffs. Flecks of brown marred the ancient iron.

  Blood.

  James cautiously examined the pieces using a corner of the leather. Travis reached out to pick one up.

  “Don’t touch! It’s bespelled.”

  He snatched his hand back. “What is that?” He studied the engraving and watched as James nudged the collar over.

  Tiny, vicious teeth protruded, forming an elaborate pattern. The cuffs were the same.

  That explained where the elaborate tattoos came from. Travis swallowed, feeling sick. Why would Dylan keep something like that? Travis moved away as James folded the cuffs and repacked the box. There was no clue about who Dylan was or where he lived.

  Quickly they hauled the suitcase to the car and locked it in the trunk. Travis got in and waited as James hurried to the driver’s seat of the SUV, pulling his heavy fleece coat tightly around his body.

  “Just do your best to follow in my tracks. The lot’s pretty level.” And then James was in the car, carefully backing up, forging a trail through the snow. Dylan’s big car slipped a bit; the tires spun and then caught as Travis backed up. Luck was with him, and he managed to get out of the lot and onto the road easily enough.

  He followed the red taillights of the rental but watched the shadows at the sides of the road. There were no wolves, but Travis couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching.

  Chapter 11

  He was alive.

  Before the thought fully registered, Dylan pulled a deep breath, then choked as his lungs suddenly stressed themselves. Blood began to circulate; his fingers and toes and legs tingled and burned as his heart sluggishly pushed blood through his body. He swallowed, his lips parched, his mouth dry as sand. He rested and let his body begin its slow revival as his mind picked up the exact moment he last remembered.

  Travis…going down under the weight of a massive wolf.

  His heart kicked hard, and Dylan reached for his side, aware of a dull ache. But he couldn’t move. Still, he didn’t panic; he’d been through this before. He took a breath and focused on his right arm, but nothing happened. And he felt weight. Cold, relentless weight across his torso, his legs, wrapping his wrists.

  Now he panicked, bucking against the restraints.

  Iron.

  “Easy. Take it easy.”

  The voice was unfamiliar, and Dylan forced his eyes open to stare back at the boyish face that stared down at him. The face of a young man, but with eyes of ageless knowledge. The young man was afraid. His heart seized for a brief moment.

  Fae. Not like him, but still…fae. The other man’s eyes went wide in recognition, the black pupils taking over the blue of his eyes.

  “Don’t be scared. They put the steel on you just as a precaution so you wouldn’t hurt yourself when you woke.”

  “Steel?” He strained to look at the gleaming chains binding him.

  “It’s an alloy of iron, just stronger.”

  “Travis?”

  “Upstairs. He’s been spending way too much time down here. His brother made him go up for supper.”

  Weariness played at the back of Dylan’s head, and his eyes grew heavy. “How long?”

  “How long have you been in the healing sleep?” The young man looked at him solemnly. “Not long enough. Three weeks or so. I expected you to be down for months.” Oddly the fae now seemed a little pissy. He didn’t like Dylan.

  “Weeks.” Dylan lay back, and as the blond fae methodically lifted the heavy steel chains from his body, he relaxed. Three weeks. He began to drift off into real sleep, but something disturbed him. Something bad, but he couldn’t recall what it was.

  Weeks.

  Just before closing his eyes, he heard the soft chirp of a cell phone. A text message that was more important than…anything.

  He sighed and drifted away, then slept deep, hard, and without dreams to bother him.

  He awakened to darkness. Dylan lay quietly, his gaze roaming until he caught a pinpoint of light seeping under the door. Immediately he oriented himself, listening, sensing his surroundings. The mattress under his body was a bit too soft, but he was warm. He tested an arm to see if he could move; then he rolled stiffly to his side, wincing at the pain in his arm and abdomen.

  The bone hadn’t yet knit, so while he’d been out for a while, he hadn’t been asleep long enough to fully heal. And that was good because…

  Oh God.

  His heart raced, and he felt the threads of the geas wrap themselves around his gut and squeeze tightly. He tried to push himself upright, but his belly hurt. He drew up his legs to find a band of steel encircled his ankle. It was more innocuous than chains draped over his chest, but he was a captive. He lay back down, his eyes open wide in the darkness.

  Now that he’d adapted, he could use the slight bit of light in the room. He saw the dark outline of a chair. That was where he’d heard the chime of his cell phone. Given the length of the chain around his ankle, he couldn’t reach it.

  He listened and heard soft, steady breathing.

  Travis.

  For whatever reason, the knot in his gut loosened, and he took a deep breath, feeling the pull of damaged muscles.

  “Dylan?”

  He heard the rustle of bedding and caught the warm scent of the young man’s body. “I’m awake.”

  And thirsty. His throat was parched. He felt the warmth of the shifter close by. A tiny bedside lamp came on, causing him to wince against the light. He blinked, then looked up into the worried, beautiful face. He recalled those last few moments in the forest outside Arcada and had an unusual urge to cry.

  Before he could speak, a strong arm helped him upright, and the cool rim of a glass was pressed to his lips. He drank, shuddering as the lukewarm water soaked into his tissues, beginning the next stage of his recovery. When he finished, Travis lowered him onto his pillows. Without asking, he slipped next to Dylan in the bed and drew him close. It was such an innocent, unguarded moment. Shifters needed the comfort of contact, and Dylan had spent years avoiding that very thing.

  This, he didn’t mind at all. When Travis pulled Dylan’s upper body so that his head rested on Travis’s broad shoulder, he didn’t complain. Instead, he curled closer, shivering all over, wishing he had better control of his body. Travis dragged the covers up and cocooned them in warmth.

  He remembered the phone, the geas, and felt the tug of anxiety, but the urgency slipped away. The touch of a hand in his hair, hearing the steady beat of a heart soothed him. He’d gone into the healing place other times but had always woken alone, frightened and vulnerable. This time he was safe. He just needed Travis’s strong arms around him.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m back from the dead.” He straightened the shackled leg. The loop of steel around his ankle was really little more than the width of a bracelet. Yet it could wreak so much havoc in his life. He glanced at his wrist, then pulled it under the cover at the sight of the geas shimmering against his skin.

  Not good. Not good at all. He had no control.

  “Sorry about
the chain. We’ve got a dangerous situation here. Lukas didn’t want to run any risks.”

  He felt the whisper of a kiss on his forehead.

  “Understood.” But not accepted. If he had the energy, he’d be infuriated. How dare they? He might not have had the energy for anger, but fear settled deep in his gut. Iron scared the hell out of him. Steel was worse; it was harder, stronger, and just as toxic.

  Travis turned, wrapping him a bit closer in his arms. “What…no questions?”

  Dylan swallowed, feeling somewhat better for the water. Soon he’d need food. “There was a fight…right by the road. I got into it…clearly took some injuries. You brought me here, though I’m not certain where we are. And understandably your brother doesn’t want a potentially dangerous stranger wandering around.”

  “You’re in the basement of the main pack house. And the danger isn’t so much to us as it is to you.”

  Dylan smiled cynically.

  “We’ve got three rogues down here. They aren’t recovering from their injuries very well, but they’re still dangerous.”

  “The metal around my leg negates all my powers and strength. If your brother was truly worried about me, he wouldn’t leave me chained and helpless.”

  “You wouldn’t be much good in a fight now anyway.” Blacque’s deep voice grated through the dimness, and Travis shot from his arms.

  “Shit!”

  He sounded freaked, which was pretty much how Dylan felt. He couldn’t see for shit with the metal dampening his senses. He hadn’t heard the door open or the huge man enter the room.

  “Damn it, Blacque! Was there a point to that little stunt?” Travis fumbled in the near darkness, and a brighter light came on. Dylan shielded his eyes against the glare, then dropped his arm and slipped it back under the sheet. Another shifter hovered behind Lukas Blacque, similar enough in appearance to be a brother or father. He was taller than Blacque; his long, sleek black hair was pulled back from his face. He looked right at Dylan’s arm.

  “No point to it. I suppose he just did it because he can.” The stranger smiled, which softened the harsh planes of his face. “I’m James Piyip.”

  Dylan nodded at the other man, grateful the stranger didn’t insist on shaking hands. “Piyip? That’s an unusual name.”

  Blacque snorted in humor, and the stranger straightened, showing he was indeed several inches taller than Lukas Blacque. Wider too. Power rolled off him; it wasn’t the overwhelming strength of Travis’s brother, but a gentler yet no less intimidating magic. He had the strength of years, the patience of a wise man.

  “It means ‘little brother.’ I was the youngest son.”

  He looked up at James, who was slowly relaxing. “If you’re the little one, I can’t imagine what your big brother looks like!”

  For whatever reason, that broke the tension in the room. Travis sat at the edge of his bed, shielding him from the others. It helped; three large, dominant wolves in a closed space was a bit overwhelming.

  He noticed Blacque’s gaze lingering on his throat, and he swallowed hard. No use hiding it. If anyone asked, he’d just lie. He opened his mouth to ask a question but broke off when a scream echoed down the hall. The other men went rigid but didn’t react.

  “The rogues?” Dylan asked.

  Lukas Blacque nodded curtly. “One of ’em’s dying. The other two are dominant. One might even be the alpha of the group, but they’re still too crazed to help him.” He sighed. “And I’ve tried. Dane might be able to pull him into a shift and steady him, but I haven’t been able to.”

  James reached out and squeezed his arm. “I tried too, Lukas. Whatever’s wrong with them…” He shook his head sadly.

  “Why do you want to save them?” Dylan heard the question and was surprised it was he himself asking it. Not only was his magic crushed; his good judgment was as well.

  “We value life.” James smiled gently.

  “Very few of the rogues were killed. We hoped if we could capture some of them, we could figure out what’s wrong.” Blacque folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t get me wrong; we’ve been attacked by raiding packs before. Generally they’re trying to move into our territory. This time they weren’t raiding.”

  “They were trying to kill you, Lukas.” Travis’s voice was tight, and Dylan clenched his fist, trying to suppress the temptation to stroke the young shifter’s arm.

  “Do you think they’re sick? Perhaps bespelled?” Dylan asked. “I’ve encountered some very unscrupulous witches as well as others who practice more demonic magic.”

  Dylan looked at Blacque and then shivered as Oliver Bleu slowly moved up behind the shifter. Lukas turned his head slightly at the vampire’s approach. Their hands brushed, a slight, subtle greeting. The vampire looked at Dylan, then watched him steadily.

  Lukas Blacque looked down at Dylan. “Bleu thinks you might be able to tell us about what’s going on with them.”

  The room couldn’t possibly get more crowded. Dylan broke out in a cold sweat. “Why do you think that?”

  Bleu smiled, his dark blue gaze running over Dylan’s form. “I’m old, and I’ve seen a lot. Jason might give us some insight, but since delivering the Mustang, he’s refused to leave Blacque’s garage. He says he’s too busy to come over.” His face showed his disbelief. “Our witch is married to Michella, and they will soon deliver a baby, so she has declined Blacque’s request to interview the wolves. That leaves you.”

  Travis moved uneasily, and Dylan finally placed a hand over his, hoping to calm him. “Again, why do you think I might be able to discern what’s wrong with them?”

  “You’re old, Dylan Ryve. Your driver’s license tells the world you’re thirty-six, but you are much older. Much, much older. You frighten me.” His eyes didn’t lie.

  “If you frighten Oliver, you terrify me.” Blacque dropped his hand, and his fingers brushed the vampire’s till they were entwined. “But it seems like I’ve gotta trust you.”

  “You should.” Travis spoke calmly. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  “Only because they’ve shackled me to the bed,” Dylan said wryly. “And frankly, as long as I’m wearing steel, I’m not much good for anything, including visiting your crazy-ass wolves.”

  “We don’t want the rogue to die, Dylan.” Travis squeezed his hand. “And you don’t have to do anything till you’re stronger.”

  “I won’t get stronger till…” He lifted his leg, rattling the fine chain.

  Blacque sighed. “Okay, I’ll take it off, but you’ll be surrounded. Then you’ll come back and put the chain back on. Deal?”

  “How about I come with you; then I come back to this room, get my stuff, and go to a hotel in town?”

  “No.” Blacque’s reply was curt. “I brought you here. Till I know—”

  “He saved me, Lukas. He saved us!”

  “I know, Trav, but no. Until we have the rogues under control and know what the story is with him”—he nodded at Dylan—“he’s staying.”

  “As a prisoner?” Travis’s voice was thick.

  “As a prisoner. These are our lives, Travis.”

  “Fuck you, Lukas. Just…” The young shifter was tense, ready to run, but he wouldn’t leave Dylan’s side. Dylan reached up and gently tugged Travis’s hair. He then squeezed his shoulder, right over where he knew the bite marks still stained his skin.

  “I agree to your terms. Just take the band off my leg, and let me get dressed.” He looked around. “Do I have clothes?” He saw his suitcase sitting against a tiny cupboard by the wall.

  “We brought your car and possessions,” James said.

  Dylan’s heart plunged. If they’d gathered all his possessions… He could only hope they’d respected his privacy. He sat quietly as Blacque unlocked the shackle. Without touching it, he leaned over to examine the fetter. It was cunningly wrought, sized exactly for him. As though it had been custom-made. The chain was light yet sturdy. All handmade. That young fae had been a metalworker, a gre
mlin of some sort; they were the only fae who could handle iron and steel.

  “A little privacy?” He gazed at the men and lifted a brow. Travis rose, but the others made no move to leave. With a sigh he carefully got up, favoring the arm that was still fragile. Though he felt better without the metal, Dylan still wasn’t himself.

  “I put your clothes in the closet. The bathroom’s there.” Travis nodded at a door.

  Dylan moved slowly to the cupboard and fingered the tight denims and long-sleeved, high-necked shirts. Those would hurt like a bitch to put on.

  “Why don’t you use the shower? I’ll get some sweats for you. That’ll be more comfortable.” Travis shouldered his way out of the room, and Dylan couldn’t help watching, feeling a touch of panic as he left. Dylan pushed open the bathroom door and locked it behind him.

  As though that would do any good.

  He unlocked it, started the water, and gazed at himself in the mirror. The marks of the geas were dimming, and he swallowed, seeing that his glamour was completely absent. His physical traits never changed much, but a touch of magic toned his hair from snow-white to soft blond and his eyes from vibrant green to mossy brown. Right now he nearly glowed. His hair cascaded back, revealing his elvish ears and refined features. With a thought he cloaked himself in normalcy.

  He stepped into the shower and rinsed quickly, fingering the pink scar that snaked down his side. It was ugly. He didn’t bother hiding it behind glamour, though. His arm ached and throbbed, and he wondered if he’d be able to rig a sling for it. When he stepped out, a fresh towel hung on a rack, and a gray T-shirt and sweats were folded neatly on the toilet seat. His cell phone rested on top of the stack.

  “Oh…oh shit,” he whispered in the old tongue. It was fully charged, and when he opened his messages, dozens flashed, all reading the same thing. The last was dated…yesterday.

  #1000? Status?

  He quickly texted back:

  Healing sleep. Badly wounded. Now inside town. Still healing.

  He bit his lip, squinting as he slowly entered the next message.