Forgive me.
Hopefully the shit hadn’t yet hit the fan. Hopefully his master was still sitting in his luxurious castle in Germany, waiting impatiently for Dylan to respond to the tug on his leash. He stared at the screen, willing a response that didn’t come. He didn’t add that he’d been captured. It was irrelevant. He powered off the phone and set it on top of his suitcase as he left the bathroom, then fell in behind the crew of powerful men as they led him down the hallway. Travis walked at his side, and against his better judgment, Dylan let his fingers brush along the shifter’s, then smiled as they linked pinky fingers.
For just a moment, he’d pretend everything was all right.
The hall was surprisingly wide and high, carpeted and painted in soothing, neutral colors. He reached out and lightly touched the walls, and he sensed the powerful steel reinforcements that were hidden beneath the drywall and plaster. He passed a painting, something original and beautiful. It made him pause, and he gazed at the mystical landscape of trees and a lake that looked similar to the one he’d seen in the last dream he’d visited.
“Bleu’s granddaughter, April, did that.” Travis’s voice was flat. “She’s good, isn’t she?” Another painting hung farther down the hall; this one was a starscape over a desert.
“She’s gifted.” Up ahead, he saw Bleu turn his head slightly. It was the first time he’d seen a vampire with family ties.
“How’d—”
“I’ll tell you later. Bleu’s maker found her and changed her when she was going to college in France. Art school.”
Another painting hung in the hall, the strokes more rough and expressive, a bold rendition of wolves running through a woodland. It was a powerful image, and Travis walked past it without a glance.
They reached the end of the hall and were faced with three rooms. A single shifter guarded every entrance. The doors looked ordinary, but the hall nearly vibrated with all the metal and enchantment. Their witch accounted for the magic, and the gremlin he’d met probably had a hand in the reinforcement of the cells. For that was what they were.
“The big guy, you think?” Blacque looked at James, who nodded.
“He’s the most lucid of the group.”
Dylan cradled his injured arm and hooked his thumb in the waistband of his sweats. Everything ached worse. The air was rancid, and he wondered how on earth the wolves coped with the smell. He then realized they couldn’t scent this sort of stench. It was in the psyche rather than the physical senses. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and followed Blacque into the room.
It was large, and halfway into the space, silver-coated bars rose from floor to ceiling. The silver didn’t make much difference; the metal was hacked and beaten, and he caught the slight scent of singed flesh.
The shackles holding the man were more substantial than the ones he’d worn and were the source of the magic in the air. He didn’t know of many metals that would hold up to the force of a shifter as determined as this one.
He supposed the man was handsome, but now he looked brutal and infuriated. His golden-brown eyes burned with anger; his coffee-colored hair dropped into his face. He was massive, broad, and ripped with muscle. His naked cock jutted out—with lust, yes, but this lust was for blood. He was fixated on Blacque but seemed occasionally diverted by James, as though the big, calm man confused him.
“Does he have a name?” Dylan didn’t look away from him, asking the question of the room at large. He stepped closer to examine the shifter and let the man’s wild energy flow over him. It was tainted, but not as badly as Dylan had expected. His rage was equal parts wild magic and righteous anger.
“He doesn’t give a shit if you know his name.” The man’s voice was a low hiss.
“Well, that’s more than anyone else has gotten out of him.” Travis stepped up next to him, and Dylan gently pushed him back. He needed the rogue’s complete focus.
Dylan was a bit disappointed—if he’d known the man’s name, he might have exerted a little influence.
The shifter shoved his hands into his hair and screamed, pounding his head against the wall. Obviously it wasn’t the first time; the concrete was pitted and chipped. He then stood upright, blood trickling down his face.
“Vampire, do you need to feed?” The rogue’s gaze was feral and cunning.
“Clever, mon ami, but I have a wolf of my own. I do not hunger.”
The shifter slid his glance to Dylan. “Sometimes the fae take blood.”
Dylan smiled. Smarter, if clumsy. “Yes, but it is ritual, not feeding. I have no desire to taste you. I would like to hear your voice, though.”
“Fuck you.”
“If you were to escape this very moment, would you run out into the forest, taking as many lives as you could? Or is there something else you would do?”
The big shifter went still. His face went pale. “Calum…”
Good. He had a name to work with.
“How’s Calum? I can feel him…” His face went desperate. He reached out, pleading. “Don’t let him die. He’s one of the best of us. Please…” His massive hands clasped the bars, and Dylan swallowed hard as the stink of charred flesh rose into the air. The shifter let loose and shook his burned hands absently. “I need to…I need to…” He broke off, distracted. He then looked past Dylan, to where James had moved close. He held his hands out in entreaty.
“Please help him. Please help us!”
JAMES STEPPED CLOSE to the bars. “Your packmate is very sick. We’ve been trying our best, but we need your help.” His voice was soothing but urgent. Travis rested a hand on Dylan’s lower back; he could see the fatigue in the fae’s body. Dylan didn’t move, so he left his hand there. Hell, everyone in the room knew what they’d been up to, and Travis Feris wasn’t one to hide his feelings. Ever. Well, except when he was scared shitless. That was when his poker face kicked in.
“Help him!”
“I’m a paramedic, and we have a pack healer with him right now. She’s doing her best. But we have to know…” James straightened, suddenly taller than the other wolf. “We need to know who did this to you.”
The prisoner dug his hands into his hair again, bending forward as though he was in agony. “Move closer. You ease the pain somewhat.”
Travis looked at his uncle in surprise. He’d never really noticed, but when James was around, everything seemed smoother. James took another step, and though still out of reach, he stood nearly face-to-face with the captive.
“He needs our alpha.” The shifter’s voice was harsh.
“Your alpha is not here. Nor is ours. Lukas Blacque is the most dominant among us.”
“Except for him.” The shifter nodded at Dylan, and Travis felt his stomach flop. They’d been targeting Blacque, presumably because he was the most dominant present. Now they’d noticed Dylan.
“He’s not one of us.”
“No, he’s not. But if he wants, he can help us. I can feel it.” The shifter panted, retching against the pain. Travis looked up at Dylan. He was pale, as though he’d seen a ghost. He’d let go of his glamour; the marks around his throat and arms were absent, though.
“Tell me your name,” Dylan whispered. Power threaded through his voice. He moved to stand next to James, just inches from the rogue. “I can help, but I need your name.”
The shifter reached out and rested the tips of his fingers on the bars. “Deacon,” he whispered.
Dylan nodded, tension flowing from his body. He rested his fingers on the bars next to Deacon’s. Slowly the shifter moved, inching his fingers to lie atop Dylan’s. They stood quietly, and the room went completely still.
“Calm. Go to a calm place in your mind.”
“There is no such thing.” Deacon’s voice was taut with pain.
“Do you sleep?”
“No, he won’t allow—argh!” He cringed back, jerking his hands from Dylan’s. Deacon dropped his hands and shook off his panic. “Sleep… I would give anything for it.”
; Behind them the door softly opened and closed. Travis scented his mother and glanced around, automatically meaning to shelter her. She seemed more than anxious; she looked weary. Had she been tending the ailing shifter all this time?
At her presence James looked up, and Deacon froze. His gaze was fixed on Melody, and when he turned, Travis saw she was staring at him in shock. Then he realized that this was the massive brown wolf who’d come to a dead stop when faced with Melody in the forest.
A low growl carried through the room, but it didn’t come from Deacon. James put himself between the two, his teeth bared, his fingers lengthening into wicked claws. His eyes glowed, and even his teeth began to elongate.
“Oh…fuck…” Travis grabbed Dylan and dragged him away from the two bristling males. “James, take it easy. He can’t hurt her.”
Travis looked and saw that Deacon wasn’t focused on fighting James. He simply stood, fixated on Travis’s mother. Oh…bad. So very, very bad.
“Mama, you need to leave. Now!”
Blacque and Bleu moved swiftly. The vampire swept her into the hall, while Blacque leaped at James and pulled him back from the cage bars. He was snarling, his hands and teeth morphing in that partial shift that was unique to his family. Now that Melody was away, Deacon’s entire focus was on James, and he slammed himself into the bars, clawing and reaching for his rival.
His rival? Why the hell would James act like Deacon was a challenger?
“Trav, give me a hand!” Blacque grunted as he grappled with James, trying to haul the two massive wolves apart.
“Mine!” Deacon’s voice was low and guttural, and suddenly Travis remembered that the woman they fought over was his mother. His wolf hackled, came to the fore, and Travis found himself in front of the cage, snarling, warning off Deacon.
“Fuck it all, Travis. Not you too!”
Bleu swept back into the room. He dragged Travis away from Deacon and deposited him into Dylan’s care. Travis’s wolf asserted itself, reminding him that Dylan was injured; he needed to be careful. Dylan gently pulled him to the back of the room while Blacque and Bleu wrestled James out the door. When Travis looked back, the shifter was yanking at his chains; blood from where his skin broke and tore spattered on the walls.
Travis slammed the door closed.
In the hall, Melody stood alone against a wall, her blue eyes wild and frightened. James was facedown on the floor, where Blacque held him pinned. Travis looked at Bleu, who was looking at Dylan. The fae leaned against the wall. He was pale and shaken.
“I may need help back to my room,” he whispered. He slid to the floor and sat, his head resting on his arms. “That was a monumental psychic shitstorm.”
Deacon’s enraged scream echoed through the hall.
Travis dropped to the floor next to Dylan. “I think he agrees.”
Chapter 12
They ended up in the upstairs living room, sprawled out on the floor and furniture. Not Blacque, though. He paced, his steel-toe boots making soft thuds in the carpet. Drusilla came into the room, carrying a tray with mugs of hot chocolate. When she handed one to James, he accepted it with trembling hands. No one wanted to talk about what had happened, though Dylan felt somewhat in the dark. The byplay among the three wolves had frightened them all.
Dylan leaned back against a large leather sofa, sipping at his hot chocolate, enjoying the feel of Travis next to him. The lights in the room were kept low, matching the solemn mood of the wolves. His mind raced between what he’d learned from Deacon and what he’d just witnessed.
“I’m sure it isn’t polite for me to ask, but what just happened down there?”
“Mating challenge.” Blacque finally paused to take a cup from his sister. Bleu was seated on a love seat, and Blacque gracefully sat on the floor, then leaned back against the vampire’s knees.
“Lukas, that’s bullshit.” James’s voice was low and harsh, more like a growl. Melody was in the shadows, and Dylan’s heart ached for the woman. Hadn’t they seen the rush of pain that passed over her face at his words?
“What was that all about, then, Uncle James? If the bars hadn’t been there, you’d have ripped each other to shreds!” Travis scooted closer to Dylan.
“He fixated on her. The bastard’s friggin’ insane. He’d as soon kill her as mate her!” James looked starkly afraid. “I’m gay, guys. Mating isn’t there for me.”
“We know that.” Drusilla perched on the edge of the coffee table. “Wish I’d seen it.”
“No, you don’t. That was just…crazy.” Travis still looked shaken.
“I could judge for myself if you’d trust me enough to go downstairs.” Blacque had forbidden all the women except for Melody from going near the rogues.
Dylan remembered Travis’s transformation—from slightly intimidated to raging fury. “I was rather surprised when you went off too.”
“That’s my mother they were fighting over!” Travis rose and sat next to his mother, and he wrapped his arms around her. She rested her face against his shoulder.
Drusilla spoke gently. “What do you think happened, Melody?”
She went still, and Dylan watched her carefully construct her answer. “What James said. I’m female, and I doubt there was anything more he needed to trigger his rage.”
But he hadn’t been raging, not until James reacted. He’d been enraptured. Back in the forest, he’d been transfixed by Melody. It was clear to Dylan that Deacon indeed viewed Melody as his mate. And he supposed James might truly have reacted to protect his friend, just as Travis had gone protective over his mother.
Maybe.
“Dylan. What did you pick up?” Blacque’s voice cut through the room, startling Dylan.
He thought about the question for a moment. “There’s potent magic at play. Deacon can’t answer anything about who is controlling them. You saw his pain response.” Blacque nodded. Dylan looked at Travis, who was listening, an intent expression on his face.
He trusted Dylan. Implicitly. And now he had to lie. Again.
“I couldn’t get too far into his head. His…master is blocking them. They can’t even get relief through sleep. If I could get them to relax, I might be able to get past the shielding.” In other words, if he could get them into a hypnotic state, he could dreamwalk and maybe talk to them unhindered. He wasn’t sure he had the skill to mesmerize a raging wolf, but a vampire might.
But only if he had enough time left. He had to get rid of the steel shackle. Blacque had snapped it on as soon at they’d passed his room to come upstairs. With it on, he could barely walk to the bathroom, much less into a dream.
“Blacque, these men are in bad shape. They’re rancid with bad magic, and I can’t pinpoint the source. They’ve been sleep deprived, but the spell keeps them juiced. In the forest I couldn’t sense anything beyond rage. I’m not sure if being separate from their pack has given Deacon some lucidity, or maybe…” He shrugged.
“Maybe it’s Arcada.” Bleu’s softly accented voice carried through the room. “I felt some insulation from my maker, Yves, when I first came here. But once he was near the town, there was little shelter from his influence. However, I was able to resist him.”
Dylan’s head reeled. He was in Arcada. Maybe the geas would be weakened. If he never left the town, he might overcome Ulric’s hold on him! He looked at Travis and wondered how long forever would be and if he could tolerate never leaving.
Yes. If he lived here, he’d cherish the place. He’d love it and guard it. Hope. It was such a simple yet devastating emotion.
“Was your maker able to enter the town?” His voice didn’t sound like his own. He sipped his chocolate, hoping to hide his expression.
“No, but he came close. He lured me out. The pack saved me, though.”
“No credit to me, eh?” The voice was soft and musical and belonged to a tall, beautiful young woman. She wore dusty motorcycle leathers, and her black hair was pulled back in a severe braid. A helmet with a heavily smoked visor d
angled from her fingers. A vampire. She lingered in the doorway, looking rather smug at her silent entrance.
“April!” Bleu held out a hand, and she took it, then settled onto the couch next to him. They hugged, and she leaned down to kiss Blacque’s bristly scalp. He reached up and gripped her hand.
More family.
“Is Dane with you?” Blacque’s voice was anxious.
She frowned. “Did you think…? No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he wasn’t here.” She looked at the alpha’s children. “He left before I did. I’ve been traveling down to the Gulf Coast. I wanted to get out of the cold weather.”
She noticed Dylan and gave him a long, appraising look. She smiled. “Hello, beautiful.”
In a flash Travis was back at his side, growling softly.
April Bleu looked from Travis to Dylan, and then she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh dear, our little homophobe has been well and truly captured!”
“I’m not a homophobe.” Travis sat rigidly on the couch. “I’m just politically incorrect.”
“And I’m the one who’s been captured.” Dylan extended his shackled leg. April went quiet; her good humor bled away to suspicion. She was suddenly as silent and as enigmatic as Oliver Bleu. Dylan decided it was time to take the plunge. He needed space and time to make some plans. He had no doubt the family would keep Travis from his side as long as they could.
That thought irritated him.
“I am quite weary. If you will forgive me, I’d like to return to my room.” He started to rise and noted that all eyes were on him.
“We still have to deal with Deacon.” Blacque sat up straighter, glaring at him.
“There’s nothing Dylan can do when you’ve got the shackle on him.” Travis spoke defensively, and something inside Dylan withered. He was using this naive young man for his own purposes. He shouldn’t—couldn’t let him be complicit in this betrayal.
“Take the shackle off. Put me in his room, on the outside of the cell. If the vampire can glamour him into a relaxed state, I should be able to help.” Dylan met Blacque’s suspicious gaze. “Set up a cot in there for me. Put a steel chain across the door; I won’t be able to escape.”
Silver-Steel Page 13
