by Lori Drake
“Hi,” Joey said. “I found some of your people.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Want to trade?”
“Them for you?” one of the men asked. He had steely gray eyes. “I accept.”
Joey smirked. “Hardly. Do you know who I am?”
The blonde woman to Gray Eyes’ left said, “An upstart wolf who doesn’t know her place.”
Joey put a hand to her chest. “Ow, that hurts.” Her eyes lingered on Blondie. There was something familiar about her, but Joey couldn’t quite place it.
“What do you want?” Gray Eyes asked.
“I want my people back. You’re holding them against their will,” Joey said.
“Not everyone knows their true path. Some must be shown,” Blondie said. Her eyes slipped toward Mike. “Thank you for setting up this meeting, Michael.”
Mike nodded, but said nothing.
Joey snapped her fingers to get their attention. “What’ll it take? Money? I have money.”
The cultists looked amongst each other, amusement coloring their features.
“We don’t need your money,” Gray Eyes said.
The wind shifted, carrying with it a strange scent, oily yet metallic. Joey’s wolf howled in alarm, but she didn’t quite understand why until two of the cultists pulled handguns from behind their backs.
“We’d like our brothers back, please.” Blondie sneered, belying her polite request.
Joey lifted her hands. What else did one do in such situations? Mike shifted away from her a few steps, apparently not intending to throw himself in front of a bullet for her.
“Hey now,” Joey said, in a last-ditch effort to reason with them before this went completely off the rails. “I came here in good faith to negotiate for my people. If you don’t talk to me, you’ll get to talk to the cops. Kidnapping is against the law, and carrying them across state lines makes it a federal offense.”
“That’s a pity,” Gray Eyes said, folding his hands in front of him. “Our master had hoped you’d be reasonable.”
A gun went off with a loud crack, and Joey leapt aside instinctively. Whether she dodged or the cultist was a bad shot, she couldn’t say. But she hit the ground in a roll, sprang to her feet, and charged the nearest gun-wielder. The woman’s eyes widened, but Joey tackled her to the ground before she could fire off another shot.
The cultist might have a gun, but she clearly had no training in hand-to-hand combat. Joey grabbed her wrist and smacked her foe’s gun hand against the ground until her fingers released and the pistol thudded to the dirt. The other gun went off several times, and Joey flinched but wasn’t hit. She glanced up to see the gunman shooting in another direction, then hissed as the woman under her grabbed her hair and yanked.
Joey pulled herself upright, straddling the woman’s torso, and decked her. Arms hooked under Joey’s and dragged her away from the prone cultist. She struggled and fought, but her new attacker had hands behind her neck, immobilizing her rather effectively. His scent was all too familiar. Mike.
“Judas! Let me go!” Joey snarled, kicking her feet and squirming to no avail. She searched frantically for Dean. He was on the ground. Two of their hostages were kicking him savagely. The third hostage lay on the ground, a blossom of red on his shirt from a stray bullet.
“That’s enough!” Gray Eyes called. “We need him alive. The master’s orders.”
The men desisted from trying to use Dean as a human hacky sack. Dean remained where he was, curled in a ball.
“You’ll never take me alive!” Joey spat, glaring at Gray Eyes from afar.
Blondie detached from the others and walked over to where Mike held Joey, pulling something from her pocket. A switch was flipped and a blade sprang out. “Alive? Silly wolf. We don’t need you alive.”
Joey renewed her struggles against Mike’s grip, but he held fast.
“Wait a minute,” Mike said. “You didn’t say anything about—”
Blondie plunged the blade into Joey’s stomach.
At first, Joey was more shocked than anything. Then came the pain, sharp and swift, stealing her breath. Blondie twisted the knife, and Joey screamed as the agony intensified.
Mike released her, but she couldn’t remain on her feet. It was too much. Her knees buckled and she hit the ground with the hilt of the blade still protruding from her stomach, barely managing to catch herself on her hands.
She rolled onto her side and lay there while Mike and Blondie argued. Their words were lost on her, reduced to an indistinct “mwa-mwa,” like the adults in those old cartoons. But as they got in each other’s faces, practically nose to nose and openly hostile, Joey realized why Blondie looked familiar. She was older than she’d been in the picture, and her hair was shorter, with strands of gray threaded through the blonde. Blondie was Tina Conroy, Mike’s estranged wife.
Joey’s burning stomach didn’t allow her to do more with this realization than tuck it away for later. She’d taken a jagged piece of metal to the gut a while back, also thanks to this coven, and she’d thought that was bad. This was worse. A hundred times worse. A thousand times worse. It burned like fire. Had the witches spelled the blade? Was she going to end up like Chris had been, stranded on the astral plane, theirs to toy with as they wished?
Her fingers curled around the blade’s hilt. It was slick with blood, her blood, and she had no idea if it was safe to remove it. But she couldn’t heal without doing so, so she yanked it free. A fresh wave of suffering washed over her and she curled into a ball, willing it to stop as tears streamed from beneath her closed eyelids. She got the vague impression of activity around her, then a weight on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked up at Mike, who knelt beside her. His coloring was gray, features drawn in sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered, meeting her eyes. “They have my kid. I had no choice.”
Words. Words were hard, but she managed two as she glared fiercely into his eyes. “Fuck. You.”
The son of a bitch lowered his eyes, submitting before he withdrew. Joey howled in outrage, clutching her stomach as blood oozed between her fingers. So much blood. She lifted her head enough to look around, but everyone else was gone.
Moments later, so was Mike, leaving her there to die.
Joey wasn’t sure how long she lay there in the dirt, bleeding. The wound didn’t seem to be getting any better. It still burned like it was on fire, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded.
Hands rolled her onto her back. She hadn’t even been aware of footsteps approaching. Joey dragged her eyes open and looked groggily up at the man kneeling beside her. “Justin?”
Mike’s second met her eyes briefly, then forced her hand from her stomach and pulled up her shirt to examine the wound. His expression grew grim, but he took her hand and pressed it to her stomach again. Harder. A fresh wave of agony washed over her, but she couldn’t produce much more than a weak moan.
“Keep the pressure up as much as you can,” Justin said, then gathered her in his arms and lifted her off the ground.
Joey did her best to do as he instructed, but each step he took sent a jolt of pain through her. She blacked out at some point, and when she came to, she was in the back seat of a car. Her hand went to her stomach automatically, encountering some sort of padding there, covering the wound. She pressed against it and hissed in pain.
“Hang on, we’re almost there,” Justin said from the front.
Joey peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth and wet her lips. “Almost where?” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. It was thin and reedy. It was so hot in the car. She felt like she was burning up. Had there been some sort of poison on that blade?
“My buddy’s place. He’s no MD, but he’s got what we need.”
Joey stared up at the roof, studying the round dome light. Her eyelids were getting heavy again, and darkness crowded at the edge of her vision.
“Still with me? Hang in there, Joey.”
“What’s that?” she asked.<
br />
“What’s what?”
“What we need.”
He was quiet, then replied, “Horse tranquilizers and an operating suite.”
Inappropriate but unavoidable laughter bubbled from her. The clenching of her stomach, and subsequent spike of pain, silenced her swiftly. She passed out again before she could manage a response.
She drifted in and out of consciousness a few more times, dimly becoming aware of being moved from the car and into a building. The scent of antiseptic, vinegar, and potpourri surrounded her. People murmured, their words indistinct. Justin’s chest rumbled under her ear when he spoke. Cool steel at her back. The pinch of a needle. Blackness.
19
“Rise and shine, it’s a glorious— Chris?”
Chris watched from the astral plane as an ashy version of Rob stepped forward, breakfast tray in hand, eyes locked on Chris’s body where it lay on the floor. The Guide hurriedly set the tray down on the desk, then knelt at Chris’s side and shook his shoulder gently.
“Chris? You okay, buddy?” Rob’s fingers went to Chris’s neck, checking for a pulse.
Chris slipped back into his body and opened his eyes.
Rob jumped back, then laughed. “Oh my! You gave me quite a start. Why were you sleeping on the floor?”
“Bad back,” Chris lied, sitting up. The fatigue had set in as soon as he’d returned to his body. After checking in with Joey and Dean, he’d spent most of the night trying not to fall asleep, not wanting to give Karina and Madrigal another shot to get into his dreams. Working out had only enhanced his fatigue. He’d nearly fallen asleep sitting on his bed, then in the chair. There wasn’t anything to do in the room but sleep, nothing to read or write on. On the upside, he’d successfully filed his toothbrush handle into a respectable shiv. The idea of going astral had only occurred to him a couple of hours ago. The result? His body had gotten some rest, but clearly not as much as it needed.
“Need a firmer mattress?” Rob said, offering a hand up. “I can try to hunt one down for you.”
Chris let Rob help him to his feet and clapped the kid on the shoulder afterward. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I won’t be here much longer.”
Rob nodded, his smile sunny. “Oh yes, I’m sure you’ll be moving to another room soon. The master is very pleased with your progress, from what I hear. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
It hadn’t been what he meant, but Chris nodded and went over to inspect the breakfast tray’s contents. His mouth watered as he found a waffle and scrambled eggs under the plate cover.
“What’s on the agenda today?” Chris asked around a mouthful of food.
“Work assignment,” Rob said. He took a step toward the bed, then paused, as if uncertain what to do, since it was already made. Completing the movement, he bent down and smoothed wrinkles from the blanket. “What did you do for a living before you came to us? We try to match people with something they’re already suited for.”
Chris smirked. “I’m a dancer.” Good luck with that, kid.
“What kind? Oh, let me guess!” Rob spun to face him, hands clasped at his waist. “Ballet?”
“Took lessons when I was a kid, but didn’t go pro. Never was a big fan of tights.”
“Tap?”
“Nope.”
“Chippendales?”
Chris nearly snorted a sip of coffee. “How do you even know about Chippendales?”
Rob grinned. “Is that a yes?”
“No,” Chris said, shaking his head for emphasis.
“Oh. Hmm. Zumba?”
Chuckling, Chris drizzled a little more syrup on his waffle. “Dated an instructor once, does that count?”
“I guess not.” Rob fell silent, leaning against a wall and folding his arms as he studied Chris with every appearance of thought. “Breakdance?”
“Ballroom,” Chris said, letting him off the hook.
“Aw, that was going to be my next guess!”
“Uh-huh. Sure, it was.”
“It was! Hmph. Anyway, we don’t have any dancing duties around here for you.”
Chris chuckled. “Didn’t expect it. What do you do?”
“I work in the barn mostly, taking care of the animals. I need to get out there today after I get you settled. The vet’s coming to take a look at Sassy, and I want to talk to him. Her litter’s past due.”
Chris pushed his empty plate away and stood. “Guess we’d better get moving, then.”
While he showered and brushed his teeth, Chris thought about the various jobs he’d seen people doing around the compound. He needed something that wouldn’t completely consume his time—he still had an escape to plan—but would keep him as far away from Marc as possible. That meant outside the house. He didn’t relish the thought of working in the field. Farming was hard work, and he was a city boy at heart. But he wasn’t very good with animals either, and there didn’t seem to be much else to do outside the house. Or was there?
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Chris had an idea. “Who takes care of your vehicles?”
Rob blinked slowly. “Uh, there’s a mechanic in Middlegate.”
Chris smiled. He was good with cars. “Do you have a garage?”
Rob led the way to the Eastgate coven’s garage. It was a large, detached structure with two ancient doors and a large workbench. Inside was just about anything one needed for routine maintenance, though most of it was covered in a layer of dust. Clearly they’d had someone in-house at one time, but it was a while ago.
Chris spent most of the morning cleaning the place up. He ignored the first lunch bell, but wandered back to the house for the second, hoping to have a chance to talk with his mother this time. She wasn’t there, but Shawna was. So was the other witch that had been in San Diego with her. He didn’t bother introducing himself; she avoided meeting his eyes anyway. Shawna, however, glared daggers at him throughout the meal.
If he hadn’t checked in on Adelaide the previous night while he went for his astral walk, Chris would’ve been worried about not seeing her at lunch. But he knew she was fine, or at least was a few hours ago. Had she tried to escape yet? Maybe Astrid had kept a better eye on her than Rob had Chris. Now that he’d had a taste of Marc’s magic himself, he hoped Marc hadn’t put his glowing hands on Adelaide again. Chris told himself that if he could resist Marc’s magic, Adelaide was more than capable, but worry lingered.
He was deep in thought when he realized someone was standing across the table. It was Karina. Weariness showed in the tension around her eyes. She curled her fingers over the back of the empty chair opposite him, but made no move to sit.
“How are you doing today?” she asked, studying him openly.
Chris put down his fork. “I want to see my mom.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But how are you doing? Did you sleep okay?”
“Like a baby,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “You?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. She had to know he was lying, that he hadn’t slept at all, if she’d tried to enter his dreams. “The master wishes to see you after lunch.”
Chris swallowed. His appetite fled, but he picked up his fork again and speared a chunk of lettuce with it. “I’ve got a busy schedule, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“I know.”
“Don’t make him angry, Chris.” She leaned over, pressing her fingertips to the tabletop. “You won’t like him when he’s angry.”
Chris flicked a glance up at her and met her eyes. His fingers tightened on his fork. “I don’t like him to start with.”
“You will. Everyone does.” Karina smiled at him, then turned and walked away.
Chris didn’t try to stop her. Fuck her. Fuck them both. His appetite didn’t return, but he ate anyway. Slowly. He needed to keep his strength up, and he was in no rush to get to Marc’s study so the fellow could pull another whammy on him. Despite his stalling tactics, his plate did eventually empty,
and he pushed back from the table with a resigned sigh. He deposited his soiled dish and cup in the bin on the sideboard by the door, headed out of the dining room, and froze.
Eric stood in front of him, wearing an apron and carrying an empty tub identical to the one Chris had just put his dishes in. Chris’s fist flew practically of its own accord. It struck Eric’s jaw and sent him reeling. The tub clattered noisily to the hardwood floor.
It was on.
Eric charged him and they hit the wall, crashing into it hard enough to knock off a picture frame. The frame hit the floor with a crash.
Chris grappled with Eric against the wall, defending himself against the punches thrown toward his midsection. A few connected, painfully. In a last-ditch effort to get some distance, Chris head-butted Eric. Pain blossomed inside his own head, but Eric’s offensive faltered.
Chris took advantage of the distraction and drove his fist up into Eric’s chin. Eric’s head snapped back and he staggered away. Chris swept his feet out from under him and followed him to the floor, pinning Eric down by sitting on his chest and raining blow after blow on his head.
By the time they dragged Chris away, his hands were red with Eric’s blood. Eric himself lay unmoving, and Chris struggled against the restraining arms holding him back.
His vision was tinted red. It wasn’t over, not this time. It wouldn’t be over until Eric was dead.
Consequences be damned.
Chris surged forward with a growl, towing the bodies attempting to restrain him. More piled on, tackling him to the floor and holding him there while he struggled and snarled, more animal than man.
By the time he realized what was happening, he was too far gone to pull back. His wolf surged to the fore, and his body transformed. His clothes went from comfortably unnoticed to ripped at the seams, though the second of in-between was like wearing an inflated blood pressure cuff over his whole body. It hurt like hell, but it was only temporary. The humans holding him down recoiled, unsure what to do when the struggling, snarling man became a rather large gray wolf.
