Mandy M. Roth - Magic Under Fire (Over a Dozen Tales of Urban Fantasy)

by Unknown

  If Mac had wanted Grey dead, he merely had to poison the food. Instead, he’d put sedatives into the meat pies so that Grey would be incapacitated. Had I eaten my fair share, I would’ve passed out, too. Why drug Grey? Why kidnap me? Why? The question circled my brain like a moth fluttering around a porch light. Why?

  I had no answers, and my head ached so badly, I abandoned thinking all together. I faded in and out of consciousness as the car continued speeding toward its destination. When I felt the vehicle slow enough to make a turn, I awoke fully, and tried to concentrate. We continued at a more sedate pace, though the path we were on now seemed rife with potholes. I heard the tires crunching, too. A gravel road, maybe? Gah! One that was not maintained, given the number of times the wheels hit uneven patches and sent me sprawling. Luckily, I didn’t have to contend with other objects. No tools or tires or other items one might find in a car trunk. I jounced upward and back down again. Pain radiated up my spine to join the web of agony that covered my skull. Sweet mercy! Had anything else been in here with me, I’d sport even more bruises and scratches.

  I kept wiggling my fingers and toes, though the actions did little to alleviate my poor circulation. I’d read an article once about a yogi who’d fallen off a roof and landed on his backside without sustaining a single injury. When asked how he’d managed to do such a miraculous deed, he said only that he made a conscious effort to relax every muscle in his body. Basically, he landed like a pile of spaghetti—completely loose, yielding totally, and doing so saved his life. It was the same reason drunk drivers walked away from accidents. Their alcohol-addled reflexes kept them from tensing up before a crash, while sober people braced for collision. That’s what caused injuries—constricting the muscles so tightly there was no cushion against the unforgiving force of impact.

  These were the thoughts that occupied my mind. Pointless, really, but my options were to worry about what would happened to me once the car stopped—or spend useless amounts of time and energy trying to free myself. Whoever had tied my bonds had done so in a proficient manner. No amount of wiggling or twisting would release me.

  The car slowed to a crawl, executed a slight turn, and then parked.

  The engine turned off. I heard the squeal of doors opening, the scuffle of shoes against pavement, the low thrum of conversation.

  Trying to fight my way out of the trunk—out of the clutches of werewolves—would not be productive. I needed to wait for the best opportunity to escape. I had to believe that getting out of this situation was possible. I had to believe, too, that I was strong enough to save my own life. After all, I’d defended myself against the Blood Pack scruffer who’d attacked me, and I’d lived to tell the tale.

  Would I live to tell this one?

  I closed my eyes, steadied my breathing, and concentrated on letting go of all my muscular tension. I focused on keeping myself as limp as an unconscious woman should be. I held on to the thought of Grey, my beautiful alpha, laughing, his muscled chest covered in cake crumbs, his eyes alight with passion. I wanted to see him again. I wanted the life—so shiny with promise and purpose—that we could have together.

  I would not give in to fear.

  I would not give up hope.

  I heard the rattle of a key and the squeal of rusted hinges as the trunk opened. Fresh, cool air rushed inside, and so did the overpowering scents of pine and wet earth. I could feel the stares of my abductors. My skin crawled, but I kept my breathing steady, my body loose. I couldn’t offer the merest hint that I was awake, especially since I was dealing with wolf shifters, whose senses were far superior to those of humans.

  “She’s still passed out. Mac must’ve given her a good one.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “She was. Now, she’s wolf chow.”

  “We could have some fun.”

  “Dude. Do not even think about it.”

  “Oh, c’mon. She’s dead anyway.”

  “Stop thinking with your dick, Royce.”

  “Whatever, man.”

  I felt arms go underneath me. I was lifted out and carried like a napping child clutched in her father’s arms.

  11

  M Y CAPTOR’S GRIP tightened as we went up a few steps. Booted heels clomped across wood then I heard the rattle of a knob, the creak of a door opening.

  “That’s her?” The female’s voice was as sharp as a blade. “You’re fucking kidding me. She doesn’t look like she could take on a dandelion much less a werewolf.”

  “Mac says she’s the one.”

  “Yeah. Like he’s so trustworthy. Put her on the bed and untie her. What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “She’s dangerous. Christ, Sara, she killed Cody.”

  “I know what she did.”

  My kidnapper tossed me onto a lumpy mattress that smelled like mold and then roughly rolled me onto my side. He cut the ropes from my wrists and ankles. As blessed circulation returned, my extremities tingled. The pins and needles sensations were very uncomfortable, but I resisted the urge to squirm. I continued to play unconscious, even though it meant staying face-down in the awful, smelly mattress.

  “Rick will be here in a few minutes,” said the woman. “You two get back to the den and chill.”

  “You think this is gonna work, Sara? I mean, we’re messing with the Shadow Pack. With Grey Burke.”

  “Hey, man, it’s an eye for eye. Pack justice.”

  “Shut up!” I heard quick, sure strides and the smack of flesh against flesh. I assumed Sara had slapped whichever one she’d deemed the mouthiest. “Get out of here, you fuckheads, before I gut you both.”

  With that threat ringing in their ears, the men left.

  I heard those confident steps approach the bed. “You can stop pretending you’re unconscious,” she said. “Those two jack asses are about as observant as drunk blind men. But trust me when I say I’m a whole different kind of animal.”

  So much for being clever. I pushed myself into a sitting position and rubbed at my wrists and ankles. “Sara,” I said, inclining my head as though we were meeting at a cocktail party rather than at my kidnapping. “I’m Arabelle Burke.”

  “Everyone knows who you are.” She wore her blonde hair short and spiked on top. She had multiple piercings in her ears and eyebrows, and a silver stud on the left side of her bottom lip. She wore blood-red lipstick and thick black eyeliner. She sported snakeskin cowboy boots and faded Levis torn at the knees. She also wore a red T-shirt and a battered brown leather jacket with the collar flipped up. It seemed far too big for her. Perhaps it belonged to her father or brother or even her lover—this mysterious Rick? My attention was caught by the tattoo on her neck, some kind of yellow flower intertwined with a black snake. It seemed an odd image for a werewolf to have, but then again, she didn’t seem the type who cared about fitting in.

  “Don’t get any ideas about escaping,” she said. “I’ll kill you. That’ll piss off Rick, and I don’t like being on his bad side.”

  I looked around, taking in all the details I could. I figured out quickly I was in a cabin. The closet cabin rentals were in the Mount Charleston area, which was only a 45-minute drive from Las Vegas, and three-hour drive from Bleed City. “You’ll forgive me, Sara, if I’m not overly concerned about your good standing with Rick, whoever he is.”

  “Hoity-toity, aren’t you?” She snarled at me. “You think because you killed a starving, weak, tortured werewolf, you can take me? I’ll claw out your throat before you open your mouth to scream.”

  “Maybe you should treat your scruffers better.”

  “Scruffer?” Her snarl became a growl, and her face transmogrified into half wolf—snout and fangs and eyes. “You killed our alpha’s mate, you bitch.”

  “What?”

  The slam of the door startled Sara out of her shifting. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest as I watched a man saunter into the cabin. He was lean and muscled, with shoulder-length dark hair and movie star good looks. His crisp buttoned-down
shirt was tucked into belted slacks. He wore dress shoes, the wingtips glossed to a high shine. Everything about him screamed wealth and privilege, and yet I knew, instinctively, that of the two werewolves in this room—he was the one to fear the most.

  “You gave away the twist ending, Sara,” he said in a silky voice. “Shame on you.”

  “I’m sorry, Rick. She was pissing me off.”

  “That, my dear sister, is your general state of being. Move away from our guest. Cody underestimated her. We will not.”

  Sara gave me a final glare and a snapping growl before joining Rick in the small living area. She plopped onto the ratty couch and began picking at her nails. Rick stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, smiling like a politician. He studied me casually, as if I were no more threat than a pinned butterfly. His expression offered no indication of his thoughts. His brown gaze was as hard and shiny as obsidian. Dark. Empty. Here was a man who wouldn’t be swayed by pleas for mercy, by any human emotions, because he had none.

  A frisson of fear zipped down my spine and settled coldly into the pit of my stomach.

  Rick grabbed a metal folding chair from the card table set up near the tiny kitchen area. He dragged it to the end of the bed, flipped the seat around, straddled it, and leaned on the backside. “You may be wondering why you’re here.”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to keep the tremors out of my voice. “I did have occasion to wonder about my unexpected visit.”

  He smiled. “That’s it, Arabelle. Be brave. Fight through that fear that’s making you tremble. Tell yourself lies about how you can escape or how you might be rescued. You’ll need every bit of strength to get you through the next few hours.”

  “Well, now. You sure do know how to set a girl all aflutter, Rick.”

  His smile widened, and he chuckled. “Oh, I like you. I do. And I can see why Grey likes you, too. But my dear Arabelle, you killed someone very valuable to the Blood Pack. In fact, you slaughtered a man who was extremely important to our alpha—her mate, Cody.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Right. They told you that you killed a scruffer from the Blood Pack. Scruffers aren’t particularly valued in any werewolf society, and unfortunately, the Blood Pack is not exactly respected in the current hierarchy, either. What does that single life mean? Nothing.”

  “But an alpha’s mate means something,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Rick. “Even though the tragedy occurred to the lowliest of all werewolf packs, the murder of its alpha’s mate still matters.”

  I swallowed the knot lodged in my throat. Fear burbled in every cell of my being. I had never known this kind of afraid before. Not even when that crazed werewolf had tried to eat me. “Did Grey know?”

  “Now, there’s an interesting question. Did he know that he was tracking an alpha’s mate and not a scruffer? Is he protecting you, Arabelle? Or is he simply insuring his own status by mating with you? Or are you nothing but a sacrifice for the greater good?”

  “His reasons are his own,” I said. “The choice is made. The deed is done.”

  He studied my face. “Ah, but you are a woman. A wife. It’s your trust in him, your faith in him, that’s important. You want to know if he lied to you.”

  I didn’t like Rick’s smarmy manner or the arrogance in his words. But I did wonder…had Grey known that I’d killed an alpha’s mate—and not some scruffer encroaching on Shadow Pack territory? Grey’s lack of knowledge meant he had nothing to do with this current situation. Mac had facilitated my kidnapping. He had, it seemed, turned me over to the Blood Pack as a way to placate their alpha. If that was the case, what would he tell Grey? And what did this have to do with the enforcer’s murder at the Choosing?

  “I can practically see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours. You’re really quite astute. It’s a shame you have to pay the price for Cody’s death.”

  “So, this is about revenge?”

  “No, Arabelle. This is about penance.” He sighed. “I’m not usually involved in these sorts of things, but Karen—our alpha—asked for my personal touch. As her beta, her second, if you will, I’m at her behest. Cody was a friend of mine, and I feel a personal obligation to bring his killer to justice.”

  “You don’t feel,” I said. “Do you, Rick?”

  12

  H E LAUGHED AND slapped the back of the chair. “Like I said, you are very astute. I bet you had me figured two seconds after I walked in the door. You see things that most people don’t. People don’t want to look, they’re afraid of what they might find. But not you. No, you look right into their very hearts.”

  “God! Are you going to kill her or fuck her?” Sara popped to her feet. “I’m getting some air. Would you finish this shit so we can get back to the den? There’s a brawl later tonight, and I want in on it.” She stomped out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

  “Hard to believe we’re related, isn’t it? Sara has her uses, though.” He stood up and began rolling up his sleeves. “I should’ve worn more appropriate apparel, but I came straight from the courthouse.”

  “You’re a lawyer in Vegas,” I guessed.

  “Defense attorney. I waste a lot of time getting Blood Pack members out of trouble. It’s not exactly glamorous, but I’m very well compensated.”

  Rick’s admission confirmed we were near Las Vegas, so my theory about being somewhere on Mount Charleston was correct. It was the closest habitat with pine trees, the only area that would have rental cabins.

  “You were right, Arabelle. I don’t care much for people. Or werewolves, for that matter. But I do love money, and I love what it can buy. And I really love all the power that comes with wealth.” He picked up the folding chair and planted it in front of the cold hearth. He considered its location and spent a few seconds adjusting its position. Satisfied, he turned to me. “Before we begin, I think it’s only fair you should know why this is happening. We don’t have a lot of time, so it’s going to be the short version.

  “A few weeks ago, Cody disappeared. Karen—who is not known for having a cool head—responded by sending some of our best brawlers to track and retrieve her mate. They returned bloody, broken, and mate-less. They reported that rogues had kidnapped poor Cody.” He sighed. “I swear she’s a better alpha than it appears in this gruesome little tale, but the woman lost all sense of perspective when it came to her mate. Cody was good at keeping Karen in check.”

  “Who kidnapped Cody?”

  “Rogues, Arabelle. Werewolves interested in bringing down the Shadow Pack. Grey has made some significant enemies—good leaders always do.”

  “These rogues took Cody, but tried to put the blame on the Shadow Pack?” I shook my head. “There’s more, isn’t there? Something you’re not saying.” My nerves were showing. I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking, nor could I stop contemplating that empty chair.

  Rick grinned. “You like puzzles, don’t you, Arabelle?”

  “If rogue werewolves kidnapped Cody, why was he in Bleed City?”

  “Because that’s where they were. In Bleed City. Cody escaped. He was starving, half-mad from being tortured, and he found the quickest, least resistant source of food.”

  Mr. Sanders. The dear old man didn’t have a chance against the werewolf.

  “Grey’s enforcers are extremely efficient, aren’t they? Cody gets free, shifts, and takes off. He’s tracked immediately. Only you get there first and take care of the problem.”

  Rick stared at me, his expression patient, his gaze challenging. Puzzles, he’d said. He wanted me to figure something out. Cody was in Bleed City. Before the Choosing. He’d been taken, tormented.

  Mac had given me to the Blood Pack as penance. Rick was going to take my life the way Cody’s had been taken.

  The betas were taking actions.

  Betas.

  “You,” I said. “This whole thing is about you.”

  “Brava!” He clapped. “Here’s the problem with being a beta, Ar
abelle. It’s not as powerful as being the alpha. Karen’s tough, but she’s a goddamned mess. Cody made her strong, gave her purpose. They were a good team. And yet, they were content to leave the Blood Pack in the dark ages to be muscle-heads and bruisers. They had no vision.”

  “But you do.”

  “Yes.”

  I tried to put the pieces together. “You and Mac took Cody.”

  Rick sighed. “Tsk. Tsk. That’s too obvious. Mac is doing what a good beta does … protecting the alpha. He’s old-school. Quid pro quo. A mate for a mate.”

  I wondered how Grey would feel about that. Would he agree with Mac’s bold move? How would Mac explain that I’d killed an alpha’s mate and not a scruffer? It chilled me to think that I was somehow a chosen sacrifice. Chosen by the alpha. I was made Grey’s official mate—and then locked up on the pretense of being a murder suspect. I was put far away from the pack, away from anyone else who’d know me or help me. Then I was kidnapped and handed over to the Blood Pack. But if Grey knew, if this was his plot, why did Mac feel it necessary to knock him out? So that Grey would not be culpable for the loss of his mate? Or was it because Mac didn’t want Grey to interfere?

  “Fine,” I said. “You took Cody. You wanted the Shadow Pack to be blamed for his kidnapping. You wanted him to be killed by an enforcer. You wanted…” Oh, sweet mercy. “You want war between the packs.”

  “Excellent! War between the packs. A good old-fashioned shifter brawl. When the smoke clears, the Blood Pack will have a new place—at the top.”

  “Is that why you killed the Shadow Pack enforcer at the Choosing?”

  Rick shook his head. “That was someone else’s collateral damage. And your misfortune to stumble over it. You have an uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He leaned down and patted the metal chair. “Come sit down. Take your medicine.”