Slow Shift

by Nazarea Andrews

  “Go,” he gasps.

  Tyler goes, and Chase huddles there on their bed until Aurora creeps in to wrap around him and murmurs, “I don't want to scream for her.”

  He doesn’t ask who she does want to scream for. He doesn’t need to. For now, knowing they’re safe enough.

  ~*~

  Jessica is fine. Furious about her bakery, bloody from the attack, but she’s healed before Tyler herds her into the den.

  Chase watches them. “Where’s Lucas? The boys?”

  “Getting rid of the bodies,” Tyler says shortly, pushing Jessica toward the shower. The she-wolf snaps at him and Tyler growls. “Now, Jessica.”

  Huffing, she stomps away.

  “How many?” Chase asks.

  “Five. It—it could have been bad,” Tyler says carefully. “But every time they hurt her, they were attacked.” His pale gaze flicks to Chase’s arm, still bare. “What did you do?”

  “What I had to do,” Chase says evenly, “I’m keeping the Pack safe.”

  “Chase—”

  “It’s done, Tyler. And it’s working. Now tell me about the attack.”

  ~*~

  They try again, attacking Joseph at the college, Ezra and Lucas while they run through the forest. They attack Chase in front of the police station, plowing into the Bronco, sending it rolling across the intersection in a screech of metal and shattering glass.

  Chase spends a long night in the ER before he’s released, trembling with fury and barely-suppressed pain as he waits for Tyler to pull up.

  “Chase?”

  He flinches, and the hand on his shoulder drops away.

  Ryan smiles at him, wide and disarming, spreading his hands. “Hey, sorry, man, I didn't mean to startle you. Just saw you, thought I’d check on you. You look like hell.”

  Chase blinks at him. “You are just as charming as ever,” he says.

  Ryan laughs and rubs at his neck as Tyler pulls up. The ‘wolf is around the car far too quickly, eyebrows pulled down in a heavy glare pointed at Ryan.

  Chase waves awkwardly with one hand and lets Tyler tuck him into the front seat. He watches, his eyes wide and dazed, while Tyler pulls away.

  ~*~

  He comes to her with blood on his hands and death on his skin.

  She watches as he strips and crawls across the bed, crowding into her and kissing her, and she wonders if he can taste her scream, the death wail pushing against her teeth, as he licks into her mouth.

  She feels like she’s vibrating out of her skin, and Lucas purrs against her throat as he drags her down the bed and spreads her out, as he settles between her legs and licks and nibbles, fucking her with his tongue and teeth and lips until she’s shaking and the scream building in her throat has nothing to do with death.

  While she’s still coming, her body shivering and shuddering, he fills her up, fucks deep and hard the way she likes. His hands are heavy against her skin, smearing blood there as she digs her nails into his back and her little feet into his ass, letting him take everything he needs, taking back from him everything he’ll give.

  Death clings to him like a lover, and she clings even harder until it wraps around them both and burns like a scream, a building buzz of electric pleasure that burns and burns and spirals tighter as he fucks her and she opens her mouth to scream as she comes, and he snarls and kisses her, takes the scream right out of her mouth until she’s limp and spent, panting under him.

  After he’s spent and licked her clean, he slumps beside her and she looks at him, his expression soft and content.

  “Lucas?”

  “Yes, darling girl?”

  “Thank you.”

  He hums against her hair, tucking her close to him, and whispers, “My pleasure, darling.”

  It’s not healthy, this thing with him, she thinks as she falls asleep, but she thinks it’s the best thing she’s ever had.

  ~*~

  He comes alone, clad in jeans that sit low on his hips and expose his tattoos. He has always done this on the Solstice, carving his wards and sigils into the Standing Stones and bleeding his spark into them, just enough that it bound him to the ancient Stones, lending his strength to the dying magic and carrying its power in his veins.

  But it‘s never enough, never the sigils that would complete the binding, and his wolves circled him as he bled, holding him back, claiming him as their own.

  Now, he stands alone under a black moonless sky and he can feel the eager clamor of the Standing Stones, building to a crescendo as he clambers onto the ancient rocks and carves the sigil that will bind his life force to the Stones, that’ll make their magic his.

  He breathes through the excited push of raw power and closes his eyes.

  The first cut is too shallow and it stings, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough, so he drags the sharp knife over his skin again, deeper, dragging it up the length of his forearm. Blood wells up, fast. He’s dizzy with the sight of it and the magic pouring through him as he slices his other wrist open, and then it’s done.

  It’s done, and he has the fleeting thought that he hopes he survives, before the magic takes, grips the binding and his blood, and shakes.

  Ancient power, raw and unfiltered and so potent it makes his teeth ache, rips through him as he bleeds out. He hears a roaring that feels too close and too far away, but he can’t focus, can only feel the drip of his blood on the Standing Stones, and he thinks as the blackness crowds in, Tyler.

  ~*~

  John sits next to Chase’s bed and breathes. It’s been four days since Tyler called him, panicked, and said, “Chase is hurt.”

  He still doesn’t know what happened.

  He doesn’t know how Chase came to be in the forest, unconscious with slit wrists. He doesn’t know why his tattoos are gleaming, the black lines now laced with silver veins. He doesn’t know why the forest is springing to life beyond Chase’s window, or why the ancient Stones now circle a fifty-foot tree.

  He doesn’t know why Chase hasn’t woken up.

  Tyler slips back into the room and pauses. John can feel the man’s gaze, heavy and assessing. “He’s going to be ok.”

  “You can’t say that. You don’t know.”

  “His wards are holding. The protection charms are holding. And I—I can feel him, in the Pack bond.” Tyler stares at Chase, and his hand clenches worriedly, but his voice is firm. “He’s going to wake up. And he’s going to be ok.”

  For the first time in four days, John thinks that maybe there’s hope, if only because Tyler Reid would kill and die and beat down the gates of Hell itself, for Chase.

  He breathes and watches his son.

  ~*~

  Lucas is sitting against the headboard when he wakes, reading quietly, and Chase is absurdly grateful, because it feels like he got hit by a fucking truck and he can’t hold back his whine of pain as he moves.

  Lucas reaches down absently, draining his pain as he says, “That was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

  “Probably,” Chase rasps, “But I’m strong enough to protect the Pack and defend our territory. I can take care of the Pack now.”

  Lucas looks at him finally. “Chase, you have always taken care of everyone in this Pack.”

  “I—”

  “When I was in that chair, trapped in my head and body—I remember you taking care of me and making Tyler eat. I watch you do it with your father and the pups, and even with Aurora. I was the focus of it for years. It’s part of who you are, and that’s fine, but you need to remember something.”

  Chase bites his lip and watches the older man.

  “We’re Pack, which means you let us take care of you, too.”

  Chase frowns, hunching in on himself.

  Lucas tips his chin up. “No more of this, pup. No more abusing yourself to take care of us. That doesn’t take care of us. Do you understand?”

  He nods reluctantly, and Lucas smiles.

  “Now. You’re on bedrest for the next week. But I wan
ted to let you know—I found the spy.”

  ~*~

  Chase is still recovering, but he refuses to let Lucas handle this alone. Tyler, who has barely left his side since Chase woke up, refuses to let Chase go without him. So they all go, together, and Chase smiles happily.

  They’re going to kill a man, and he can barely sit up straight, but he’s with his ‘wolves, and that’s rare, these days. There’s always something drawing one of them away, a pup who needs attention—he can’t remember the last time he spent any time with just Tyler and Lucas.

  He sighs a little and Tyler glances back at him.

  “There,” Lucas says, slowing the car as they approach a strip of shops in downtown Harrisburg. Tyler huffs and shoves out of the car, and Chase hears a startled, “What the hell?”

  Then Ryan Stroff lands next to him, pale, furious, and frightened.

  Chase smiles, and it’s human, but he has never felt quite as predatory. “Hey, Ryan. I hear you made some new friends.”

  ~*~

  The box Lucas selects, when they’re finished, is exceptionally pretty, approved by Aurora and lined with plastic before he nestles the bloody entrails in a bed of white silk with a picture of Ryan’s corpse.

  He calls a bounty hunter he knows and the girl gives him a savage smile before she tucks the box in the front seat of her car and heads East.

  He hums happily as he glances at the time and ponders what to make Chase for dinner.

  ~*~

  “Have you had anything strange happen recently?” Liss asks.

  Chase pauses. “No.”

  Aside from the werewolf attacks and giant tree sprouting in the forest, the still-weak shaking in his limbs and the man they killed? Nothing strange at all.

  She huffs. “Chase, just—we’re hearing a lot of rumors coming from New York, and the Cahil Pack is pissed.”

  “Tripp came here a few months ago. We weren’t very welcoming.”

  “You should have told us,” she snaps, furious.

  “The alliance doesn’t cover inner-pack problems, Liss,” Chase says gently, “And the Cahils are only a problem because of our Alpha.”

  “They could destroy you. Chase, they—their Pack is over a hundred strong, and half of those are born wolves. You have five wolves—three with less than six moons under their belt, and a Medusa.”

  “Liss,” Chase says, “They have to reach us to do any damage, and right now, my wards are doing their job.”

  “For how long?” she demands. Chase doesn’t answer, and she sighs. “Just...be careful. You’re playing with fire, and someone is going to get burned. I don’t want it to be you or your Pack.”

  ~*~

  He’s in the bookstore. He’s only been back at work for a week, and he’s shaking with exhaustion, slumped over a cup of tea, when the door jangles. He doesn't move. They haven’t had a customer for an hour, and whoever is here—he’ll give them time to browse before he approaches.

  He hums agreeably to himself.

  Then something slams his head down on the wooden counter. His teacup shatters and he feels the glass slicing into his cheek, dangerously close to his eye. He feels claws at his neck and he has a hot moment of panic, when he thinks his wards have failed, because no one outside the Pack should be able to touch him, no one—

  “You little shit,” a familiar voice hisses, “This is all your fault.”

  Oh.

  Oh, he is an idiot.

  “Don’t,” he gasps out, and her claws dig in deeper. “Chelsea, don’t.”

  She snarls and slams his head against the counter again. Black rushes up to yank him under.

  Chapter 27

  Tyler frowns at his phone as he listens to Jessica chattering. She’s painting Ezra’s nails again, the sharp chemical scent of it almost familiar in the house now, seeping into the mix of the den the longer she’s here.

  “What’s wrong?” Joseph asks, and Tyler glances at him. He’s the quietest of the three, but startlingly observant. It’s not at all surprising that he’s the one to notice that Tyler is anxious.

  The sun is setting, his phone is silent, and the driveway is empty.

  Jessica and Ezra are quiet, watching them, and Tyler shakes his head. He could be with John. There’s no need to worry, absolutely nothing to be afraid of, not yet.

  It’s when Lucas comes home, smelling faintly of police station, paper, and ink, that Tyler feels his heart begin to pound, that insistent worry slamming in his gut.

  “Where’s Chase?” Lucas asks.

  Tyler feels his fangs drop.

  ~*~

  It’s cold when he wakes up, a slow swim to the surface that hurts, makes him want to sink right back into the depth of black.

  He’s propped up in a wooden chair, hands and feet bound with duct tape, chains and a thin wire around him, making no sense until he notices the sharp edge pressing against his skin.

  He remembers the glass in his face, the claws at his throat, Chelsea’s voice—

  Fuck.

  “Chelsea,” he croaks. He looks around but the room is empty, just the chain and the quiet dripping of a leaky faucet in the next room. It makes him need to piss, and he squirms, shivering.

  It was stupid to overlook her, but Chelsea had always been content to ignore them, and he’d never considered she’d actually strike against her own Pack. He'd been so sure he could protect them, he’d forgotten to calculate her as a risk.

  And now, someone will die. It isn't a question anymore.

  “Lucas will kill you for this,” he whispers to the empty room, “I won’t be able to stop him.”

  ~*~

  The next time he finds consciousness, the room is blindingly bright and he wakes screaming, body convulsing in the chair he’s still chained to.

  Distantly, he can hear someone talking, but he can’t comprehend anything except the agony searing through him, shaking him apart. His magic is burning in his veins, fighting the pain, but it’s so fucking weak, still exhausted and—

  The pain cuts off abruptly and he sags in his bonds, panting.

  “I don’t know much about hurting humans,” Chelsea says, and he blinks at her. “But I know witches like electricity. Thought it might hurt, so,” she shrugs, “here we are.”

  “Wha—why are you doing this?” Chase grits out.

  She snarls and twists the little knob, and he screams as the current rips through him again. His magic surges, a weak wave. It’s echoed distantly, so fucking distantly, that he realizes—he can’t feel the Standing Stones.

  For the first time, he feels a sharp stab of true fear.

  ~*~

  He finds the Cahil mutts twelve hours after they realize Chase is missing. He thinks if Tyler had been calm and he'd been able to leave, to hunt, he'd have found them sooner.

  But Tyler fell apart when he realized Chase was missing, terror and fury turning him almost feral. The pups had no idea how to deal with that, and Chase wasn't there—the whole problem—so Lucas found himself soothing his brother, calming him and dragging him back to sanity in the dark of Chase’s room, while Tyler shook and shivered.

  Tyler had cared for him for so long, had given up their sister to come and care for him, and even with the knowledge that Chase is missing burning in him, he can’t leave Tyler like this.

  Chase would never forgive him for it if he did.

  Still, the delay grates on him, and he breaks the nose of the first ‘wolf before he even enters the room, snarling as he yanks him around, slams him into the door. He snaps his leg, and the ‘wolf goes to his knees with a bitten off howl before Lucas is pushing him down with a foot at his throat and smiling through a mouthful of fangs. He twists to look at the other werewolf, shifting and lurching forward.

  “Don't,” he murmurs, “I'll crush his throat before you can get close to me.”

  The black charm is still warm against his skin, and he doesn't want to think of Chase’s panic if it flares while he's being held captive.

  �
�Where is he?” Lucas asks

  “Where is who, asswipe?”

  Lucas tuts disapprovingly and reaches down, breaking the werewolf’s leg again. “Where is he?”

  “I don't know who you're talking about,” the other man shouts, and Lucas listens to his heart, to the frantic beat that even despite the fear, doesn’t falter.

  He’s telling the truth.

  “Why the hell are you in Reid territory?” Lucas growls, changing tactics, and the ‘wolf on his feet glowers. Lucas slams his boot on the ‘wolf’s ankle, grinding down as he howls in agony. “Now,” he snarls.

  “Following orders,” the Cahil beta snaps, “It’s alphaless territory. Your shit of a pack can’t claim it.”

  Lucas smiles. “Is that what Tripp told you when he sent you here? You’re an idiot. This territory has been Reid land for over a century and the Reid Shaman holds it still. I thought the last message I sent would have been enough to convince Tripp to stay the fuck out of our lands.” His eyes narrow and he shrugs. “Well, I’ll have to make the next message a bit more...colorful.”

  The Cahil beta barely begins to scream before Lucas rips out his throat.

  ~*~

  Lucas keeps one alive, his leg too mangled to heal, and Skypes the Alpha Heir. While Tripp shouts and rages on the other side of the continent, the Left Hand rips his ‘wolf apart.

  “Get your dogs on a leash,” Lucas says. Cahil screams threats and fury while Lucas wipes his hands clean. There’s blood on his shoes. Annoying. “And keep them out of our territory.”

  He hangs up while Tripp is still raging, and stares at the bloody room blankly. He still has no fucking clue where Chase is.

  ~*~

  He’s known since Chase was fifteen and Tyler Reid glared him down in front of his own police station, that Tyler would move mountains to protect his son. He knows that he loves Chase, in a way that terrifies John, when he thinks about it, and makes him sleep better at night.

  Tyler’s searching now, and watching the other man falling to pieces over Chase’s continued absence—that’s tearing John up. Somewhere along the way, this prickly bastard who’s fiercely protective and absurdly possessive of his son had become his. Lucas and Tyler both, and even the rest of them, to a lesser degree. They were the family that Chase chose. John knows that he’ll never be replaced, but Chase with his giant heart needed more than one person to love, and these are the ones he chose, the ones who are worth all of him.