The Change

by C V Leigh

  The sound of a dart ripped through the air, whizzing over their heads. Alistair didn’t see if it hit its mark. The click of an opening chamber rang in his ears. Another shot was fired.

  Tess screamed.

  Michael yelled.

  Ben cried.

  Blood trickled down his forehead. Alistair blinked. His vision blurred, stained red. He tried to breathe, but each lungful brought an agonising burn. “Megan…” His voice was lost in the commotion. He grabbed at her jacket. “Megan!”

  Someone had changed. The smell of saliva filled his nostrils. The metallic tang of blood tainted his tongue. Someone was crying. He could hear them, sobbing. Was it over him? Was he dead?

  The world spun in slow motion. Each second felt like an hour. He took a deep breath, this time filling his lungs with the crisp, autumnal air, tasting the arrival of winter. Alistair closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Snowflakes fell, melting on his lips and face, bringing sweet purity to his life in a way he’d never experienced before.

  He blinked. The world slowly came into focus. Someone gripped his arm and pulled him to his feet. They were saying his name. Over and over again. He shook his head. “Where’s Megan? Where are the children?” he asked, groaning at the fire that burned his throat.

  “Safe,” Jacob said. “The children are with Tess.”

  “What happened?”

  “You were knocked unconscious. Zane fired, but Nicholas changed. Shit. Alistair, it was so fast. One minute he was human, the next… fuck, it’s all a mess. It went wrong.”

  He shook his head. “Michael… he had Michael. Why the fuck did he have my son?” A roar begged to tear from his aching chest.

  “He’s with Tess,” Jacob repeated. “The children are both with her. They’re safe. Shit.” Jacob wrapped his arm around Alistair’s waist.

  Alistair hooked his arm over his brother’s shoulder, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he tried to find his balance. Pain ripped through his chest and down into his thigh. He was sure he’d broken something, cracked a rib maybe. He cleared his throat. “Where is he now?” He forced saliva to build in his dry mouth, desperate to taste something other than his own blood. “Where’s Nathan?”

  “In the cage. Zane got him. They’ve taken him down there but, Alistair, it’s Nicholas. He was hurt bad. Really bad. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Nathan hung from the wall, his arms twisted behind him so if he tried to change, he would dislocate both his shoulders first. Metal cuffs bit into his wrists, attached to reinforced chains. Blood oozed from fresh wounds. They’d stripped him naked, leaving him bare and open to any injuries they chose to inflict.

  Megan sat in front of him, staring at him with such intent, she could almost see his soul. “Tell me.” They were simple words, but they twisted in her guts, burning as she fought the urge to change and tear out his heart. The image of Michael standing beside him, tears streaming down his cheeks, had been scorched into her mind. Her heart raced, and her pulse throbbed throughout her brain. “Tell me why you’re here!”

  He had the gall to laugh at her. “You’re bound to me,” he said, then spat a globule of blood onto the floor. He gave a pained groan.

  The air stank of infected flesh. They’d done a good job of ripping away the bandages and scabs that covered his shoulder, chest, arm, and back, revealing the hot-pink skin beneath. Pustules had formed around the edges of the wounds. He needed treatment, and they all knew it.

  “Oh, stop with all the blood ties bullshit,” she snarled.

  “Are you trying to say you haven’t felt it?” He lifted his head and looked at her with those hooded brown eyes she remembered. She felt a twang deep inside her chest but dismissed it as quickly as she recognised it for what it was–compassion.

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.” She kept her voice steady and even. Alistair’s words rang in her mind. You’re the one who can make him talk. It’s you he wants. Find out everything he knows. He’ll tell you.

  “You can lie to yourself, Megan, but not to me. I know you. I made you.”

  Megan shook her head. “You turned me into this, but that’s all you did. It was the Kincaids who took me in after you murdered my family.” She struggled to contain the anger bubbling deep in her core. Her emotions swept through her like a tidal wave, drowning out any common sense she may have had. “You nearly killed Nicholas. You threatened my son,” she said, her voice rising. Her fingers trembled as her fury raged. “You used Michael to get to us. You are systematically trying to destroy me.” She stood up and began to pace the floor. “You don’t do that to someone you profess to love, and this…” She spread her hands over her belly. “This child is Alistair’s. It’s not yours, and it never will be. You can do what you want, but I will never go back to you.” She faced him. “It’s been fifteen years. Fifteen years! Where were you all that time? You weren’t here. You weren’t trying to win me back or steal me away then.”

  Nathan glanced up at her. “Nicholas made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “But if you love me as much as you once claimed—”

  “I don’t love you,” he roared. His eyes flashed yellow as his wolf took hold. Hair sprouted from his chest and down his thighs. His stomach muscles rippled.

  Megan watched, trying to ignore her heartbreak. He didn’t love her? Bile rose in her throat. It didn’t matter. She was in love with Alistair, she didn’t care about Nathan. She wanted him to hurt. She wanted him to die.

  She looked over her shoulder. Behind her, Zane sat in the chair, watching everything that played out. He picked up a syringe, then plunged the needle into a vial and drew up the liquid.

  “Not yet,” Megan said, holding up a hand.

  “Alistair wants him to remain human.”

  “And we must all do what the big Alpha wants,” Nathan said, his voice rough and fractured.

  “Let him change,” Megan spat, pure venom seeping through her words. “Let his bones rip from their sockets. Let him suffer the way I had to all those years ago.”

  Zane walked past her. He stabbed the needle into Nathan’s bulging bicep, depressed the plunger, and stepped away. Nathan cried out as his body twisted back into shape. The cries turned to laughter, filling the cellar. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you anything? You can torture me all you want, it won’t change a thing. Have you considered that if I die, so will you?”

  Megan looked up at him. “Zane?”

  He shook his head.

  “The bond between lycanthrope and—”

  “Victim. The word you’re looking for is victim.” She stared straight at Nathan, daring him to object.

  “That’s not how I remember it.” Bloodstained saliva spilled from his mouth, dripping onto the floor in a crimson puddle. “I didn’t kill your family.”

  “Really,” she said flatly. “So, how do you remember it? If you didn’t rip out their throats and watch their bodies burn, then who did?”

  “An answer for an answer.”

  “You’re not in any position to bargain,” she snapped.

  Upstairs, the doorbell rang. Megan nodded, and Zane went to Nathan. He ripped a strip of silver tape from the roll he’d picked up from the table and placed it over Nathan’s mouth. He tried to fight it, a muffled cry coming from beneath the glue and fabric. Megan and Zane looked up at the door, to the top of the stairs.

  “Who do you think it is?” she asked.

  “Sergeant McBride.” Alistair’s smooth voice seeped under the door. “How can I help you this time?”

  “Mr. Kincaid. We found a derelict barn just outside the boundaries of your property, with traces of blood in it. We’d like to come in and speak to Nicholas Kincaid again.”

  Megan held her breath.

  “He’s not here right now. He went into Taedmorden to fetch some supplies.”

  “His car is right there.”

  “We have more than two,” Alistai
r lied, quickly covering his tracks. “We’re expecting another whiteout and want to be fully prepared in case we get cut off again. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course. You should be aware we have dogs on the mountain right now, searching for Mr. Travis. They’re currently making their way down the stream and around the perimeter of your lands. If they lead us onto your land—”

  “You will have our full co-operation. When my uncle returns, I will ask him to call you. I believe he has your number?”

  There was a brief silence. Megan exhaled and closed her eyes, readying herself for the cellar door to be opened, for the police to rush in.

  “Thank you for your time,” Sergeant McBride said, not sounding convinced. The front door closed.

  Zane walked over to Nathan and ripped the tape from his face. Nathan flexed his jaw and took a deep breath. “Looks like Uncle Nick is going to be arrested for my murder. If he survives.”

  Zane clenched his fists. Megan grabbed his arm before he could swing a punch. “They’d have a hard time proving it without your worthless body,” Megan countered.

  “I guess that depends on how good their lawyers are.” He hissed a breath, and a crackle sounded out as air escaped from his lungs.

  “Just let me hurt him,” Zane said, stepping forward.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not yet. Fuck Alistair’s questions. I have some of my own.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Zane should be here,” Tess said, pressing her hands into Nicholas’ stomach, doing everything she could to stem the blood seeping out of his open wound. It had all happened so quickly, she hadn’t had time to think. Nathan had changed in the time it had taken to blink, then sunk his teeth into Nicholas’ gut. She’d never seen a change happen so fast before.

  Nicholas had always looked so strong, and smart. Now he lay in a puddle of his own blood with skin the same colour the sheets had once been.

  “What if someone sees all the blood on the drive?” she asked.

  “Who’s going to see?” Jacob asked. He threaded a needle and gestured for her to move out of his way. He began to stitch Nicholas’ skin together. Tess was sure he would have cried out in pain had he not been unconscious. Zane had given him the same mixture he’d made for Megan before heading into the cellar. She wished he was with them now. “Alistair put sand and gravel over it. The snow is already coming down again,” Jacob reassured her. “Give it an hour, and there will be nothing there.”

  “Zane should be here…”

  “He stemmed the flow. There’s nothing more he could do that I can’t. I’ve stitched enough wounds together before—”

  “Are they life threatening? He’s lost so much blood. We should take him to the hospital.” She searched through the bag Zane had given her and removed gauze and bandages, then placed them next to Nicholas.

  “We can’t do that.”

  “A fucking vet, then,” she snapped.

  “For God’s sake, Tess. You’re not helping. You need to calm the fuck down and let me do this—” The doorbell rang. They both stopped and listened to the conversation that played out. Alistair convinced McBride that everything was normal, and she left almost as quickly as she’d arrived.

  “See?” Jacob assured her after the front door closed again. “They didn’t see it. They don’t suspect anything.”

  “What if they come back? What if the dogs do lead them onto Kincaid land? They’ll pick up our scent, and Nathan’s.”

  “How many dogs do you know that would happily take on a pack of wolves? Now shut the fuck up and let me concentrate. The kids will hear you. Do you want to scare them more than they are already?”

  Tess sucked on her bottom lip and shook her head. Ben was confused. Michael was in a state of shock. Zane had given him a light sedative that had lulled him into a delicate slumber. Both boys were being comforted by Derek downstairs in the drawing room.

  She peered over Jacob’s shoulder and grimaced as she saw the gaping skin, like a macabre smile, stretching across Nicholas’ abdomen. Nicholas murmured, and Tess went to him. Sweat beaded over his forehead. “He has a fever,” she said, wiping gauze over his moist skin.

  “It could be an infection. Okay, now you can fetch Zane.”

  She thanked him and left, then ran across the landing and down the stairs. She rushed into the kitchen and threw the cellar door open. “Zane!” she called, jogging down the steps into the cellar. “Zane, it’s Nicholas.” Her breath caught when she saw the sight before her.

  Nathan was chained to the wall, like a martyr. The wounds on his shoulder had been picked clean of the scabs and left to bleed. His nose was broken, and his jaw was not much better. One eye was swollen shut; dried blood stuck the lids together. She looked at Zane and saw him rubbing his grazed knuckles.

  “What did you do?” She shook her head.

  “What he had to,” Megan said, taking hold of her shoulders. “Are the children okay?”

  “Yes. They’re with Derek. I knew it should’ve been Jacob down here.”

  “No, you’re wrong. Zane has kept him alive. Jacob would have killed him before we got any answers.”

  Tess looked into Megan’s green eyes and saw something dark and unnatural, something that scared her. “Then I hope you got what you were looking for.” She pulled out of her sister-in-law’s grip and faced Zane. “Nicholas has a fever. I think he might need antibiotics.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “No.” She held up her hands. “No, you stay here and do whatever it is that you need to do. Just give me the antibiotics.”

  “Tess…” Zane stepped forward, but she moved away, unable to take her eyes off his battered hands.

  “Not now,” she said sadly.

  Zane picked out some bottles and syringes. She took them from him and went to check on Derek and the boys. Peering around the doorframe, she saw Michael was still asleep on the chaise longue with a blanket over him. Ben sat on the carpet, drawing circles in the fibres with the tip of his finger.

  “Everything okay?” Derek asked, looking as shaken up as any of them.

  She nodded, her mood more sombre than frightened. The adrenaline that had been racing through her had dried up and disintegrated. “Nic—” She shot a look at Ben and stopped herself. She shrank back, afraid he might see her, drenched in his great-uncle’s blood. “Yes. I’ll call you if we need you.”

  “Good.”

  She left quickly and went back to the bedroom.

  Jacob had finished stitching the wound and had dressed it. Alistair stood by the bed, mopping Nicholas’ brow, done with clearing up the driveway and dealing with the police.

  “Here.” She thrust the vials and needles towards Jacob.

  “Zane’s not coming?” he asked.

  She shook her head, then chewed on her bottom lip and frowned. “He’s busy.”

  Jacob drew out the liquid and pushed it into the canula sticking out from the crook of Nicholas’ elbow. For a moment he seemed to react, stirring from his sleep, but soon drifted back.

  “Tess, we understand if you need a break,” Alistair said.

  “I’d like a shower,” she said, suddenly desperate to wash it all away.

  “Okay.” Jacob took her hand. She looked down at their interlocking fingers. He gave them a reassuring squeeze. “It will all be okay,”

  “Will it?”

  “Yes.”

  She took her hand back and stroked her scars. “I’m not sure it will be.” She turned and made her way to the en suite attached to her own bedroom. Once there, she twisted the taps and listened to the old pipes clunk and groan, complaining at being woken up. She stripped out of her clothes, then stepped under the hot jets and let the powerful spray wash away all the hate, fear and guilt.

  She ran her hands over her face, scrubbing away the dried blood. She let her palms slip down her curves. She winced as she brushed over her bruised ribcage, then gasped as the cuts and grazes on her legs, knees, and palms started
to sting. She closed her eyes.

  “Tess?” Jacob’s voice cut through the running water.

  She gasped and waited for a second, hidden by the thin plastic curtain.

  “Tess, I can’t leave you like this.”

  “Go away.” Her voice scratched in her throat. “You’re supposed to be treating Nic—” She hiccoughed, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Alistair’s with him. There’s nothing more we can do. Tess, please.” He pulled back the curtain, enough to look at her. “Shit.” He reached out, and she fell into his arms, sobbing and crying, needing to be held.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Derek sank back into the sofa, nursing a tumbler of whisky. He didn’t give a shit about Alistair’s rules—he needed a drink. He glanced over at the mahogany cabinet, keys dangling from the lock, and snorted a laugh. His brother needed to find a better hiding place.

  To the side of him, Michael snored softly, curled up on the chaise longue, oblivious to the pain filling the house. In front of him, Ben played on the carpet. At least he had stopped crying now, stopped asking questions about Uncle Nicholas. Derek envied his innocence. They’d been quick to get the children inside, but Michael had been caught in the crossfire.

  He took a sip of his drink, revelling in the hot liquid slipping down his throat. Tess had looked as bad as his eldest nephew, battered and bruised from her own encounter with Nathan. Leaning his neck against the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes and listened as Ben continued to play. He flexed his jaw, crushing his back teeth together.

  Michael stirred, causing Derek to straighten and look at his nephew. “Uncle Drake?” He sat up, clearly still woozy from the sedative.

  “Hey,” Derek cooed. He put his drink down on the end table, stood up and went to sit with his nephew. He ruffled Ben’s hair as he passed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore. What happened? Is Uncle Nicholas okay?”

  Derek pressed his lips together. “I don’t know,” he said, wanting to be as honest as possible. It had been the secrets they’d kept that had driven Michael to seek out Nathan, he was sure of it. He was impressionable. Lying to him now wouldn’t serve any purpose.