Grave Threat: Grant Wolves Book 3

by Lori Drake

  A hush fell over the group as the proceedings began in earnest. Zoe scowled when Dean identified the first card, but each card he identified chipped away at her disbelief.

  After four or five cards, Justin leaned over the bar and whispered, “You should take him to Vegas.”

  Joey barked a sudden laugh and grinned. “I wonder how long it’d take the house to kick us out.”

  “Long enough for you to make a pretty penny, I’d wager.”

  Snickering, Joey nodded. “Yeah. Alas, he’s too ethical. I don’t think he’d do it.”

  “Mmm, alas. But I suppose ethics aren’t a bad thing to have. Uncommon, these days.”

  Joey nodded and went back to watching the proceedings. Justin did too, coming back around the bar to lean against it beside her. After a few more cards, he leaned in again.

  “So, what brings you to Silver Springs?”

  “The thriving tourism industry?”

  He snorted, not buying it for obvious reasons. Silver Springs was hardly a destination town. “No, really.”

  Joey glanced from him to the others and back again. They seemed pretty well distracted, and Justin was Mike’s second. She was a little surprised that Mike hadn’t already told him.

  “Mike’s helping me set up a meeting with Marcus Madrigal.”

  Justin’s brows drew together. “What business do you have with him?”

  The bratty girl in her wanted to say “my business,” but she resisted the urge. “He’s holding my mother and boyfriend prisoner. I want them back.”

  He nodded and quietly watched as Dean identified another card. Carter and Zach cheered, but Lucian banged his fist on the table in disappointment.

  “Do they want to come back?” Justin asked.

  Joey’s eyes darted to him. She frowned. “Of course they want to come back. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Because he has a way of making people not want to come back.” Justin shrugged, looking away from her as Mike’s office door opened. “Excuse me.”

  Joey watched Justin walk over to Mike, then divided her attention between the card game and the two alphas. They were too far away, and speaking too quietly, for her to make out what they said, but their body language was tense. After a brief but increasingly heated exchange, Mike motioned Justin into his office and shut the door again.

  Wincing, Joey considered following them. She hadn’t meant to get Mike in trouble, but clearly his second was unhappy with the agreement to help her out where Madrigal was concerned. She remembered all too well how Cathy had accepted exile from her San Diego coven over her decision to help them the last time they’d gone up against his people. Madrigal was a powerful fellow that those in the know were obviously loath to cross. Maybe she could smooth things over, somehow. Before she could make up her mind, a cheer went up and Carter leapt to her feet, doing a victory dance.

  Joey clapped halfheartedly and watched as the enthusiastic young woman raked the cash toward her, then promptly counted out half of it and offered it to Dean. He smiled but shook his head. She fawned over him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  “Now do you believe him?” Lucian asked, nudging Zoe with his elbow.

  Zoe grumbled and stood. “I need to powder my nose.”

  “That’s Zoe-speak for ‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’” Carter said.

  Zoe flipped her off on the way to the bathroom, and everyone laughed again.

  Everyone but Joey. She glanced at the office door and bit her lip, hoping against hope that Justin didn’t talk—or argue—Mike out of helping her. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

  When the alphas emerged from the office, she darted her eyes between them, looking for some indication of what the resolution was. Justin’s face was unreadable, but he broke off and headed for the door, stiff-arming it when he got there. Joey winced and looked to Mike as he approached her.

  “Meeting’s tomorrow at dawn,” Mike said.

  “Thank god,” Joey said, but her relief was short-lived. “Wait, tomorrow? That’s— We can’t— No, it has to be today. I can’t just leave them there for a whole day, Mike. We have to try.” A faint whine crept into her voice, and she clamped her lips shut before she could embarrass herself further.

  “I’m sorry, Joey. It’s tomorrow or not at all. That’s the best I could do.”

  “Did I get you in trouble with Justin? I’m sorry, I just figured since he was your second—”

  Mike glanced at the door. “Don’t worry about it. Justin and I don’t always see eye to eye, but he’ll get on board.”

  Joey nodded, but she couldn’t help but worry about it. The last thing she wanted to do was cause problems. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “It’s best if you don’t. Come on, let’s go rescue your friend from Carter before Zach or Lucian punch him.”

  After the run-in with Shawna, Chris kept his eyes peeled for both her and Tasha’s other accomplice but saw neither hide nor hair of either of them. His mother was also noticeably absent at lunch, but when he’d asked Rob about it, the kid had merely shrugged and told him that she and Astrid would probably eat with the second group.

  Also noticeably absent throughout the day were Marc, Karina, and Eric. Not bumping into Eric was, of course, a good thing. Chris couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t put his fist through Eric’s face on sight. Karina, however, he wanted to talk to—preferably when Marc wasn’t around. He had questions that demanded answers.

  “Hey, do you know where Karina is?” he asked Rob, as they walked through the barn after lunch. The tour had left virtually no corner of the compound unexplored.

  “No, sorry,” Rob said, gesturing at the structure at the back of the barn. “But this is the henhouse.”

  It was a poor substitute; Chris wouldn’t be getting any answers from the hens. He turned his attention to Rob instead. “Does Marc visit your dreams?”

  Rob inclined his head, rather birdlike. “What do you mean? Like… do I dream about him?” His fair cheeks stained pink, suggesting an answer.

  “Never mind.” Whatever embarrassing dreams Rob had about the cult leader, Chris didn’t want to know. “Tell me more about the hens.”

  Rob did. In great detail. Then they moved on to the goats, the dairy cows, and Sassy the sow. Chris listened with only half an ear. His eyes kept returning to the tools hanging on the walls. Any one of them would make an excellent weapon. As they passed one of the racks, he snagged a squared-off shovel as quietly as possible, but the wood scraping against the metal holder brought Rob up short. He turned and Chris reacted, swinging the shovel at the kid’s head.

  The shovel connected with Rob’s skull, and the blow reverberated up the handle into Chris’s arms. Rob dropped like a stone, hitting the floor and sprawling ungraciously.

  Chris winced, hoping he hadn’t hit the kid too hard. Sometimes he didn’t know his own strength. “Sorry about that.” He dragged Rob into an empty stall, stepping out and closing the door hastily as he heard the sounds of workers coming back inside from their break. He headed for the door, passing them as he went. “Need to borrow this. I’ll bring it right back,” he said, feeling a need to explain why he was taking a walk with their shovel.

  They looked at each other, shrugged, and let him pass.

  Chris strode out of the barn, doing his best to look like he had somewhere to be. Now what? He had a good idea of the layout of the compound, thanks to his astral explorations and Rob’s tour. After briefly considering whether to look for Adelaide or get himself out, he decided to take his own advice and headed for the western perimeter. There was a nice length of fence behind one of the outbuildings that he could probably scale before anyone was the wiser. Then he could get help and return for Adelaide—and Eric. His fingers tightened on the shovel’s haft, just from thinking about that worthless waste of air.

  He reached the fence in short order and tossed the shovel on the ground so he could use both hands for climbing. He started with a running leap to get as high up on the fe
nce as he could, but when his clawed fingers came into contact with the fence, an ear-splitting SCREEEEE reverberated in his skull.

  He dropped to the ground, but the cacophonous keening continued, unabated. He staggered backward, tripped over the shovel, and went down on the hard-packed earth. Covering his ears with his hands didn’t help. The ringing was so intense that even his teeth hurt. He had no idea how long he lay there in agony before someone found him.

  Hands grabbed him. The piercing noise faded. Silence rushed in, silence so complete that it blocked out everything else. Dazed, he barely registered being towed across the property, heels dragging as he blinked up at the blue sky. Then the sky disappeared, replaced by a ceiling as he was hauled into the house.

  Inside, he finally gained the presence of mind to struggle against the hands that held him. His captors held fast and dragged him through the house until they stood outside a pair of double doors carved with leaves and flowers.

  One of them knocked on the door, but Chris may as well have had cotton stuffed in his ears. Everything was distant, muffled. Someone must have bidden them enter, but he didn’t hear it.

  They hauled him into a large room and Chris found himself face to face with Marc. The man from—but not of—his dreams regarded him with obvious disappointment as he came around his desk to stand in front of it. Words were exchanged, but Chris couldn’t quite make them out. Hands at his shoulders shoved him down, and he sank to his knees, staring at the rich green carpet beneath him.

  Warm fingertips beneath his chin drew his gaze upward. Marc stood before him. He wore a white linen suit, just as he had in that first dream. Then he took Chris’s head between his hands and a golden glow sprang around him. Chris tried to jerk his head away, but Marc’s hands only tightened. Warmth spilled from his palms into Chris’s ears, and one after the other gave a soft pop. Sound rushed in. But the magic didn’t stop there. It probed deeper, filling him with warmth, with light. It spilled down his spine and into his chest, a curious sort of rapture the like of which Chris had never known. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, a gasp spilling from his lips.

  The rapturous warmth spread through his stomach and groin, then progressed down his legs until his whole body felt liquid, as if the gentle touch of Marc’s hands was all that held him upright.

  “Christopher. Why do you fight me so, Christopher?”

  Chris had no answer. The fight was gone from him now. He had no will to resist, nor even the memory of what resistance entailed. Everything he was, everything he knew, shrank down to this moment, this singular moment as he gazed up into the eyes of his captor and felt nothing but peace.

  Marc smiled, and Chris’s insides melted. The golden glow around Marc winked out and he removed his hands from Chris’s head, but that sensation of warmth and vitality lingered.

  “There,” Marc said. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

  Chris’s mouth was too dry for words. He nodded instead.

  “Come on, up you go.” Marc helped Chris to his feet and maneuvered him into a wing-backed chair.

  Chris practically floated there, settling like an angel upon a cloud. “That was… What did you do?”

  “I shared some of my power with you,” Marc said, hands coming to rest casually atop the desk at his sides. “You hurt yourself trying to escape.”

  Chris frowned. Escape? Why would he escape? He rubbed his head. Everything was foggy.

  “It is customary to express gratitude…”

  “Thank you.” The words tumbled from Chris’s lips practically of their own accord as his eyes snapped up, zeroing in once more on Marc.

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  It seemed Marc held no grudge. Tension eased from Chris’s shoulders.

  “Now tell me why you were trying to escape.”

  “I don’t— I’m not sure,” Chris said, breaking eye contact. The residual energy ebbed further, and as it did, a sense of wrongness rose in its place.

  “It’s okay, Christopher. You can tell me. What have I done to make you want to leave?”

  Chris’s chest tightened at the implication that his actions were somehow Marc’s fault. “It’s not your fault, mas—” His tongue stumbled to a halt and his pulse quickened.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t— I can’t— I need to—” Chris lurched to his feet. The room spun. He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead.

  “Christopher!” Marc lunged for him.

  Chris’s stomach lurched in free fall, and everything went black.

  16

  Joey expected she’d have to pry Dean away from his new fan club, but he went along with no particular resistance, helmet in one hand and Roger’s urn in the other. She towed him out the door and into the noon sun, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the change in light levels.

  “What’s up?” Dean asked, once the door had swung shut behind them.

  “I fucked up.” Joey glanced around, hoping to find Justin lurking somewhere nearby, but she was out of luck. There was no trace of the man. He might’ve left on foot or in a car—she had no idea if any of the cars parked out front were his. Maybe it was for the best. Mike had told her to leave him alone, after all.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I told Justin about our business with Madrigal. He’s not happy about Mike getting involved.”

  Dean grimaced. “Mike told us not to say anything to his people.”

  “I know.” Joey blew out an exasperated sigh, though she was less frustrated with Dean than she was herself. “But Justin’s his second. I figured he was—or should be—in the know. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. No, it’s more than that. I didn’t think.” She paced back and forth, frowning.

  “Is Mike pissed?” Dean tracked her with his eyes. “Is he still going to help?”

  “I don’t think so. And yes. In that order. He said Justin would come around. I hope he does. I didn’t mean to stir up shit.”

  Dean chuckled, quirking a smile. “Stirring up shit’s kind of your specialty, Red.”

  Joey glared at him. “Shut up.”

  His smile widened, but he held his tongue.

  Sighing again, Joey kicked at the end of a concrete parking spot block. A piece of concrete broke off and she squatted to retrieve it and put it back in place before Mike came out and noticed her busting up his shit again. She still owed him for the jukebox, even if he hadn’t called her out on it.

  “Mike couldn’t get a meet set up until tomorrow morning,” she said.

  Dean rubbed his chin. “That’s less than ideal, right?”

  “You might say that. I tried to tell him it was no good, but he insisted it was the best he could do. So we have some time to kill today.”

  “You going to call the fam?”

  “Yeah. But I also need to find a bank to get Mike his cash.” She paused, frowning in the direction of the bar. “That better not be why he didn’t schedule the meet until tomorrow. Anyway, we should also take Roger out and see if we can get him in range of the compound.”

  “That’s doable.” Dean nodded. “When do you want to go?”

  “No time like the present.” She took Roger’s can from him and they headed for Dean’s bike. They’d followed Mike to the bar, since neither of them had been eager to cram three into the cab of his pickup.

  After a brief argument over who would wear the helmet, they headed out. Joey’s ponytail streamed behind her as she held on to Dean’s waist. She was getting pretty good at riding with him, and no longer felt like she had to hold on for dear life. When all this was over, she hoped to ask him for a lesson or three. Maybe she’d get a bike of her own.

  They stopped about thirty minutes down the road to visit a bank. The teller’s eyes widened when Joey slid the withdrawal slip across the counter, but he counted out seven grand without raising a fuss. If it’d been much more than that, paperwork would’ve been needed.

  They were back on the road within minutes, the
thick envelope full of cash tucked inside Dean’s jacket. Joey’s didn’t have a pocket big enough without folding the envelope, and she wasn’t keen on that.

  A bit farther down the road, Dean pulled over and took off his helmet. “We’re in range.”

  Joey released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Great.” She took out her phone and pulled up a map, checking their location. “Ask him if he can also get to Mike from here.”

  Dean said nothing, and Joey resisted the urge to smack her forehead. Why was she always doing that, asking Dean to ask Roger something when the ghost could hear her just as well?

  “He can,” Dean said after a few seconds.

  “Excellent.” Joey climbed off the bike and looked around. The area they were in was a fairly flat, sandy, desolate valley between two small mountain ranges. “Got anything we could dig with?”

  “Uh, sorry, I left my trowel in my other pants.”

  Joey smirked. “Pocket knife? Anything I can loosen dirt with would be helpful.”

  Dean produced a pocket knife like a proper Boy Scout, opened it, and held it out to her by the blade. She took it and started walking away from the road.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “To give Roger a proper burial.”

  He dismounted and jogged to catch up with her. “You want to bury Roger out here? Why?”

  “Because he can keep tabs on Mom and Chris from here and still report back to us.”

  Joey walked a good ten minutes from the road, then set Roger’s can on the ground and started digging, stabbing the blade into the earth to loosen it, then digging at it with her fingers. She’d underestimated how dry and hard the ground was here, so it took her a while, but eventually she had the hole big enough to fit Roger’s can. There was more dirt beneath her fingernails than she wanted to think about by then, so she tried not to look at them as she scooped dirt back into the hole. When she was finished, there was a slight mound there, but the can was concealed.

  “Just one question,” Dean said as they turned to walk back to the highway. “How are we going to find it again? There aren’t exactly any landmarks out here.”