by Lori Drake
He sat up after a minute and reached for the clothes she’d brought him, conscious of the compound full of strangers that didn’t share his family’s lack of concern about nudity. Chris dressed in silence, then sat beside his mother and took her hand.
“I’m sorry too,” he said. “Not for challenging Eric—that had to be done—but for letting things get so bad between us afterward. I really could’ve used your advice, but I couldn’t ask. I don’t know if it was pride or stubbornness.”
Adelaide squeezed his hand. “It’s not like both of those don’t run in the family, hmm?”
Chris laughed and folded her hand in both of his. “I love you, Mom. We’re going to get out of this. I’m working on a plan. I volunteered to—”
Footsteps in the grass behind them brought him up short, and he twisted to find a thin-lipped Karina and sulking Rob coming up behind them. Rob carried his shoes, probably the only article of clothing that’d survived his rage-induced shift. A jolt of alarm raced through Chris as he realized that Cathy’s charm was still in the pocket of his shredded pants. At best. At worst, whoever had cleaned up the mess had found it.
“The master requests your presence,” Karina said.
“Figured as much,” Chris said, playing it cool even as his stomach twisted in knots. He’d barely had a chance to talk to his mother, and Marc’s study was the last place he wanted to be. Maybe he should’ve thought of that before he let his anger get the best of him. Refusal would get him nowhere, so he put his shoes on, sans socks, and went with them.
“Be strong, my boy,” Adelaide murmured as he walked away, her words just on the edge of his hearing.
I’m trying, Mom. I swear, I’m trying.
20
Joey dragged her eyes open and blinked blearily up at the ceiling. Unremarkable white plaster greeted her. Her tongue felt too thick, and her mouth was dryer than a sand dune. She lifted a hand to rub her face but paused when she saw an IV line taped to the back of it.
Where am I? What happened?
She sat up, or tried to. Pain lanced her stomach. She hissed and dropped back down again, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. Footsteps approached. She looked around the room quickly, surveying what she could see from the bed. Despite the IV in her arm, it wasn’t a hospital room. It was a smallish bedroom with a rather large bed. The bag of clear liquid at the other end of her IV line hung on a nail on the wall over the headboard. The room was spartan, but clean.
Justin pushed open the mostly closed door and came into the room. Memories came flooding back. The meeting with the cultists. Her failed effort at negotiation. Blondie’s—Tina’s wicked switchblade.
They took Dean.
Chest tight, she tried to sit up again.
Justin was at her side in a flash, a strong hand at her shoulder holding her down. “Whoa, there,” he said. His quiet voice might have been soothing in another situation, but despite lingering grogginess, Joey was amped up. “Doc said you need to take it easy. You don’t want to pop a stitch, do you?”
“Doc?” The word came out as a hoarse croak. “You said he wasn’t an MD”
“He’s not, but I figure after stitching you up, he’s earned a nod. Besides, he is a doctor. Just not a people doctor.”
Joey blinked slowly. Not all of her synapses were firing just yet. “Huh?”
“He’s a vet.”
“Oh. I guess that explains the horse tranquilizers.”
A chuckle rumbled from Justin’s chest, and he nodded. “Can I get you anything?”
Joey tried to moisten her mouth with her tongue, but it didn’t do much good. “Water.”
“Be right back.” He left the room and returned with a glass. “I don’t have any straws, sorry. Let me help you sit up a little.”
Though it pained her, mentally as well as physically, Joey let him help her up enough that she could take a couple mouthfuls of water from the glass. Joey swallowed it gratefully, but by the time he eased a pillow behind her and let her recline against the headboard, her stomach was on fire.
She pressed a hand lightly over the thick bandage and frowned. “What happened? Why haven’t I healed more?”
Justin reached for something she hadn’t noticed sitting on the nightstand. Blondie’s switchblade. He pressed the button and the blade sprang out. It looked like an ordinary knife, but Joey knew better.
“It’s spelled, isn’t it?” she asked.
“No,” Justin said, his expression grim. “Silver.”
Joey’s hand went to her stomach again. She had to stop herself from trying to crawl to the other side of the bed to get away from the knife. “Fuck. Am I going to be okay?”
“Doc thinks so, but it’s going to be a slow recovery. No shifting until the stitches dissolve, either.”
“I can’t afford a slow recovery.” Joey pulled herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feeling less groggy by the second. The heavy-duty tranquilizers had done their job, but now that the effects were fading, they were fading fast.
Justin watched her impassively, using the edge of the nightstand to fold the dangerous blade closed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I can’t just lie here while— Where are my pants?”
He motioned at the dresser across the room. “If you can get to ‘em, you can have ‘em.”
She managed to get to her feet, but only teetered there a few seconds before dropping back on the edge of the bed. Stubbornness was something Joey had in abundance, but even she knew her limits. Her eyes stung, but she held the tears at bay through sheer force of will. If there was anything an alpha female couldn’t afford to let an unfamiliar male see her do, it was cry.
“I need my phone,” she said. He didn’t move. “Please, can I have my phone?”
Justin brought it to her and helped her to recline again, tucking her bare legs beneath the blanket without a word. At least she was wearing a shirt, even if it wasn’t her own. She refused to think too hard about how she came to be wearing it as she checked her phone.
There were twenty-one missed calls from Sam.
“Christ. How long have I been out?” she asked.
“About six hours.”
As if on cue, a noisy boom sounded from the front of the… house? Apartment? Joey wasn’t sure. She tensed, which her recently stitched stomach protested with a fresh wave of nauseating pain. Justin’s figure practically blurred as he vanished through the bedroom door.
“Hey, what do you think you’re—”
Thump!
“Where is she?”
Joey groaned, recognizing her eldest brother’s voice immediately. “Sam! I’m back here!”
Heavy footsteps thumped through the domicile, and Ben rushed into the room with her father and Jon at his heels. Sam swiftly followed, shoving Justin ahead of him with an arm twisted behind his back.
Joey’s eyes filled with tears, and this time she couldn’t hold them back. Her father hurried over to sit on the edge of the bed, and she reached for him. He gathered her in his arms and stroked her hair.
“Are you okay, kitten?” he asked. “What happened? When you didn’t check in, we feared the worst.”
“I failed, Daddy. I lost them all. Mom, Chris, Dean…”
“Shhh, we’ll get them back.”
He rubbed her back, and she fought to hold back sobs that she knew full well would aggravate her wound even more. Someone climbed onto the bed from the other side, and Joey found herself wrapped in another pair of arms. She breathed in her father and Ben’s familiar scents and started to pull herself together.
A throat cleared across the room. “Excuse me, if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Shut up, mongrel.” Sam’s voice held a hint of a barely controlled growl.
Joey lifted her head from her father’s shoulder, looking past him to Sam and Justin. “Sam, let him go. He saved my life.”
“Oh.” Sam released Justin promptly and stepped back. “My apologies.”
A spike of
fear shot through her. “Where’s Sara?” Joey asked.
“She’s safe,” Jon said.
Joey’s eyes flicked frantically between her brothers and father. “You didn’t bring her, did you?”
“No, of course not.” Jon came over and sat beside Reginald. Joey held a hand out to him, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. “She’s in good hands, I promise.”
“Cathy?” Joey guessed.
“Yes, child?”
Sam moved aside so Cathy could join them in the now-crowded room.
Joey stared open-mouthed, then shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here. This is exactly what he wants.”
“Gentlemen, if you’d give us the room, please,” Cathy said.
Reginald and Ben made sure Joey was settled back amongst the pillows again before they filed out with the others. Justin was the last to go, standing there uncertainly. It was his room, after all.
“You okay?” he asked.
Joey nodded, and he withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Cathy sat on the edge of the bed and took Joey’s hand. “What happened?” she asked, indicating the IV bag. “Just the medical particulars. You’ll want your family here for the rest, I’m sure. Rather than going over it all twice.”
Joey flicked a glance at the knife on the nightstand. “I was stabbed with a silver blade. Justin’s vet friend stitched me up, but it was pretty bad. I thought—I thought I was going to die.” Emotion welled in her chest once more, and she dashed fresh tears from her cheeks with her free hand.
“May I?” Cathy motioned at her stomach.
Joey nodded and lay quietly while Cathy turned down the blanket, lifted the borrowed shirt, and peeled back the bandage. She studied the wound, then laid her hands on Joey’s stomach, framing the inflamed, angry flesh with her fingers but not touching it.
Cathy lifted her eyes, meeting Joey’s again. “I think I can help. I won’t be able to heal it fully. There’s only so much I can do when silver is involved, but I should be able to kick-start your healing and ease some of your discomfort.”
“Really? That’d be… Yes, please. Whatever you can do.”
A golden glow surrounded Cathy, and she closed her eyes. Joey’s skin began to tingle under her hands. Cathy tilted her head, as if listening to something only she could hear. Warmth spread through Joey’s abdomen and chest, all around the wound but not quite touching it.
“Brace yourself, child. This will hurt.”
Cathy didn’t give Joey much time to do so. The warm energy surrounding the wounded area swiftly rushed in to fill it. It burned like fire, the pain as bad as it had been when she’d been stabbed in the first place. Maybe worse. She clenched handfuls of the blanket and a scream tore from her throat. She half expected her brothers to come storming in, but the door remained closed. Agonizing seconds ticked by, but the burning sensation finally receded, leaving Joey limp, her forehead damp with sweat.
“Any better?” Cathy asked.
“I’m afraid to move,” Joey admitted. “Also, you may have undersold the ‘this may hurt’ thing.”
Cathy pressed her lips together, but they still twitched with suppressed laughter. “You’re smarting off, so I must’ve done something right.”
Joey chuckled, wincing from expected pain, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it’d be. She pushed herself carefully into a sitting position and bit her lip. It still hurt, but it was miles better from where it had been. As if she’d done a couple of weeks’ worth of healing in a minute or so.
She met Cathy’s eyes, then scooted over and gave her a hug. “Thank you. I’m so grateful, but I meant what I said. You shouldn’t be here.”
Cathy held on to Joey and stroked her hair. “I knew this day would come, child. I’m not unprepared.”
Joey pulled back. “Oh? Tell me more.”
Cathy did, and for the first time since she woke up, Joey felt the odds start to shift in her favor.
Chris stood in the late afternoon sun, sweat rolling off his brow. The wooden rod across his broad shoulders was getting heavier with each stone cast into one of its six buckets. A scant six feet away, Eric stood with an identical contraption across his shoulders. They’d spent the first hour of their mutual punishment staring each other down, but it hadn’t made matters any easier for either of them.
One by one, the cultists came forward to drop a stone in each bucket, then walked off to retrieve two more stones and get back in line. It took more than a single pass to fill twelve buckets. Chris shifted the weight of the rod on his aching shoulders to compensate for one side being heavier than the other and wished he could take his shirt off. He didn’t know if it was an unseasonably warm day for this area or not, but his shirt was nearly soaked through.
Still, he’d take this over another session with Marc. Anything was better than that.
Karina put in an appearance every half-hour or so to check on how full the buckets were. Chris hoped this was over soon. He had other things to do, plans to set in motion, and being punished wasn’t making him want to punch Eric any less. Judging from the openly hostile looks still cast his way, the feeling was mutual.
“That’s enough,” Karina said, after about three hours. The cultists in line dispersed, and Chris started to ease the rod from his shoulders but stopped when Karina held up a hand. “Not you.”
Then she made them stand there for another hour.
Chris’s muscles started to cramp, but he gritted his teeth and remained upright through sheer force of will. Eric fell to his knees with a cry, and the smug satisfaction that filled Chris almost made this all worthwhile. No, that wasn’t right. Turning Eric’s face into a puffy, black-and-blue mess had made it worthwhile, but by the time they finished with their punishment, Eric’s face was mostly healed, aside from a lingering black eye.
When given leave to do so, Chris shrugged off the rod and let the whole mess crash noisily to the ground. His shoulders, arms, and torso burned as he pulled off his shirt and used it to mop his face. Eric collapsed in the grass along with his rig and lay back, but Chris had had more than enough sun for one day. He dragged himself toward the front steps.
“Where are you going?” Karina said sharply.
Chris halted, eyes glued to the beckoning shade, then reluctantly turned back. Karina stood with her hands on her hips, looking down her nose at him. He liked the dream Karina better. She was more fun. Right about then, an angry badger might have been more fun.
“You’re not done until all the rocks are moved back to the pile behind the barn,” Karina said.
Eric groaned, but Chris didn’t give her the satisfaction. He walked back to his discarded buckets and bent to return some of the scattered rocks to them, then hoisted two of the heavy buckets. His muscles ached in protest, but as he straightened, he caught her giving his bare, sweaty torso an appreciative glance. He waited for her eyes to meet his and then smirked. She tightened her jaw and spun to stalk toward the house.
“Show-off,” Eric muttered, still lying in the grass amongst his own buckets and scattered rocks.
Chris ignored him and focused on completing his task as quickly as possible. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could take a shower and collapse. Or collapse, take a shower, and collapse again. He gave Eric a wide berth as he did, but he suspected they were both too exhausted for another fight. If Marc thought Chris wouldn’t take another shot at Eric, though, he was sorely mistaken. Chris would just have to be more careful about it.
He was on his way to a much-needed shower with a clean set of clothes in hand when a door opened and Dean stepped into the hall. Chris froze in his tracks, staring open-mouthed. What was Dean doing here? And why was his arm in a sling? A cultist followed Dean into the hall, and Chris called on his showmanship training to school his features into a pleasant smile.
“What have we here?” he asked the cultist. “A new arrival?”
The cultist—Todd, Ted, something like that—nodded. “On his way to meet the master.�
��
“First meeting? That’s exciting.” Chris offered Dean his hand, hoping he’d play along. “Welcome. I’m Chris.”
Dean eyed him but shook his hand. Chris pulled him into hug harbor, taking advantage of the close proximity to whisper, “Go along with it. All of it. Don’t fight him. Don’t give him a reason to use his magic on you.”
They parted, but Chris held Dean’s eyes, and the medium nodded. “Dean,” he said.
“Oh gee, what was I thinking?” Chris said, glancing down at his sweaty, shirtless self. “Sorry, man. I’ve had a long day. Did you come alone?”
Dean winced. “Yeah.”
The look in his eyes sent a jolt of alarm through Chris’s midsection.
Dean’s escort cleared his throat. “We don’t want to keep the master waiting.”
“Of course not,” Chris said, stepping aside to let them pass. “See you around, Dean.”
The fact that Dean was there meant the meet hadn’t gone as planned. As the two men moved down the hall, Chris changed course and went to his room instead of the bathroom. He couldn’t lock the door, so he wedged the chair from the desk under the door handle before he laid down on the bed and stepped into the astral realm.
“Roger?”
There was no response. He zipped through the door and down the hall, catching up with Dean easily enough, but the spirit wasn’t there either. Rather than stick around, he closed his eyes and focused on Joey. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in an unfamiliar bedroom full of familiar people. Joey lay in bed with an IV connected to her hand. His father and brothers were there, as was Cathy. A man Chris didn’t recognize leaned against the closed door. Relief flooded him. She was whole, and surrounded by allies. But what on earth had happened?
“…can’t afford the risk.” Chris only caught the end of what Reginald said as he tuned in to the conversation.
“No,” Joey said, gesturing emphatically. “You’re not leaving me behind. I’m well enough to go. Cathy helped me heal.”
“But you’re not fully healed,” Jon said from the foot of the bed where he sat, a hand resting on Joey’s blanket-covered ankle.
“Shouldn’t we figure out what the plan is before we decide who is and isn’t going?” Joey asked, shooting Jon a glare. He snorted softly, not cowed.