by Alice Cain
It seems to be quite heavy, but Kelly wrestles it open to reveal a staircase that leads into a small, dimly lit room.
The room itself is empty but there is a thin line of light that is leaking through the frame of a door off to the left. Kelly moves closer and I can almost feel her hesitation. This has to be it. This is what we're looking for, but once Kelly steps through that doorway the risk to her own safety becomes exponentially higher.
She pulls out her cell phone and I can see her fingers flicking over the glass screen. "Okay," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "I still have reception. Wish me luck."
Hunter whispers "Good luck" in a reverent, breathless tone. I can't even echo the sentiment because my throat is so damn tight.
Opening the door is pretty anticlimactic. It's just a concrete corridor with three doors on either side and one at the far end. "No visible cameras," Kelly whispers as she moves forward silently. "No visible locks." She moves closer to a door, tries the handle, and slips inside. "What the hell?"
I have no idea what we're looking at. Kelly's camera is pointed at something that looks kind of like a type of vat I'd expect to find in a brewery, except this giant, round and shiny container has a door in front that could have come from a submarine. There are wires and hoses attached to the top and a smaller door in the side that could be some sort of access port or viewing window.
"Are you seeing this?" Kelly asks, her voice quivering with what I suspect is both nerves and excitement.
"We are," Hunter says, "and we're ready to livestream the moment you give us the say so."
"Perfect, thanks," Kelly says as she moves to check the corridor is still empty and then hurries to the next door.
This room is the same—giant metal cylindrical-shaped thing with a submarine-type door hanging open. "And...door number three," Kelly says quietly as she reenters the hallway and moves toward the next door. The door on this giant silver container is closed.
"Shit," Kelly whispers, "I want to open it, but what if it's hazardous? I could be releasing some sort of weaponized rabies virus into the atmosphere."
Hunter is swearing quietly beside me. I hadn't even given something like that a thought. Yes, it does sound like something out of a movie, but the ideas aren't impossible. We may have just stumbled into the laboratories of a terrorist cell and are no closer to finding John than we were three hours ago.
"Check the other rooms," Hunter says, his tone softer than the order suggests. "Maybe you can find more information before we need to make a decision."
"Okay," Kelly says, sounding more rattled than she has since this began. "I'm starting to remember why I took the boring editing job."
"You don't have to do this, Kelly," Hunter says, echoing my own thoughts, despite my fears for my mate. John wouldn't be happy if Kelly got hurt and neither would Hunter and I.
"We've got enough footage for the anti-terrorism authority to get involved," I say confidently, even though I'm not sure that's entirely true.
"Okay," Kelly says, her tone near breathless with the fear that is undoubtedly crawling over her. "I'll check the other roo—"
She cuts off her words when a door slams somewhere in the corridor and at least two men can be heard arguing as they come closer. The words are indistinct but the tone suggests something has gone very wrong.
"Hide," Hunter says urgently.
Kelly is already moving so that if the door is opened she's behind it. It's not ideal, but there's really nowhere else to go. Kelly must hear something the mic misses because she suddenly orders Hunter to start the livestream.
"Done," he whispers the moment he's pressed the right buttons and clicked the right things. Thank fuck he's here because I really have no idea what he just did to make that happen.
The door is pushed open and two men in police coveralls enter. Thankfully they don't look behind them, but their words are very clear through Kelly's mic.
"...not my fault," the one on the left is saying as if he's said it over and over for several hours now. "It should have been in werewolf form that first time."
"But it wasn't," the other man ground out as he reached for his handgun and then waved it toward the silver container.
"It's not my fault this werewolf can withstand our fancy torture device," the guy says, sounding exasperated.
"You're right," the other one says pretending to be reasonable. "But it is your fault that the damn thing now knows we're just waiting for it to change forms so we can kill it."
"Just get on with it," the guy says, apparently unable to argue that point.
The guy with the gun moves into position and then the second guy opens the small window, leaning out of the way casually as the other aims his gun into the tiny hole.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," the guy with the gun curses loudly. And then he seems to be addressing the werewolf inside the container. "You may as well just change forms. Couple more days in here with no food and water and you won't have a choice. Why not just get it over with?"
There is no audible answer from inside but the police officer seems confident that the occupant inside is still alive.
"Fuck," he says again, slamming the tiny portal closed and holstering his gun.
"What happens if it dies in human form," the second guy asks as they turn to leave the room. The camera feed goes dark for a moment, but once the door closes it seems pretty obvious that Kelly was just ducking back behind the open door as they left.
She waits until a door slams down the hallway and then moves toward the container. Kelly struggles with the window latch for a moment before finally getting it to move across without the loud screeching noise it had made when the men had opened and closed it.
"Hello?" she asks in a whisper.
~*~*~*~*~
** John **
I'm pretty sure I've lost my mind and I'm hearing voices now. There is no way Kelly is here whispering to me in the dark. Except that it's not completely dark anymore. I lift my gaze to the tiny shaft of light honestly expecting to see anything but the familiar face of a dear friend.
"Kel?" I ask, the word barely croaking out of my dry throat.
"I'm here," she says, her voice fading as she turns away. "I found him, but I'm going to need that backup we talked about."
I can't hear any response so I have no idea what the hell is going on. And to be honest I'm still pretty sure I'm hallucinating the whole thing anyway. I'm not sure what the small shuffling sounds mean until Kelly returns a few moments later.
"Okay, we're barricaded in," Kelly says. "Now we just need to hang tight while we wait for rescue."
"Darrick?" I ask, the word just a bunch of sounds that probably don't even make sense. Kelly seems to know what I'm asking anyway because she grins and hums softly.
"He's watching," Kelly whispers. "Just like thousands of others on the Internet."
I'm naked, shivering, and in the worst condition of my life and yet having thousands of people—perhaps millions if the video goes viral—see me like this is actually comforting. If exposing what is happening here can save werewolf lives then it's all worth it.
"Thanks, Kel," I mumble as relief rolls through me and the comfort of unconsciousness beckons.
Chapter Eleven
*** Darrick ***
I can barely contain my agitation on the long trip down the mountain, and it only grows worse the closer we get to the hospital where they've taken John. Thank fuck Hunter insisted on accompanying me because I probably would have struggled to keep the car on the road with the way I'm feeling.
I desperately want to see my mate, but I'm only here because Kelly insists that John needs me. Considering I'm the reason he was in danger in the first place, staying away should be the far kinder option.
Kelly simply overrode my every objection with the same answer—"John needs you"—and Hunter had agreed with her, so here I am sitting in a car stuck in traffic around a hospital besieged by media trying to get more information on the human who was falsely arre
sted as being a werewolf and the horrifying, murderous situation that unfolded live on the Internet.
I still can't believe how many people managed to converge on the animal facility once we broadcast the address on the Internet. Even the police had been shocked to realize exactly what was happening to the werewolves they were arresting. I can't express how grateful I am that so many people—humans and werewolves—were horrified enough by what Kelly found to actually do something about it. The officer who'd arrested John had even sought Kelly out to publicly thank her for exposing what was happening. I'm actually inclined to believe him when he says he had no idea what was really going on. It seems he and most of the other police officers involved in arresting werewolves had honestly believed that the high numbers of deaths in custody were a tragic side effect of our werewolf nature and not deliberately engineered.
"Okay," Hunter says as he pulls the car into a parking spot several blocks away from our destination. "Looks like we're on foot from here. Come on."
"They're not going to let us in," I say, trying to consider the practicalities even as I climb out of the car and follow my beta's growly instructions. At any other time in my life I may have taken umbrage with a beta ordering a pack alpha around, but right now I'm grateful for his audacity.
"Kelly will clear a path for us," Hunter says sounding unconcerned as he dials her number and advises our location.
Just as Hunter predicts not only do the police officers surrounding the building let us inside, they also protect us from the crush of reporters, bloggers, and gathered witnesses—both human and werewolf—who try to get a statement as we're escorted into the building.
I should probably say something to them, at least thank them for making John's rescue possible, but now that I'm so close all I can think about is seeing my mate again. Kelly is waiting for us the moment we enter the front foyer.
"Through here," Kelly says, the scent of her relief overriding the antiseptic smell of the hospital entrance. "They've got him in intensive care, but he's stable and they're expecting a full recovery."
"Intensive care?" I ask as the fear for my mate ratchets even higher. I force air into my lungs, knowing without a doubt that changing forms right now is a very, very bad idea.
I don't think I'll ever be able to close my eyes and not see how awful John had looked when Kelly and her multitude of reporters finally managed to get him out of that cylindrical cage. Kelly had ordered me to meet her and John at the hospital and I hadn't even hesitated to rush out to the car before sanity and Hunter had caught up to me. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to realize how bad an idea it was for me to rush to my mate's side. Arguing with Kelly and Hunter had of course done me no good, and right now I'm grateful to both of them for not letting me stay away.
"The ICU is mostly a precaution," Kelly says. "John was severely dehydrated so they want to keep a close eye on him until his condition improves. His shoulders and arms are a mess of swelling and bruises, and the doctors think he may have gotten a fairly bad concussion when he was arrested." She says the word with a great amount of loathing in her voice. "But the scans and x-rays have all come up clear, so the hospital is just being extra cautious since it's a very high profile case."
"No kidding," I say as I look around. We're cleared by several more layers of security personnel and police officers before we're allowed to enter the intensive care unit. We follow the nurse's instructions, put on the paper gowns and use the hand sanitizer, and then we're finally shown to the bed where John is sleeping.
I blink back tears of relief now that I can see for myself that he's still breathing. John's pretty banged up. He's very pale and his left eye is swollen shut. His jaw is a kaleidoscope of colorful bruising and he's attached to several IV and monitoring machines. I take in a deep breath, but I've never had the scenting skills some werewolves can nurture. I glance at Hunter, and he smiles and shakes his head slightly in reassurance. It's a relief to know he can't smell anything concerning in John's scent either.
"Hey," John says sleepily, his one good eye refusing to stay open even as he clumsily tries to sit up. I quickly close the distance between us and ease him back down with my hand on his sternum. "Ricky." My name is a breathless purr as John reaches blindly for me.
I hate myself for hesitating, but crawling into John's strong arms while one of my betas observes my subservient behavior is not something I ever planned to do.
"Don't you dare," Hunter whispers in a voice so quiet that the humans in the area would have no chance of hearing it. Panic washes over me at the possible implication of Hunter's words but then he's behind me, pushing me closer to my mate and I finally realize what he means. "He's your mate and how you two interact is no one else's business but yours and his."
I give my beta and best friend a tremulous smile and then move close enough for John to find me with his sleepy, seeking hand. He reels me in quickly and this time I go willingly, glad to be able to give my mate what he needs right now. He doesn't stop fidgeting until I'm tucked tightly against him the same way we've cuddled every weekend we've spent together. It's a tight fit on the narrow hospital bed but I am more than willing to be uncomfortable if it means that John gets the rest he needs.
"You must be Ricky," a nurse says as she steps into the small area. She raises the side of the medical bed, tucks a pillow behind me to protect my spine from the bars, and gives me a warm smile from the end of the bed. "It's not exactly standard hospital procedure, but I'm willing to bend the rules if it will keep my biggest patient from face planting on the floor. Even heavily sedated I've barely been able to keep him in his bed."
I wonder absently if she's referring to John's size, the media outside, or the amount of trouble he's been causing when she describes him as her "biggest patient." She seems friendly enough though, and her grin only grows wider when John grumbles sleepily and caresses a hand over my neck and shoulders as if checking that I'm still where I belong.
"You two make a cute couple," she says as she adds something to the chart at the end of John's bed.
"Thanks," I say, my heart growing heavy when I realize how temporary this situation needs to be. I'm the reason John got hurt. Whoever reported him as being a werewolf must have heard me howl during sex and decided that since it was coming from John's apartment that he must be a werewolf. Or maybe one of the trolls issuing death threats on John's blog had discovered his real identity and decided to report him as an unidentified werewolf simply because he was defending werewolves in general.
Either way John would not have been in danger if I hadn't come back into his life. I won't be responsible for him getting hurt again. I'll stay to help him get back on his feet simply because I can't not help him while he's in this condition, but once he's better I need to protect my mate by staying far, far away.
The only thing that has changed since the decision I'd made two weeks ago is that I now have proof that being with me puts John's life in danger.
And that I cannot allow.
Chapter Twelve
** John **
I wake with my lover in my arms. I have no idea how much time has passed or where I actually am but I don't care. The only thing that is important right now is that Darrick is here with me.
Darrick is asleep, the dark circles under his eyes far worse than the last time I saw him. I run my hand over his neck and shoulders, down his spine to rest on his hip. He sighs softly but doesn't wake.
I drift between awake and asleep for a little while but the soft creak of someone moving on an uncomfortable chair finally has me focusing on something other than the man in my arms.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Hunter whispers, giving me a small smile. "Do you need me to call the nurse?"
"Nah," I say, suddenly very aware of how dry my mouth feels. "Water?"
Hunter's smile widens and he reaches for the bottle of water on the table, cracks it open, and then shoves the straw in. I roll my eyes when he approaches straw first, but I dutifully acce
pt his help and suck some cool liquid into my mouth.
The headache is mostly gone so sitting up no longer seems out of the question, but Darrick looks so exhausted that I won't risk waking him. Hunter gives me a look that suggests he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
Parts of the past few days are coming back to me slowly and with the memories comes the fear I felt for Kelly. I swing my gaze around the room before turning back to Hunter questioningly. Fortunately he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"She's doing a few interviews, but she'll be back soon."
"She's okay?" I ask, needing to be sure.
"She's fine," Hunter says reverently. "She wasn't injured and she has barely stopped working since you went missing." He laughs softly. "You've got excellent taste in friends, John, but maybe you can talk her into resting for a while when she gets back." He smiles at the man cuddled against me, indicating Darrick with a tilt of his chin. "You accomplished in your sleep something I haven't been able to do ever." He takes a deep breath and gives me a sad smile. "I've been really worried about him the past couple weeks."
"Me too," I say, swallowing around the tightness in my throat. I can barely manage a whisper, so I'm extra grateful for Hunter's enhance werewolf hearing. "Thanks for bringing him back to me."
"Anytime," Hunter says. "Mates should be together."
"Mates?" I ask. I've heard the expression before but my research suggests the term is far more important to werewolves.
"He never told you," Hunter says. It doesn't really sound like a question, more like a sad and exasperated statement of fact, but he doesn't back away from the conversation. Apparently I'm not the only one with good taste in friends. Hunter is clearly willing to risk Darrick's wrath by telling me this. "He thinks that keeping you out of his life will keep you safe. He loves you enough to push you away and to be miserable the rest of his life."