by Sierra Dean
I had to go home, but I had one major problem standing between me and my adopted Canadian homeland.
Desmond.
I’d gone back to the lair, looking for the girl Peyton had chained in his room, but by the time I’d gotten to her it was already too late. Her limp body was curled up on the floor, pale and drained of blood. Someone had finished her off before running for it.
Another life I’d failed to save.
Desmond and I traveled back through the sewers where I’d grudgingly used the runoff water—at least I told myself it was runoff water—to rinse the worst of Peyton’s blood off me. We found an alternative exit through a different access station, which was likely where most of the other vampires had fled since we hadn’t bumped into any of them in our encounter with Peyton.
This new exit went directly up to the street, saving us from some unpleasant reactions on a subway platform. I hadn’t seen anyone else with big dogs during our time wandering Paris, and Desmond didn’t look like a dog. He looked like a wolf.
We took side streets wherever possible to get back to the hotel where I was able to get him in the back way to our private elevator. The perks of wealth could sometimes help in unexpected ways.
But I couldn’t buy myself out of this situation.
I sat on the couch in our suite and stared at the furry incarnation of my main squeeze, and he stared back, his tongue lolling out happily.
“Think you could maybe change back into human form? That’d be super.”
He shook his head.
Awesome.
If he’d changed forms willingly, he should be able to force himself back into a man. It would hurt and he’d be wobbly, but he’d also be on two legs instead of four, and I’d be able to put him on a plane with me. That he was unable to shift meant someone had done this to him against his will, which was a hell of a feat.
The only time I’d ever changed fully into a wolf it was the full moon and I was in the presence of not one but two werewolf kings. A wolf can’t resist the transformation when in the presence of their king, and my wolf recognized Lucas as her king. The shift had been almost painless it was so natural.
What had happened to Desmond tonight wasn’t natural.
Thinking of Lucas gave me pause. Was there a precedent for this sort of thing? If a way existed to force a man into a wolf, surely a werewolf king would know about it and might be able to offer some suggestions.
I went to the bedroom and found my phone, then came back to sit in front of Desmond again, shifting my attention from him to the cell. “I don’t want to call him,” I admitted to both the wolf and the phone.
Des rolled onto his side and exposed his belly, wagging his shaggy tail so it made a thumping sound against the floor.
“Seriously?”
He seemed dead set on it, so I sat cross-legged on the carpet next to him and rubbed his belly. Considering what he’d been through tonight, it was the least I could do.
I went through a mental list of anyone else I could call, and then a bulb went off over my head and I paged through my contacts. Without considering what time it was in the US, I dialed.
After three rings I was rewarded with a silky Southern drawl saying, “Hello, Secret.”
“Callum.”
“What can I do for my beloved absentee niece?”
My hand tightened on the phone, and I bit back the venomous spew of words threatening to come out. I reminded myself Callum was a better option than Lucas, and it wouldn’t do any good to alienate him before getting what I wanted. I still hadn’t forgiven Callum for the role he’d played in ruining my wedding.
While I admittedly was better off having dodged a marriage to Lucas—who’d proven exactly where I ranked on his list of importance—I couldn’t believe what Callum had done to demonstrate it. He’d called Lucas back to Louisiana on the day of my would-be wedding just to show me the pack would always matter more.
And Lucas, rather than send an emissary, had gone himself, standing me up because he believed our human wedding ceremony didn’t matter.
They were both selfish, pigheaded sons of bitches. Literally in the case of the last point.
But if I had to choose between a rock and a hard place, I chose Callum. I didn’t want to owe Lucas shit.
“I have a bit of a situation I’m hoping you could help me with.”
“Do tell.” His voice was like honey, so smooth and warm. Callum sounded totally at ease, like nothing could cause him worry. It was a front, of course. He was manipulative and conniving, and would do anything to make himself appear unflappable.
“Have you ever encountered a situation with a wolf shifting for reasons other than the full moon or pack influence?”
Or being a freak.
“Aside from your mother?”
I guess it was common knowledge my mother could force partial shifts. What was less widely known was that I could too.
“No, I mean a full shift.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Want to ask Desmond how possible it is? Oh, right, you can’t because he’s a fucking wolf.”
This news rattled Callum enough for him to lapse into a brief silence. “Interesting. Have you spoken to your husband about this?”
Low blow.
“No, I thought I’d call someone I respected first, but clearly that was my mistake.”
“Now, now. You’re not a teenager, there’s no need to behave like an insolent child. I only asked a question. Desmond is the wolf king’s lieutenant. He’s second in line for the Eastern pack throne…or third now, I suppose.”
I chose not to dwell on the knowledge I could succeed Lucas to the leadership of the pack. It didn’t matter, since Lucas wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and we had a more pressing problem at hand.
“Please, Callum. I need your help, and I’m not interested in involving Luc…my husband.” Ugh. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“It shouldn’t be possible. He isn’t changing back?”
“No.”
“Then something has been done to him.”
Thanks, Captain Obvious.
“What do I do?”
“Wait it out.”
I was thrilled to waste my long-distance minutes on such a useless reply. “I can’t wait it out. I have to get home.” No better time than now to reveal my other reason for choosing him over Lucas. “You have to send someone to Elmwood, Manitoba.”
He scoffed. “I have to do nothing without a damned good reason.”
“Mercy is going to kill Vivienne.” Using Grandmere’s real name felt strange, but I suspected it would have more impact.
“What?”
Guess I was right.
“Mercy sent her a postcard. Said see you soon. And I have it on good authority she’s planning on striking at me where it hurts most.”
“On whose authority?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the still-bloody tooth I’d ripped from Peyton’s jaw, running my fingers over the smooth surface. “An acquaintance of hers from way back. He would know.” Past tense.
I smiled to myself and slipped the tooth back into my pocket. A time would come when I could rejoice over what I’d done, or at the very least reflect on it, but it wasn’t going to be now.
Callum was quiet again, twice in one conversation, which had to be some sort of record.
“I can’t help you with Desmond. I might be able to influence a reversal in person, but there’s nothing I can do unless you can bring him to me from New York.”
“We’re not in New York. We’re in Paris.”
“Then there’s truly no way I can help. And neither can your king, I’m afraid. I might suggest investigating what caused the shift to see if you can do something based on that. As for my mother…”
It was my turn to wait in silence. He would help her, wouldn’t he? She had left him when he was only a teenager, but there was no way he’d hang her out to dry in her hour of need. Callum could be crue
l, but when it came down to it, the thing that mattered most to him was family.
“As for her?” I egged him on.
“I’ll send Ben and Fairfax. She’ll be protected.”
Ben, my younger brother. He and I had only met a handful of times, and the family bond wasn’t really clicking yet, which was fair given I hadn’t known he existed for the first eighteen years of his life. But if one of my siblings was going to stay with Grandmere, I would have preferred…
“Can you send Eugenia instead?” Genie was Ben’s twin, and she and I had grown close. She’d also met Grandmere, which I thought would help ease Vivienne into things better. Genie had inherited our family’s matrilineal witchcraft gene, making her one tough cookie.
“Eugenia has commitments in St. Francisville. I will send Ben.” This was said in his don’t argue with me tone, and I obeyed. I was grateful to him for sending anyone, so I shouldn’t be too picky about his choices. At least Ben was family. And I’d met Fairfax, the only African-American werewolf in my uncle’s pack, during my visit south. He seemed trustworthy.
“Thank you.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t protect my own mother?”
“I don’t know what to think about mothers sometimes.”
“Yes, well. Mercy is a special case.”
“Do you still consider her a part of your pack?” I asked warily.
“Pack and family are different creatures. Pack is family, but family is not necessarily pack. Why do you ask?”
“Because when I find Mercy, she will pay for what she’s done. I just thought I should tell you first.”
“Secret?”
“Yes?”
“You have my blessing.”
I hadn’t known I needed it until I had it, but now that he’d put his stamp of approval on the endeavor, I knew I was doing the right thing.
I was going to kill my mother.
Chapter Seventeen
Look for the source, Callum had suggested.
Peyton was dead, so I couldn’t exactly ask him what he’d done, but now I was glad I’d decided to show a sliver of mercy to his people. If I’d slaughtered them all, I would have no one to hunt down and interrogate.
Desmond and I took to the streets again, him sticking by my side playing the part of a well-trained pet. We got a few funny looks, and several pedestrians crossed the street to avoid us, but now that I wasn’t wearing bloodstained clothing and I’d rinsed him clean, we were nearly respectable.
We wandered around the city. I’d opted to leave the sword at the hotel and had switched back to guns, grateful I’d brought extras with me. If I was going to be traveling with a wolf the size of a Shetland pony at my side, the katana would only draw extra unwanted attention. The guns could be hidden under my jacket.
Desmond picked up a scent about three blocks south of the sewer grate we’d exited through. He was edgy, acting like he might bolt at any moment, but when I laid my hand on the back of his neck, he calmed, much like he’d done for me earlier that night.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find them.”
After following the scent for a good twenty minutes, I’d almost given up hope we would actually locate the vamps, until Desmond led us to a small boarded-up patisserie and stopped in front of the door, whining.
“Nicely done.” I almost jokingly suggested he might be more useful in this form, but buried the thought deep. I didn’t want to jinx our chances of reversing it. The universe had a funny way of biting me in the ass when I wasn’t careful about what I said.
I could go about my entrance one of two ways—either find a subtle route in through the back and sneak up on them, or bust the door down with all the finesse of John Wayne.
It didn’t take an expert to figure out which way I chose.
The wooden barricade covering the door yielded easily, and when the dust settled, there were a half-dozen vampires blinking up at me with fear and uncertainty. None of them made a break for it.
Guess I’d made an impression on them underground.
Desmond stood next to me, backing up my implicit threat with one of his own, growling deeply, his teeth exposed. My fangs had retracted on the way to the hotel, but I had another one on display. I’d taken a strip of leather rope off my purse and wound it around Peyton’s tooth before we’d left the hotel. It now hung from my neck, stained red at the root, serving as a reminder of what I did to those who crossed me.
Seemed like it was doing a bang-up job at the moment.
“Don’t make me kill you.” I had both my guns drawn, and though they outnumbered me, they understood by now that this wasn’t a numbers game. “These are loaded with silver, and I don’t care how fast you think you are, I’ve yet to meet a vampire who can dodge a bullet.”
“What do you want?” A lean girl with short black hair stared at me from heavily lined eyes. She looked angry and terrified all at once.
I was pleased I could teach them so quickly about the limitations of immortality. It was a lesson some vampires spent decades learning.
Immortality was sort of like mild cigarettes. It gave the illusion of one thing, but in the end you could still be killed.
“As you can see I have a wolf with me instead of a very handsome man. And while the wolf is nice looking and all, I’d like the man back. What did you do to him?”
“I don’t know.” She wasn’t convincing me with her shifty eyes and the sheen of sweat on her brow. I could practically smell her lie. So could Desmond, who snarled at her. “Damn, lady, keep it on a leash.”
“You’re really missing the point.” I made a show of arming my weapon.
“Fuck, okay, I don’t know what it was, but we got these syringes from this kid. Rat or something.”
I felt my face contort into an ugly frown. “Mouse?”
“Yeah. He brought us these meds a few days ago. Alexandre said we’d need them soon, and sure enough, you show up with the werewolf in tow. Gave him the shot and bam, wolfman was a wolf. God, is that…is that tooth his?”
I smiled coldly. “It’s a shame I didn’t keep the other one I took. They’d make great earrings.”
“What did you do to him?” another vampire asked.
“What I’ll do to all of you if you don’t tell me everything you know. Who told Peyton we were coming?”
“We don’t know anything, I swear,” the young woman said. “He didn’t tell us much. It was very need-to-know.”
“And let me guess, you didn’t need to know?”
“Find that Mouse kid. He has to know where the shot came from.”
The idea of chasing Mouse through the Paris streets for two nights in a row didn’t have any appeal, but if the sneaky little turncoat knew who or what could change Desmond back, I had to give it a try. I’d have sent one of the lackeys to fetch him for me, but if I let them out of my sight again, they’d be in the wind permanently.
Which was probably where Mouse was now, if he’d heard what happened to Peyton.
But there was still a chance he didn’t know yet.
Fucking hell, looked like my hunting wasn’t over for the night.
“Got one more in you?” I asked Desmond.
He didn’t appear any more thrilled with the idea than I was, but what choice did we have? We’d already tracked Mouse down once. It shouldn’t be too hard to do it a second time. After all, we’d told him we could do it the night before. Now I had to prove we were as menacing as we threatened.
“If I find out you’re setting me up, I will add twelve more teeth to this necklace, do you understand?”
They nodded.
“Fucking rogues.”
Trailing Mouse turned out to be easier than expected. The little shit was only human, and humanity had its limitations. Plus, he hadn’t wandered far from where we’d found him the previous night.
He was sitting at an outside table at a twenty-four-hour café, sipping an espresso, when I sat down across from him. His eyes went wide, and he looked around for an escape ro
ute. Desmond rested next to him, cutting off the easiest path.
“We meet again,” I greeted with faux cheer.
“Miss McQueen.”
“Oh, we’re going to play it formal? Isn’t that nice? Want to tell me why you lied to me about who Peyton’s runner was? That this friend of yours was actually you? Hmm? Cat got your tongue, Mouse?”
“No, but I fear the wolf might if you don’t like what I tell you.” He smiled weakly and sipped his drink, settling back in the chair like we were old friends chatting.
“Where did you get the shot?”
“I don’t know precisely who it came from because there was no return name on the parcel, and I don’t make a habit of asking too many questions when a vampire asks me to do something, understand?”
“Tell me what you do know.”
“Peyton had his important mail shipped to my apartment, and I would drop it in the sewers for him. He told me several weeks ago he was expecting a parcel from a dear friend, those were his words. He knew you were coming too. Told me if you found me, I ought to send you his way. Anyway, the postmark on the package was from California, and the note on the box was just signed with the letter A.”
I wasn’t surprised anymore that us finding Peyton had been a setup. It didn’t matter now, since things had gone my way in the end. “What did the note say?”
“A gift from your favorite doctor.”
I wanted to kill him then and there. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t possibly know what the implications of his words meant. Didn’t matter that he wasn’t directly responsible for what had happened to Desmond. I wanted to kill him because he’d said doctor.
He wasn’t referring to any old doctor. He was referring to The Doctor. And though I knew perfectly well Friedrich Kesteral was dead, for this one moment he was as alive to me as Mouse was. Because he was still fucking up my life.
The Doctor had specialized in researching paranormal creatures. Not just vampires, but werewolves and—what was it Tyler said the FBI called them?—CUOs. Creatures of Unknown Origin.
Apparently his research hadn’t been entirely theoretical.