Andrew growled. He’d thought as much himself. It still helped to have a second opinion, though. “No, if anything, it sounded from Portland like the rest of the pack were in on the effort to hide it, not frightened. I’ll wait out the full polite interval.”
Benjamin’s chuckle held sympathy for Andrew’s impatience. “Good luck.”
After their good-byes, Andrew checked Silver in the rearview mirror—still sleeping—tossed the phone on the passenger seat, and settled in to nap himself while he waited for Seattle’s call. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, after all.
The cell phone jerked him from a tired floating rather than true sleep. SEATTLE, the screen said this time. Took him long enough. “Dare,” he said into the phone, then muffled a yawn in his hand.
“Portland said you wanted a meeting.” The male voice on the line was flat enough it took Andrew a minute to match it to his memory of Seattle from the last time he’d accompanied Rory to the North American alphas’ yearly convocation. “Portland said,” huh? All Andrew’s messages must have slipped the man’s mind.
“That’s right. I’m looking for the pack that—”
“You have something to write down the address?” Seattle’s voice stayed just as flat as he cut Andrew off. Andrew grunted his readiness, pen and an old gas receipt found, and Seattle rattled the address off almost too quickly to follow. He added an exit number off the final freeway and a couple turns and then hung up. Andrew was left to stare at the little message about how long the call had lasted. Michelle hadn’t exaggerated.
Andrew twisted to look back at Silver. Still sleeping. “I hope for your sake he had nothing to do with what happened to you.” Silver murmured in her sleep and turned over, tucking herself against the seat’s back.
Andrew checked the car’s clock as he started the engine, and frowned. He hadn’t realized how late in the day it was getting. Tonight was true full, and no one would be at their most emotionally stable if he forced them to stay in human and discuss Silver. But if he stayed here and shifted, he’d end up hunting, and he couldn’t hunt on their territory without them. Better he get there and get permission to hunt. There had been full moons he’d sweated through entirely in human before, just to prove he could, but he had been younger then. He felt no particular need to show off now.
He headed east from the urban area, to someplace called Issaquah. An Indian word, he supposed, like so many place names he’d seen on signs on the freeway. The foothills of the Cascade Range loomed high and green over the road, surface rounded by a blanket of trees.
The directions took him not to a housing development, as he had expected, but up increasingly steep and narrow winding roads. The only turns seemed to be blind driveways. He missed the one he needed at first, and had to travel quite a way to find a stretch of gravel shoulder wide enough for a U-turn.
Then, when he turned up the right driveway, a metal gate stopped him. Was this not the pack house, then? He couldn’t see any buildings up in the trees. Perhaps it was private land they’d purchased for their hunting grounds. It would make a certain sort of sense to direct him out to those if they’d end up there anyway when everyone went out running for the full.
He got out of the car and took in the layered Were scents. Many people came in and out of here regularly. Hunting grounds, definitely. He found a couple more recent scents, but no one immediately in evidence. Andrew came around to the back of the car and opened the door, resting his arm on top as he looked in at Silver. She didn’t stir. “Now we wait. More. Polite, aren’t they?”
Footsteps crunched behind him, from downwind at the gate. Andrew shut the door and turned. He had to remind himself not to make it too quick. It might be a human. Broken beer bottles and an empty cigarette package littered the side of the gravel road, so kids clearly used the place.
A moment later, it was clear the man was a Were. Even without a scent, Andrew could tell by the way he moved. His dark hair was carefully styled, and his face had a fineness of line that made it pretty. But that prettiness was matched by a grace that suggested he’d be a strong opponent. “Looking for someone?” the man asked, with a parody of politeness.
“Seattle’s a hard man to get hold of. Where is he?” Andrew watched the man. He was like a coiled spring, thoughts beneath the smiling exterior winding him up tight enough to snap. Something was definitely wrong here. What was a low-ranked Were doing meeting him? The alpha himself should be here. Especially if he had something to hide. He’d want to make sure his Were didn’t let something slip.
Something snapped into focus suddenly for Andrew. What if Seattle had been coerced? It would explain why his manner had been off. Kill much of the pack, leaving only enough to keep contact to allay everyone’s suspicions. If Silver hadn’t escaped, the killer—or killers—might have been able to get away with it for quite a bit longer, until far-flung relatives started to question the lack of contact from the lower-ranked were.
Or worse, what if the alpha had been in on it? Andrew could hardly think that without a growl rising in his throat, but betrayal was part and parcel of their human blood. Wolves were never so inventively cruel or wasteful of life.
“He’ll be here soon. I’m Pierce.” The man didn’t offer a hand. Andrew wouldn’t have taken it if he had. Whatever the alpha’s state, this man was certainly not to be trusted.
“Dare. What’s keeping him, then?” Andrew dug into his pocket to find the key fob and beeped the car locked. It wouldn’t keep Silver safe from a determined Were, but it would at least give Andrew time to stop the man without a hostage thrown into the mix. Andrew circled to keep himself between Pierce and the car. Was this man alone? Had he taken out the pack on his own, or had he had help? If he was alone, Andrew would take him down immediately, but it might be better to retreat and get reinforcements. Andrew was good, but not enough for more than two-to-one odds.
Pierce craned his neck to look in the car window behind Andrew. “I thought I smelled—” He drew in a sharp breath, and the smell of shock then rage bloomed on him. “She is. She is alive. Lady.” His next breath was deeper as he shoved the emotions down again. “So you brought her back? Ballsy of you. What, did you get tired of her?”
So he did recognize Silver. Was he pleased to find her alive, or just surprised? His scent was muddy with general aggression. Andrew watched Pierce tightly, but after that first burst of emotion, the man made no move that would telegraph the first blow in a fight, or pulling back to shift before true combat. He seemed content to talk. That wasn’t good. He could be stalling for those reinforcements. “I suppose you were overjoyed I found your loose end for you.”
“Inconvenient, isn’t she?” the man sneered.
The need to kill the man rose up to choke Andrew, and he lunged. After that first poor blow, his composure returned as he found a fight’s quiet mental space. But that first lunge left him open, and Pierce took advantage of it, hammering a blow into his jaw. Andrew had to retreat and begin again, circling, always moving to keep the other man off balance.
Pierce’s problem was that he was used to fighting humans, with their slow reactions. Andrew had figured out long ago that beyond ritual combat in wolf form and beating up human morons in bars, few Were had the first clue about fighting on two legs. This guy was better than many, but he still lacked finesse and put too much power behind each blow.
Andrew felt an energy drain as the bruise on his jaw healed. He couldn’t waste too much time. He needed to take the man down quickly. Pierce lost his patience and launched himself at Andrew, trying to grapple, and Andrew chose his moment. He grabbed behind the other man’s head, slamming his knee up into Pierce’s face at the same time.
Pierce made a keening noise, stumbling back and pressing fingers to his broken nose. If he didn’t shove it back into place within moments, it would start healing that way and need to be rebroken later. “Butcher,” he said thickly. “Where’s your weapons now? How could you do it? Use silver on another Were?”
Andrew stopped halfway to Pierce and a planned blow to smash his head against something and knock him unconscious. What? What was the man talking about? It didn’t ring false like a cheap distraction tactic.
Speaking of distractions, instinct screamed at him, and he started to turn—he shouldn’t have gotten so caught up in the fight as to let Pierce turn him until his back was to the downwind direction—and something smashed into the back of his head.
Andrew managed to catch himself on his hands as he went down, but his vision blurred. “Took you guys long enough,” Pierce whined. “Lady. That hurt. He might have killed me while you were fucking around.”
Andrew didn’t hear the reply because the weapon fell again in another blow to his head. Something cracked. He wasted a little time clinging to the wash of light and pain and voices above him, but the darkness won out in the end.
11
Andrew woke with difficulty from the strange, disjointed dreams that came from healing a concussion. He’d had ample experience with them, and they were just as hard to shake this time as he fought his way to consciousness. Rory would be furious he hadn’t finished whatever job had gone wrong—only this wasn’t just another enforcement job, he remembered. Silver’s talk of Death seemed to have wormed its way into his unconsciousness, and he blinked away the illusion of lights like eyes in the darkness wherever he’d woken.
He tried to shove to his feet, but the cool metal bite of handcuffs held him to a wall by one wrist. He collapsed seated again and jerked the cuffs harder, trying to break them or whatever they were attached to. They rang against some metal ring, presumably set into the wall. False fireworks swam in the darkness when he moved his head too quickly in a last yank. His concussion wasn’t done with him yet, but he had to get free and find Silver. His stomach clenched as he imagined what they could be doing to her right now.
No matter what he did, the handcuffs didn’t give, however. Andrew leaned against the wall to save his strength. He checked his pockets with his free hand to find they’d taken his phone too. He’d have to tempt someone in close enough to get a hostage to force his release. He could only hope it was in time for Silver. The knowledge that he’d failed to protect her settled sourly in the pit of his stomach, joining the throb in his head and the ache in his now bruised wrist.
While he waited, he took stock. The stony scent of concrete was pervasive, but covered over with paneling and carpet. The faintest of gray lines marked windows on the other side of the room. His blindness spoke to how well the windows were covered—his night vision could do a lot with a little light, but he needed at least some. A daylight basement, then. Empty of anyone else for the moment.
He would have at least three opponents, he figured. Pierce had said “you guys.” Was one the alpha? Or was the alpha another victim? No matter how Andrew tried to keep his mind on his plans, it circled back to Silver. What were they doing to her?
Steps on the floor above. Andrew sat up straighter and braced his back against the wall. Judging by the sounds, the door was across from him. He looked aside so as not to be blinded by the light as it opened. Someone flicked a switch and light flooded all around him, rendering the effort useless.
“You’re sick.” A man’s voice, but not Pierce’s scent. Andrew hadn’t gotten a good sense of his two other attackers. This might be one of them, or it might be someone else. Then a bell rang in his memory, and Andrew squinted up as his eyes adjusted and the silhouette filled in with features. The alpha of Seattle looked much the same as Andrew remembered him from the last convocation. What the hell was the man’s name? Andrew couldn’t remember, as alphas so often went by their titles.
Andrew used the time as Seattle came down the stairs from the door to glance around the room. A broken-down couch took up the room’s center. Utility shelves, one with a crappy TV on top, leaned against the walls at staggered intervals. Nothing much to use as a weapon should he get free.
“Where’s Silver?” Andrew asked.
Seattle sneered. He was built along typical werewolf lines, but lankier in his muscle, rugged cowboy to Rory’s linebacker. He still out-bulked Andrew. “We’re civilized. We don’t need to keep stocks of it around for torturing our enemies, much as the poetic justice of that appeals to me. Where’s yours? I would have thought the Butcher would carry his arsenal with him.”
Andrew growled. “The woman. I don’t know what her real name is. She was too far gone to tell me.”
“Selene.” Seattle bent and grabbed Andrew’s shirt, gathering up the fabric, ready to choke him. Andrew let the humiliation of this position coil into his muscles, ready to move in another moment. Seattle shook him. “Lady bless her mother’s strange interest in human stories. Her name’s Selene. Why did you do it? To her and the others?” His voice vibrated with intensity. “Did you think coming back here to dump her like trash and disguising it as concern would throw us off the scent? Make us discount you as a suspect?”
This was what Andrew had been waiting for, someone close enough to grapple, but Seattle’s words stopped him. They thought he—? Andrew started to laugh, but it made him feel ill. “Not me. We found her, wandering. I came out to track the one who did it. Your version doesn’t even make sense. Why would I bring her back?” He tried to focus on the alpha through the throb in his skull. “Why don’t you tell me why your Were have started avoiding contact with surrounding packs. What are you trying to hide?”
Confusion broke through Seattle’s anger. “The Bellingham pack, Dare. Selene belonged to the Bellingham pack. I don’t know what you’re talking about with avoiding contact, unless Michelle has been exaggerating again.”
A Bellingham pack? Andrew had never heard of the city, never mind a pack there, and Rory wouldn’t have hidden it from him. But the Western packs changed so quickly, who could keep track?
Something smelled fishy about the whole statement—perhaps Seattle knew Michelle had cause. But the man didn’t smell as guilty as Andrew would have expected, confronted with a crime of this magnitude. The man should be able to smell the same thing on Andrew, but he seemed too caught up in his anger.
Seattle’s grip tightened to the choking point as he simply discarded the confusion. “What’d you keep her for? A plaything? And then you got tired of her? I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t just cut her throat with silver.”
Andrew tuned out the man’s idiocy and let the burning in his lungs fan rage to life. Seattle would have to listen to reason if he pounded him flat. He launched himself at the other man.
Seattle straightened, stepped out of reach, and lashed out a kick to Andrew’s stomach. Andrew doubled over, sucking air for several moments. Some of his ability to think logically returned with the oxygen. He needed to convince Seattle, not beat him up. The alpha had too much physical advantage at the moment. But if Seattle wouldn’t take his word for what had happened, whose would he take? He doubted Seattle would entirely trust Rory even if Andrew convinced him to call the other alpha.
Voices from upstairs intruded. Andrew recognized the cadence of Silver’s voice after a moment, if not the exact words. As she came closer, he caught the gist. “Where is he? Death says he’s here. What did you do to him? No, I don’t want to rest. I want to talk to him.”
Someone slammed against the door at the top of the stairs—doorknobs were beyond Silver, Andrew suspected—then jiggled it open by accident. Silver stumbled through, a little unsteady. Her eyes widened with relief when she saw him.
“Death tells me you can usually take care of yourself,” she said, brushing past the alpha, who was frozen in confusion again. She knelt beside Andrew, and slid her hands into his hair to feel the side of his head.
“Usually I can.” Andrew growled at her when her fingers found the lump. All his healing energy had been soaked up over the night by knitting his skull, so a bruise still remained. And it hurt like a bitch. Silver didn’t pay any attention to his growl, and he let her fuss.
“Maybe you’ll warn
me next time you prod my snakes,” she murmured. Andrew grimaced at the dig, but the alpha just looked even more confused. Andrew supposed Silver did make more sense on longer acquaintance.
“Stay away from him,” Seattle said, teeth gritted. He strode forward and put a hand on Silver’s shoulder, voice gentling to the point of patronization. “Come away. Come upstairs, and we’ll get you something to eat, and you can rest. Please, Selene.” He smoothed her hair off her shoulder like he would a child’s.
Silver’s face was turned away from the alpha, giving her a sense of privacy, but Andrew could see it perfectly. He watched it crumple like someone had raked claws into her guts and twisted.
“No.” She whispered the first word, but was screaming by the next as she smashed his hand away. “No, that name’s gone. Lost. She’s dead. Her, and her family and everyone she knows and Death stole her name in all their voices and locked it away with them.” The screaming pushed tears from the corners of her eyes. “Lost! Let her be lost!”
“Silver.” She didn’t hear him, so Andrew said it again, putting an alpha’s whipcrack of authority into it. “Silver. Stop it.” He took her with his free arm and pulled her against his chest. Seattle jerked forward but hesitated, maybe worried Andrew would hurt her if Seattle came for him.
Andrew held her close, not to comfort, but like squashing a wild creature. You controlled it until it felt the security to control itself again. Silver’s breaths and heart were as fast as a frightened bird’s, pounding against his skin. They slowed, gradually.
The alpha clenched and unclenched his hands. “I don’t know what you’ve done to make her trust you, but it’s not going to work. Sel—”
“Don’t be stupid.” Andrew tried to glare the other man down. He had to hold his temper. It was the full tonight, he could feel it. If he didn’t control the emotions washing through him, he’d start to shift. Not a good idea with his arm restrained this way. “Forcing her to think about whatever happened makes her worse. Thinking about anything before then seems to have the same effect. Don’t push it.”
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