Silver

by Rhiannon Held

  The alpha sneered at him, but didn’t finish the name all the same. “Even if you’re telling the truth about your involvement, she’s no concern of yours any longer. You’ve brought her back to her birth pack, and now you can return to your territory.”

  Silver took a deep breath and drew sarcasm around herself as she pushed out of Andrew’s hold and turned to Seattle. “It wasn’t him. And good luck with getting him to leave just like that.” She stood and explored the handcuffs with her fingers, treating them like something she could untie. “He’s not one for doing things other people tell him.” She growled in frustration, maybe over the metal having no knots.

  The alpha raised his eyebrows at Andrew, making the question clear. Would Andrew leave?

  “You’re a help,” Andrew told Silver, and then concentrated on matching the alpha’s stare. If only he wasn’t held in the lower position. It made his blood boil. “I’m not leaving this coast until I catch whoever did this to Silver. But you can’t keep me chained up down here.”

  “Well, if you won’t give your word you’ll leave, I don’t have much choice.”

  Andrew barked a laugh. Don’t shift, he reminded himself. Be amused at the man instead. “And then what? You can’t keep me here forever. And it’ll be pack war if you kill me unprovoked. You can’t take Roanoke, even if you could convince Portland and one or two others to stand with you.”

  That hit a nerve. The alpha turned with werewolf quickness and yanked open the door to the stairs. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

  Andrew lunged to his arm’s length without meaning to. “It’s full tonight.”

  The man turned back with a nasty smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot.” He went to a shelving unit along one wall, cheap particle board with a faux stain, and picked up a collar attached to a length of chain.

  The reason for the ring set into the wall became abruptly clear. Most packs had a method to contain and isolate anyone who lost themselves in wolf form. Andrew readied himself to jam an elbow into the man’s groin when the man got close enough, but the alpha slammed a hand into Andrew’s throat to hold him against the wall before he could complete the movement. A couple of smooth clicks sounded as he locked the chain to the ring and snapped the collar around Andrew’s neck before he could draw breath properly again.

  Andrew tried to bring his arm up for a blow again, but the alpha laughed. “I can leave the handcuffs if you want.” Andrew subsided, unable to keep himself from spitting curses, and the alpha unlocked them.

  “Come on, Se— Silver.” The alpha waited at the door for her, arm open to fold over her shoulders.

  Silver regarded him expressionlessly. “No.” She repeated it when he started to speak again. The alpha waited a moment in frustration, and then left. At least he didn’t turn off the lights.

  The bastard. Andrew was still coughing from the blow to his throat, but he had to test the strength of the ring and the concrete it was set in. He slid his fingers under the collar and lunged with all his weight.

  The chain had no hint of give, that first time, or any of the dozen subsequent times. He couldn’t stand it. He was barely able to pull off his clothes before the shift came over him, violent this time, yanking muscles to screaming pain.

  He ended it panting on his side. Somehow, it was even worse now, instincts that couldn’t bear being trapped now ascendant. He lunged, and lunged again until he could hardly breathe, and then snapped at the chain. Control. Wait. Stillness. Patience. Control, he told himself.

  It didn’t work.

  12

  Death howled to the Lady’s round, heavy shape in the dark sky, and Silver watched the warrior’s wild self thrash its way to the surface even as she prepared herself for the pain of Death’s howling. Silver’s muscles tensed, waiting to twist into her wild self. Before, when they couldn’t twist, they burned.

  But burning never came. The snakes were dead. The longing for the Lady’s touch hurt, but it was no longer a pain of the body, only another ache like her grief for her brother and all the others. She curled up on the ground and let her muscles relax. If she was not to lose herself in the pain, perhaps it was time to take stock and figure out what to do next.

  Her mother’s pack were idiots. They meant well, but it was like being smothered in honey, thick and cloying. They were so sure they knew what was going on. They couldn’t be more wrong. The warrior was the one whose assistance had allowed her to stop running. The one who had killed the snakes. And now they’d restrained him, the same way she’d been—

  Her thoughts skittered away from that memory like a rabbit from her wild self’s jaws. She had more pressing problems here and now. The warrior was hurting himself. She hadn’t heard it properly at first, she’d been so caught up in waiting for the burning to begin. He had let his wild self out because it was the wild self that wanted most to be free, only now it was free to be the one restrained. He was trying to make himself hurt so much he could stop fighting, Silver supposed.

  “No,” she told him. Simple, so his wild self would understand. He snapped at her hand. She caught his jaws anyway, holding them shut. She held him that way for a moment and then let go to smack him on the nose. “Stop it. Follow your own advice.”

  He looked at her, eyes wide and accusing. It made her laugh. “Lady above, you’re a liar. That didn’t hurt.” She smacked him again to prove it. He whuffed in protest. Silver kept laughing, helpless laughter until suddenly it was tears and she didn’t understand why.

  “He came here because of you,” Death said, in her brother’s voice. He’d found a rabbit somewhere and was gnawing on the entrails. “It’s your fault he’s tied up.”

  “I know,” Silver said, and it made the warrior look confused, since he couldn’t see Death. She drew in a shuddering breath. Oh, the grief ached. But her brother was gone, and the warrior was here now. “I’m trying. I’ll try to help you hunt your prey.”

  The warrior dismissed that by shaking his steely gray head. He turned to his bindings again, snapping at them. Clouds drifted away from the Lady’s face, and Death looked up. He raised his muzzle to howl to Her once more. Even knowing it would be different, Silver went just as tense from fear.

  No. She refused to make it happen anyway by tensing in expectation. She needed to distract herself.

  “Idiot. You’re all over burrs—” Silver reached out to pluck at the warrior’s ruff. There was nothing there, but it distracted him too. He shook his ruff as if to dislodge invisible stickers, playing along. Perhaps he was grateful for the pretense.

  She drew her hands through the fur, reveling in the sensation. Just there, the nap was different, over his shoulder blade, and then thinner and softer on his underbelly. His muscles tensed like he was getting ready to pull away, but any wild self could eventually be undone with scratching in just the right spot. Finally he sighed, and relaxed beneath her hands.

  * * *

  Andrew didn’t mind being used for a pillow—he fondly remembered doggy piles for naps from back when he actually belonged to a pack—but there was something ignominious about being petted in someone’s sleep. Silver was light, no burden at all, but clutched like this, he felt like a child’s stuffed toy. But he’d seen her begin a seizure caused by her inability to shift only to pull herself back from the edge out of that odd concern for him. He’d endured enough humiliation already at Seattle’s hands; he could sacrifice a final shred of dignity to keep her safe in this.

  Silver murmured something in her sleep and petted his shoulder again. How long had it been since he’d curled up with someone like this, without sex beforehand? That was the closest he’d gotten to the intimacy of a pack doggy pile in a long time. No question of naps with the Roanoke pack.

  So that would mean the last time had been in Spain—no. That wasn’t something he chose to remember.

  He growled and wiggled out from under her. Time to be human again. He didn’t want the alpha seeing him in the defenseless, personal moments of shiftin
g. And he didn’t want to give Seattle a power bonus as the only one able to speak.

  Silver reached out as if trying to pull him back again, but then subsided. The collar made dressing awkward, and he discovered he’d popped off a button last night in his hurry to undress. When he finished, Andrew scrubbed at his rough jaw. Unwashed, unshaved, and yesterday’s clothes. Damn, he wanted a shower.

  “Are you feeling better?” Silver asked, blinking her eyes a few times to clear away sleep. She propped herself up with her good arm to look at him.

  Andrew had to smile. That was his line. His concussion was long gone, but Silver didn’t seem to realize the irony of the injured party inquiring after the healthy one’s state. “Are you?”

  Silver wrinkled her nose and didn’t answer. She levered herself upright. Andrew motioned her closer and waited this time for her to give him her arm. He alternated watching her face for pain with examining it. She winced once, but otherwise seemed unaffected as he moved it this way and that. No new blood had soaked through the bandages.

  “As soon as Seattle comes to his senses, I’ll be going to where it happened,” he said, laying Silver’s arm back against her chest. “I assume they know where, and aren’t just inventing a crime scene whole cloth from some mysterious disappearances.” He paused a beat. “There’s no reason for you to come.”

  “No,” Silver said. “I don’t think I should.”

  Andrew let out a relieved breath and looked into her eyes. There did seem to be more sense there than before he’d drained some of the silver from her blood.

  Footsteps on the stairs, and they both looked up. The night’s sleep had knocked the alpha’s name loose. John. Denied other options by being chained up, Andrew supposed he was down to the stupidest of dominance games, so he pretended that John was too unimportant to bother cutting short his conversation with Silver.

  “Do you trust them? I could take you anywhere you wanted to go, if you’d rather not stay here,” Andrew said. Games aside, this was important. He didn’t want Silver stuck here if she wasn’t completely comfortable with it.

  “My mother belonged to this pack, before she died. They’ll take care of me. Even if they’re supremely misguided.” Silver didn’t ignore John, turning instead to give him a glare as he came down the stairs.

  “And your father? Was he not part of Seattle? Would you want to go to him and his pack instead?”

  Silver laughed and turned back. “He roams. I don’t know where he is or even how many children he has. We have no ties.”

  Seen from the corner of Andrew’s eye, John’s expression was getting thunderous, so Andrew stood, chain rattling. The tension between the two men instantly tilted a little more equal, and Andrew relaxed a little. That was better. He was no longer the captive chained to the floor. “So?”

  John ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a pine needle. Someone had been rolling in the dirt last night. It annoyed Andrew afresh to think of John running free. But some of the alpha’s confidence from the night before had gone. “Sel— Silver seemed to think enough of you I called Roanoke this morning.”

  Andrew’s lips quirked. The man’s ears were probably still ringing. Rory tended not to remember in the heat of the moment that he couldn’t reach out through the phone and strangle someone. “And how is Rory?”

  “Apparently you were both in Ottawa when it happened. And Ottawa vouches for you, not just Roanoke.”

  The man didn’t sound entirely convinced, so Andrew said what he already knew John was thinking. “Unless I hopped a plane. But I do fail to see how I could be gone for something like twenty hours round trip and still have time to do”—Andrew glanced at Silver—“whatever was done. Which, I might remind you, I still have no idea about. I’d be touched if you’d share.” John bristled at the tone, but his eyes went to Silver too.

  “I’m hungry,” Silver announced. She pointed to Andrew. “And he is too, even though he’s too proud to say. C’mon, Death.” The last was directed at the air beside her. She headed to the stairs.

  The men stood in silence without her for a while. John finally came forward, taking a key from his pocket. “Don’t try anything.”

  “That would be stupid.” But tempting, Andrew had to admit. They could see how the alpha liked being chained up. He lifted his chin and stayed perfectly still as John fitted the key into the padlock. He rubbed at his neck once the collar fell away. John offered Andrew’s phone silently and Andrew slotted it into its holster.

  “You want something to eat too?” The offer was so grudging, Andrew was surprised it didn’t stick in the man’s throat on the way out.

  Silver had been correct, in both respects. Andrew wasn’t going to admit he needed anything from this man. “We can wait for her to finish.” Andrew nodded upstairs. It was clear enough Silver meant them to talk now when she wasn’t around to be hurt by the memories.

  Now he was free, he took a look around. Besides the couch and shelves he’d noticed the night before, an amorphous mass of blankets and pillows, thoroughly coated with hair, took up the other corner. If not for Andrew’s presence, the pack would undoubtedly have slept down here in wolf form last night. Andrew eyed the couch, but stayed standing.

  John made no move to sit down either. He leaned on his hands on the couch back. “The Bellingham pack splintered off five or six years ago, when my uncle was still alpha. Selene’s brother was the pack’s alpha, she was the beta, and they took about a dozen other young were. We kept in pretty close contact, until four months ago when they went quiet. We waited a little and then went up to investigate.” John paused, struggling with the words. “They were all at the alpha’s house. It was—like a horror movie. All of them tied up with silver, and then one by one—” A growl rose in his throat. “We found all the bodies but Selene’s, but her trail petered out—we assumed she’d died somewhere else, after escaping.”

  “Selene was the only one missing?” Andrew wished he dared ask if any of the Seattle pack had been coincidentally not around at the time. Someone the Bellingham pack trusted would have had an easier time getting the jump on them, but now was not the time to risk Seattle’s anger that way. He could find out later on his own.

  “Yes.” John shoved himself away from the couch, and started pacing. “You think we haven’t investigated this? We combed the woods for trails for weeks. We found gallons of scattered bleach, a few small brush fires. No scent trail left. The house was more bleach and blood. A lot of blood, none of it a stranger’s.” John slammed his hand into the wall. The paneling cracked, but the concrete beneath didn’t care. Bruises appeared across his knuckles and slid through the colors of healing before fading out.

  “Why didn’t you tell Roanoke?” Andrew flexed his hand against his opposite palm. Hitting things would be a lovely idea, but he was running low on resources to heal another injury if he didn’t eat soon.

  John snarled. “What business is this of Roanoke’s?”

  “What business is this of any of us? What if he’d gone to Portland next? They had no idea when I talked to them that they might even be in danger. Or Billings? Or Sacramento?” Andrew didn’t give a damn what the Western packs wanted to do with themselves, but he hadn’t realized any had gotten to this level of isolationism.

  “He was our problem. If we’d caught him—”

  “But you didn’t.” Andrew put a whipcrack into his words, one alpha-powerful Were to another. “You didn’t even fucking find Silver. A smart man knows when to call in help.”

  “Meaning you?” John’s lips twisted into a sneer.

  “Me. Or the next pack over. Or Roanoke, because whatever else you say about us, we can get a network of people looking within hours, without fucking around with people who don’t feel like answering our calls.”

  John made a grudging noise, wanting to agree without losing face. Andrew reluctantly allowed him that and changed the subject. “Silver said she’d stay here while you take me up to see the scene.”

  “Yeah.�
�� John turned to go, leading the way up to the main floor. “We brought your car. So you can get your stuff and change.” He sniffed pointedly.

  Andrew suppressed a snarl. Obviously, it was his own fault he’d been chained up all night without access to a shower. “But these clothes were just getting properly broken in.”

  The rest of the pack wasn’t in evidence when Andrew left the bathroom, washed and dressed. He couldn’t even count them by scent, as the house had been aggressively treated with scent-disguising cleaning products sometime in the last few days. Probably just before he’d been brought back here. The products made his sinuses ache. Clearly, John didn’t want him smelling the pack’s metaphorical dirty laundry, which made Andrew even more determined to find it. He still hadn’t figured out what had caused the pack’s behavior toward Portland. He lingered in the hall outside the bathroom as long as he could, and finally caught a whiff of a human woman. Worn in, not ephemeral, so she’d been around quite a lot.

  Someone’s fuck buddy, he suspected. He could understand the appeal in an abstract sense—he’d had his one-night stands—but he’d never seen the point of starting a relationship guaranteed to end sooner rather than later.

  Dishes were piled high in the sink when he entered the kitchen. A couple days’ newspapers lay scattered over the kitchen table under the coffee cups. The pretty boy—Pierce—slathered cream cheese on another bagel for Silver as ham slices sizzled in the frying pan. She already had a plate piled high enough to feed three werewolves on the bar counter before her, and she gave Pierce an exasperated look as he set the bagel down next to the mountain of food. Pierce didn’t seem to notice. He glanced at Andrew and pointedly rubbed his nose, which was a little bit crooked now, spoiling the pretty line. Served him right. Andrew ignored Pierce and kept conversation with John to a minimum out of consideration for Silver.