Tribal Law

by Shannon Curtis

  She sensed Max slowly getting out of the car, and flicked him a glance. His expression was remote as he folded his arms. The movement added bulk to his impressive physique as he sized up her friend. He looked so dark and sexy and forbidding. Since they’d been abducted by the Woodland Pack Max had changed, showing a darker side to his personality, a lethal determination that was intriguing. His nerd factor was on the wane. She switched her gaze back to her former client in an effort to ignore the allure of her companion.

  Dave nodded. “Vassi.” His voice was deep, his tone warm. She stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction to her visit, and then the big guy finally smiled and held out his arms. “It’s been a while.”

  She hugged him, grinning. “Yes it has. How have you been?”

  Dave shrugged. “Same old, same old, darlin’.” He slung an arm over her shoulder, tugging her to his side as he faced her companion. “And who is this?”

  “This is my client, Max,” she responded.

  “Ryder,” he corrected as he held out his hand. “Ryder Galen.”

  “Whatever.” She turned to her friend, noticing that for once the mental fog over her client’s words wasn’t as thick or heavy. “We need your help.”

  Dave arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess, you’re finally going to let me ink you up.”

  She laughed. “No.” She turned to Max. “Dave is a tattooist.”

  “I prefer the term tattoo artist. I create art, Vassi darlin’.”

  “He’s also a witch,” she told Max, and smiled when his dark eyebrows rose. He gave her a considering look before turning back to the sunglass-wearing hulk next to her.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Dave said, extending his hand in greeting.

  Max eyed it warily before clasping it.

  She felt Dave stiffen next to her. “Well, well, what do we have here,” Dave murmured. Vassi eyed her friend with surprise as he continued to hold on to Max’s hand.

  “You’re quite the surprise, aren’t you?”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “So are you.”

  Vassi frowned. “Uh, okay, well, why don’t we talk about surprises inside Dave’s shop instead of outside in this alley where any werewolf can join in?” She had no idea what they were talking about, but now wasn’t the time to start a bromance.

  Dave frowned back at her. “Are you bringing trouble to my business, Vassi?”

  She snorted. “Your business is trouble, Dave. We have a lycan in the back who needs a little friendly encouragement to chat. I was hoping you could help.”

  Max went to the rear of the car and opened it. In a moment, he’d hauled out the unconscious lycan and hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He turned to look at the unconscious body that Dave had tossed into the alley. “What’s with him?”

  “Apparently he didn’t like what I did with his girlfriend. Of course, I disagreed.” Dave smiled as he stood aside, extending his arm toward his garage. “Please, come in.”

  Vassi gestured for Max to precede her, and jumped up to grab the base of the roller door and pulled it down. She walked behind him, watching his hips swing with a lazy sensuality that made her want to reach out and stroke him.

  She smiled. He’d tried to fire her. Warmth spread through her at the memory. Those things he’d said to her in the car, those words which should have been cruel, should have been like glass splinters scraping at her core, those words he’d uttered to get her to leave … they were all lies.

  She’d felt the bitter coldness of his deceit, and it had taken her a moment to figure out what he was doing.

  Her client was trying to protect her.

  She’d been more surprised by that fact than the words she’d known he’d carefully chosen for maximum impact.

  Dave led them down a short hall to a door. He opened the door, revealing a flight of stairs leading down, lit by a couple of fluorescent bulbs. He gestured for Max to precede him. Vassi followed, but had to stop at the threshold as an unrelenting invisible force held her back. She raised an eyebrow at her friend.

  “Would you like to invite me in, Dave?” she asked him sweetly.

  Dave smiled, the expression friendly. “By all means, Vassi, you are welcome as my guest.” He emphasised the last word.

  She nodded, appreciating his trust, and the inherent warning in his words. He wasn’t being rude, just cautious. Not many witches allowed vampires into their havens. As a guest, she had to abide by strict rules, or else access could be revoked.

  She strode downstairs, giving enough space for Max to precede her so she didn’t come in contact with the lycan slung over his shoulders. If what Max said was true, then this lycan could possibly tell them who was behind Jared’s murder, and why. Well, frankly, she didn’t care that much, as long as she got enough information to cast doubt on her client’s motives.

  And then she’d take on Woodland Pack. She couldn’t help it. Something innate was triggered within a vampire at the hands of a werewolf—and vice versa. An intuitive vendetta between the two tribes that flared constantly throughout the ages. There was even a clause in the Reform Law to recognise it and award special dispensation. She couldn’t let what they’d tried to do to her slide. It set a bad example. No, she would have to exact some retribution against them, not only on behalf of vampires, but also for all the court officers she represented. No pack could get away with what Woodland had attempted to do. Of course, if she’d had family that gave a damn, things would be easier. She’d been honest when she’d told Max there would be no tribal warfare. She didn’t have a tribe invested in protecting her interests, or her. She’d have to do it on her own.

  Another door at the bottom of the stairs requiring yet another invitation from the resident, security-conscious witch, and then they were in a series of caves beneath Dave’s tattoo parlour.

  “What is this place?” Max breathed as he halted, staring about in awe.

  They’d stepped into a large cavern, and Dave carelessly waved a hand, bringing what looked like several hundred candles to life.

  “This, my curious friend, is Old Irondell.” Dave turned, the markings on his skin clearly visible in the candlelight. The tattoos were all over his back, not images but text in a gothic script that rolled over his muscles, up over his shoulders and down his arms. Darkly beautiful. Vassi had always wondered about the dark markings but had never worked up the courage to ask. “You can put your little friend in there,” Dave said, pointing to a cell.

  Dave had used the natural rock formations to form smaller rooms around the rim of the larger cave. There were more tunnels leading off in different directions, one dark hole revealing another tunnel leading further into the underground.

  “Old Irondell? I thought that was only a legend,” Max breathed, eyeing the dark hole at the end of the cave.

  Dave snorted. “It’s a legend to those who don’t need to know.” He pointed to Max. “You don’t need to know, so don’t let on that you do.”

  Max dumped the lycan on the floor, and each of them ignored the man’s groan.

  Vassi joined Max and wandered through the cavern. Dave had set himself up a haven, a place to work his spells—and to take care of other witch business that Vassi didn’t want to know about. She could understand Max’s surprise. Old Irondell was part of the fable of Origin, before the Reformation, when changelings and witches and other miscreants had to hide their existence from the humans. Origin ended, though, when the miscreants revealed their existence, and then The Troubles began, resulting in a horrific war that saw deaths on all sides reach cataclysmic proportions and the destruction of many cities, including Old Irondell, before the Resolution that led to Reformation. The tunnels that ran under Irondell were the footprint of the city that once stood there—before it was burned to the ground, before the Reformation. From long, winding corridors to wide roads and plazas, it was a hidden metropolis. It was home to pockets of humanity and miscreants alike, and while everyone would like to believe Reform Law covered al
l, many knew there were some places that Reform Law couldn’t touch. The less folks knew about Old Irondell, the safer they were.

  Dave leaned against a scarred wooden table and folded his arms, his biceps bulging. “So, Vassi, what do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to get this lycan to talk,” she answered as Max approached her side.

  “You don’t need my help for that,” Dave said, and she could feel his intent gaze, despite the barrier of the sunglasses he constantly wore.

  She grimaced. “Actually, I do.” Now that Max had taken her lipstick, she had no other way to compel the werewolf to tell her the truth.

  “Well, perhaps you should be visiting your mother instead of me,” Dave suggested.

  Vassi’s eyes widened. Dave knew. She swallowed. “When?” When did he find out? How did he find out?

  Dave smiled dryly. “Always.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You never said anything.”

  Dave shrugged. “I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” Max asked, watching their exchange with a keen curiosity.

  “Nothing,” Vassi said abruptly. She folded her arms, mimicking Dave’s stance. “Can you help me or not?” Damn witches saw way too much, sometimes.

  Dave cocked his head to the side, his gaze flicking between the two. “Interesting.” He bowed his head, as though thinking on something—or meditating, or whatever the hell witches did to make their friends squirm. He lifted his head to look at her.

  “You know the rules. No innocents are harmed, and we do everything my way.”

  She nodded in relief. “Yep. No innocents.”

  “What do I get in exchange?”

  Vassi frowned. “Can’t you do a favour for a friend?”

  Dave snorted. “If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me …”

  Max shifted. “What do you want?”

  Dave straightened from his casual pose, and Vassi became very aware of the strength and bulk of the man. He may not have the strength or speed of a shapeshifter, but he was a potent witch, and a powerful human. She considered him a special kind of friend, but she knew that witches had their own code. They were strong allies—unless you pissed them off. Then they became your worst nightmare. But not Dave. Not to her.

  “I want a favour.” Dave walked slowly forward.

  Vassi nodded. “Oookay.” Wasn’t that what she’d asked? “What favour?”

  Dave smiled. “I don’t know yet. I want to bank it, use it when I need it.”

  For anyone else, Vassi would have refused, but this was Dave. She’d helped him out with some court issues and he’d helped her out in the past with some meditative training. They had shared a lot, and had been there when the other needed it. “Okay.”

  Dave shook his head. “But not from you, Vassi.” He stood in front of Max. “I want it from you.”

  Max met his gaze squarely, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the tattoo artist. He flicked a glance to the unconscious lycan, then at Vassi, then back to the witch. Vassi held her breath. It was like watching two gladiators of old facing off.

  Max finally nodded. “Fine. You have your favour.”

  He stuck his hand out, and Dave shook it, inclining his head. “One day, my friend.”

  Dave stepped back, then rubbed his hands together. “Right. Let’s get started then. How do you want to do this, Vassi? Easy or hard?”

  Vassi sighed. “Well, after what his pack tried to do, I’d like to go hard, but I still want him to talk, so maybe not that hard.”

  Dave nodded. “I see.”

  He stalked over to the cell and stepped inside to chain the lycan up. The man jerked, his eyes opening as the cuffs were clasped around his wrists and ankles. From where she stood, Vassi could hear the hiss as the metal burned against skin. She winced. The chains were painted with wolfsbane.

  The lycan growled, trying to jerk his limbs free, only to cause himself more pain when his wrists and ankles came into contact with the corrosive poison.

  Dave pulled a glass vial half-filled with a cloudy liquid out of his pocket, snapped off the lid and grasped the man’s jaw. He poured the fluid into the lycan’s mouth, then stepped back as the lycan thrashed and tried to spit out the concoction, his growls turning to whimpers.

  “Is this necessary?” Max stepped forward and Vassi placed her hand on his arm.

  Dave nodded as he kept his eyes on the man on the floor. “A dilution of wolfsbane with a mild sedative. It’ll weaken him so that he can’t shift.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t talk werewolf.”

  The witch strode out of the cell and across to a cupboard built along a wall, waving his hands with a flourish. The doors opened, revealing a massive array of bottles, boxes and books.

  He removed a bottle of what looked like ash, and a number of other ingredients: powders, a bottle of liquid, some herbs and a silver dagger. He frowned. “Something’s missing.” He snapped his fingers and smiled. “Of course.”

  He strode over to a stereo built into a niche in the rock wall and switched it on. Thumping hard rock music echoed throughout the cavern and Dave nodded to the beat as he started to mix his potion. Every now and then his hips would sway to the music, or he’d step out to the beat, but nothing shook his focus as he worked quietly at the table.

  Vassi watched in silence. Dave’s lips moved quietly as he chanted something that sounded like garbled nonsense to her, but from the way the candles surrounding them stuttered and sparked it was obviously some powerful incantation.

  She flicked a look at Max. His gaze was intent as he followed Dave’s actions for a moment, then he raised his eyes to look at her. Just like that, the steady silver-blue stare met hers with a focus that left her breathless and made her think of all things dark and forbidden. He tilted his head as he stepped closer.

  “So, Vassi, how do you know Dave?” His voice was low, and the witch was oblivious as he bopped along to the loud rock music.

  She blinked, trying to stave off the familiar rise of attraction. “Uh, he’s a friend. I represented him in a case against some vampires a couple of years ago, and since then we’ve stayed in touch.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?” He leaned closer.

  She nodded, then licked her lips nervously. She felt like she was being stalked by a shifter, one of those big, lazy cat breeds, with teeth. “Y-yes.” She smiled. “I’m a vampire. He’s a witch. All we can be is friends.” Actually, they were more than friends, but not in the way Max was thinking. She’d helped Dave in a difficult time, and over the years Dave had helped her when her family wouldn’t. That made him as good as family, in her eyes, and she’d do anything for him, as he would for her.

  “Why? You don’t think cross-breed relationships can work?”

  She thought of her parents. While they’d loved each other, they hadn’t loved enough to leave their families for the other, or to set up their own nucleus. Even a child wasn’t enough motivation to forge a new life together. “No, I don’t think they do. It’s very challenging to cross conventions and create your own tribe.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s a shame,” he murmured softly. “Imagine what you could be missing out on.”

  “Right, you two, save your whispers for another time. I’ve got a client coming in for some outlining, so let’s get this show on the road.” Dave strode over to the cell, chalice in one hand, silver dagger in the other.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryder watched as the tattoo artist trailed the blade across the lycan’s forearm. Steam rose from the bloody mark left by the blade, and the skin started to blister. They’d chained the man to a wooden chair inside the cell for the purposes of their ‘chat’, but the lycan was proving remarkably stubborn.

  “Did you know the supplies were tainted?” Dave asked calmly as the lycan writhed in pain.

  “Go to hell,” the lycan spat as sweat beaded his brow.

  Dave tsked. “No, that place is reserv
ed for you shifters.” He casually dipped the dagger into the chalice, using it to stir the liquid before pulling it out. The liquid dripped onto the jean-clad leg of the lycan, and the man’s chin rose as he tried to silence his cry of pain.

  “I’m going to ask you again. Did you know the supplies were tainted?” Dave thrust the blade into the man’s thigh. The lycan jolted, screaming in pain as the poison burnt through material and skin to the flesh beneath. Ryder almost felt sympathy for the man, until he remembered the pack’s intention to kill him in the den, and the werewolf guardians’ attempt to kill Vassi in the forest. The emotions he felt then were most definitely not sympathetic.

  “Yes, yes, damn it.” The man glared up at them, sweat running down the side of his face and neck.

  “Were you working on your own, or under instruction?” Dave asked.

  The lycan glared at the witch, his eyes glowing briefly. “Screw you.”

  Vassi sighed, and Ryder glanced over at her. Her expression was impassive, yet he could see the tight lines around her mouth, the shadows in her eyes. No matter how badass she presented herself, she didn’t like this any more than he did. Dave, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy his work. They’d been at this for hours. The first time the lycan had lapsed into unconsciousness, Dave had given him some respite, going up to work on his client. There hadn’t been much progress since Dave’s return and, quite frankly, Ryder wasn’t sure how much more Vassi could handle, let alone the lycan.

  “May I?” he enquired, stepping further into the cell.

  Dave gazed at him for a moment, before shrugging. “Sure. The more, the merrier.” He rose from the wooden stool he’d been sitting on and handed the dagger and chalice over to Ryder.

  Vassi frowned, but Ryder ignored her. So far he’d been quite restrained and on the defensive. He’d tried to run, hide and talk his way out of most situations with the werewolves, not wanting any more blood on his hands. Since the Woodland den, though, he’d realised that there was more going on than just a simple murder. Vassi just wanted to present benefit of the doubt, but he wanted more. For him to clear his name and stand any chance of surviving this ordeal, he had to find who was truly behind Jared Gray’s murder.