Wolf Queen (Wolves of New York #3)

by Bella Jacobs

  Ignoring the voice in my head shouting that if I go down that vent, I’m never coming out again, I shift the heavy grate to one side, strip off my clothes so I’ll be ready to shift at a moment’s notice and lower myself into the tunnel.

  It’s slanted at about a forty-five-degree angle and with my bare feet braced on the top of the metal tube, I’m able to control the rate of my descent. I ease down as quietly as I can, taking advantage of the moments when Maxim is crying out to move a little faster.

  Finally, after what feels like an eternity trapped in the dark, but is likely only five or six minutes, the tube flattens out a little and I see a light up ahead. It’s a tight fit, but I have just enough room to shift from my back onto my belly and military crawl the rest of the way to another grate-covered hole.

  I peek over the edge into a small room carved into the bowels of the earth to see Maxim strapped to a stone table, naked and broken. Another man stands over his legs, slowly and methodically breaking the toes on his left foot with a metal device that resembles a large garlic press while mad-sounding cries of agony gargle from the back of Maxim’s throat.

  A sob of shock and revulsion rises in my chest, but I swallow it down.

  There’s no time for having feelings about what I’m seeing. I have to focus on finding a way to make it stop.

  Pulling in a quiet, bracing breath, I will myself to calm down and think rationally. I’ll only have one chance to use the element of surprise to my advantage and I have to make the most of it.

  I’m still concocting and dismissing various avenues of attack when Maxim’s closed eyes suddenly fly open and he cries out, “Willow! Willow, run, he’s going to hurt you. Leave me and run! Run!”

  I freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest.

  And then the other man murmurs, “Your continued concern for your mate is admirable, but misplaced. You’re the only one who’s suffering, Alpha. Take comfort in that if you can.” And then he crushes the torture device in his hands around Maxim’s last unbroken toe while simultaneously smashing a fist into the mangled wreck that is his other leg.

  Maxim makes a sound no being should ever have to make—a sound of such agony and hopelessness that it shatters my heart—and then mercifully loses consciousness.

  Fighting the tears pressing at my eyes and the exceedingly stupid urge to rip off the grate, shift, and do my best to tear my mate’s torturer apart with my teeth, I force myself to remain still. I watch the man calmly collect his tools, wiping them down with a cloth that smells of alcohol before placing them neatly back on a shelf on the other side of the room from the stone table.

  I listen as he pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his simple black jacket and places a call.

  Whoever’s on the other end takes their time to answer but eventually I catch a murmur of sound too faint for me to make out and the man says, “He’s unconscious again. Now would be a good time to establish the connection.”

  He pauses, listening for a beat before he adds in a tighter voice, “I understand that you would prefer to wait until tomorrow night, but this will take time. The connection must be formed and the seeds planted before the ritual can be successful. Fail to lay the groundwork and our efforts will have been in vain.”

  He falls silent and I strain to hear what’s being said on the other end of the line, but all I can glean is that it’s a feminine voice, which is surprising.

  I don’t have time to think more on that, however, before the man adds, “Drug her now, instead. I can make him look presentable enough that she won’t realize he’s been tortured while she’s under the influence and an injection will get him hard enough to get the job done. Once she sobers up, you can clean up the aftermath with whatever lies you need to tell to convince her to cooperate tomorrow.” The voice comes again, but he cuts her off. “The future of the entire world hangs in the balance. If he rises to power, he intends to destroy the barrier between Human Side and The Parallel. He’ll throw the entire balance of creation into chaos and despair. He will literally turn the world upside down, woman. I know she’s your sister, but if Bane goes through with his plans, she and everyone else will suffer and maybe even die. This is the best course.”

  My ribs squeeze and my mouth floods with the acrid taste of bile.

  “Better a little betrayal now and a happy ending for our people than to let tender feelings doom us all,” the man continues. “We can’t afford to have a conscience right now, Kelley. The end game is all that matters.”

  Even before he says her name, I know who he’s talking to, but those two syllables still cut through me like a knife.

  Kelley did this.

  Kelley is at least partially responsible for torturing a man in ways no being should ever be tortured, especially not a man who, for all his faults, is doing his best to serve his people and keep them safe.

  I have no idea why she’s done this, but…

  My thoughts veer off course as I realize I actually might have an idea…

  I’m struggling to remember everything Maggie said about the ancient queen who ruled for two hundred years, the one who had her mate locked up somewhere being tortured, when the man in the black coat says, “Excellent. I’ll leave the door open and make sure Bane’s otherwise engaged. You’ll have until noon to get it done. The rings and the fertility charm are in the cabinet here.” He makes an irritated sound low in his throat. “No, of course I didn’t move the sword. It’s still in the armory, where it will stay until the last possible moment. I know the plan and I intend to keep to it. Make sure you do the same.”

  He ends the call with a sharp tap of his thumb and without another glance back at the human being he just tortured into a blackout, he leaves the room.

  I force myself to wait a good ten minutes, hopefully ensuring the man is truly gone and not simply popping out for a snack before he continues his bloody work, and then slowly shift the grate to one side.

  Elbows braced on the edge of the opening, I slowly lower my legs down into the room, abs trembling as more of my weight dangles free. Grunting softly, I manage to shift from my elbows to my hands without tumbling into the room, but it’s a close call. As I release the metal and drop softly to land with bent knees, I vow to get serious about fitness at my earliest opportunity.

  If I’m not going to have a sword to help me toughen up, I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.

  And I won’t have that sword.

  Even if I could steal it from Bane, I’m not about to mess with that thing, not if there’s even a chance that Maxim locked away and suffering in the dark is part of what it will require to bring me to power. Even if he turns out to be the worst version of himself and keeps me in his shadow for the entire length of our relationship—however long that might be—I will never regret making this choice.

  There are lines I refuse to cross, and torture is absolutely one of them.

  Even before I tiptoe across the room to Maxim’s side—the smell of terrified, brutalized wolf pricking at my nose and bringing tears to my eyes—there’s no doubt in my mind or heart about that.

  I rest a soft hand on his forehead as I whisper, “It’s all right now. I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

  I don’t expect an answer—I don’t expect him to be awake for hours, in fact, and am busy brainstorming ways to carry him out of here—but a beat later his lashes flutter open. “Willow, you’re here,” he rasps in a voice so filled with joy that it breaks my heart all over again.

  Before I can stop them, tears stream down my cheeks, coming so fast they drip off my chin to land on Maxim’s bruised chest.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maxim

  “No, little wolf, don’t cry. We talked about this.” I try to reach for her pretty face, but my hand is still bound at my side, which is confusing.

  Usually, in my dreams, I’m free to move around.

  But this is all right.

  I can still enjoy her company—once I remind her that we shouldn’t
waste what little time we have together with grief. “Let’s talk about other things, the way we usually do,” I say, my heart lurching as she lifts her tortured gaze to mine. “Tell me about your day. Tell me what part of the world you explored and what you had for dinner. You know I’m always hungry.”

  I try to laugh, but it emerges as a strained grunt.

  I’m in too much pain to laugh, which is also unusual for a dream, but hardly surprising considering the way things have been going lately.

  Pushing away memories of the torture before they can take hold, I add in as light a voice as I can manage, “Or breakfast. I have no idea what time it is. It’s always gloom o’clock down here.”

  She sniffs and swallows, clearly making an effort to pull herself together. “How long have you been down here, love?” she asks, her voice thick with emotion.

  I wince, tears rising in my eyes now, too. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t call me that. It makes it harder to believe you’re real. Real Willow doesn’t love me. Real Willow…” I trail off, losing the strength to finish the sentence.

  The pain from my ravaged foot is starting to cut through the general hot, damaged feeling below my knees, becoming more articulated with every passing moment.

  Willow’s gaze sharpens on mine. “Real Willow has a lot of complicated feelings for you, Maxim, but right now all she wants is to get you out of here and kill the people who hurt you.” She strokes my brow again with her cool hand. “And to comfort you because this…” She presses her lips together, pulling in a breath through her nose. “This is unspeakable, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.”

  More tears slip down my cheeks and my heart swells like a balloon about to burst as that crushing, all-too-familiar hope rises inside of me again.

  I shake my head, “No. Please. I can’t. Not again. I can’t dream that I’m out and wake up here again. I can’t.”

  She cups my cheeks in both of her hands and orders sternly, “Then let’s stop wasting time and get busy. I am not a dream, Maxim. I am really here. I snuck down an air vent into this room and I have no idea how to get out or how much time we have before someone comes looking for me. So, if you have any idea where the keys to your shackles are, that will help speed things along.”

  I blink and smack my dry lips, thoughts fogged by the rapidly intensifying pain coming from my foot. “I…I don’t know. The shelf, maybe.” I wince as I begin to shiver, the way I sometimes do after an especially awful session with Gray. “It feels like I’m dying,” I whisper, my pulse slamming faster in my throat. “The pain is too much. It’s going to kill me this time, Willow.”

  “No, it’s not,” she insists, bending to press a kiss to my cheek before she whispers next to my ear, “You hold on, Mr. Thorn. This isn’t how it ends for you, or us, not by a long shot.”

  And then she disappears. Choking on a breath, I close my eyes, trying to visualize a dam being built between my top half and my bottom, a barrier to ward off the pain, but it doesn’t work this time.

  The damage is too fresh, too intense.

  There’s only one way to escape it and I’m nearly there—slipping back into something deeper than sleep—when Willow shakes my shoulder and hisses in an excited voice, “Eyes open, Alpha. You’re about to be free.”

  I drag my lids up to see her holding a large metal key in front of my face.

  “Can you shift?” she asks, moving the key down to my left wrist.

  “I…I can’t,” I murmur, fighting to keep my eyes open. “I told you, I can’t do this again.”

  “Not again, for the first time,” she says, popping the manacle off my arm and hurrying around the end of the table to my other side. “This is the first time you’ve really been free, Maxim. This isn’t a dream, and if you can shift, your wolf will start to heal the worst of the damage. And I’m pretty sure I can carry you out when you’re furry.” She pops the lock on my other hand and then my neck before leaning over to bring her face closer to mine. “But if you stay in your big manly man body it’s not going to happen, hotshot, so it’s time to pull yourself together and get this last job done. Okay? After that, I’ll take point, I promise. You can pass out furry if you need to.”

  I reach for her face, my muscles protesting movement after so long strapped down. I see my hand—my fingernail-free hand, that’s covered in dried blood and smells like death—and my stomach flips.

  It’s the smell that does it, I think, that finally convinces me this isn’t a dream.

  “Willow,” I croak. “You’re really here?”

  She nods, her eyes shining with empathy. “Yes, big bad. I really am. Now shift for me and let’s get you out of here.”

  “You forgive me?” I ask, more tears hot on my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I’m so sorry.”

  Dimly, deep in my mind, I’m aware the old me would have been mortified to be reduced to tears and begging for forgiveness in front of my mate, but I’m no longer that man.

  I’m a broken man who regrets every act of unnecessary violence I’ve ever committed, especially with her, this woman I didn’t realize I loved more than life itself until it was too late.

  But maybe it’s not too late…

  Just maybe…

  “I forgive you,” she whispers, “on one condition.”

  I hold her gaze. “Anything.”

  “You shift for me, right now,” she says, her stern tone at odds with the tears flowing from her eyes. “This very second, no more back talk.”

  Hand falling from her face, I pull in a breath, drawing on the last of my strength to summon my wolf.

  At first, it feels like he’s vanished, abandoned me when I need him most—cut out like an organ stolen in some seedy black market warehouse—but then I feel him, wounded as I am, but there, clawing his way back to the surface. He comes through whimpering and twitching as claws push through my skin, forming paws to take the place of my ravaged fingers and toes.

  But almost instantly, I feel better.

  I’m still beaten and bruised and too weak to do much more than lie on the table and pant as Willow fetches some things from the cabinet across the room and shoves them into the dark black bag Gray uses for his tools, but the pain isn’t going to engulf me. I can float on top of it, holding onto consciousness as Willow slings the bag over her arm before returning to the table.

  “Good work,” she says, turning her back and glancing over her shoulder at me. “Can you bring your front paws over my right shoulder? And your back paws over my left? I think that will be the easiest way to carry you.”

  Moving slowly, I do my best to obey, but I still need Willow’s help to scoot to the edge of the table and I’m not at all sure this plan is going to work. Even as a wolf, I’m not a small creature by any stretch of the imagination and I probably weigh nearly as much as Willow does in her human form. The chances that she’ll be able to carry me out of this hole, let alone however far we’ll have to run to reach safety, are slim to none.

  But I’m too broken to resist as she hefts me onto her back and starts for the exit, her footsteps slow, but methodical.

  She staggers under my weight a bit on the stairs and struggles to pick me up again after putting me down to throw open the heavy door at the top, but once we reach the forest outside, she gains speed.

  After my time in the pit, I’m so stunned by sunlight and fresh air and the sounds of birdsong and insects humming around me that I lose track of how far we travel before we reach the cliff.

  My ability to focus on one thing at a time returns only when Willow sets me down and kneels in front of me to whisper, “We have to jump. I can’t carry you down while I climb so it’s the only way. I’m almost positive I’ve found a place where the river is deep enough for it to be safe, and I’ll dive in right after you, okay? So don’t worry if you’re not able to swim just yet. I’ll fish you out ASAP and we’ll keep going.”

  Her words are at odds with the anxiety tightening her voice, but if she says jumping is the only way, I beli
eve her. I wish I’d given her my trust sooner, but she absolutely has it now.

  I summon the strength to push weakly to my feet, earning a relieved smile from my mate. “Good. Just walk to the edge, and I’ll give you a good hard push.”

  After my time with Gray, the thought of being shoved off a cliff to my possible death doesn’t faze me in the slightest. Returning to my pack and plotting revenge on those who wronged me is preferable, of course, but as long as I know Willow’s on her way to safety, death doesn’t sound so bad.

  It would be an escape of sorts, too, after all.

  When she pushes me and I start to fall, my pulse barely registers the danger. I simply stretch my front legs forward, close my eyes, and prepare myself to hit the water, knowing the river will be far gentler with me than anything that’s touched me in God knows how long.

  Anything except Willow…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Willow

  Fighting tears is my new job.

  I fight tears as I coax Maxim into believing I’m not a dream.

  I fight tears as I drag him onto my shoulders and force my overburdened body to carry him through the forest.

  I fight tears as I push him off the cliff, then run and jump in after him, the terror I experience in those few seconds of free fall nearly enough to make me cry out as I hit the freezing cold water.

  But some wise instinct within me reminds me to keep my mouth closed. I hold my breath as I plunge all the way to the bottom before pushing off the rocky riverbed and pulling hard toward the surface. The bag draped over my arms to form a makeshift backpack drags at me as I swim, but I don’t want to get rid of it unless I have to, unless I can’t manage it and pulling Maxim from the water at the same time.

  I want the ancient North Star pack artifacts far away from people who would use them to do harm. And we might need the other supplies I found later, if we end up sleeping out in the forest tonight.