by Christa Wick
The horn sounded again, jerking her fully awake. She glanced at the clock, the flashing display indicating that the power had gone out while she slept. She was supposed to be showered and dressed already. Whichever wolf was at her door had come to take her to the small hall that served as the clan's community center. Several of the lost cubs would be there waiting for her to question them.
Wrapping a robe around her, she left the bedroom and unlocked the front door. Noting the tall, lanky form of Tanner as he reached through his driver side window to give another honk, her top lip curled.
Nothing personal -- she was just sick of wolves from Mercer's pack guarding her, especially after the bad dream that had chased her through the night.
Heading back down the hall to the bathroom, she heard Tanner open the front door.
"Sorry about the horn, but I knocked a good five minutes," he explained. "It was that or bust the door down to see if you were okay."
She grunted her acceptance of his apology before disappearing into the bathroom. Anticipating a night of restless sleep, she had picked out the day's clothes and hung them on the back of the bathroom door the prior night. With the air turning colder, she had selected a chenille sweater and jeans. Not only would it be comfortable and warm, but the cubs would find the soft fabric less intimidating than more formal clothing.
As much as Dana Gladwin believed otherwise, she wanted the children to feel safe when she questioned them.
Piling her hair into a loose bun, she stepped into the shower, her movements quick and efficient as she washed. Three minutes later she was in front of the sink, putting on a hint of makeup to hide her sleepless night and combing out her hair while her body air dried.
Finished, she studied her naked form for a few seconds in the mirror. Rather than an aesthetic evaluation, she was looking for changes -- heavier breasts, swollen nipples or any other clue that she might be pregnant. She felt like she would know if she was, but the potion Esme kept feeding her, and the charms, dulled her senses in ways the silver and wards never had. And she was too proud to ask any of the wolves -- even Tanner, who now had a mate and was therefore exempt from Esme's other foul concoctions -- if her scent had changed.
She didn't think she was pregnant, and she couldn't imagine the news being kept from Cade if one of his wolves scented a baby on her. Then again, maybe they had told him and he didn't care enough to check on his own.
"Don't go there, North," she admonished her reflection. "You don't care if he cares -- it's better if he doesn't."
With that, she dressed quickly, grabbed a pair of sneakers from the bedroom closet and met Tanner in the kitchen. He had brewed a pot of coffee while she showered and dressed. Offering a faint smile, he handed her a cup.
"You look worse than I do," she said. "Bad night for Michelle?"
A slight nod was all she got out of him. The entire topic of his mate was a sore spot for him. Four days after Iris's rescue in Columbus, the team had gone out on another call. Again, there were Hunters at the scene. The three-wolf team managed to kill the two men, but it would be several more days before Michelle was conscious after the blow to the head she had taken when the Hunters grabbed her. When she finally did wake, seizures had plagued her daily.
To make matters even worse, the latent was barely more than a girl -- a sweet-faced twenty-year-old with strawberry hair and emerald green eyes. In contrast, gray edged the temples of Tanner's dark brown hair. More than a few laugh lines etched the sides of his mouth and gray eyes. His voice sounded like coffee beans run through a grinder from the magic-infused silver buckshot he'd taken to the throat a decade ago during a Hunter ambush. With Tanner unable to make it safely back to the clan for several weeks, the scars from the injury had never fully healed. Pockmarks speckled his throat and the lower right of his jawline, the front of his face saved from any impact only because of his quick reaction.
Watching Tanner look at Michelle, Iris knew -- the grizzled veteran wished the fragile beauty had been a match to anyone but him.
"Esme and Leah will heal her," Iris offered, moving to the sink to rinse her cup. "It's just that the brain is a delicate thing. They have to go slow, and careful, and Leah's still a little drained from having Asa."
She turned to find Tanner's hard stare fixed on her. Guilt reddened her cheeks.
"I don't know the first thing about healing," she said.
That wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. Esme had visited daily, first to work on teaching her casting. While the crystal pendant she used hadn't pointed to a single latent whenever she swung it, Iris had proved more than adept at locating cubs. Six boys had turned up on the west coast in the past week because of her attempts.
It didn't take long for Esme to turn the lessons toward healing, especially after Leah's prolonged labor left her weak for several days. Only healing didn't suit Iris. New to the skill, she had to keep her hands on the sick or injured for even the easiest cases.
And she had to open a channel, one that flowed in both directions. The good she tried to push into the patient's body was rewarded with a flood of images -- frequently of the trauma that had caused the injury. She wouldn't risk putting her hands on Michelle, even if Esme had suggested such a thing. Her fingers grew numb even thinking about it. She didn't want the images the woman's damaged brain would send her, and no novice should attempt to heal something so complicated as a brain.
Tanner didn't argue with her, just slid his cup onto the counter and headed out to his truck. She grabbed a box of files from the coffee table then followed. They passed Remus at the edge of the tree line, his truck hidden among the high undergrowth where he had spent the night on guard.
Tanner lifted a hand at his teammate in greeting, then returned to drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. Iris switched the radio on. His hand twitched, but he didn't turn it off or interfere with her as she found a radio station broadcasting news.
With no television at the witch's cabin and no chance at Internet even if there were twenty computers or tablets at the place instead of zero, she felt completely shut off from society. She closed her eyes, remembering the one time she had voiced that complaint around Dana.
The big wolf hadn't been pleased. For Dana, there was no society beyond the one that already surrounded her (except during hockey season, as Esme had jokingly pointed out). Iris's longing for news from the human world raised his suspicions. That's when he had acquiesced to Cade's demands that his team be brought in from West Virginia to guard her instead of the wolfings Dana could spare.
Next to her, Tanner shifted restlessly behind the wheel as the station reported a new round of troop deployments to the Middle East.
"Fucking ridiculous," he snarled and turned the radio off. "Don't they have anything better to do than kill each other?"
Suppressing the retort waiting at the tip of her tongue, Iris turned her head and stared out the passenger window. Humans would stop killing one another if they discovered a common enemy -- another species hiding among them, smaller in numbers but stronger, deadlier and longer lived.
Still pondering the absence of war between nations or violence within families if humanity ever discovered the clan, Iris bounced in her seat as Tanner pulled to a rough stop in front of the community center.
Esme must have sensed their arrival because Tanner didn't have the truck in park before the witch opened the door and waved at Iris. Worry pinched the lovely, rounded face and she blinked rapidly despite the overcast day.
Iris pulled the door handle, the lock disengaging as Tanner offered a parting warning.
"Try to remember they're cubs, not cons."
Rolling her shoulders, Iris stepped out of the truck. Overcoming the urge to slam the door, she glared at the older wolf, the forced smile on her face almost feral as the lock clicked softly in place. Someone -- several someones -- needed a reminder that she wasn't the one who had kidnapped a homicide detective and held her captive for two weeks. They needed to stop treating her l
ike she was the criminal or some monstrous bitch who planned on sticking bamboo shoots under the cubs' nails until they remembered something about the time before they had been rescued.
As soon as Iris stepped under the awning, Esme lightly curled a hand around her wrist. Iris flattened her lips to hide the smile. The witch wanted to read her. Contact helped, but Esme had confided she couldn't get past the steel trap that was Iris's mind...or heart. Yet touching was too much of a habit for Esme to break. The more stressed she was about something, the more touching she did, sometimes to get a read on the person, sometimes to send them calming energy.
"I've questioned dozens of children while their hurt was fresh," she assured Esme. "I'm not going to be any less gentle or careful because they are shifters."
Esme shook her head, her grip tightening enough that Iris had the sensation of a handcuff locking around her wrist.
"It's not that," Esme whispered. "Cade is here."
Ah, there it was -- the source of the witch's concern that Iris would bolt. She lifted a brow, studying Esme's face for any other surprises in store. Finding none, she shrugged.
"He doesn't need to be," Iris said. "There's not a thing he can do to help the process...only inhibit it."
A nervous lick of her top lip preceded Esme's smile. "I think he's here to protect you from Dana."
"Oh, well..." Iris laughed. She had expected the clan leader to be present, his interest heavily weighted on the personal side. He had stalled today's interview as long as he could, even using baby Asa's birth as an excuse to delay.
With Esme's fingers still circling her wrist, Iris rubbed her free hand along the witch's forearm, using the contact to direct a little calming energy in the witch's direction. The gesture provoked both a smile and a soft chuckle from Esme.
Temporarily releasing her hold on Iris, Esme wrapped her arms around the she-wolf's shoulders as she whispered in her ear. "You're the only person other than Leah to try that. Thank you."
Soaking in the physical comfort of being hugged by the only person in the clan she considered a true friend, Iris didn't fight the tears. Esme squeezed more tightly as she promised Dana wouldn't be a problem.
"I've been gradually working on him all weekend," she confessed, the words not even a whisper and spoken directly into Iris's ear. "His favorite foods, charms, spells, anything to slowly build layers of calm."
Gently breaking contact with the witch, Iris erased the evidence of her tears. "You're exactly what that big, bad wolf needs," she joked. "He seems to have spent too much of his life opposing and mistrusting everyone that he wouldn't know how to stop even if he wanted to."
Esme breathed in, her head bobbing lightly in agreement. "And yet so much of his behavior can be justified."
Iris caught the meaningful look the witch cast in her direction. Part of her rushed to acknowledge Esme's unspoken point, the other part of her chewed at her lip to keep the admission from coming out. Yes, she mistrusted those around her, even Esme at times. She had no doubt the witch would ultimately put the clan's needs first. And, yes, Iris needed to learn how to stop, to keep the suspicion and resistance suppressed until it was justified. She didn't think she would ever be able to manage the feat. Hopefully today's interviews would lead to more developments in tracking the Hunters and she would be another day closer to leaving the clan and returning home to Columbus.
Hooking Esme's arm with her own, Iris led the witch inside. "We'd better get this show started before your mate cancels it -- again."
Chapter Eleven
His store of avoidance tactics depleted, Oscar fidgeted in the oversized club chair in which Dana had placed him. He had run through the cute routine with Iris, attempting to divert the questions that made him uncomfortable with a mischievous smile and a shake of his dark curls. He had charmed her pen away, along with the clipboard and a fresh sheet of paper. His spiraling, impersonal doodles covered both sides of the paper.
Like the other two children she had questioned earlier, Oscar smelled of a heavy, unpleasant magic. She had mentioned the lingering scent of casting to Esme several times over the last week. Things the witch left with Iris, whether silver she'd already worked a charm on, someone she'd recently healed, or the dowels and crystals found in Camille's possession. The odor varied from object to object, but Iris wasn't sure whether there was a signature for each witch or whether the nature of the magic -- good or ill -- was the determining factor. Iris just new that Esme and Leah's work wrapped around her fresh and light, smelling like citrus with Esme more lemony and Leah like a fresh cut lime. But the scent clinging to Camille's journals and the three children were worse than meat left to rot in an overflowing dumpster.
That she hadn't detected the odor on Oscar before the interview perplexed Iris. But the witch had been spelling him the only other time Iris had met the cub. Perhaps Esme's magic had masked the putrid stench. Whatever the cause, Iris seemed to be the only person capable of sensing magic clinging to a person or object.
Reaching out, Iris placed her hand on Oscar's knee. The gesture provoked a response behind the boy, where Dana watched from the other side of a clear glass window. Cade and Esme flanked the clan leader. The calming spells and charms the witch had placed on her mate had become threadbare and Iris wanted the gingery wolf to leave. She had no doubt that, as Oscar's direct alpha and foster father, Dana's palpable agitation subtly affected the cub and increased the boy's distress.
Excusing herself for a second, Iris rose and walked to the door of the interview room. Stepping into the hallway, she gazed firmly into Dana's eyes. "I really need you to leave the building--"
"You're upsetting him when you couldn't even get anything out of the others; you should stop questioning him," Dana responded, his thick arms lifting to criss-cross his powerful chest. The chin that had been smoothly shaven two hours ago when Iris first arrived at the center now sported half an inch of stubble as he fought to keep his wolf in check.
"There's a blanket of magic around all of them," Iris explained, looking at the witch this time for support. "It was heavier on the other boys, probably because they've been here such a short time."
Esme's nose twitched. "Does it...you know?"
The witch didn't want to ask if the cub stank in front of her overprotective mate.
Suppressing the urge to itch the tip of her nose, Iris nodded. "More so with the first two, they've been with the clan the shortest amount of time. But the magic is definitely powered by an ill intent."
Redirecting her attention to Dana, she leaned closer, an almost pleading tone coating her words. "You don't have to leave the building, but the clan needs as much room as you can give me. Oscar needs it."
Esme placed her open palm against Dana's chest and coaxed him away from the window. The scent of freshly cut lemons spritzed the air as Esme openly spelled her mate, her fingers softly glowing with witch light. The big wolf relented, letting himself be guided further down the hall so that only Cade remained at the window.
Ignoring him, Iris returned to Oscar. Clearly feeling the distance that had been added between him and his fiercest protector, the boy looked up at Iris with tears glittering in his dark eyes. She did something she hadn't done with the other two children, she scooped him up then sat down in the chair with him bundled on her lap.
"We're going to play a game," she said, keeping her tone light. Hopefully he was too young to detect the false cheer in which she dressed her words. "I want you to close your eyes and picture the color gray. Then, when I say a word or words, I want you to make a picture of them against the gray. Okay?"
Oscar nodded, his small frame relaxing in her arms and his head lulling back against her shoulder. Iris started easy, saying Dana's name.
"Gold," the boy said, joy lightening his tone.
"That's great," Iris continued, her eyes closed and her mind alert as the gray behind her own eyelids started to fill with Dana's image. Clearly, the cub viewed Dana as a giant because the image crowded the corners
of Iris's vision. "How about Dana in his truck?"
A smaller version of Dana appeared, only his head and the top half of his upper chest visible through the vehicle's window. Lifting his hand, a small red fire engine appeared.
"And the first time you rode in Dana's truck, where the trip started."
The gray returned, the outline of dark slate bricks and black asphalt the only shapes discernible. The image matched the information in Oscar's file; Dana had found him in an alley on a cold, misty morning.
Oscar trembled against Iris. She wrapped her arms around him a little more tightly and urged warmth into his body in case he was merely remembering the damp chill of that place.
"Before the alley," she prodded.
Pure white, blinding in its brightness, filled her mind, the neurons of her brain momentarily seared. She slipped into the memory, living it in real time with Oscar as the unbearable brightness eased to show her the antiseptic walls of an operating room. In the center of the room stand two surgical tables. A pregnant woman is strapped down on the first table, her body seemingly nude but for restraints and a sheet that covers from just below the woman's collarbone to her ankles. The other table waits empty. A rolling tray separates the two tables, its contents covered with a thin, sterile fabric.
Carried by someone, Oscar approaches the empty table. Cold, naked, and shivering, the cub simultaneously clings to the person carrying him and tries to escape the strong arms.
The grip on him tightens, and a deep, masculine voice speaks. "You're going to be my brave boy."
Oscar makes a soft squeak of compliance as the man places him on the steel gurney. The cub looks up at his captor to find a man wearing clothing as white as the room and a paper mask over his mouth and nose. The man has black hair and a dark, volcanic gaze. The eyes scare the boy because the pupils are indistinguishable from the irises. Even the small veins that should be red against the white of the man's eyes are black as tar.