by Leigh Evans
“Jesus,” Biggs muttered.
Trowbridge nodded, perhaps to himself, and then spat—whether or not he missed Lexi on purpose was debatable—before lifting his foot from my brother’s neck.
My twin rolled to his knees, coughing.
Cordelia sighed, gave me a squeeze meant to comfort, and let me go. I wish she hadn’t. My legs felt weak. I walked as steadily as I could to the wingback chair, and leaned on it.
Trowbridge said, “The Raha’ells are driven by instinct to drink from the Pool of Life. Come moontime, some of the younger wolves aren’t strong enough to resist their need for the water. It takes the Fae three days to check the trap lines they’ve set up. If the wolf can’t free himself before they find him, they shoot him for his pelt.” He bit the inside of his cheek then said in a dead voice, “The real hunt begins when the Shadow finds a sprung trap and a blood trail. Your brother’s got the tracking skills of a wolf and he likes to hunt. He chased me for four days.”
Breathe …
My brother gazed at me for a moment, then planted a hand on one knee and heaved himself upward. There was no obvious mutiny in the way he stood there, weaving slightly. But Lexi was fighting for stillness—always a bad sign. It meant he was thinking—which was a worse omen, because you don’t need to think to tell the truth.
“You’ll lead me to the Safe Passage portal,” Trowbridge told him. “Then you’ll open it, and hold it open while I lead my people through.”
My twin massaged his throat for a moment, considering his reply. When he lifted his gaze, there was no worry crease between his brows, and his eyes were steady and calm. “It’s too late for that.”
“Bullshit,” said Trowbridge. “They won’t expect us until nightfall.”
Lexi’s smile was exquisitely bitter. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? It’s been fourteen hours here, but it’s been days, if not weeks, in Merenwyn.” He gestured to me. “We were born within twelve minutes of each other, but she’ll have to live into her nineties to be as old as me.”
As long as that? I thought numbly.
Trowbridge swung to me. “How long have I been gone?”
“One hundred ninety-six days,” I whispered. My restless hand found the piping on the seat cushion and my nail ran up and down its seam, over and over again, as I watched the slow crawl of disbelief cross my mate’s face. “Trowbridge, I…”
“What?” Two red flags flamed on his cheeks.
My mouth worked, but nothing came out.
A tendon in his cheek flexed once, and then again, before he said quietly, “I’ve seen nine winters in the Fae realm.”
Biggs gasped. “No wonder he looks so old!”
I heard Cordelia hiss, “Biggs, I swear to God, I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth myself if you don’t shut it!”
“Shhh, don’t fight.” That’s what I should have said, but words and pleas—and all the sorrys in my breaking heart—were trapped at the base of my throat.
“Get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.” Cordelia told Biggs.
“Should I leave the ferret here?” he asked her. When no one answered, he asked again. “Well, should I?” My gaze drifted slowly over to where Biggs stood, a question mark on his face, holding the Black Mage’s bag from its strap. Its leather flexed. It’s the animal, I thought. Trying to fight for its balance. “Jesus, it’s not my fault,” muttered Biggs. He stalked to the old coatrack and hung the satchel from a hook. Then he shut the door behind him, very quietly, as if it were a house of mourning.
“Time passes differently in Merenwyn,” I heard Lexi goad. “Your Raha’ells died waiting for the Son of Lukynae to lead them to their promised land.”
His Raha’ells?
The fetid stench in the room made me want to heave. I watched the bag swing from the hook, back and forth, and listened with half an ear to the faint scratch of tiny nails on leather, the tick of the clock in the kitchen, the start of the furnace. The heartbeats. The inhales and exhales. All the time thinking, I sent him to hell. I told him to find his way to the Pool of Life, no matter how hard it was.
The little brown wolf nosed Trowbridge’s thigh. If she so much as turned her head and looked upward, his dick would be the last thing she saw in this realm. He looked down at her and then he said in a voice I found terrible, “The Raha’ells had enough water and game for the winter. We’ll leave right away.”
“Do you think the Black Mage’s wolves haven’t backtracked your trail?” Lexi asked, dripping scorn, and corrosion, and hurt—a splatterwork of destruction over all my hopes. “It’s over!”
“What I think is that you made a bargain, and you’re looking for a way out of it.” Trowbridge’s eyes were too bright, his face too still. “You listen to me, you Fae bastard. I did my part. You wanted to come home and now you’re home. You’re going to deliver your end or I swear to God I’ll kill her myself—with my bare hands—right here in front of you.”
“Stop,” I said in a small voice.
Anu leaned against Trowbridge’s naked leg, panting lightly.
“Kill her, then,” spat my brother. “Her death means little to me.”
The air grew heavier, almost a pressing foul weight on me. Lexi rolled his head on his neck then tucked his chin in. Morning light played over his tattoo. The wolf’s eyes gleamed, yellow and feral.
No, no, no.
“Stop it!” I shouted.
And for once, everyone heard me. They stilled—even the ferret quieted. I rocked for a bit on my heels, a hand pressed to the base of my throat, then I whispered, “I don’t understand what’s happening, okay? None of this is making sense to me, so you guys have to stop now. Everyone just needs to … stop yelling and arguing and…” My voice broke. “Who does Trowbridge want to kill?” I turned to my mate. “Trowbridge? Who do—”
“It’s Anu,” broke in Lexi. “He wants to kill one of his own with his bare hands. The savior of the Raha’ells—what a load of shit that is. She’s just leverage, isn’t she, Son of Lukynae? Disposable—even though she has some of your pack’s blood.” His mouth twisted in a sneer. “You Raha’ells are as racist as the Fae.”
“I don’t use bear traps,” growled Trowbridge. “I don’t follow a bleeding animal for threescore miles, stretching it out. I don’t sound a horn to let the wolf know it’s being followed. I don’t make it run until it can’t anymore. I don’t close in for the kill when my prey is close enough to see home. When I do it, it’s quick.”
“Lexi?” And I heard myself speak in a voice that sounded dead. “Tell me that’s not true. Tell me you didn’t hunt him.”
“He’s Raha’ell,” said Lexi.
“No,” I said slowly. “He’s not. He’s Robson Trowbridge, and he’s my—”
Lexi’s chin was out, begging to be hit. “If I hadn’t hunted him down, someone else would have trapped him. The price on his head was too high. Every bounty hunter, every Fae who was looking for a brass ring was searching for him. He was lucky that I was the one who caught him.”
Oh Goddess, I’m going to throw up.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” my twin spat. “You don’t understand anything—”
“Then explain it to me!” I cried.
“Can’t you see?” he shouted back. “He’s not one of these watered-down wolves anymore! This wolf—this animal you bonded yourself to—is responsible for more turmoil and misery in my realm than you can imagine!” His chest heaved. “In the nine winters he’s been leader of the Raha’ells, they’ve gone from a nuisance to a constant threat. A Fae can’t travel from one city to another without an armed squad. You can’t leave a gate open or even take a piss too far away from the campfire.” A look of frustration. “Your Trowbridge is more than just their Alpha. They believe him to be the Son of Lukynae—sent by the Gods to deliver them from the Fae.” Lexi gave me a bitter smile. “If you don’t believe me, ask your ‘mate’ why he turned down my first offer.”
First offer? I tu
rned to Trowbridge. He closed his eyes briefly, then gave me a little shake of his head—his expression sad.
“I offered him freedom,” Lexi said, when Trowbridge wouldn’t—couldn’t?—answer the question in my gaze. “His life in return for guiding us through the portal. Do you know what he said?” My brother’s wolf crouched, ready to spring. “Your mate said, ‘You need to sweeten the pot before I’ll ever go through those gates again.’”
A heavy thing—ugly and dense—expanded inside my chest.
It fed on those words. It drank from the hurt.
If I let it, that heavy pain would grow so huge my knees would fold. I knew this. Just like I understood my twin wasn’t quite finished. The prospect of victory—not yet his, but soon and certain—glittered on his face. It was there, plain as day, obvious in the anticipation widening his eyes, recognizable in the twisted smile he wore—the same gloating smirk that had always made me want to punch him when he slapped the final heart down on the top of the deck when we were kids. We deliberately edit our memories, don’t we? Wanting to remember only the good? And so, I’d forgotten. How my brother liked to surge ahead of me, heedless of everything—caution, care, compassion—blind to it all, nothing ahead in sight except the sweet rush past the winner’s tape.
He opened his mouth. Here it comes—
“He didn’t want to come back,” he said. “Not to Creemore, not to you—not unless he could bring his entire pack with him. He’d rather face the interrogation and the Spectacle again than leave his precious Raha’ells in Merenwyn.”
But his eyes still glittered, and so I asked, “Then why is he here?”
“The only amulet that will open the Safe Passage is here.” He gestured to Anu. “She wears it about her neck.”
Ah, and there it was. The queen of hearts slammed faceup on top of the pile.
My gaze fell. Someone needed to wipe down the side table. It was gritty with accumulated dust.
“Hedi.” Trowbridge’s voice was a low, rough rumble. “I told you he’d do this. That he’d—”
“Lie. That’s what you said before you turned into your wolf and went for your moon-run with the pack. You said, ‘He’ll lie and charm and steal to get what he wants.’” There was a palm print on the thick dust coating the table. Large. Probably a man’s. If we were playing Clue instead of Truth or Consequences that print might have meant something. But now, it was just another element of grunge in a room swollen with all kinds of squalor. “Here’s a truth,” I said slowly. “When I look at Lexi, I don’t see the Shadow. I see my brother and I know his lying face.” I chewed my lip and thought back—double-checking my instincts. “No. Lexi wasn’t wearing it.” My gaze turned toward the man I’d loved since I was twelve. “Trowbridge, are you telling me that you didn’t ask him to ‘sweeten the pot’?”
The skin tightened around the Alpha of Creemore’s eyes. “Hedi—”
Oh Goddess, why does this hurt so much? Why can’t this heavy thing inside me smother all the sharp pointy parts of this terrible pain? “Just give me a one-word answer. Yes or no.”
“There were reasons. You need to understand—”
“No I don’t,” I said quietly. “I already understand the most important point.”
I’m a heart-blind fool.
Trowbridge’s scent reached out for me, but I shook my head and took a step away from the chair, away from him, away from anything he’d ever touched. I stood, an island, in the center of the old Alpha’s living room, thinking truths have sharp teeth and an endless appetite. They take a bite of you—one big sharp snap of their jaws—then, having found entry into your soft parts, they keeping nibbling, eating inward, until you’re hollowed out.
Belatedly, my twin’s expression softened into shame.
“I’m sorry, runt,” he said huskily.
“I need to go,” I said in a little voice.
“Where will you go?” asked Cordelia softly.
I shrank away from her touch. “I don’t know. I just need to get—”
“You son of bitch,” growled Trowbridge. “You filthy son of a whore.”
Did he forget we were twins? That’s my mother—
“I’m not the one who broke her heart!” Lexi grabbed the brass lamp from the table and tore the electric cord from the wall. “Come on,” he taunted, waving the heavy end.
“I don’t come at your bidding anymore.” Trowbridge smiled. “My realm, my rules.”
Stupid with pride, Lexi made a blind rush and a swing, which was countered by Trowbridge’s quick side turn and crouch. If my brother had had a lick of sense, he would have stopped there—Trowbridge had always been graceful and quick with the fists, but now he had wicked timing and heavy muscle.
Lexi charged again.
Trowbridge delivered a gut-wrenching punch into my brother’s stomach.
Lexi stumbled backward—almost tripping himself with the lamp cord—but recovered. He eyed Trowbridge with utter hatred, mixed with a whole bunch of busted manly vanity.
“Where are your hunters now?” asked Trowbridge softly, circling my brother.
Lexi threw the lamp at him and lunged, drawing his fist back for a blow. But he was too slow and clumsy compared to Trowbridge, who pivoted on one foot and spun. Before my brother even realized that his intended target had pulled another Houdini, Trowbridge had joined his fists and brought them down with bruising force, landing a blow to Lexi’s back, right between the shoulder blades.
That was the end of it, really. The rest was blurred. Blows—some blocked, some not. But within a few seconds, Lexi’s fine shirt was torn, and he was down for good. Trowbridge bent over and relieved my brother of his shiny flask.
He uncapped the bottle of sun potion, tipped it upside down, and watched my brother’s face twist as the contents splattered to the floor. Expressionlessly, the Alpha of Creemore tossed the empty flask into the corner. “Come the next moonrise, your sister will finally see the animal in you, should you live that long.” He tilted his head. “Let her judge whose wolf is worse.”
And then … at last, I really was completely and absolutely numb. For 132 “Mississippis,” I heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing except that heavy thing growing ever denser in my chest. In the background, I dimly understood that words were said, challenges exchanged, and threats and counterthreats issued, but all of it blurred into a meaningless hum, until—
“Cars!” Biggs exclaimed from the doorway. “Harry’s truck’s in front, but there’s about nine more behind him—no, make that twelve. Oh man.” He sighed. “The rest of them are behind that. The pack’s coming.”
“Wonderful,” said Cordelia.
* * *
And so they came. In cars. In trucks. Hastily dressed. Eager to speak in words, not wolf thoughts. Questions—there’d be lots of those. But there were no clear answers, were there? Just half lies that would lead to more questions and more confusion. I stood, almost steady on my feet, watching my twin, thinking that the blue shadows under his eyes were the only thing left of color to his face.
Vehicle doors slammed—bang, bang, bang.
Gravel crunched beneath booted feet.
“All of you get back,” said Harry. “You have no business on the Alpha’s front porch.”
“Is it true the Fae are coming?” some Were demanded.
“You guys are worse than a bunch of old women,” Harry bitched. “Now get back. You go wait over by the grass until your Alpha’s ready to speak to you.” A squeak of the front door, then my old second-in-command poked his head in the room. “Cleanup’s finished, boss. We’ve taken care of the bodies and the scene, but I need a word with you.”
“Biggs,” Trowbridge said. “Go tell someone to jack up the volume on their radio. Hey, Cordelia? Can you check my old room and see if there’s any jeans left?” The little brown wolf made a noise somewhat like a car having problems starting. My mate murmured, “Easul.” She settled, but she used her back leg to satisfy an itch and demonstrate her canine ang
st. She still wore the Royal Amulet, and Ralph bounced—throwing out sparks of indignation—with each thump, thump of her scratching.
“I’ll get him back, Merry,” I whispered.
Trowbridge swung around at the sound of my voice, and for a moment—just for the briefest little nanosecond—I thought I read something there. Hope? Entreaty? But whatever communiqué he sought to send me was lost in transit—along with that solitary blue comet that had briefly glimmered—when my brother said something low and fierce in our mother’s tongue.
“We’re in my world now,” said Trowbridge. “Your threats aren’t worth shit.”
A bit of static, and then a station was chosen. “It’s Intrepid Ian on the Edge. Next up, Temple of the Dog’s ‘Hunger Strike.’”
“Seriously?” Biggs muttered from the door. “I’ll tell them to change it.”
“Forget it.” Robson Trowbridge moved to the bank of windows. “Crank it up,” he ordered. Faster than a minion could snap his fingers and say, “Sure, boss,” I heard the opening lines. One guitar? Then Cornell’s voice, low and plaintive. The Alpha of Creemore listened for a bit—his arm braced on the sash, his belly lean, his shoulders taut—then he heaved a heavy sigh and closed the windows, one by one.
“What’s the problem?” he asked Harry.
Harry dug a cell phone out of his pocket. “I found this in Knox’s jeans.” He offered it to his Alpha, then he busied himself divesting his other pockets of the rest of Knox’s stuff: a brown wallet, an ugly ring, a silver-toned necklace, and a small glass bottle half filled with colorless liquid. “You’re going to want to watch the video,” he told Trowbridge.
Forehead pleated, Trowbridge stared at the device.
Harry stepped closer. “Here, I’ll show—”
The Alpha jerked his hand away. “I remember how to use a cell phone.”
“That green ball of light came before the voice,” said Harry, peering over Trowbridge’s shoulder. “Okay, this next part’s blurry. Knox was walking over to the edge to get a better picture.” I heard Casperella hit the high note on the portal song. “And there’s the money shot—he’s got you coming through the gates with the Fae.”