by Anya Byrne
It was not something he wanted to talk about, least of all with her. He took refuge under masks carefully cultivated after years of being the outsider and gave her an icy look. "Which day? Speak clearly because I have no idea what you're talking about."
Blanchefleur tsked at him. "Come now. Playing the fool doesn't become you."
Remy stubbornly stayed quiet, and his silence drew a sigh out of Blanchefleur. She left the couch, giving Remy the space she seemed to know he needed. With a grace that left Remy more than a little unsettled, she walked to the window and stared out toward the city—although Remy suspected that wasn't really what she saw.
"You know," she started in a strikingly friendly tone, "I never did understand why you were punished. Certainly, your actions were rash, and you did almost expose us to the humans. But all things considered, there was no reason to actually sentence you to death, especially given the influence and standing your family has in France."
"What do you expect me to say?" Remy snapped at her. "I was curious. There was something about your guild that didn't sit right with me, but I never did figure it out. Not until much later, at least."
Growing up, Remy had been unsettled by the behavior of Blanchefleur's former leader, Florent. He hadn't been able to pinpoint what was wrong, and he'd read up on guild legislation in an attempt to soothe his fears. It hadn't worked. If anything, it had left him wondering why they were trusting silencers to be the keepers of all their secrets. It gave them too much power.
No one had agreed with him, not even Laurent. So Remy had taken it up on himself to find the evidence he needed. That decision turned out to be quite unfortunate for him, since he'd ended up crashing a silencer meeting. Florent's violent reaction had filled him with such dread that he'd almost shifted into his wolf form on the spot, even if the area they'd been in wasn't exactly the most isolated one. There had been humans around, although now that Remy thought about it, he wondered if those people had actually been involved with the guild from the beginning.
It didn't matter. Nothing Florent had said that day stood out. From Remy's point of view, it had all been for naught.
Blanchefleur obviously didn't think the same. She turned toward him, fixing him with a piercing, but cold glare—her silencer eyes. "Don't you dare be vague about this. The fact that Sylvain and I left you alive was instrumental to what happened later. That was when Florent started watching us more closely. If we hadn't done that, if we hadn't stepped in for you, he might still be alive."
Remy didn't think she truly believed that, since there had been more factors involved in her decision—mostly her son, whom both she and her mate had wanted to protect. Besides, his execution would have probably gone through the Gathering, and his family would have somehow prevented it.
Probably. Maybe. Remy couldn't be certain. Back then, the Gathering had placed a lot of faith into the guilds, so if Florent said he deserved death, perhaps they would have not questioned it after all.
He would never know, but he could answer Blanchefleur's question, even if it did stir uncomfortable memories for both of them. "There's not much I gained from that day, other than the glasses—but... I did find something."
The memory came unbidden, unearthed from the back of his mind where he'd kept it buried for so long.
****
"You! Little worm! Come here."
Remy stumbled out of his now compromised hiding spot and didn't bother with looking at the speaker. He already knew the man's identity, since he'd basically followed him here. He also knew that if he was caught, it would be all over.
He ran out of the warehouse that had been hosting the silencer meeting. Outside, the sun had already faded into sharp shades of gold and orange, leaving behind a horizon that seemed tinted with blood. Through the smoke and fumes that permeated the air in the docks, the sight was startling and, to Remy's fevered mind, it seemed like an omen.
He tried to control his wolf, but he couldn't quite succeed. A human grabbed onto his arm, and Remy pushed him away so hard the man went flying into a pile of crates. He didn't have time to be alarmed by his own actions, because the silencer who'd been with Florent—a man Remy didn't recognize—was suddenly on him.
Remy flailed wildly, his instincts of self-preservation taking precedence over all else. He clawed at his captor's face and chest, and the clothes the stranger was wearing tore under the sharp tips of what had been his fingernails. The man seemed surprised by the resistance Remy put up, because he faltered and fell back.
Remy seized his advantage and got up once more. He was nearly out of the docks when another person tackled him. This time, he didn't manage to escape. The woman on top of him immobilized him with brisk efficiency. Florent's voice took out all the remaining fight out of Remy. "Good work, Blanchefleur. I want you to find out how exactly this little worm got in here—once you take care of him of course."
"What did he do?"
"Spied on us and displayed his eyes, claws and fangs in front of the humans."
The silencer woman didn't react to the words. She pulled off his mask, perhaps intending to interrogate him. The sight of his face seemed to give her pause. "Ah."
Another man appeared by her side, staring at him. "Hmm. He's just a pup."
Florent didn't seem impressed by the other silencer's assessment. "He's a spy, and you'll do what you're told."
The woman approached Florent and pulled him aside. Remy now noticed that a sizable crowd had gathered, watching with interest. He hadn't even realized there were so many silencers here. Moon be blessed, what had he been thinking?
Finally, the woman returned to his side and grabbed his arm. No one spoke, and Florent had already turned on his heel and stalked away in a huff.
The woman and her earlier companion took him into another empty warehouse. He passed her a weapon—had he had it before? Remy couldn't tell—and she took it in a way that suggested she'd done it many times in the past.
As the man went to keep watch, she pointed the gun at him. "Look at me."
Remy complied, grateful that he'd at least die with dignity. He had the idle thought that he could still feel the remnants of material on his claws, before his world turned into fire and darkness.
****
It had been the last thing Remy had seen for a long time—Blanchefleur's face as she readied herself to deliver his punishment. He'd tried so hard not to think of it, but perhaps in his heart, he'd known it might come to this.
Steeling himself, Remy left the couch and headed back into his bedroom. He carefully avoided looking at the bed and instead focused on the painting on the wall.
It was an image of a howling wolf, its figure looking blurry and surreal in the moonlight. The artist wasn't anyone Remy was familiar with, but he'd always liked the painting, if only because it had been a gift from Laurent.
He set the painting down, revealing the safe built into the wall. The combination came easily to him, even if he hadn't opened it in a long time. After all, how could he ever forget it? The numbers spelled out the date when he'd lost his eyesight.
He was proud when his fingers didn't shake as he opened the safe. He was even prouder than he didn't jump or yelp when Blanchefleur's voice sounded right behind him. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"This." He wordlessly handed her the item, the once piece of solid evidence he'd kept since that day.
It wasn't much, just a patch of leather that had covered the strange silencer's chest, with something else hidden inside. Remy didn't know why he'd originally kept it. He could barely remember those first few days, when he'd gone through the five stages of mourning even if no one had actually died. Later, though, he'd traced the odd item he had found countless times with his fingers, trying to figure out what the symbol on the back of it meant.
The seal was strange, small and circular in size, but made out of some sort of metal. The lines on it were a jumble—not a letter, not a number or a figure. It almost reminded Remy of one of those mazes with
countless corridors that only ever led to dead ends. It seemed rusty at times, but Remy had tried to clean it once or twice without success. Odder still, it made no sense to wear something ornamental on the inside of a battle outfit, so it had to be something ceremonial... But what? A memento of sorts? He had never traced its meaning or origin, so he'd eventually pushed it to the back of his mind.
Now that he'd given it to Blanchefleur, he wondered if she could shed some light on the issue. He'd mostly believed that the seal was related to the guild itself, but what if that wasn't the case?
He got at least part of his answer when his companion stared blankly at the item. "What is this?"
"The only thing I have left from that day," Remy replied.
She showed no sign of having heard him, since she was too busy scowling at the engraving she'd finally noticed. "This is an odd symbol." She hissed when she touched it. "It almost seems like silver, despite all the rust."
"Does it?" Remy scanned the seal again, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. "It didn't feel like anything special to me."
Blanchefleur stared at him. "You cannot be serious."
To prove his words, Remy pressed his hand to the seal he still held. It was a little uncomfortable to be in such close contact with Blanchefleur, but it was worth it if only because he got to look at her befuddled expression.
"I don't know what this means, Remy," she finally admitted. "I've never seen such a thing before, and the way the metal reacts is peculiar to say the least. We have to look into it more."
"I've tried that. No luck."
She smiled tightly, and a shadow crossed her face. "You haven't tried it my way. Come on. We're late for a meeting."
Without further explanation, she dragged him out of the apartment and into the underground parking lot of the building.
Chapter Five
Remy's pack was one of the strongest and most influential ones in France. As such, its enforcers had access to a lot of things, including CCTV feed and police reports. Normally, Baqir wouldn't have had to turn to them, but his authority as a silencer had collapsed and because of it, his sources for information had a lot of gaps.
Since he couldn't afford a lengthy investigation, Baqir contacted the people who had the most incentive in keeping Remy safe—other than him, of course. Sadly, the pack Alpha was still in Russia, and Baqir was reluctant to call him there, in that pit of vipers where information was a free for all. Worst still, the beta of Remy's pack had decided Baqir was lying, and refused to help.
"If you think we'd trust a silencer with Remy's well being," he had said, "you're highly mistaken."
Baqir had gritted his teeth in an attempt to contain his rising temper. "He's missing. I'm simply worried."
His attempts to coax information out of the stubborn werewolf had not worked, which left Baqir with very few options. His other resources and the men in his employ could not help him. Hours passed while Baqir struggled to track Remy through the insanely busy city, and as the feeling of helplessness and impending doom increased, he realized he had no choice but to fall back on his last plan.
There were few things that frightened Baqir, and fewer people who could intimidate him. Dread came very close to it. He wasn't a big man. In fact, he looked surprisingly slim for a silencer—not frail, but definitely not as muscular as Baqir or his brother. His height contributed to it, giving him the appearance of an ethereal, almost fae-like creature.
Naturally, Baqir knew better than to underestimate the strange silencer. He also would have never contacted Dread if he hadn't feared for his mate. Dread was a double-edged blade that could easily kill its wielder, which was why most everyone in the silencer world—Baqir included—gave him a wide berth. If he'd ever belonged to a guild, no one knew it, but when it came to Dread, something was always very clear. Owing the mysterious werewolf a favor wasn't a good idea.
However, at this point, Baqir was desperate, and if nothing else, Dread had always proven to be efficient.
To Baqir's surprise, it didn't take Dread long to meet with him. He must have already been in Paris, which had implications Baqir didn't want to think about. The twinkle in Dread's green-blue eyes told Baqir he hadn't been completely successful in hiding his unease.
"I didn't kill your men, if that's what you're worried about."
Baqir didn't bother to deny his wariness. He was already beginning to regret summoning the man here, since the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to Remy. But Remy had proven to be much better at disappearing than Baqir had expected, and since contacting Remy's pack had not worked, his choices had been limited at best. Meanwhile, yet again, Dread came through for him. He slid into Baqir's car and passed him an envelope, which turned out to contain stills from a CCTV camera.
The stills displayed Remy's departure with his companion, a woman Baqir didn't recognize. Dread apparently did, because he pointed at her figure and said, "Blanchefleur. Argent Hull's mother."
Ah. Baqir should have known. He'd heard about her reappearance and the fact that she'd left Russia for her own investigation, but he had not realized she was in contact with Remy. He was irritated that Alpha Maximoff hadn't mentioned it, but then, it was his own fault, since he himself had made it clear that he preferred to stay as far away from the rest of them as possible.
Shaking himself, Baqir looked at Dread again. "So he's not at risk?"
Dread shrugged. "I suppose it depends on what you mean by that. I don't think she would hurt him, but she has been known to frequent the underground as of late."
Baqir narrowed his eyes at Dread. "What do you know?"
Dread's grin should have been threatening, but somehow managed to look playful as well. "Oh, I'm loving this. You have no idea what you stumbled onto, do you?"
Baqir might have thrown all caution to the wind and punched Dread in the face had he still not needed information from the other werewolf. "Stop playing games. I'm not in the mood for it."
"Clearly." Dread cleared his throat, but he didn't seem offended. "Just drive. I know where you can find the little pup."
Baqir was alarmed at Dread's words, since he couldn't fathom why Dread would have a nickname for Remy. In truth, he had not expected Dread to know his mate at all, but apparently, he'd been mistaken.
He also realized all too well that Dread only answered questions when he wanted to, and right now, the answers Baqir needed were at the end of this drive. Dread unerringly led him through the streets of the city, all the way into an area that seemed obscure even by silencer standards. Everything was quiet and dismal, the only sign of life a few stray dogs that scuttled through the dark.
Or at least, so it seemed at first glance, because the closer he got, the more Baqir became convinced that they were in the right place. He might have not bound Remy to him, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel his mate. And he might have been unable to track Remy in the city—his price for being a coward and not claiming what was his—but he could definitely sense his lover here.
Dread didn't provide him with any explanation. Indeed, once they entered the area, he seemed content to just lean back against his seat and wait. What little emotion he'd displayed during their encounter so far had completely faded, leaving behind the familiar mask of the warrior who had once torn apart three very unwise silencers with his bare hands.
Baqir ignored him. It was probably not a very wise thing of him to do—Dread was a threat even on a good day—but right now, each and every one of his senses was completely focused on finding his mate.
Their destination turned out to be a warehouse of sorts. Like everything else here, it seemed in complete disrepair, but appearances were deceptive. Beneath the surface of crumbling brownstone and rusty metal, a few details stood out, but only to Baqir's trained eye. The locks were new, and, as far as Baqir could tell from his cursory examination, top quality. Of course, all silencers knew that there was no point in adding a good lock to a bad door, so the walls and the rest of the structure had been rebui
lt from the inside, while still keeping the appearance of run-down and abandoned.
Baqir wasn't exactly sure where Dread had brought him, but he did not hesitate. He would not be caught off guard. Under different circumstances, he might have actually stopped here—he could spot a potential trap when he saw one—but if Dread did have baleful intentions toward him, he'd definitely used the right bait. Without a doubt, Remy was here.
The thing about mates—even ones like Baqir and Remy who hadn't actually completed their bond—was that they could sense one another. As such, Baqir was not the only person who had this feeling, this knowledge. It went both ways, so it wasn't wholly surprising when Remy greeted him at the door of the warehouse.
Remy's scowl didn't bode well for their impending conversation. "Dread… I see you brought guests."
"Indeed. I believe you already know one another so there's no reason to make the introductions."
"You're quite right." Remy's voice softened as he turned toward Baqir. "What are you doing here, Baqir?"
There were many potential replies on Baqir's lips. I missed you. I wanted to see you. I can't breathe when I'm not with you. I'm sorry for how we parted ways. I'm so very sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. In the end, he went with none of those options and chose the most practical one. "I was worried about you. I dropped by your place and when I couldn't find you there, I enlisted Dread's help."
Of course, there was a little more to it than that, but Baqir was not comfortable talking about his regrets and frustration with Dread there. In fact, he didn't even know if he could expose them at all. It had been clear from the beginning that Remy deserved better, and while Baqir had dared to dream they might have a chance, the illusion had shattered under the weight of reality.
Perhaps Remy had realized it as well, because he narrowed his eyes at Baqir. "I don't need your concern," he said.
"Oh, dear," Dread muttered under his breath. "Lovers' spat? I think that's my cue to step out of the scene."