Requiem for the Dead

by Kelly Meding

  Which really meant nothing—they could have killed Wyatt as easily as locked him up somewhere in the building.

  "Anything useful about our location?" Baylor asked.

  "Not much," Marcus said. "No traffic sounds, so we aren't near a highway. There are odors of rot and disuse, but nothing distinctive."

  "This is some kind of lockup area," I said. "Wyatt and I were held here once before."

  "You were?"

  I explained it for Marcus's benefit, as much as Milo and Baylor, who had some idea of this part of my past. I'd been on the run from the Triads at the time, during what seemed like a different life altogether. "Are there any old jails or precincts that this could be?" I asked Baylor.

  "Several, actually," he replied. "Depends on what part of town we're in. I'm surprised you never went looking for this place."

  "It never seemed important, what with everything else going on." Vale's earlier animosity toward Marcus came back. "Marcus, why does Vale hate you so much? It seemed more personal than Riley."

  Marcus growled, low and deep. "It is personal. Prentiss? The Bengal who kidnapped Keenan?"

  "And was executed by the Assembly. Yeah, I remember him."

  "Prentiss was Vale's brother."

  Fantastic. A whole family full of crazy, treasonous tigers.

  "So this is revenge?" Baylor asked.

  "In all likelihood. Vale's personal revenge is tangled up with his fanatical need to unseat my family from our position of power within the Pride."

  "That's comforting." Even Baylor could be sarcastic once in a while.

  "Sooner or later, our absences will be noticed. Our friends will search for us."

  "Who else knew about the message under the bridge?" I asked.

  "Gina and Astrid knew," Baylor replied. "But Vale isn't completely stupid. He won't leave any clues behind, and scents are difficult to detect there with the river and highway so close."

  "But they'll start looking."

  "For five people in a city of half a million?"

  I didn't answer. I had to stay optimistic about our chances of escaping alive, and Marcus beating down each argument wasn't going to help. Let him be Mr. Negativity. I had to find Wyatt and make sure he was okay. I had to know what Vale did with the elf scroll and the medicine pouch. Most importantly, I had to get that cure to the vampires as soon as possible. None of that could be accomplished while dead.

  Somehow we all had to stay alive.

  #

  With no way to measure the passage of time, I could only guess at how many hours I stood at the end of my taut chain while Milo was tortured. I couldn't do anything but remain present—checking out or turning away felt like abandoning him. I wouldn't do it. Baylor and Marcus didn't either, even though the silver collar around his neck was making Marcus feverish and unsteady.

  The first time Vale and Peck came back, they cuffed Milo's hands behind his back and then choked him unconscious. Before they left, Vale asked Marcus for the security codes. Marcus told him to fuck off. Not long after Milo woke up, they were back with a wooden cane.

  Each sharp thwack of the wood against the backs of Milo's legs echoed in my brain like shrill whistles—harsh and painful. Stretched by his neck onto his tiptoes, Milo couldn't avoid the blows. Couldn't do anything except take them until his legs gave out. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I cried silently for his agony—agony I knew too well and desperately wanted to take away from him.

  "Your family is so smug," Vale said during his fourth go at Milo. "The Danes think themselves kings of the Felia when you're anything but."

  "We've always been fair," Marcus replied. "You came at us first when you kidnapped Keenan."

  "Perhaps, but you drew first blood the day you killed my brother."

  "He was judged by the Assembly and executed according to our laws."

  "You turned him over. You and Astrid and that human fool. You're all responsible."

  The name Prentiss rang in my head from last night's conversation in the cafeteria. This wasn't only about leading the Pride. This was personal for Vale, which meant he was being ruled by his emotions. Emotional people made mistakes.

  Milo's chain had been loosened enough to allow him to kneel. His back, legs and arms were a mosaic of welts and blossoming bruises, with the occasional stripe of drying blood. Sweat trickled down his face and chest. He didn't seem quite aware of what was happening, as if he'd gone deep inside of his own head where the pain couldn't touch him.

  Rage for his agony and hatred for Vale built up in me like a shaken soda bottle, the pressure too damned much. Desperate to explode somewhere. To make someone pay for Milo's suffering. And for Marcus's suffering as he watched someone he obviously cared for tortured because of those feelings. Even the normally cool-under-all-kinds-of-pressure Baylor was getting twitchy as one hour turned into two, and then more.

  Vale stopped for a while to take a phone call. Peck followed him out. The only sound in the prison was Milo's ragged, shallow breathing. His entire body was shaking. I tugged at the chain around my own neck, desperate to get loose and help him. I sought the Break and couldn't find it. I couldn't do anything, and I did not wear helpless well.

  "Talk to me," Milo said in a broken voice. "Anyone, please, just something." He hadn't cried out once during the beatings, but he was close to the shattering point. It was in his voice, his shivering body, the harshness of his breathing.

  "The obstacle course is coming along well," Baylor said, his voice clear and steady. "Gina's brilliant when it comes to physical training."

  "Army Rangers," Milo said.

  "Yes, because she was a Ranger. Construction will take a little time, but the plans are fantastic. Better than what we had at Boot Camp."

  Milo made a snorting sound. "Anything's better than Boot Camp."

  "That is the fucking truth," I said. "But it had some good ideas, and Gina will help design a fantastic obstacle course for training. It'll keep all of our asses in fighting shape, especially yours, Gant."

  "Don't think I'll be running it for a while."

  "Bullshit. You'll be the first to show me up, and you know it."

  He angled his head sideways and gave me what seemed like a grateful smile. Distance made it hard to know for sure. "Can't do this much longer," he whispered.

  Fresh tears stung my eyes and closed my throat, making words impossible.

  "You'll do this as long as you have to," Marcus said. "Until we get out of this. But you must be awake and aware when we do. Please, Milo."

  "I'm trying."

  The door swung open. Peck waited there while Vale came into the room again. Sauntered was probably a better word and it made me hate him even more.

  "Word on the street is the Watch has sent out several of their little squads to look for you," Vale said. "This is, as you can imagine, excellent news."

  "How's that?" Baylor asked.

  "Because it gives my people more moving targets. We can't touch you when you're holed up in your Watchtower. In the city, you're vulnerable. You idiots proved that this morning."

  "More targets also means more eyes looking for us."

  "They won't find you here. Although I may plant a few breadcrumbs. I'd love a chance for a go at the human traitor Tybalt. It's certainly a shame he wasn't with you today, Marcus. Maybe your little toy wouldn't be taking the brunt of my attention."

  "Leave Tybalt alone," Milo said. He had a strength in his voice that surprised me and shouldn't have—Tybalt and Milo were as close as any blood-related brothers.

  Vale laughed and walked over to the chain levers. "You, boy, won't be around to see me kill your friend. But I promise you I will kill him for his betrayal. You can take that promise to your grave." Vale turned the lever.

  The chain yanked Milo to his feet. He cried out as he was lifted up to the tips of his toes. Then Vale lifted him a fraction higher, until he could no longer touch the ground. Milo didn't kick, didn't scream. He just…dangled there.

  "You'r
e going to kill him!" I screamed. I couldn't help it. The building wave of hatred was rising up and right out of my mouth. "You fucking asshole, let him down!"

  "No," Vale said.

  "Marcus won't tell you anything. It's pointless."

  "Hardly. I find it entertaining to see the unflappable, badass Marcus Dane coming undone over the death of a scrawny human male."

  Marcus snarled. He had murder in his fevered eyes.

  Vale stepped into my open cell door. He made a point of looking me over, which made me want to gouge his eyeballs out with my thumbs.

  "Like I said, take off the collar and let's go at it, Fuzz Face," I said.

  "I'm tired of you," Vale said. "And let's face it, you have a habit of not dying when you're supposed to." He reached beneath his un-tucked shirt and produced a handgun, which he pointed right at me. Finger on the trigger, safety off.

  I stood up straighter, stomach tightening. I could survive a lot of things, but not a point blank bullet to the head Stall. Stall. Stall. "The goblins, Halfies and Fey are your enemies, Vale, not the humans. And certainly not your own Pride members."

  "Pride politics are not your business, human."

  "They are when my friends are involved."

  "Those so-called friends have divided loyalties. They made their choices."

  "We've all made our choices, and I have some pretty well-placed friends. Not just Therians, but vampires and gremlins and a few other species." Maybe I was stretching it with the gremlin thing, but Vale didn't know any differently. "You kill me and you'll be making the Pride some serious fucking enemies. You gonna take on that responsibility, Alpha?"

  Vale hesitated. He stared at me, his expression neutral, long enough to freak me out a little bit. Milo was slowly strangling to death, and I was having a stare-down with a pissed-off Bengal. Finally, Vale blinked. He tucked his gun away, then stepped over to our pile of clothes. Selected a blue shirt—Baylor's, I thought, but I honestly hadn't been paying attention to what anyone was wearing earlier—and then reached for the pulley controls. My collar lifted me just past my tiptoes, then right off the ground. My throat constricted. I grabbed the chain and held on tight before it choked me.

  Baylor said something I didn't catch, then something was touching my belly. I kicked out instinctively, but Vale was already out of reach. What the hell had he done? Rubbed Baylor's shirt on me?

  "You're right, I think," Vale said. "There's no sense in me killing you when someone else can do it for me."

  With my arms above my head and my whole body stretched out, breathing became a minor challenge. Pain was also an issue, in both my shoulders and hands. Vale stood outside my cell door, waiting. I figured out what he was waiting for when Peck came through the prison door, dragging something with him on one of those poles that animal catchers used on wild creatures.

  My heart nearly stopped when I saw Wyatt on the other end of that pole. His face was half-shifted—jaw elongated, cheekbones broken, black fur sprouting all along his throat. His eyes were pure silver, his teeth sporting a pair of wicked fangs. I'd seen this face only twice before, and it scared the hell out of me both times. He was also shirtless, his torso and face bruised, showing evidence of his own abuse at Vale's hands.

  Wyatt snarled at Marcus when Peck pushed him closer to the bars. Marcus hissed right back.

  "Bring him here," Vale said.

  Peck changed his angle, putting Wyatt between him and Vale. I knew Wyatt, could see the fear and confusion in his eyes. Saw how hard he was battling the wolf and trying to keep it together. They'd done this to him, forced the wolf out.

  Putting Baylor's scent on me made chillingly perfect sense.

  "I told you, half-breed, that she would break your trust," Vale said, as though he and Wyatt had been in the middle of a conversation. "I can smell the human male on her. He tried to rid her of your mark."

  Wyatt bared his teeth at Vale, then took a step toward my cage. Peck stepped in first, keeping a distance from me by putting his back to the cement block wall. He stopped with Wyatt right in front of me, close enough to touch.

  Vale stayed nearby. "You can smell him on your mate," he said.

  "Wyatt, you know better," I said. Talking wasn't easy hanging like this. "I love you."

  "How could the unfaithful bitch love a half-breed like you? You're a monster. Embrace your beast."

  Wyatt's eyes flashed with pure fury, and for an instant, I thought he was lost to me. Lost to the animal that was a part of him. Lost to jealousy and rage. He raised his right hand, fingers longer, the nails hooked into black claws. One swipe and I'd be dead. For good.

  Shit.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday Afternoon

  "Wyatt," I said. Talking wasn't easy with that collar pressing into my throat, but I had to get him to listen to me. To focus. "Wyatt?"

  He snarled, a sound that sent ice through my veins. Behind him, Vale laughed.

  "Truman, stand down," Baylor yelled.

  Wyatt growled at him. So not helpful. Wyatt moved closer to me, enough to feel his heat, his breath, to see the sweat beading on his forehead and chest. To smell him. My arms ached from holding on so tightly to the chain. Next to me, Peck slipped the noose off Wyatt's neck, then moved behind me, out of sight.

  "Kill her," Vale said. "Now!"

  Wyatt bared his teeth at me—and then he winked. He fucking winked at me.

  Son of a bitch. Big faker.

  He lunged. Instead of at me, he pounced on Peck. Peck yelped and gurgled something, which was lost to the horrific sounds of ripping flesh. Vale yelled vague obscenities and reached behind himself.

  "Gun!" I shouted.

  Wyatt was a blur as he slammed into Vale, knocking the gun out of his hand. It clattered to the floor. Vale fought back with surprising strength, and the pair of them rolled into the bars of Baylor's cage, snapping and trying to land solid punches. Wyatt was fighting with emotion, though, not with his head. Vale struck Wyatt's temple, which knocked Wyatt sideways and into the opposite wall. Vale didn't stay to fight, the coward. He bolted right out the door.

  "Keys," Baylor yelled.

  Wyatt grabbed the keys off the floor where they'd fallen and tossed them at my feet. Not exactly the smartest plan ever—only he hit the release lever on the chains as he chased after Vale.

  I hit the floor with a pained thud, my arms tingling from the strain. The keys were somewhere underneath me. As I shifted around, I came face to face with Peck's throat-less corpse. I scooted away from the expanding blood pool and scooped up the keys. Fitted the smallest key into the hole in the front of my collar. It snapped open. I yanked the fucking thing off. My skin was clammy and raw, and I was glad to be free of it. I rubbed at my throat with one hand while I used the other to grab the bars and haul ass to my feet.

  "Stone, he's not breathing!" Marcus's shout propelled me out of my cage and down the line to Milo's.

  All of our chains had been released, and Milo was crumpled on the floor, face down, hands still bound behind his back. I found the key for his door and yanked it open. Dropped down by his head and unlocked the collar. His throat was a study in bruise patterns from that fucking collar, and Marcus was right—he wasn't breathing.

  "Dammit, Milo." I couldn't roll him over because his hands. Fear started to creep in and turn to panic. I tested the keys on his handcuffs—not standard cop cuffs, either, but shackles reminiscent of old prison movies. The last key finally opened them.

  I tossed the keys at Marcus's outstretched hand and let him release himself. I got Milo arranged on his back, then pressed my ear to his chest. The stutter of a heartbeat gave me enough hope to tilt Milo's head back and begin CPR. I wasn't good at it, but I knew how to do it, and he was not dying on me, goddammit.

  "Come on, breathe," I said.

  Marcus's cell door slammed open. The keys jangled, changing hands to Baylor, because Marcus was suddenly crouching opposite me, his face a twisted mask of misery. He reached out, like he wanted to tou
ch Milo, then drew back. I ignored him and focused on breathing for Milo, and getting him to breathe for himself.

  "Breathe, damn you, you are not dying today. " More reps. "Breathe!"

  Milo sputtered, then drew in a deep, ragged gulp of air. His eyelids fluttered, but stayed shut. His hands flailed out.

  Marcus caught them. "It's okay, Milo, you're going to be fine," he said.

  Milo made a noise that broke my heart with its pained helplessness. Marcus scooped him up and held him against his chest, somehow finding a way to hold him close that didn't aggravate his bruised and bloodied back. Milo pressed his face into Marcus's shoulder and clung to him as he gasped and coughed.

  I felt like I'd interrupted something very private, so I scooted away and stood. Baylor was gone, probably after Wyatt. The gun was gone, too. I dashed up the three small stairs and out into a dark, dirty hallway. Dim light came from further down, where the hallway opened up into a wider office area of some kind. Cubicle walls remained, but desks and furniture had long since been removed.

  The sound of furious growling caught my attention. Wyatt. I followed the noise past a row of cubicles and spotted Baylor standing next to a boarded up door. Wyatt was sitting on the floor, holding his head, bleeding from his left temple. The half-shift was gone, but his eyes remained pure silver.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Vale got away," Wyatt replied. He admitted it like he'd tasted pig shit—with utter disgust.

  "There's another dead body back there," Baylor said, pointing to our right. "Looks like another Bengal. Milo?"

  "Alive," I said as I squatted in front of Wyatt. "How are you?"

  "In control," he said. "Barely."

  "Adrian, can you give us a minute?"

  Baylor moved away. I reached for Wyatt's chin. He jerked his head away from me with a soft snarl. I grabbed his chin anyway and made Wyatt look at me. "Are you okay?"

  "I almost lost it, Evy, when I smelled him on you." Fear crept into his silver eyes, the same fear he'd carried since his infection. The fear of hurting me.