by Eileen Wilks
Lily used the key. The lock clicked audibly. She opened the door and let Rule in.
TEN
LILY was right; the room was small. Painfully so. And it stank of terror, blood, and despair.
Fear is an acrid and distinct smell. Even humans were aware of it sometimes. Despair is a subtler scent, an amalgamation of flattened fear, guilt, and abject submission. The second he inhaled, Rule knew Raymond Cobb wouldn’t erupt in violence. He was already beaten.
Cobb lay on the floor, as Lily had said, a beefy man with bandages wrapped around his chest and abdomen, with a thin blanket covering him from the waist down. His hair was short and dark, graying at the temples. He had a square block of a head, his features crowded together beneath a high forehead.
He turned his head, met Rule’s eyes briefly, then closed his own. “Thank God. Thank God you came.”
“Our Rhej is coming, also. She’ll be able to help you.” Rule didn’t speak directly of Cobb’s pain, which must be great. Others could have, but not the man’s Rho, not without giving insult.
Cobb made a soft sound, too breathy for a proper snort. “Waste of her time.”
“You can come in, Lily,” Rule said, and took two steps inside before sitting cross-legged on the floor. He put a hand on Cobb’s shoulder. The mantle recognized the man in a way he knew Cobb would feel, too, and take some comfort in.
Rule heard and felt Lily enter behind him. He heard—distinctly—the door shut and the lock click. The muscles across his shoulders cinched.
Lily moved up quietly and sat beside him, sliding her purse from her shoulder to the floor. She’d placed herself near Cobb’s feet, while Rule was near the man’s midsection. Even if Cobb confounded reality by attacking, Rule would be able to stop him.
She placed a hand on Rule’s thigh. The touch helped. He glanced at her. She nodded once: You take it for now.
Rule did his best to ignore the locked door behind him. “I can’t remember if you met my nadia at the gens subicio. You know who she is, though.”
“Cop,” Cobb said without opening his eyes. His voice was hoarse and soft. He would be trying to inhale as shallowly as possible with that wound in his chest. “FBI cop.”
“That’s right. I require you to answer her questions fully and honestly.” He put a whisper of the mantle behind that order, just enough to make it clear he meant exactly what he said.
Cobb nodded fractionally. “I have a request to make of my Rho.”
Rule’s throat tightened. He feared he knew what that request was. “You may make it after you have answered Lily’s questions.”
Lily took a recorder out of her purse, set it on the floor, and turned it on. “Special Agent Lily Yu of Unit Twelve, MCD, Federal Bureau of Investigation, interviewing suspect Raymond Cobb.” She gave the date and time and recited the Miranda warning. “Mr. Cobb, this is an official interview. It is being taped. Do you understand your right to counsel?”
“My Rho’s here. He’s my counsel. Get on with it.”
“You’re wounded. Your doctor is unsure of your ability to withstand questioning, due to your nature and your refusal to allow him to examine you. If at any time you feel unable to continue, or if you require medical help, let me know and we will end the interview.” She paused. “For the record, Rule Turner is present at this interview, acting as counsel for Raymond Cobb. I am delegating the initial questioning to him, due to his position as Rho of Raymond Cobb’s clan.”
Cobb’s eyes popped open in the same startlement Rule felt. He glanced at her. She gave another small nod.
Rule looked down at the man who’d killed so suddenly and wantonly. He kept it simple. “Ray, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” Cobb’s eyes were a muddy brown. He fixed his gaze on Rule’s chest, emphasizing his submission. “It was . . . I was fine. Annoyed with that jerk Reynolds, but that’s nothing new. He’s a . . .” Cobb stopped. Swallowed. “He was a prick. Maybe he still is, if there’s an afterlife. So I was kinda pissed, but not paying that much attention. All of a sudden my stomach cramped—a real monster of a cramp, like someone squeezed my guts. I thought, what the hell?”
“Was it like bane sickness?”
“I dunno. No nausea, and there was just that one huge cramp, but I guess it was kinda like it. Then . . .” His voice flattened. “Then I picked up Reynolds and broke his neck. Then Sonja . . . Sonja . . .” Tears gathered in his eyes. “I killed Sonja. I don’t—I can’t—there were more. I don’t remember it all, but there were more. I didn’t . . . after Sonja, I almost came back. I knew I’d killed her and I—I tried, but it was too much. I couldn’t stop, but I threw people instead. I didn’t break their necks, but I threw them hard.” His voice sank. “I guess I killed more than Reynolds and Sonja.”
“One more, with ten injured,” Rule said. “What was too much?”
“The rage. The rage.” His faded to a whisper. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Lily spoke. “Was it the fury, Ray?”
Cobb’s gaze flicked to Rule. Rule nodded, telling him it was okay to speak of it on the record.
“It must have been. It was different than I remember, but it’s been a long time, so maybe I don’t remember right. The fury, yeah . . . only it wasn’t about enemies or winning. It was just . . . rage.”
Lily took up the questioning now, asking more specific questions: Who was nearby when the rage hit? What had he eaten, what had he drunk? Had he felt threatened? Had he specifically wanted to kill Reynolds?
He’d eaten three hamburgers and a handful of fries. He’d drunk two or three Cokes . . . no, not out of a can, but from one of those red plastic cups. Someone had put booze in the last one . . . sure, his human friends did that sometimes. They didn’t know he was lupus, so they teased him about being a teetotaler. He hadn’t finished it. He didn’t like the taste of bourbon.
He didn’t remember who all was nearby, other than Sonja and Reynolds. He’d just killed whoever was closest. There’d been nothing to him at that time but rage—no memories, no thoughts, no fears.
Lily said, “Yet you almost came back after you killed Sonja.”
“Almost.” His eyes were haunted. “Wasn’t horseshoes, was it? Almost doesn’t count.”
Rule spoke quietly. “What about your wolf, Ray? The moon’s three quarters full. Your wolf was close, but you didn’t Change. Was your wolf enraged, too?”
Ray blinked in dull surprise. “I dunno. There wasn’t enough of me present to notice if my wolf was in on the rage, and I didn’t think of it. Changing, I mean.”
He was clearly tiring, his pain mastering him. Rule glanced at Lily. “He’s spent. He’ll keep answering as long as you keep asking because I told him to, but I think he needs to rest.”
“ All right.” The vee between her brows told him she was as little satisfied with what she’d learned as he was. “Mr. Cobb, we’ll prepare a statement—a confession—from the transcription of this interview. I’ll bring it to you to sign in the morning.”
Cobb nodded weakly. But his grip wasn’t weak when he reached for Rule. “She’s through. You said I could make my request when she was through.”
“Yes.” Rule glanced at the recorder, lifting his eyebrows to ask silently if it could be turned off.
Lily considered the request briefly, then clicked the recorder off.
“I’ve shamed the clan.” Cobb was hoarser than ever, but his eyes had lost their film of despair. They burned. “I have to be put down. I understand that. Whatever went wrong with me, I have to be put down. But I can’t live in a cage. They’ll turn me off, shoot me full of that goddamned drug, and lock me away. I can’t do that. I can’t live in a cage, not hearing the moon. Maybe I deserve to, for killing Sonja, but I . . . something broke in me. I didn’t—I wouldn’t—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I ask for final mercy from my Rho.”
It was what Rule had expected. He nodded slowly. “Your Rho grants—”
“Wait a minute,” Lily said sh
arply. “Wait. Is he asking you to kill him?”
“He isn’t asking for anything illegal.”
“Because he’ll Change first. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? No.”
Cobb’s gaze flicked to her, then away, dismissing her. He was over seventy and Leidolf. It didn’t occur to him that a female could have any say in this.
Rule knew better, but this time Lily couldn’t have her way. Pity, regret, fury, fear—all crowded up in his gut, in his throat. They burned the way ice does, a cold sear. “I don’t tell you how to do your duty. You won’t tell me how to do mine.”
“You are not offing my witness. I don’t care whether he’s furry or not.”
“I am honor-bound to grant his request unless I believe he deserves to suffer. I don’t believe that.”
“Forget it.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll stop you. If you try, I’ll stop you, and if I can’t, I’ll charge you with interfering with a witness.”
Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “You would put me in a cage?”
“I can’t—hell.” Her phone was chiming the opening bars of “The Star Spangled Banner.” That ought to mean it was Ruben, but with him hospitalized it must be Ida or Croft. She bent and dug the phone out of her purse. Lousy timing, but if there was news about Ruben, she’d want to hear it. “Yu here.”
“Lily, I have news. You aren’t going to like it.”
It was Croft. Rule spoke quickly and subvocally to his clansman: Wait. I need to hear this.
“How is he?” Lily demanded, as if she could force Croft to make it good news after all. “How’s Ruben?”
“It isn’t about Ruben. I’m sorry. I should have made that clear. Ruben’s pretty much the same—still in ICU. Ida says you’ve got some high-powered healer coming in to see what he can do, but he isn’t there yet. No, this is about the Cobb case. I have to pull you off it.”
“What?”
“The director’s taking too much heat. Political heat. He’s told me to pull you.”
“The Unit isn’t under the—”
“Ruben isn’t. I’m not Ruben. I can’t call up the president and tell him his appointee is making trouble and to please back him off—not when you don’t have clear jurisdiction. Unless you’ve found something to change the picture?”
“No.” She grudged it, but she gave him the truth. “But I do have a confession. One the police weren’t going to get because he wouldn’t talk to them.”
“That’s good. That’s going to help. It will make the director’s concerns about a conflict of interest less—”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“That’s his reason for pulling you. ‘The inherent conflict of interest,’ he said. And you have to see his point. You took Rule with you. I understand why, but I can’t explain, and Rule is—”
“Lupus, yes.” She bit off each word. “So is the suspect. And if Rule were black, would it be considered a conflict of interest if I investigated a case involving a black suspect?”
“Dammit, don’t twist things around! Rule isn’t just any lupus—he’s the Nokolai prince, their spokesman, the big muckety-muck as far as the press and public are concerned. And in this instance, we can’t assume his interests are the same as the Bureau’s—and you’re engaged to him, for God’s sake.”
“If I were engaged to the head of the NAACP, would I be barred from pursuing cases involving African Americans? Or maybe I shouldn’t investigate any crimes involving Asian Americans. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but I’m Asian, so there’s an inherent conflict of interest with—”
“Enough.” Croft was angry. “You’re off the case. Book a flight home.” He disconnected.
Lily scowled at the phone in her hand. “Son of a bitch.”
She was off the case. Lily was off the case, which meant this might be Rule’s only chance to grant Cobb’s request. She’d be flying back to San Diego. Willy-nilly, he would have to go, too. For the first time he was pissed, royally pissed, about the mate bond’s restrictions.
Blood pounded in Rule’s temples. He was abruptly aware of the tiny room, the locked door. That unease had been present all along, but it exploded in him now, his wolf howling, Out, out, out!
He could signal Cobb to Change right this second, then kill him. It was the honorable action, the decent action. Cobb had killed, but he’d killed due to some terrible defect, not from evil intent. The man wouldn’t survive in any meaningful way, locked up for days and weeks and years, shot full of gado so he couldn’t escape. Death, quick and as near painless as Rule could make it, was his choice—one he had a right to make.
Out, out, out!
But if Rule killed Cobb, it would reverberate on Lily. She’d brought him here. She didn’t have Ruben standing behind her now, and Friar’s people would create a huge stink. She could lose her job. Being a cop—that’s what Lily was. It was a matter of identity, not income or status or achievement.
Honor demanded the one thing he could not do.
Rule shoved to his feet and looked down at Cobb. “I am sorry. I do not refuse your request, but I must delay granting it.” He looked at Lily. “I need out. Now.”
Conflict rode across her face like a crosswind ruffling the water. But she didn’t hesitate. She went to the door, thudded on it with her fist, and called out to the cop on the other side.
The door opened. Rule’s chest was a bony kettledrum for the mallet of his heart. He spoke without looking at her. “I’ll find my own transportation.” He didn’t let himself run, but he walked very quickly—out the door, and down the hall. And kept on walking.
ELEVEN
BACK when she was a homicide cop, Lily had slept in her own bed every night—or as close to it as made no difference, given her stunted social life at the time. As a special agent in the Unit, she slept in lots of beds. The one at the Doubletree was better than most—plenty big, and the mattress didn’t resemble a rock. The room itself was pleasant enough, with honey beige walls and a comfy armchair. But there wasn’t much space for pacing.
Lily did her best. She reached the window, turned, and headed back along the aisle between the bed and the armoire that held the TV. The demon’s-eye-red numerals on the clock watched her from the bedside table.
Ten-oh-seven.
Rule had stalked out of the hospital around seven twenty. She hadn’t seen him since. Or heard from him. She knew roughly where he was—about ten miles southwest of the hotel. He was alive. That was all she knew. She’d tried calling. No answer.
She expected this sort of thing from Cullen. If he got too angry, he took off until he could cool down. That had been necessity for a lone wolf; it was habit now, she supposed. Rule was not a lone wolf. He’d never done this before, taking off without a word. Was he that angry at losing the chance to kill Cobb? Was something else going on?
Lily was pretty sure she could check the “something else” box. But what?
Eight steps to the door. Turn. Head back.
She’d eaten. She couldn’t remember what, but she’d eaten something, assuring herself that Rule wasn’t an idiot. No matter how upset he was, he’d have made sure his wolf was fed.
He was not himself, though, was he? He’d been cooped up too much today—first in an airplane, then in that tiny room at the hospital. That had to part of this. Whatever the hell “this” was. It involved him needing to run. She knew that much because he’d told his guards.
Not her. He hadn’t called her.
Lily stopped just short of the curtain, turned, and paced back toward the door.
When Sjorensen dropped her off at the hotel, Lily had thought Rule might already be in their room. Instead she’d opened the door on LeBron. Jeff had not been in the adjoining room, as she’d immediately assumed. LeBron explained that he’d gone running with Rule.
A quick flash of anger had stiffened her. It hadn’t lasted, but she was glad she’d been angry at first. Better for LeBron to see her angry than worried. There was a lot Lily didn�
�t understand about lupi dynamics, but she knew it was best if LeBron wasn’t frightened for his Rho.
She’d asked LeBron to guard her from the adjoining room and she’d ordered dinner and she’d Googled Warner Park, because that’s where Rule had gone to run, according to LeBron. It was in an area that ought to have cell service. She’d tried calling again.
Nothing. While waiting for room service, she’d very sensibly started writing her report. The Cobb case might not be hers anymore, but the paperwork was. Dinner arrived and she ate, then called Ida to check on Rubin. Ida said the secretive healer had arrived at the hospital. No word yet on whether he’d be able to help.
That’s when she made the mistake of turning on the news. First she watched a pasty-faced guy ranting about how America was being destroyed by nonhumans who wanted to eat people. His pale eyes brimmed with tears at the idea. That hadn’t done much for her digestion. She’d switched to a channel where another talking head was interviewing Friar.
That’s when she started pacing.
For the first time in nearly a year, Lily felt the loneliness of a hotel room. The emptiness. And if—
Her phone beeped, signaling a text message. She stopped, scowling at the phone sitting beside the demon-eyed clock, and hated the way hope made her heart lift. And hurried to check the message.
Gone running, the little bubble read. Wolf needs it. Back late. Eat without me. The last sentence pricked her into looking above it at the date/time stamp: SEP 23 7:44 P.M.
She sagged onto the bed. He’d sent the text hours ago, just after he left the hospital. For whatever reason, it had taken its sweet time arriving. Could be a problem with AT&T; could be the kind of glitch common to cell service in areas that lacked a resident dragon to soak up excess magic. Either way, it could explain why she hadn’t been able to reach him.
Lily looked at the phone in her hand. She knew what she needed to do. She didn’t want to. Some weird twist of pride and guilt made it hard to admit she had no idea what had really happened this afternoon. Just how big a deal was it for a Rho to refuse a “kill me” request from one of his clan?