by Robin Moray
She hesitated. "No. No, I wouldn't worry."
They went on silently for a while, and by now Callum had completely lost track of where they were. The road was back ... that way? He thought. Still. It was so quiet, just a few birds around and the sound of their own footsteps.
"Do you see much of my sister, then?" he asked, just for something to say.
"Jackie? I see her around. I'm not much in town, so not really. Why?"
"Just wondering." He wanted to say, She's okay, isn't she? but Vonnie had said she didn't go into town much, so ... no. Best not.
"Saw a bit of your dad, before he died." Callum froze, standing still a moment and just staring at her back before he forced himself to move. "Used to come out here sometimes. Mushrooming, he said. He never did find much, though."
"He never did much of anything," Callum muttered. He'd thought it too quiet for her to hear, but she shook her head.
"He did enough."
They came up over a rise and suddenly there was a trail that wound down into the woods to their left, and on it a battered looking blue truck. Two people were leaning against the bonnet, a man and a woman, neither of whom Callum recognised. Vonnie didn't seem alarmed, though, so he followed her over, trying to knock some of the mud off his shoes as he went.
The man, a big blond Viking with a beard, greeted them with a short upward jerk of his chin. "Who's this?"
"Callum Kelly." Vonnie propped her fists on her hips, casting a look over Callum that he couldn't read.
"Kelly?" the man said, and then he squinted at Callum. "The one who left?"
"He's been bitten," Vonnie added, as though that meant something, which only served to make the man squint harder.
"It doesn't change anything."
Callum decided he didn't much like being looked at by a stranger that way. "Hi," he said, holding out his hand to shake. "Sorry, I don't know who you are."
The man looked amused. "No, you don't."
Callum had been watching the man, not the woman, and that proved now to be a mistake. She caught his outstretched wrist and then, before he could react, had it up behind his back. "Hey!" He pulled away; she kicked in the backs of his knees, and then he was face down on the muddy trail with her weight on his back.
Normally, Callum didn't have to worry about fights. He was big enough and scowled hard enough for people to leave him alone. But now, immobilised under her, none of his struggling did any good.
"What the fuck–?"
Something struck him across the back of the head, stunning him, and then a rag was crammed into his mouth. It nearly made him gag, pressed up firm against his tongue, but at least it was clean. And then there was something over his head, and he knew this was a very, very bad thing.
They must have tied his wrists, and his ankles, and then he was picked up, and dropped into what he guessed (hard surface, metallic clang) was the tray of the truck.
"I'll stay with him."
A woman's voice, and then something came down firmly on top of him at the middle, pinning him in place. A boot, maybe, by the shape of it.
And then, the rumble of an engine.
Fuck. This was ... impossible.
Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, he told himself, but too late, he was already panicking, could feel it come up in his throat like bile. Don't.
Callum tried to imagine what they wanted with him. It had nothing to do with the accident, it couldn't possibly. It's not like anyone in his family had any money, so they weren't going to ransom him. So ... what?
Serial killers. They were serial killers, they had to be. Shit. Did Jackie say anything about people going missing in Raglan? Hitch-hikers, vagrants, anyone who wouldn't be missed, oh god...
But Callum would be missed. Jackie would come looking for him, she would, he knew it. He was almost sure. Maybe.
All he could do, he decided, was wait for a chance to get away.
* * *
Nero heard the truck far below in the valley, but he waited until they were almost in the yard before he came downstairs. He paced while he waited, couldn't fight the restlessness of his bones, the moon itching beneath his skin even from below the horizon with the sun in the sky. He wanted to shift, wanted to hunt, wanted to chase a thing and catch it and devour it, still warm.
Instead, they had left him sandwiches. The ham and cheese was good, but it wasn't the same. He had eaten some of them anyway.
When he went down the pack was waiting for him. Not all of them; there were the ones who had found Holly and brought her back with the dawn, and then slept in haphazard sprawls on the floor of the den with their pack-mates. Some of them had shifted into human form, had dressed themselves, perhaps as a courtesy to Nero now that he could not shift. Some had not. He took note of the ones who had and the ones who had not, and then ignored them all.
They had wrapped Holly in a blanket and laid her out in the den. It was good to be near her, good for everyone, even those who had hated her. She was pack, after all. And no-one wanted to anger a dead wolf, especially not one who had in life been so very volatile.
Nero sat down. The others grouped around him, some of them touching him. It felt wrong, though, hesitant, and he hated that more than not being touched so he snapped at them until they moved away.
The door banged open, and Nero couldn't help how his muscles tensed. It was unnatural for a wolf to be so easily startled; he felt like his nerves had been stretched across a rack, twanging unpleasantly at every new thing. As if he could be played like an instrument.
He tried not to let the others see, but he knew they did, and the knowledge made him surly. "Quiet," he growled, as Hamish and Ria lugged in someone trussed up with rope, dropping them ungently on the floor of the den. The trussed someone smelled human, male, young and healthy but he was bleeding somewhere beneath his clothes, and there was something else beneath the stink of his fear. Nero sniffed. "He's bloodied." And something else.
"That wasn't us." Hamish dropped down on his haunches, yanking the pillowcase off the boy's head to show his face. Not a boy, a young man, maybe twenty? Dark-haired and wild-eyed, his mouth stuffed with something.
Nero frowned. "Ungag him."
Hamish paused just long enough for it to be an insult, and then he pulled the gag free.
The human dragged in a lungful of air. "What do you want?" His eyes darted from one of them to another as he attempted to roll onto his front – he was trying to gain his feet, Nero thought.
Ria must have thought the same because she grabbed him by the collar, hauled him to his knees, and then held him there, a hand knotted in his hair to force his head back. She looked up, waiting for Nero.
The human was so young. He reeked of fear, but he didn't shake, didn't fight Ria, just stared up at Nero as though Nero might save him. There was something in his scent that Nero couldn't ignore. "He's been bitten," Nero said.
Ria scowled. "So? He hasn't turned. He's not one of us, and even if he were–"
"If he were." Nero said, dropping his voice low, letting a growl bleed into it, "it would still be up to me to deal with him."
She met his gaze and held it a moment, and then she looked away. "Alpha. Your kill, then."
"Mine." Nero agreed. The human was still watching him, listening to this, and his eyes were green. It shouldn't have mattered, like it shouldn't have mattered that his pulse raced, that the thudding of his heart was loud as it battered against his ribs. It shouldn't matter that he was handsome, that the scent of him was good, and that Nero could tell that yes, he was afraid, but no, he was not afraid of Nero.
And he had killed Holly. If it were any other way, Nero might have thanked him.
Instead, Nero came forward, crouched in front of him, keeping hold of his gaze. Then Nero turned, nodded at the place where Holly had been laid out. "Do you see that, there?"
The human looked. He flinched. His scent was full of disgust, but also regret. "Yeah."
"Tell me what it is."
; "It's ... there was a dog. Last night. I killed it." He looked back, meeting Nero's eyes with a defiance that could have matched any Nero had ever seen from Hamish. "It attacked me. So I killed it." His eyes flickered, taking in Holly on her bier of blankets, Shauna who had come up along Nero's side, the other pack members in wolf form in amongst the ones who were not. He licked his lips. "It's not a dog, is it?"
"No," Nero said.
"And those ... aren't dogs either, are they?"
Nero shook his head. "No."
Now the human struggled. Ria had him, though, would not let him go. He gave up eventually, and his mouth made a wretched shape. "What are you going to do to me?" he asked. He was trying to sound brave, but his scent gave him away.
"Kill you," Nero said. Except. He didn't want to. And then, almost without thinking, he added, "Or keep you."
The pack looked up as one, fixing him with gazes that were some of them incredulous, some of them angry. Hamish's growl cut through like a sawblade, and Shauna whined, flattering her ears in disapproval.
Ria, braver than the others, protested, "The law," but Nero shook his head.
"I know the law. He's mine to kill, or mine to keep. Is that not the law?"
She looked disgusted. "It is, but–"
"He's mine," Nero repeated. "I claim him for myself."
"Alpha," Ria protested. "He's human. He won't understand. You can't mean to bond him."
Nero snarled at her, suddenly out of patience. "Mine. He cost me my mate. It's only fitting."
"What does that mean?" the human demanded, twisting in Ria's grip. She only took a firmer hold of him and then snarled in his ear to stop. "Fuck you, what do you mean?"
He had courage, at least. Nero could respect that. "What's your name?"
"Callum," he said, and then made a sour face as if he regretted it. "What's yours?"
Nero ... liked him. A little. It was just as well, he supposed. "Nero." He leaned back, gestured broadly. "And what do you think we are, Callum? You suspect," and the uptick of the human's heartbeat to those words was proof enough of that, "but I want to know if you can say it out loud."
The human – Callum – took a breath, eyes wide. "You're ... a wolf cult? Because I can't cope with it if you're actually werewolves, I just jesuschrist–"
Nero didn't need to look up. He could feel Shauna unfurl beside him, shifting her weight as she changed until she could stand on two legs.
"Shit ... oh my god." Callum's eyes tracked her as she crossed the room, picked up a robe left on the floor, and shrugged into it, ignoring the human's horrified attention. "Oh my god."
Hamish snorted and stood up. "Eloquent. A fine bondmate for you, alpha."
"And yet, still better than Holly," Ria muttered. She gave Callum a little shake and then let him go, pulling the knots at his wrists and ankles before backing up and not taking her eyes off him.
The pack relaxed, some of them curling up to nap. They would need their strength tonight, the third night of the full moon. Nero would be resting himself if he were not ... if he could shift, even. But since Holly's death shocked him into human form he found it painful, sickening to even try.
He stood up, and held out a hand.
Callum hesitated, rubbing one wrist with his other hand. He looked dazed. Someone had struck him hard to bring him down. But he'd live, and that was all that mattered.
"Trust me," Nero said, flexing his fingers. "Or don't. It's your choice, but only one of them can save you now. Choose wisely."
Callum scowled, but he took the hand, pulled himself to his feet. "So, that's it then? I'm free to go?"
"Do you even know where you are?" Nero did not let go of Callum's hand at once, just held it. His fingers were cold. Nero considered chafing them with his own but decided against it. "There's coyote in the woods. Wolves, tonight. It's still full moon."
Callum stiffened, yanking his hand away. "So I'm trapped then?"
"It would be best if you stayed. The pack would only track you down. Here," he gestured and Callum, after a heartbeat of indecision, followed him. It was a good sign, a good beginning. Maybe, Nero thought, they might be able to paper over their bad first beginning.
Callum baulked, though, when he saw where Nero was leading him. "What ... I don't want to..."
"Her name was Holly," Nero said, latching his fingers around Callum's arm to hold him still. "She was my mate. We were bonded, seven years. I was your age, I think ... how old are you?"
"Nineteen," Callum said, and then he frowned, as if he hadn't meant to say it.
"Older than you, then, but not much. My bond mate was older. It's rare for us to bond like that, not just mates but ... the bond goes deeper. It's an old magic." He saw Callum's mouth twist with disbelief, and felt his own shift into a smile. "You don't believe in magic."
"I don't believe in werewolves, either." The human took a deep breath. "I believe in hallucinations. And drugs. And magic mushrooms."
"Fortunate, then, that you don't need to believe in magic for magic to work. Otherwise," but he changed his mind. "Anyway. The bond makes you stronger, faster, better. As much better than a wolf as a wolf is better than a human." He felt Callum stiffen with offence at that, but ignored it, running a palm over Holly's bloody fur. She looked ... not peaceful, but then Holly never had been in life, why should she now? "There's a price, though. If one of you dies, the other will die too."
Callum frowned, looked up. "You're not dead."
"No," Nero said, sliding his hand down Callum's arm to catch hold of his fingers. "That's where you come in."
Chapter 3
In retrospect, Callum decided he could have taken it all better.
But then, it wasn't exactly every day that he was kidnapped by a pack of werewolves and forcibly married ... mated, whatever, to one of them. He could be excused for reacting badly, surely.
Most of it was a blur; he was forced upstairs, shoved into a room and the door shut (but he didn't think locked) behind him.
The room was nice, normal looking, with a double bed and a ragwork rug and a wardrobe in the corner. Books were piled on the nightstand, worn old paperbacks next to some dried flowers in a vase. Someone came to the door with a pot of coffee on a tray, and Callum caught a glimpse of a battered crochet teddy-bear on the floor by the bed and just couldn't take it anymore; he burst out laughing. Once he'd started he couldn't stop, laughing until his eyes watered, and he had to lean against a wall and press his palms up against his eyes so it wouldn't look like he was crying. Which, it probably still did.
Eventually, though, he ran dry, still shaky, still gasping. "Fuck. Holy fucking shit."
"Mmm. So you've said."
Callum took his hands down, blinking into the dim afternoon. Nero had perched up in the window-seat, long limbs coiled up around a cup of coffee cradled in his lap, the steam coming up to mist gently against the window. He was looking out, and the sunlight was gold around him, dust motes floating in the light.
They were alone, just him and Nero. And a plate of sandwiches, which made everything else seem all the weirder, really.
And Nero, with his handsome face and his completely being a werewolf. Callum couldn't take it. "Ugh, you're not even real. You're completely fictional, I don't–"
Nero glanced at him, eyes gleaming silver in the shadow of his bangs. "If you insist."
It occurred to Callum that Nero was either emotionally dead inside, or just didn't care about the whole situation. "You know, you don't seem upset at all. That I killed your ... wife. And I didn't mean to, she–"
"Holly and I were bonded, but she wasn't my wife." Nero sipped from his cup, swallowed, but didn't turn around. "I came to hate her. I do hate her, even now, dead as she is. We'll burn her tomorrow. Buried wolves sometimes come back, and I'll take no chances with Holly."
At that moment Nero did look around, just as Callum reached for the door handle.
"I wouldn't. Shauna's outside. In wolf form again. Four legs are faster than two." He l
ifted his cup, murmuring over it, "Not to mention the rest of the pack, downstairs. I could catch you myself, even unshifted, before you could reach the front door."
Callum wasn't really surprised. It was probably all true, too. But, in that case, what was he supposed to do?
"Have a sandwich," Nero said, as if he could read Callum's thoughts, which ... he couldn't actually do that, could he?
Hey dickhead, can you hear me?
If he could hear it the dickhead ignored it, just finished his coffee, watching Callum with light, unreadable eyes.
Jeez, he was handsome, though. Not tall and broad like Callum, sleeker, like, like a panther. A wolf, idiot. Okay, but a lean wolf, long-limbed and brown. His hair looked silky, black as ink and hanging in long shanks before his eyes, not stiff and wiry and unmanageable like Callum's own.
And Callum was going to ... what? That part of it still wasn't clear, but he wasn't stupid, he knew what 'mate' meant. There was a bed in the room, after all. "This bond. How do ... what exactly do you ... I mean, I don't know what you want from me." But I can guess.
Nero shifted to settle his feet on the floor. His feet were bare, Callum noted, clean with long elegant toes. Nero put his cup on the windowsill, eyes fixed on Callum. Callum couldn't tell, from this distance, if they were blue or green but they were very light, with long black lashes. "I want you to submit to me."
It shouldn't have sent a shudder down Callum's spine, but it did, those words in that deep, strong voice. He shook himself, tried to shake it off. "Pretty much sex then?"
"Would that be so terrible?" Nero was up now, crossing the rug on light, noiseless feet, and Callum was the taller of them so why did he feel so hunted? "I won't hurt you. I won't force you. And you're attracted to me." He lifted his head, almost as if ... okay, yes, he was definitely sniffing the air. Of course he was.
Callum felt his neck heat, knew he was red, and sudden embarrassment made him snappy. "What, you can smell the gay on me, is that it?"
Nero blinked, shook his head. "No. Only your attraction." He lifted a hand but just held it between them, not quite reaching out. "Are you then? Gay?"