Beast of All

by J. C. McKenzie

  Deep breath.

  My heart punched against my breastbone so loud my hearing became consumed with the thudding sound.

  My body warmed as if Tristan held me in his strong arms, knowing what I planned to say, and providing me with the courage and strength to say it.

  “Goodbye, Tristan.”

  A sob escaped and more tears fell. I swiped at my running nose. The rope tied around my chest that tugged and burned pulled hard until it snapped and fell away. My lungs expanded, filling with cold air. The ice-like sensation crept through my nasal passage, cleansing not only my body, but my soul.

  A few more papers were included with Tristan’s handwritten letter. A copy of his will with a highlighted section. He gave almost everything to the new Alpha of his pride—Olly. It made sense. His lifetime accumulation of wealth belonged with his pridemates.

  To me, he left an unlimited lifetime of services from Kayne Security Solutions, a share in the company, and a bulk payment from his savings. My eyes widened at the estimated worth.

  I’d never have to work again.

  A picture of my partner Stan’s snarled smile flashed through my memory. And my stomach sank. I shook my head. I’d make that decision later, save that fight for another day.

  The last paper made my breath catch in my throat. An icy chill crept along my spine and goosebumps tingled my flesh as they spread across my skin.

  A name and an address.

  Tristan had highlighted the name in yellow and in the margin, with his lovely scrolling handwriting, he’d written in blue ink, “Your brother.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Decisions can hurt

  “May the stars carry your sadness away, may the flowers fill your heart with beauty, may hope forever wipe away your tears, and above all, may silence make you strong.”

  ~Chief Dan George

  Cold and numb, my mind reeled as I staggered to the cemetery’s entrance. A Norse god lookalike stood somberly in tight-fitting denim jeans and a warm bomber-style winter jacket. His hands were shoved in the pockets, but he quickly pulled them free when he saw me approach. Frosted air plumed from Wick’s nose as he exhaled into the cold. Behind him sat his twin cab truck—engine already running with a loud hum, as if he’d anticipated my arrival.

  I pulled up short.

  Wick shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked unsure of what to do with his hands.

  “Where’s Stan?” my voice croaked, worn, and tired from being wrung through with emotion.

  “Got called in. Asked me to drive you back.”

  I cringed. “How long have you been waiting?”

  His eyebrows pinched in, and he rounded his shoulders as if shielding himself from the cold. With his Were heating system, this night would have little impact on him. “Long enough.”

  Great. With his Werewolf hearing, he’d probably heard every sob and sniffle, including the Wereleopards’ visit and those moments when I thought I was alone and spoke to Tristan’s grave.

  I cringed, again. “Sorry.”

  His gaze softened, and the tension around his mouth eased. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  I nodded. Cold air wound around me, crisp and cutting. A great night for flying. The sun had set behind the trees and the clear sky turned to midnight blue.

  “Come on.” He stretched his hand out. “Let’s get you home—” He winced.

  Not the best choice of words. I smiled, or at least tried to. My stiff face twitched, and the corners of my mouth remained tight. When I took Wick’s hand, he squeezed in response and walked me to the passenger side of his truck.

  The ride back to Wick’s house in Kits was long and quiet, Wick smart enough to leave me to my thoughts.

  A brother. I already knew he existed, but hadn’t built enough emotional strength to look into who he was, or whether this sibling survived the Purge and still lived.

  Tristan found him.

  He probably kept the information of my brother’s whereabouts to himself until I was ready. I let out a long shuddered breath.

  Wick glanced at me as he navigated the late rush hour Vancouver traffic.

  My brother.

  Would he want to meet me?

  How come he never attempted to find me? I’d been a baby, not capable of remembering a sibling, but from Tristan’s recollection, my brother had been a young boy, old enough to know I existed.

  Maybe he wanted to forget. He would’ve come home to our dead parents and my disappearance. My nature had nothing to do with the murders, but I’d vanished. Maybe he grieved me, thinking I died that day. Maybe he blamed me.

  Another deep breath. I hugged Tristan’s letter to my chest. Wick’s gaze flicked over to me a number of times during the drive, furtive, sideways glances, mostly aimed at my face, but sometimes to the papers I clutched.

  “Tristan wrote me a letter,” I whispered.

  Wick tensed, his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He nodded, shoulder-checked, and made a right turn. “Want to talk about it?”

  I pursed my lips.

  “Might help.” He turned down the next street and glanced at me again.

  You’re my captor, not my therapist. Words I’d spoken to Wick from a long time ago echoed in my head. I had opted not to confide in him that night, despite the overwhelming urge to. The assassin life was a lonely one, and although the SRD provided shrinks, I never trusted them. They might claim to maintain confidentiality, but one slip about my beast nature, and I’d end up in the lab.

  Well, been there, done that.

  “Andy?”

  I hesitated. One flick of his dark brown gaze, and my resolve to remain an iron vault crumbled. Wick would keep my secrets. “He said…he wrote… God, do you have any idea how old he was?”

  Wick nodded, again. His jaw clenched. “I have an idea.”

  Oh, that’s right. They’d fought once. Tristan had been winning and by more than a little. Both Alphas. Both predators. But age brought power in the supernatural world, Weres included. Had they been similar ages, it would’ve been a closer match. If I hadn’t intervened, Wick wouldn’t sit beside me today. Probably not something the big bad wolf liked to think about.

  Wick slowed for a red light and turned to me. “Is his age the reason you smell of lemon and pepper?” He named the smells associated with shock.

  I shook my head, and ignored the dull ache in my bones. “No.”

  The light turned green, and Wick refocused on the road.

  “He didn’t know how long he had with me.”

  A growl rumbled through Wick’s chest, but his lips remained firmly shut. Silence descended on us again, filled with what Wick probably should say, but didn’t—accusations, angry outbursts, condemning Tristan for his selfishness. If the situation had been reversed, I’d be furious.

  “And along with money, he left me the address and name of my brother.”

  Wick slammed on the brakes. My body whipped forward. I flung out my hands to brace against the dash. Cars honked and swerved around us, but Wick’s wolf-yellow gaze remained trained on me. Lemon and pepper tinged with burnt cinnamon rolled off his skin. It started to rain outside. The pitter-patter of large raindrops hitting the windshield added to the commotion outside.

  “Brother?”

  I nodded. “Turns out Tristan’s history with me goes a bit farther back, but that’s not the point.” I had no desire to tell Wick about Tristan’s involvement in my parents’ deaths. At least, not right now. It would only aggravate his wolf more, and he was already on the edge of control.

  “You have a brother?” He flicked on the wipers. Typical Vancouver. The clear sky never lasted long.

  “I have a brother.”

  Wick pressed the gas and maneuvered the truck down the road and away from angry motorists.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked. We’d once talked about siblings, and how I longed for them, so he understood the impact of this news.

  I shrugged, and idly played with the armr
est. “If I don’t go, I’ll never know and always regret it.”

  The rain picked up and splattered heavily against the windshield. The wipers couldn’t move fast enough to clear the field of sight completely.

  “But?” Wick prompted.

  “What if he’s dead? What if he hates me? Or blames me for our parents’ deaths? What if… What if I don’t like him? I’m not sure I can take any more heartache right now.”

  Wick’s chin dipped, and he turned down his street, driving the truck up the driveway without saying a word. The engine idled with a loud hum as we sat in silence. The rain continued to hammer the cab of the truck.

  I finally turned to Wick and found his gaze had returned to their melted chocolate depths, the wolf receding and relinquishing control.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So?”

  “You’re not going to tell me what you think?”

  Wick shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you what to do or what I would do in your place. This is your life, Andy. Your choice. You already made the decision not to have me as a part of it.”

  I recoiled. His words little stabs to the body. I’d made that choice because I thought it would be better for both of us. What the hell? Why had he offered to listen if he planned to just throw it in my face?

  Wick turned off the truck, popped open the door and hopped out. I mirrored his actions. The rain instantly doused me in cold water, my hair and clothes plastered to my clammy skin.

  “Wick…”

  He halted halfway up the driveway.

  I caught up to him, and we stood in the same place we’d shared our first kiss. The memory glinted behind my eyes, and a flicker of recognition flashed across Wick’s expression. My stomach twisted.

  “Wick.”

  He shook his head and peered down at me. His hair slick against his face. His eyes flashing yellow again. “I don’t want your pity.”

  “It’s not pity, it’s—”

  “Do you think this is easy for me?” Wick roared. “Knowing that you chose him over me?”

  “Wick.” I reached out to sooth him, but he jerked his arm away. “You know why I couldn’t pick you.”

  “No. I don’t.” The rain threatened to drown out his words.

  “Yes, you do. Lucien kept using us against each other. Would you have wanted to keep going on like that? He would’ve hurt you repeatedly—”

  “Yes!”

  “What?” The torrential downpour hammered down on us, splattering hard against my face.

  “Yes, I would have. I would’ve allowed that monster to gut me repeatedly. And yes, I know he threatened that. I would have endured any pain if it meant we were together, that you were mine. Anything, Andy.”

  Cool prickles spread across my skin as my stomach lurched. My vision wavered. The truth of his statement crept along my bones, found my heart, and squeezed relentlessly.

  “But you wouldn’t have done the same,” Wick whispered. “And that’s what cuts the deepest.” He stalked away from me. The heavy rain parted for his exit and continued to slam down in sheets and bounce off the pavement. Thunder rolled in the near-distance, and water ran down my face, but all that consumed me was the sound of my pulse beating against my eardrums and the empty ache in my chest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s the journey, not the destination

  “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”

  ~Lao-Tsu

  After a scalding hot shower and a long pity cry, the weight pushing down on my shoulders lightened, and I mustered enough courage to venture downstairs for food. Part of me wanted to forgo eating altogether. Who cared that the last thing I ate was a blueberry bagel slathered with butter for breakfast? The other part of me, namely my stomach, groaned in protest and threatened to claw its way out of my gut if I didn’t shove something down my gob soon.

  Maybe Wick would already be in bed, and I could avoid an awkward encounter.

  As I tiptoed down the stairs and turned the corner to the kitchen, I realized my error.

  Wick stood in the unlit living room, staring out the window at the stormy night sky. The blinds were up, and the curtains pushed to the side. Lightning flashed across the sky to cast shadows across the room and Wick’s body. With his back toward me, arms crossed in front of his chest, legs shoulder width apart, he cut a fine figure, even in the sparse lighting.

  Wick’s body tensed, and my plans to sneak unnoticed through the house were thwarted.

  “It wasn’t fair for me to dump that on you,” he said, still facing away. “I’m sorry. You are going through enough as it is without dealing with my crap.”

  I stiffened and contemplated an escape route. What could I say? I wasn’t even sure how I felt, but disclosing Tristan’s knowledge bombs had upset Wick, and his outburst was a taste of his anger, not just at me, but also at Tristan. “It’s okay, Wick. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, his back still facing me. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “Find my brother.”

  Wick slowly turned to face me, his face a hard unreadable mask. “Let me help you.”

  My thoughts reeled. Why would he possibly want to help me? I didn’t deserve him and his presence only served to taunt me with what I would never have…with anyone. “I searched the address on the Internet. It’s up north. A couple of ferry hops or a flight away.”

  “And who knows what awaits for you on the other end.”

  I glanced around the room. Given his anger, why would he help me? “Wick—”

  “Andy. Let me assist you with this. We might no longer be together, but I still care for you and don’t want to see you taken down because you were blindsided. The SRD will be after you, now, too. And…” He trailed off and turned toward the lightning-stricken sky.

  And I’m vulnerable.

  He didn’t need to say the words. They hung heavy as the unspoken truth in the room. Without shifting abilities, or my beast, I would rely solely on my combat and weaponry skills—good enough to take out some threats, but not all, certainly not an SRD retrieval task force, or an angry mob of Shifters. After silence settled on the room like a lead blanket, Wick turned away from the night sky and studied me again, jaw clenching.

  I watched dark shadows play along the hard lines of his face. “By land or air?”

  Wick’s expression cracked a little as his lips tugged up in one corner. “Land. More feasible escape routes.”

  I returned his smile while internally my mind raced at the possibility of needing escape routes. I hated when Wick was right.

  ****

  The windswept, unspoiled rocky shore drew my attention as I waited for Wick to come back from checking us into the hotel. The dark water lapped gently against the rocks and reflected the bright stars above. Had my falcon still cohabitated my mind, she would’ve screeched for release, to soar above the dense forest and picturesque shoreline.

  I sighed. That wasn’t going to happen. Not now, and maybe not ever.

  On the remote north end of Vancouver Island, Port Hardy was the last hint of structured civilization. I didn’t really want to stop here. I cursed the ferry schedule. What an unfair interlude. Forget all that crap about life being the journey not the destination. I wanted to see the end game. Now.

  The long, awkward, four-hour drive, in near silence with Wick might have something to do with my motivation to reach the end. I had a lot of time to contemplate—everything from how to deal with the loss of Tristan to how Wick’s speech had evolved to use contractions now. And if I dwelled on that thought, I had to acknowledge how his way of talking had been changing for quite some time.

  A guilty lump sank in my stomach. Wick had made an effort to improve himself, probably for me, and I hadn’t even noticed. What an ass.

  I didn’t deserve him, and Wick must’ve finally figured this out. Amidst my thoughts, I couldn’t shake the itch Wick impatiently waited to get rid of me, like he only carried ou
t this good deed because of some misplaced belief of responsibility, and when he completed his task, he was free.

  Ugh.

  The wind sliced past me, and I folded my arms across my chest. Nine hours of sleep before we could pick up our journey again.

  Wick’s soft footsteps fell on the frosted grass behind me. “Got the rooms. Ready?”

  I nodded and hopped off the large rock. When I reached Wick, he handed me a key card.

  “Our rooms are next to each other.” He turned to walk with me toward the hotel.

  We continued to stroll in silence, our feet crunching the frozen ground, until we reached the side entrance of the building. Wick leaned forward to get the door. The rustle of gravel behind us sent a silent alarm.

  I spun in time to dodge a wire around the neck. Adrenaline pumped through my body. I slipped to the side and delivered a blow to the unknown man’s solar plexus. His dark gaze widened. With a number of swift, efficient strikes, the man collapsed to the ground.

  My muscles screamed in tune with my lungs. Sweat broke across my brow.

  Shadows moved across the building. There were more. Another large man with a shaved head and blond eyebrows leapt from the night and attacked. My arms groaned as I blocked the assassin’s attack and sank his own knife into his thigh. As he folded forward, I yanked the weapon out and plunged it deep into his chest.

  I spun around.

  Wick stood over three more accomplices. Their eyes open and glazed over, their necks at odd angles. Without a word, Wick plucked the bloody knife from my shaking hand—from exhaustion, not nerves—and took care of the unconscious attacker at my feet. He’d never get up now.

  “Think we should move?” I asked, my skin prickling.

  “No,” he grunted, and pulled the bodies to make a neat pile. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. They won’t send another team tonight, and by the time the next retrieval unit arrives, we’ll be gone.”

  “They might figure out where we are headed and have someone in place to ambush us when we disembark.”

  Wick shrugged. “That doesn’t affect whether we stay here tonight or not. One step at a time. Besides, for that to happen, we have to assume this retrieval team followed protocol and reported our position before they attacked. I’d bet your secret stash of chocolate-covered almonds, they didn’t anticipate losing. No one knows we’re here.”