Silver-Steel

by Belinda McBride

  The room was still. It was Melody who spoke first. “You won’t hurt him?”

  Her question ratcheted the tension higher. Neither James nor Travis appreciated her concern for Deacon.

  “I have no reason to hurt him, unless he tries to hurt me first.” He waited for a moment, but no one spoke again. “If I can figure out what’s controlling them, there’s a better chance of saving the injured wolf. If you’re uncomfortable, please set as many guards around as you wish. I doubt I’ll be able to overpower a pack of shifters and a pair of vampires.” He smiled slightly, willing the men to recall the wide pink scar on his abdomen. Dylan cradled his arm at his side. “Once you make your decision, let me know. I need to sleep again.” He started down the stairs, and to his relief, no one followed. Not even Travis.

  He went to the bathroom and drank as much water as he could hold, then crawled into his bed, not bothering to remove his clothing. He was cold; the steel chilled him to the bone. Until it was off, his healing would slow; his energy would wane. In time the metal would leak poison into his veins, and he could very well die.

  If he died, there would be no memory to torment him, no geas to fulfill. He’d be released to whatever waited on the other side. Some of his people believed that the fae went into the sky when they passed over. Others believed they became the angels. Personally he believed in nothingness, and it suited him fine.

  He rolled onto his side, searching for dreamers, but there was nothing. The metal surrounding him effectively isolated him from everything he was. He closed his eyes and dropped into the sleep of mortals, undisturbed by dreams. When he woke again, it would be a new day, and if Ulric was coming, his master would be that much closer.

  He reached up and felt for the pendant he’d worn so many years ago, the symbol of his family. Once upon a time it had been a shield, proclaiming his connections to others. Once he left his home and people, he’d removed it, taking it out only when the pain of loss threatened to overwhelm him. Then he’d allow himself to imagine children’s faces as they grew into adulthood in the eternal beauty of his Homewood.

  Stiffly he rose and turned on the little bedside light. He found the box inside the suitcase. Had they examined those few small treasures he still carried? He lifted the lid to look inside and caught the scent of his home, the seeds and flowers and even the paper he’d made from fallen trees. Of course they had, though the shifters would have no idea what they were looking at.

  This was who he once was, who he’d never again be.

  He tipped the bag and let the pendant spill out into his hand. For an endless moment he stared at it, feeling memory wash over him. He lifted the chain and slipped it over his head. After hiding the box away, he crawled into bed, only slightly relieved by the touch of pure elvish silver against his skin. He gripped the pendant in his palm and remembered times he’d forced himself to forget.

  When he slept, it was like death, only it ended far too soon.

  Travis looked around the room, uneasy at all the gazes focused on him. He pulled up his legs, glancing in the direction Dylan had gone, wanting nothing more than to follow him, to climb into bed and wrap his body around the fae. Somehow he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  “This feels like an intervention.”

  “It’s not, Travis. We’re just worried.” Drusilla sat next to him and took his hand in hers. Looking down, he noticed how much larger his hand was. Of the family, she’d always seemed the most authoritative, more so than his mother. When Dane had laughed off a prank, he knew Dru would be not far behind, ready to dress him down.

  “I know you’re drawn to him, Travis, but it’s not going to work out.”

  “You don’t know that.” As Melody moved farther into the room, she skirted around James. He noticed and appeared hurt and ashamed. He’d frightened her down in that cell. Everywhere Travis looked, his family and friends seemed…damaged. Blacque was slumped against Bleu’s legs, and April’s lovely face was a blank mask. James sat with his head bowed. Melody halted in front of Travis, a frown marring her face.

  “Melody, you know the town blocked him. I think he only made it over the city limits because he was near death.” Drusilla turned back to Travis. “We don’t know anything about him. We don’t know if he’s lying or telling the truth about the rogues. He took advantage of you.”

  “I initiated the sex. Not him.” Anger overcame the embarrassment. “I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions in life.”

  “Because you’ve done so well up until now,” Blacque muttered. Drusilla glared at him, then turned back to Travis.

  “You were drugged, Trav.”

  “I was coming out of it. It was consensual.” He bit down hard, reining in his anger. “I would have gladly stayed with him.”

  “You know if that had happened, you might never have come home.” He looked at Bleu in shock. “Travis, I haven’t seen it happen often, but there have been times when people left Arcada and never found their way back. People like Nigel.”

  “The vampire from the post office… I assumed he’d just moved on.”

  Bleu shook his head and then glanced at April. Though she’d settled in Arcada, his granddaughter still had wanderlust. It obviously bothered him that she left so often.

  “Nigel was becoming increasingly predatory within the town. He had a string of volunteers, but I’ve come to realize they’d been coerced into feeding him. He was lazy, and it endangered those he was allegedly caring for. So when he left, he was unable to return.”

  Travis suddenly thought of Dane and broke out in chills.

  “Do you think the alpha…?”

  “No. I’ve heard from Nigel, but it seems no one has heard from Dane.” Bleu settled his hand on Blacque’s shoulder. Travis looked at his sister. She wore the same apprehensive, frightened expression.

  “Maybe the rogues…?”

  No one answered.

  “Back to the topic at hand.” His sister was the vice principal at the local high school, and she treated Travis like one of her students. He loved her, but sometimes she just made him crazy.

  “No, Dru. I’m an adult. You’ve reminded me that there are risks to being with Dylan. Truth is, we’ve just met. I’m not jumping into anything.”

  “You already have, Travis.” James looked at him solemnly. “You’ve still got his marks on your neck.”

  “I do?” He reached up and touched the tender spot. He remembered studying them in the mirror when he’d showered that morning. It seemed so long ago. “He’s a fae, not a shifter. And a man. There’s no mating. No claiming.” He looked from person to person. “And there’s not much I can do about healing some bruises that hang on.” Those marks had lingered three weeks. He knew it. They all knew it. No one had to tell him.

  They sat quietly for a while. Melody was curled up in a chair near Travis, and she reached out and squeezed his hand. The room was silent. If they listened carefully, they could hear cries coming from the rogues. It gave Travis the chills. Something evil was happening, and he could literally feel it. Too much bad shit was flying their way.

  Outside, snow drifted down from the sky. It fell gently, as though in apology for the earlier storms. It was Blacque who finally broke the silence.

  “I don’t think I can do this. I’m not ready to lead.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and the room remained quiet. Bleu leaned forward, rested his forehead on Blacque’s head, and wrapped his arms around the big man’s shoulders. In the kitchen, the clock ticked away the minutes…the hours.

  “So we’ll help you. All of us in this room, all of us in the pack. We’ll figure out what’s up with these guys and take care of it. And we’ll figure out where Dane’s gone off to. He’s strong and smart. He’ll probably just show up on his own.” Travis’s voice felt harsh when he spoke. He was shaken by Blacque’s show of fear.

  “I’ll search for him. I’m not sure how much use I’d be here.” April rose and stretched. “It’s getting late. I have to go home. Oli
ver, are you going back to your house?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take a room here. That gives us a little more time.”

  She stood uncertainly, still wrapped in her black leather riding gear. “I’ll check in tonight, then. If he’s not back, I’ll hit the road.”

  “How much do you know about his plans, April?” Bleu gave her a suspicious look, and Travis was grateful he wasn’t the only one taking heat over an unwise love affair.

  “He was texting me up until a couple of weeks back. He was in St. Louis. I’ll start there and see if I can track him.”

  “Thank you.” Lukas looked up at her; his eyes were bleak. Their brother wasn’t ready for this, not yet. Blacque was strong and capable, but he was dealing with catastrophes on every front. Travis felt guilt in his belly, knowing he’d added to that burden.

  “You go to bed, Lukas. Me and James can take the next watch on the rogues.”

  “And I’ll keep an eye on the fae.” Drusilla stood with a bullish look on her face. Travis glared at her, then turned away. Dylan was sleeping and probably wouldn’t stir for hours. She could just sit in the hall and stew.

  “You know, if we want him to help, you’re going to have to agree to take the shackle off him, Lukas.” Travis looked steadily at his brother, willing him to understand the pain Dylan was suffering.

  “I know. Later, though. Let him rest, and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Blacque stood and took Bleu’s hand. They left the room and headed to the small bedroom the vampire used when he was caught out after dawn. In minutes, those two would be in bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Travis was friggin’ jealous. He always had been. Not of either man, but of what they had together. For a few minutes he’d allowed himself to feel that way about Dylan, though the fae no doubt saw him as little more than a kid. He’d even called him “boy.” And no matter what Travis did to prove himself, he’d never be able to overcome the hurdle of all those years.

  James and Drusilla followed the men down the stairs, leaving Travis alone with his mother.

  James was right: Dylan Ryve was older than Bleu. Hell, he was older than some civilizations. What would a man like that possibly want with Travis?

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just a convenient fuck.

  “Mama, why don’t you sleep here on the couch?”

  She crept over and curled up, then pulled a thick quilt around her slender body. He leaned down and kissed her temple. “Please don’t be afraid of James. He was just protecting you.”

  “I know, baby. But he’s not supposed to act like that. Not James.” Her eyes were huge, tears playing at the edges. Here in the dim light of the living room, she was so beautiful. So vulnerable but so strong.

  “You love him.”

  “Of course I do. He’s my best friend in the world.”

  And James was gay. That was what she left unsaid. He shouldn’t have flown into a rage like that. Not even Travis had reacted that powerfully to Deacon. In fact, until Melody walked into the room, Deacon had been responding well to James’s calm presence.

  What the hell was happening?

  Travis kissed his mother good night and went downstairs to sit and watch the monster—and maybe figure things out.

  Chapter 13

  Dylan woke to pain.

  His leg throbbed where the frigid steel encircled it. The wound in his side was worse. The barely healing bone in his arm made him feel sick. His dreamless sleep left him weary in both mind and body. He was dying, and he couldn’t blame the shifters for what they were doing to him. They shouldn’t trust a man like him.

  He sighed, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and he felt a smile cross his face when he saw Travis lying on his cot just inches away. He was awake, his dark blue eyes worried. Concern gave way to pleasure when he met Dylan’s gaze.

  “I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”

  Dylan started to stretch, until pain spiked through his body. He masked his reaction with a yawn. “The steel prevents healing, and while I’m still injured, I’ll keep needing sleep.”

  “You need anything else?” Travis grinned, most of his former punky attitude restored. It was a mask—Dylan could see through it quite easily—and yet his body reacted. His belly went tight; his cock went hard.

  “I was thinking you’re probably hungry, D. It’s been awhile.”

  Lust moved over just a fraction. Hunger stepped up front and center. His mouth began to water. “I could eat.”

  “Well, you missed the Thanksgiving leftovers. We have Sunday pot roast.” He sat up and retrieved a tray from a table by the wall. There was a bottle of beer, a glass of milk, and a carton of juice. “Wasn’t sure what you’d want to drink.

  “Any of it. All of it.” Dylan pushed himself upright till he leaned against the wall, careful to keep his ankle hidden. He accepted the tray and leaned in to sniff the savory fragrances that wafted up.

  “Mama’s a good cook, but I think my roast might be a bit better than hers.” He smiled as Dylan dug in, spearing roasted carrots and potatoes, groaning over the fork-tender beef.

  “This is good, Travis. Amazing.” His hands actually trembled from his hunger. He ate quickly and downed the drinks as well. His healing might be slowed because of the steel, but the food helped. When he finished, Travis set the tray outside the door. He spoke quietly to someone, and a few moments later, James came into the room.

  “Morning, sunshine. Time for your shower.” He pulled up the blanket at the end of the bed, key in hand. When he saw Dylan’s leg, he stared down at it.

  “Did you hurt your leg?” His face had lost all expression. When Travis looked over his shoulder, he went white with anger.

  “No.” Dylan opted not to expand on the topic. “I’d love a shower.” He didn’t look down at his ankle after James unlocked the chain. The leg itself was covered by his sweats. He knew what he’d see. He felt marginally better and limped to the bathroom, favoring the foot with the shackle around it. Once the door was closed behind him, Dylan stripped and sat on the toilet, grimacing at the ugly red streaks running up his leg. Under the shackle, his flesh was purpling from iron poisoning. It wasn’t fatal yet, but it was toxic. If the steel wasn’t removed soon, he’d become ill—too ill to function. Thus his hunt would be a failure.

  There was no strict time limit this time, but Ulric had been waiting for months now. Thoughts of his master roused the marks of the geas; they glowed in counterpoint to the searing red of the poisoning. His injuries throbbed and ached. Outside he heard the men argue softly. Of course they were both affected by his plight; Travis was softhearted, and James was a compassionate man. He’d allow them to argue his case to Blacque.

  Besides, if they wanted information, they needed Dylan’s full skills, unhampered by his weakness. That meant the shackle had to come off soon.

  He stepped into the small shower and let hot water drench his face and hair and slough the illness and despair of the past few weeks from his skin and his soul. He counted, waiting for the inevitable.

  The shower door opened, and Travis stepped in with him, crowding him because the tiny stall lacked the space for two grown men. Dylan leaned back against the tile wall, enjoying the sight of water soaking into Travis’s dark hair and running slick down his skin. The young wolf grinned as water ran down his face, into his eyes and mouth. Travis had the ability to suspend anger and uncertainty, to give himself over to the pleasure of the moment. Dylan watched, holding his breath until blue eyes met his, excitement lingering in their depths.

  “Hello, boy.” He knew his voice was slightly harsh, and down below, the throbbing in his cock diverted all other sensation to pleasure. He ran the tip of his index finger down shining, golden skin and marveled at the chiseled perfection of Travis’s body.

  He wasn’t massive like James or muscle-bound like Blacque. He reminded Dylan of the male perfection from Golden Age Greece: lithe and youthful, armed with grace. His smile was cocky, but beneath i
t a glimmer of uncertainty lingered. Travis still doubted himself, not sure of his appeal to Dylan, his value to the world. Cupping his chin, Dylan leaned in and kissed him lightly. He glided his lips over Travis’s slick mouth, his wet jaw. He nuzzled his throat, enjoying the warm, wet scent of the shifter’s arousal.

  “You are so incredibly beautiful.” Dylan nipped the tender skin of the other man’s throat, careful not to mark him this time. He’d been careless before, marking him in a rush of runaway passion. “I want to be inside your body. I want to make you shudder…call my name as you come in my hand. I want you under me…on top of me. God…Travis, I want you any way you can imagine.”

  His words drove Travis into a frenzy, exactly as he’d intended them to. Travis had no illusions about his appearance or his desirability; he questioned his value. If Dylan went there, told Travis how bright and brilliant and clever he was, what an amazing mind he possessed, would the words set him up for pain? In the many years he’d slogged through life, Dylan rarely considered the effects of his words on others. He knew Travis needed more. He also knew the young man had fallen precipitously in love, oblivious to the dangers posed by loving someone so deceptive as a fae whose soul was no longer his own.

  But damn. Just…damn.

  He clasped Travis’s muscled ass, and he pulled their hips tightly together. Leaning back against the shower wall, Dylan took their weight and slid one hand down the crack of Travis’s ass while drawing the other to their cocks. He reached between them to cup Travis’s balls, to tug and tease while he pressed the shifter’s anus.

  Travis clenched, resisted, and then abruptly relaxed. Dylan slipped the tip of his finger in, and he winced when Travis nipped at the skin of his neck. Water pelted down on them, getting into his eyes, sluicing down Travis’s back. They thrust together, their cocks pressing and gliding, their balls kissing and releasing with their movement. Every time Dylan slipped his finger a bit deeper, Travis arched his back and thrust, until he looked at Dylan, his eyes slightly wild.