Silver-Steel

by Belinda McBride

  Damn it, anyway.

  “He’s raging because he’s fighting whatever is influencing him. The other—Calum—he’s given up. His mind is not his own anymore. I’m not sure I can reach him.”

  Actually he probably could. The sick man was floating in a semiconscious state; it shouldn’t be hard to walk into his dreams. Dylan simply didn’t want to. Whatever was in Calum’s brain might see him back. He straightened his shoulders and turned to the other rogue’s door. “If you can, Bleu, try to calm him. Asleep would be best, but a hypnotic state is something I can work with.”

  “What exactly are you doing?” Travis looked worried. And to his chagrin, Dylan had to lie.

  “It’s a form of telepathy. I have no access to a mind that is awake and aware. When someone is asleep, their brain waves are slower. I think that allows me to interact with them.”

  “Once I glamour him, what then?” Bleu looked intrigued and a bit suspicious.

  “Wait for a while. Keep an eye on things. If I can communicate with him, I’ll be quite a long time. It took a couple hours with Deacon.” He glanced at Travis. “It will be dinnertime soon. Perhaps you should eat with your family. I’d appreciate it if you’d bring something to me later.”

  “Sure, but are you safe?”

  “I think the question is, are the rogues safe from Dylan?” Bleu arched an elegant brow.

  Dylan smiled at the vampire, letting a little wickedness show through. “The only time you should worry for your safety is if you cannot see me.”

  More true than any of them realized.

  He turned and entered the room. The space fairly vibrated with tension. The rogue was up and pacing. He was handsome, tall, and well built, though thin. Lines of fatigue marred his face, and as he paused, he buried his hand in his dark hair and tugged at it brutally. Self-inflicted scratches made welts down his arms, and his eyes were bloodshot, his tanned skin fading to a sickly color.

  “My name is Dylan Ryve. I am a fae. I have abilities that might give you some ease. You know Bleu, here, and this is Travis, the young shifter you were trying to murder a few weeks ago.”

  The expression on the shifter’s face cycled from fury to hope and then to despair. He was so easy to read; no subterfuge marked his essence. He was truly torn, frightened, and angry.

  “My friend… He’s sick.”

  “Your friend was badly injured in the fight. The wound has healed, but I’m afraid he’s surrendered to whatever force controls you.” Dylan watched the rogue carefully. His lips were parched, and his ribs showed under his muscled torso. His hips jutted over the loose waistband of his sweats.

  The pack must buy sweatpants by the gross; Dylan’s were exactly the same.

  “He would never have surrendered. Not to—” He broke off, unable to utter the name. He appeared less inclined to prevaricate than Deacon had. Hopefully he’d be more willing to help. “What do you mean to do?” The shifter paced the short distance of his cell, looking more like a caged wolf by the minute.

  “Bleu here will glamour you, only enough to allow you to relax. If you can sleep, that will be best for my purpose, but if you can reach a meditative state—”

  The rogue snorted. “No vampire tricks. If you want to talk to me, talk.” He paused at the bars and looked out at them with contempt.

  “I spoke with Deacon. He told me what happened with your alpha.”

  He looked stunned. “How do you know his name? We aren’t supposed—”

  “I know. He told me your friend’s name is Calum. I don’t know your name. If I know it, it will help.”

  Again the flare of suspicion. “And how is Deacon now?”

  “Resting. I’m told he slept for a short time. He can’t speak openly about your situation, but he’s doing better.” Dylan closed his eyes and focused on the dominant shifter. “He’s worried, particularly about Calum. He’s worried about you. But he’s feeling some hope finally.”

  “Bullshit.” But he didn’t move.

  “It appears I’m not needed.” Bleu’s voice was smooth and calming, the French accent slightly more defined. He stepped closer to the bars. “But wouldn’t you like a little rest? It’s been such a long time since you’ve slept. You must be weary.” He sounded reasonable, not sinister. Standing in front of the shifter, Bleu continued to speak. “You are worried about your friends, but you cannot help them until you yourself recover. To do that, you must rest. There’s a cot behind you. If you lie down on it, you will be able to sleep.”

  The rogue fought Bleu’s glamour, but in the end, weariness and the grinding need for sleep finally overcame him, and he sat on the cot, his wide shoulders sagging. He swayed and collapsed to his side, then curled up on the small bed. Dylan gently brushed his mind; the shifter was settling into a shallow sleep. REM sleep would be best, but this was better than he’d had from Deacon.

  He looked at Bleu. “He’s asleep. I can work with him now.”

  Bleu rested a hand on Travis’s shoulder.

  “No. I won’t leave.”

  Dylan studied Travis for a moment. “I won’t be able to talk to you. It will be very quiet. Nothing to see.” He smiled gently. “But if you insist, I would appreciate your presence.” He nodded at Bleu, who left the room with a final glance at the rogue. Dylan had no doubt they’d have the occasional visitor over the next few hours. That was fine; they wouldn’t see what he was really up to.

  Dylan gestured to the cot, and as Travis lay down, he pulled the straight-backed chair just feet away from the cell bars. Unlike Deacon, this rogue hadn’t challenged the silver; the metal was smooth and glowed with inner purity. He focused on the silver, leaving his mind free to hover at the edge of a newly forming dream.

  This one took place high above the ground. The wind whipped around them; metal girders groaned and swayed. Disoriented, Dylan grabbed hold of a metal bar and looked around in shock. They were in the upper reaches of a construction site; the raw, naked skeleton of a skyscraper surrounded them. The rogue—Brenden was his name—strode confidently, hopping from beam to beam, never looking at the ground below. They were so high the occasional cloud drifted past, close enough to touch.

  “It doesn’t like the height.” Brenden grinned at Dylan. The pain that had marked his face was gone, replaced with something else: cunning. “It doesn’t like noise.”

  “Odd, given that it’s most likely a demon and incorporeal.”

  “It has a body now. Our alpha’s been busy fucking it for over a year.” His voice was laced in contempt. “It seems to have picked up some phobias along the way.”

  Once Dylan had grown accustomed to the sway of the building, he relaxed. “The body belonged to someone else. Demons inhabit a host body to move freely in this dimension. It must have inherited the host’s fears.” That wasn’t quite the correct word to describe the demon’s world. He supposed the demons existed in some sort of alternate realm, as the fae did. For his purposes, though, it worked.

  Thoughts of his home made his heart ache, and he sighed. He’d never go there again. If he’d been invited into Arcada, that loss wouldn’t hurt so much. Instead he’d come in without permission. It couldn’t be his home, not like this.

  Which answered his question. What would the demon want in Arcada?

  Home.

  He had to restrain the curse that rose to his lips. The threat to the town was much greater than he’d imagined. He had no clue what the demon’s realm was like, but it was probably far different from the present town. He needed to warn Dane, but for now, he had to finish this dream and get down to his real purpose in gaining time alone outside his iron-lined room.

  “Brenden, does the demon have a name?”

  The rogue picked up a hammer and swung it slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Can you tell me the name of your alpha? So we can locate him? Your pack must be in dire need of assistance.”

  Once again Brenden tried to speak, only to choke over the words. That was m
arginally better than complete silence.

  “Can you write it?”

  Brenden looked around and then tugged a large, flat carpenter’s pencil from his work belt. He scrawled a word on a metal beam.

  Dylan read it and nodded.

  “I’ll leave you now. You will continue to sleep, and your dreams will be peaceful. You will awaken refreshed, remembering this whole conversation.”

  “What about Calum?”

  Dylan sighed. He’d meant to leave the possessed rogue to his own devices.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Help him. Please. He doesn’t deserve this!” Brenden approached, reaching out to clasp Dylan’s arms. He was already leaving the dream, so the rogue’s hands ghosted through his flesh.

  “Please. I… He’s the best part of me. Please. Help him.” Brenden’s dark eyes filled with tears of grief. Anguished love. Another pair of lovers? Dylan’s heart broke for them, and he cursed himself.

  “I’ll go there now.” He couldn’t promise to help. Wouldn’t. Dylan opened his eyes, stood, and saw that Travis lay curled up on the cot, watching him steadily. He rose and walked into Dylan’s arms. The embrace took his breath away.

  I love him.

  It was like a kick in the chest. He’d probably loved Travis had from the moment he’d seen the kid. And now he had to do the two things that might make Travis hate him.

  “Are you finished?”

  “I promised Brenden I’d help with Calum.”

  Travis glared at Dylan. “You didn’t say much, but Calum’s dangerous, isn’t he?”

  “Not physically, no.” They separated, and when Dylan glanced at his watch, he noted the dream had taken an hour. The timing might work; if he spent an hour with Calum, he’d have all night to hunt his prey.

  “I’ll do it from here.”

  “Why is Calum different?”

  “He no longer resists the possession. Whatever afflicts him might be aware of me. I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve done something like this.”

  He stretched and went to the cot. “I need to rest a bit, though. I don’t want you trying to sleep on the floor. You can wait for me—”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  He stared for a moment, transfixed by Travis’s protectiveness.

  “Travis, this is dangerous, but not the way you think. It’ll be more…frightening than anything. I’m basically looking for the monster in the closet. Calum’s mind is the doorway.” He took Travis’s hand and pulled him down to sit close. Weary of both mind and body, he rested his head on Travis’s strong shoulder. For a shifter he was on the smaller side, but for Dylan, he was perfect.

  “I need you to tell your father something, and he needs to know immediately.”

  “Trying to get rid of me again?”

  Dylan kissed his nose. “Never. You can come back after you deliver the information.” He looked deeply into Travis’s dark blue eyes. “Their alpha’s name is Conar. I don’t know where their pack is located, but Deacon showed me mountains, and Brenden showed me a skyscraper over a city. Those are places they are comfortable with.”

  Travis nodded.

  Dylan continued. “It seems their alpha has been snared by a demon. I don’t know if the host is male or female. Neither of the men was able to utter its name. I suspect more rogues will be coming, and they will probably fight smarter. I’m certain this town is its target. The demon wants Arcada.”

  Travis went pale. To his credit, he didn’t flinch or show fear. “Is that it?” He stood and looked down at Dylan.

  “That’s it. Go tell him, and then come back. Don’t be worried if I don’t respond.”

  “How will I know if you’re in trouble?”

  Dylan took his hand and kissed it. “You won’t. If I’m in trouble, I’ll simply step back. I’m not…mind melding or anything.”

  Travis laughed.

  “One more thing. It appears that Calum and Brenden are a couple. If he wakes, he’ll be distressed and worried about his partner. Reassure him, please.”

  “Okay.” Travis moved back to the cot and pressed Dylan back against the pillow. He bent down and kissed him, then swiped his tongue over Dylan’s lips. “This is going to take all night, isn’t it?”

  “Most of it.” Travis hovered over him, balanced on the cot with one hand and a knee braced on the edge. “But when I’m finished…”

  “Good. ’Cause I want you. My ass hurts like hell, but I want you.”

  Now Dylan laughed gently. “You’ll grow accustomed.” He broke off then, remembering he was leaving. Soon.

  “Dylan, I’m going into town tomorrow. Christmas is in just a couple days. I promised my mother I’d get the house lit. I’m going to ask Dane if you can come with me. Everyone should see Arcada at Christmas. There’s nothing like it.” He lowered his ass to rest on Dylan’s thighs. “Besides, I gotta stop by Kell’s jewelry shop. I ordered something for my mom.” He grinned, then leaned down to lightly kiss Dylan’s lips.

  “I’d like to see the town before I—”

  Travis pressed his hand over Dylan’s mouth. “Don’t go there. You aren’t leaving.”

  But he was. He simply couldn’t argue about it. He’d say too much if he did.

  Travis slowly lifted his hand. “Don’t say it.”

  “I won’t.”

  The relief in his eyes broke Dylan’s heart. Without another word Travis walked out, leaving him alone with the sleeping rogue and his conscience. Lying back, he closed his eyes.

  Calum.

  He didn’t need to be close; the sick rogue’s mind was wide open, and he slipped in easily. Calum’s dreamscape was bizarre…shattered. Dylan cringed at the broken man’s dream. When he’d walked through Rufus Brown’s dreams, the serial killer had constructed a nightmarish world of blood and bodies. It was frightening and horrible, but Dylan understood it in a macabre sort of way. Calum’s world was more…deconstructed. Images and sounds and smells that should make sense didn’t. It reminded him of music played backward. Trees grew horizontally, while birds wallowed in the dirt. There was sobbing, laughter, and the occasional scream.

  Off in the distance he spotted a lonely figure sitting on a small rise. Calum was unaware, uncaring. There was another presence, though… It saw him. It cared.

  “Faeeee…”

  Dylan stepped back and stumbled over a stone that hadn’t been there before. The thing had no eyes—or perhaps too many eyes. It morphed in front of him, melting from human to animal to plant, often taking a combination of shapes.

  “Are you dreaming about this beautiful fae, my beast?”

  Calum jerked as though he’d been electrocuted, a primal response to Dylan’s presence. He didn’t react, though. His gaze was hopeless and apathetic. The demon was present but still subject to the laws of the subconscious. It changed form again and towered over Dylan. Through the wavering mass, he caught occasional glimpses of Calum.

  “You…are inside. My home. My Arcada.”

  Fuck. A tingling started on his skin, and he pushed it back, pleased that in the dreamscape he still had some control. His fear receded a little. He willed himself to Calum’s side, leaving the presence down at the base of the hill. Sitting, he ignored the shattered world the rogue focused on and looked only at Calum’s face.

  “Calum? Do you hear me?”

  There was no response. Like the ailing shifter in the other reality, the dream version of Calum was sick and worn. Pale blond hair flopped in curls that spilled down his neck. His brown eyes were dull and lifeless.

  “Brenden showed me his safe place. He took me to the top of a skyscraper. I think it was in Los Angeles, someplace like that. A big city.”

  The rogue didn’t respond, though a brief flicker of movement around his eyes told Dylan he was listening. “Do you have a safe place? You can go there. Brenden said the thing doesn’t like height.” He could control some aspects of the other man’s dream, but not the location. “Deacon went to a forest. It wa
s rough and raw. Beautiful.” The demon was moving their direction, and he focused on slowing it till it moved like a gelatinous mass. “See, in dreams you have some control. Picture that thing as a pile of shit.”

  There was a small gasp of surprise when the demon took the form Dylan projected. “Amazing what a little creativity can do, eh? Unfortunately that pile of shit will eventually make it up this hill. You can go somewhere else if you want. In your dreams, you make the rules. You can create the setting. You can even get up and leave, ending it and starting a new dream completely.”

  He stopped talking and let his words work their way into Calum’s awareness. He studied his clasped hands instead of trying to make sense of the bizarre sights surrounding them. Maybe he didn’t really want Calum to take them elsewhere. If the rogue was this confused, what might he do on Brenden’s skyscraper?

  “Brenden?” Calum didn’t look at him as he spoke.

  “Fine. Alive. He’s only a few feet away, in another room. He’s frightened for you. Deacon is as well.”

  “Please. Give Brenden…” He squeezed Dylan’s hand with the grip of a madman. “Give him…” Something was pressed into Dylan’s palm.

  And then the world went dark.

  Chapter 16

  Dane’s office wasn’t really an office so much as it was a den. Over the years Travis had spent hours here, doing homework, getting lectured, or being on the receiving end of a paddling. There was a desk with a computer on it, a massive bookshelf, and a table that was frequently covered with piles of paper and open books.

  The far half of the room was filled with furniture. James and Blacque sprawled on a huge sofa. Dane was in a leather easy chair. Michella sat uncomfortably in a straight-backed chair, her belly swollen and taut. Bleu was perched on the arm of the sofa, within reach of Lukas. Travis sat in the office chair he’d dragged from behind the desk.

  He’d come up only to give Dane the information Dylan had for him, and found himself in the middle of a war council. He nibbled his thumb. The inner workings of the pack generally held little interest, but this conversation was unnerving.