Logan leaned over her in response, blanketing her back. She felt his breaths in her ear, felt his racing heartbeat against her shoulders. Shoving roughly into her, he brought his lips to her shoulder and sank his teeth into her skin. The spark of pain, of animalistic possession, quaked down her spine and sent her over the edge.
The tendons in her neck strained when she threw back her head, yelling as she came. Her body convulsed with fire and lust and pleasure, intense spasms wracking her core. Logan’s cry echoed her own as her inner muscles fluttered in ecstasy. He swelled, thickening inside her. The force of his final thrust heightened her bliss until she thrashed beneath him, forced to ride out the waves. Her vision went white as he rocked against her, shuddering with fulfillment.
Breathless and shaking, her first rational thought was that she’d come home. To him.
Chapter Thirteen
Vincent returned to consciousness slowly. Floating in darkness, he felt the ache of throbbing pain. It grew stronger as his other senses sharpened. He was laying on something soft, but it was too firm to be a bed. Springs pressed uncomfortably into his back. A cot, then.
The waistband of pants two sizes too big grazed his lower abdomen with every breath. Each inhale filled his nose and mouth with the scent of the pack. Doc. Nurse Biel. Mitch. Jay. There were other scents too, but none of them compared to the overpowering scent of the Alpha. The wolf cowered at the realization she was near. Not in the same room, that much was clear, but she wasn’t far.
The song of a jewelry box carried from another room. He heard a patter of footsteps dancing to the melody. They were joined by a child’s laughter, so cold and callous that it made him shiver.
There was no denying it. He was in the heart of the den.
Voices murmured around him. He struggled to understand their words. Though he was too tired to care, his instincts refused to allow him to sleep. It was too dangerous.
“I told you he’d be reluctant. I told you to use the drug I gave you,” Doc hissed. “I hung it from a chain around your neck so you would always have it with you!” Something was knocked to the floor amidst the sound of retreating footsteps. Jay’s footsteps.
“We used it–”
“After you indulged a schoolboy urge to beat him into submission. Do you have any idea how serious this is? He doesn’t need the last dose of antidote, you idiot! Understanding why might save even your pathetic life one day, but I can only test him if he fully recovers. Does beating him support his recovery? Does it?”
Jay must have shaken his head.
“No,” Doc softly continued. “It doesn’t.”
Something metal slid over a tray.
“I have high hopes for you, Jay. I would hate to mistake liquid silver for antibiotics one day. Do we understand one another?”
There was a brief hiss, and a strangled yelp. The odor of burning flesh drifted toward Vincent.
“Yes, sir.” Jay voiced trembled, his breaths heavy. “It won’t happen again.”
“Get out.”
Footsteps strode across the room. As they faded down the hall, Vincent managed to open his eyes. He squinted up at a beige ceiling. The fluorescent lights weren’t as blinding as those in the hospital, and for that, he was grateful.
His relief was short-lived.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A penlight shone into his eyes. Vincent rolled his head away, but the action was sluggish. He only caught a glimpse of a modest office before Doc guided his head back to the light. Whatever those bastards had slipped him induced photophobia. He squinted with pain. Tears filled his eyes to ward off the light.
“Interesting.” The excitement in Doc’s expression was nauseating. The smile of a Cheshire Cat dominated his features. His hand slipped from Vincent’s jaw. He seemed to disappear into thin air, only to reappear a moment later with a pen and clipboard.
Vincent blinked, suddenly aware that he wasn’t playing with a full deck.
There was a rust-colored stain covering one edge of Doc’s lab coat. Vincent peered up at the splotch, wondering if this was a hidden Rorschach test. He struggled to see beyond the obvious. Through the fog clouding his mind, it only appeared to be blood. Just blood.
Doc broke his focus. “The drugs shouldn’t have kept you under for so long, but that’s only to be expected after your… physical altercation. If your healing capabilities were at full strength, you would be up and about by now. But I believe they’re only temporarily weakened as your system finishes flushing out the silver…” Doc was speaking to himself now, pen scrawling over the clipboard.
He chuckled manically. “Oh, Vincent, thank you. There was quite the stir when I first turned you, and some objection even now. But once I prove how useful you are in ensuring the survival of our kind…” He grinned, delightfully shaking his head.
Please, Vincent wanted to beg him. Please just shut up.
It was beginning to dawn on him just how screwed he really was. Surrounded by the pack, with the Alpha nearby, he couldn’t sit up, much less stand on his own two feet. Logan and Anna might be dead. Even if they weren’t, the pack would be long gone before they even noticed his absence. And none of that took into account the matter of lending invincibility to a species of beast he’d once sworn to destroy.
He closed his eyes. This was not good. Not good at all.
A knock on the doorframe made his eyes snap open. Nurse Biel appeared, dressed in her Sunday best. She wore a floral dress one size too small. It was covered in red roses that molded to her every roll.
“How are we doing?” she cheerfully asked.
“He’s just coming out of it.” Doc nodded in his direction. “If you’d like to ready him for the meeting…”
“That’s why we’re here.” She gave a little hop-skip, bounding to his side. Her movements were too girlish for a woman her age. The enthusiasm they expressed scared the hell out of Vincent.
Despite this, he didn’t have the energy to flinch away from her touch. One of her hands slipped under his back. It was ice cold, making him shudder. When she hauled him into a sitting position, his head lolled forward. A murmur of protest escaped his lips as the pain over his chest flared.
Two pack members he couldn’t place appeared at the foot of the bed. They stared at him in shock as they took in the mottled bruising on his face and torso. Vincent felt like a lab rat as they studied him. Their eyes didn’t pause long enough to meet his glare.
Welcome to the pack, he inwardly snarled. We treat one another like family here. Unfortunately, that may include what follows the ‘This is Gonna Hurt Me More Than It’ll Hurt You’ speech.
“Well?” Nurse Biel snapped at them. “What are you waiting for?”
Her words spurred them into action. One of them stepped forward, holding a white dress shirt and what appeared to be a jacket tucked under an arm. Vincent groaned as his arms were guided into the sleeves. Judging by their tuxedos, he was to be dressed in formal attire.
He made it a point to avoid pack meetings, although doing so tended to anger the Alpha. He’d only ever attended one meeting, and that was also an occasion on which he was half out of it. The night he became a werewolf.
Vincent vaguely remembered being dressed up then as well. Though he didn’t recall feeling quite so patronized. Nurse Biel was humming into his ear as the shirt buttons were fastened one by one. Her foul odor wafted over him, the stench of decaying earth drifting on her breath.
Without the strength to lift his head, let alone pull away, he remained docile as the jacket was fitted onto him. At least they didn’t try to fit him with a bow tie. He needed the top few buttons open to breathe.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,” she breathed, lowering him to lie flat. He wanted to snap that she was off-key and the tune was all wrong. But his attention was soon brought to the hands unzipping his pants and tugging them off. He automatically tensed, only to have Nurse Biel lean over him with a knowing smile.
Her forefinger pressed against his
lips. “Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”
Dress pants were worked over his hips and secured. Good thing they were careful about it. He may have been drugged, but he never forgot a face. And he took some injuries very personally.
Socks and polished shoes were the finishing touch.
All dressed up and nowhere to run. Wasn’t that the saying? No…
The men took his arms and help him to stand. With an arm around each neck, it was hardly necessary for him to walk at all. They dragged him to the door. Nurse Biel led the way, her high heels tapping over the floor.
Hey, why doesn’t Doc need to wear a tux? Vincent wanted to ask. That hardly seems fair.
The wolf snarled at him. No words were necessary for him to know what it was telling him. Get it together.
The truth was, though he felt more loopy than when he’d first woken up, his limbs no longer felt so heavy. His main concern was how everything appeared to be distorted. He was viewing the world through a funhouse mirror, one that shifted from side to side. It didn’t improve his balance. Or his chances of escape.
The haunting notes from a music box grew louder as they moved through City Hall. He recognized the corridor with little surprise. A grandfather clock ticked away as the time neared eleven o’clock. Dusty, gold plagues declared Pinechester the most friendly town in Maine. They hung below a line of official governor portraits that abruptly ended over a decade ago. Only the Polaroid of a smiling little girl filled the current space. There were many holes in the wall around it, suggesting a frequent change of leadership.
“Here we are.” Nurse Biel’s sing-song voice jarred him from his observations. She held open the door to a meeting room, allowing Vincent and the men holding him to cross the threshold. The room wasn’t impressive in its heyday, let alone after being neglected but for meetings. It only contained rickety chairs facing a chalkboard. The overhead lights were dimmer than those in the hall. One of them flickered incessantly.
Dust particles floated through the air, as if someone had recently dusted. Vincent estimated that the room hadn’t been used for nearly two months. It held a distinctly musty smell under the scents of his fellow pack members.
He felt their stares as he was escorted down the aisle. There were whispers as he passed.
“Isn’t that–”
“Oh, that’s him, all right.”
“I thought he’d run off by now.”
“And leave his wife’s grave? Not likely.”
“Doesn’t look very willing to leave, does he?”
Vincent grimaced, trying to drown them out. The wolf was pacing restlessly. It sensed the Alpha just outside the room. With her damn music. The tune alone set him on edge, without also overhearing the whispers of people who shunned him.
When the grain of the wood floor began to swirl, Vincent pitched forward. His heart leapt into his throat. The fear that it might swallow him like quicksand gripped him. But someone stepped into his line of sight. A hand pressed against his chest, guiding him back. Surely it could feel his heart pattering against his ribs. When he lifted his head, the crooked smile of Jay greeted him.
You’re ours now, it said.
Even before Jay stepped around them to walk down the aisle, Vincent was fighting back a wave of nausea. He wanted off this carnival ride.
The men holding him chose seats near the front of the room. Tightly gripping his arms, they lowered him to sit on a chair between them.
“Well, this is cozy,” he slurred.
His arms and legs began to tremble. It had to be from the drugs, as he didn’t feel cold. No matter. Let Tweedledum and Tweedledee grip his biceps like he was a child. One of them might be dead before the night was out anyway.
Speaking of imminent death, he should warn them about that.
“Say, uh–” Vincent glanced over his shoulder to see most of the pack staring at him. Their faces were distorted, like a Picasso painting. He blinked hard, faced forward. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any new werewolves around? Anyone else who’s been bitten in this area within the last few months?”
They exchanged a glance over his head. It was evident by their expressions what the answer was, but they were hesitant to speak to him. Maybe they had been warned about him.
“It’s fine, John. The guy is drugged to the gills. What’s he gonna do?” The man on his right finally shook his head. “We’re it. What’s it to you?”
“Uh-oh.” Vincent bowed his head in mourning. He yawned before continuing, “Well, I don’t know which one of you has been killing travelers, but it was enough to sic two prowlers on us and sound the alarm for more. Now the entire pack needs to move. Don’t you think the Alpha might be just a little upset about that?”
Their grip on his arms tightened. He looked up to see the men staring at one another.
“John?” The man on his right asked. “Did you?”
For a moment, there was silence. The circulation in Vincent’s arms was rapidly cut off. A pleasant tingling sensation in his fingers made him flex his hands in wonder.
“There’s no way she’ll know it was me,” John finally answered.
“It’s always one of the new guys,” Vincent remarked absently.
“Then she won’t know if it was me or Lucas.”
“She’ll just kill both of you.”
“Shut up!”
His left arm was shaken so violently that he almost fell from his chair. Lucas scrambled to right him, about to unleash a string of curse words on John’s ears. Before he could say anything, the grandfather clock in the hall began to chime.
Sorry, John-Boy, he thought. You’re out of time.
Chapter Fourteen
Chairs creaked as everyone in the room respectfully stood. There was a brief rustling as they straightened their jackets and smoothed their skirts. Then they turned, waiting for the meeting room door to open one last time.
The handle turned on the eleventh chime. When the door swung open, a broad-shouldered man resembling a Ken doll took one step into the room. Not a single gelled hair was out of place. With a layer of rouge on his cheeks, he might have been a comical sight, but there was nothing amusing about his expression. It dared someone to approach, if only so he could demonstrate what a fatal mistake it would be.
He stepped to the right, revealing a little girl in a sun dress. She wore a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The hem of her dress swayed around her knees as she approached the front of the room.
Vincent winced when she passed, feeling her power overwhelm him. He wasn’t fooled by her innocent exterior. Indeed, her appearance rendered her more dangerous than any human could ever imagine. Even once her true nature was revealed, no weapon and no werewolf thus far could defeat her. Small and lithe, she darted around with speed unmatched by her opponents. Sharper claws and an inbred sense of instinct sealed their fate. She was born, not bitten. The wolf didn’t merely exist within her. It was her.
“Please,” she spoke softly. “Be seated.”
The pack immediately sat. Over two dozen antique chairs creaked under the strain.
Vincent found himself wanting to do whatever she asked. Sit. Stand. Fetch. Half of him was no longer in control of his own actions. He hated it.
“My friends,” she began, gazing at each of them in turn. “As you know, recent complications have forced me to make some difficult decisions. As it turns out…”
Her gaze shifted to the area where Vincent sat. He felt John and Lucas squirm uncomfortably.
“When you invite someone into the very heart of your pack, expecting little more than loyalty in return, sometimes they still turn on you.”
Her voice rose. “Sometimes they allow their innermost desires to control them. Their desire for freedom. For blood. My friends, most you understand the crucial need to keep a low profile. You understand that not only do prowlers exist, but ruthless mobs as well. Unfortunately, one of you does not. One of you prioritized your own desires above the well-being of t
he pack. For that, you must be punished!”
When Ken-the-marionette managed to sneak up behind them, Vincent would never know. He was only aware of the abrupt yelp on his left when John was yanked from the chair. The grip on his arm tightened out of surprise and desperation.
Ken never paused.
The friction between Vincent’s jacket and John’s hands warmed the fabric. With a sigh and slight shake of his head, Vincent allowed himself to be pulled back toward Lucas. It was a shame, really. John had only just been bitten. He probably wasn’t in his right mind when he killed those people, but maybe it was better this way.
Vincent knew too well what happened when you were a werewolf for too long. You got used to it. The hunting, the hiding, the natural order. It was no way to live.
By the time John was dragged to the front of the room, he wasn’t struggling much. There was a resigned look on his face. It was no doubt the result of his wolf cowering in the presence of the Alpha.
Ken kicked the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees.
“John, John, John,” the little girl chanted. One of her hands reached out to caress his face. Though he visibly shrank back, there was nowhere for him to go.
Her nails trailed down his cheek. “I really expected more from you.”
It happened in the blink of an eye. Her hand shifted to that of a wolf, claws extended. One swift strike left John choking on his own blood. His eyes went wide with shock.
The little girl smiled sweetly. She wiped her hand on her sun dress, turning to face the pack.
“Now…” She clapped her hands together, pointedly ignoring the thump John made when he fell to the floor behind her. He wasn’t dead yet, but judging by his lack of a windpipe, he soon would be. The scent of blood saturated the air as he thrashed. Crimson spurted over the floorboards.
Vincent found his eyes glued to the dying man. Clumps of hair sprouted in uneven patches as his wolf attempted to take over. Nubs of bone broke through his fingertips. It wasn’t a usual transformation, but one of panicked desperation. The wolf didn’t have enough strength to burst forth, yet survival demanded it.
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