by Amy Green
He looked down at her for a long minute, and there was no mistaking it—his gaze was hot. “You like these?” he asked, straightening his arm, twisting it, flexing it, making the flames dance. He watched her reaction, the way she looked at him. And she didn’t care.
“They’re beautiful,” she said finally, truthfully. “You, um—you didn’t have those five years ago. What do they mean? They obviously mean something.”
He looked down at his skin, at the ink he’d obviously had so painstakingly done. “I’ll tell you someday,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness. Whatever the memory was, it wasn’t a good one. “Not today.”
More secrets. More layers she couldn’t see. “Are you ever going to tell me anything?” she asked him, exasperated. “You could say something, you know. You could confide in me. It wouldn’t kill you.”
Still he stared at his arm. He opened his fist and closed it again, and they both watched. “I don’t tell people things,” he said.
“Well, start,” she retorted. “Start with me.”
He closed his eyes briefly. There was real pain there, buried deep, so no one could see. Then he opened them again. “I have work to do,” he said, his voice leveling. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Then he turned—thankfully, without removing any more clothes—and walked away, heading for the trees. Nadine stared after him, watching the play of muscles in his bare back, the unevenness of his stride. He was beautiful and hot and kind in his own way, and so goddamn frustrating she wanted to scream.
Then kiss him. Maybe kiss him first.
Damn it.
The thunder rolled again, closer this time, and Devon vanished. Wolves had to be naked to do their change, and they didn’t do it in front of others—it was considered private for some reason, she couldn’t remember why. She bit back her curiosity. That would be something, to see him change into his wolf. Some kind of trust.
But now he was gone, and there was just her and nature and the slowly oncoming rain.
Nadine pulled her revolver closer and got started making a fire.
12
It was good to be his wolf again. He ran and ran, letting out his human frustrations at first, feeling his blood pump, taking in the sounds and smells around him. It was agitating his wolf constantly, being so near his mate. His wolf was happy and miserable at the same time. And the man… the man simply wanted her. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her, wolf or no.
You could confide in me.
The hell he could. Well, you’re my mate, and if I don’t have you I’ll eventually go mad and have to kill myself. That would go over well. There was a reason werewolves, except for Heath, didn’t have a reputation for being smooth with women.
Eventually the human half settled and let the wolf take over, as it should be when he was in wolf form. He could smell the rain coming—soon, now, if it wasn’t starting already. He could smell prey, and he was hungry. But more importantly than any of that, he could smell his enemy.
The Silverman had been here.
The scent was old, but not very. It was also strong. The Silverman had spent quite a bit of time in this area—he’d probably been here for much of the time Devon had searched for him in the mountains outside Shifter Falls. The Silverman left no tracks, but Devon found the remains of a campfire, not far from the edge of the mine. He found animal bones from the Silverman’s hunt. And at one of the mine’s entrances, he found the boards ripped off, then freshly nailed back again.
He didn’t pursue the mine entrance. He couldn’t rip the boards off in this form, and wolves weren’t tunnellers. In any case, his enemy was not in the mine, not right now. He’d been there, but he was gone again.
He smelled metal, and followed the scent to the broken-down remains of one of the worker huts, the roof half caved in. His wolf flinched at the smell of silver, but he made himself approach, his lips drawn up in a snarl. There had been silver here, and other metal. He was too far into his wolf mind to make sense of it, but the man inside him made the wolf approach and observe.
The hut had equipment in it. Metal tubs, a rusted old tap, long-handled tongs. A canister with writing on it that his wolf couldn’t read. A bench, a bucket… his wolf’s eyes registered the sizes and shapes without understanding, while the man inside filed the information away.
He lowered his nose to the ground and took his time scenting. This was the smell of his enemy, his prey. The rogue wolf. The Silverman. He must memorize it, make it part of his wolf’s scent landscape. The Silverman smelled like unwashed human and rancid meat. And death. He had a smell of death that clung to him in a way no human should have.
This man cannot be allowed near my mate.
The thought made him want to howl. He was back on his haunches before he knew it, lifting his face to the sky, but he stopped himself. A howl would give his location away to his enemy—which could give his mate’s location away as well. No, silence was better for hunting this kind of man.
So he took off again, leaving the hut as the rain began to patter down and the darkness started to fall. He killed a rabbit and ate it, keeping to a light meal so he would be swifter on his feet. Then he hunted again, found a second rabbit, and killed it, not eating this one. This one was a gift. A wolf would never let his mate go hungry.
Because she was his mate, though she didn’t know it. There were things she didn’t know about him that would drive her away, but it was time to stop being afraid. If his mate didn’t want him, then she didn’t want him. What was unfair was not letting her decide.
As always, his wolf understood things better than the man did. The man was wasting time, pushing himself in circles over things that didn’t matter. There was an enemy afoot and death in the air.
His mate waited for him, right now. Willing to listen.
Time was short.
It was time to tell her what she wanted to know.
13
Nadine had the fire built, tucked just under the shelter of the half-ruined shed, when a wolf came out of the trees. She froze for only a second before she locked eyes with the animal and recognized it. She’d seen this wolf before. It was Devon.
He carried a dead rabbit in his jaws. He trotted toward her, his back leg just slightly off rhythm with the others, and dropped it at her feet. Then he sat down and looked at her.
Sitting, he was almost as tall as she was. His fur was soaked from the rain, though it didn’t seem to bother him. He had blood on his jaws, which didn’t bother him either.
“This is for me?” she asked, pointing at the rabbit.
Devon just looked at her.
She picked it up. She was hungry, and protein bars weren’t going to cut it. She really had taken one of those survival courses, so she pulled a knife from her pack and dressed the rabbit, skinning and gutting it in a few neat moves. Then she spitted it and stuck it on the fire.
“Impressed?” she asked the wolf.
He was still watching her. He looked at the fire once, briefly, and then away again, his nose twitching.
“Sure, you don’t like cooked meat,” she said cynically. “If I turn my back you’ll probably snatch it. Much luck I’ll have chasing you down.”
Devon huffed and stood. He turned and strolled back out of the shed and toward the trees, his tail down, his nose close to the ground, his haunches rolling. He really was a beautiful animal, if you liked big, deadly things. Kind of like the man.
He came back out a few minutes later in man form, shirtless, buttoning his jeans. He was as impervious to rain as the wolf had been, striding across the clearing to the shed, the water sluicing from his muscles like he was in some damn photo shoot. Nadine stared down at the dead rabbit on the fire to take her mind off it.
“He’s been here,” he said as he walked under the overhang of the shed and picked up his Henley, used it as a towel. “Recently. Made at least one fire, hunted and ate. And he went into the mine.”
Nadine put her elbows on her knee
s, drawing closer to the warmth of the fire. “Please tell me we don’t have to go down into an abandoned silver mine.”
“We don’t,” Devon answered her. “He isn’t there. It’s hard to believe there’s silver just lying around down there, but if he was fearless enough, he may have found some. You don’t need much for a bullet.”
“You can’t melt silver in a regular fire,” Nadine said.
He nodded, running a hand through his wet hair, then put on the Henley, which made her both happy and dismayed. “There was a workers’ hut with equipment in it,” he said. He closed his eyes, remembering. “My wolf couldn’t identify the equipment, but I think he was melting silver in there. I definitely smelled it.”
“You need a lot of heat to melt silver,” Nadine said.
He still had his eyes closed as he thought back to his memory, and then he opened them again. “There were metal tanks,” he said. “Propane tanks. He likely had some kind of blowtorch setup for heat, and tongs and equipment for the melted silver.” He paused. “If the mine workers had a hidden sideline, smuggling stolen silver, the equipment would make sense. They were likely skimming scraps and melting them down. And the equipment was left when the mine closed until the Silverman found it.”
“He would have had to search every hut, as well as go into the mine,” Nadine said, feeling a chill. “This guy is dedicated.”
Devon picked up his hoodie and shrugged it on. “Dedicated to killing wolves,” he said. “The scent was old, but not that old. A few days, maybe. I’ve put you in danger by bringing you here.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “I know you’re a cop. I know. But the fact that you’re competent doesn’t mean the danger is gone. The Silverman is…” He searched for words. “His scent is off. It isn’t something I’ve smelled before.”
“You think he’s a shifter?” Nadine asked.
“No, he’s definitely human. He just smells rotten, like old meat.” He looked at her, a glint of puzzlement and uneasiness in his eyes. “I think that means he’s crazy.”
Nadine thought this over as she pulled the rabbit from the fire and peeled it off the spit. “Okay,” she said. “That’s good information.”
Devon blinked. “You’re not going to question it?”
“Why should I?” Nadine asked, taking a bite of rabbit.
“I thought wolf scents weren’t something you can use in court.”
Nadine took another bite of meat. It could use some seasoning, but otherwise it was damned delicious after a long day of hiking. “We’re not in court now, are we?” she asked. “Your wolf senses seem pretty accurate to me. If I’m alone in the wilderness with some crazy, I’d like to know it.”
“You’re not alone,” he said. “You have me. I’ll kill him before he gets close to you.”
Nadine stopped chewing and looked up at him. He moved closer to the fire, lowering his big body to the ground and sitting, his forearms on his knees.
“I have to confess something,” he said.
Nadine went quiet, waiting.
“That night five years ago,” he began, his voice a low growl, probably because he was finding this hard to say. “I never lied to you about anything. But there were things I didn’t tell you. So I didn’t exactly give you the truth. That’s on me.”
He was struggling with this. She pulled another bite from the rabbit meat, slow and casual, to keep him talking. “So what exactly is the truth?”
“The truth is that my father killed the man that night.”
Nadine looked up. “Charlie?”
Devon nodded. “They’d done a drug deal, and Charlie was convinced he’d been cheated. Maybe it was the truth, who knows? My father was paranoid sometimes. In any case, he decided that night that that particular man had to die. And I had to go with him.”
She took a breath and thought back. “He died from a blow to the back of the head with something blunt, probably a brick. He wasn’t bitten.”
“Charlie was too smart for that.” Devon smiled without humor. “He wouldn’t make it look like a wolf’s work. But still, it was a risky move, venturing into human territory and killing one. We don’t normally operate like that, do you understand?”
Nadine nodded. She did understand, mostly because she’d worked every murder in Grant County for years, and this was almost the only unsolved one. “You’re saying Charlie was not a normal werewolf.”
“My father was crazy,” Devon said bluntly. “He followed none of the common rules, including the mating rules. That’s how he had four sons by four different women, without ever taking a true mate. He used everyone. He wasn’t true pack, not really. The pack is a community, each looking out for the other, even the leader. Charlie just wanted to fill his appetites, that was all. He didn’t love anyone, and he didn’t look out for anyone but himself.”
There was hurt in his voice, pain that was very old, and Nadine felt it pierce her own chest for him. “And you?” she asked. “Where did you come in?”
He watched her darkly. “Where do you think?”
“Everyone said you were his enforcer, his killer. The son who spilled blood when his alpha told him to. Everyone used to say that you were loyal only to Charlie, that you wanted his approval, so you were his henchman, doing everything he said.”
Devon scratched his beard. “Everyone used to say that, yes,” he said softly as the rain came down harder, pounding the roof of the run-down shed. “But you have smarts and good instincts, as you say. What do you think?”
Nadine thought it over. She’d been observing him so closely that she was surprised the answer came quickly. “I don’t think you were a killer,” she said, “but you have killed.”
Devon had gone very still. He gave her a single solemn nod.
“You don’t talk like you wanted his favor,” Nadine continued. “At least, not when you talk about him to me.”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever talked to about Charlie,” he replied. “Ever.”
She felt that. It was an honor, to be given his trust. “You saw him clearly,” she said. “You saw how flawed he was. In fact, I think you hated him. And you are not the kind of man who does things to curry favor, especially from a man you hate.”
Devon sighed and stared into the flickering firelight. “I told you that Charlie was bad with women,” he said. “Ian’s mother was an addict who died of an overdose. Heath’s mother stayed with Charlie, despite how he treated her, but she died of cancer when he was a kid. Brody’s mother… Brody’s mother was made an example by Charlie, to keep Brody in line. Because Brody is the eldest, and Charlie was afraid he’d be a threat to his place as alpha. So Brody watched his mother die, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
“Oh, my God,” Nadine said softly.
“My own mother ran off,” Devon said, still staring at the fire. “I was only three. She just packed her bags and left one night, to go as far and fast as she could. To this day I don’t know where she is or whether she’s alive. She saved herself and left me alone with him. So I had to survive.”
Nadine was quiet. He wasn’t a man used to talking much, but he seemed ready to do it now. She simply listened and let him speak.
“Charlie groomed me to be his henchman,” Devon said. “I obeyed, because otherwise he’d kill me, but deep inside I always knew. I knew he was crazy, that he’d only go further into the abyss, and that he’d take me with him.
“At first, I planned to escape. That was what Ian did—take off into the wilderness, live wild, far from the pack rules and Charlie. I could have done it. But by the time I was nineteen, and he thought I was ready to be his killer, I realized something else. That if I left, Charlie would only find another wolf to take my place. And the killings would happen anyway.”
“So what did you do?” Nadine asked.
“I stayed,” he replied, his eyes shadowed with pain. “Charlie made me kill one wolf as an initiation, to prove my loyalty. He was a tough old piece of leather living in a sha
ck on the outskirts of the Falls, and he’d made the mistake of telling Charlie Donovan, his alpha, to go fuck himself. I was sent to take care of it.”
He stared into the fire some more, remembering, before speaking again. “He didn’t mind dying, I found out. He knew why I was there, and he didn’t fight me much. But he told me that if I kept on that track, I’d lose my soul, and he was right. When I finished with him, I buried him and went back to my father. And that was when I started to resist.”
“Resist?” Nadine asked.
He nodded. “Most of the time, he treated me like furniture, which was fine with me. I was supposed to be his bodyguard, stand around and look menacing. I did that, and in return I was privy to most of his meetings and conversations. I learned a lot about how my father worked.
“But sometimes, he’d set me to kill. That was trickier. My usual tactic was to get a roundabout warning to my target, so he’d have a chance to run before I got there. Sometimes I’d get to my victim and tell him to run myself, and then I’d tell Charlie the man was dead anyway. He always believed me—he never thought I’d be smart enough to lie. Other times I threw a fight, like the time I was assigned to kill my brother, Ian.”
“You lost on purpose?” Nadine said. God, the life he’d had. The life they’d all had. She simply couldn’t imagine.
“I did,” Devon admitted. “I made it hard on him, and I nearly did kill him. But I didn’t take the final kill. I let him turn the fight around instead. Charlie was disappointed, but I didn’t get punished too severely. He just told me it was my job to try again until my brother was dead.”
“Why Ian?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Why did Charlie do anything? It was one of his whims. I have no doubt that if I’d succeeded in killing Ian, he would have sent me for the other two next. And if one of them had killed me instead, so be it. Once we were grown men, Charlie’s sons were a threat to him—all of us were. By the time he died, I have no doubt he fully planned to kill us all.” He raised his gaze to Nadine again. “So that brings me back to that night. Charlie wanted to do his own killing for once. He wanted to bring me. I thought there was a chance I could stop it, so I went. But my father slipped out of my sight and I knew I’d lost my chance. I walked to the nearest bar and did my duty, drawing attention so you’d arrest me instead.”