by Mark Henwick
“Bode,” the alpha said, and jerked his head at the bound woman.
It was so sudden, it caught me off balance. Bode crossed the space with three strides. His head distorted, stretching into gray fur and fangs. His hands wrenched the Romero’s head back and before she had time to realize what was happening, he’d bitten right through her throat. Arterial blood sprayed over him.
Shit!
Savannah screamed.
I took a step and stopped.
The woman was already dead. There was a growl from the Albuquerque pack that reached into my chest, and told me in no uncertain terms they’d wanted her dead.
The alpha was watching me, waiting.
There was nothing I could do for her. And I knew little about what had really just happened. I had other responsibilities, however sick to my stomach I felt.
Not on my list.
I had to put it behind me.
Concentrate. Information on Diana. Savannah and Claude. Me.
It was getting harder to not respond. The smell of blood in the room, every new shock—it was all loosening my hold on both my wolf and my Athanate. I closed my eyes and thought about running through a sun-dappled forest, breathing cool mountain air, a carpet of fallen pine needles springy beneath my bare feet. Anything but the hot stench of blood in this claustrophobic room.
Whatever it was he was expecting from me, the alpha seemed satisfied by what he sensed.
“Get this cleaned up,” he said to the Trolls. He turned and walked towards a double door next to where Rita stood. “Bring that one.” He pointed down at the Were lying unconscious on the floor.
“The rest of you, follow me.” He waved to include all of his ‘guests’.
I let the Were go ahead and went over to Savannah, blocking her view of the rest of the room.
“You two okay?” I whispered, even though the whole room would be able to hear.
She managed a nod, her eyes still shocked and unbelieving.
Both of them were crying. Claude jammed the heels of his hands against his eyes, tried to wipe them and sit straighter. He’d been knocked around. There was bruising on his jaw and cuts on his forehead, but nothing like the beating the others had taken. Savannah hadn’t been injured, from what I could see.
My gut clenched.
“I’m sorry,” Savannah mouthed at me, her eyes flicking over my shoulder to the Were, spilling more tears.
I shook my head. No time for that now. No time to question what had happened to Claude to cause those injuries. I knew there’d be a limit to this alpha’s patience.
“Come on,” I said.
I put the Stetson on Savannah’s head and draped the stockman’s coat around both her and Claude. It wasn’t cold, but they were in shock. A little warmth would help. And I knew they’d also feel better with the illusion of a barrier between them and the Were, however flimsy.
And as far as the Albuquerque pack were concerned, their scent would mingle with mine. It marked them.
I hoped that was going to be a benefit.
We walked together into the next room. It wasn’t so bare. There was a tiled floor of polished stone, heavy wooden furniture, light from wall lamps, windows with curtains. In comparison to the last room, it was luxurious.
The other Were guests were already sitting at a table in the middle of the room. There was a sofa against the wall. I guided Savannah and Claude there before joining the rest.
I had to walk around the unconscious Were.
The alpha watched me as I pulled up a straight-backed chair.
Good. Attention on me, not on Savannah and Claude.
We were sitting around an ancient oriental dining table—heavy, circular, with carved legs like elephant trunks and the top tightly covered in dark green baize, like a card table.
The alpha was opposite me. Iversen was sitting to the alpha’s right. The Were whose marque I didn’t recognize was to my left and Evans was sitting to my right. Evans still had the bruises and black eye from our last meeting, and hate flared in the expression he cast my way.
He and Iversen were silent: apprehensive and angry. They hadn’t expected the killing, and the suddenness—the casual brutality of it—had shocked all of us. From their reactions, they hadn’t been in that room much longer than I had. I didn’t think they’d seen the Romero woman tortured.
The last Were, the one to my left—he was different, less shocked. More…I drew in the scents in the room, letting their messages flow down into the wolf…more excited.
He’d enjoyed seeing the woman killed. He’d have enjoyed being there earlier.
My stomach threatened to heave again, and I concentrated on the alpha.
His elbow was on the armrest of his chair, his hand held up and Haz touching it. I thought for a second that it was an odd gesture of affection, but Haz’s fingers were pressing patterns in his palm. It seemed the Albuquerque Were had a variation of sign language for speaking when there were other werewolves around.
Handy.
She was looking at me as she signed, and I could imagine what she was telling him about me.
After a minute, he nodded. “Thank you, Haseya,” he murmured.
She joined Rita and Bode against the wall behind the alpha. Rita’s face still showed no emotion. Bode and Haz glowered at the rest of the room. Not just me on their shit list, then.
The alpha nodded at the Trolls and they left, pulling the door closed behind them.
Then he focused back on me.
“I’m Zane,” he said.
“Yeah, the alpha of Albuquerque,” I replied, anger bubbling up again. I struggled to keep my voice level and reasonable. “You know who I am and why I’m here.”
“Yes. Rita has explained. Including your claim that these two,” he indicated Savannah and Claude, “are Farrell kin. I find that interesting. The boy’s not any Athanate’s kin, and the girl doesn’t have your marque.”
He held up his hand to stop me from speaking. “I’ve heard your explanation.” His eyes wandered arrogantly over me, lingering, full of sexual heat.
With the coat off, the HK was in full sight, tucked into the holster under my arm.
“A Mark 23, by the look of it,” he said, and extended his hand across the table.
Crap.
Nothing I could do about it. My mouth dry, I pulled the HK from the holster, rechecked the safety and handed it over, butt first.
I didn’t think he was going to shoot me, but then I hadn’t thought he was going to kill a Romero Athanate in front of me either.
His eyes held mine while he ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber, worked the slide and dry-fired.
“Well kept, well used,” he murmured.
He pushed the release pin and the gun came apart in his hands. He held the components to the light, ran his fingers down the metal and rubbed them together, gauging the amount of oil I used. Then his fingers danced like brown spiders over the gun, slotting it back together in seconds.
Only I was allowed to show off like that, and I’d earned the right with years of teaching recruits in 4-10 until they could do it like me, in the dark and behind their backs, upside down and underwater.
He checked the safety and placed it carefully on the table beside him.
Ask for it back, his expression dared me.
I wasn’t going to give him any indication of how much I wanted it. I kept my face calm, and the tension around the table eased off a fraction. The sense of violence that had been pouring out of Zane had ebbed while he played with my gun.
Suddenly he became a host. The change was as unnerving as the killing of the Romero had been.
“You know Mr. Evans and Mr. Iversen,” he said, waving at them.
I nodded. Neither of them liked me, but they liked each other even less, from the looks that passed across the table.
“And this is Mr. Fuller of Gold Hill, who arrived accompanied by Mr. Evans.”
Evans had joined Gold Hill, then. But why come down here?<
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“They’re all claiming to be envoys,” Zane said, his voice neutral. “Are you an envoy too, Ms. Farrell?”
“Amber,” I said automatically. “And no, I’m not an envoy. I came down here on Athanate business. These two kin have done you no harm. I just want to take them and be on my way.”
The mismatched eyes glowed and the wolf showed through again.
“On your way,” he repeated. “But rescuing these humans wouldn’t conclude your business in New Mexico, would it?”
“No.” I glanced around the table. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to be open with Rita about searching for Diana. I certainly didn’t want to talk Athanate problems in front of others.
Zane pursed his mouth. “So you’re claiming more Athanate business. Our worlds overlap in New Mexico, and you are Were as well as Athanate. What might Larimer be interested in, down in Albuquerque, I wonder?”
Iversen stirred as if to interrupt, and Zane stared him into silence.
“I have no idea what information Felix might be interested in,” I said. “I’m not here officially.”
“Unofficially?” His voice went smooth. “Both Athanate and Were?”
Was that good or bad? If I wasn’t on Felix’s business, then any mistakes I made didn’t affect the Denver pack? Or he felt he could do what he wanted with me without Felix being forced to respond?
I didn’t want to try lying. Felix thought he could tell. I wasn’t sure about Zane’s ability.
I nodded.
Iversen ran his hand across his mouth, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Fuller frowned and squinted at me. I got the idea that unofficial in his mind clearly meant I had no protection. His look was sexual as well, but he had nothing of the heat of Zane’s eyes. Fuller’s eyes spoke of rape.
“Reckless,” Zane said.
Had I miscalculated here? Rita had implied he wanted something from me. Now it looked like I’d landed in some bullshit involving the Confederation, a rogue pack and a lethal dispute between Romero and the Albuquerque Were.
Concentrate. Diana, Savannah, Claude, me. Nothing else matters at the moment.
“A gambler,” Zane went on. “Do you play poker, Amber?”
Not the question I was expecting. What the hell was the alpha grand plan behind this meeting? Or didn’t he have one?
But poker? When we were back on base with Ops 4-10, the troops had split into two groups—those that were playing poker and those who couldn’t play poker because they’d gotten stuck with some official duty that required both hands, both eyes and both sides of the brain.
“Yeah, I play poker.”
Never played with Were before. How did everyone bluff when they knew how fast hearts were beating and how much adrenaline was being pumped?
Haz brought a new pack of cards from a cupboard, tore the wrapping off and put the pack in his hand.
He tossed the jokers aside and began to shuffle, his fingers showing the same dexterity as he had with the gun.
“It’s Friday,” he said. “Friday is poker night, a tradition in my pack.”
He paused in the shuffle to sign a message flick-flick-flick with his fingers at Haz. Apparently, they didn’t need to touch to sign.
“Athanate betrayals and uninvited guests have caused me to lose my partners temporarily, but I don’t see why the tradition should stop for that.”
Betrayal? Had they had some kind of deal with Romero?
Rita had said that there was Were blood on Romero hands.
Fuller and Iversen didn’t react to the words; it seemed they didn’t have any more idea than I had what might be going on in Albuquerque.
While I was searching for reactions from around the table, Haz had taken tumblers and a bottle from a cupboard. I looked sideways as she placed a tumbler in front of me and poured. I couldn’t see the label. It was some kind of brandy and the logo was a buffalo’s head in flames. It was probably a clue as to what my head would feel like, if my Athanate metabolism didn’t beat the brandy into submission. It smelled foul.
Iversen was angry. “I didn’t come here to watch you play card games. I—”
“Not watching.” Zane’s gaze fastened on Iversen. “You want to negotiate, Iversen, you’ll need to win concessions from me. Play cards.”
“What? You mean you’ll make an agreement on the outcome of a card game? Is that what the stakes are?” Iversen couldn’t believe it. “With Gold Hill as well? Are you out of your fucking—”
“No!” Zane snapped, his wolf flaring in his face, his shock of hair shaking with the vehemence of his words. “The stakes you’re playing for are lives.”
He leaned forward. I’d thought he let his dominance out before, but I’d been wrong. It lashed out over the table now.
“Lives that my pack has lost today, caught up in a fucking Athanate war, with Romero changing sides and betraying us. With the Confederation stalled at the Colorado border and trying to get an agreement to sneak in the back way. With the border packs killing each other to offer themselves as an association to anyone who’ll shake their hands.”
He stood, resting his fists on the table, and his head swung from one to the other of us. His wolf boiled inside him, just beneath the surface, leaking out of his eyes, making his voice harsh.
“You,” his eyes stabbed at Fuller, “you bring me a wolf from Ute Mountain, as a gift, who dies on my floor. And a stray Cimarron cub from Kansas, who you’ve beaten senseless and who is likely to die as well. Which brain cell was firing when you thought it’d be a good idea to get me involved in your dispute with Cimarron?”
“You two,” he glared at me and Evans. “Denver pack, one turning up claiming to be part of Gold Hill and the other claiming to be Athanate, only interested in Romero kin and a companion who’s fallen into Romero’s clutches. Do you think I’m a fool?”
“What’s at stake? All our lives, mine included, if this clusterfuck grows. So, tonight, here,” he rapped the table, “where I make the rules, we play for lives so you, each of you, understand.”
He settled slowly back into his chair, his dominance folding into him with the same elegant motion.
My skin felt too small. My wolf wanted out with an urgency that made my whole body throb. I had to force her back down. This wasn’t her battle, however infectious the anger was.
I had to distance myself from Gold Hill as well, but my mouth wouldn’t work.
With my wolf gone, the Athanate had come out instead.
Shit.
Iversen and Fuller were alphas--not the alphas of their packs, but lieutenants. They weren’t in Zane’s league. Evans hadn’t had any rank in the Denver pack. The three of them were scared of Zane. I was an alpha, but bringing my wolf out here would be a challenge.
Meanwhile, my Athanate was sitting there, enjoying the fear. It wasn’t the same as Rahaimon, feeding on emotion, but it felt close.
And so what? Poker was a game of instinct and reasoning. Reasoning was the Athanate strong suit. The Athanate would be good at this. The wolf wouldn’t.
And it was important. I had no illusions—Zane meant what he said literally. I couldn’t separate the crazy from the cunning, but the man was dangerous and on a knife edge of anger at something.
However the mechanics of it went down, there was death in this room. One or more of us were going to end up like the Romero woman. I had a strong feeling that losing at this poker game would be fatal. And none of us would get out alive if we didn’t humor him.
Strangely, with the growing threat of death, the game got simpler for me.
I was good at poker, but there wasn’t the slightest chance I was going to play fair. I would use every advantage I had over the rest of the table.
I relaxed, for the first time since walking down the Calle. My body felt loose, like I was going into a fight. Sweaty. Sharp. Focused.
First things first: there wasn’t enough attention on me.
I took my shoulder holster off as if I were finding it uncom
fortable, making sure to stretch and arch my back while I did. Not a lot to show off, but you work with what you’ve got.
With the holster slung over the back of the chair, I ran my fingers casually through my hair, fixing my eyes on Zane.
Where the hell was this coming from?
“If we’re going to play a few rounds, Zane,” I said, “we can’t bet with lives every round. And I didn’t come with any money.”
I managed not to call him ‘honey.’ That would have been too freaky.
And redundant. Everyone sensed the change.
I ignored the glares from either side. This was as much about pissing them off as it was about diverting blood supply from the alpha’s brain, but Zane was the key. I concentrated on him.
His expression was closed. Maybe he saw what I was trying, but he wasn’t going to give me any advantage by showing a reaction to it.
“From what you say, you’re a sub-House of Altau and a sub-pack to Larimer,” he said. “You’re good for it. I’ll take your marker.”
“Well, I’m not here officially, so I’m not sure they’d honor my debts.”
“Then you’d have to find some other way to work them off,” he snarled.
He made a sign for Haz. She brought out a briefcase from a cupboard and opened it on the table. It was full of banker’s straps of Franklins. The base was all neatly sorted, but thrown on top were rolls of bills with elastic bands around them.
“Mr. Iversen arrived with $10,000,” Zane said, holding up the rolls. “I think that amount sounds like someone who’s serious.”
Haz took the rolls and laid them next to Iversen.
“That money wasn’t for gambling,” Iversen said. “It’s for my expenses on this trip.”
Zane smiled at him without humor.
Haz took a couple straps out of the case. One she put next to me, one next to Zane. I glanced down at the mustard yellow strap. One hundred bills of a hundred dollars each. I just taken on a debt to the Albuquerque pack of $10,000.
Crap.
Iversen looked furious, but he didn’t argue anymore. He nervously snapped the elastic off his rolls and laid the bills flat.