The Grant Wolves Box Set

by Lori Drake

  “Tie it with some rope,” she snapped.

  “Fine, jeez. No need to be a bitch about it.” Eric grabbed the ropes at Chris’s back, hauled him to his feet, and shoved him toward the back of the righted SUV. Chris stumbled, but didn’t fight. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking with his escape attempt. How far would they have actually gotten?

  “What about the car?” Chris asked, ducking his head under the liftgate. “There’s obviously something wrong with it.” Roger’s antics were probably temporary, but it never hurt to plant a seed.

  “Let us worry about that,” the woman said.

  Chris could only see her from the chest down thanks to the trunk lid, and again was struck by the vague familiarity of her voice. He had yet to get a good look at her face since returning to his body, and the way she was ordering Eric around… he couldn’t imagine who Eric might let get away with that.

  Eric “helped” Chris into the back of the car with a boot to the ass. Chris stumbled and fell across the bumper, ending up half in and half out. Eric grabbed his ankles and shoved him the rest of the way in. Chris kicked out at him.

  Eric deflected the strike and growled. “Knock it off or I’ll break something more valuable than a finger.”

  “Where are we going?” Chris asked. “You’ve got me. That’s what you wanted, right? Let my mom go.”

  Eric smiled, lips peeling back to reveal red-tinged teeth thanks to his bloody nose. “Why, because you’ll be so much more compliant without her around?”

  He reached around Chris for the remaining rope and used it to bind Chris’s ankles, then turned to give Adelaide the same treatment. She huffed indignantly when he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Eric tossed her in the back and gave them both a lingering, contemptuous glare before pushing the liftgate down and securing it with some leftover rope.

  The car engine turned over but didn’t start, giving Chris hope that maybe something had been permanently damaged by Roger or the crash—it didn’t matter which. The hope was short-lived, because the engine rumbled to life after a few tries. Eric climbed back into the front, this time in the passenger’s seat, and they got underway.

  “You okay?” Chris asked Adelaide, keeping his voice low.

  She nodded tightly. “Where’s Josephine?”

  Chris hesitated to answer, knowing Eric could probably hear them even from the front, but he also didn’t want to lie to her about it. Surely, she had enough on her mind without worrying about Joey.

  “We took care of your little whelp,” Eric said, proving he could hear, and unknowingly sparing Chris from having to lie about it. “On the upside, you won’t have to worry about an expensive funeral. She’s already buried.”

  Eric laughed loudly at his own gallows humor, while Adelaide held Chris’s eyes, imploring him with a look to tell her more. He mouthed, “She’s okay,” and hoped she understood.

  11

  Joey blew out a frustrated sigh as she peered over Dean’s shoulder. Traffic on 95 was at a standstill, and every passing minute put her one step closer to Eric slipping through her fingers.

  “Where are they?” Joey asked, drumming her fingers lightly against the side of Roger’s coffee can.

  “They turned onto one-forty, just like you expected,” Dean said.

  “Tell him to try and delay them again. We’re never going to get to the junction first at this rate.”

  “He can’t.”

  “What? Why?” Alarm raised the pitch of Joey’s voice.

  “The witch put a spell on the car. It’s not keeping him from tracking Chris, but the car’s spirit-proofed. He can’t get inside.”

  “We’ve got to get out of this traffic. Use the shoulder?”

  Dean hesitated. “That’s illegal.”

  “Six cars have passed us already doing it.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay.”

  “This is a matter of life and death. Literally.” She didn’t even try to keep the annoyance from her voice. The man rode a damn motorcycle and talked to the dead. How could he be such a square?

  Dean looked behind them, frowning. “Hang on.”

  He eased the bike out of traffic and rolled down the shoulder, puttering along at—Joey checked—ten miles per hour.

  “Faster!” she urged, smacking his chest with one hand for emphasis.

  The bike picked up speed until it was close enough to on par with Joey’s sense of urgency that she stopped pressing him for more. As they came out from alongside a big rig that’d been blocking their view, emergency lights flashed ahead. A firetruck blocked both lanes, and there was an ambulance parked on the shoulder. The others that had attempted to go around on the shoulder were stacked up behind the ambulance, unable to go farther.

  Dean eased off on the throttle, and the bike slowed.

  “Go around!” Joey growled.

  “You’re a crazy bitch. You know that, right?” Dean called back to her, but he swung off the paved shoulder and onto the dirt beside it. Joey considered it a compliment, but it probably wasn’t meant as such.

  It was a bumpy ride. Joey tightened her grip on Dean and watched as a highway patrol officer in a reflective vest broke off to wave his arms at them, motioning for them to stop. Dean did not stop. Once they were past the spectacle, he swung back onto the highway and opened up the throttle again. The engine rumbled loudly in response, and they were soon hurtling down the open highway again at high speed. Joey glanced back, but the cops seemed to have their hands too busy for an actual chase.

  They sped south. By now, Joey was convinced that Eric was heading for Eastgate. What she didn’t understand was why. It made sense that Eric would take Adelaide to get to her and Chris, but what was Madrigal’s endgame? They hadn’t foiled his plans for Emma alone, and it was clear from Eric’s attempt to bury Joey alive that she was expendable. What did Madrigal want with Adelaide and Chris?

  The questions spun through her mind as they rode. There was nothing else to do but think as she clung to Dean’s back, after all. At least her splitting headache had abated, and the vibrations of the road rattling every inch of her battered body no longer made everything ache. By her best estimate, they still had another forty-five minutes to go, and being stuck in traffic had cost them twenty. Whatever advantage Chris and Roger had given them had been whittled away, and then some.

  She tried to put it from her mind as they rolled on. A peek over Dean’s shoulder told her they were pushing ninety. She couldn’t ask for much more than that, no matter how much she wanted to. Urgency tied her stomach in a knot. She didn’t want to think about what would come next if they failed, but she did anyway. Every plan needed a backup plan, or in this case, a backup plan for the backup plan. She was still trying to figure hers out when the bike slowed and Dean pulled over onto the shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, swallowing the lump of dread in her throat.

  He killed the engine and twisted to look back at her. “We missed them. Roger says they’ve passed the junction.”

  After listening to the engine roar for so long, Joey’s ears were ringing, but she got the gist of it. “Dammit!”

  She climbed off the bike and shoved Roger’s can into Dean’s hands, then yanked off her helmet. Gripping it tightly, she resisted the impulse to throw it on the ground and hung it on the handlebars instead.

  “You okay?” Dean asked.

  Joey held up a hand, not trusting herself to speak until the urge to howl passed. She took a deep breath, balled her hands into fists, then forced them to relax as she exhaled.

  Dean’s eyes lingered on her. “You should keep the helmet on. Your head looks better, but the blood… Someone might still call the cops.”

  “We won’t be here long.” Joey stretched her arms over her head until her shoulders popped. Her muscles were tight with tension and stress. Also, she hadn’t stretched properly in two days and it was almost as essential to her as breathing. “But I need to call home, and it’s easier
without the helmet.”

  Joey took out her phone and called Sam. He answered on the first ring.

  “You missed your check-in again.”

  “I’m here now. Everything’s fine. Well, not everything. We were delayed by a wreck on the highway and missed the intercept.”

  “You got in another wreck?”

  “No, we weren’t involved.” Joey rolled her eyes and took a few experimental steps, testing out her injured leg. It seemed fine. “Anyway, we need to talk about Plan B. C? Whatever. It’s pretty clear where they’re heading at this point.”

  “Eastgate,” Sam said.

  “Eastgate,” Joey confirmed, taking a step forward and dropping into a lunge. “I don’t know how Eric got involved with Madrigal, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we know where Eric’s going and that gives us another advantage.”

  “Another? What’s the first one?”

  Joey smirked. “He thinks I’m dead, so he won’t be expecting immediate action.”

  “You sound like you have a plan,” Sam said. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker. Dad’s with me.”

  The white noise in the background intensified as the speaker came on, and Reginald said, “How are you holding up, kitten?”

  Joey blinked back sudden tears. His wife of damn near a century had been kidnapped, and he was worried about how she was holding up. “I’m okay, Dad. I was just telling Sam—”

  “I heard. Go ahead.”

  “Right. So, we have an advantage. We know where they’re going, and they don’t know that we have any idea. So we can use that overconfidence against them.”

  Sam said, “That still doesn’t explain how we’re going to get our people out of a megalomaniacal witch’s magically protected compound full of sycophants.”

  Joey grimaced. “I’m still working on that. But I have an idea. Dad, do you have the password for Mom’s computer?”

  “Yes,” Reginald said. “What do you need?”

  “Everything she has on the Silver Springs pack.”

  The big downside of returning to his body was that Chris couldn’t communicate with Roger anymore. He hoped that Joey and Dean were still in range for the spirit to keep up with him, but had no way of knowing for sure. The medallion was a warm weight against his skin, and while he might have been able to wiggle around just right to break contact, he couldn’t be sure that a bump in the road wouldn’t shift the medallion and lock him out again. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  The car drove on, and the only way Chris was aware of the passing of the remaining afternoon was the way the sun sank lower and lower, eventually dipping beneath the horizon and plunging the world into darkness. They were on a rather large highway by then. A full interstate, if the lack of potholes and stoplights were any indication. The smoothness of the ride and the hum of the tires on the asphalt made him drowsy. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he didn’t try to fight sleep when it rose to claim him. After all, it’d been a stressful couple of days and he needed to keep his strength up. There was no telling when his next opportunity for sleep might be.

  Chris stood in front of an ornate standing mirror, snugging his tie up under his chin and smoothing the lines of his new suit. He’d found it in the closet while exploring the room, a dove-gray pinstriped suit in a black garment bag with “Martin” written on the card tucked in the clear plastic sleeve on the front.

  Chris’s stomach grumbled in anticipation of a meal, so he decided to venture downstairs on his own rather than wait for Karina. His footsteps were muted by the thick carpet running down the hall. It was quiet. Library quiet. Church quiet. So quiet that he wondered if he was the only guest on this floor. He took the elevator down to the lobby, checking his hair in the car’s mirrored wall one last time before the doors slid open. Tonight, he wanted to look his best.

  Stepping into the dining room, he found the meal in full swing. Round tables with service for six were scattered around the room in an indeterminate pattern. Sparkling chandeliers sent light cascading downward, illuminating the scene in warm, clear light. The guests wore animal-themed masks covering the top halves of their faces. Everyone’s attire matched their mask, from a rotund tuxedoed gentleman in a panda mask to a slim woman in a peacock mask with a long dress in shimmering blues and greens.

  The other guests were engaged in food or conversation, and most didn’t spare him a second glance, but he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Had he overlooked a mask when he’d taken his suit out of the bag? He hadn’t noticed anything else inside it, but he hadn’t searched it throughly.

  “There you are! Impatient, are we?”

  Chris turned at the sound of Karina’s voice and offered her a smile. “A little. Sorry.”

  Karina’s color-shifting eyes twinkled behind her fox mask, and she withdrew a hand from behind her back to offer him a mask painted in the likeness of a gray wolf.

  “This is for you,” she said. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  Chris chuckled and put the mask on. It interfered with his peripheral vision, but it wasn’t too bad. “I suppose so.” He offered her his arm, and she took it.

  “Come,” Karina said. “Our host is waiting.”

  She led him through the maze of tables to the far side of the room, where a rectangular table sat on a raised platform. Despite the length of the table, there were only two place settings on it, one at either end. Chris’s stomach fluttered as they approached, nerves getting the best of him. He resisted the urge to smooth his hair and escorted Karina up the steps to the dais. Their host stood from his seat and smiled broadly, approval in his eyes as he took in Chris’s ensemble. He’d traded his white linen suit for an all-black one to complement the raven mask he wore.

  “Christopher, so glad you made it. That suit looks wonderful on you. I trust you found the accommodations to your liking?”

  Chris’s chest swelled with pleasure over the compliment, making his tongue thick in his mouth, sluggish to obey his desire to answer. He swallowed. “Yeah, the room is great. Thank you.”

  “Excellent.” The man glanced at Karina and nodded, then swept a hand in a welcoming gesture. “Please, have a seat.”

  Confusion clouded Chris’s mind, but Karina withdrew her hand from his arm and smiled at him, red lips curved in a half-moon under her fox mask.

  “Enjoy your dinner,” she said, then withdrew down the steps, leaving Chris alone with their host.

  Chris swallowed a protest before his nerves could get the better of him. The raven, for all his genteel manner, put him on edge. Could he get through dinner without disappointing him again? He sat, and the raven resumed his own seat at the other end of the table. Uniformed waiters brought forth the feast, piling the table high with scrumptious-smelling delicacies. Wine was poured, and a man in a chef’s coat appeared to carve the roast.

  While the staff filled their plates, Chris sipped his wine and tried not to fall into the raven’s dark eyes. Even from all the way across the table, the man had a presence about him, a presence that somehow put Chris at ease but left him anxious to please all at once. It didn’t help that the raven leaned on one arm of his chair and watched Chris across the table as if he were a particularly interesting specimen.

  Chris cleared his throat and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Is there something between my teeth?”

  “Not at all,” the raven said. “You’re impeccable.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Chris said, cheeks heating some. “I like your mask. It’s very… feathery.”

  The raven laughed, eyes dancing with good humor behind said mask. “Thank you.”

  Chris sat awkwardly for a few moments more, but then a plate laden with food was set in front of him, and he flashed a grateful smile to the waiter. The waiter slid his eyes away, refusing to make contact, but dipped his chin in a nod before withdrawing.

  Across the table, the raven sliced into his meat and speared a morsel of pink flesh on the tines of his
fork. “Tell me, Christopher, how old were you when you first went through the change?”

  Chris’s hands stilled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Don’t be coy, Christopher. There are no secrets here.”

  Still, Chris hesitated. This wasn’t something he was used to talking about in an open forum, but he was loath to earn the raven’s disapproval again. “Seven or so, I think.”

  “Truly? That seems young.” The raven took a bite and studied Chris thoughtfully while he chewed.

  “Not really. It can happen earlier, but…” Chris shrugged and pushed food around with his fork. For all that his appetite had driven him down here, now that the food was in front of him, he didn’t find it appealing. He liked his beef pink, but this sat in a puddle of claret that seeped into everything else on the plate.

  “What was it like?” the raven asked. “Was it scary?”

  Chris looked up from his plate, distracted. “No, not at all. It was the most natural thing in the world. If anything, it was exciting to look at the world from a whole new perspective, to unlock a part of myself that’d always been there but I’d never known.” He paused, chuckling. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about that before. No one’s ever asked.”

  The raven smiled. “There are so many answers out there, Christopher, if one but knows the questions.”

  “I guess so.” Chris looked at his plate again and blinked, finding the bothersome liquid gone. He cut into his meat, finding it so tender that the knife seemed like a formality. “I don’t eat a lot of red meat, so this is a real treat.” His words sparked a laugh, and when the raven laughed, every guest in earshot laughed too. Uneasy, Chris kept his focus on his plate.

  “That’s funny, don’t you think? A wolf that avoids red meat.”

  “I guess so. My mate’s kind of a health nut.” His mate. He’d never referred to—or even thought of—Joey that way before, but he liked the way it rolled off his tongue. Joey. Where was Joey, anyway?