by D. Fischer
Settling Damien back on the bed, I ask, “Let me know when he wakes, will you?”
“You want to ask him who did this, don’t you?” she presses quietly.
I don’t answer. Reese knows that’s exactly what I plan to do. With our heightened senses, she had heard everything Amelia and I discussed in the hall.
“Just –” I turn, and then sigh on my way to the door. “Let me know when he’s awake.”
“That may be a while,” she murmurs. I close the door behind me, my face drawn and my eyes closed. I nearly bump into Kaya. Startled and distracted, I peer down at her. “Sorry,” I murmur, the apology tinged with confusion. “Did you need something? Jinx is in the cafeteria.”
“Oh,” she utters, tucking greying hair behind her ear. Her forearm has a scratch on it, old blood crusted around the small wound.
Gently, I grab her wrist, turn her arm, and touch next to the scratch. “You’re bleeding.”
“Oh,” she says again, surprised. She looks at the scratch and starts to rub at the dried blood droplets. “Thorns.”
I frown down at her. “Thorns?”
“You have a few wild rose bushes at the edge of your forest. I was trying to cut a few of them to bring back here. There’s an empty vase in my room and –”
I smile softly at her. A little normalcy in this chaos soothes my fraying nerves. Releasing her arm, I jerk my thumb behind me. “Reese is in there. She’d be happy to clean you up.”
She pats my shoulder like my father used to. “Thank you, Jacob. It’s not too deep. I have some salve in my room that’ll do the trick.”
“That won’t be necessary. Reese is excellent at what she does. I urge you to have her take a look.”
“If you insist . . .”
I nod, skirt around her, and make my way to the cafeteria. I have wolves to question. Someone will pay for this.
Jinx Whitethorn
Once Jacob arrived in the cafeteria, Sara and I had left. She hadn’t wanted me to. She wanted me to stay and talk with Jacob after he was done questioning the wolves, but that could take a while. I didn’t feel like staring at him the entire time because I definitely would have. For several reasons. One: because I’m tired of this thing between him and me. I want it resolved. And two: I itch to say, ‘I told you so.’ I knew I wouldn’t be able to help myself. Saying those four words would do no good though. It won’t heal Damien. It won’t fix things. It would only make everything worse.
Now, before the hospital room, Sara abruptly turns and folds me into a hug. Surprised, I just stand there. She still smells like the forest, like the lemon scent of the leaves she was gathering for my own sake, despite having showered too. Eventually, the pressure of her squeeze lulls me into a sense of comfort, and I wrap my arms around her, greedily stealing more of it.
The events of the day, and the emotions that tag along with it, catch up, and I tuck my head into the crook of her shoulder. The tears I’ve been holding back freely shed and soak into the soft cloth of her shirt. She rubs my back, shushing soothingly.
“It’ll be all right,” she whispers. “If Jacob doesn’t catch them, Damien will tell us.”
The door opens, and I lift my head to find my aunt examining a large bandage along her arm.
“What happened?” I ask, sniffing back my tears and pulling away from Sara.
Kaya startles and then sighs with relief. “Thorns,” she breathes, placing her hand on her heart. “I was trimming them this afternoon, and one scratched me.”
Sara scowls. “Stitches?”
“Wasn’t deep enough.”
I nod and start to nervously pull at my fingers. “Is he awake yet?”
“Whom?” Kaya blinks with confusion. She touches her bandage, tracing the sticky seal.
Sara and I look at one another. “Damien?” I say.
“Oh.” She looks at the door then back to us. “Not awake, no.”
My shoulders sag as I visibly deflate. “Are you headed to the cafeteria?”
“Sure,” she says. “Coffee will do. Do you want to meet afterward for training?”
I glare at her. “Now isn’t the time.”
“Actually,” Sara interjects, squaring her shoulders to Kaya. “I disagree.”
“What?” I hiss.
“Jinx and I will meet you in about an hour. Outside?”
Kaya looks back and forth between us, her expression void. “Yes, that is fine. You’ll be –”
Sara gives her a slight smile. “I’ll be helping.”
Kaya chews this over, blinking at the witch. “I see,” she finally says. It’s tinged with a touch of hostility masked by a bored tone. I scowl at it. Now isn’t the time for both my aunt and my best friend to squabble.
“Great. See you then,” Sara says, pulling me by the arm into the hospital room.
Reese raises an eyebrow as we enter, and I’m about to ask Sara what that was all about, but the sight of Damien’s wolf makes any words flee from my mind. He’s bandaged, and though he’s covered with a blanket, it does nothing to hide the bulge. The dripping IV and the soft beep of the heart monitor distract me entirely. It echoes the grief swelling in my chest. My hands tremble, and Sara allows me a few moments before squeezing my hand and urging me forward.
I don’t voice it aloud, but I can feel Damien’s spirit. Actually feel it just like the wolf in my dreams. The white wolf whose spirit I wear. Damien’s is bright and vibrant, but I sense a tear in it. A tear that I can only guess comes from a betrayal. I swallow nervously at the evidence of that tear and imagine it stitching itself back together like Reese did with his physical injury. If his spirit is there, then there’s still hope. There’s still hope. . .
Reese relaxes in the chair she pulled next to the bed. “I think he’ll be fine, Jinx,” she whispers.
“I know that,” I say, matching her tone. “I still don’t like to see him like this.”
Sara rubs my back. “When he wakes up, he can tell us who did this.”
I nod and cross my arms over my middle. “What can I do to help?”
The red-headed shifter tucks the corners of her lips into her cheeks in sympathy, but it’s Sara who answers. “You can learn how to control what you are. The only way to help right now is to control it so this can all end. So you can help defend.” My friend scowls. “That sounds corny.”
I growl. “Corny or not, I don’t know how!”
“Sara’s right,” Reese whispers when my anger deflates from the room. She picks up a clipboard from the side table, reads something off the monitor, and writes it down. “Whoever was there… they could have been there for you.”
There was no blame in her words, but I took it that way anyway. Startled by it, I take a step back as though the words were a physical blow.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because someone might have been waiting there,” Sara mutters. Reese nods to her, having drawn the same conclusion. She sets the clipboard down and allows Sara to continue. “Someone Damien stumbled across. Someone Damien knew. There definitely is a mole here.” Sara turns me toward her. “You have to learn to control it. Then we can do something about all this shit.”
“We?” I ask. My vision blurs with oncoming tears.
“We.” The determination in her tone sends shivers down my spine. “I won’t let you go through this alone. Whatever’s next, I won’t let you experience it alone.”
“And neither will the pack,” Reese states. I’ve never heard her lower her voice to something that drips with maliciousness. Not even when she thought I was stealing Jacob from her.
The mole is working with the Bane. “You’re not talking about the mole anymore, are you?” They stare blankly at me. “You want me to learn this so I can go take my revenge on the Bane as a whole.”
Reese smirks, and a shiver runs down my spine as her eyes glow wolf, filling the room with a green hue. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I expect you to seek retaliation for this shit.” She leans forward
in her chair. “This can’t go unpunished, and at this point, you’re the only one who can do anything about it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jacob Trent
After an hour of interrogating fucking-everybody, I find myself frustrated and wanting to hurl a chair. Travis, Trevor, Sam, Turner, Dan, and John . . . None of them had been the one who took down Damien. None of them is the mole feeding the Bane Pack information, and those with Rex couldn’t have either. They were long gone before Damien was hurt.
Under the alpha command, my wolves can’t lie, but I’m not sure if any of them would, anyway. Their answers were nothing but truth and promises of loyalty. No one, absolutely no one besides Jinx and Sara was near Damien in the woods.
I rub the nape of my neck as I press my back against the cafeteria wall and observe my wolves. Kaya has secluded herself to the corner and had watched the entire ordeal with mild interest. I wonder what she thinks about all this. My other hand holds a steaming cup of coffee, and I suffer through a scolding sip as I consider her thoughts and my options.
Standing by the kitchen is Jinx. She and Sara are listening to Glenda prattle on about similar happenings in the pack she grew up in. When I had begun to question Glenda, counting her kitchen knives from afar as suspect, she too had proven innocent. I shiver at the memory of Glenda’s defensive scowl. I know Glenda would never harm Jinx or anyone in the pack. She’s practically the mother of us all. After I was done, she gave me an earful in her Russian tongue.
I can tell the two girls are only half-listening to Glenda’s blathering. Glancing over the rim of the mug, I catch Jinx’s gaze. Her expression is serious, and the edges around her mouth are set in hard, angry lines. The urge to go to her and resolve at least something tonight is overwhelming.
My phone vibrates inside my pocket. Eyes still on Jinx, I fish it out and answer without glancing at who it is.
“Jacob,” the voice – Rex – says before I can even utter a greeting. I’ve felt Rex’s absence these last few hours, and I’ve nearly called him home on several occasions. But he has his own orders, and he’s better off following them through than sitting here holding my hand through this mess. Besides, my pride won’t allow it.
“Yeah?” I look at the clock on the wall above Jinx’s head and frown at the black ticking hands. “Why are you calling? It’s not the middle of the night yet.” There’s no way they could have tailed the Bane back from the bar. The Bane don’t leave until just before closing time, according to Cinder and Rex.
“Chip called and told us about Damien,” he says softly. I can hear the light chatter of my other wolves inside his car. “How is he?”
Chip and Bia answered my questions inside the lab. There, they’re kept busy by Jinx’s necklace and her father’s book, and now, with this entire ordeal, they’re working even faster. If an alpha command isn’t going to weed out the liar among us, then perhaps Adriel Whitethorn might shed a clue. After all, rumor has it the book’s paper is made from a Bane shifter, along with the pendant itself. The two believe there’s more to be discovered, possibly information they can hang over Wice’s head. If it can get this shit to end, I’m all for it.
“Stable-ish,” I answer with a deep sigh. “For now.”
“I’m going to fucking kill whoever it is,” Rex hisses.
“Indeed,” I mutter back. A few curious glances are shifted my way, but they quickly divert their gazes when it’s met with my alpha waves. They’re all on edge, and I don’t blame them for being pissed at being blamed. My attitude during the questioning was anything but nice.
“Do you have anything on the Bane yet?”
“No,” Rex admits. I can hear him shift in the leather car seat. “They just arrived at the bar.”
“Keep me informed then.”
“Do you want us to capture one? Question who is the mole?” Murmuring agreements from his stakeout companions, Jason and Joe, follow.
“No,” I say after a moment of thinking. “Let them think we’re ignorant. If they catch wind that we know one of our own is a traitor, they’ll pull them, and we’ll never get to the bottom of this. Or worse, they’ll push their plans sooner than we’re ready.”
“Got it,” Rex says and hangs up.
I sigh and pocket my phone. It’s going to be a long night for me, and I’ve got more problems than solutions.
Someone here could still be lying. I may not have been specific enough with my questions. Whoever it is could have been clever by answering slyly, skirting the truth entirely.
Tapping my fingers on my thigh, I look out the windows. The bright moon shines through and casts reflections across the polished cafeteria floor. Movement outside the window catches my eye, and I cross the floor curiously. Sara and Jinx walk slowly across the grass, close enough to bump shoulders with each slow and leisurely stride. I hadn’t noticed them leave during my phone conversation. I’m about to go warn them to stay inside when Kaya notices them as well. The aunt abandons her secluded corner and tugs her colorful shawl around her shoulders. Nodding respectfully to me upon passing, she uses the cafeteria exit to join her niece.
That’s probably exactly what Jinx needs: family. Family and the support I can’t seem to give her. What I would give to return things to the way they were before we had sex. The way they were before she saw my canines and snuck from bed the next morning.
At least she has someone, I think sardonically. Inside me, my wolf growls. To him, everything is quite simple. Apologize for whatever I’ve done, and she’ll forgive. But women – human women – are not so simple. I have to find out what I did in order to properly apologize, and I do want to apologize because the longer she’s not in my immediate life, the more angry and restless and distracted I am.
Handing my mug to one of my shifters, I clench my jaw in determination and head to the door as well.
“No one leaves the cafeteria without talking to me first,” I say, barking orders. Murmurs of agreement follow, and I push the door open. The rush of cooler air washes over me as it spills into the compound. I can’t do anything about my problems right now, but I can sure as hell help Jinx conquer her own. Our messy relationship aside, I can at least help her come to terms with what happened to Damien. It wasn’t her fault. She has to know this.
Jinx Whitethorn
I can sense Jacob’s presence behind us as Kaya, Sara, and I face one another. My aunt wants us to train. Train under the moon. Train on the cold brittle grass. Train with the bitter wind. Train under the grief and doubt and self-blame. It makes me want to bite her head off. Kaya doesn’t seem to harbor a lot of outward emotions, and tonight, I’m keenly aware of them.
“This really isn’t the right time,” I growl at her, spreading my feet wide and shaking the stress from my hands at my sides. The tips of my fingers feel heavy with the weight of today’s events.
“Now is the best time,” Kaya responds softly. The wind combs through her long, loose hair. “You’re upset. Use it to guide the skinwalking.”
I look to Sara, wordlessly pleading. Her coat crinkles as she shrugs. “I happen to agree.”
“Fine.” I flex my jaw.
Kaya doesn’t need to remind me of what to picture nor how to clear my head and focus on the wolf from my dreams. I close my eyes and bring the broken gate and angry blob into focus, shoving aside the picture of a broken Damien every time it creeps up. The anger inside me still roils like a tidal wave of lava, and I use it to paint the rest of the wolf dream’s landscape. It’s messy, hastily made in my mind’s eye. The puddle is a smudge, and the shimmering fur of the white wolf looks like yellow cotton, but at least the thick forest takes true shape. Deep shadows of their trunks reach for me.
The cold creeps into my skin. My sweatshirt does nothing to block it. Winter is in the air, crisp like the scent of snow itself. Snow as white as the wolf’s fur.
The voices of the wind return, spirits who ride inside them and whisper in my ear. Last time, they hadn’t graced me with their presenc
e, and I startle at them now. I hadn’t expected them to return, and I’m sure as hell not focused enough to have sensed their approach. Relaxing into their voices, I feel the hair rise on my skin, and I tip my head to welcome their wisdom. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but they're here, supportive and lovely and sweeping me further out of this immediate world and right into a sedated sort of state.
And then I hear it. Inside those whispers of many, I hear it. A howl that’s so faint weaves through the voices. My mind plunges through the crowd of murmurings, pushing aside the many languages trying to guide me until I reach this single howl. Its tone is one of such longing and loneliness. The cry speaks to my own soul on such a level it nearly aches.
“There,” my aunt whispers. “There.”
The image of the wolf sharpens behind my closed eyelids, a spirit who’s iridescently dazzling. Her head is tipped back to howl at the darkened sky of her time.
“Damien,” I hear Sara whisper. She’s immediately behind me, but I don’t flinch. One single whisper had already warned me of her approach.
“What are you doing?” my aunt hisses.
“Helping,” Sara returns. With a deep, slow breath, she continues. Her hand reaches around my stomach and presses a fist against my abdomen.
My fingers seemingly pulse. They tingle and itch like all the other times when they shimmered with magic. The image of the wolf’s head immediately snaps to me, eyes boring into mine meaningfully.
How do I harness you? How do I borrow you? I think to it. The wolf blinks, ears twitching.
Sara’s fist presses deeper into my stomach directly below my sternum. It’s painful, right where my grief sits, ebbing and flowing. I don’t flinch. Instead, I feel. Whatever Sara is trying to do, it’s working. It’s pushing the settled emotions out into my veins, causing them to overload inside me.