by E. A. Copen
“What happened?” I demanded as soon as I climbed out.
Bran spread his hands wide and shrugged. “He gets this way sometimes. I haven’t seen him do that shit in a while. Oh, excuse the language.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all right. He left pissed off. What’s gotten into him?”
Bran lowered his head and gave me a sheepish grin. “He was not happy that I called you. Less so that I broke his nose. It’s one thing for him to come in and shout at me, but he was stupid enough to start his act with Istaqua. He is lucky I shut him down before Istaqua stepped in.” His expression sobered. “He came here looking for a fight, Judah, and his mood is still foul. I would have normally called Chanter, but...” His voice trailed off. “Well, you’re aware of Chanter’s condition.”
I crossed my arms. “Where is he?”
Bran gestured to the roadhouse, and I followed him inside.
The atmosphere was completely different the second time. It was just the Kings there that night. Some I knew, others I didn’t. Chanter wasn’t there. Diabla wasn’t manning the bar either. She was busy trying to convince Sal to keep a bag of ice balanced on his face while he leaned back against the bar.
Istaqua sat at a table in the center of the room with three women surrounding him, a pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray in front of him, and several empty bottles. He and Flash were engaged in a card game that abruptly ended when I walked in. Istaqua lowered his cards to the table and glared at me. I returned the stare with as much malice as I could manage.
“It’ll fucking heal,” Sal insisted to Diabla as she scolded him. “And when I can see straight, I’ll give you one to match, Bran.”
“You won’t,” Bran said in a casual tone, “because you are going home.”
Sal lifted the ice off his face and sat up. There was a cut healing over the bridge of his nose, and the skin under each eye was puffy and red. In a short while, that red would turn black. Yep. Definitely broken.
If he’d been Alex, I would have scolded him in front of everyone. I didn’t want Alex out drinking all the time. In my stupidity, I thought embarrassing him in front of his drinking buddies would discourage him. Sal was going to have to show his face back at the roadhouse, and he wasn’t going to give up drinking, although I wished he’d curb it a little. If this had been just a drunken brawl, I would have made more of a scene, but it looked like he’d already done that himself. Besides, I think my sullen silence said enough. I planted my feet, folded my arms, and cocked my head to the side, waiting.
Sal looked away and mumbled something I didn’t catch.
Diabla smacked the back of his head. “I hear that word in my bar again, young man, and I’ll give you a broken nose.” She pointed at me. “Go with your woman and sleep off your drink, you surly werewolf.”
He growled at her but stood and swayed on his feet. It took a lot of alcohol for a werewolf Sal’s size to get that trashed.
“BSI to the rescue again,” Istaqua mumbled.
Sal turned toward him, a fist balled. He might have engaged Istaqua if Bran hadn’t put a hand on Sal’s shoulder as he passed. “Let me walk you out, brother.”
Sal didn’t protest, but the look he gave Istaqua would have made most people drop their gaze. Instead, Istaqua’s glare followed him all the way out.
The three of us stepped back out into the cold. When the door closed, Bran let go of Sal and turned to me. “Take care of him, Judah.” He gave me a slight bow, then held a bottle of water out to me that I took. He eyed Sal before going back inside.
Sal stared at the ground between us.
I arched an eyebrow. “Bran, huh? You’d think if you were going to come out here and pick a fight, it’d be with someone you didn’t like.” He didn’t answer me. I uncrossed my arms and sighed. “Sal, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
He turned his back to me and reached down to pull his shirt over his head. The swollen nose and pain in his face made it awkward. He hissed in pain. He jerked it off anyway.
“Oh no, you don’t.” I reached out to grab his arms. “You’re not going to shift to avoid talking to me, not after the day I’ve had.”
Sal spun on me with a growl. An icy panic settled in my stomach as he grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me up against the driver’s side door of my car, that same red-gold hue in his eyes. I’ve made a huge mistake, I thought. I should’ve known better than to touch him when he was so pissed off. His control over the wolf had to be close to giving way. I should have just let him shift and walk away. Stupid, Judah. Stupid. If he was willing to take on Bran, he’ll…
He’ll what? Attack me? If Bran thought that was a possibility, he wouldn’t have left us alone out in the parking lot. Or maybe I’d misjudged Bran.
I flattened myself against the car as far as I could. I should have turned my head and offered him my throat in a gesture of submission. That was what I’d been taught to do in the academy if an aggressive werewolf cornered me and I was unarmed, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Something about his eyes captured my attention and wouldn’t let go. Even if I had wanted to turn, to run, to fight, I couldn’t, not with him looking at me like that. His pupils shrank, letting the color fill his eyes even more, and his breath came out heavy from his broken nose. His lip twitched once, then he showed me his teeth. “Mine,” he growled in a low, husky voice.
Then, he pressed his body against me and pulled my head up into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
For a moment, the panic increased, growing into a ball around my thumping heart. It subsided when I realized I’d grossly misinterpreted everything. He hadn’t turned on me to attack me. The sudden fit at his house when I turned up dressed in borrowed clothes and smelling of Marcus and vampire wasn’t about the fight we had earlier. He thought I’d given myself to Marcus, or at least that I’d considered it.
Again, I had been reduced to a thing to be owned and protected. That thought made me turn away. “No,” I said as he dropped his lips to nip my neck. “I’m not yours. I’m not anybody’s. That’s the whole point.” I pushed him away, despite his growl of protest. “And you smell like the bottom of a cheap bottle of whiskey. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sal. First, the jealous fit, and now I have to come out here and get you—”
Sal turned to the side, doubled over, and threw up.
I sighed and stared down at the water Bran had given to me. Part of me wanted to yell at him some more, but I knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not now. Right now, Sal needed to hydrate and get to bed. He was going to be an even bigger pain in the ass to deal with in the morning if Alex’s hangovers were anything to judge by.
He spat on the ground, braced himself against the hood of the car, and stood. “Come on, then,” I said, putting a hand on his back. “Let’s get you home.”
Once I got him in the car, everything got easier. He took the water bottle from me without protest, swished some of it around in his mouth, and then spat it out the open window as we cruised down the highway. I had to remind him twice that he needed to drink the whole bottle before he responded.
“Jesus, Sal. How much did you drink?” My hands ached from how tight I gripped the steering wheel. “I’m just glad Hunter won’t see you like this. That kid worships the ground you walk on, you know that? And if he saw this… Do you know how worried he is about you?” I stole a sideways glance at Sal, but my words had fallen on deaf ears. He’d leaned his head against the window and passed out already. “Dammit, Sal,” I muttered under my breath and then didn’t speak to him again until I pulled into the driveway.
It took a lot of doing to wake him up enough to get out of the car. I thought about just leaving him out there, but I didn’t want to come back to vomit in my car. Besides, as bad off as he was, I felt like someone needed to stay with him just in case. He came around enough to crawl out of the car and lean on me after I went inside and got some ice and held it against his nose. He was heavy, too heavy for me to ma
nage on my own. Even using a little magick to enhance my strength barely allowed me to support him in this state, so I was glad he’d snapped out of it just a little. We made it up the stairs and through the front door. I’d meant to drop him off on the sofa, but he had other ideas and turned toward his bedroom. I decided it was better just to let him go where he wanted than to waste energy fighting with him in this state.
Sal’s bedroom was a mess, but I never expected anything different from a bachelor. Clothes were piled in one corner, tossed in the other. Books and magazines lined the floor next to the bed, everything from a book on recipes for cancer patients to porn. I kicked several magazines aside as we shuffled through to the unmade bed.
I didn’t so much as lower him to the bed as fall with him. The sudden fall sent a rush of pain shooting through my ribs, and I let out a small hiss of pain and protest. Sal was already asleep again. I could have crawled away and gone back to my own bed, but I was still worried about him, even if I was angry. I decided I would lie there for a while, at least.
His arm draped itself limply over my ribs. I winced at the pain that struck again every time I took a breath but closed my eyes. I could bear a little pinch in the ribs for him.
I woke in the dark in a different position altogether and sweating. My knees were drawn up, and my arms were tucked under my head. Somehow, I’d gotten onto my side facing Sal. When I opened my eyes, he was staring right back at me. The glowing yellow had faded back into the tiny golden flakes he carried in his irises when he was angry, but he didn’t look angry. He looked…hungry. His eyes were mostly focused, an improvement from the last time. Sweat raced in a bead down the side of his face.
“Sal?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He closed his eyes again and nudged the pillow. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a sleepy tone. “Headache.”
I sat up, stopping to grab my ribs when they reminded me I’d hurt myself. “Let me get you something for it.”
I’d already thrown my legs over the side of the bed when his hand shot out and closed tightly over my wrist. “No.”
“You can’t just expect me to lie here next to you, helpless. I need to do something.”
“Stay?”
That it was phrased as a question made any ambition I had to get out of bed and do anything melt away. I climbed back into bed and tucked up against him. He put his arm right over the tender spot in my side and fumbled to pull me in closer.
A hiss of pain escaped between my teeth. He stopped, his face shifting from exhaustion to concern and then anger. With a guttural growl, he jerked my shirt up and surveyed the damage. Deep red and purple colored my side from about two inches below my armpit all the way down in different-sized splotches. His eyes flashed gold and he ground his teeth.
“It’s nothing.” I jerked the fabric of my shirt back down. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own eventually, anyway. I don’t think anything’s broken.”
“Was it Marcus?” The tension in his voice told me he was only barely holding onto himself. The anger was still there, and the hangover settling in wasn’t doing him any favors. If I didn’t get him calmed down, he was likely to do something we’d both regret.
I shrugged and went with snark, hoping he couldn’t pick up the way my heart was racing. “You can barely move, Sal, let alone chase down the thing responsible. What are you going to do, growl at him?”
As if to prove me wrong, he shot up, his chest heaving and teeth bared. Maybe snark wasn’t the best option in that case. “I’ll rip his fucking spine out.”
I tugged on his shoulder. “It wasn’t Marcus. It’s this job I’m working for him. And trust me, you can’t make what did this to me any deader than it already is.”
He blinked, his face drawing up blank as if he’d forgotten something important. “Let me heal you.”
“You need some water, an aspirin, and rest, not to exert yourself over a couple of bruised ribs.”
At least, that’s what I meant to say. I meant to tell him that he should rest, that Nina, Chanter, and everyone in the pack would kill me if I let him over-exert himself and it led to any permanent damage.
Something was off about him. Maybe he’d been pushing too hard. Maybe I had pushed him too far. Sal was normally calm and collected. Once, he’d even let Tindall arrest him and keep him in jail several days on nothing but a promise. The Sal before me now was impulsive, reckless, and in defensive mode. Unpredictable. It would be better if he didn’t use his magick until he was well-rested and recovered.
I meant to tell him all of that but…well, it’s a little hard to talk when a two hundred fifty-pound werewolf is pushing his hand into your bruised rib.
He wrapped his arm around me from behind and moved his hand up under my shirt over the bruising. “Don’t fight.” It was spoken as a whisper, but there was no mistaking the power of magick in his voice. The same magick I had seen him use to keep Hunter in line. The same magick Chanter used to command the whole pack. Alpha werewolf magick.
It wasn’t like the spell Marcus had woven over me. I didn’t lose any sense of my own will or feel static in my head, but I obeyed just the same, and I hated that I had no choice but to do so.
Healing magick isn’t at all unpleasant, at least in my experience. It reminded me a lot of how a hot tub felt, the way the water draws out the soreness and stiffness in the muscles and makes them go slack. The first time, he’d told me to think of something positive to help the process along, and I conjured up a vision of my own self-confidence. The more and more times he used his magick to heal me (which had been too frequent by my count), the easier it became to slip into a state of comfort and happiness just because of the healing touch. I thought of it as a sort of blanket right after it came out of the dryer. Too hot at first, but enticingly relaxing, the longer it lasted.
There’s a very good reason that some people get addicted to having magick used on them. All the positive feedback in the brain lends itself to addiction and makes time feel fuzzy. By the time I realized my body was reacting to more than just the magick, the sharp pain that came with every breath was gone, turned into nothing but a slight tightness. His hand had crept up to find my breast but found fabric there instead. He made a small, angry noise and tried to jerk the bra free.
“Sal,” I said in the form of mild protest, shrugging my shoulder to move his lips from my neck. “Stop.”
“The rest of you doesn’t want me to stop,” he murmured into the curve of my neck. “You want me. I can smell it.”
“Stop,” I said, this time more insistently, but his lips and hands only grew bolder.
I wriggled away from his hand even as he tried to grip tighter. Even at my best, I was no match for the strength and speed of a werewolf. If he had really wanted to stop me, he could have.
Instead, he sat there on his knees on the bed, frozen. I think he realized what he’d been about to do, what he had done, in the fraction of a second before my open hand connected with his face. The crack echoed through the silence in the room against my labored breathing. He stayed frozen, eyes wide, face red, head moved a good forty-five degrees by the impact.
“Get hold of yourself,” I shouted, making no effort to control the anger in my voice. “What the hell is wrong with you?
Sal’s head fell forward as if he were bowing, a very, very unusual gesture for such a high-ranking werewolf to make to a human. It was an apology, one I didn’t know if I could accept. Not until I heard the anguish in his voice. “I’m just so tired of being alone. I can’t do it anymore. I’m no good on my own.”
I took his chin in my hands. Lifting his head took almost no effort. “I told you,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’re stuck with me. Now, you’re going to lay back down and get some sleep. Tomorrow, you’re taking a sick day. I don’t care if the devil himself knocks on your door. You’re to get your rest, do you hear me?”
The suggestion seemed to sit well with him. Sal nodded and all but fell over back into bed. He was asleep agai
n before I got the blankets wrestled up over him. I brushed aside magazines, dirty clothes, and a half-empty bottle of Jack’s to clear myself a space on the floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Daylight had filtered in through the blinds by the time I opened my eyes again. Outside, the birds sang. The faint sound of a car in need of exhaust work faded as it drove down the road out front. Sal lay spread over the bed on his stomach, face turned to the side, and the blanket thrown off the bed. At some point, one of us had enough sense to get up and turn on the oscillating desk fan. The gentle hum of the plastic guards on it created a steady, calming undertone of noise.
I sat up, peeling a magazine from where spit had glued it to my face and then frowned at the cover. Caliente, it was called, and the cover featured a woman poised on a white bed in black lingerie, seductively posed. I rolled my eyes and tossed it aside. I guessed single life hadn’t been all it was cracked up to be for the poor guy. Still, I made a mental note to ask him to box those things up and get them out of sight before I found them under Hunter’s bed.
My back protested more than my ribs when I stood and stretched, which was a good thing. I could get around just fine without… The thought broke off as I realized I might have overslept. Hunter would be late for school.
I left the room as quietly as I could and went out into the kitchen, relieved to find Hunter dressed and ready to go. He shoved another mouthful of cereal into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before asking, “Is he okay?”
“He’ll live,” I answered and put a palm to my aching head. “He just needs rest. Be quiet, though, kiddo.”
“He’s hungover, isn’t he?”
“You leave him be,” I warned and gave Hunter a serious look. He turned back to his cereal and didn’t speak to me again until after I was sipping my coffee at the table.
“Are you going to marry Sal?”
I almost spat out my coffee. Hunter didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on the last few colored balls of sweetened corn cereal in his bowl.