by E. A. Copen
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not like that. Don’t you realize how much worse this is going to make things? If you kill these men, it’s going to bring BSI down on you. It’s going to start a war.”
“There is already a war,” Istaqua answered.
Sal looked pleadingly at me and then back at Istaqua. If Istaqua ordered him to kill those men, would he have to obey? Sal might have been the alpha of the pack now, but he was still a subordinate to Istaqua when it came to the Kings’ structure. What would happen if he refused?
“It has always been us versus them, me versus you,” Istaqua continued. He stepped out in front of his two prisoners. Sal growled at him when he jerked his shirt up, and I saw he had a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. Several other werewolves around me growled, equally as unhappy to see the weapon. “Even in a perfect world, say you arrest them and find evidence for a conviction. These men will accept a plea deal.” He gestured to them with the gun. “The justice system is broken. BSI is broken. You must see it. Why do you hide your son so if it isn’t true?”
He came closer and flashed his teeth at me. Coyote teeth. His hand reached out and touched my cheek. Sal growled and snarled at him, but the sound was lost in the shock of magick that hit me.
I found myself back in the Dairy Queen parking lot with fire burning all through my body. I tried to suck in a mouthful of air but couldn’t manage more than a pained gasp. Blood spilled up and out of my mouth in red, foamy bubbles, and I sank back to my knees.
Do you feel it? Istaqua asked in my head. He was still standing before me but as a blurry outline now instead of a solid man. The pain in your body. That is what silver feels like to us. That is what these men did to your son. The pain intensified, crawling up to grip my heart. It felt solid, choking, squeezing until my heart could barely beat. Your son did not yet have a full link to his alpha, but even that fringe link would have been enough. He felt it just as the rest of the pack did. They felt him die. More than that, they experienced it. They felt his fear, his pain, the last stuttering beat of his heart.
Even though I didn’t think it was possible, the pain intensified. Then more voices sounded in my head, familiar voices. Pack voices.
This is her fault, Nina’s voice said in my head. My father is dead because he stepped in to protect Hunter.
This is why we didn’t want him in, Valentino’s voice said. And for her to butt the hell out. She’s the whole reason Sal’s so fucked up. Fuck, doesn’t she even see what she’s done? We were happy before she showed up.
The least she could do is let us clean up the mess. Shauna.
Doesn’t she even care about Hunter? Why isn’t she angry? Is she so numb to death that Chanter’s doesn’t even register? Daphne wondered.
Even Ed agreed. Everything she protects winds up hurt. Just look at what happened to Mara and to me.
I hugged my arms tight across my chest and fought the pain. “What is this?”
A gift, Istaqua said in my head. You want so badly to be a part of this world, horse girl. This is the world of the pack. It is a singular mind made of many. To be part of it is to know things, even the things you do not wish to.
A fire lit in my chest as Sal’s voice filled my head, not with words but the sounds of frustrated anguish. He was in pain, and there was nothing I could do to make it better. Murdering these two men felt right. Cathartic. Blood had broken him. Blood would put him right. They deserved it. He had vowed to give the woman and boy protection and to protect and serve his alpha. He had failed. His responsibility. His failure. He had to make it right.
Istaqua squatted down in front of me, the gun dangling from his hand. “Are you angry with me? Would you kill me with it to save these men?” I turned my head away. “You see? You’re no better than us. It’s human nature. Do you believe that apes stood on two legs to reach the trees? No. You stood so that you could hunt better, kill faster, mate better. Your species crawled out of the world of beasts to survive. Now, you are complacent and lazy. You eat food made in laboratories and fuck lying on your backs as if everything should come to you, as if all the hardships of your ancestors mean nothing. Your kind lives and dies in darkness, wallowing in your self-created misery. You have forgotten who and what you are. You look in the mirror and see a face that is not your own. You think you are a warrior, girl? A warrior does not lie down and let her enemies dictate justice. He does not let his enemies run to brag about what they have done because those enemies return and in greater numbers than ever before. Are you a woman, Judah, or are you a warrior? You cannot be both. Today, you decide.”
Istaqua placed the gun on the ground in front of me. I stared at it. It was the same model I carried. Was this my gun? Where had I left it last? The last time I saw it… Was it before the house was torn apart? It must have been. I hadn’t been wearing it when I went to Tindall’s election party. I hadn’t even known it was gone to report it was missing.
His lips spread into a grin. “Did I steal your gun? Perhaps. Easy to do when you’re willing to let anyone walk into your home, just because you’re too much of a coward to face the mess yourself. But these men stole everything from you. They took your home, your friend. Tried to take your son. Make no mistake. They will die here today. It’s only a question of who will pull the trigger.”
“I won’t,” I stammered.
Istaqua’s grin faded and became a sneer. “Either you or Sal will kill these men, or I will kill one of you for being a coward and do it myself.” He snorted, rose, and said, “I’ll give you a minute to decide.” He turned his back on me.
I snatched up the gun and scrambled to my feet, pointing it at the back of Istaqua’s head. Pressure built in my chest with every breath. “Turn around!” I shouted. “And keep your hands where I can see them!”
Istaqua gave a singular chuckle. “There it is,” he said. “There is that warrior spirit. Now, if only you would point that gun where it belongs.” He turned around and pointed at the two men kneeling in the gathering mud. The parking lot full of bloody people had gone, and we had returned to Chanter’s backyard. “Kill them or kill me. Pull that trigger. Where is your fighting spirit now? Why do you just stand there like a fool?”
My hand shook. Istaqua deserved a bullet for the way he had jerked Sal around, the way he spat on Chanter’s sacrifice, the way he treated me. He deserved to die because I knew what sort of person he was: a criminal, a liar, a cold-blooded killer. Every muscle in my being knew that if I didn’t kill him right now, these other men would die. More people would die. Istaqua’s nature was divisive, combative. He’d bring the whole county into a bloody war if I left him unchecked. If I shot him, how was I better? If I pulled that trigger, it would be because I hated him. It would be the wrong reason. I would kill Istaqua for the same reason the Vanguard had killed Chanter and the same reason he was about to kill those men. He deserved it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I shouted in frustration and threw the gun aside.
“I think we know who the real coward is, then.” Istaqua picked up the gun. He held it out to Sal, who at some point had shifted back into his human form and found a pair of gray sweats to pull on.
Sal looked sadly down at the gun and took it, his face going blank.
“No!” I screamed and tried to get up and stop him, but Istaqua came and put a hand on my shoulder. That hand might as well have been a hundred pounds for the magick that he poured into my body. An electric current ran from him into me, slowing time and electrifying with every raindrop that struck my skin. I fell over in slow motion, burying the side of my face in the mud.
Sal put the gun to the back of the first man’s head and pulled the trigger, his face as empty as the barren landscape. Then he went to the next man. The next man bent over weeping through the pillowcase they had over his head. His whole body shuddered with cold and fear.
“Please,” the man pleaded. “Please, I have a family!”
“Sal, don’t,” I whispered
into the mud. “Don’t. This isn’t who you are. It isn’t who you have to be.” He hesitated a moment, and I thought that maybe I’d finally gotten through to him. “Would Chanter want this?”
Sal’s face hardened. “Chanter’s dead,” he said in a cold tone. Then he fired the gun into the last man’s head twice.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I lay there in the rain and deepening mud, numb to everything. The world was far away. All that existed were the warnings swimming in my head. I had killed before, taken more lives than was my right. My hands weren’t clean. But this, this was different. Sal had a choice, and he had let the wolf make it. This was wrong.
The rest of the people gathered in approving silence as Sal surveyed his handiwork. Emotion came back to his face, and he blinked as if he were just waking up. He let the gun fall from his fingers and recoiled from it.
“What have you done?” growled Shauna behind me, her voice raw and gravelly.
“Only what was needed,” Istaqua said.
I pushed myself up out of the mud to sit on my knees. The rainwater had pooled an inch deep and carved its way through the nearby mound of dirt to fill the pit.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Istaqua said, stepping in front of me. He pulled a cell from the inside pocket of his leather vest. He hit a single button and then placed it against his ear. When the caller on the other end picked up, he said, “It’s done,” and then promptly hung up. He looked down at me, fat raindrops running down the side of his crooked nose. “And now you come with me.” He wrapped his fingers around my arm.
Sal suddenly stood over Istaqua. Posture is important among werewolves. It can speak in ways that even words can’t. It was unthinkable for a subordinate to tower over a superior as Sal was doing. Even if Istaqua wasn’t a werewolf, the message was a clear challenge. Istaqua had to acknowledge it, which he did by casting an amused look upward.
“You don’t touch her,” Sal said in a harsh tone I’d never heard him use before. It wasn’t a request; that was a command. “You won’t ever touch her again.”
Istaqua smirked. “Boy, you’d better tuck your tail,” he said. “Stow your wolf machismo before the girl pays the price.”
I didn’t know what Istaqua had planned for me, but to my surprise, both Bran and Shauna stepped up to stand with Sal. “That is enough,” Bran said in his thick accent.
Shauna showed her teeth. “I don’t owe you any loyalty, coyote. I’ll rip your throat out and piss on your entrails if you don’t let her go right now.”
Istaqua released his hold on my arm and stood. He was a good half-head shorter than Sal, but that hardly seemed to matter to him. He was more than comfortable looking Sal straight in the eyes, even given Sal’s enraged state. “You’ve just killed two men in front of a federal agent,” he informed Sal. “Your prints are all over the gun—her gun, I might add—and there are a dozen witnesses here. You sure you want her to walk away, knowing what she knows?”
“She is mine,” Sal growled, his voice only barely human. His irises had already shifted into the glowing gold eyes of the wolf.
“She’s a fed, loyal first to her own skin. She’s already proven that.”
“She is mine,” Sal repeated. “Leave. You’re not welcome here.”
Istaqua hesitated, his lip rising in a snarl. “You would choose loyalty to her over loyalty to the club?”
“My alpha said leave.” Shauna stepped forward. There wasn’t much room to do so, and even the tiny step she took brought her nearly nose to nose with Istaqua.
Bran frowned at her. By his look, he had hoped simply standing with Sal would be enough to force Istaqua to disengage. Worry etched his face. If violence erupted, he would have to make a choice that would cost him a great deal. “Istaqua, let us go on. Our part here is done. Our enemies are slain, and we have already said our goodbyes to our fallen brother. Let’s go and remember him in our own way, yes?” When Istaqua didn’t move, he added, “She cannot speak the truth without incriminating herself. There is no danger here.”
Istaqua sneezed once and shook his head. Bran relaxed, and the atmosphere shifted from one of violence to resolution. Without another word, Istaqua walked off, but not without slamming his shoulder into Shauna’s as he passed. Even though she was more muscular than he was, she staggered back half a step.
Bran turned to Sal and offered him a hand, but he was careful not to meet Sal’s eyes. “We will take care of the bodies,” he offered. “I will make sure you get Chanter’s truck back. And should you require anything more today, brother, you should call me instead of Istaqua. Coyotes are bastards when they’re hurt.”
Sal didn’t take Bran’s hand or look at him. He was too busy fuming. As incensed as he was, I was surprised not to see steam rolling off his shoulders in the cool rain. Bran lowered his hand and nodded, unperturbed by Sal’s mood, stomping off to join the rest of the club over by the bodies. They’d pulled a big, blue tarp from somewhere and were heaving the bodies onto it. I looked away.
“Shauna.”
I flinched at the angry tone in Sal’s voice. Part of me was afraid of what he would do, and the other part was as pissed as he was. Okay, maybe not quite that angry. I wasn’t going to turn into an animal, but I had every right to be angry. Sal had betrayed me. At least, that’s how it felt. He was supposed to be on my side, one of the good guys. Instead, he’d made me an accomplice to murder.
“Yes, alpha?” Shauna chimed.
“You and Ed fill that hole back up. Nina, see to it that Valentino is fed.” Sal looked up into the sky. “And when the rain stops, we’ll begin preparations for what comes next.” He reached out and grabbed my arm as Istaqua had done.
I intended only to jerk away, but my temper got the best of me. Magick pulsed down my free arm unbidden, and I took a swing at him. He caught my fist before the strike could connect, eyes, nostrils, and temper flaring. “Unwise,” he advised and used his hold on both my arms to pick me up off my feet.
I must have looked the sight, being hauled up and tossed over his shoulder like a heavy bag. I don’t know what made me want to fight him. Fear, maybe. Anger. Confusion and loss. Maybe all of it was mixed into one big, wet, miserable sensation in the center of my chest. If I didn’t get it out somehow, my heart might jump out instead. I didn’t waste my time and effort hitting or kicking. I thought hard about resorting to biting and scratching, but I didn’t want to give anyone any more ammunition against me. The pack already saw me as a pathetic, weak human, always in need of help, rescue, and protection. That was the part that hurt the worst, the thought that I hadn’t done enough to fix things. I should have tried harder, moved faster, acted smarter. I should have been stronger.
When we were out of sight of the rest of the pack and in front of the house, I struggled a little harder. The motorcycles belonging to the Kings started up and roared away along with Chanter’s truck, which Istaqua drove, so I didn’t have to worry about being heard when I told him to put me the hell down or else. I didn’t know what else I could threaten him with, and so the threat hung in the air unheeded. Sal had already lost everything.
The screen door closed with a bang behind him, but he didn’t stop in the kitchen. He carried me into the living room and dropped me roughly on the sofa from high enough that I bounced on the cushions. I scrambled up into a defensive posture with my knees drawn in front of my chest and my head low. If he wanted to hurt me, we both knew I couldn’t do anything to stop him, not unarmed as I was. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to protect myself.
Sal didn’t make an aggressive move toward me. He stepped back and dropped his head. The sound of his teeth grinding made me wince and look up. His eyes were closed, fists clenched, every muscle in his body tense. “Judah…” There was a plea hidden in his voice. “I can’t…I’m not…”
That was when I realized I hadn’t lost him, not completely. Both Shauna and I worried that killing in his current state would send him over the edge, and he’d be unable to stop.
The beast liked to kill, Shauna had said. He had almost killed Valentino, had killed the two captives outside. Something in his voice and the trembling in his limbs told me he was still fighting it. If he was fighting to keep himself together, I had an obligation to help. No, not because I cared about him. I wasn’t sure how I felt after watching him kill those two men. But because if I didn’t, there would be more bodies.
I very carefully lowered my knees and sat forward.
“He needs to be grounded.” Chanter’s ghost sat down on the back of the sofa beside me and lit a phantom cigarette. The smell of burning tar and paper made me want to sneeze. I gave the ghost a questioning glance. “Don’t look at me. Look at him. Look.”
I turned back to Sal with my aura sight and restrained a gasp of surprise. All the energy I’d seen pouring down into the pit earlier in streams of beautiful rainbow color now flowed into him as ribbons of light and magick. His aura was glowing gold, silver, and orange, pulsating and swirling with red.
“Do you see?” Chanter said next to me. My shoulder chilled as he leaned forward and brushed against it. “Stupid boy knows what he’s supposed to do with it, but you’ve got him twisted twenty-six ways to Sunday.”
“Me?” I said quietly, and then recovered before Sal started to think that I’d gone crazy, too. “What about me?”
“I’m dead, and even I can see how much he cares about you.” Chanter’s voice softened. “I know you’re angry. You’ve been forced into an uncomfortable position. So has he. You need each other to move forward. Istaqua wins if you remain divided. Marcus wins. This is what your enemies want!” He reached down and flicked me in the back of the head. Surprisingly, it hurt. I turned to glare at him. “Take it from the ghost of a wise old Indian. You two will have plenty of time to bicker later. Make love and peace while you can.”