“He could join another pack. He could try to start his own, but he’s young for that.”
“Young? Evan says you’ve been running your pack since you were turned at sixteen.”
“That’s true.” He didn’t elaborate, though, and Madison sensed he didn’t want to explore the subject further.
“I suppose if he tries to start his own pack, he’ll have to fight for territory?”
“Yes, though if he chooses well, he won’t have to fight hard. There are some dead zones that only belong to a pack by a technicality, but they don’t hunt there. And there are some alphas long past their prime that won’t step down, and whose underlings won’t make them.”
“Would you help him?”
“I don’t know!” Scott’s shout had Madison pulling as far away as she could in the close confines of the cab. “Look, you don’t know a thing about pack dynamics and pack politics. Do you think it’s easy for me to kill?”
“Yes.” Madison surprised herself with her honesty. She wouldn’t have gone so far as to say he enjoyed it – he wasn’t that kind of monster outside the full moon – but he hadn’t hesitated to kill McClellan. Hadn’t even blinked.
Scott glanced at her, his expression guarded. “Easier than it should be, perhaps. But not easy. Never easy.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Scott didn’t answer for a long time. So long, in fact, that she was sure he wouldn’t. Then suddenly he spoke. “Your brother may have pulled through the sickness, but his trials aren’t over. A person bitten by a werewolf isn’t likely to become one. Their odds of surviving the sickness are fifty-fifty at best. Nobody has good stats on it, but I think the odds of dying from the sickness are closer to seventy or eighty percent. Those who live may or may not survive their first transformation into wolf form.”
“Oh God.” Madison hadn’t realized.
“Indeed. You may want to start praying, if you think that will help, because that’s not the end of it.” He took a deep breath. “We lose ourselves to the wolf when we turn each month. Our humanity is gone, and nothing of our rational mind remains. There is an echo of emotion carried from form to form, but that’s it. That’s all we have to keep from turning loose on the general population. Controlling the beast takes a certain mental discipline that not every new wolf can master.”
“And if they can’t, you k-kill them?”
Scott wasn’t listening anymore. He was lost in his own memories. In his own nightmares. “It’s a terrible responsibility. I found a nine-year-old boy who’d been bitten once. Survived the fever, survived the transformation, but by the time I found him, he had killed his entire family. He was so young. Too young to handle it. I knew it, but what kind of monster kills a child?”
“Don’t–” Madison said.
“I spent every day with him, teaching him to meditate, showing him how to find peace, but something inside him was broken. He ran away. He bit people while he was in his human form. He said he wanted to make more wolves, so I explained it didn’t work that way. That he had to be a wolf to turn someone, but that he shouldn’t. That he was more likely to kill people. He didn’t listen. At the next full moon...”
“Scott.” Madison put a hand on his forearm, a touch that felt far more intimate than it should have. She felt close to tears – for the boy, for his victims, and for Scott. She didn’t want to hear the rest, even if she already knew. “Please, don’t do this.”
He took a shuddering breath. “It’s my responsibility. And if I make the wrong choice, the deaths are on my hands.”
Madison fell into a shocked silence for the rest of the trip to Eagle Rock, though her reeling mind wouldn’t shut up. Who was Scott? What kind of world did he live in? What would Clinton be like once he entered it? Would there still be a place in his life for Madison?
She wanted reassurances from the man sitting beside her, but he didn’t seem to have any to offer. He never had. Some part of her had wanted reassurances from him ever since the night he’d saved her life and taken her innocence. The same part of her that had once dreamed of the alpha wolf.
“I’m going to take you home,” Scott said.
Madison wanted to protest, but couldn’t think of a good argument. “Will you at least let me know what happens afterward?”
“I’ll think about it.” From the hard set of his jaw, she knew that was the best she was going to get.
Chapter 5
SHE WAS GETTING UNDER HIS SKIN. He should have expected it, probably had expected it, but he had agreed to let her come along anyway. At least it was over now. When he dropped her off at her house, he had no intention of contacting her again. It was for the best. If she knew what he intended to do with Clara to get her to talk...
He maintained his outward composure when he brought Clara out of her enchanted sleep. He took no chances with her, using a magical binding to keep her in place so that she wouldn’t get a chance to put her unusually high strength to the test. Scott didn’t know if he could take her on fairly or not, but he didn’t plan to find out.
She should have come out of her magically-induced sleep slowly and groggily, but she didn’t, at least not for longer than a few seconds. Her eyes snapped open, she sat bolt upright on the sofa, and she strained against invisible bonds.
“Where am I? Who are you? How are you holding me?”
“I’m asking the questions here.” Scott paced across the living room in front of her, not taking his eyes from his prisoner. “You’re going to start answering questions, and you’re going to start telling me the truth.” Scott stopped and glared at her, letting her feel the full force of his menace. He wasn’t bluffing. That was the key.
“What are you?” she asked. “How are you holding me here?”
“Is your name Clara?” Scott asked, ignoring her question.
“Yes.”
“Last name.”
“Smith.”
Scott snarled his displeasure. Fine. If she wanted to do things the hard way, then so be it. He already had his casting circle drawn where the coffee table had been. Black candles were set outside the circle to form a pentagram shape, with the circle as its center. That wasn’t necessary, none of it was necessary, but it helped him focus. That was the key to magic that most didn’t understand. Everyone had their rules. Many people would spout contradicting rules, and it was all about what worked for them. What helped them focus. There was an old crackpot living just outside of town with no running water or electricity because he swore modern technology interfered with magic. His belief made it reality for him.
Scott stood inside his circle, centered himself, and tapped into the small reserve of energy it would take to light the candles. Her eyes widened when she saw the simple show of magic, but she didn’t otherwise respond to his parlor trick. He would have been disappointed if she had. Let her remain calm for the moment. It wouldn’t last long.
He began with an itch. The itch started in her feet, but she couldn’t bend to scratch them. It didn’t stop there, though. Within minutes, she writhed against the invisible bonds holding her, desperate to ease the sensation that had gone up her legs, around her torso, and down her arms. The top of her scalp had to be on fire.
“Last name?” Scott asked again.
“Jones.”
“You really don’t want to do this.”
“What are you?” Clara asked again.
“Last name?”
“Scratch.”
“Not bothering you, huh?”
“Not in the least.”
“All right, then.” Scott ended the spell. He could see the relief in her posture, but he didn’t give her more than a moment to revel in it before he upped the stakes.
Pins and needles. He let her feel them along her legs, on the back of her neck, and in her breasts. He didn’t ask his question again, though. She knew what he wanted to know. When she remained silent, he upped the stakes again.
Fire. Not real fire, but the sensation of burning. Th
is time, he got a scream out of her.
“Enough,” Scott said. He ended the spell. “Next, the fire becomes real. The damage becomes real. Is that what you want?”
“Jenkins.”
Scott hesitated, studying her face. Her mask was slipping; he could even smell a faint hint of fear. Jenkins wasn’t such an uncommon last name, but his intuition told him that this time, she was telling him the truth.
“There, was that so hard?” Scott asked.
“What are you?”
“Strange. That was my next question for you. You’re too strong. What are you?”
“A werewolf. Can’t you smell me?”
“Who turned you?”
She pressed her lips together. Well, he had warned her. He didn’t have the best control over fire, but practically every sorcerer had some kind of fire spell, and knew how to use it to good effect. Scott had opted for a fire potion prepared in advance so he wouldn’t have to use up his strength for a live version of the spell. He had it loaded into a water gun, an idea he had shamelessly stolen from Cassie, another potion maker he knew.
He aimed at Clara’s tennis shoes and fired. They burst into flames. Clara screamed.
“Who bit you?”
“Put it out!”
“Who bit you?”
“No one did! I was injected with saliva in a laboratory!”
“What?” Of all the things she could have told him, that was the last thing he would have expected. His intuition hadn’t caught wind of that one, but it sensed she told the truth.
“Please!”
Scott left the casting circle, grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, and put out the flames licking up Clara’s legs. They would be badly burned, but she would heal quickly. She was a werewolf, after all, no matter how she had come about the condition.
“Tell me about this laboratory. Did they force you to take the injection?”
“I volunteered.” She bared her teeth at Scott, a pathetic show of defiance. He had her beat, and they both knew it. “Army special project. Didn’t tell us what we were signing up for, just said they wanted volunteers.”
Someone should have told the silly girl not to volunteer for something until she knew what she was volunteering for. That wasn’t Scott’s problem, though. “When was that?”
“Five years ago.”
“Five years? How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.” She looked a lot younger than that, but her height might be playing a role in that perception.
“So what were you doing working as a waitress?” Scott asked.
She snarled. He aimed the water gun at her chest.
“I’m out on good behavior?” she said.
“Are you asking me or telling me.”
“They let me out.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He tightened his finger around the trigger, but she screamed before he got the shot off.
“I escaped.”
Not quite a lie, but not the truth either. “Then how did they find Clinton?”
Her shoulders slumped. “They knew where I was the whole time. I only thought they let me escape. They wanted to see what I would do if I got out on my own.”
“Did they take Clinton?”
She nodded, once.
“Where were you going this morning?”
“I was running.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think they’ll follow you?”
“I know they will, but they’ll expect me to run. If I don’t run, they’ll know I found the transmitter they implanted under my skin, and if I remove it too soon, they’ll recapture me or find another way to track me.”
Scott heard only one word out of her entire speech, though it was the most information she’d given him. “Transmitter? You mean they know where you are right now?”
“Yes.” Once again, she struggled against her bindings.
“They’re after werewolves? Are my wolves in danger?”
“Yes.”
Well shit. He released the power he had called to bear, though he kept Clara bound on the sofa. This was bigger than he could have guessed, and more dangerous. For one thing, tonight was the full moon, a time when he couldn’t be away from his pack, chasing new wolves who may or may not survive to God-only-knew-where. That wouldn’t make Madison happy, but it was the truth.
Meanwhile, he had to do something about Clara, but killing her didn’t seem like the right answer for now. He didn’t believe all of her story, but his intuition told him there was danger, and she was at the center of it. He could kill her, but then he wouldn’t know how to find that danger, and if she was telling the truth about the transmitter, they would find her body, and him by extension.
He needed to be able to track her, and luckily for him, he had a far more reliable method than a transmitter. He kept his laboratory, with all his equipment, in the basement, and it was there he went now in search of a dagger and a glass vial. He had them both inside of a minute, then returned to his prisoner to collect a blood sample.
There were ways to hide from magical scrying, but if the seeker had blood at his command, those ways were limited to the concerted efforts of more powerful sorcerers. Clara didn’t even seem to know what a sorcerer was, let alone know any she could conveniently hide behind. He believed that much of her story because only a few werewolves he had ever met knew about sorcery or magic.
When he had enough blood, he muttered the phrase he had prepared to break the binding. It was gibberish, but in his mind it meant, “be free.”
Clara didn’t move right away, even after she knew she could. “What are you?”
“A werewolf.”
“What else?”
“If you stop asking questions, then I’m the alpha who will allow you safe passage out of his territory.”
“All right.” She took his threat at face value; the next minute she was gone, out the door and away before Scott could so much as offer her a ride somewhere. Not that he had planned to do anything of the sort.
Scott also had not planned to see Madison again. He had not intentionally sought her out in a long, long time, though he always kept tabs on her. But now he had the thin excuse of shared business, so after Clara had gone, he found himself driving to her house. She lived in a quaint little three-bedroom rental not too far from the one where David had nearly killed her. She had broken her lease on that place early, shortly after both of her friends had moved out. Now she had her own place, one that smelled entirely of her. He nearly turned around when he caught the sweet, familiar fragrance, but the door opened before he even rang the bell.
“What happened?”
Scott just looked at her for a long time, studying the tense expression on her face and the anxiety in her chocolate brown eyes. What could he say? There wasn’t anything left for her to do until he found Clinton, a job he had to undertake on his own.
“There’s nothing left to do today,” Scott said. “I can’t be caught God-only-knows-where when the moon is full. Your brother’s on his own for the next three nights. Do you understand?”
She nodded jerkily.
“Do you? Do you get that you need to stay inside your house, behind your wards, and not let him in if he shows up? Do you understand that if he lives, he’ll turn into a monster once a month? Do you get that he’s a danger to you?”
“Of course I get it! I haven’t slept at the full moon in two years. I get it.”
She met his eyes, and in them he saw the memory of what had happened two years ago. Of how he had saved her, and of what he had done to her afterward. He felt sick, wanting to reassure her, but knowing he only had one reassurance to offer.
“If he’s alive, I’ll find him next week. Promise you won’t go looking for him in the meantime.”
“Only if you promise I can come along.”
He growled at the ultimatum. He considered barking off an order that she stay put, but he had no way to ensure that she would, not at the full moon. He once again sensed the determination in
her, evidence of an inner strength he admired, even if it was inconvenient right now. He wanted her to understand the danger, and to stay safe. He needed her to stay safe. Always.
With afternoon waning into evening, he didn’t have time to convince her right now. He would just have to say whatever he needed to say, then talk her out of coming on Tuesday. He had no doubt he could; even when she stood up to him, she smelled of the fear that had kept him away from her for so long.
“Fine,” Scott said, only half lying. “If you insist, you can come with me.”
Chapter 6
MADISON WATCHED THE SUN SET WITH more trepidation than she had ever felt at the full moon. Somewhere out there was her brother, alive or dead. And if he was alive then what might he be doing? Would he kill? Could he stop himself?
A few faint rays of sunlight still peeked above the western horizon when Madison made the call she’d been dreading all day. She never called her father anymore. It hurt her every time she saw him on the streets and he treated her like a virtual stranger, but she was done begging for his affection. At least where anyone could see. In the privacy of her own heart... Well, parents had an amazing power over their children, didn’t they? After all he had done to her, she still craved his love.
Tonight she wasn’t calling for affection. Tonight she was calling because she had made a promise to have Clinton call him, and Clinton couldn’t call.
“Hello?” came the gruff, familiar voice of Phillip Carter.
“Hi, Dad.” She winced. She needed to stop calling Phillip Dad, but she couldn’t exactly think of Victor Blackwood that way, even if she now knew he was her biological father.
“Madison,” he replied stiffly. “Have you found Clinton?”
She paused, some pathetic part of her hoping he’d add that it was nice to hear from her. He didn’t, and she chided herself for still craving any such token from him.
Best to get to the point. She drew in a deep breath. “He was bitten by a werewolf last month.”
Silence. Dead silence on the other end of the line.
“He’s been sick for weeks. That’s normal. Tonight he’ll transform. I-I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
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