by Dana Archer
“Yeah.” Owen drops his elbows to the table. “Since then, I’ve been nothing more than a puppet.”
“Especially when Gabriel Kane takes over your body.” Jarah delivers the statement matter-of-factly, then reaches for the bottle of ambrosia. The nail of his forefinger darkens and lengthens into a modified version of a bear’s claw. He shoves it into the cork and pops it out.
Owen’s nostrils flare as the sweet, rich smell of ambrosia fills the room. “Gabriel? Is that his name?”
“You didn’t know?” I’d assumed as much from our earlier conversation.
Owen shakes his head. “That’s why you grilled me earlier.”
“Yes.” I lean forward. “Do you recognize me now?”
“No.”
“But I bet Gabriel is eager to talk to his brother.” Jarah plants his elbows on the table, matching Owen’s pose. “Do you feel him moving in your soul, trying to exert himself over you?”
For a long moment, Owen stares at Jarah. “I have control over my soul.”
“Until you lose it, right?” Jarah’s tone is challenging, demanding. “Your inhibitions need to drop or your primal instincts need to spike, leaving you on edge. Then all it’ll take is a little push from Gabriel to topple you into the darkness and allow him to emerge.”
“You talk like a man who knows things, knows what’s been done to me.” Owen lowers his head, his glare hardened and threatening. “Only those who worked at that place I was kept know these things.”
“I talk like a man who understands what it’s like to share his soul with someone else.” Jarah thumps his chest. “I have a tie with my goddess. She’s always there, hovering in the background, influencing me in subtle ways.”
“You’re immortal because of it.” The disdain in Owen’s voice is thick.
“And you’re immortal because of Gabriel,” Jarah shoots back.
“But if you lose him or your soul tears, you won’t be immortal. You’ll die.” I prop my elbows on the table. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s ready to die. Are you, Owen?”
“No.” Owen’s single word holds a wealth of emotion. He has a reason to remain in this realm. I’d bet money on it.
I lower my voice, letting the compulsion to comply seep into my tone. “Then let us talk to Gabriel. See what he knows.”
Owen stares at me for several long moments. “I won’t give up my life for him. If it comes to it, I’ll ensure we both die.”
Sara’s question repeats in my head. Who has the right to decide who lives or dies? “That’s not my decision to make. My hope is that you and Gabriel can work something out.”
“You won’t know until you can connect with him.” Jarah lifts the bottle of ambrosia and inhales deeply. “At the moment, there’s only one way to do so.”
“Drink that stuff.” Owen eyes the bottle Jarah holds with equal amounts of need and disgust.
“Yes.” Jarah pours the dark purple liquid into the glasses, unevenly favoring Owen’s glass, then slides it closer to him. “And if you listen closely to the whispers in your mind as it works through you, you’ll become powerful.”
“That’s a line of nonsense if I ever heard one.” Owen laughs, but he wraps his fingers around the glass.
“No, not a line.” Jarah takes a sip from his drink. “A promise. This stuff is what the first shifters drank. It allowed them into the heavens. Gave them strength beyond comprehension. Pleasure without bounds.”
Owen lifts the glass and tips it, letting the liquid coat his lips but not drinking. “But at what cost?”
“Their souls. Their willpower.” Jarah takes another drink, a large swallow that leaves his eyes unfocused. “But yours are already gone. Aren’t they, Owen? You have nothing left to lose.”
Owen doesn’t respond. He stares into the dark liquid as if he can uncover the answers from the tempting drink.
“Silence won’t save you, Owen.” Jarah gulps the rest of his drink and sets the glass down. “But maybe Gabriel can. Let us talk to him.”
With Owen’s gaze on me, he drains the full glass and reaches for the bottle, filling his glass again. “Drink up, Ilan. The damned loves company, and you’re about as screwed as I am because I lied. I do recognize you. I also recognize your pack’s spirit. It’s tied to me too.”
Twenty-Nine
Ilan
With the full glass of ambrosia still sitting in front of me, I listen as Jarah and Owen talk about the facility where Owen was kept. Both males’ words slur as they work through their third cup of ambrosia, but neither has lost their hold on reality yet. For Jarah to remain lucid after ingesting the powerful hallucinogen isn’t a surprise. He’s an ancient. For a single shifter to have consumed as much as Owen has drunk and still be able to form coherent sentences is another story.
“How did the shifters running this place control the Royals they held prisoner?” Jarah slides my full glass in front of Owen as he drains the last of his drink.
Licking his lips, Owen wraps his fingers around the thick glass, but he doesn’t raise it. He stares at the dark liquid. Silence reigns for several minutes as a glazed look slips over his eyes, the first sign the ambrosia is working through him.
Finally, Owen lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. His upper body sways slightly and his hands shake as he sets the drink down. “Drugs. Screwing with their minds and instincts. And…”
“And what?” I press as the glossy sheen over Owen’s eyes darkens, giving him a crazed glint.
Owen’s hands move in a jerking motion, nearly sloshing the ambrosia over the rim. He grips the glass with both hands and raises it to his open mouth. Drinking deeply, he drains the drink in one long swallow. Dribbles of dark liquid leak from the corners of his mouth. He closes his eyes on a groan and tips his head back. After a moment, he sits forward, the glass falling from his hand and crashing against the floor, and glances at me.
Full black eyes stare at me. No white, no color. I’m looking into the abyss of Owen’s soul, but it’s a familiar one.
“Death collars, Ilan. They restrain us through the use of death collars, drugs, and magic. Our only escape is death, but they bury our animals so deeply, we can’t shift, letting the death collars sever our heads.” Gabriel’s demented laugh trickles from Owen’s mouth. “Years, little brother. Maybe hundreds or thousands. I can’t judge time anymore. I just know I haven’t shifted in what seems like forever. I’m pretty sure my wolves are feral too. It’s probably a good thing I can’t let them out.”
Gabriel’s rough, broken voice doesn’t sound quite right coming out of Owen’s mouth, but I don’t question it’s my brother who’s speaking. I feel him, exactly as I felt Soren once he dropped the shield he held around his wolves. I’m in the presence of my pack mate, even if the male sitting across from me will never be a Kane.
“Where are you being held?” While I’d love more details of how this bond between Gabriel and Owen came to be, the practical matters need to be addressed first. I don’t know how long Gabriel will be able to control Owen.
“Underground. Deep underground.” Gabriel, in Owen’s body, stares at the table. “A mine, maybe. I taste coal dust in the air and feel the earth around me shaking at times.”
“Tell me what you remember about the area aboveground. Any distinguishing landmarks?” Without them, sheer luck will be the only way I’ll find my brother. Distance dims the ability to sense one another. Depending on how far down he’s being kept, I might not even feel Gabriel when I’m standing on the ground above him.
Gabriel shakes his head in a jerking motion, sending Owen’s hair swaying. “They drug me when they move me, but I’ve got to be close to where Owen was last kept. They haven’t moved me in a while, years maybe. Not sure, but I suspect they plan on moving me soon. That’s my only guess as to why they’ve started feeding me again. Likely, they’ve finally figured out what I haven’t wanted them to know. Whatever the reason, it’s going to kill me and Owen.”
“Moving you w
ill kill you? How?” Jarah asks in a voice that still has a slight slur to it.
Gabriel’s all-black eyes focus on Jarah. “I fought the bond they tried to force on me and Owen. I didn’t want him tied to my soul, to my pack’s spirit. It was instinctual, you understand? I fought it with everything I had. I couldn’t stop it, though. They forced it on me, using the old magic they don’t really understand, and it took wrong.”
“Took wrong how?” The possibilities chill me. I remember too well Jarah’s and my father’s stories about the original shamans and how their magic tapped into the very fabric of life and death.
A shrug answers me. The fathomless eyes in Owen’s face don’t offer any clues either. “It just did. There’s a thin, stretched-out tether between us. The farther Owen is from me, the thinner it gets. It’ll snap at some point.”
“And shatter both of your souls.” Jarah states the obvious conclusion in a clear, no longer slurred voice. And if Jarah’s working the hallucinogen through his system, Owen will soon too.
“Yes. Unless we give in.”
“Give in how?” I ask as possibilities take shape.
“Accept the bond forced between us. That’s why they stuck me down here. To convince me to accept it.”
My earlier thoughts return. Maybe Owen and Gabriel can work out some arrangement that works for both of them. “And will you?”
A demented and crazed laugh escapes Owen. It’s Gabriel’s insanity, though. Owen’s conveys anger and frustration. “Yes, Ilan. I’m ready.”
“We’re going to get you out of there, brother. I promise you.”
“Soon? I want to feel the moon’s rays on my face again. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the stars.”
“Yes, very soon.”
Gabriel exhales. The blackness in his eyes lightens, gray seeping into the darkness like clouds on a calm night. “Good.”
Knowing our time is limited, I slide my elbows out and lean closer to my brother. “Owen dreams about the future. How is that possible? Even alphas can’t do that.”
“My mind isn’t quite right, Ilan. I see things I shouldn’t, things I never did before being tied to Owen. I have no control over it, though. I dream, and I share those dreams with Owen. I have no other connection to the outside world.”
“What else can you tell me?” The words rush out of my mouth as the black recedes from Owen’s eyes.
Gabriel’s voice fades to a whisper, forcing both me and Jarah to lean closer. “Don’t die, Ilan. Don’t…die.”
In the next instant, Owen’s hazel eyes meet mine. He jerks back, shoving his chair away from the table and standing. A kick from Owen to the broken glass sends the shards across the floor. He scrubs a shaky hand through his hair, then makes his way to the door and tugs it open. With an overly dramatic sweep of his hand, he motions to the outside. “Visiting hour at the zoo is over, people. Time to leave the crazed animal alone.”
I slide Jarah a quick glance. His agreement shows in his eyes. We’ve gotten everything we can out of Owen today. Although the news Gabriel shared is grim, the clue he provided will help us find him. Or more accurately, Shifter Affairs can point us in the right direction. It’s a good thing I have access to their files now.
“Thank you for sharing a drink and your stories with us, Owen.” Jarah collects the bottle and cork, then walks out the front door without looking at Owen.
I pause next to the male who shares a tie to my alpha. “Don’t die, Owen.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Owen crosses his arms over his chest. “I have unfinished business in this life, and no one, not even Gabriel Kane, will stop me.”
I pointedly glance at Owen’s ankle where the band keeping him in this house is attached. “Good luck with that.”
Owen laughs. “You think that little shock device is what’s keeping me here? That’s cute.”
“If not, what is?”
Owen steps into my personal space and lowers his voice to a threatening growl. “For your brother to accept his death and go quietly into the night.”
“Gabriel won’t give up his life for you.”
“Gabriel’s not living any life worth having. Ask any shifter who can’t call his animals anymore. They’ll tell you the same thing.”
Years, little brother. Maybe hundreds or thousands. I can’t judge time anymore. I just know I haven’t shifted in what seems like forever. Gabriel’s words repeat in my head, echoing the conclusion Owen shared.
My brother’s the walking dead.
Thirty
Sara
With a sleeping Soren snuggled against my chest, I stretch out in the corner of the sectional across from the roaring fire while Dante glares at his laptop. He’s been like that for several minutes. I can’t take it any longer. While I don’t mind silence, Dante’s frustration is stirring mine.
Nearly another full day has passed with Ilan out where his enemies can strike against him while I’m here, protected by the largest Royal wolf pack in the eastern states. According to Ilan, anyway. He also told me the alphas of this pack are the ultimate godlike warriors, the very epitome of strength. With them and Dante watching over Soren and me, we’d be safe here. That’s what Ilan told me. I don’t need his justifications. Ilan trusts these people. That’s good enough for me.
Ilan also cares deeply for the man who’s sharing this couch with me. That truth only makes seeing Dante frustrated even more upsetting.
“What are you reading?” I ask instead of demanding what’s wrong with him. Dante would likely say nothing, his instincts compelling him to hide his weaknesses.
“I’m not reading anything.”
“Then what are you staring at?”
Dante scowls more. “The picture of the tattoo parlor where Daegan was attacked.”
Ilan mentioned wanting to get the details from Shifter Affairs about what the cleanup crew walked in on. Standard practice would’ve had them take pictures and record details before getting rid of any evidence pointing to a shifter-related crime. They did so at my house, removing the carpet and repairing the damage to my porch. Since I haven’t been back since the attack on Ezra, I can’t say how good a job they did, but I’m grateful the nasty reminders of the death that occurred there are now gone.
“What’s concerning about it?” Because my guess is there’s something about the photo that has triggered Dante’s intense contemplation.
“He didn’t struggle. Not one little bit.” Dante motions to the screen, but I have no desire to get up and look at it. I’ve seen enough blood to last me an eternity. “There’s no blood splatter on the walls, the furniture. Nothing. It’s all contained under the table where he must’ve lain out to get his tattoo.”
“So they injected him first, then tortured him?” The theory goes along with what Ilan had suggested. There’s no way Daegan would’ve sustained the extensive injuries he’d gotten otherwise.
“Yes. That’s my guess. Likely the injection site is what made a difference between him and Ezra. Entering into Daegan’s spine must’ve caused immediate paralysis.”
And with the dart hitting right above Ezra’s backside, he was able to fight the effects of the drug long enough to crawl in from outside, drag himself up the stairs, and save me and Soren before succumbing to paralysis. I tighten my hold on a sleeping Soren, even more grateful for the predators who’ve become family to me. “Has Shifter Affairs finished analyzing Ezra’s and Daegan’s blood samples?”
“Yes. Witch’s salve. It’s used on Royals to prevent our bodies from healing tattoo wounds. They mix it in with the ink. It’s still painful, agonizingly painful, as if our skin is melting off, but it’s necessary.” He yanks on the collar of his shirt, exposing a section of the intricate inking on his body. “Otherwise, we’d never retain a tattoo.” Dante lets go of his shirt and tugs up the edge of his pants leg, exposing a rough-looking raised mark with jagged edges. “Salt can be used too, but it can leave the tattoo messed up as sometimes we heal faster than the salt can scar u
s.”
“Daegan’s tattoo artist did this to him.” There’s no other explanation.
“That’s what I’m having such a hard time believing.” Dante taps the screen a few times. “This is one of the tattoo shops Jarah owns. He has several. Doesn’t look like he’s involved in running it, according to the business filings, but he’s the one who pays the bills and reaps the profits.”
“Jarah?” I sit forward, cradling Soren in my arms. “The Jarah who calls Ilan his son?”
Dante focuses on me. “The same Jarah who knows an awful lot about Gabriel Kane and what’s planned for Ilan’s pack.”
“Jarah’s with Ilan right now. Alone.” Soren whimpers, not quite awake but on the cusp. I take a deep breath, an attempt at settling my nerves, but it doesn’t help. My voice comes out tight, strained. “Do I need to be worried? I don’t want to be. I want to trust Jarah because Ilan does, but if he did this to Daegan, another man he considers his son…”
Dante glances from me to Soren’s scrunched pre-cry face. He skims his fingers over Soren’s arm in a comforting caress, much like Ilan does when Soren’s getting agitated. Dante’s touch has the same effect. Tension drains from Soren’s body. He exhales, slipping back into his contented sleep.
Dante eases his hand away. “Jarah and I are not exactly friends, but we have no evidence he did this. Or even knew about this attack. The tattoo artist likely did, however. And that is what I’m having a hard time believing.”
“Why?”
“Because Jarah owns the place.” Dante looks at me as if expecting that statement to explain everything. After a moment of me staring at him, he sighs. “Jarah’s an ancient alpha with a tie to the heavens. He’s also the eldest member of the Host and well respected. For an employee to cross him would mean their death, simple as that. You just don’t mess with men like Jarah.”
“Nolan said he smelled a bear shifter at the tattoo parlor. An ancient bear shifter. Even his animals didn’t want to mess with him.”