Blood Howl (21 page)

One of the other werewolves had crouched down to look at him, nudging a nose into his neck to sniff him, and Redford’s attempts to jerk away were halted by a firm grip on his jaw. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat, pup. Just saying hello,” a rough voice growled in his ear. “Don’t wanna be rude, do you?”

“No,” Redford whispered shakily, unable to help the trembling in his muscles as the rest of the werewolves introduced themselves in a similar way, sniffing him and sizing him up. Some of them looked amused; one had gotten far too friendly and stroked a hand along his chest like he was petting Redford. One of them, a man in his forties, had looked like he’d wanted to kill Redford the minute he’d scented him. For a moment, Redford was almost glad for Fil’s presence.

Only for a few seconds, though.

After the greetings were done, he was unceremoniously hauled up to his feet, hands held tightly behind his back by the werewolf that had gotten a little too touchy. They took him outside, crowding around him to block the view from other people on the street, shoving him into an SUV.

It was new, from the smell of it, but Redford still curled up on the back seat, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. Fil sat next to him—apparently alphas were too good for the simple act of driving—one arm casually draped across Redford’s shoulders, like they were suddenly best friends. Redford wanted to shrug him off, but fear kept him still.

The drive was silent, punctuated by occasional murmuring from the two men in the front seat, discussing something that Redford wasn’t paying attention to. In the rear view mirror he could see another car following them—the rest of the men—and Redford looked away, not wanting to think about it. He was in the clutches of the man that Jed had been trying to save him from, but Jed wasn’t here now, probably wouldn’t be with him ever again. Jed was probably off somewhere, forgetting all about him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Fil’s arm tightened around his shoulder, fingers idly toying with the strands of hair that curled around Redford’s ear. “Don’t feel bad about your human, pup,” he reassured Redford. “People like us never last with human partners. Most of us have tried and failed.”

“What—what do you mean?” Redford dared to look across at Fil, meeting yellow eyes with his own.

“We’re wolves, Redford. We don’t fit in. Society doesn’t accept us, so how can you expect a human to love you?” Fil’s voice was gentle again, like he was trying to be comforting. It might actually have worked if he hadn’t knocked Redford around earlier. “It’s better that he left sooner rather than later.” He lifted a hand, and his smile was almost sad when he showed Redford the thin strip of gold around his left ring finger.

Fil was married.

“I tried to raise a family,” Fil sighed. “I tried to fit in. Nine-to-five job, a lovely wife, an adorable son. But then they found out what I was.”

Redford’s heart sank, not for Fil’s story, but for his own situation. He’d tried to be with Jed, and although Jed hadn’t left because he was a werewolf, he’d still left. Maybe it
was
better for Jed that he’d walked out the door. Despite the fact that he’d apparently been perfectly benign on the last full moon, that could change. He would always be a danger to Jed.

Filtiarn fell silent, and so did Redford. The drive took the better part of an hour, and when they arrived, Redford wasn’t held like they suspected he was going to run away at any time. Fil simply guided him into a large building with a hand on the small of Redford’s back.

The building hadn’t looked very big on the outside. Three stories, run down concrete and steel. As they entered, Fil explained, “This used to be an apartment building. The management went bankrupt though, so I bought it and converted it into living quarters for my pack.” He wasn’t lying. As they walked into a large communal living area on the first floor, there were men and women milling around, some grouped up watching a television, reclining on couches. Some reading, some cooking in an adjoining kitchen. To Redford’s shock, not all of them appeared human. There were
wolves
padding around. They weren’t attacking anything, weren’t growling threateningly. One of them was even stretched out in a square of sunlight on the floor, tongue lolling from its muzzle happily, human intelligence in its eyes as it raised its shaggy head to look at Redford.

“How—” Redford started, finding himself unable to complete the question.

“It is my gift to my pack,” Fil explained simply. “I’m not some half-breed werewolf, pup. I come from a much older line, when wolves were
pure
and could shift at will, retaining their human minds.”

That didn’t make sense. But there was the evidence, living and breathing, right in front of him. Mind spinning, Redford merely bowed his head, unable to even begin to form a response. Fil smiled at him, the magnanimous benefactor, and Redford tried not to be sick.

“Pack,” Fil announced, raising his voice to be heard, “This is Redford Reed. He is our newest member. Make him feel at home.”

With that, Fil left, leaving Redford alone in a room full of werewolves. Some of them only eyed him cautiously. Some ignored him altogether. Only one approached him, a woman in her thirties, black hair tied back into a neat braid. Her smile was frayed at the edges, cautious, never reaching her eyes. “I’m Sophia,” she greeted gently, perhaps sensing that he was nervous, guiding him to sit down on one of the couches. “Welcome to our pack, Redford. I’ll set up an apartment for you; we have plenty to spare.”

Still struck dumb, Redford nodded slowly. Sophia left. Once again, he was alone.

Curling up on the couch, grateful that he was mostly being ignored, Redford tried to get his thoughts working. The blare of the television was somewhat distracting, but his eyes kept wandering back to the door. The
open
door. If he stood up, he could just walk right out. He would certainly be followed, but he could run, hide somewhere, hope that he could find a place where Fil would never find him. The thought was tempting as he subtly studied the other people around the room. Redford couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was an atmosphere of oppression, of staying only because these people had nowhere else to go or were being kept here. The smiles had been forced, or perhaps only genuine because they’d made themselves content with what they had.

It was scary as hell. Turning the thought of escape over in his mind, Redford stayed on the couch, fear rooting him to it. He sat that way for a little over an hour.

But then something happened. Someone in the kitchen dropped a dish, the loud crash diverting everyone’s attention, and Redford was up and running before he could properly think about it. He stumbled once over the edge of the carpet where it led into wooden floorboards, but he ran faster than he thought he was able to.

The door was in sight. He was almost there.

Loud, pounding footsteps behind him, and Redford was crashed into, tackled heavily. He yelped, struggling to get free, even trying to crawl toward the door despite the heavy weight on top of him. A fist crashed into his jaw, once and then again, rendering his struggles weaker with the daze of pain.

Reality blurred. Someone was shouting at him, kicking him in the ribs. He was being dragged, and when he tried to struggle again he was struck in the temple with something heavy, plunging his vision into pained darkness for a few seconds. Redford fell limp, unable to resist as he was dragged down the hallway and thrown into a small room. The solid click of a lock echoed in his ears.

Just like when Jed had left, Redford wasn’t sure of how much time passed. The pain prevented him from moving his head, leaving him collapsed on the floor. He could see a narrow bed and a tiny window, but that was it. The room was barely more than eight feet on either side.

It was a cell.

At some point, Fil came by. Redford could hear his voice coming through the door. He said something about bad dogs needing to be punished for trying to escape, but Redford tuned him out. Misery settled heavily into his thoughts. He didn’t care what Fil said. He didn’t care that he was being punished. Punishment or not, he was stuck here.

Hours ticked by, and day faded into evening. Eventually, Redford picked himself up, wincing as he touched his fingers to his temple and they came back dotted with dried blood. From the itch, it had worked its way down the side of his face. He didn’t get much time to ponder it, startled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening.

It was the man that had gotten a little too friendly in his greeting—Redford dimly recalled overhearing Fil call him Marcus—and he was brandishing a length of chain attached to a heavy steel circle. Before Redford had the chance to protest or defend himself, Marcus had wrestled him down, locking the collar around his neck, hooking the chain around a leg of the bed. “You want to act like a rabid dog, you get treated like one,” Marcus growled at him. “You’re not getting out of here until Fil says so.”

He left, going just outside the door to pick up something else, and Redford tested the chains, trying to tug at the collar. It didn’t move. Similarly, the chain had been locked to the bed leg, which was bolted to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Redford tried, watching as Marcus came back in with a tray of food. It wasn’t much—an apple, a sandwich, and a glass of water—but it smelled like heaven, considering he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Maybe if he apologized and acted like he’d learned his lesson, Marcus would let him go.

“Nice try,” Marcus laughed. He stood in front of where Redford was sitting on the edge of the bed, setting the tray down on the floor. “Like I said, only Fil’s go ahead gets you out. Try that act on him.”

Apologizing clearly wasn’t going to work, so Redford abandoned that idea, picking up the tray instead. He was about to bite into the sandwich when Marcus’ hand found his jaw, tipping his face up to look at Redford better. “You’re not all that bad looking,” Marcus said conversationally. “On the scrawny side. Could use a haircut. But there’s plenty of wolves in this pack that aren’t too picky and want to find a mate.”

Marcus just laughed again when Redford shrank back, patting him on the cheek and letting him go. He left the room, locking it again behind him. Suddenly, Redford’s appetite was less than strident, but he forced himself to eat anyway. There was no use in fainting from hunger.

Evening passed into night. Redford eventually managed to lie down on the bed—however uncomfortable it was trying to position his head right with the collar—and fell into an uneasy half sleep. He didn’t dream. He didn’t need to. All those nightmares were living and breathing now.

He was even more exhausted when the morning sunlight fell across his face, rousing him from his half-asleep state. Redford didn’t get the luxury of being confused about his location for a few moments. He woke knowing exactly where he was. With the uncomfortable pressure of the collar, it was impossible to forget. The pain in his head was hard to think around, so Redford just slumped back on the bed, eyes tiredly moving to look at the doorway.

It opened slowly, and Redford tensed. Marcus, maybe. Fil. One of the others. His temple started to throb from the stress, gray fuzziness crowding in at the corners of his vision. What was it that people said happened when you got hit in the head one too many times? A concussion?

He sniffed, but it wasn’t alpha that he smelled. It was…

Jed.

Standing in the doorway, Jed was grinning at him, eating the apple that had been on Redford’s tray. The size of the gun he was carrying was ridiculous. Redford didn’t know guns even came that big. So clearly, he was hallucinating. Except the trademark cocky grin wasn’t wide enough to cover the dark circles under Jed’s eyes, the lines of worry and guilt bracketing his mouth. His grip on the gigantic weapon was white knuckled, and there was blood splattered across his shirt. If it was a hallucination, it was of one very stressed-out Jed. Which wasn’t much of a comfort.

“You left,” Redford pointed out, feeling a little like his hold on reality was slipping. Stressed-hallucination Jed was moving forward, and Redford tried to keep him in his sight, which was difficult when he couldn’t keep his eyes open. There was noise, but if Jed was speaking, well, Redford would have to ask him to repeat it later.

There was the sound of metal clanking, the click of a lock opening, and Redford felt the collar slip from around his neck. Jed’s arms were sliding under him, lifting him and cradling him close. Jed’s voice was a reassuring murmur against his ear, no words making it through Redford’s haze of pain, but the tone making it easy to settle into his body, to accept what was happening, even if it didn’t make any sense. They were moving, walking, and Redford was vaguely aware of bodies on the floor. Jed didn’t pause for them though.

He felt safe here, tucked against Jed’s chest.

So safe, in fact, that he promptly let himself pass out. He’d have to ask Jed about his sudden return later.

Chapter Twelve

Jed

O
NE
thing was for damn sure—that was not a day he wanted to repeat anytime soon. Red was still unconscious in the front seat of the car, hair tousled, bruises standing out angrily, high on his cheekbone. Just the sight of him all beaten and scared made Jed want to whip the damn car around and kill those fuckers twice. He forced himself to keep driving. As satisfying as it would be to blow up Fil’s little playhouse, Redford was the priority.