Haunted (23 page)

“The girl's mother should know,” Sean said, authoritatively. “Peyta is not ours to be making decisions about.”

“I'm with Sean on this one, Ruby. She needs to know,” Cooper added. Unified for the first time, the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder like a gorgeous but formidable wall of rebuttal.

“I just think we should wait until morning. We can decide then what to do,” I pleaded, desperate to keep Ronnie out of the mess. Monday was the town's 250th birthday and all the shops in the area were closed. We would have the whole day to resume our search, assuming that she was still missing.

The two men looked at each other with concern on their faces. It was apparent that they weren't at all comfortable with the plan.

“Okay,” Sean agreed finally. “But in the morning we call Ronnie. We should probably call the human authorities, too. We're assuming that this is a supernatural issue. Perhaps that isn't the best assumption.”

It dawned on me that I'd never even considered a circumstance that would require normal police. I knew I'd hit a new low in life when the least likely explanation for something became my default. It was completely plausible that she could have been abducted by a human; that thought made me oddly more nervous than the working theories I'd already formed.

Sean announced he was leaving to make some calls and consult Sophie about the likelihood of something in Peyta's transition having gone awry. He shot me a wan smile then soundlessly exited the apartment. Cooper walked over and sat next to me, winding his arms around my neck to pull me in tight to his chest.

“I wish I knew what else to do,” he said, sounding mournful.

“We all do. There just isn't anything. For now, we wait,” I replied. “Why don't you try to sleep for a bit? I'll stay up.”

He shot me a “Are you the one that's high now?” glance and I knew that neither of us would be sleeping. I texted Sean every hour for news from the boys, knowing there wouldn't be any – he'd have contacted me as soon as he had heard something. Sophie had nothing to add; she was certain that it had nothing to do with her transition and vehemently stuck to that story. I wasn't buying it, but couldn't prove anything otherwise.

Cooper made tea and I popped popcorn in the microwave. We sat on the couch together, the bowl of popcorn between us untouched. I looked at the enormous silver bowl and thought of the first evening Peyta had stayed with us. We had movie night and chowed down on an obnoxiously huge bowl of it popcorn just like the one I was staring at. I pushed it away from me and looked out the window. It was going to seem like years before the sun rose again.

* * *

Sean arrived early the next morning with coffee in hand, and the plans were laid for the morning search. He and Cooper were going to retrace everything they'd done the day before to see if any new trails or evidence could be found that they had missed earlier. I was to call Ronnie, then drive to the police station and file a report. I clearly got the short end of that stick.

Cooper said he needed to do something quickly before he left, and since I had a good idea what that was, I shooed Sean out the door with me as I left. He said nothing on the way, but as I reached my car he turned and looked at me with eyes that could pierce stone.

“We will find her. I promise.”

I nodded as I opened the car door, my emotions surging up, but there was no time to be sentimental. After firing up the TT I headed to the police station, figuring that I would just call Ronnie on the way there and kill two birds with one stone. Describing how I felt having to make that call was impossible; dread was an understatement.

I had practiced it over and over in my head all night, hoping to prepare for any turn the conversation could take. Ronnie wasn't going to take the news well. No parent would.

As my sweaty palm reached for the phone, it started vibrating violently. I picked it up and flipped it over to see who was calling.

Oh my God, it's Peyta...

28

“Peyta? Where are you? I've been looking every—”

“Ruby?” she cried into the phone, sniffling and sobbing. “I need you to come get me.”

She was crying so violently that her words were garbled by her choppy breathing in between outbursts.

“Tell me where you are,” I demanded. I wanted to know a lot more than that, but it could wait until I had her safe with me.

“I'm at the shop.”

What the...

“My shop?” I asked, confused.

“Yes,” she said before choking on yet another emotional outpouring.

“I don't understand, Peyta. Just go upstairs and I'll meet you there in five minutes. I'm on my way home now,” I said, completely and utterly lost as to what was going on.

“I can't!” she cried into the phone, a long pause following it. “I'm a mess.”

“What happened, Peyta? What's going on? We've been worried sick.”

“I know. I...I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. Just, please, please come and get me.”

My heart sank in my chest. Something awful had happened and she was too ashamed to go home; my blood boiled as I thought of the wide range of possibilities that could cause that level of shame. I sobered for a moment from my anxiety and rage and remembered that Cooper might still be home.

“Peyta, call Cooper. He's probably still upstairs. He'll come down and sit with you while you wait for me.”

“No!” she screamed. “He can't! He can't see me like this.”

My heart sank further into my gut, the implications becoming more grim by the minute.

“Oh, Peyta,” I sighed into the phone. “I'm three blocks away. I'm coming.”

She went quiet for a moment before replying, “I wish you didn't have to.”

Then she hung up the phone.

Flooring it down the street, I exceeded the speed limit by double digits. When I went to park in front of the shop, I realized that someone had taken my spot, much to my annoyance, leaving me shit out of luck. Thankfully I knew of a small parking lot tucked behind one of the buildings just beyond the store that wasn’t widely known; there was always a spot or two open there. Speeding down the narrow alley, I stuffed the TT into a compact vacancy between two SUV's and maneuvered my way out through the barely open door. The second I hit the pavement I was in an all-out sprint.

I nearly knocked someone over as I rounded the corner at full speed; I was slow in human form by werewolf standards, but I was still faster than most men. Apologizing over my shoulder as I ran away, it was only moments before I arrived at the store. I grabbed the handle and yanked it, jarring my arm when it didn't budge; it was locked. Fumbling with my keys, I searched the inside of the store through the window to no avail – it was full of darkness. Banging on the door, I called Peyta's name as I tried to find my key. She apparently didn't hear me.

She must be in the back.

The passers-by clearly thought I wasn’t firing on all cylinders, judging by the looks on their faces, but I didn't care. All that mattered was knowing that Peyta was home and safe. Once I finally managed to unlock the door with my jittery hands, I burst into the shop.

“Peyta? Where are you?” I called, heading towards the back room.

“I'm in the studio,” she said shakily.

I made my way around the counter, throwing my bag and keys down on it before I grabbed the knob and opened the door to the back area. Upon entering, I saw Peyta sitting at my work bench in the rear of the long, narrow room. A single work lamp barely illuminated the space. I could see her tear-stained face, still wet, but her expression wasn't one of sadness; she looked afraid. I wasn't certain, but I could have sworn I saw her shake her head side to side once. Slowly. Minutely.

I lunged out of the darkness to get to her, but was immediately met with a wall of resistance. Something was pushing me back – I went nowhere. I soon felt a warm, wet sensation across my abdomen that rapidly became searing pain. I saw the blade when I looked down at my stomach to see why it was on fire; he'd already wiped it clean.

“They say that you can tell how sharp a knife is by how painlessly it passes through flesh,” said the holder of the blade. “Of course, the pain catches up to you eventually.”

That voice...

He was right. The gushing wound in question spanned from well below my navel all the way up to my sternum. And it was deep.

I collapsed to the floor out of pain, or fear, or shock – perhaps all three. My arms instinctively wrapped tightly around my stomach in an attempt to keep the blood and other important things from spilling out onto the floor as I writhed in pain. I watched helplessly as a dark figure walked away from me, headed for Peyta.

He pulled her bag out from under the bench, whistling cheerfully as he rifled through it. I heard the ripping of heavy tape and wondered if he planned to bind me together with it, if only to prolong my suffering. Instead, Peyta screamed as he approached her but was quickly silenced. Duct tape really did have myriad uses.

“Shhhhh, now. It'll all be over soon,” he whispered, his hand caressing the side of her face.

“Leave her...the fuck...alone,” I gurgled from my unenviable position on the floor.

He said nothing, but circled around the far side of the room engulfed in shadow. I still couldn't see his face, but I followed the sound of medium-weight footsteps with my eyes until a pair of ordinary black dress shoes came to rest directly in front of my face. He crouched down slowly, blocking the light behind him, his silhouette not distinguishing at all. He inched forward onto hands and knees until I was nose-to-nose with him.

“Surprise, Ruby.”

That voice...I know that voice...

I heard the click of a flashlight and squinted my eyes against the brightness, allowing them to adapt slowly. When I could focus on the face before me, my disbelief was apparent.

“Remember me?” he laughed.

I'd have known the face of that psycho anywhere.

29

I cowered away from him, unable to formulate a coherent sentence. Questions ran through my mind though none made it past my lips. I wondered how this could be happening, what he wanted, and what major injustice I'd brought against the universe to bring a fate such as being gutted alive upon me.

Perhaps being born was reason enough.

A tear sprang from my eye as I stared into the face of one of the many mad men who had barreled into my life.

“Oh, Ruby, there's no need to be sentimental,” he said, wiping the droplet from my face. “I'm just as emotional about seeing you, though I think my feelings may differ slightly.”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily. While he did, I caught a glimpse of Peyta over his shoulder; she was pale, sweating and terrified – she had every right to be.

I felt my vision narrowing slightly, a side-effect of the shock from my pain and blood loss. I didn't think I had long. If I'd been a normal werewolf I likely could have started to heal by going into one of their weird coma-like trances, but I wasn't normal. My dual nature held polar traits: unmatched physical prowess in one, extreme fragility in the other. Unfortunately, I was on the wrong side of that physiological fence and was going to die because of it.

My eyes were heavy and I felt myself giving in to my drowsiness, letting it overtake me. I heard Peyta trying desperately to yell at me through her tape, but all I heard was an indecipherable mumbling. I wanted to sleep, to die; it seemed the better option.

But Peyta...

As I thought her name, a sharp stinging sensation shot through my face.

“Wake up!” he screamed, pulling his hand back for another blow. It landed squarely on the spot he’d just struck. “It would seem that you're not as strong as I'd previously thought,” he said as he pried my hand away from my mid-section. I was in no state to resist him. “I guess we'll have to bring you back a bit so I can do this properly.”

I felt my ring slide off of my finger for the briefest of moments, but even that was long enough for Scarlet to surge forward. She lunged at him, only to be shut down as the ring was frantically replaced.

“There, that should keep you alive for a little bit longer,” he told me, still looking shell-shocked from the near attack.

Unfortunately he was right. I felt the pain more acutely again, and though I was still losing blood at an alarming pace, it had slowed slightly and my vision focused. My cognitive function also improved because I realized that if I could get the ring off myself, not only would I live, but I would also get to kill the fucker. I liked that plan enormously.

He had stumbled backward when Scarlet shot at him like a cannonball. With that little bit of breathing room between us, I brought my hand back to my stomach, and walked my fingers across it to my ring. I was coated in blood and thought that was a mild bonus – lubrication for the extraction.

He unfortunately saw what I was thinking and made short work of smashing my dreams of life and escape, as well as my finger.

“I don't think we'll be having anymore of that this evening, Rouge,” he sneered. His foot crashed down on my ring finger, easily breaking it. The pain was immense, but not more so than my desperation in that moment. My fate was sealed with that blow.

“Gregory...I...presume,” I gasped between surges of pain. “We were...never…formally...introduced.”