Shift Into Me (Werewolf Shifter Romance) (The Alpha's Kiss) (11 page)

Damon’s mouth was dry, like he’d been sucking on cotton balls. Suddenly, he realized that if Lily was gone, so was the car. “Where is this meeting? And what’s it about?”

Hunter pulled up a shoulder. “Not a clue what it’s about. As far as where it is, there’s a lodge a few miles from here, not very far. We can just double up on your bike.”

“That’ll be a sight,” Damon said, allowing himself a laugh. “Us two, you hugged up against me. You with your hand on my leg, and one around my waist.”

“You make it sound a lot more exciting than two big dudes scrunched up on a motorcycle. You sure Lily’s the writer?” Hunter finished off his coffee. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Damon said. “You’re not bullshitting about the meeting, right? I’m not going to get jumped again am I?”

“Not so far as I know. Although I will warn you – the pack only gets these meetings together when things are pretty bad, so I can only assume
something
is wrong. Wolves don’t get together for fun.”

Sighing, Damon swallowed the last of his coffee. A million things were running through his mind. One thought above all the others. He was worried about Lily, worried that she had fallen into some sort of trap.

But along with the rest of his memories of that morning after they’d made love, he couldn’t remember
what
he was worried about. There was just a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite shake.

“Is there some reason I’m worried about Lily? Something I’m supposed to remember but don’t? Did something happen last night that I don’t remember? I’m seriously getting sick of feeling like an amnesiac.”

Hunter shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. I don’t think there’s much trouble she could get into in the basement of the police department. She’s stronger than you think. Or than you let yourself believe. She’s careful, Damon. You know?”

“Yeah,” Damon said. “I guess you’re right.”

*

T
he building – an old Elk’s lodge on the outskirts of Scagg’s Valley that, judging by the sand blasted paint job and one-horn-missing cow skull that hung on the front door – had seen better days.

“They’re pissed about something,” Hunter said, stepping off the bike and stretching his lower back with a couple of twists and a toe touch. “These meetings usually get this loud, but not until they’re mostly over and the whiskey comes out.”

The back of Damon’s head throbbed. If Lily were around, she’d tell him about how aliens put probes in people’s skulls. She’d seen it on one of her shows, and would tell him
all
about it. Through the haze of irritation, he couldn’t help but smile when he thought of her. She kept him anchored, kept him grounded, even when nothing else would or could.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled. “So much noise. My head doesn’t feel right.”

“You don’t look so good,” Hunter said. “You feel okay?”

Damon shook his head. “Started getting a headache as soon as we got off the bike. Maybe slept too long. I don’t—”

“Why isn’t he doing anything about it? Why do we have an Alpha who can’t even stop some murders?” someone from inside the building was obviously not very happy with Damon’s leadership. “He’s a
child
! What kind of a joke is this? Why are we supposed to follow him if he can’t do something as simple as this?”

Damon turned to Hunter. “Murders? More?”

Hunter shrugged.

Even before he went inside, Damon felt the hostility. He took a deep breath, and clenched his jaws tight. “Come on,” he said, looking straight ahead.

The instant he pushed open the door, the whole place went silent. Every head, of which there were about fifty, turned to look at him. Damon recognized Steve, a couple of others, and the thirty-something werewolf who had tested him the night before. Sweeping his eyes from left to right across the room, he finished with no illusions about the mood in the room.

“Glad to see you could make it, Alpha.” Someone said, taunting him. “Next time, why not let us know when it’d be convenient for
you
to have a wolf killed. Another one. What were you doing? I bet you were fu—”

“Enough!” Damon said. “You can be as angry at me as you would like to be. I understand you’re irritated, and I understand most of you don’t have the first clue who I am or why I’m now your leader. But I
won’t
have my mate talked about like that.”

“Yeah,” the same man said. “I’m sure you won’t.”

Purple agony shot through the front of Damon’s head. He winced, but refused to show any pain in front of the pack. He knew better than to exhibit any weakness at all. Instead of shrinking back, instead he laughed, which loosened the tension a little.

“We have pack business now,” Damon said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Any personal complaints about me can be brought up in private.” He sneered. “One at a time.”

A grumble went through the room, but no one spoke up in protest. It must have been enough of what was expected to calm the wolves for a moment.

“Now,” Damon said. “Why are we here? I understand these meetings aren’t called lightly.”

“He doesn’t even
know
?” The man from earlier almost screeched. “One of the most respected wolves in our pack is murdered and the Alpha remains clueless? What kind of a joke has Pokorann played on us this time? Maybe the rumors are true after all!”

Damon growled, quickly losing his patience. The more noise they made the more his head pounded. “If you’re going to insult me and your elder both in the same breath, at least have the courage to give me your name.”

“Erik Armstrong,” the man said as he stood. He was big, broad across the chest, but not as tall or as muscular as Damon. Still, he was impressive and obviously knew it. As he gestured, his chest flexed. “I’ve been in this pack, in this town, my whole life, and I called Nathaniel my friend. All of us trusted him and now he’s dead. What are you going to do about it, Alpha?”

The way the title dripped off his lips reminded Damon of the oil on a snake’s fangs.

“Nathaniel,” Damon said quietly. “Is dead? Just last night he and two others tested me.”

“I did,” the man Damon recognized in the crowd said. “Moses Craig speaking. He showed his strength. I can vouch for the Alpha.”

“And I,” Hunter added in. “I was there too.”

“Oh!” Erik said in the same mocking voice. “Two younglings vouch for a child Alpha. This is truly a wonder. Our oldest wolf has been murdered, along with two others before, and we have three cubs playing at being men.”

A round of laughter burst out, and seconds later everyone in the hall started talking at the same time. Noise pounded in Damon’s ears just like the throbbing in the front of his brain. Throwing back his head, he growled, “Quiet!”

“Quiet!” Damon shouted again. His voice echoed off the walls, and everyone fell silent at once. “This is not a contest to see who can yell the loudest. Respect me or not, but you
will
all say things in turn.”

For a split second, his vision went purple, and he thought that maybe he heard some kind of laughing, but he shook his head and immediately forgot.

Everyone was still quiet, waiting for him to keep talking.

“Good,” he said. “Thank you. Now that’s over with, someone tell me exactly what happened, as best as it’s known.”

That was Erik’s cue to snort, then laugh. “The Alpha asks the pack for help. What’s he here for again?”

“Shut up, Erik,” another member of the crowd said. “We’ve all had plenty of that for one day. It isn’t doing us any good.”

Damon shot a glance in the direction of the man who defended him and nodded in thanks.

“Best we know, Alpha, he was killed just like them other two.” The man who spoke was baldheaded on top, and had a ring of hair. Even seated he was tall, but very thin and with narrow shoulders.

“You are?”

“Wilton Myles,” he said. “I’m the one who found him.”

Erik Armstrong looked like he was about to open his mouth again, but a sharp look from Damon shut him up. “Go on,” he said.

“Well, when I happened upon that cabin, I thought I saw two shadows in the windows. I waited around for a time, knowing that was where Sara and Lawson were found.”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “Those were the names of the first two lost Skarachee. No one’s told me before now. Terrible.”

“Yes, well, the very same place. I was going by to begin their ritual of internment, to cleanse them and prepare them for burial. I’m a shaman,” he said at Damon’s confused look. “Like our elder Pokorann.”

Nodding, Damon urged him to continue.

“I stayed in the brush until mid-morning. I realized it had been some time since I saw the shadows moving in the windows and so I went in. The two were gone, replaced with one. Nathaniel was bound, just like the others. Wrapped in silver chain, burned, and covered in claw marks.”

Damon looked down at his feet.

“Claws,” he said quietly. “What do you make of it, Shaman?”

“Seems to me must be wolves. I don’t know how else such marks could get on him. And it was brutal, too. When his spirit left, his flesh hardened, as it does. He was nearly flayed with wounds. He suffered a great deal.”

Taking a deep breath, Damon held the air in his lungs momentarily. “Wolves, you said? You’re sure there’s no other alternative?”

A thought pulled at his head. Something he couldn’t quite remember, couldn’t quite place, was there, just out of his mind’s vision.

Why can’t I remember? What’s clouding my mind? There’s no reason I can’t remember what I saw at that cabin. I just... can’t. If only I could force myself to remember...

“No, I don’t, Alpha.” Wilton’s aged voice shocked him back to the present. “Though I will say there are plenty of things in this world that even I don’t understand. I can’t fathom why a werewolf would do this to another. After all, unless he was from
another
pack, it wouldn’t make sense. Why would a Skarachee do this to another?”

Closing his eyes and squeezing his temples, Damon got a flash of something that teased the edge of his vision. It was right there, so close that he could almost touch it. In his mind’s eye, he forced himself to go back to that cabin, to his first night run.

The throbbing in Damon’s head intensified, but this time was tinged with teeth that nipped at his consciousness. He felt like two forces were pulling him in opposite directions, and that he was going in both of them, being torn right down the middle. But instead of pain, instead of confusion, he felt oblivion.

“Two shadows,” he said in a soft voice. Damon slipped further into his trance.

He heard voices.

From his left, a spirit materialized; a faceless ghost, gray, with sparks of white where the eyes were supposed to be. It spoke, but not to him, rather through him.

“Two shadows,” Damon repeated.

“He trances?” Wilton said, drawing nearer to Damon, listening intently. The entire room seemed to lean toward him. “Not since Pokorann have I known a wolf who heard the spirits. Could it be?”

“A woman,” Damon intoned. “And a man. A... rogue... wolf.”

In Damon’s mind, a second ghost formed from mist, this one tinted blue, and standing to his right. “Not a woman, a creature,” he groaned. “A creature summoned by the rogue.”

“That’s impossible,” Wilton said, standing up stiff. “Summoning hasn’t been done in a thousand years. None would have the knowledge. Not even the
language
of demons is known. How could a wolf take on those powers?”

“Shh!” Hunter said, grabbing the man’s shoulder.

“Both of you, quiet!” Erik shushed them. “Listen!”

Damon began to rock from side to side, front to back. His boot heels clicked on the hard wood floor, and he groaned. In his mind, a third spirit came. This one looked familiar.

“War... lock,” Damon whispered. “He is an old soul, knows the secrets. Found them in a blood ritual. He walks with... with a demon.”

Damon’s knees buckled, and the two nearest Skarachee grabbed his arms, helping him to the floor. He sat, looking back and forth between the three visions that no one else saw. They spoke faster and faster until his head began to spin with their revelations.

With his mind reeling, the purple returned. The ghosts called out to him, but Damon was gone.

“Damon!” Hunter shouted.

He heard the voice, heard his friend yell for him, but it seemed to be a voice simply floating in a void. It had no weight, no reality.

“Too far,” Damon mumbled. “There’s nowhere to grab on... to...”

“Help him!” Hunter shouted. “Do something, old man!”

Damon sensed the old man – Wilton the shaman – sit next to him, though he didn’t react.

“I don’t know what’s happening to him,” Wilton said in a hushed tone. He turned to Hunter. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Did you know he was able to fall into trance, young one?”

Hunter shook his head no. He grabbed Damon’s hand.

“This is ancient magic,” Wilton whispered. “Older than me, older than anyone here. I fear for the Alpha’s soul, but... there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Nothing?” Hunter asked. “No incense or oil or, I don’t know... a tincture or something? There must be something!”

Damon fell to his side, and groaned. He grabbed at his head, holding on with both hands, kneading hard into his temples. “Where am I?” he said. “What’s happening to me?”

“Alpha?” the old man’s voice was the first he heard, although the only thing he saw in his mind was Lily.

Lily held him, cradling him in her arms, stroking his face.

Then she faded.

“Alpha! Damon!” the shaman patted his cheek. “Are you awake?”

Damon shook his head, clearing the cobwebs out of his brain. “I... think I am,” he said, shaking his head a second time. What happened?”

Though his whole body shuddered with waves of cold and hot, Damon was steady enough to sit up. He needed Lily right then, at that second, more than he had ever needed anything, and worst of all, he didn’t know why.

“You visited the spirits,” Wilton said. “They... they spoke through you. They spoke of a demon and her warlock master. Could it be those are the shadows I witnessed?”