Silver (12 page)

He would have at least three opponents, he figured. Pierce had said “you guys.” Was one the alpha? Or was the alpha another victim? No matter how Andrew tried to keep his mind on his plans, it circled back to Silver. What were they doing to her?

Steps on the floor above. Andrew sat up straighter and braced his back against the wall. Judging by the sounds, the door was across from him. He looked aside so as not to be blinded by the light as it opened. Someone flicked a switch and light flooded all around him, rendering the effort useless.

“You’re sick.” A man’s voice, but not Pierce’s scent. Andrew hadn’t gotten a good sense of his two other attackers. This might be one of them, or it might be someone else. Then a bell rang in his memory, and Andrew squinted up as his eyes adjusted and the silhouette filled in with features. The alpha of Seattle looked much the same as Andrew remembered him from the last convocation. What the hell was the man’s name? Andrew couldn’t remember, as alphas so often went by their titles.

Andrew used the time as Seattle came down the stairs from the door to glance around the room. A broken-down couch took up the room’s center. Utility shelves, one with a crappy TV on top, leaned against the walls at staggered intervals. Nothing much to use as a weapon should he get free.

“Where’s Silver?” Andrew asked.

Seattle sneered. He was built along typical werewolf lines, but lankier in his muscle, rugged cowboy to Rory’s linebacker. He still out-bulked Andrew. “We’re civilized. We don’t need to keep stocks of it around for torturing our enemies, much as the poetic justice of that appeals to me. Where’s yours? I would have thought the Butcher would carry his arsenal with him.”

Andrew growled. “The woman. I don’t know what her real name is. She was too far gone to tell me.”

“Selene.” Seattle bent and grabbed Andrew’s shirt, gathering up the fabric, ready to choke him. Andrew let the humiliation of this position coil into his muscles, ready to move in another moment. Seattle shook him. “Lady bless her mother’s strange interest in human stories. Her name’s Selene. Why did you do it? To her and the others?” His voice vibrated with intensity. “Did you think coming back here to dump her like trash and disguising it as concern would throw us off the scent? Make us discount you as a suspect?”

This was what Andrew had been waiting for, someone close enough to grapple, but Seattle’s words stopped him. They thought he—? Andrew started to laugh, but it made him feel ill. “Not me. We found her, wandering. I came out to track the one who did it. Your version doesn’t even make sense. Why would I bring her back?” He tried to focus on the alpha through the throb in his skull. “Why don’t you tell me why your Were have started avoiding contact with surrounding packs. What are you trying to hide?”

Confusion broke through Seattle’s anger. “The Bellingham pack, Dare. Selene belonged to the Bellingham pack. I don’t know what you’re talking about with avoiding contact, unless Michelle has been exaggerating again.”

A Bellingham pack? Andrew had never heard of the city, never mind a pack there, and Rory wouldn’t have hidden it from him. But the Western packs changed so quickly, who could keep track?

Something smelled fishy about the whole statement—perhaps Seattle knew Michelle had cause. But the man didn’t smell as guilty as Andrew would have expected, confronted with a crime of this magnitude. The man should be able to smell the same thing on Andrew, but he seemed too caught up in his anger.

Seattle’s grip tightened to the choking point as he simply discarded the confusion. “What’d you keep her for? A plaything? And then you got tired of her? I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t just cut her throat with silver.”

Andrew tuned out the man’s idiocy and let the burning in his lungs fan rage to life. Seattle would have to listen to reason if he pounded him flat. He launched himself at the other man.

Seattle straightened, stepped out of reach, and lashed out a kick to Andrew’s stomach. Andrew doubled over, sucking air for several moments. Some of his ability to think logically returned with the oxygen. He needed to convince Seattle, not beat him up. The alpha had too much physical advantage at the moment. But if Seattle wouldn’t take his word for what had happened, whose would he take? He doubted Seattle would entirely trust Rory even if Andrew convinced him to call the other alpha.

Voices from upstairs intruded. Andrew recognized the cadence of Silver’s voice after a moment, if not the exact words. As she came closer, he caught the gist. “Where is he? Death says he’s here. What did you do to him? No, I don’t want to rest. I want to talk to him.”

Someone slammed against the door at the top of the stairs—doorknobs were beyond Silver, Andrew suspected—then jiggled it open by accident. Silver stumbled through, a little unsteady. Her eyes widened with relief when she saw him.

“Death tells me you can usually take care of yourself,” she said, brushing past the alpha, who was frozen in confusion again. She knelt beside Andrew, and slid her hands into his hair to feel the side of his head.

“Usually I can.” Andrew growled at her when her fingers found the lump. All his healing energy had been soaked up over the night by knitting his skull, so a bruise still remained. And it hurt like a bitch. Silver didn’t pay any attention to his growl, and he let her fuss.

“Maybe you’ll warn me next time you prod my snakes,” she murmured. Andrew grimaced at the dig, but the alpha just looked even more confused. Andrew supposed Silver did make more sense on longer acquaintance.

“Stay away from him,” Seattle said, teeth gritted. He strode forward and put a hand on Silver’s shoulder, voice gentling to the point of patronization. “Come away. Come upstairs, and we’ll get you something to eat, and you can rest. Please, Selene.” He smoothed her hair off her shoulder like he would a child’s.

Silver’s face was turned away from the alpha, giving her a sense of privacy, but Andrew could see it perfectly. He watched it crumple like someone had raked claws into her guts and twisted.

“No.” She whispered the first word, but was screaming by the next as she smashed his hand away. “No, that name’s gone. Lost. She’s dead. Her, and her family and everyone she knows and Death stole her name in all their voices and locked it away with them.” The screaming pushed tears from the corners of her eyes. “Lost! Let her be lost!”

“Silver.” She didn’t hear him, so Andrew said it again, putting an alpha’s whipcrack of authority into it. “Silver. Stop it.” He took her with his free arm and pulled her against his chest. Seattle jerked forward but hesitated, maybe worried Andrew would hurt her if Seattle came for him.

Andrew held her close, not to comfort, but like squashing a wild creature. You controlled it until it felt the security to control itself again. Silver’s breaths and heart were as fast as a frightened bird’s, pounding against his skin. They slowed, gradually.

The alpha clenched and unclenched his hands. “I don’t know what you’ve done to make her trust you, but it’s not going to work. Sel—”

“Don’t be stupid.” Andrew tried to glare the other man down. He had to hold his temper. It was the full tonight, he could feel it. If he didn’t control the emotions washing through him, he’d start to shift. Not a good idea with his arm restrained this way. “Forcing her to think about whatever happened makes her worse. Thinking about anything before then seems to have the same effect. Don’t push it.”

The alpha sneered at him, but didn’t finish the name all the same. “Even if you’re telling the truth about your involvement, she’s no concern of yours any longer. You’ve brought her back to her birth pack, and now you can return to your territory.”

Silver took a deep breath and drew sarcasm around herself as she pushed out of Andrew’s hold and turned to Seattle. “It wasn’t him. And good luck with getting him to leave just like that.” She stood and explored the handcuffs with her fingers, treating them like something she could untie. “He’s not one for doing things other people tell him.” She growled in frustration, maybe over the metal having no knots.

The alpha raised his eyebrows at Andrew, making the question clear. Would Andrew leave?

“You’re a help,” Andrew told Silver, and then concentrated on matching the alpha’s stare. If only he wasn’t held in the lower position. It made his blood boil. “I’m not leaving this coast until I catch whoever did this to Silver. But you can’t keep me chained up down here.”

“Well, if you won’t give your word you’ll leave, I don’t have much choice.”

Andrew barked a laugh. Don’t shift, he reminded himself. Be amused at the man instead. “And then what? You can’t keep me here forever. And it’ll be pack war if you kill me unprovoked. You can’t take Roanoke, even if you could convince Portland and one or two others to stand with you.”

That hit a nerve. The alpha turned with werewolf quickness and yanked open the door to the stairs. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

Andrew lunged to his arm’s length without meaning to. “It’s full tonight.”

The man turned back with a nasty smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot.” He went to a shelving unit along one wall, cheap particle board with a faux stain, and picked up a collar attached to a length of chain.

The reason for the ring set into the wall became abruptly clear. Most packs had a method to contain and isolate anyone who lost themselves in wolf form. Andrew readied himself to jam an elbow into the man’s groin when the man got close enough, but the alpha slammed a hand into Andrew’s throat to hold him against the wall before he could complete the movement. A couple of smooth clicks sounded as he locked the chain to the ring and snapped the collar around Andrew’s neck before he could draw breath properly again.

Andrew tried to bring his arm up for a blow again, but the alpha laughed. “I can leave the handcuffs if you want.” Andrew subsided, unable to keep himself from spitting curses, and the alpha unlocked them.

“Come on, Se— Silver.” The alpha waited at the door for her, arm open to fold over her shoulders.

Silver regarded him expressionlessly. “No.” She repeated it when he started to speak again. The alpha waited a moment in frustration, and then left. At least he didn’t turn off the lights.

The bastard. Andrew was still coughing from the blow to his throat, but he had to test the strength of the ring and the concrete it was set in. He slid his fingers under the collar and lunged with all his weight.

The chain had no hint of give, that first time, or any of the dozen subsequent times. He couldn’t stand it. He was barely able to pull off his clothes before the shift came over him, violent this time, yanking muscles to screaming pain.

He ended it panting on his side. Somehow, it was even worse now, instincts that couldn’t bear being trapped now ascendant. He lunged, and lunged again until he could hardly breathe, and then snapped at the chain. Control. Wait. Stillness. Patience. Control, he told himself.

It didn’t work.

12

Death howled to the Lady’s round, heavy shape in the dark sky, and Silver watched the warrior’s wild self thrash its way to the surface even as she prepared herself for the pain of Death’s howling. Silver’s muscles tensed, waiting to twist into her wild self. Before, when they couldn’t twist, they burned.

But burning never came. The snakes were dead. The longing for the Lady’s touch hurt, but it was no longer a pain of the body, only another ache like her grief for her brother and all the others. She curled up on the ground and let her muscles relax. If she was not to lose herself in the pain, perhaps it was time to take stock and figure out what to do next.

Her mother’s pack were idiots. They meant well, but it was like being smothered in honey, thick and cloying. They were so sure they knew what was going on. They couldn’t be more wrong. The warrior was the one whose assistance had allowed her to stop running. The one who had killed the snakes. And now they’d restrained him, the same way she’d been—

Her thoughts skittered away from that memory like a rabbit from her wild self’s jaws. She had more pressing problems here and now. The warrior was hurting himself. She hadn’t heard it properly at first, she’d been so caught up in waiting for the burning to begin. He had let his wild self out because it was the wild self that wanted most to be free, only now it was free to be the one restrained. He was trying to make himself hurt so much he could stop fighting, Silver supposed.

“No,” she told him. Simple, so his wild self would understand. He snapped at her hand. She caught his jaws anyway, holding them shut. She held him that way for a moment and then let go to smack him on the nose. “Stop it. Follow your own advice.”

He looked at her, eyes wide and accusing. It made her laugh. “Lady above, you’re a liar. That didn’t hurt.” She smacked him again to prove it. He whuffed in protest. Silver kept laughing, helpless laughter until suddenly it was tears and she didn’t understand why.

“He came here because of you,” Death said, in her brother’s voice. He’d found a rabbit somewhere and was gnawing on the entrails. “It’s your fault he’s tied up.”

“I know,” Silver said, and it made the warrior look confused, since he couldn’t see Death. She drew in a shuddering breath. Oh, the grief ached. But her brother was gone, and the warrior was here now. “I’m trying. I’ll try to help you hunt your prey.”

The warrior dismissed that by shaking his steely gray head. He turned to his bindings again, snapping at them. Clouds drifted away from the Lady’s face, and Death looked up. He raised his muzzle to howl to Her once more. Even knowing it would be different, Silver went just as tense from fear.

No. She refused to make it happen anyway by tensing in expectation. She needed to distract herself.

“Idiot. You’re all over burrs—” Silver reached out to pluck at the warrior’s ruff. There was nothing there, but it distracted him too. He shook his ruff as if to dislodge invisible stickers, playing along. Perhaps he was grateful for the pretense.

She drew her hands through the fur, reveling in the sensation. Just there, the nap was different, over his shoulder blade, and then thinner and softer on his underbelly. His muscles tensed like he was getting ready to pull away, but any wild self could eventually be undone with scratching in just the right spot. Finally he sighed, and relaxed beneath her hands.