Fair Game (31 page)

Anna.
Charles reached for her, but he couldn’t touch her through their bond, not even through their pack bond. With his help, his ghosts had well and truly isolated him.

Enraged and terrified for Anna in equal measures, he opened the door knowing his eyes were showing Brother Wolf. “Where’s Anna?” he growled.

Isaac was supposed to make sure no one hurt her while Charles worked. The temptation to blame the Olde Towne Alpha rose and was banished. Anna was Charles’s; she was his to protect and he had failed. Brother Wolf wanted to charge into the night and kill until they found her; Charles held him back with the knowledge that there were better ways to find Anna faster—and that blood would flow when he did.

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Isaac said. “She went to the ladies’ room and never came back. You two are mated, right? Can you tell where she is?”

Charles tried again. Right there and then, with the others still
standing in the doorway, he tried again to open up the bonds he’d closed to protect her.

Nothing. He tried harder, tried until it hurt worse than the change. He growled and tried again—and felt the ghosts who haunted him howl in triumph. He turned and walked almost blindly until he stared into the big mirror in the bedroom. The ghosts were unrecognizable, having melted into one creature with fifty mouths and twenty hands that were busily tying the ribbon of his bond into knots.

We can kill her no matter how you try to protect her,
it told him, its voices high and vicious.
Your fault, your fault we died, your fault she dies.
One voice started laughing, and then the others continued until there was an unholy cacophony in his head.

There was a drip of blood leaking out of Charles’s nose and the whites of his eyes were pink from broken blood vessels—it made his yellow eyes look particularly bizarre.

“Did you try to track her?” he asked Isaac, as Charles continued to stare into the mirror, his voice so low and rough he didn’t recognize it as his own. He stuffed his rage into a small icy place and promised it release if it would let him work right now. He would be cold and controlled until he found where they had stashed his Anna—and then he’d take them down into small, bite-sized chunks.

“Yes,” the Olde Towne Alpha said. Charles turned away from the mirror to find Isaac watching him warily from the relative safety of the living room as he continued to explain. “I trailed her into the ladies’ room and out again. Then she walked about two feet the wrong way if she intended to go back into the party—which she did, because she’d ordered another round of fish and chips according to the waitress who delivered it—and then her scent trail just ends. Like Otten’s did.”

Isaac must be a good tracker. It was unusual for a wolf that new to be able to trail that well, even in wolf form. No matter how good he was, Charles was better.

The computer hadn’t confirmed
his guesses yet, but he was only waiting for the final nail. He considered going after the people he had decided were behind the killings—but if he was wrong, it meant Anna would stay in her kidnappers’ hands while he chased down the wrong trail. And then there was the problem that the people he was looking at had nearly Bran’s resources and he would need—

“What’s wrong with him?” Leslie asked in a quiet voice that nonetheless interrupted his thoughts. “Why is he bleeding like that? Do you see his eyes? They weren’t like that when he opened the door.”

“I don’t have a clue,” Isaac said in a calm voice. “Look, you two, you don’t stand a chance if he loses it. You stay out here, back, out of the way—keep your guns out and watch. If he looks like he is headed your way, just shoot—and make sure your shot counts. If he’s the wolf I think he is, he’d rather be dead than have you become collateral damage. And if he’s far enough gone that he’s taking out civilians, he’s not going to be much help to Anna anyway.”

“Civilians?” said the male FBI officer, sounding offended. Brother Wolf might have known his name, if he had cared. But his mate was missing and he cared for nothing and no one except for that.

Isaac ignored him—maybe he’d fallen for that tired, worn-looking mien, but Brother Wolf knew better. He recognized a fellow predator in the male FBI agent, even though Goldstein—the name rose up when he called for it—Goldstein was no threat to anything Charles cared about.

“Humans are civilians here,” said Charles. To himself he sounded calm. “And you might listen to Isaac, though I don’t think I’m far enough gone to hurt our allies. Isaac, I should be able to find her—but I’m not going to be able to use our link tonight.” His throat shut down as Brother Wolf fought to the surface in a panic at Charles’s admission.

Anna was missing. Anna was in the hands of the people who’d hurt the little dancer. His Anna who’d already survived so much—he’d
sworn nothing like that would ever happen to her again when she was theirs. And they had failed, Brother Wolf and Charles, two souls sharing one skin…They had failed their mate.

Charles convinced Brother Wolf that they had a better chance of finding Anna in man-shape rather than as wolf, but it took more willpower than he knew he had to do it.

“He can’t find her?” Leslie asked.

“I told you it wasn’t a sure thing,” Isaac told her. “The mating bond is a very personal thing.”

Isaac was doing a good job of keeping his Alpha nature tamped down; his voice was soft and nonthreatening. Brother Wolf liked Isaac, but just now would not be a good time to interest him in proving who was more dominant. People got killed in fights like that—and Brother Wolf was craving violence just now.

“You also said if it didn’t work, we might be in serious trouble,” said the tough little dancer’s fae father. “Because there isn’t a person in this city more dangerous than a wolf whose mate is in danger. Are we in serious trouble?”

Yes,
thought Charles. He needed to do something urgent—but Brother Wolf’s rage was clouding his thoughts. He needed to get to his computer and confirm—

“I don’t want those bastards to get Anna,” Leslie said. “If Charles can’t find her, what about my wish? You said it was dangerous to use except in specific or small ways. But I lost a puppy—and now we’re trying to find another one.”

Charles narrowed his eyes at her. “What wish?”

Beauclaire ignored him, staring at Leslie with something approaching delight. “Clever,” he said. “Oh, that is a clever way to look at it.”

“A fae man left me a gift when I was a child,” Leslie said to Charles, and she remembered not to look him in the eyes. “To make up for not being there to rescue my puppy, I think. I’ve never used it—and our
expert in fae magic says that I need to be careful with it. But that sounds like a fair exchange to me.” She looked at Beauclaire.

Gravely, he nodded. “I think that might be right.”

She opened her purse and took out her wallet, and Charles could smell the magic from where he stood. Fae magic strong enough to make him sneeze, powerful enough to give him hope. She pulled out a little white card from her billfold. “I’m not exactly sure how to do this.”

“Magic follows intention,” said Charles, and Beauclaire gave him a sharp look. “Tell it what you want—and tear up the card to seal the deal.”

“Since when did the Marrok’s son become an expert in fae magic?” asked Beauclaire—and Charles saw Goldstein look very bland. It was “the Marrok’s son” that had done it. Goldstein had heard that term before and now wanted to know what it meant.

“Since when did the fae give up information on the werewolves?” countered Charles silkily. Anna was missing: he didn’t care what Goldstein found out. But the fae would do very nicely to sate Brother Wolf’s desire to tear into flesh until it bled. Beauclaire, Brother Wolf decided, would be a worthy opponent, and once he killed something, maybe he could think clearly again.

Beauclaire took a cautious step back and Isaac eased between them. “You don’t want to do anything rash, Charles,” he cautioned. “We’re all on the same team here.”

“I wish—” said Leslie, drawing Charles’s attention away from the fae. “I wish…” She looked at Charles. “One lost puppy for another—but Anna is yours as Toby was mine. So I wish that as I lost my puppy, my dog that I loved, that Charles should find his lost wolf.” She tore the card in half and the magic…did something.

Charles’s phone rang before he could figure out what the magic had done. Its sudden blaring ringtone that wasn’t the song it sang when Anna called him irritated Brother Wolf, who pulled it out of their pocket and crushed it to make it stop.

Everyone in the condo quit breathing—and Charles realized that his ability to speak coherently had apparently given them a false sense of safety.

“How long until it works?” he asked Beauclaire in a soft, soft voice.

The fae sighed. “We don’t even know it will work, werewolf. Something happened, but it wasn’t my magic in that card. Treasach tended toward subtle magic that snuck up behind you.”

Another cell phone rang and Charles growled. Isaac pulled out his phone and started to hit the off button, but paused. “Four-zero-six is the Montana area code, right?”

He answered the phone before Charles replied, and clear as day Charles’s father’s voice came out of the speaker of Isaac’s phone.

“I have a feeling that my son is in a bad place,” Bran said. “And I have made a habit of not ignoring my feelings—especially when neither he nor Anna are answering their phones.”

Isaac gave Charles a nervous glance. “That’s right. Charles is here and Anna’s been taken by the murdering bastards we’ve been chasing. We have the FBI here, the two who’ve been working with us. And Beauclaire is present as well, the fae whose daughter we rescued yesterday.”

It was a very good rundown of what was happening, Charles thought.

“Why isn’t Charles chasing down Anna?”

Brother Wolf growled.

“That’s not helpful, Charles,” Bran said.

“He says he can’t contact her.”

There was a very long pause and then his father said quietly, “Charles. Is it the same thing that was bothering you before you went to Boston?”

Charles couldn’t answer, wasn’t human enough to answer. He turned around and stalked to the far side of the room. If he hadn’t killed them, hadn’t
executed those wolves in Minnesota, he’d have been able to find Anna before she got hurt.

“Before Boston…” said Isaac and his voice trailed off. “Oh, I know what you did before Boston, Charles. This could get messy,” he said to the others, suddenly decisive. “I think we can work something out, but it might be better if you people, who are a little too easy to hurt, are out of the way. Would you mind waiting in the hall?”

“You have something to talk about that you don’t want us to hear,” said Goldstein. “You don’t have to lie. We’ll go wait.”

“I never lie to the cops or the FBI,” Isaac said. He was being truthful, Charles noted somewhat absently. “Things might get pretty bad before they get better and I don’t want you hurt.”

Isaac didn’t say anything to Beauclaire, but the fae said, “I think I’ll wait outside with the others. He’ll be easier without me here.”

There was a quiet click as his front door was shut and another as Isaac threw the dead bolt.

“All right,” Isaac said, and it took a moment for Charles to realize he was talking to Bran. “It’s just Charles and me—though Beauclaire hears just fine. He might be able to hear every word we say.”

“Acceptable,” said Charles’s da crisply. “Beauclaire is trustworthy—and he owes us a debt, if you’ve rescued his daughter.”

Trust Da to know Beauclaire.

“Fine,” said Isaac. “So am I reading this right and there’s something about that fu—” He caught himself, probably remembering someone warning him not to swear around Bran. Charles’s father was old, and though he could swear with the best of them (usually in Welsh) he generally preferred to avoid it. He could get pretty scary with underlings who had foul mouths. Isaac continued with slightly milder adjectives. “Screwed-up thing in Minnesota that Charles got stuck with that is somehow interfering with his bond with Anna?”

“I don’t know,” said Bran. “
Charles, is that what the problem is?”

Charles didn’t know Isaac well, and talking in front of him was akin to dancing naked in public. But if his father could figure out a way to help—and if he couldn’t, then no one could—then he would have stripped off his clothes and run naked down Congress Street in downtown Boston at lunch hour just to get a chance to talk with him.

“They’ve broken the link,” Charles said.

“Who has?” asked Bran.

“The ghosts of the people I’ve killed who should have lived.” He turned to look at his father, but all he saw was Isaac holding his cell phone open.

He smiled grimly at Isaac, who took a step back, and spoke to him. “Another man would probably have a mental breakdown—and blame all sorts of psychoses. But my grandfather was a shaman and he gave me the gift that allows me to see the ghosts of those I’ve wronged.”

“So they are haunting you,” Isaac said, his face quiet.

Charles hadn’t expected the Alpha to get in his face and call him a liar—Charles was the Marrok’s hatchet man, after all. But the simple belief he saw made him remember that Isaac’s grandfather could see ghosts, too.

“And they are haunting me,” he said, Brother Wolf standing down a little from immediate attack. Brother Wolf approved of Isaac, as long as the other wolf didn’t get too pushy.

“Tell him why,” Bran said into the silence. His voice was odd, as it got when he was following an impulse he didn’t understand. The truth was, Charles got his ability to deal with magic from both halves of his heritage—but it sometimes bothered Bran when magic spoke to him, probably because
Bran’s
mother had made the Wicked Witch of the West look like Cinderella’s fairy godmother.

“Because my guilt holds them here,” Charles answered Isaac,
because Bran thought it might be important. “They should be off wherever dead people go, but I’m holding them here because I can’t let them go.”

“You feel guilty about what?” Isaac asked, sounding honestly bewildered. “We all know about Minnesota—no one gossips like us Alphas. Three wolves killed some old pedophile, half ate him, and then left him for the civilians to find—and it was some ten-year-old kid who found him. Probably, taking into account what the gossip says and the police reports I saw, the ten-year-old was the kid the old guy was after. The damned fools probably made so much noise fighting over the body that the kid came to investigate. At least they had the sense to run instead of killing the kid, but I think they racked up enough stupidity to register on the Top Five Dumbass Moves list for the next ten years or so.”