Forbidden (15 page)

“I do, but…” Tammy's shoulders slumped a little more. Claire noticed and despite her obvious exhaustion, made an effort. “Y'know what? Let me call my pack's healer. He knows just about everyone. Maybe someone out there has found something that I just haven't heard about.”

Tammy gave a shaky smile and Cindee ruffled her blond hair. “It'll be okay, kittycat. And you know if it comes down to it, I won't let it hurt.”

That made the cougar shifter smile. “Pinky promise?” She held up her bound hands, one finger in the air.

“Always.” Cindee hooked her pinky with the other woman's and fragrant cookie spice edged out the wet, tangy scents of pain and fear. “Let's get the two of you back to the house so we can dress those wounds.”

Claire stared at them with something approaching wonder. She shook her head, as if trying to figure out what she was seeing, but he couldn't figure out why. They began to walk slowly toward the house. It was one thing to walk on hardened wolf pads across the rocks and sticks. It was another thing to do it in bare feet accustomed to shoes. He couldn't help but notice Claire's snickers each time he hopped and cursed after an unprotected toe cracked against a rock hidden in tall grass.

It was long minutes before they reached the house. Alek had never been so glad to walk on smooth concrete and couldn't wait to sink into a hot bath because pretty soon, the adrenaline was going to wear off and his body was going to remind him just how badly he was hurt.

Scott raced outside as they reached the front porch, skidding to a stop when he saw Tammy, his eyes nearly as wide as when he shifted to an owl on the moon. “Hey, Tam.”

She noticed that he stayed just out of reach and flinched, her gaze dropping to the polished planks underfoot. “Hey, fluffball.”

Cindee put a hand on her arm. “C'mon. We need to get you settled downstairs.”

Tammy nodded with a tiny movement, accepting that not only was she a prisoner, but she was unstable enough to be locked in the secure room in the basement where she wouldn't be able to harm herself or others. “'K.” She looked at Cindee hopefully, her scent worried and sad. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Cindee looked at Alek, then at Scott. “What do you think Mom would say? We used to room together.”

True. But … “Tammy, you know I think we can fix you. I do. But do you even
remember
attacking Patrick? Do you remember trying to chew his leg like a drumstick at Chkn-N-Mo?”

To her credit, she tried. Her eyebrows dropped and bunched until they looked like one long line of blond hair across her forehead. Alek knew the truth, as did Claire. He needed to find out how close to the edge the cougar was—whether she had been suicidal and
hoping
Patrick would kill her, or rogue and outside her own mind. Her breath started to come in fast pants until she shook off whatever was trying to overtake her and set her jaw. “Lock me up. I don't want to hurt you guys. I don't know what I'll do. I hate it, but I just don't know.”

Scott couldn't take it anymore. He brushed past Alek and threw his arms around Tammy, his streaked sheet of hair obscuring her face for a long moment. She couldn't hold him back because of the restraints on her hands. It wasn't long before her shoulders began to shake beneath the pale pink blanket and she broke down in heart-wrenching sobs, collapsing onto Scott.

They all stood there for long moments in uncomfortable silence until Claire broke the tension. “Ugh, I'm getting chewed up by bugs in places I really don't want to scratch. I'm going inside.” Without really waiting for acknowledgment, she climbed the stairs onto the porch.

Cindee touched her shoulder as she walked past. “Really impressive, by the way. Thank you so much.”

Alek had no idea what she was talking about. Claire just shrugged and curved up one corner of her mouth as she walked past. “Yeah … well. Tell Asylin that.”

He was missing something but wasn't even sure what to ask. He figured if someone wanted him to know, they'd tell him. “See you in the morning?” There was a lilt in his voice that sounded strange to his ears. Hopeful, nearly asking permission for her favor.

She stopped, shoulders tensed with the door half open. Her finger twitched on the painted wood. “I suppose so.” Her voice was … neutral. Not angry, thank heavens, but not really warm either, which bothered him more than he wanted to admit. She went into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

“She's still mad at me.” He said it quietly, not even caring that the others would hear.

Scott had released Tammy, who had gotten herself under control. He clapped Alek on the shoulder. “Let it go. You're exhausted, dude. So is she. Go home. Get some sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

His first day as the Omega. He'd nearly forgotten in the rush of events. “Where do I check in? I probably need to know—”

“It's okay, Alek. Got your back. Rachel and I already talked. We're going to be your guides the first day. It's in the rules for the outgoing Omega to train the new one in the duties. I'm the last male Omega, Rachel the last female. The chief will probably have kittens about two helpers, but there's never been two Omegas before. The mayor is a wuss, but he's a stickler for the rules. Just ask for a
male
guide and they'll be stuck. Equality bites both ways.”

 

CHAPTER 12

Pain seared with every twitch of a muscle. There was no way to get comfortable. The straw underneath Claire's injured body gave no relief, no matter how she tried to fluff it into a bed. The screams from other cages had lessened to whimpers and finally to exhausted, uneasy sleep. Her stomach growled angrily, but she wouldn't touch the meat on her plate. She was positive it wasn't beef or chicken, and she didn't want to imagine what else it might be. The pads of cactus, the outside scorched to remove the spines, wouldn't keep her alive for long. But she wasn't interested in being alive for long. Life meant only more torment.

Yesterday she'd been taken to The Room … lined with cages filled with massive birds—owls mostly, but some eagles and a few falcons. They spoke human languages and their eyes held either intelligence or insanity.

The guards would decide which cage she was thrown into. She knew from other captives that pleading would do no good. As far as they were concerned, she wasn't a terrified twelve-year-old girl from Kansas. Wasn't even human.

She was just a piece of meat. She might become a new warrior for their army. Or she might be food and nothing more.

When the guards left them alone, the other victims talked in quiet tones. Most advised her to fake being afraid of the birds that looked intelligent and ignore the insane ones. If a bird wouldn't attack, the guards would goad it with shock sticks or spears until it scratched or bit. Even then, the attack would be shallow, just breaking the skin.

The insane ones didn't need persuasion. They considered anything moving to be food and were always hungry. Captives would have to be dragged out of those cages.

Sometimes they weren't.

She'd been thrown into a cage with a golden eagle this time. Last time it had been an owl, fluffy feathers over the eyes looking like devil horns to her. The eagle had required goading. The scratches across her torso came with an apology in Spanish and a sad expression. That helped Claire endure it. They were both victims, after all.

She heard the sound of footsteps bouncing off the ceiling. Before she was kidnapped, she would sleep so soundly that her grandmother would have to call her a dozen times to breakfast, run so late that she usually had to chase after the bus. Now, if she slept at all, it was light and fitful. The guards' footsteps were better than any alarm.

They would only enter the choking, ammonia-laced dungeon when a victim was needed. That only happened when a new bird had been created or someone had died during the process. The guards' boots were heavy, steel-toed models that echoed when they walked. They stopped at her door. She bolted upright.

Not again. Surely not so soon. Her heart started pounding. She'd thought the guards had been placated by the shallow talon wounds. Most of the other captives agreed that shallow cuts wouldn't usually turn someone unless they had shifter blood already. But the deep wounds, the life-threatening ones, those could turn nearly anyone … if the person didn't die, that is.

Though Claire couldn't see in the pitch blackness, she could smell the guard's sweat, even stronger than the stench of urine and feces. Maybe she would be lucky and be chosen to be a guard's girlfriend. She'd heard of that happening, and to have a guard's protection was a powerful thing. It wasn't much of a choice to Claire. But few of the guards had a liking for pale skin. The girls with the same skin color as the guards usually wound up the girlfriends.

A wave of stinging, bitter scent hit her nose, left a taste on her tongue like iodine. It was
him
. The one who had kidnapped her. Latino or Middle Eastern—she'd never known for sure. He was the black snake, the one they called Roberto. She'd heard one or two guards call him Lord Nasil. He terrified her. Not because he was violent, but because he was
cold
. Calculating, fast, and frighteningly intelligent. He was always one step ahead of everyone, like he could read minds and know what people were planning. Did he know she'd been loosening the bolts that held her shackles to the stone wall? Was he finally going to kill her for trying to run into the sunlight that one day, long ago? The fact that Roberto frightened all the guards just as much didn't make her feel much better.

The door creaked open. Heart pounding, stinging sweat dripping into her eyes, breathing shallow and fast, she did not move, did not make a sound. Noise made the guards laugh or, worse, hit her until she stopped. She had no idea what Roberto would do if she screamed.

The darkness wasn't as complete as she remembered. There was light through a window, a soft cover over her, and the scent of pine in the air. There was no cave, no cage, no silver chains on her wrists and ankles. Disoriented, panicked, she silently slipped to the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor, feet under her, ready to spring.

“Claire?”

The familiar voice, from the cave and not from the cave, pulled her back to reality. Rachel was outside the bedroom, whispering through the barely open door, careful to stay away. “Are you ready?”

Ready? Claire blinked again, trying to focus past the pounding of her heart caused by a rush of adrenaline. The house was silent except for her own harsh breathing and the whisper of fabric on the other side of the door. She remembered then—it had taken some time and scrubbing last night to remove the oil from the door hinges so it would squeak when opening. But it had been worth it. She wasn't sure what she would have done to Rachel if she'd reached the bed and had shaken Claire awake. Especially after the dream.

There was a scent of urgency from the owl shifter, but also fear. What would it be like to forever be afraid of waking someone?

“Claire? Are you dressed? We should already be there.”

It was still dark outside. She twisted her body to look at the alarm clock in the corner. Muscles she didn't know she had screamed in protest. It was only three o'clock! What the hell? “What time are we supposed to be there? It's not even light out yet.”

Now that Claire was obviously awake, Rachel poked her head in nervously. “Oh, sweetie … you can't afford to start when it's light. You'd never finish.” She paused. “Although, with two of you working—Hmm. Maybe it
won't
take all day. You might get lucky. But c'mon. Get dressed. Won't know until we try.”

Claire rose to standing, feeling the sharp stabbing from the cuts on her back. She couldn't put full weight on her right leg. The pounding in her thigh said the bruising probably went a lot deeper than she'd originally thought. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to turn on the light to see what it looked like.

When she looked up again, Rachel had slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. She started talking, low and soothing. “Another nightmare? I still get them too. Not a surprise, considering yesterday. Man, even my sucky nose can tell you're hurting.” She didn't say anything about the smell of sweat and fear that likely overpowered the scent of pain. Claire's Alpha had never mentioned the stink of fear either. She would just open a window to let fresh air clear it out, which is exactly what Rachel did now. The little dignities helped.

“Sort of. Does it matter what I wear?”

Rachel shrugged in the pale moonlight; lace curtains rustled in the breeze like wings behind her. “Not really. You'll have different things to wear depending on where we are, so what you start and end in doesn't really matter.”

Different things to wear
—
?
“What exactly does the Omega do in town? I'd figured it was chores and such.”

Now the scent that came from Rachel turned uncomfortable, making Claire look up sharply from where she sat on the bed putting on socks. “Of a sort. Every house is a little different.”

“What aren't you telling me, Rachel?”

She stepped forward, glancing at the door as she bent down and whispered right next to Claire's ear. “Not here. I promise … as soon as we're outside. Just
hurry
.”

What the hell was going on? But she did as Rachel asked, throwing on jeans and a long-sleeved dark top that wouldn't show dirt easily and a pair of borrowed hiking boots with ankle support. She probably wouldn't need her purse or keys. In fact, she'd be afraid to lose them if she was moving from place to place in the dark. Instead, she tucked the purse under the mattress and gave it a quick spray of perfume as an extra precaution. It was expensive perfume, made of natural flower oils that were extremely difficult to wash off. Someone changing the sheets probably wouldn't get it on their skin, but someone touching her purse definitely would.