Silver (8 page)

“Well, that’s one endorsement for you anyway,” Michelle told Andrew sardonically, returning to lean her shoulder against the side of the archway into the room. Craig gave a grumpy half-growl from behind her.

Tom stopped with a bundle of newspaper in his arms. “What? No, he’s cool. I was such a punk-ass kid, I deserved everything I got. I used to do things like go out to the dog park to lick the cute chicks’ faces. Ended up in the pound several times.”

“So not everything was a killing offense?” Craig shouldered into the room and flicked a glance to his alpha, but she didn’t stop him. Wanted to see how the argument played out, Andrew assumed. Lovely.

“What in the Lady’s name are you talking about?” Tom put the newspapers back down on the end table they’d come from.

“Oh, you know Dare. Practically European himself, with his Spanish wife. Didn’t you guys in Roanoke hear about what he did to the Madrid pack?” A muscle in Craig’s jaw clenched.

“Barcelona.” Andrew squared off with Craig but kept his gaze on a point just over Craig’s shoulder. If he met Craig’s eyes now, it would turn into a straight dominance contest. He didn’t want to have to deal with the consequences of walking into a strange pack’s house and challenging their beta. He was secure enough in his masculinity not to have to challenge every new Were he met. “I was part of Madrid.” It was so hard to keep himself to those few polite words when he wanted to scream at the man. Would the rumors never die?

“So? They probably deserved it.” Tom’s staunch tone bolstered Andrew’s shredding control. Oh, youthful idealism. He hadn’t earned the approval, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

Craig growled outright. “Deserved to be beaten, maybe. Not killed. Not killed like that.” He jabbed a finger into Andrew’s chest. “What did happen, Dare? I heard they surrendered, and you just ignored it.”

Andrew pressed one hand into the other, popping his knuckles. Control. He had to keep control. But he couldn’t help thinking the beta would have trouble throwing insults if Andrew was beating him.

“Craig.” Michelle’s tone carried the snap of command. “He has permission to be here.” Craig looked back at her, weighed his possible punishment visibly, and then ignored her.

“I heard you mutilated them. Burned the bodies to try to hide it.” Craig pushed forward into Andrew’s personal space. “How could you?”

Andrew gave in, let the pounding of his blood swell up, and smashed his fist into Craig’s jaw. Craig rocked a step back and waited as the bruise on his jaw bloomed through a rainbow of healing colors. Then he smirked and raised his fist for a return blow, what he’d clearly wanted an excuse for all along. The expression drained away as he encountered the resistance of his alpha’s hand on his wrist, however.

“Enough,” Michelle said to Craig, though her eyes went to Andrew’s immediately after. He could read the message clearly enough. She’d let the blow go as Craig’s punishment for disobeying his alpha, but nothing further.

Andrew throttled the anger he’d just released back down. He needed space to breathe if he was going to manage this. He pushed past Craig and Michelle toward the door. “Why don’t you stay here for a bit, Silver. The rest of you will want to be careful, she runs sometimes when she gets a fit.”

Tom skidded on the entryway’s hardwood floor in his stocking feet as he hurried to get in front of Andrew. “Did you want to go hunting, maybe? I mean, after a long flight, and it’s close to the full, so … We have a really sweet spot I can show you—”

“Permission to hunt?” Andrew kept his voice flat and his eyes just over Michelle’s shoulder. He especially didn’t want a dominance contest with her.

“Permission granted. We can discuss Silver when you get back.” Her tone remained even.

When Andrew looked back to check on her, Silver was dozing, not even the tension in the room able to keep her eyes from slipping half shut. Tom pulled on his boots, ignoring the laces for the moment.

Tom let out a sigh of relief as they got outside. He gestured to a crappy pickup parked along the curb. The body was blue, but one door panel was black. “Lady. Sorry about Craig. I think he wants to justify his place in the pack by protecting Michelle, but when there’s nothing to protect her against, he makes shit up.”

Tom opened the door with his key and hit the electronic lock button inside the driver’s door a couple times before giving up and climbing across the seat to unlock Andrew’s door. Andrew knew he was supposed to answer, but if he did, he’d probably say something cutting to the boy since he couldn’t say anything to Craig. Tom didn’t deserve that.

They drove in silence, Tom taking them to a place closer than Andrew had expected. The small highway took them from suburbia straight into farmland, and then it wasn’t long before Andrew spotted a sign for a recreation area. It didn’t look big enough to be completely safe, but being closer to the city gave security in another form. People wouldn’t be surprised to see a stray dog or two, especially when darkness disguised details.

Andrew stopped to draw in the scents when they left the car. A stream off in the distance smelled somewhat dirty, but the spice of evergreens permeated everything. Maybe it was only the grass is greener effect, but Andrew liked the West. Back before he’d become Roanoke’s enforcer, back before Spain, he’d loved visiting, but of course all that had come to an end. Probably not even Alaska would give him permission to cross territory just for a vacation at this point.

“This is a great place, you can’t see very far at all from the parking lot or the beginning of the trail.” Tom pointed, and pulled a pack from under the accumulated fast-food bags and soda cans behind the seats. A good idea, since it smelled like the ground would be damp, and a stashed pack attracted less notice than a random pile of clothes. If this trip had been planned, Andrew would have brought his bag. At this point, he didn’t really care. He pulled off his phone and his wallet, dumped them under the passenger seat and called it good.

Tom led the way down the switchbacked trail from the parking lot for a little ways, and then diverged from it. He hopped over the tree-branch barrier placed to stop the erosion created by people taking the straightest path down. “I don’t get why everyone is afraid of you. I mean, you are a dick, and a hard-ass, but it’s not like you randomly kill people.” He cut off as if he was only just then considering that Andrew might not want to talk about it. “I mean—”

Andrew stepped in before he could flounder too long. “It’s more complicated than that. You’re better staying out of it. I’ll either get the permission I need to cross or I won’t. You being a character reference won’t make much difference.”

“I wish you could have pounded Craig into a pulp.” Tom snapped a low-hanging branch aside with a little extra violence. “I want to.”

“Give it thirty years. It’ll help with understanding about picking your battles.” Some people avoided learning that lesson indefinitely, of course. Andrew wouldn’t wish Tom to have an awakening like his own when it came to the consequences of giving in to the rage.

Before Tom could broach any more awkward topics, Andrew pulled off his clothes. He folded them into a compact bundle, Tom held out his pack in invitation, and he dumped them in with the boy’s. Shifting took perhaps a minute, with the full getting closer. The seesaw of man to wolf swung with the ease of nearly even balance, rather than feeling weighted down as it did when the moon waned. Time to hunt.

8

When Andrew told Silver’s story to all the Portland Were who managed to squeeze into the living room the next morning, their frozen silence made him see her injuries all over again. Time had dulled the shock for him, but even Michelle looked sick, and she’d heard part already over the phone. Tom’s girlfriend pressed her face into his shoulder and covered her ears about halfway through the explanation. Tom kept his body language strong for her even as his expression grew young and lost. Only Craig remained bland; impossible to tell if it was lack of reaction or camouflage for one. Silver herself looked so calm it was probable no one was home at the moment. She sat with her bad arm draped open on her lap so people could see.

Andrew could use everyone’s shock, as guilty as it made him feel. “She needs somewhere to stay, while I find the one who did this,” he said, and sensed the pack’s emotional tide flow where he channeled it. Michelle lifted her chin in slight annoyance, but then nodded to him. He’d have liked to know more about the reasons behind her agreement, but while the potent mixture of scents from the dozen pack members crowded into the room allowed him to guess at group emotions, individual signatures were lost. A useful sort of privacy, in many situations. They wouldn’t be able to get a good handle on his emotions either.

An older Were scooted closer to Silver on the couch and patted her hand. Maria, Andrew remembered belatedly, the name coming back to him from an introduction last night. Maria had asked for details about Silver’s condition as the closest thing the pack had to a doctor.

At least Andrew suspected Maria was older. Age was hard to judge in werewolves, more manner than crow’s-feet. Her skin had a Mediterranean tint to it and her black hair was pulled up in a severe bun. She started to help Silver tuck away her arm into a new hoodie someone had donated, but Silver pushed the woman’s hands away.

“Death said you were trying to get rid of me.” Silver glared at Andrew. “I stopped running, I stayed with you. I trusted you when you dragged me back toward the monster. And now you just leave me?”

“Death?” Maria knelt before the couch and cupped Silver’s face in her hands, olive skin against sickly pale. “She mentioned that before.”

“Who knows what she’s seeing,” Andrew said. “She seems to talk to them, the Lady and Death.”

Silver made an inarticulate, angry noise. “I no more talk to the Lady than you do, warrior. Perhaps you have chosen Death, but it was not a choice I made. The Lady turned away from me and now I can’t find Her or my wild self.” She gestured to the empty air beside Andrew’s feet. “At least you still have that.”

Most of the Were made the Lady’s sign automatically, Maria with marked reverence. Michelle let her hand fall, and then gave Andrew a sardonic look. He could tell the “chosen Death” comment hadn’t slipped by her. He focused on Silver. “You can’t come with me, Silver. I’m hunting your monster, remember? Coming with me will take you even closer to him. Why not stay here?”

Silver clenched her good fist on her knee. “The real question is, who gave you the right to decide where I do or don’t stay? You’re not my alpha. This isn’t my pack, so she”—she gestured to Michelle—“isn’t my alpha either. I appreciate the protection you’ve offered, but I was doing fine on my own—shut up—” Silver broke off to say that to the air beside her, as if someone had interrupted.

“Turned away from you? Why do you say that?” Maria asked.

Silver rounded on Maria, anger rising at what she apparently took for an attempt at distraction. Something about the way Maria asked it made Andrew suspect that she truly meant it, however. Perhaps her religion was so important to her that she did rate that crisis of faith highest.

“I can’t feel Her.” Silver moved so her injured arm fell back across her lap, and stared down at it. “Her light shines but I can’t feel Her presence with me.” She looked upward, presumably at the sky rather than the ceiling. Not that the moon was out at the moment either. Craig snorted at all the talking to the air and left. The rest of the Were drifted after, probably reading that this conversation was a bit more private, though Tom’s girl had to tug him out to overcome his curiosity. After a few moments, only Michelle and Maria remained with him and Silver.

“That doesn’t mean She chose to leave you. She’s just as lost without you, if there’s something that’s put itself between you.” The older woman held her palm flat between them: a barrier. “Tell me about what you see. Maybe we can figure out what it is.”

Andrew pressed his lips together to suppress a sarcastic comment. Religious discussion annoyed him at the best of times. It was all superstition. Look where it had gotten the humans. The torture they’d inflicted on the Were paled in comparison to the scale of the torture they’d inflicted on themselves. Even if the Goddess did exist, why would she be concerned with just one Were, Silver or him or anyone?

“This den shines.” Silver tilted her head up. “A happy pack. Smells of clean water and new growth in the trees. The mist makes it hard to see farther. I can’t smell the monster’s trail.”

“You’re in Her realm, puppy. She’s searching for you. She just can’t find you with this in the way.” Maria took Silver’s bad hand.

Silver’s attention on the other woman intensified. “Can you speak to Her for me? Convey a message? Ask Her for Her help, if She can’t speak to me directly?”

Michelle gestured for Andrew to follow her, and he jumped at the chance to escape and leave the other women to their conversation. She maintained silence until they reached the master suite upstairs. Andrew hesitated in the hall, wary of trespassing on her personal space even if invited. But her scent was too weak to be personal, so he followed her in. With only her living in the master suite, a desk and TV fit easily, and the place was tidy enough to seem like an office that happened to include a bed. Maybe she slept in a lover’s room instead.

“I suppose, viewed in a certain light, it does sound like she’s describing the Lady’s realm.” Michelle spoke mostly to herself as she half sat on her desk’s edge. She made a calming gesture when Andrew’s expression darkened again. He’d rather stick to business. “I don’t know that she’d want to stay here long term, even if I was ready to take her, but she can certainly stay as long as it takes to find her relatives.”

Michelle pushed out her computer chair and propped one foot on it, twirling it. “And you may have the permission to cross until—” She held up a finger. “You find out who did this.”

Andrew gave her a half bow. No harm in laying the formality on thickly. He’d gotten what he wanted. “If she’s right, and she had a whole pack once that was killed, do you have any idea who it might be? Sacramento, Denver, and Seattle haven’t returned my calls. But considering I’m persona non grata—”