One Deadly Bite

Chapter 10

“SHE’S OKAY. SHE’S OKAY. SHE’S GOT TO BE OKAY.” I turned on my heels and started walking back down the hallway, continuing my litany. “She’s got to be okay, right, Lance?”

Macbeth’s father—all 6′6″ of him—was my current bodyguard and the least talkative werewolf I knew, so it wasn’t exactly a shocker when he didn’t respond. Only this time, I wasn’t sure whether it was because he wasn’t exactly social in his human form, or because he didn’t know what to say. Rose babysitting duty encompassed many things, but it usually didn’t involve me teetering on the edge of hysteria and reaching out to the closest Slab of Werewolf to pull me back.

“Aly’s going to be fine.” I addressed my words to Lance’s mammoth chest, unwilling to look him in the eye. “She’s strong. She’s never backed down from a fight.” Speaking hurt my throat, which tightened as I tried to breathe. “Not everyone dies,” I said more softly. “She’s going to be okay, right, Lance?”

“Right,” Lance said, suddenly discovering his voice. I glanced up at him, and his strong, Nordic features shuddered as he attempted something that resembled a smile the way that a great white shark resembles a goldfish.

That, more than anything, freaked me out. Aly was less than twelve feet away, behind closed doors with the pack’s doctor, an hour into a labor that was more likely to kill her than not. My entire body was shaking, and no matter what I said, the ghosts dancing in the corners of my mind whispered that everyone did die. Maybe not in labor, but when it came to me and mothers, dying was the status quo.

And now, Lance was actually speaking to me and smiling, something he hadn’t done in the entire course of my childhood, let alone the month he’d been part of my security team.

This could not possibly be a good sign. If he’d thought I was worrying over nothing, he wouldn’t have said a word.

“I’m going to throw up,” I said, turning again, this time to run for the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and lunged for the toilet, but nothing happened. I was so scared, I couldn’t even throw up. I had to get out of here. I couldn’t just wait in our house, listening to Aly scream but barred from being in there with her. I couldn’t pace up and down the halls, stopping only when someone came to tell me that it was over, one way or another.

If Lance was talking to me, that meant that he was far enough off his game that he might not catch me in the act of leaving. Aly let out another bone-crunching cry of pain, and I closed my eyes, willing myself not to hear her screams. Forcing myself to pay attention only to the goal of escaping, I crept toward the window, letting the inhuman noises ripping their way out of Aly’s battered throat cover the sound of my steps. I lowered my body out the window and climbed down the side of the house. If I hadn’t been in such good shape, thanks to the daily workout regime I’d been put through every morning since I was six, I probably couldn’t have managed to make it to the ground without breaking both my legs, but between my training and my desperation to get away, it was a snap.

I hit the ground running and didn’t stop. As a matter of reflex, I covered my tracks, running in patterns designed to make tracking me difficult. There were several streams in the woods, as well as the disturbingly named Dead Man’s Creek, and I made a point of crossing all of them. Whenever I saw a second pair of tracks, I ran along them, and I loosed my emergency bag of cayenne pepper (which I kept on my person at all times) in an area where I knew any self-respecting tracker would take a great big whiff.

If that didn’t throw Lance off, nothing would. Everyone else would be too concerned with Aly to worry about me.

I’d been instinctively covering my tracks for several minutes before I reAlyzed where I was going and why. For the past few weeks, I’d been the poster girl for good behavior. I’d kept up my end of the bargain with fate, and now it was the universe’s turn to pay up. The way I saw it, I’d promised Aly I’d leave the pack’s secret alone until the baby was born and she was in the clear. Now, Aly was in labor, and I needed a distraction.

Close enough.

As part of my poster-child act, I hadn’t let myself actively think about the origin of the pack’s unrest, and I hadn’t formulated a master plan, but on a subconscious level, I think I’d always known where to go to find the answers. There weren’t foreign wolves on our land. A human hadn’t discovered our secret. There was a threat. An outside threat that couldn’t be dispelled with tooth and claw. Whatever the answer to this puzzle was, my best chance of finding it was about a mile away, deep in the heart of the woods, sitting directly on top of the highest point of elevation in the valley.

Callum’s house.

And for once, he wouldn’t be there, and he wouldn’t know that I had been until after I left. Then he’d kill me, but given the circumstances, I wasn’t entirely sure that I would care.

I knew the way there by heart, even though I rarely found myself on Callum’s doorstep. He preferred to come to me in my studio or at Aly’s house. Callum’s home was reserved for pack business. We all met there, twice a year: the wolves and their wives and Aly and me. It was a different sort of meeting than the pack’s ceremonial runnings, where the Weres shed their human skin and let their wolves come out to play. Those meetings I avoided like the plague, but the ones that took place at Callum’s house required my attendance. There was always an artifice of bureaucracy to them, like anyone in a room full of Weres could forget, even for a second, that our lives weren’t democratic in the least. My inclusion—and Aly’s, before she’d married Casey—marked me as unique in the werewolf world. Humans, unless claimed and Marked as a wolf’s mate, were never invited to Callum’s house. They were never initiated into the pack. They certainly weren’t adopted using a ceremony meant for pups whose mothers had died in childbirth.

They weren’t Marked by an alpha at the ripe old age of four.

Long story short, the way to Callum’s place, the inner sanctum of our werewolf community, wasn’t the kind of thing a girl just forgot, and I made it there in record time. Not being a complete i***t, I paused as I got close, standing absolutely still and listening for several minutes. My hearing was good for a human, my senses as developed as they could be given my species, and I put every ounce of that to use, trying to determine whether or not anyone was guarding Callum’s house. I doubted he would have anticipated my coming here, but if there were answers to be found inside, I might not be the only reason to guard them.

I closed my eyes. Concentrating on one sense at a time helped my accuracy. There was definitely someone inside, probably in the living room. And there, I thought, another one in the kitchen. There was no telling about the basement or the second floor. I opened my eyes, edged closer and closer until I was very near the house, and looked. And then, of course, I was promptly caught, because as quiet as I was, and as sneaky as I was, the people inside were werewolves, and any attempt at pitting my stealth against their stealth had roughly the same chance of success I would have enjoyed in challenging them to a wrestling match.

My first clue that things had gone awry was the person in the living room turning to look directly at me, her face tightening into a pointed glare. My second was the fact that the person I’d heard in the kitchen was now outside and stalking toward me, beefy fists clenched.

My third clue was a very, very audible growl.

“What are you doing here?” Mark spat, grabbing me by the shoulder and turning me to face him in a way that hurt but wouldn’t leave a bruise. He’d learned the hard way not to leave any marks, and he’d never learn more than that. I was Callum’s, more connected to him than his most loyal soldiers, and for as long as I lived, Mark would hate me for that. Any injury—physical or mental—that he thought he could get away with inflicting on me, he would.

It hadn’t taken very long on my end for the feeling to become mutual.

“I asked what you were doing here, girl.”

From Mark, girl was an insult, and a large part of the reason that he hated me as much as he did. If the alpha had adopted anyone, chosen to teach anyone, that person should have been a werewolf, and he should have been male.

“C-C-C-Callum,” I said, forcing myself to stutter as a means of stalling for the time necessary to think up a truth that wouldn’t incriminate me.

“Callum?” Mark said. “Is he hurt?”

As much as I hated Mark, I couldn’t deny his loyalty. He would have died for Callum.

“Rose, is Callum hurt?”

I could count on one hand the number of times Mark had called me by any of my given names, let alone my preferred one. I remembered then how awful I’d looked in the bathroom mirror back at home. Each of Aly’s screams had carved itself onto my face: my eyes were bloodshot, my lips torn from biting down, and the shadows under my eyes extended down past my cheekbones. Every muscle in my body was tuned to anguish. And Mark, who hated Aly nearly as much as he hated me, probably couldn’t fathom the fact that I could be this worried about her. The only person Mark cared enough to worry about was Callum, and he was taking my current state—and probably the fact that I was here and Callum and my team of guards hadn’t stopped me—as a sign that something was seriously wrong.

A better person would not have taken advantage of this fact. It was cruel, it was wrong, and it was stupid, but hey, it wasn’t like Mark could possibly despise me more, and knowing that he’d be happy if Aly died rid me of any guilt I might have otherwise felt for playing him.

“It’s bad,” I said, letting the tears that I’d kept myself from shedding all day come. Mark, smelling the truth in my words, didn’t notice that I hadn’t specified what was bad. “Might not make it.”

“Callum?” Mark breathed. He gripped me with both arms, his fingers biting into my skin so hard that I could feel my flesh bruising. It occurred to me that I couldn’t make Callum’s condition sound too dire, because Callum was the only thing keeping me safe from Mark, even now. “What’s wrong with you? Talk! Is Callum hurt?”

“Callum’s hurt,” I said, thinking of how much I was hurting and how Callum loved Aly the way I did. “He’s really hurt, Mark.”

“Where?”

“Our house,” I said. And just like that, Mark was gone, a blur of greasy hair and short, compact ferociousness tearing through the woods, convinced that he was on his way to save Callum.

I should have felt bad, but I didn’t. I felt nothing—not even a hint of trepidation that Callum wasn’t the only one who was going to kill me when what I’d been up to today became common knowledge.