Thirteen
Page 48
Our neighbor didn’t jump in with an explanation, just quietly waited as I worked it through.
“You weren’t Pack, were you?” I said.
“Only as a child. I left at sixteen. After that, I was on the cusp of membership twice. Malcolm Danvers wanted me back in, but I was … undecided. I spent a few weekends with my brothers—Wally and Raymond—many years ago, when I was considering joining. So I know Clayton and the current Alpha.”
“Jeremy.”
“Yes. Not the woman, though. That was after my time. I do recall hearing a rumor that Clayton had bitten a mate.” He chuckled. “I should have known it was true. Where other wolves whine about being lonely, he solves the problem. Not what I’d want— I never understood the whining myself—but I take it he’s happy?”
“Very.”
“Children?”
“Twins.”
“A mate, children, an Alpha-hood to come, if unofficially. Yes, he must be happy. I’m glad to hear it. I was always fond of the boy. I’ve heard rumors through the years. He has quite a reputation, which I was glad to hear, too. I always worried, with the influence of …” He paused. “I wasn’t as fond of the current Alpha. I mean no disrespect, as he seems to be a friend of yours. He just wasn’t … my sort of man or my sort of werewolf. Not like Clayton.”
I bristled at the insult to Jeremy, but I couldn’t hold it against the guy. He seemed a typical werewolf—all muscle and testosterone. To them, someone like Clayton was a real werewolf, if they overlooked his PhD and cozy domestic life. Jeremy was too cerebral. But even those types would have to grudgingly agree that the Pack was thriving. Growing now, having overcome internal division and external attacks. A solid and unified force, undivided since Jeremy’s Ascension.
Naysayers would credit Clayton as the true power in the Pack, a claim that made him laugh. This mutt Miguel might not like Jeremy much, but he’d like him a whole lot more when Jeremy used his influence to get him out.
Cabals weren’t allowed to hold American werewolves captive. If they committed a crime, they had to be turned over to the Pack for punishment. Which, all things considered, might not have been in Miguel’s best interests. But whatever he’d done, it must have been at least twenty years ago if he didn’t know Elena. Jeremy would probably decide he’d been punished enough. Either way, he’d get Miguel out.
I slept a little after that, curled up against Adam, with his arm over me. When we woke up, new bottles of water had been pushed through the opening, along with extra blankets, as if they’d just realized there were two of us. They’d replaced the bucket, too. In the faint light from the corridor, I could see that some of Adam’s bruises were already fading. His ribs ached, but he insisted they were cracked not broken. Our neighbor wasn’t the only one with enough fighting experience to recognize the signs.
Miguel noticed we were awake and chatted with us for a while. It was an oddly normal conversation, like being on an overseas flight, occasionally talking to the guy beside you, but mostly just doing your own thing.
He’d heard rumors that something was going on. I gave him the basics. If he had an opinion about supernaturals revealing themselves, he didn’t give it.
Adam and I also played games. When we’d unfolded the extra blankets, we’d found a pack of cards tucked inside. Did they give them to all prisoners? Or did we have a sympathetic guard out there? Someone who knew who I was and liked Sean? We hoped so.
There were other things I wanted to talk about. Personal things. I got the sense Adam felt the same, from the looks he’d slant my way when he thought I wouldn’t notice. But neither of us said anything. It wasn’t the time. Or the place. Especially with our neighbor listening.
So we played cards. And chatted. And curled up under the blankets together to rest.
TWENTY-ONE
When a guard came again, hours later, it wasn’t the same one. He wasn’t even wearing the same uniform, just standard-issue Nast security garb. When he approached our cell, he lifted a finger to his lips before we could speak, then waved us over close to the bars.
“Sean sent me,” he whispered. “He doesn’t dare come himself—his uncle has men watching for him. He’s in Miami with Bryce. I’m going to take you to him.”
When we hesitated, he said, “Sean says you both owe him now and that means he’s never riding Trixie again.”
Adam laughed. Trixie was an old nag at a ranch we liked in Colorado. The last time we were there, they’d sold the horse Sean usually rode, and he’d wanted to flip coins to see who had to ride Trixie. We’d refused. It wasn’t something anyone else would know about.
The guard unlocked the door. “Hurry. Captain Kaufman is waiting for you.”
As we stepped out, a voice floated from the next cell. “You’ll remember me, won’t you?”
“I will,” I said and stopped at his cell. “I’ll tell Jeremy you’re in here. He’ll do something about it.”
Miguel had moved back into the shadows. But as dark as this place was, my eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, and I could see him plainly. Judging the age of a werewolf is a tricky thing. The man in the cell looked about the guard’s age—late forties, early fifties. His dark hair was barely shot with silver. He was an inch or so shorter than me, broad-shouldered with a muscular build. Blue eyes, but an average blue, nothing outstanding. I supposed he would be considered good-looking for his age, but I found it hard to see that, because I knew who this man was. Not Miguel Santos.
“Did I mention I used to spend summers at Stonehaven?” I said.
His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “I find that hard to believe, my dear. The Pack does not—”
“They don’t like outsiders. A twelve-year-old friend of the family isn’t so bad, though, as long as she knows her place and treats them with respect. That’s one thing Clay made sure I knew. Treat Stonehaven and everyone in it with respect. I screwed that up once.”
“We need to move,” the guard whispered.
I continued, “There’s this bedroom, see. A locked bedroom. It’s the twins’ room now, but when I was growing up, it was always locked and when I asked what was in it, everyone changed the subject. So one day I used an unlock spell and broke in. Clay caught me. Gave me proper hell. But he did tell me whose room it was. He didn’t really need to, because I saw photos in that room and I figured it out. Do you know who I saw in those photos?”
“You weren’t Pack, were you?” I said.
“Only as a child. I left at sixteen. After that, I was on the cusp of membership twice. Malcolm Danvers wanted me back in, but I was … undecided. I spent a few weekends with my brothers—Wally and Raymond—many years ago, when I was considering joining. So I know Clayton and the current Alpha.”
“Jeremy.”
“Yes. Not the woman, though. That was after my time. I do recall hearing a rumor that Clayton had bitten a mate.” He chuckled. “I should have known it was true. Where other wolves whine about being lonely, he solves the problem. Not what I’d want— I never understood the whining myself—but I take it he’s happy?”
“Very.”
“Children?”
“Twins.”
“A mate, children, an Alpha-hood to come, if unofficially. Yes, he must be happy. I’m glad to hear it. I was always fond of the boy. I’ve heard rumors through the years. He has quite a reputation, which I was glad to hear, too. I always worried, with the influence of …” He paused. “I wasn’t as fond of the current Alpha. I mean no disrespect, as he seems to be a friend of yours. He just wasn’t … my sort of man or my sort of werewolf. Not like Clayton.”
I bristled at the insult to Jeremy, but I couldn’t hold it against the guy. He seemed a typical werewolf—all muscle and testosterone. To them, someone like Clayton was a real werewolf, if they overlooked his PhD and cozy domestic life. Jeremy was too cerebral. But even those types would have to grudgingly agree that the Pack was thriving. Growing now, having overcome internal division and external attacks. A solid and unified force, undivided since Jeremy’s Ascension.
Naysayers would credit Clayton as the true power in the Pack, a claim that made him laugh. This mutt Miguel might not like Jeremy much, but he’d like him a whole lot more when Jeremy used his influence to get him out.
Cabals weren’t allowed to hold American werewolves captive. If they committed a crime, they had to be turned over to the Pack for punishment. Which, all things considered, might not have been in Miguel’s best interests. But whatever he’d done, it must have been at least twenty years ago if he didn’t know Elena. Jeremy would probably decide he’d been punished enough. Either way, he’d get Miguel out.
I slept a little after that, curled up against Adam, with his arm over me. When we woke up, new bottles of water had been pushed through the opening, along with extra blankets, as if they’d just realized there were two of us. They’d replaced the bucket, too. In the faint light from the corridor, I could see that some of Adam’s bruises were already fading. His ribs ached, but he insisted they were cracked not broken. Our neighbor wasn’t the only one with enough fighting experience to recognize the signs.
Miguel noticed we were awake and chatted with us for a while. It was an oddly normal conversation, like being on an overseas flight, occasionally talking to the guy beside you, but mostly just doing your own thing.
He’d heard rumors that something was going on. I gave him the basics. If he had an opinion about supernaturals revealing themselves, he didn’t give it.
Adam and I also played games. When we’d unfolded the extra blankets, we’d found a pack of cards tucked inside. Did they give them to all prisoners? Or did we have a sympathetic guard out there? Someone who knew who I was and liked Sean? We hoped so.
There were other things I wanted to talk about. Personal things. I got the sense Adam felt the same, from the looks he’d slant my way when he thought I wouldn’t notice. But neither of us said anything. It wasn’t the time. Or the place. Especially with our neighbor listening.
So we played cards. And chatted. And curled up under the blankets together to rest.
TWENTY-ONE
When a guard came again, hours later, it wasn’t the same one. He wasn’t even wearing the same uniform, just standard-issue Nast security garb. When he approached our cell, he lifted a finger to his lips before we could speak, then waved us over close to the bars.
“Sean sent me,” he whispered. “He doesn’t dare come himself—his uncle has men watching for him. He’s in Miami with Bryce. I’m going to take you to him.”
When we hesitated, he said, “Sean says you both owe him now and that means he’s never riding Trixie again.”
Adam laughed. Trixie was an old nag at a ranch we liked in Colorado. The last time we were there, they’d sold the horse Sean usually rode, and he’d wanted to flip coins to see who had to ride Trixie. We’d refused. It wasn’t something anyone else would know about.
The guard unlocked the door. “Hurry. Captain Kaufman is waiting for you.”
As we stepped out, a voice floated from the next cell. “You’ll remember me, won’t you?”
“I will,” I said and stopped at his cell. “I’ll tell Jeremy you’re in here. He’ll do something about it.”
Miguel had moved back into the shadows. But as dark as this place was, my eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, and I could see him plainly. Judging the age of a werewolf is a tricky thing. The man in the cell looked about the guard’s age—late forties, early fifties. His dark hair was barely shot with silver. He was an inch or so shorter than me, broad-shouldered with a muscular build. Blue eyes, but an average blue, nothing outstanding. I supposed he would be considered good-looking for his age, but I found it hard to see that, because I knew who this man was. Not Miguel Santos.
“Did I mention I used to spend summers at Stonehaven?” I said.
His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “I find that hard to believe, my dear. The Pack does not—”
“They don’t like outsiders. A twelve-year-old friend of the family isn’t so bad, though, as long as she knows her place and treats them with respect. That’s one thing Clay made sure I knew. Treat Stonehaven and everyone in it with respect. I screwed that up once.”
“We need to move,” the guard whispered.
I continued, “There’s this bedroom, see. A locked bedroom. It’s the twins’ room now, but when I was growing up, it was always locked and when I asked what was in it, everyone changed the subject. So one day I used an unlock spell and broke in. Clay caught me. Gave me proper hell. But he did tell me whose room it was. He didn’t really need to, because I saw photos in that room and I figured it out. Do you know who I saw in those photos?”
