Trial by Fire
Page 34
Lake met my eyes, her own blazing, and then left her mark on my palm. The exchange was symbolic, the kind of formality our pack had never observed, but somehow, my dominance spreading among the four of us, their inner wolves as much a presence in my mind as theirs, it seemed appropriate.
Devon.
Chase.
Two more times, my fingers laid marks into someone else’s skin. Two more times, marks were laid upon me. When we finished here, I’d go into the lion’s den to take out the lion, knowing that I wasn’t alone, that if something happened to me, my friends would take care of our pack, even if it meant hurting me.
With the wind whipping through my hair, I knelt and lifted my head to the waning moon. I breathed. They breathed. And when they Shifted, and I felt the rush of wild power, bittersweet and pure, I wondered if this time, they felt me in the same way I felt them.
If being a part of me made them just a little bit more human.
I was still alpha. I always would be, but the constant rhythm in their minds as I buried my hands in their fur wasn’t alpha. It was Bryn.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I SHOWED UP ON THE COVEN’S FRONT PORCH LOOKing every inch the runaway. My hair was a tangled mess, my clothes still smudged with forest dirt. My teeth were chattering, and I had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
Ali was going to kill me.
Waltzing straight into the belly of the beast wasn’t exactly a mother-approved kind of plan. In a few hours, when Ali woke up and found me gone, there would be hell to pay, and I was seriously glad that I wouldn’t be the one around to pay it. I was only about 60 percent sure that Lake and Devon would be able to keep her from charging in after me—and only the fact that my friends had open access to my mind and would know the second things went south made me rate their chances that high.
This is what Callum foresaw, I thought, willing the words to be true. I’m supposed to be here. Ali will understand that.
My friends snorted inside my head in stereo. I wasn’t convincing anybody here—not even myself.
Feeling as if my body weren’t entirely my own, I lifted my right hand, fisted it, and knocked on the wooden door. The coven had set themselves up on the far side of town, in a falling-down farmhouse that had been abandoned for years. I lifted my fist to knock again, but the door opened before I could repeat the motion. I shivered, half from the cold and half because the wolves lurking in the corners of my brain didn’t like the looks of the woman staring me directly in the eyes.
She was older than I’d expected. Werewolves aged slowly, and most of them never looked much older than their thirties, so seeing eyes that were worn around the edges and lips that had thinned with age was an unusual experience for me, especially when the owner of those eyes and lips felt alpha in a way completely at odds with the fact that she was human.
“Bryn.” She said my name like she’d been expecting me, like everything up until this point had been her way of luring me in.
“Hello.” I didn’t give her more than I had to, and I watched her face for some clue as to what was going on inside her head. “You’re Caroline’s mother.”
She smiled, and for a moment, it was easy to picture her as one of those PTA soccer moms.
“Please,” she said. “Call me Valerie.”
The expression in her eyes never changed, but I felt it the moment she reached out to my mind, like a cube of ice sliding down the length of my spine. Her smile was gentle and warm, and just looking at her made me want to smile, too.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I concentrated on the shiver that ran through my body and the sound of wolves breathing heavily in my head.
Lake and Devon and Chase.
Valerie’s smile deepened. Her eyes glittered, and without another word, she moved aside, gesturing for me to step across the splintered threshold into the house.
She’d tried to get inside my head, to push me to trust her or fear her or whatever it was she’d had in store for my emotions, and she’d failed. She knew I wasn’t really there to join them. I knew that she knew, just like I was fully cognizant of the likelihood that she would keep trying to find a way into my head. The two of us were dancing, playing chess.
I stepped across the threshold.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to come to me,” Valerie said, her voice soft, comforting. “Bridget and Archer told me that you had an episode in town. It’s only natural that you’d have questions about what you are. What we are.”
The way she said the word might have made me feel like there really was a we, but for the unwavering certainty that I was already part of something bigger.
“I’ve done a pretty good job figuring things out for myself,” I said. “Good enough that all three of your people ended up on the ground.”
“You’re a fighter.” The edges of her lips tilted up in amusement. “No control. No forethought. Things go red around the edges, and you start cutting people down. It’s hardly surprising.”
“Because I was raised by werewolves?”
Valerie didn’t as much as blink at the word. The other members of the coven might feel blind fury whenever the species came up, but she wasn’t bothered by it.
Odd, considering that a werewolf had killed her husband.
“No, not because you were raised by werewolves, though I shudder to think of the effect that might have had on some with your natural proclivities.” Valerie reached forward and brushed a strand of my hair out of my face, a gesture so maternal—and so familiar—that I felt like I’d been slapped. “Most psychics require practice to hone their craft. The more you practice, the stronger you become.”
For a single, jarring second, I could feel her again, coming at me from all sides—pressure at my temples, the slightest hint of a suggestion: confusion, loneliness, yearning.
Yeah, right.
Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “People with your particular gift tend to be a bit more … feral about things. Reining it in won’t make you more powerful, but it will give you choices, about when and how your ability manifests itself.”
My heart pounded in my ears, and when she stepped forward and took my chin in her hands, the only thing that kept me from going into fight-or-flight mode, from throwing her to the ground and giving in to the desire to escape, was the calming sound of other hearts, beating in other chests.
Chase’s eyes.
Lake running in a blur of white-blonde fur.
Dev.
They pulled me back from the edge. I brought one hand to my hip, laying my fingers over the scars underneath my clothes and feeling the light scratches on the surface of my hands.
“You’ve known other Resilients?” I asked calmly.
After a long, considering moment, Valerie let go of my chin. “Resilients?”
“People like me.”
“You sound surprised.” She tilted her head to the side, and her voice went from honey sweet to ice sharp in a moment. “Surely you didn’t think you were one of a kind?”
I couldn’t keep myself from snorting out loud. One of a kind? Me? Any human who’d ever survived a werewolf attack major enough to trigger the Change was, by definition, Resilient. As it happened, I had an entire pack of them back at the Wayfarer. I had no illusions whatsoever about being unique.
Of course, no one outside our pack knew that the secret to making new werewolves was to choose your victims very carefully. Shay didn’t know what separated the Changed Weres in my pack from the ones who’d been born that way, and he couldn’t tell Valerie what he didn’t know.
Advantage: us.
“As it so happens, there’s a man in our coven who shares your gift,” Valerie said.
I ingested that information, absorbed it, and kept my surprise from showing on my face. I’d met other Resilients, but by the time I’d met them, they’d already been Changed. I’d never met a human like me. I’d never even considered that there had to be others.
“His name is Jed,” Valerie continued. “He might be able to teach you a thing or two about control—that is, if you plan to stay?”
Of course I planned to stay. Just like I planned to learn everything I could about the coven, to choose my moment, and to use the tranq gun hiding in my boot to knock Valerie out long enough to put the rest of them through emotion detox.
Devon.
Chase.
Two more times, my fingers laid marks into someone else’s skin. Two more times, marks were laid upon me. When we finished here, I’d go into the lion’s den to take out the lion, knowing that I wasn’t alone, that if something happened to me, my friends would take care of our pack, even if it meant hurting me.
With the wind whipping through my hair, I knelt and lifted my head to the waning moon. I breathed. They breathed. And when they Shifted, and I felt the rush of wild power, bittersweet and pure, I wondered if this time, they felt me in the same way I felt them.
If being a part of me made them just a little bit more human.
I was still alpha. I always would be, but the constant rhythm in their minds as I buried my hands in their fur wasn’t alpha. It was Bryn.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I SHOWED UP ON THE COVEN’S FRONT PORCH LOOKing every inch the runaway. My hair was a tangled mess, my clothes still smudged with forest dirt. My teeth were chattering, and I had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
Ali was going to kill me.
Waltzing straight into the belly of the beast wasn’t exactly a mother-approved kind of plan. In a few hours, when Ali woke up and found me gone, there would be hell to pay, and I was seriously glad that I wouldn’t be the one around to pay it. I was only about 60 percent sure that Lake and Devon would be able to keep her from charging in after me—and only the fact that my friends had open access to my mind and would know the second things went south made me rate their chances that high.
This is what Callum foresaw, I thought, willing the words to be true. I’m supposed to be here. Ali will understand that.
My friends snorted inside my head in stereo. I wasn’t convincing anybody here—not even myself.
Feeling as if my body weren’t entirely my own, I lifted my right hand, fisted it, and knocked on the wooden door. The coven had set themselves up on the far side of town, in a falling-down farmhouse that had been abandoned for years. I lifted my fist to knock again, but the door opened before I could repeat the motion. I shivered, half from the cold and half because the wolves lurking in the corners of my brain didn’t like the looks of the woman staring me directly in the eyes.
She was older than I’d expected. Werewolves aged slowly, and most of them never looked much older than their thirties, so seeing eyes that were worn around the edges and lips that had thinned with age was an unusual experience for me, especially when the owner of those eyes and lips felt alpha in a way completely at odds with the fact that she was human.
“Bryn.” She said my name like she’d been expecting me, like everything up until this point had been her way of luring me in.
“Hello.” I didn’t give her more than I had to, and I watched her face for some clue as to what was going on inside her head. “You’re Caroline’s mother.”
She smiled, and for a moment, it was easy to picture her as one of those PTA soccer moms.
“Please,” she said. “Call me Valerie.”
The expression in her eyes never changed, but I felt it the moment she reached out to my mind, like a cube of ice sliding down the length of my spine. Her smile was gentle and warm, and just looking at her made me want to smile, too.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I concentrated on the shiver that ran through my body and the sound of wolves breathing heavily in my head.
Lake and Devon and Chase.
Valerie’s smile deepened. Her eyes glittered, and without another word, she moved aside, gesturing for me to step across the splintered threshold into the house.
She’d tried to get inside my head, to push me to trust her or fear her or whatever it was she’d had in store for my emotions, and she’d failed. She knew I wasn’t really there to join them. I knew that she knew, just like I was fully cognizant of the likelihood that she would keep trying to find a way into my head. The two of us were dancing, playing chess.
I stepped across the threshold.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to come to me,” Valerie said, her voice soft, comforting. “Bridget and Archer told me that you had an episode in town. It’s only natural that you’d have questions about what you are. What we are.”
The way she said the word might have made me feel like there really was a we, but for the unwavering certainty that I was already part of something bigger.
“I’ve done a pretty good job figuring things out for myself,” I said. “Good enough that all three of your people ended up on the ground.”
“You’re a fighter.” The edges of her lips tilted up in amusement. “No control. No forethought. Things go red around the edges, and you start cutting people down. It’s hardly surprising.”
“Because I was raised by werewolves?”
Valerie didn’t as much as blink at the word. The other members of the coven might feel blind fury whenever the species came up, but she wasn’t bothered by it.
Odd, considering that a werewolf had killed her husband.
“No, not because you were raised by werewolves, though I shudder to think of the effect that might have had on some with your natural proclivities.” Valerie reached forward and brushed a strand of my hair out of my face, a gesture so maternal—and so familiar—that I felt like I’d been slapped. “Most psychics require practice to hone their craft. The more you practice, the stronger you become.”
For a single, jarring second, I could feel her again, coming at me from all sides—pressure at my temples, the slightest hint of a suggestion: confusion, loneliness, yearning.
Yeah, right.
Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “People with your particular gift tend to be a bit more … feral about things. Reining it in won’t make you more powerful, but it will give you choices, about when and how your ability manifests itself.”
My heart pounded in my ears, and when she stepped forward and took my chin in her hands, the only thing that kept me from going into fight-or-flight mode, from throwing her to the ground and giving in to the desire to escape, was the calming sound of other hearts, beating in other chests.
Chase’s eyes.
Lake running in a blur of white-blonde fur.
Dev.
They pulled me back from the edge. I brought one hand to my hip, laying my fingers over the scars underneath my clothes and feeling the light scratches on the surface of my hands.
“You’ve known other Resilients?” I asked calmly.
After a long, considering moment, Valerie let go of my chin. “Resilients?”
“People like me.”
“You sound surprised.” She tilted her head to the side, and her voice went from honey sweet to ice sharp in a moment. “Surely you didn’t think you were one of a kind?”
I couldn’t keep myself from snorting out loud. One of a kind? Me? Any human who’d ever survived a werewolf attack major enough to trigger the Change was, by definition, Resilient. As it happened, I had an entire pack of them back at the Wayfarer. I had no illusions whatsoever about being unique.
Of course, no one outside our pack knew that the secret to making new werewolves was to choose your victims very carefully. Shay didn’t know what separated the Changed Weres in my pack from the ones who’d been born that way, and he couldn’t tell Valerie what he didn’t know.
Advantage: us.
“As it so happens, there’s a man in our coven who shares your gift,” Valerie said.
I ingested that information, absorbed it, and kept my surprise from showing on my face. I’d met other Resilients, but by the time I’d met them, they’d already been Changed. I’d never met a human like me. I’d never even considered that there had to be others.
“His name is Jed,” Valerie continued. “He might be able to teach you a thing or two about control—that is, if you plan to stay?”
Of course I planned to stay. Just like I planned to learn everything I could about the coven, to choose my moment, and to use the tranq gun hiding in my boot to knock Valerie out long enough to put the rest of them through emotion detox.
