Pack of secrets, p.2
Pack of Secrets, page 2
The alpha’s glowing golden eyes snapped to me, and I dropped to my hands and knees in a bone-rattling thud. Lowering my head, I inched forward like Daria had, trying to make myself as small and non-threatening as possible. I could only imagine how ridiculous I looked to the wolves, but I didn’t care. Not when my life was on the line. Rather than dropping to my belly like Daria, I lowered onto my side, facing away from my father. There, I was helpless and completely at his mercy. My nerves hummed as I closed my eyes and prayed he didn’t literally stab me in the back.
Air stirred as the alpha struck. Lightning fast, his teeth tore into the soft flesh just above my collarbone. It hurt—holy shit, did it ever—but I clamped my mouth closed and forced myself to hold still. Seconds passed. Soft fur tickled my flesh. Drops of blood dribbled down my neck. His teeth dug in deeper, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from screaming. The taste of blood filled my mouth, and I wondered if my dad would finally kill me.
Would anyone but Mackiel even care?
Maybe Aunt Sereana or Mackiel’s little sister, Tali?
Would my father mourn me after he did the deed?
Finally, the alpha unlocked his jaw and jerked away. A wave of magic hit me, and a cacophony of voices slammed into my head.
“Letting her in?”
“Thought for sure he’d kill her.”
“Great. Now we have a freak in the pack.”
I recognized the last voice as a guard by the name of Jin. My gaze shot to his wolf form, and he bared his teeth at me.
“I don’t know.” Someone else said in my head. “Might not be all bad. I heard omegas make good scapegoats.”
“’Bout time she’s good for something.”
“Look at her watching us. What’s wrong little witch? You don’t like hearing what everyone really thinks of you?”
“What’s wrong? Can’t you talk back?”
Mackiel had warned me about the mental connection of the pack. He said I’d have to learn to guard my mind so the packmates in range couldn’t pick up on thoughts I didn’t want to share. When I’d asked if there was a way to block out the thoughts of others, he admitted he’d never tried. My handsome, loved-by-everyone, perfect friend enjoyed hearing what his people thought of him.
I, on the other hand, was in hell.
Pushing myself off the ground, I slid onto my knees and unsheathed my daggers.
“Why can’t we hear her thoughts?” someone thought.
“The bitch probably thinks she’s too good to communicate with us.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t even have to go train.”
“Daddy’s little princess.”
The alpha had to hear their thoughts, too, but he turned his back on me and loped away. My father wouldn’t protect me. That was probably for the better since it would only validate their claims of favoritism. Off to my right, Daria snarled, issuing her first challenge. The bitch would probably climb high up the ladder. As an omega, I didn’t give two shits about pack rank. All I cared about was surviving.
Wolves closed in around me, forming a snapping, growling semi-circle.
“Come on, little Chipmunk, let’s see what you got.”
I scrambled to my feet and backed away, hands still clutching my daggers as I considered my options. Fight or submit? I could fight, but these were my people, and the idea of hurting them for a rank I cared nothing about appalled me. It was senseless and cruel and completely against my nature.
Plus, the minute I started fighting, I’d never be able to stop.
There’d always be more challenges, more ranks to climb, but I didn’t want to be the type of person who stomped on others to rise. I just wanted to exist and belong. My only real option was to submit and hope they didn’t kill me. Decision made, I sheathed my daggers, widened my stance, and braced for the first attack.
“The witch.”
“Shit. What’s she doing here?”
The wolves snarled and backed away, making room for a more dangerous predator. A hand landed between my shoulder blades. I was saved. Kind of.
“Grace,” Aunt Sereana said in my ear. “I hate to interrupt your special night, but I believe I may have found a way to release your wolf. Come with me, child.”
I should have felt relief at her invitation to escape the challenges of my packmates, but a shiver of dread crept up my spine. This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to release my wolf, and the experience was never pleasant. She might have been rescuing me from multiple beatdowns, but my aunt’s methods were their own form of torture.
Welcome to adulthood, Grace. It’s gonna hurt.
A lot.
Grace
Twenty-one months later
My day started upside down.
Literally and figuratively.
Head down, ass up, secured in a harness, I dangled over a twenty-foot drop into darkness while bells tolled and gongs thundered, announcing the midnight hour and the beginning of a new day. I was running out of time.
Again.
As much as I’d like to pretend my days didn’t typically begin in an upside-down race against the clock, I was a thief, not a liar. I had standards.
When the echoes of ringing notes dwindled back to silence, I whispered, “How you doin’ up there, Rust?”
My mentor, trained muscle, ever watchful babysitter, and talented technology guru, grumbled through my earpiece in response, “Firewall. I’m almost through. Sit tight.”
Afraid of botching the heist, I did as he requested. With no windows, only the skylight above kept the tables and shelves crowded into the room from plunging into complete blackness. I blinked, waiting for my vision to adapt. The nocturnal animal within took over my sight, enabling me to make out shapes and silhouettes, but details were difficult to discern. Tonight’s job was beyond complicated, but I had the motivation necessary to pull it off. Dad had found the perfect carrot to dangle in front of me, and I was anxious to get busy.
Muscles tense, heart afraid to hope, I took stock of my tools while waiting for my partner’s signal. The supplies in my backpack and the daggers strapped to my thighs had seen me through hundreds of jobs in the past, and I was confident they’d get me through this one. Sure, I was further from home than I’d ever been, in the middle of nowhere and with only a single packmate guarding my back, but the job was the same. I could do this. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Game face on, dressed in my usual black tactical pants, fitted T-shirt, boots, and baseball cap, I sucked down a couple of deep, calming breaths and prepared to make this heist my bitch.
“Almost ready. I’m takin’ over the cameras now.” Rust said. “There. Footage is on a loop. Yer clear to descend.”
“Roger. Goin’ in,” I said.
Not like I had to tell him. Rust monitored my progress from a small action camera attached to my baseball cap. The cap also carried a light made for mining or spelunking, allowing my hands to remain free. The first time we’d tried out the equipment, we hadn’t paid enough respect to gravity. Audio-video equipment was hard to come by, and Dad had lost his shit when we’d returned with mangled gear. Pack alphas don’t just yell when they’re angry; they roar, and my father had verbally detonated with an eyebrow-melting, knee-buckling, bowel-watering blast-to-the-senses. That had been more than a decade ago, and everything was superglued, sewn, and duct-taped onto my cap now, but PTSD reared its ugly head every time my hat wobbled. I’d even duct-taped the cap to my head once. I was eleven at the time and had to cut it off with my daggers. Talk about the worst haircut ever.
I was wiser now. I’d learned. Grown. Evened out the length of my locks. Now I secured the cap to my head with a collection of hairpins and knots that had my long copper-colored hair wrapped around the back hole in a tangled mess it would take me hours to unravel. At least it wouldn’t look like a toddler had taken a razor to my hair at night’s end.
I hit the button on my harness to begin my slow descent, clicked on the cap lamp, and gasped in surprise. The dim beam from my lamp brightened the area, bouncing off glittering wealth and treasures beyond my wildest dreams. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Tables stacked with overflowing containers of gold coins and glittering gems circled a mountain of jewelry boxes. Gaudy rings, watches, and bracelets decorated a splayed mannequin hand perched atop a pedestal. Swords, rapiers, battle axes, and maces—with gem-encrusted hilts—littered an enormous weapon rack stretched along the north wall. A giant-sized medieval suit of gilded armor stood in a corner like a creepy bedazzled sentry with strands of every gem imaginable hanging from its arms. I gaped at it, half expecting the monstrosity to come to life and start flinging necklaces at me.
“Touch nothing but the artifact, or you will die.”
The alpha’s warning rang in my head, and I almost laughed out loud. My father didn’t know me at all if he thought I’d be interested in any of this. I stole for the pack, not myself. And pretty but useless had never been my jam. If I were going to filch a little something on the side, it sure as hell wouldn’t be something as impractical as gold, gems, or weapons that looked like they hadn’t been wielded in centuries. What use would I have for any of it? Not currency. Only the alpha bought supplies outside the den, and he bartered with essential goods we grew or made, not useless adornments. There wasn’t a lot of demand for a pearl necklace that practically glowed in the dark and provided a convenient chokehold for enemies. Here in Terra Fera—the wildlands—survival was key.
Then I saw the books, and my father’s warning made sense.
I would give my left arm for something new and exciting to read—well, at least a pinky—and this collection looked ancient and fascinating. Tomes of all shapes and sizes filled dark wooden shelves, some leaning precariously against the wall, others standing like welcome islands of knowledge amidst a sea of glittering crap. Gilded spines thicker than the length of my foot were nestled beside thin, leather-bound journals. One spine appeared to be made of tree bark. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of information and stories I’d find between their covers.
“Hey Rust, you seein’ this?” I asked.
“Yep. The selfish bastard’s collected ’imself quite the hoard.”
Something in my mentor’s tone made my senses tingle.
“Do you know the person we’re stealing from?” I asked.
“Nope. And I wouldn’t throw that ‘person’ title around too liberally if I was you. We’re still on the wild side of the fracture.”
Even though he couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes. This was an argument we’d had many times. I should give it up, but descending into a literal treasure trove made me uneasy, and the familiar topic provided a measure of comfort. “Person is not synonymous with human. I’m a person. You’re a person. This gaudy disaster could be the collection of another person. You don’t know.”
“You an’ I are half-human. Who knows what this freak is,” Rust insisted, clearly exhausted with my unrelenting campaign to open his mind. “Forget all the bullshit terminology. You know what I mean. Us an’ them.” By us, he meant packmates. Them encompassed everyone else. Typical pack mentality spewed by my father and regurgitated daily by his minions.
“How very uh….” The correct word blinked out of my mind as I hit the button to stop my progression and looked around the room.
“Wise? Mature? Sensible?” he provided helpfully.
I remembered what I was going to say. “Bigoted.”
He snorted. “Yer young. Ya still think the world’s all rainbows an’ stardust.”
Funny, since Rust had had a front-row seat to most of my life and could serve as a witness that nothing had ever been easy or safe. “You know me, just out here livin’ the dream,” I quipped.
“All right, time to stop yappin’ and get ta work. You see anythin’ interestin’ down there?”
Angling the camera on my hat so Rust could get a good look at the thin, broken lines of light moving above the floor, I said, “I see a complication.”
“Lasers, huh? You can handle that. What about the target? You got eyes on it yet?”
Jobs always made him anxious, but this one more than most. His pregnant wife was due any day now, and he was champing at the bit to get back to her. He shouldn’t even be here. I’d asked my father to send someone else, but Dad was an alpha who demanded no-questions-asked loyalty and ruled the pack with an iron paw. He’d looked Rust in the eye and announced, “If Janey goes into labor, the bitch can squeeze her legs together and hold that puppy in until you return.” My old man was a good and capable leader, unfettered by silly notions like empathy and compassion, even when the female in question was risking her life by giving birth to a much-needed new packmate. I loved him, but he could be as frustrating as a key broken off in a lock.
“I’m still looking,” I said, focusing on the job. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was looking for.
This wasn’t my first heist. I’d been enlisted to retrieve other items, but my orders had always included a detailed description and location of the loot. The last job was for an antique gold necklace with an enchanted silver-dollar-sized emerald pendant stored in the master bedroom safe. Dad had provided a picture of the object and everything. This time, my instructions were to search for a relic of unknown size, shape, and substance, rumored to be hidden somewhere in this treasure room. Curiouser still, my father promised I’d find the item because it would call to me.
Call to me?
What the hell did that even mean? I’d asked for clarification, but my old man had nailed me in place with his intimidating alpha stare and said, “That’s all I can tell you. You’ll know it when you feel it. This is what you’ve been training for. Don’t let me down.” He’d enforced the order with a low growl that threatened dismemberment if I failed. Talk about spectacular intel and a stress-free work environment.
Then Aunt Sereana had stepped in to give me her version of a pep talk. “Do you want to shift, child?”
Biting my tongue so I didn’t snap in frustration and point out the stupidity of her question, I replied, “More than anything.”
So, problem solver that she was, she cast a spell of finding on me. “Now, when you open your senses and ask the artifact to call to you, it will. And you should have no problem finding it.”
She was wrong. I had a significant problem with finding the artifact. Spells only worked for witches and other Tricari—or magical people—with similar powers, and I had no desire to tap into that side of my family tree. Still, desperate times called for undesirable measures. Opening my mind and senses, I scanned the room, listening.
Nothing called to me.
Unsurprised, I glanced at the bookcases. Books had a lot to say, and I did feel drawn to them. Did that count? “Touch nothing but the artifact, or you will die” didn’t leave a whole lot of room for misinterpretation. Fearing imminent failure, my stomach sank. Despair knocked on the door to my headspace. I didn’t know if I should kick it to the curb or welcome it in and make it a snack.
All right, Grace, that’s about enough of that bullshit. You can do this. Figure it out already.
Straightening as much as someone hanging upside down could, I closed my eyes and focused. I wanted to be whole. Complete. Accepted. An invaluable member of my pack and not the team handicap. Therefore, I needed to find this artifact.
“Ask the artifact to call to you,” my aunt’s voice repeated in my head.
Why not? It was worth a shot. “Oh great, mystical artifact, please, in the name of all that is holy and or desperate, call to me,” I muttered.
Unfortunately, my mentor had incredible hearing. “Are you… prayin’ or pleadin’?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” I fired back. “I’m being creative. Quiet and let me concentrate.”
He chuckled. As the sound of his mirth faded, a slight thrumming sound drew my attention. It reminded me of the hum of our old refrigerator on balmy days. But as I listened, the volume increased, morphing into more of a throbbing sound. It stirred something deep within me, drawing my attention to the northeastern corner of the room.
Hope sparked as I concentrated. Nothing moved or waved or spoke, but something tugged at my awareness.
“Hey Rust, do you hear or… feel anything weird?”
“Like what?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“Like… a heartbeat. But louder.” The implication made me pause. My old man had sent me after some shady shit in the past, but a body part?
Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t let the artifact be a body part.
I was desperate, so I’d probably still take an organ, but the thought of carrying around a still-beating heart made me want to hurl. I sniffed the air. Nothing smelled of blood. Hopefully, that meant I was in the clear.
“No,” Rust replied after a moment. “I don’t hear nuthin’ like that. Why?”
He wouldn’t hear it if it only called to me. Encouraged, I homed in on the corner emitting the sound, finding a collection of boxes and display cases. The thrumming increased under my scrutiny. I needed to get closer to narrow down the source. “I may have found what we’re looking for.”
“Can you get to it?”
I hung from the skylight located over the center of the room, and the corner I needed to get to was about twenty feet away. Laser sensors roamed the floor and the three feet above it, turning this task into a complicated game of the floor is lava. Unlike when I was a child, this room held no safe sofas to jump from, and touching any of the covered tables or pedestals would start an avalanche of sparkly things sure to trigger an alarm. Not to mention the whole “Touch anything and die” warning. I needed to get my ass to that corner without breaking any of the barely visible beams below, using only the items on me.
“Piece of cake,” I replied.
“Chip?” Rust asked, sounding worried.
