Pack of secrets, p.8
Pack of Secrets, page 8
When the Mondeine dropped ballistic missiles on downtown as retribution for the pack evicting their people, my father was away with a small team on a recruiting mission. He and his crew returned to find a ruined city, the air clouded with deadly silver dust, a missing pack, and a crater where Pier 46 used to be that opened to the long-forgotten underground. Needing somewhere safe to lay low, Dad and his team made camp in the basement-level tunnels and waited for the silver to settle. When the air was breathable again, they scoured the district for survivors.
They found no one alive.
Rather than moving on, Dad buried the dead and planted the pack flag underground. He and the dozen or so remaining pack members moved in and started renovating. Most buildings had been restored and received updated electrical in the 1960s when they hit the National Register of Historic Places. The pack was able to focus efforts on reopening the underground entrances, sealing off the upper levels of buildings, hooking up above-ground solar and wind power sources, and turning what had previously been basements of businesses into family homes.
Standing in the den entrance, about a dozen feet separated me from the first row of brick-and-mortar buildings. Old-fashioned gas streetlights rewired for electricity lined the row and lit up arched brick entrances leading to the tunnels that had once been sidewalks.
A Harley rumbled down the street. I turned to watch Rust slide his bike into the open spot next to mine, kill the engine, and stagger off. Relieved, I took my first deep breath in hours.
He approached, and we gave each other the customary once-over. Looking almost as exhausted as I felt, he sniffed the air between us, and a little of the concern eased out of his shoulders. Stopping by the stream to wash had been a smart move, even if I’d nearly had my face bitten off.
“You look like shit,” Rust observed aloud.
I chuckled. “You always say the sweetest things. That Janey is one lucky gal.”
He gave me a lopsided, weak smile. “I do what I can.”
Even his voice sounded rough. He’d changed clothes, but he was in one piece. I couldn’t see or smell any blood or wounds, a significant win, all things considered. “You shifted,” I observed. He’d never had to go furry on a job before. Of course, I’d never set off an alarm, either. We were covering all sorts of firsts today. Shifters rarely had time to strip before changing forms, and clothes became casualties. It was the reason every pup learned how to sew.
Rust nodded slowly, watching me like I was an idiot for stating the obvious. “You hit yer head?”
“No, asshole. I’m showing concern. I realize it’s a foreign concept to a narcissist like you, but—”
He held up his hand, halting my tirade. Rust was no narcissist, and we both knew it. He cared deeply about every single member of the pack, and even some beings who weren’t pack. I’d once seen him give away his rations to a couple of hungry troll kids. He was just a gooey-hearted good guy wrapped in the body of a grouchy old wolf.
“That smart-ass mouth means yer still you,” Rust said. “Any skinwalker wearin’ your flesh would be better behaved. Ya must be fine. You got anythin’ to report?”
Trying not to get caught up in the realization that there were beings who could wear my skin—or his—I shook my head. “Nope.” It was a technicality, not a lie. After all, I couldn’t very well report on anything we didn’t have footage of.
Rust eyed me, but I sidled up next to him before he could get more precise with his questions. He was listing a little to the left. I wanted to duck under his arm and prop him up while he walked, but that would show a level of weakness and vulnerability nobody in the pack would allow. Especially not a badass like Rust. My mentor could be unconscious and bleeding out, and he’d still find a way to walk home under his own power. Without limping. The stubborn was strong with this one.
“Come on, let’s get you home to Janey and the kids,” I said. As we headed into the den, toward the row of houses, I didn’t support him, but I stayed close enough to dive under him if he went down. Breaking his fall with my body was the best plan my tired mind could come up with.
“Why do you look so rough?” Rust asked. “Did ya have to fight?”
Technically, there was no fight. All my energy had been spent healing the damage my body had caused itself, but saying that aloud would lead to numerous questions, if not immediate sedation and a padded cage, so I shook my head. “I was too stressed about the job to sleep last night. I still have no clue what tripped the alarm, and you took forever to get here. I was worried I’d have to tell Janey her mate wasn’t coming home, and she and the kids would gut me. I mean, what the hell, Rust? Did you stop and take a nap along the way?” Between the attack and stopping to wash the blood off, I hadn’t arrived much earlier than him, but I was just spouting off nonsense to solidify my story now.
Rust chuckled. “Didn’t know ya cared.”
“About being gutted? I care very much about that. But yeah, worrying over you took years off my life, but don’t you fret about me. I’ll go hand the artifact over, pass out for a few hours, and I’ll be right as rain.” All true. Sure, I’d left out some crucial details, but I still wasn’t sold on the idea that lying by omission was still lying. Still, if Rust weren’t dead on his feet, he would have scented my deceit and called me on it. Time to change the subject before his senses kicked in. “Why don’t you fill me in, and I’ll go debrief for both of us while you check on Janey.”
He eyed me, slowing his pace. “I should give my own report.”
“Yeah, and you will. After you get some rest. You look like death chewed you up, decided you were nothing but gristle and spat you out.” He’d changed forms twice before driving home, without food to refuel his system. It was a wonder he hadn’t face-planted on the side of the freeway. “Besides, your mate could be in labor. Janey needs you. Nothing fatal happened. We retrieved the artifact and made it home unharmed. Give me the Cliff Notes about your encounter with the guards, and I’ll share enough with the alpha to keep him off your back until morning. I already feel bad about taking you from Janey tonight. Let me do this one little thing for you two.”
His eyes were full of objections, but I’d offered him a get-out-of-jail-free deal too sweet to pass up. “You’re the daughter of the alpha, Chip,” he said, sorrow leaking into his expression. “Kindness shouldn’t be your weapon.”
My breath caught at his uncanny choice of words. There was no way he knew about my skirmish with the guardian. Rust would have interfered the instant he realized I was in danger. Had he seen me slash my attacker’s ankles and leave? No. Rust would have taken advantage of how I’d disabled the man and finished the kill. My chest ached at the thought. The silver-eyed stranger may have scared the common sense out of me, but I didn’t want him dead. I opened my mouth to ask about his fate, but Rust cleared his throat and spoke before I could.
“After you left, I got the drop on two guards. I was right about them. Gargoyles,” he spat. “I tried ta stab one, but his skin… shimmered and turned light grey. They shifted and sprouted wings. My knife made contact but didn’t break the skin. Worse, it… reverberated like trying to stab goddamn stone.”
Rust carried a titanium hunting knife spelled to keep the edge sharp. It wasn’t necessarily deadly to magical beings with regenerative abilities, but it should have at least bled the guards. My daggers, made of the same metal but without the spell, had sliced right through the guardian’s skin and tendons. Thank God he wasn’t a gargoyle.
“Those winged freaks are faster than they look,” Rust continued. “Gave me a run for my money until I shifted. Then I used my superior endurance to wear ’em out before circling back to the bikes. That’s why I’m so late.”
“Cardio is key,” I said, quoting him. We sometimes missed leg day, but my mentor never let me skip out on a run.
He grinned. “Aww, you do pay attention.”
“You are kind of a broken record.” I wasn’t even sure what a record was but had heard the old wolf use the expression enough times to know it fit. “Are gargoyles in the database?” I asked.
Mondeine liked to intermingle. North America was a melting pot of races and religions, and according to Rust, most non-magical people lived stacked on top of each other in cities. Tricari were different. No laws bound us or kept us from killing one another, so each community stuck to its own territories. Other than recruitment and the occasional heist or hunting party, our pack rarely left Seattle. Limited exposure meant we knew almost nothing about the people and creatures occupying the rest of Terra Fera. Our continued survival depended on collecting information on other Tricari in case we needed to attack or defend ourselves. With this goal in mind, Rust had built the pack a database and populated it with details about the magical beings we encountered.
I’d read every entry, and gargoyles weren't mentioned as far as I could remember. Neither was the creature from the stream. Of course, I hadn’t read any entries on breathtakingly beautiful murderous men with silver cat eyes who sprouted wings, created icy balls of light, and froze their opponents in magic, either. There was still so much out there we knew nothing about.
“I’ll update the database tonight,” Rust said.
“I’m pretty sure you had the entire estate chasing you. I smelled smoke. Did you set something on fire?” If I asked enough questions, he’d be too busy answering to interrogate me.
“The barn. A diversion to keep their attention while I shifted.” He continued to watch me. “What about you? Did ya see that monster patrollin’ the air?”
Wondering if he was talking about the guardian, my ears perked up even as my heart skipped a beat. I worked to keep my expression neutral as questions cycled through my mind. Had he used those forming wings to take to the sky after I’d bailed? Had he shifted into something else? My curiosity was killing me.
“No. The air was clear,” I said, trying not to sound too eager for information. “You saw a… monster?”
“Monster in size, smartass. Should’ve seen this thing; it was huge. Scales so dark t’was like lookin’ into a void. And the power blastin’ out of it was like nuthin’ I’ve ever felt. Smelled like blood and magic. It was comin’ from the direction of the bikes. Thought for sure he’d gotten ya until I saw yer bike was gone.”
Scales? Snakes had elongated pupils. Maybe the guardian shifted into some sort of reptile. “What do you think it was?”
Rust leveled a meaningful look at me. “Think about it, Chip. That room you were in… like a giant treasure chest. The entire estate smelled like a predator. The kind of predator I wouldn’t want ta tangle with. I only know of one scaled creature that flies, hoards wealth, and scares the shit out of its enemies.”
An answer popped into my mind, but it couldn’t be right. Could it? Clinging to my denial, I whispered, “No.”
He eyed me. “Why not?”
Glancing around to make sure nobody was in earshot, I lowered my voice. “You really believe you saw a dragon?”
Frowning, he nodded.
“As in a dragon. Rust, that’s crazy. We don’t even know if they exist.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t change what I saw. Black scales, thirty-foot-wide wingspan, long-ass tail, claws tipped in talons that could rip a vehicle apart. There was talk of dragons during the war. One guy in my unit claimed to have actually met one. I think they’re out there, and we just made an enemy of one.”
Jerking my hands to my mouth, I stared at Rust. Holy shit. Still, it made sense when I thought about the magic. The light, the way he’d locked me in place, how he’d compelled my body to shift almost to the point of killing me. Here I’d been worried he was an incubus. The prospect of dealing with a sexual demon on the warpath had driven me home at breakneck speeds. The thought of an enraged dragon—the apex predator—swooping down to bite off my head made me want to turn into an actual chipmunk so I could hide in a tree trunk for the rest of my life.
“We stole from that monster,” I whispered behind my hands as if they could somehow shield me from the repercussions of such stupidity. Real or not, dragons were definitely on the ‘Do not steal from’ list. Everyone knew that. There were dozens of stories about the repercussions of removing treasures from a dragon’s hoard.
Rust nodded, his expression somber.
We’d made it to the row of lampposts, and I felt like we were walking underwater. There wasn’t enough oxygen in my lungs. Stars danced in front of my eyes, and bile coated the back of my throat. I bent over, afraid I was about to puke. If Rust was right, I’d squared off with a dragon. He’d been impossibly strong and powerful in human form, and only the element of surprise had enabled me to get away. Now he knew what I was capable of, and he’d vowed to kill me. I couldn’t tell anyone because I’d deleted the footage. Even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t talk. Dad would send our entire pack to intercept him if I did, and they’d die. The best thing I could do was offer myself up as a sacrifice and hope he’d spare the rest of the pack. I was so dead they’d have to bury me twice.
I’d called a dragon a coward!
Rust was staring at me like I’d grown a second head. “You okay?”
I needed to calm the hell down. No doubt he could hear my racing heart and was about to call bullshit on my story and demand the truth. But really, there was no reason to panic. The guardian hadn’t followed me home and couldn’t possibly know where I lived. My heart was about to explode for no good reason. I’d gotten away with the chalice. I just needed to lie low until the homicidal dragon found someone else to torment.
No big deal.
I could handle this.
Worst case scenario, he’d show up and kill us all. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone’s accusations of withholding information and not killing the dragon when I had the chance because we’d all be dead.
What have I done?
I swallowed, got myself under control, and straightened. “Sorry, I… we could have been eaten by a dragon. That’s a lot to unpack. Do you think the alpha knows?”
“That he sent us to a dragon trove?” Rust considered me for a moment. “No. The witch told him where the artifact was located. She might’ve had an inklin’ about the dragon and kept the information to herself, but I can’t believe Chaz would knowin’ly endanger the pack by sendin’ us ta steal from a dragon.”
I couldn’t believe it either. My father had a lot of faults, but the pack's safety meant the world to him. It was why he was so strict and pushed us so hard. Of course, I didn’t like the implications attached to my aunt knowing about the dragon, either. “Maybe neither of them knew they were sending us to a dragon’s hoard. And if not, we shouldn’t tell them.”
Rust eyed me, looking like he wanted to argue.
“Nothing good can come of it,” I insisted.
He gave me a curt nod. “I kept watch, but nothin’ tailed me. I think we’re in the clear.”
We reached the first tunnel, and I stopped and eyed my mentor. “And if the alpha asks you?”
“I won’t lie to him. I can’t. You know that. But I won’t volunteer the information, either.”
I nodded, expecting as much. “Go home, Rust. You need to be awake and clear-headed when you give your report. I got this,” I said.
The side of his mouth quirked up. “When did you start giving me orders, kid?”
“Doesn’t matter who says it, you know I’m right. What do you want me to tell the alpha in your absence?”
He gave me his report, and I promised to deliver it word for word. He didn’t sigh in relief or anything, but his shoulders did relax a little. “Thanks, Chip.”
“Of course. Thanks for having my back out there. And in here.”
“Whenever I can, kid.” He chucked me on the chin and trudged down the tunnel before I could retaliate.
I walked to the next block and stepped through the reinforced brick archway. A string of white LED lights ran along the retaining wall, lighting the way with a soft glow. Moonlight filtered through small glass squares embedded in the sidewalks above when the streets had been re-graded. They served as beautiful little reminders that life still existed above the dark depths of the den; a life with dragons, tentacled stream creatures, gargoyles, and all manner of bloodthirsty beasts. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel on my dreams of adventure and never leave my house again.
I shook my head as I approached my current and future hidey-hole, a small smile trying to tug its way onto my lips.
Dad and I lived in the remains of an old tourist trap. Before the bombing, our home had been the basement saloon beneath a restaurant. Decorated to celebrate the district's history, it was all red brick walls, exposed pipes, embossed tin ceiling tiles, and hardwood floors. Dad had remodeled the saloon to include a small kitchen and two bedrooms, kept the separate men’s and women’s bathrooms, and installed a bathtub and shower in each. He also left the old chestnut bar intact. It jutted out from the north wall with a mirror and liquor-packed shelves behind it. The mirror had been cracked in the bombing. Now, it showed a kaleidoscope of reflections like a bizarre, abstract art piece.
I entered, finding the alpha seated on a black leather stool at the bar with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a three-by-five framed photograph in the other. I didn’t have to see the picture to know who was in it. This was how I usually found my old man upon returning from a job.
Dad had been out of town when the Mondeine bombed downtown Seattle, but his family had not. He’d lost his mate, three sons, and two daughters. Twenty-seven years had passed since the bombing, but he’d mourn the woman who wasn’t my mother for the rest of his life.
In the shifter world, there were mates, and then there were true mates. Mates logically selected one another in a human-like agreement forged to benefit both parties and the pack. These relationships made strategic sense and lasted until the individuals were no longer compatible. Shifters could live for centuries, and change was inevitable with our long lifespans. Sometimes people grew apart and wanted different things in life. This kind of mating was the shifter equivalent of human marriage, a contract intended to last through life but breakable under the right circumstances.
