16. Michael
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MICHAEL
I sat on the porch of Zane's house, anxiously awaiting Doyle and Ivan's return.
My phone buzzed earlier with a text from Doyle, saying the rescue mission was a success but that he had gotten a scratch.
I wondered if he was downplaying his injury.
Finally, I saw Doyle's truck pulling into the driveway. The moment Doyle got out, I ran up to him and hugged him.
At Doyle's grunt, I looked down, horrified to see his bloodied side.
"What happened?" I demanded. "That's not just 'a scratch'."
Ivan chuckled as he opened the car door for a frightened-looking shifter in his early twenties.
The young man looked at Zane's house, wide-eyed, reminding me of a prey animal ready to bolt at the first opportunity.
I felt a wave of sympathy, recognizing a bit of my own past fear in the newcomer's expression.
"Michael, do you think you could sit with him awhile in the kitchen?" Doyle asked. "He's scared of both Ivan and me, and doesn't want to talk."
Relieved at having something useful to do, I nodded.
"Your side..." I trailed off, concern evident in my eyes.
"I'll get it taken care of. Zane called in a local shifter healer he trusts," Doyle assured me.
Then, tugging me close, he gave me a kiss of reassurance.
I nodded and gently took the young shifter by the arm, leading him into the kitchen.
The house, usually bustling with activity, felt quieter than usual. Then again, Otis and the kids were out of the house for the day.
"Hey, you're safe now," I said softly as we sat at the kitchen table. "Can I get you something? Water? Tea?"
The young man nodded, his eyes still wide with fear. "Water, please."
I fetched a glass of water and handed it to him, noticing the tremor in his hands.
"It's going to be okay. My name's Michael. What's yours?" I asked.
“Glenn,” the young man replied in a shaky voice.
"Nice to meet you, Glenn You're safe here, I promise," I said, trying to project calm and reassurance.
As we sat together, I kept an ear out for any sounds from the living room, where I knew Doyle was being tended to.
I hoped the healer would arrive soon and that Doyle's injury, though painful, wouldn't be too serious.
In the meantime, I focused on Glenn.
Glenn and I started talking, and I decided to take a risk and share more about myself.
Glenn might possess some useful information I didn't have.
"I was taken five years ago," I began, my voice steady despite the memories. "I was a captive of Liliana's coven until recently."
Glenn's eyes widened. "Five years? That's... that's a long time. I'm sorry you had to go through that,” Glenn said.
I nodded, appreciating his sympathy. "How about you? How did you end up here?" I asked.
Glenn sighed, staring at his hands.
"I was walking back from my shift at the gas station. It was late, and I was tired. Next thing I knew, someone grabbed me, and everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a cell. I overheard my captors talking—they took me because they wanted to use me as bait,” Glenn said.
A chill went down my spine. "Bait? For what?" I asked.
"They didn't say who specifically, but it was clear they were targeting someone,” Glenn explained, his voice trembling slightly.
Doyle and Ivan?
Liliana’s coven clearly saw Doyle and his pack a threat and if they managed to eliminate one or two of the dragon shifters, the scales would tip to their favour.
The thought made me uneasy. Before I could respond, Doyle appeared in the doorway with Ivan.
Doyle was wearing a fresh shirt, but I could still sense the tension in his movements.
"Everything okay here?" Doyle asked, his gaze shifting between Glenn and me.
"Hey, Glenn. Why don't we call your family so they can pick you up?" Ivan suggested.
Glenn nodded, seemingly less frightened of the dragon shifters now. He hopped off his stool, thanked me for the drink, and left with Ivan.
I turned to Doyle, telling him what Glenn had revealed to me.
Unthinkingly, I found myself approaching Doyle, lifting his shirt gently to trace the large bandage covering his side.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, concern lacing my words.
Doyle took my fingers and kissed them.
"I was hit with a nasty hex, but don't worry, I'll recover. It will just take some time to heal,” he said.
We sat at the kitchen counter, and I made us both coffee.
As we sipped our drinks, Doyle recounted everything that happened in that hatch.
I had a feeling Doyle downplayed certain aspects of the encounter just so he wouldn’t worry me.
Either way, the fight sounded like a close call.
Picturing Doyle hurt or dying in some underground tunnel terrified me to pieces.
I shivered, and Doyle got off his stool to hug me from behind, his warmth soothing my nerves.
"The coven knew taking another shifter would push Doyle and the others into action," I thought, feeling a surge of anger and fear.
The witches also lured Doyle and Ivan to a location where shifting would be a deterrence, not an advantage.
The realization made my blood run cold.
They were getting smarter, more strategic. The thought of losing Doyle because of their dishonourable tactics left a pit in my stomach.
I leaned back into Doyle's embrace, needing his strength to calm my racing thoughts.
“They won’t get away with this,” Doyle murmured into my ear, his voice a steady anchor.
I nodded, drawing comfort from his presence, but the worry still lingered.
“Say, what do you think about staying the weekend at the cabin and forgetting about everything for a moment?" Doyle asked.
When I looked at him, I saw a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"I think that sounds perfect," I agreed.
Maybe a quiet weekend away with Doyle was exactly what we both needed.
I woke up disoriented, my back and limbs aching. When I tried to sit up, my head bumped into something cold and unyielding.
I reached out, feeling the familiar chill of metal bars. My heart raced as I rubbed my eyes, forcing myself awake.
This couldn’t be happening. I was back in a cage—a place I swore I'd never return to.
Panic surged through me. This had to be a nightmare. I was safe now, wasn’t I? With Doyle, far away from this hell.
But the sound of footsteps descending the stairs made my blood run cold.
I tensed, dread clawing at my insides, and when I looked up, I saw Morgan standing there, a smirk on his face and the key to my cage dangling from his fingers.
"Liliana needs you," he sneered, unlocking the cage door. "Don’t give me any trouble, or else..."
He let the threat hang in the air, his gaze sharp as a knife.
"No trouble," I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.
This isn’t real, I reminded myself. But the fear gnawing at me felt all too real.
Morgan yanked me out of the cage, his grip rough as he marched me up the stairs.
My legs felt weak, but I forced them to move, knowing resistance was futile.
He dragged me to the attic, Liliana’s designated spell room—the place where nightmares were born.
"I’ve brought your pet," Morgan announced, shoving me inside the room like I was nothing more than a piece of meat.
Anger flared in me, and without thinking, I snarled back at him, baring my lengthening fangs.
My inner fox stirred, no longer cowering in fear. He was ready, willing to fight.
"Looks like your time away from me has made you remember you have claws and teeth," a voice drawled, dripping with condescension.
I swallowed hard and turned to face Liliana.
She was standing by a cauldron, stirring something that smelled foul enough to make my stomach turn.
Did this conversation ever happen? My memories felt jumbled, distorted.
"You want me? Here I am," I replied, forcing my voice to sound steady.
I prayed for this nightmare to end, to wake up and find myself back with Doyle where I belonged.
Liliana’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she continued stirring.
"The trap your witches set for Doyle and Ivan failed," I blurted out, wanting to hurt her, to see her lose that smug expression for once.
But she just laughed, the sound grating on my nerves.
"They were decoys, Michael. Haven’t you learned by now that I don’t put all my eggs in one basket?" Liliana asked.
Her back was turned, and I watched as she began chopping something with her spell knife.
My heart pounded. I could strike now, while her guard was down. But I couldn’t move.
Fear paralyzed me, the old terror she’d instilled in me so deeply that even now, even in a dream, I couldn’t shake it.
Liliana continued her work, oblivious—or perhaps fully aware—of my internal struggle.
I caught a glimpse of what she was chopping, and my stomach churned. It looked like a liver. Or a heart.
I fought down the bile rising in my throat.
"What do you mean those witches were a decoy?" I asked, my voice trembling. "What about Glenn? That poor kid will be traumatized for life."
Liliana turned to face me, a twisted smile on her lips.
"Haven’t you figured it out by now, Michael? You’re the trap. My secret weapon."
She stepped closer, and I recoiled as she reached out to touch my cheek.
"No," I thought fiercely. I couldn’t let her control me.
Not again. I reached deep within, trying to summon my inner fox, to partially shift my claws. But it was no use.
I was trapped, powerless.
Desperation clawed at me. My gaze landed on the spell knife in her hand, and before I could think, I lunged.
I snatched the knife from her, feeling a brief surge of triumph as I plunged it into her side.
But instead of a scream of pain, Liliana’s eyes filled with dark amusement.
The world around me began to blur, the walls of the attic dissolving into shadows.
My heart pounded as the knife vanished from my grip, and with a jolt, I was back in the real world.
I lay there, gasping for breath, the terror of the dream still clinging to me like a second skin.
My hand instinctively reached for the spot where I’d stabbed her, but there was nothing.
No blood, no wound. Just the lingering echoes of a nightmare that felt all too real.
"Michael," a voice called softly, pulling him from the nightmare.
I woke with a start, gasping for breath, and found myself in the bedroom of Doyle’s cabin.
I was sitting on Doyle’s stomach, and in my hands, I grasped a kitchen knife covered in blood… not my blood.
Horrified, I looked down and saw a stab wound in Doyle’s chest, right over William’s special handprint.
Doyle was still breathing… still talking. I must’ve missed his heart by half an inch. A lucky accident.
"Hey, it's okay. You're safe," Doyle murmured.
I got off Doyle, dropping the knife. It fell to the floor with a clatter.
Liliana’s words came back to me. She called me her secret weapon. I thought of my sleepless nights and the times I sleepwalked.
My heart beat so painfully against my chest, I thought it would burst.
“No…” I whispered, falling to my knees.
“Michael, listen, whatever you were dreaming about, it’s all over,” Doyle said, climbing out of bed.
He pressed one hand against his chest to contain the bleeding.
Why was he being so nice and calm when I had just stabbed him? He should be mad at me.
“Don’t get any closer!” I screamed. “Can’t you see you’re hurt? I hurt you….”
“Michael, calm down. It was an accident,” Doyle told me, but I couldn’t really hear him.
I thought of my moments alone with Liliana, and how sometimes, I’d choose to forget those sessions.
Was she hypnotizing me? Brainwashing me somehow?
When Doyle and his pack ambushed her coven, she had left for the day. Did she know they were going to attack?
My skin prickled with goosebumps.
Did she know I would end up with Doyle or one of his packmates? I remembered her telling me about not keeping all her eggs in one basket.
Had she or other members of her coven brainwashed other familiars?
“It’s not an accident,” I whispered. It hurt to say the next words, but I had to. “Doyle, we can’t stay together. I’m a danger to you, not just you but also members of your pack.”
“Michael, you’re not making any sense,” Doyle said, taking a few steps towards me.
He stopped when I took a few steps back.
“I’m still her creature. She came to me in my dreams. I think… she’s been doing that for a while now, slowly getting into my mind,” I whispered.
I looked around the room and found my clothes discarded on the floor. I picked them up and quickly dressed.
Doyle remained where he was, frowning, probably trying to piece things together.
“I need to borrow your truck. I’m so sorry, Doyle,” was all I could say.
I swiped the truck key on my way out of the cabin. Then I ran out on my mate like the weak coward I really was.
“This is for your own good and mine,” I whispered, sliding behind the wheel and starting the truck.
If this decision was for the best, then why did it feel like I was the one who had been stabbed in the heart, and not Doyle?