Chapter 6
six
They held the Silence for Kyle, not speaking unless absolutely necessary. It was to keep his spirit from lingering, but also meant Zach had too much time to think.
It also meant he couldn’t explain much to the new shaman. Not that she seemed disposed to listen, especially once she emerged from a semiconscious daze. She shrank frantically away any time one of them approached, and her gaze roved the inside of the van when she thought he wasn’t watching.
Looking for escape.
He cursed himself every time she flinched. She huddled to one side of the middle bench seat, pressed against the van’s wall, making herself as small as possible, an oil-stained rag clasped to the side of her head—she’d fetched up hard against the van’s side when he dealt with Julia.
Which was bad.
A pretty little thing, curved in all the right places, her hair a tangle of sandalwood curls and those little librarian glasses—thankfully not damaged; Brenn had carefully picked them up—perched on her adorable little nose, over two wide, fearful eyes.
Too dim to tell what color the pale irises really were.
Something too light to be green, and the wrong shade for blue.
He wanted to find out.
Unfortunately, the bruise spreading down the side of her face didn’t do much to help.
But he’d had to shut Julia up before he was tempted to hurt her.
So many times now he had glanced over to gauge Kyle’s reaction to the new shaman, to Eric’s driving, to Julia’s soft sobbing in the very back seat—and found an empty place where his little brother should be.
This is your fault, not Julia’s. He wasn’t hard enough to lead, and especially not to rule a traveling Family without a shaman. You knew, you always knew. You still let him take the alpha, because… why?
Because of the smoke and Kyle’s agonized howl as Zach held him back, as the fire ate their home and their parents.
It was right after a fight with a small wandering band of upir, both their alpha and shaman wounded, the shaman too deep in a healing-trance to wake up in time.
Smoke inhalation could kill any Tribe, and the old alpha had thrown Zach clear with the last of his strength.
Dad had succumbed with his last mate, their deaths an agonizing rawness in the center of Zach’s memory.
The fire left them homeless, without shaman or kin. And it left Zach with the deep shame of failure. He was strong enough—he should have saved Dad or gone up in flames with the shaman. He’d made the instinctive choice, not the right one.
Brooding wastes energy.
He had more immediate problems, like keeping their new shaman quiet as the van inched up to the drive-thru window. Which meant crouching right in front of her, peering at that pale, pretty little face.
She inhaled once or twice, sharply, but might be too shocked and disoriented to scream. Or she was calculating the likely consequences, especially since the van could simply pull out and vanish. Zach wasn’t quite sure.
Eric handed the bags of food to Brenn, who had settled in the front passenger seat, not daring to comfort his crying twin just yet. The shaman potential—wouldn’t give her name, either—perched dry-eyed and dazed on the middle bench seat.
Their new treasure smelled too good to be true, and he had to stop himself from sniffing like a bleeder glue addict every time the air in the van shifted.
I have screwed this right up, haven’t I? But he hadn’t been thinking, just reacting to the beast’s roar of possessiveness. It had happened so quickly and she smelled so good, brunette musk and cold silver light.
That last bit meant comfort to any Tribe, and especially Carcajou.
It was the shamans who could hold the beast in check, their ice and moonlight taking the edge off sharp claws and blood-hunger.
Already it was easier to think clearly even with the numbness in his chest, the part of him that didn’t believe his little brother was gone.
And as soon as she was fully triggered, she’d belong to them. It wouldn’t take long, not with how strongly she exuded potential. A stray gust of air brought him another load of the silver-smell, and he inhaled gratefully.
Kyle. Wish you were here to see this.
But he wasn’t. And so they broke the Silence temporarily to break their fast. Maybe he could talk to the girl, coax her somehow.
It didn’t seem likely.
* * *
“Dead cow ahoy,” Brenn said, thrusting three huge bags’ worth of overcooked, oversalted meat and processed bread into Zach’s hands.
The van rolled for the freeway once more, Eric wolfing double hamburgers almost whole.
The tank was full—courtesy of the stop-and-rob across the street, Zach had kept her successfully quiet and contained during that swift halt as well—and they were ready to strike further south.
When they finished eating they could keep the Silence again.
“You want some?” Brenn now took Zach’s place before the woman, his head well below hers, conciliation evident in every line. His scent-wash was submissive too, tinted with softness.
He was the one she was least likely to be terrified of. And the closer he could get, the more they could all get their pheromones on her, the sooner she’d trigger and be theirs in truth.
She just blinked, holding the rag to her head. “I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Please just let me go.”
“Don’t worry.” Brenn was trying to sound hopeful and soothing; Zach watched carefully, hoping she’d respond. Her scent was alternately far too pale and choking-strong. Which could be shock; it could be simply that she wasn’t triggered yet. Or both. “We’re not going to hurt you. We need you.”
Her long dark eyelashes fluttered, as if she was having trouble focusing. It would just cap everything if she had a concussion. “Did… did Marc pay you? Whatever he promised you, please, don’t believe him. He lies.”
What? Zach didn’t like the sound of that. But they had to take it one step at a time right now. “Just give her some food. You’d better eat, sweets. You look like you need it.” He almost glanced to the front passenger seat to gauge Kyle’s reaction, stopped himself by snagging a milkshake.
Eric slurped at a root beer, flipping the turn signal and setting the drink in a holder with a practiced motion. He was their best driver, but would have to be spelled about dawn. Another problem.
Zach didn’t want to stop at a hotel and give everyone time to think—not yet, not until he had some sort of plan in his own head.
Besides, he felt better while moving. When they were on the road and he didn’t have to consider anything other than the next food stop, the next rest stop, the steady revolution of tires.
Driving felt more natural than anything else, and when they halted he would have to face the mess he’d made of everything.
They had a shaman now, yes. But Kyle was gone. The spirits take with one hand and give with the other, Tribe always said.
But still. Why did they have to take so much?
Brenn pressed a cheeseburger and a huge clutch of fries into the shaman’s lap, ignoring her flinch, then moved to the very back, sidling close to whisper in his twin’s ear.
Julia’s sobs were beginning to grate. She had reason to weep, they all did. But the noises were beginning to take on a whipsawing note that meant their most volatile sibling was working herself up into a fit or literally crying herself sick, and neither of those things would help the situation.
The van’s floor was littered with clothes, leatherworking supplies stacked in cases behind the passenger’s seat. Here was his chance.
Zach made it to the girl’s feet once more, duck-walking carefully, and offered her the milkshake. “Here. You really need to eat something.” He tried to sound calm, reasonable. Even, perhaps, reassuring.
That pale gaze finally met his, and he found out her eyes were grey as a snowy sky.
He got another good lungful of her, spice and beauty overlaid with hot grease from the bag in her lap.
The pulse of ice and moonlight was stronger now, twining through the warp and weft of her aroma like jasmine vines coming into bloom, but the rest of it…
she smelled damn near edible. And oddly familiar.
She smelled like his. It was that simple. It was a mate-smell, and that was going to make things even stickier.
Why couldn’t you have come along earlier, huh?
But that was unfair. She had no goddamn idea what she’d just landed in. Which meant it was his job to keep this whole train on the tracks for a while, at least until he could make a stab at helping her understand.
Not to mention keeping her under wraps until she was wholly theirs.
She shifted on the seat, pulling her knees back, and the fries were headed for the floor until he caught them, his hand blurring. Quick fingers and quicker reflexes, a Tribe birthright, sometimes the most useful part of the animal inside them.
Her eyes were huge, glazed, depthless. Her lashes were matted, and behind her smudged glasses he saw naked fear.
“What’s your name?” He kept his tone nice and even. He had until they finished eating to calm her down a little. Eric took another hit of root beer, and Julia made a little hitching sound. Trying to steal the limelight, again.
The woman stared at him like he was speaking German or something. Finally, she stirred. “Sophie,” she whispered.
“Sophie. That’s pretty. What’s the rest of it?” Nice and easy. Good job, Zach.
“Harr—I mean, Wilson. My maiden name’s Wilson.”
Married? Huh. He didn’t see a ring, but anything was possible.
Fortunately, mentioning a maiden name usually meant divorce.
“Nice to meet you, Sophie. Listen, you really should eat. You just saw an upir kill two people.” He couldn’t put a nicer shine on it than that.
And the more he kept a tone of normalcy, the better she might respond.
Or so he hoped.
She shook her head, and tears stood out in those big, wounded eyes. “Lucy.” Her lips shaped the word, and he had to stop staring. It was goddamn indecent, how soft her mouth looked.
“Was that her name?” Christ. It was her friend. Hard on the heels of that thought came another: Sophie was indeed a really pretty name. He liked it.
Pay attention to what you’re doing, Zach.
She nodded. Her fingers curled around the milkshake’s waxed paper cup, brushing his skin, and a jolt of heat slid up his arm from the contact. Married or not, hopefully divorced or not, the animal thought she belonged to him.
It was a tricky situation if she was married, but it did happen. Especially with “found” shamans. There were ways to fix it.
Lots of ways. Especially if one of his kind decided not to play overly nice.
She took a long pull off the straw; a diamond-glittering tear tracked down her soft cheek. “She wanted me to have a little fun, that’s all. Since Marc…” Another flinch, and his sensitive nose caught the discordant note, an acridity in her scent.
Fear. More fear than she was already in. It smelled like old terror, like prey. Like blood in the water and an easy meal.
He pushed down the rage bubbling in his guy. Slow and easy was the way to handle this.
Her gaze stuttered to his face and she flinched again, as if she’d read the emotional weather there and didn’t like it.
Swallowed hard, slim vulnerable throat moving.
“Whatever he’s paying you, please don’t do this.
Please don’t hurt me.” She looked away, at the milkshake, as if she couldn’t quite figure out how it had gotten in her hand.
What the hell? His jaw was threatening to clench hard enough to break a tooth or two.
The fear in her was all wrong. A shaman in outright terror yanked hard on the protective fury of any Tribe within sensing range, and that would open up a whole can of worms—not just for him, but for the younger ones, too.
“Get this straight.” He took a deep breath, leashed the animal, and continued. “We’re not going to hurt you. We need you, and I’m sorry it happened this way, but from now on, you’re one of us. You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the better off you’ll be.”
It would take a lot of repeating before that sank in. Might as well get the first iteration out of the way.
“I have to go back to work on Monday.” She blinked again, swallowed hard, and more tears slid free. “I’ve got night school, too. I’m studying to be a social worker.”
Well, Christ, honey, we’ve got tons of fieldwork for you right here. “We’ll settle that later. For right now, you have to eat.” And stop smelling like a downed deer.
She just stared at the milkshake. Zach retreated, settling on the floor behind the driver’s seat, the rhythm of the road soaking into his bones as he tore open a fresh bag and found a burger. The Silence folded around all of them again, and he didn’t think he’d done too badly.
There was no easy way to handle this. But goddammit, she was indeed a shaman; some humans and fewer Tribe carried the potential, and they were too precious to pass by.
Once she was triggered, she could be the nucleus of a new Family, a way to rebuild everything.
With a shaman they could settle down, even in a territory held by others.
They were no longer rootless wandering non-persons, dangerous because they lacked the one thing which kept their kind from running amok.
They could be somebodies again, instead of fugitives. She would make them somebodies.
That was worth a little kidnapping, he decided. Whatever life she had back in the city they’d left behind, she would just have to learn to let go of.
His little Family needed her too much.