Taken

Chapter 17

seventeen

The others were in another motel—a Doze Inn, in a section of town Sophie had never dared to enter before—south of downtown, just on the edge of the core of housing projects which were always in the news.

The concrete building slumped, tired and dispirited under a weeping grey sky; the room had two beds, a kitchenette, and the hopeless smell of burned food and desperation.

“It was a productive morning,” Eric said, with a meaningful glance in Sophie’s direction. “We went channel-surfing.”

“Good.” Zach shrugged out of the dripping denim jacket. It had started to pour again, as if heaven longed to wash the city clean. “See any other Tribe since we split up?”

“Not yet.” Eric still looked like he wanted to say something else.

Sophie pushed past him, heading for the bed that wasn’t piled with a mound of clothes.

Her feet were killing her, plus she was soaked clear through.

Her purse was heavier than she could ever remember it being; her shoes were full of water and, she was sure, half a street’s worth of gravel.

She sank down, shivering, and finally kicked the heels off.

Immediately her groaning feet felt wrinkled and slightly soiled from the cheap carpet.

She almost missed the shredded nylons—they would’ve been warmer.

“Holy shit,” someone said in the kitchen, and the girl—Julia—appeared, holding a heavy, steaming china mug. “I don’t believe it.”

“You’d better.” Zach relaxed, shoulders dropping and a grin flashing across his dark-stubbled face. He filled up the room; a wave of relief spilled through the air. It smelled like warm cookies, and Sophie found her own muscles loosening, tension sliding away with a sigh.

What is that? She had to examine the feeling before she figured out it was safety, again, that weird sense that things were going to be all right. Julia shoved the mug into her hands, and Sophie found it contained blessed, fragrant coffee.

“You brought her back.” Brenn sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the room’s puny little television, a large piece of brown leather across his lap. A shy smile lit his young face. “Hello, shaman.”

Sophie blew across the coffee’s top. Her lower back was cramping up, waves of pain tightening the muscles.

“I figured out your sizes and got you some clothes. Oh, and you can use my shampoo.” Julia’s dark eyes were wide and pleading.

She looked a lot younger now, and the way she hunched down, glancing at Sophie only peripherally, was a little…

troubling. The pale streak in her hair almost trembled as she settled, easily, as if it were perfectly normal to crouch at someone’s feet.

“Thanks.” Sophie wrapped aching fingers around the mug despite its scorching, welcome heat soaking into her bones. Her hair dripped relentlessly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a towel handy, would you?”

“I’ll get it!” Brenn bolted to his feet, leapt for the bathroom. Julia collided with him halfway there, and they nearly crashed into the wall.

Sophie flinched. They moved so fast.

Eric swept the room door shut and rolled his eyes. “They’ve been like this the whole time. Goddamn pups.”

“They’re young.” Zach actually grinned for a moment, but quickly sobered. “Any oddness around?”

“Not that I can smell. I’ve kept us in here all rutting day. Bored out of our minds, but we caught the soaps. Brenda finally ditched that SOB.” Eric shrugged, his leather jacket creaking.

“No shit?” Zach’s smile returned. “Because he slept with Susan?”

“No, she doesn’t know that yet.” Eric’s tone turned low, confidential. “It’s because she’s carrying that other guy’s baby. Or she thinks she is, because someone switched the pregnancy tests. I think it was her roommate—the blonde girl.”

“Huh.” Zach scratched his cheek, ran stiff fingers through soaked dark hair. Water darkened the pale streak, slicked it back from his strong-boned face. “Wow. No kidding.”

They watch soap operas? For a moment, Sophie had the exquisitely weird sensation of being in a world where normal rules didn’t apply. I can’t even afford a television. And here I am with a bunch of striped, soap-opera-watching werewolves. Jeez.

A swell of laughter hit right under her stomach, rose to her lips with a burp.

She took a scalding gulp of coffee before Brenn leapt out of the bathroom, bounding up to the bed with two quick strides.

He presented her with a white motel towel as Julia burst from the same place, her face a thundercloud and her entire body rippling.

Sophie didn’t even see Zach move. One moment he was by the door, one hand in his pocket and the other pushing his hair back.

The next, he had the girl by the throat, and the impact rattled against the flimsy wall.

She kicked, but he avoided her foot and slammed her against the wall again—not as hard as he could, Sophie could tell, but hard enough to make the entire room quiver again.

“Calm down.” A touch of growl under the words made the window—looking out on a sorry weed-strewn parking lot, the blue van parked right in front of the room—flex and clatter.

Sophie’s jaw dropped; she almost dropped the mug, as well.

There was no place to hide herself. “We’re not going to have any of that. ”

Sophie shuddered, waiting for the explosion, but Julia seemed to shrink.

She made a curious noise, half-whining way back in her throat, and Sophie was reminded of a nature special about wolfpacks way back in high school.

Fights among big canines rarely turned deadly, because one wolf would surrender in some way and the other would take the submission as a signal to stop fighting.

Now she wondered if Marc just hadn’t been able to get that signal, if that was the reason why he had kept going until he really hurt her. Made her cry, or scream… or bleed. Her hands trembled, the shaking spilling up her arms, through her middle.

What was she going to do if Zach started yelling and punching? She was as helpless as ever.

The misty faces sharpened, a gossamer sheet laid over the real world. She tried pushing the vision away—no luck. They crowded around Zach and Julia, watching; some reached with thin, insubstantial hands, smoothing them over the girl’s body without quite touching her.

And just as soon as it had started, the violence dyeing the air… disappeared.

Zach let go of Julia, who landed on her feet and shook her long rippling hair, the pale streak flashing. “Bully.” Her lip curled, but some essential unsteadiness had vanished, and she slid away. The faces retreated just a little bit.

The girl didn’t seem afraid or upset in the least.

What the hell just happened? Sophie’s gaze darted across the room, searching the different faces.

Eric let out a short breath, his shoulders dropping. He glanced at her, and she could have sworn he looked… grateful? Was that it?

Brenn had dropped the towel and stood, his eyebrows drawn together. His expression went through several changes, emotions flickering too quickly for Sophie to decipher, and finally settled on deep relief.

“Yeah, right.” Zach sighed. “I think we’d better get out of here. We’ve got work to do. Got to find our shaman a new place to live—the upir torched her apartment building last night. She’s not too happy about that.”

Boy, is that the understatement of the year. A completely inappropriate urge to giggle shrilly bubbled up inside Sophie, right next to the unsteady, panicked feeling she used to get when Marc came home angry and silent.

“Don’t they hate fire?” Brenn had dropped down into a half-crouch, now watching Sophie closely. She firmed her mouth into a usual expression, or what might pass for one. Her face didn’t feel like it wanted to cooperate, so she focused on the coffee’s brown-black swirls.

The liquid sloshed; she tried hard to steady her hands.

“Yeah.” Zach spread his hands, dropped them.

“Which is why we’re going to be keeping a low profile for the time being.

Since we have a shaman, though, there’s no need for us to be Tribe-quiet, and we’ve got to find out who wants her dead.

Julia, Brenn, start packing. Eric, get the van ready.

” His gaze swung over the room once, clearly measuring or taking internal notes, and met hers.

“Sophie. Want to get cleaned up, get some fresh clothes?”

She didn’t miss the way everyone suddenly focused on her.

Their attention was heavy, expectant; she hated being looked at.

Cold rainwater dripped down the back of her neck, her hair was a mess, and her entire body ached so bad she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand.

“Sure,” she said into the mug, liquid trembling as her breath touched the surface.

“Love to. You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin, would you? My head’s killing me.”

“Find her some aspirin, Julia.” Zach didn’t miss a beat. They all whirled into motion except him—he just stood by the bathroom door looking at her, both hands stuffed in his jean-pockets now, wet hair hanging over his dark eyes.

I must look like a bag lady. Her clothes were sticking to her skin, her glasses were fogging, and she felt suddenly shapeless.

And very vulnerable.

The coffee smelled good, though. The room was warm, it wasn’t raining on her, and there was nothing to worry about right this second.

Unless it was her entire apartment building, gutted.

Or Zach’s gaze fastened to her. Or the ghostly, gauzy faces even now clustering her, their mouths moving.

Under the sounds of the real world—Julia asking a question, Eric humming to himself as he collected keys and a jacket, Brenn rolling up the leather he’d been working on—was a reedy little mumble, like crickets.

And now Sophie was wondering if she might see Lucy’s face, and the prospect was enough to make a little shiver of dread down her spine. What exactly were these “spirits”? Was she going crazy? Zach said she was sane, and he knew what she was talking about. It didn’t seem like a joke.

No, this was all too real. And Lucy was gone.

“Sophie.” Zach’s hand touched her face, cupped her chin. His fingers were far too hot, almost scorching as the coffee, and that strange, intense smell-sense of safety rippled off him in waves. “How are you feeling?”

Dizzy. Aching. Half-crazy. “Fine,” she mumbled, trying to avoid his eyes. Why am I not terrified? I just saw him… what was that?

He leaned down, his nose a few inches from hers. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.” She tried to scoot back on the bed, failed. Coffee slopped. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“And probably hungry.” His eyes were kind, she realized.

That was the word. Deep, and dark, and very soft.

Water beaded on his tanned skin looked like decoration, and the slight curl in his hair made it drop stubbornly over his eyebrow again.

Her heart made a funny lurching movement, and she wished he didn’t look so concerned.

“Aspirin, your highness,” Julia said behind him. He held out his free hand, she dropped two tablets in his palm before continuing on her merry way.

The girl didn’t seem fazed in the least about being held down and threatened.

The sense of motion intensified, the door opened, and a burst of chill rain-washed air cut through the musk.

“Here you are.” Zach handed her the aspirin. “We’ll get you something to eat soon. For right now, how about you get dried off? I can’t get cleaned up until you do. There’s only one bathroom.”

Why don’t you use it, then? But her clothes were incredibly sodden and irritating, and the idea of a hot shower just short of heavenly. “All right.” Let go of me, and I will.

But he didn’t. He still cupped her chin, fingers gentle against her cheek, his thumb touching just under her bottom lip.

Her skin was still wet as well, and she could feel every single ridge of his fingerprints.

She clutched the aspirin in one damp hand, the mug’s handle in the other, and suddenly felt like a huge idiot.

“You’re going to have to let go of me.” Why do I sound breathless?

He nodded slightly, still staring. The same look, like he saw something green on her face, or something. “Yeah. I guess so.” But he still didn’t move.

“I mean it.” She blinked a few times, trying to focus. The faces were clustering behind him, their lips moving, and that reedy cricket-hum became the rattling of copper-bottomed pans.

Sophie flinched, and Zach let go as if burned. He straightened and stepped away, shaking his fingers, and gave her a scorching, unreadable look.

She had to try twice before her body would let her stand upright. Julia was suddenly there, with a handful of clothes. “God, Zach, give her a minute. She’s soaked. You don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Julia.” But there was no heat to it. He simply stood, watching her, as Sophie palmed the aspirin up to her mouth and took a throat-scouring mouthful of coffee to get the pills down.

“Jeans. A T-shirt. I found a pair of Keds that might fit you, too. I even got underwear.” Julia tucked her dark hair behind one ear.

“About the only thing I didn’t get was a bra, since I don’t know your cup size.

But nobody ever died from going braless.

Let’s get you dried off and cleaned up and warmed up, and then we’ll—”

“I’m fine.” Sophie grabbed blindly for the clothes and beat a retreat to the bathroom door while she could. Halfway there she had to brush past Zach, so she looked over her shoulder. Julia looked crestfallen, and in that moment Sophie saw how young she really was.

Christ, I feel old. “Thank you.” The words were ashes in Sophie’s mouth, but the girl brightened.

Then she was past Zach, who stood very still. She swept the bathroom door closed, locked it, and sagged with relief.

The mirror held a pale, half-drowned woman, dark circles under her eyes and every scrap of feeling okay she’d had that morning drained away. She took another gulp of the too-hot coffee, and found a furious heat rising to her cheeks.

Why was he looking at me like that?

And another, more troubling pair of questions. Why did he hold her up against the wall? And why didn’t he hit her afterward? I was sure he was going to.

She didn’t know; that was bad. Sophie didn’t know their rules, but werewolves—or whatever they were—clearly had them.

She had to learn quickly.