Chapter 22
twenty-two
He put his fist through the counter, disregarding splinters; the skin over his knuckles broke and briefly bled. The lacerations closed almost instantly, but the jolt of pain up his arm was worthwhile, if only for the clarity in its wake.
Control, Zach. You’re not a savage.
The short, sharp noise brought all motion in Cullen’s bar to a halt.
The assembled Tribe—most there when he arrived, and more were showing up all the time—turned still and silent, watching him.
Julia clamped a sodden, bright-red towel to her left arm.
Brenn slumped against her, dark rings under his eyes and the acrid tang of feverish worry hanging on him.
The smell of blood added a teasing note to the stew of anger riding the air.
“Listen,” Zach said, quietly, reasonably. “I did not come here to sit and listen to sheep whinge and moan. They’ve taken our shaman. And you’re sitting here wondering what the fuck to do?”
Cullen sighed, folded his arms. The entire building was full of snarling, a river of bloodlust running just under the surface, and most of the fury was coming from Zach himself.
Eric shifted restlessly, and one of the Bear Tribe—Cullen’s alpha, a female with the wide shoulders and studied, careful movements of their kind—stared unblinkingly at her shaman.
“They’ll crucion her for sure,” a sleek dark Felinii male said, softly.
“Crucion?” Eric started forward, but Zach put his arm out to stop the motion. Getting to the bar could have been hazardous; but the upir had vanished.
They had what they came for.
Zach’s decision to find other Tribe had been instant.
There had been upir than he’d ever seen in one place before, enough to litter the entire house with bloody rotting matter and overwhelm four Carcajou desperate to reach their shaman for the small, critical time necessary to spirit her out of the house.
She had to still be alive. Had to be.
The majir would know that a shaman was in trouble, and still alive.
The shamans—two from the Bear Tribe, one from the Felinii, and a slim-hipped kohl-eyed woman of the Tanuki—all had the glaze-eyed look of listening to the spirits, but not the devouring sadness that would mean Sophie had joined the earthbound wisps.
“Since when do we just let upir take and kill our shamans?” Zach asked quietly.
Julia let out a sobbing breath. She was healing, but painfully slowly, upir venom working in the clawmarks.
Sophie simply couldn’t dead. She was fully triggered, the majir would know—wouldn’t they? Unless she hadn’t been far enough through transition, maybe, despite everything. Or if something was wrong, or if—
He told that rabbit-jumping part of himself to shut up. Every creature in the bar was looking at him as if he was a new species of animal, one they weren’t quite sure they liked.
Of course, without a shaman, he and his Family were only here on borrowed grace.
“Carcajou.” One of the Felinii females made a swift, slinking movement, stopped when he glared at her. “There’re so many of them.”
“Fine.” Zach folded his arms, one final red grinding of pain in his hand as the beast turned over briefly inside his bones, finishing the job of healing. “Where are they likely to be holding her?”
Cullen finally spoke up. “You’re not seriously thinking—”
“She’s our shaman.” And my mate. Though she doesn’t know it yet. “What do you not understand about this? Where are they likely to hold her?”
“Zach.” Eric surged forward once more, was held back yet again. “You’re not going without me.”
“Or me,” Julia piped up. Brenn muttered something that might have been assent or “Here we go again.”
Zach ignored every word. “Where?”
Cullen shrugged. The feathers in his hair rustled. “Armitage has estates. But Harris has a house out in Hammerheath—the tony section of town, a suburb. One of our sleuth did pool cleaning up there, says it smells like death all over, especially in the past six months. But—”
“Addresses. I’ll start at Harris’s house.” Probably the same place listed in the divorce papers. Wish I’d thought to write it down.
“You’re not seriously considering—” It was hard to believe Cullen was a shaman.
The door opened, a few more Tribe trickling in. They could smell something happening, of course—and the entire city outside was probably crying with Sophie’s distress.
Zach took a firmer hold on his temper, and didn’t bother to let the Ursa finish nattering. “If she’s still alive, they’re probably not going to kill her tonight. Especially if they’re using the crucion, they’ll want from dusk to dawn to do it right.”
A shudder of distaste and fear ran through the entire room. One he shared, right down to his beast. Thinking of Sophie strapped to an X-shaped frame while the wheel turned and bones splintered…
Stop it. The majir would know, they always know. It’s their job.
“We can’t let him go alone.” A Felinii, her hands clasped together like a schoolgirl’s, straightened as a fresh ripple swirled through the assembled Tribe. “They outnumber us, yes. But we have several advantages.”
“It’s that kind of thinking that got our other two shamans killed,” the Tanuki shaman said, her narrow nose lifting.
“Small teams headed by a shaman don’t work,” the Bear alpha said, quietly, but with a great deal of rumbling force behind the words. “What if we emptied out the city? Got every Tribe and every shaman involved?”
“Coordinating Tribe is like herding cats,” one of the Tanuki muttered, and quickly ducked his head when a Felinii gave him a meaningful look. “Sorry.”
“I don’t have time for consensus building.
” Zach’s fists ached to batter something, anything else.
“I need to find my shaman, and I need to find her now. Either help me or not, I don’t fucking care.
Either way, I need those addresses, and I’m going to teach those bastards not to hunt Tribe.
And especially not to hunt a Carcajou shaman.
” I’m not too picky about how I apply the lesson, either.
“It might be possible.” The Tanuki shaman’s clever dark eyes sparkled. Her fingers twitched. “Think of it. We could take our city back.”
“If we could have done that we would have, ages ago.” Cullen sighed, rubbed at his eyes. Exhaustion sat heavily on his big frame, darkened the rings under his eyes until he looked almost like Brenn, or the Tanuki. “I know it’s rough, Carcajou, but—”
“Fine.” Zach’s hands ached to grab the Bear shaman and throttle him. But of course, that was unacceptable—not to mention useless. “I’ll track her my own way.”
He turned on his heel, surveyed his Family.
Eric, his prized leather jacket nearly shredded. Julia, peeling the blood-sodden towel away from her arm, her chin set and eyes flashing. Brenn, who looked steadily back at his older brother.
“I think we’re all equally sick of taking crap from upir,” said a very soft, deceptively gentle female voice.
It was the other Bear shaman, the one who hadn’t spoken yet. She was slim for a Bear, but wide-shouldered and generously hipped. Strands of copper wire twisted in her hair, and her voice held such a wealth of calm power every Tribe in the room took a deep breath.
Except Zach. The anger flooded his marrow, spread outward, a rage even Sophie might be hard-pressed to soothe.
If we lose her… He took a good look at them, at Julia’s face thin with pain and hunger, Brenn cringing at the slightest sound, and Eric quivering like a leashed greyhound. She hadn’t had time to start smoothing their rough edges, welding them together.
But she was still their shaman, their one shot at belonging. Being a part of the Tribes instead of jackals at the edge of the world, falling off a fingernail at a time.
And then there was Kyle. Those bloodsucking fuckers had killed his little brother. Never mind that Ky had been too weak to carry the alpha, and Zach had known. Ever since the fire, he had known—and let Ky carry it, anyway.
Now he’d screwed up their only chance of keeping a shaman. They’d been depending on him, and he’d let them down. Again.
He’d let his mate down, too—even if she didn’t know she belonged to him. He would never have the chance to maybe coax her into considering the idea that he was worth her.
Because he’d failed. Like always.
Not this time. Not now.
“The majir have told us to be patient. The majir have told us to wait, and now they do not,” the Bear shaman continued, copper bangles sliding on her wrist, chiming delicately.
“It is time. Come dawn, we can have every Tribe in the city aware of what we intend. Those who will help us, will help. The majir will aid us, as well.”
“Ilona.” Cullen sighed, spread his huge capable paws. “I don’t want to lose another shaman, either. But think about what you’re saying.”
“Cullen.” The other Bear shaman fixed him with a steely glare. “Ask the majir for us. Cast the bones, draw the runes, smell the smoke, pour the mead. But I’m telling you right now, any except the cubs who want to fight are free to, with my blessing. This has gone far enough. And with Carcajou—”
“There’s only four of them!” Cullen objected.
“Four’s more than enough,” the Tanuki shaman piped up. “We’ll help. We’ll unlock any doors and steal any shinies.” Her nose twitched again.
Cullen stared at Ilona, who returned the glare with interest. It wasn’t quite a struggle for dominance, but there was a general move backward, anyway. If the two decided to tangle, nobody wanted to be in the way.
Zach saw his moment. The Tanuki shaman gave him an odd look as he passed, her kohl-smudged eyes bright and intelligent, and the low thrumming growl in the air mounted another few notches.
There was a crowd by the door, but they parted for him. “Zach—” Eric sounded breathless.
“Stay with the Tribes.” His tongue felt too thick for a human mouth.
“Zach—” Julia, this time.
“Stay.” The Change ran inside him like glass wires. His failure, his responsibility, goaded the beast.
The animal stretched, finding that he would not chain it this time. There was a meaningless babble of noise, ignored like everything other than what the animal understood.
Food. Shelter. Possession.
The sleet outside was flung silver needles, soaking through his hair and useless, confining clothing.
His blood burned, his nose lifted, tasting the night.
Wet concrete, burning exhaust, the jungle of a city like every other wilderness.
Only this place had a clear crystalline ringing under each freezing raindrop, a distress call muted by concrete and inimical metal.
The ceaseless cry of a shaman in danger.
The human part of him couldn’t have heard it. But the animal knew, and it responded with a throaty howl, ending in a series of clicks. The rage was sweet fuel to them both, a golden thread he would follow until it ended at what he sought.
Something that belonged to them had been taken.
And he would not rest until he had taken it back.