Chapter 25 #3
“It’s okay.” Sophie gathered what little strength she had left. The burning in her bones was fading fast. Whatever Cullen had dosed her with was doing its job—but was also wearing off. “Just get me down there.”
“Okay.” Brenn’s trembling eased. “Thank God you’re here. I was beginning to get really worried.”
The crowd parted. How could so many people fit into one kitchen? Or did the flood of different scents make them seem bigger, more numerous?
“That’s me,” Sophie said weakly. “Showing up in the nick of time.” Or rather, that’s Zach. He saved my life.
There were rickety wooden stairs. She hung on to Brenn, got a faceful of strong musk plus a terrible deep crimson aroma. It was probably a good thing she was too tired to be afraid, because the red smell reminded her of fists meeting flesh, of screaming, of contorted faces and pain.
It was the invisible, palpable fume of pure rage.
A shape moved on the stairs. Another shaman; Sophie’s nose told her it was a male bear before her eyes deciphered long hair and a strong jaw.
The ice-and-silver smell came off him in waves.
Unfamiliar relaxation washed through her, and she suddenly understood a whole lot more about this entire thing.
“Good Christ,” the bear-shaman said. “Look at you. You should be in bed.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.” Sophie’s vision struggled to adjust to the darkness. Brenn carried her carefully past the man, letting out a slight hiss as he stumbled on a step, recovering gracefully.
Sophie had a sudden vision of falling down into the cellar and winced inwardly. That would just top everything off.
A loud, low growl rose from the basement’s well, rattling her entire body. She recognized it even as Brenn flinched, almost cowering, his scent curiously masked by the deeper musk.
Another shape loomed in the dimness. It was Cullen; her nose identified him with very little help from her eyes. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Positive,” Sophie lied. “Point me at him.”
“He’s tied. Right over there.” Brenn pointed, and her eyes adjusted a little more. “Against the wall, and—”
“I see him.” Her heart gave a painful leap, because she did see. The long, lean shape, sliding with fur, his eyes flat shining discs. There was a flash of white teeth; the nose lifted, sniffing.
The low thunder of the growl stopped.
Until that moment Sophie hadn’t realized just how loud it had been. The vibration had been running through the house like the rattlerumble of a subway, and the sudden cessation was ominous.
Cullen drifted back toward the stairs, so quietly Sophie barely noticed him moving.
“What do I do?” she whispered.
The furred shape against the wall sniffed again, chuffing lightly. She could see the ropes now—several were broken and messily slopped over with fresh cables.
He must have been struggling for a long while.
“I have no idea,” Brenn whispered back. His pale aroma nearly vanished under the welter of confusing, conflicting auras. “Can you get close to him? I’m…”
He was afraid to get any closer. Sophie summoned every last scrap of strength. “I think I can.” I might fall flat on my face. What will happen then?
“I’d try talking to him first,” Cullen offered.
At the sound of his voice the growl returned, a warning.
“Now stop that,” Sophie said, sharply.
The rumbling died, spiraling slightly up at the end like a question.
She braced herself, pushed away from Brenn, and took two weaving, faltering steps. “Zach? I know it’s you. I’m right here, I’m okay. I kind of need to talk to you.”
No sound. The furred shape drew back on itself, and she thought she saw it shiver. She tacked out over the uneven concrete floor, and the similarity to the wine cellar would have made her shudder if she hadn’t been concentrating so hard to not fall on her face.
Or more ingloriously, onto her aching behind.
“Zach?” Her voice sounded very small. “I really would like to talk to you.”
The shape erupted into wild motion. Ropes snapped. Sophie let out a short, surprised cry, tipping over. Her knees failed, her eyes shut tight, and she had enough time to think I’m going to hit, it’s going to hurt, dammit—
Yet something broke her fall. Something hairy, very warm, smelling of musk, and growling loudly enough to shake the foundations.
The noise stuttered, stopped. They were definitely arms around her; she hadn’t hit the floor.
The animal’s face was inches from hers. He inhaled, deeply, blew the air back out, and inhaled again. Those teeth were curved and wicked sharp, and the flat greenish eyeshine reminded her of a cat’s nighttime glance.
This thing looked like it could chow down on her bones without any trouble at all. But she’d still take it over Marc’s plummy, contorted face any day.
This was one monster she didn’t have to be afraid of.
“Zach,” she whispered, as the beast continued snuffling. “Come back. Please.”
He stopped sniffing, shuddered. The strength in those arms could snap her in half, but she felt only a dozy faraway concern that she might pass out before he came back.
That’s funny, I can see him in there. Why can’t they?
A crackling, creaking sound like boughs snapping under ice. Fur melted. Bones restructured themselves as she watched, fascinated, the dimness suddenly kind.
He was trembling in great gripping waves. So was she. The arms holding her thinned as his face rose through the animal’s. He fell heavily to his knees, a stunning jolt, and Sophie raised her leaden arms.
“S-s-s-s—” He stuttered, his lips working over the word.
He’s still trying to say my name. Her heart cracked. She finally got her arms around him.
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “Do you do parties?”
And the darkness became complete, the heat of Cullen’s drink deserting her at last. Even as she drifted away she saw the majir smiling with approval, stroking Zach’s trembling shoulders.
“Sophie—” He was hoarse, his voice scraped raw.
She was out. Again.