Chapter 41 - The Captive
Rhogun Van Crimson stared at the vodvod Canyon Wheeling, feeling a grudging and unbidden respect for the male rise within him.
Foxen strictly avoided the vod and Rhogun hadn’t dealt with many in his life—until tonight.
So far, he hadn’t been mistreated, he hadn’t been assaulted, and now this vodvod was talking to him like an equal?
This vodvod thought Reynard was a hero? Rhogun’s brain was spinning.
It had been a crazy day. Just before dawn, he and the others had flipped over from the Pravus into the Ula en masse with Khain’s help.
They’d split up into groups and gotten right to work.
Rhogun and his team had carefully hidden their intentions from themselves and from Khain, using mind techniques they’d been taught in school.
They’d placed their first bombs, and then made a break for it, and that’s when the pain had started.
The marks on their chests burned with strength-killing, mind-splitting agony.
They’d helped each other through it, finding and gathering plants, pounding them with rocks, and mixing them with river mud, then slathering the mud onto their marks.
Once slathered, the pain from the mark weakened and dulled.
They kept applying the mud until they could hold a thought in their head, then they’d taken Reynard to the edge of the hole and left him to find his own way down.
The others had wanted to leave the explosives truck where it was and run to Chicago, where the Van Boesons would take care of them and help hide them, but Rhogun hadn’t been able to bring himself to do that.
He’d sent them all running with his blessing and set out to make the truck full of bombs safe.
The detonations were on a timer and could not be stopped.
Rhogun drove straight out of town until he found an empty field.
He’d parked in the center, planning to watch from a distance, then follow the others, but his concoction had worn off, and the pain had come back, mind-numbing pain that did not leave him with full control of himself.
When he decided to hand himself over to the vod, the pain had lessened.
When they put the handcuffs on him, it had disappeared, leaving him weak as a kit.
Over time, the weakness had passed, and now here he was, marked and in custody of the vodvod.
His life was forfeit. The best he could do was stay silent and hope Khain didn’t come for him in jail.
The vodvod approached Rhogun and watched him carefully.
He took something from his belt and held it up so Rhogun could see it—a handcuff key.
He unlocked Rhogun’s shackles and took them off.
Rhogun moved around and rubbed his wrists.
It was a relief to have the shackles off, but when the vodvod moved to the desk, Rhogun tensed.
“I know your family is in hiding,” Canyon said. “I know they’re in danger. You should go to them.”
He unlocked the handcuff and pain speared through Rhogun’s chest like a heart attack, then spread, clouding his thoughts and stealing his will. Rhogun put a hand on his chest, eyes closed, his other hand flopping around on the desk.
“Lock it up, lock me up,” he panted. “…hurts.”
The vodvod moved quickly, and the moment the cuff was relocked, the pain fell away. Rhogun muttered a little prayer of thanks, then wrestled himself back under control. When he opened his eyes the vodvod—Canyon—was back in the chair, studying him like only a vod could.
You worried about me? Canyon said, his mental voice amused. Don’t. I’ll tell Mac you overpowered me.
Rhogun laughed quietly, still breathing heavily.
He wrestled with himself over what to say, or if he should say anything.
He’d had training in how to keep quiet under vod questioning, but the openness and reasonable nature of Canyon Wheeling had taken him by surprise.
The male scented honest. The male acted honorable.
The mark, Rhogun said in ruhi. It burned when you freed me.
Canyon dropped into the chair across from him and stared at him for a long time, not saying a word.
You want to stay in custody? Canyon finally said.
Rhogun nodded his head once.
Will you talk to me?
Rhogun considered, then shook his head no, although it pained him to do it because this vodvod was a good male, and he deserved cooperation. Canyon nodded, his expression heavy, like he’d hoped the answer would be different.
Without meaning to, Rhogun spoke. You weren’t too slow. When Khain takes a foxen to the Pravus who doesn’t want to go, the battle of wills causes energy discharges like explosions. You wouldn’t have been able to get close no matter how fast you were.
Canyon nodded. Good to know. Some foxen want to go to the Pravus?
Rhogun wasn’t going to answer that. He shot his eyes to the left and stared at the wall. Canyon watched him, then nodded. He stood up like maybe the interview was done, but then he hesitated.
What do you know about Sage—
—as Canyon spoke the words, a familiar prophecy recited itself inside Rhogun’s mind, spinning his worldview like a roulette wheel—
The captor asks the captive what he knows about Wisdom. The captive decides the captor’s worthiness. If worthy, a vixie takes her rightful place among the vod.
Rhogun’s shock must have shown on his face because Canyon’s voice trailed off and he stared searchingly into Rhogun’s eyes. His eyes narrowed and his expression twisted.
“White? Her last name is really White?” Canyon said.
Rhogun spun his thoughts so the male couldn’t catch any more of them. He had expected Canyon to say Sage White, and the male had been able to pick that expectation out of his head like he’d been speaking ruhi.
Rhogun wiped his face with his free hand, as realizations dropped into his mind like a lead weight: He was ‘the captive’ of prophecy?
! Sage White was the vixie from Vahiy sign 742?
! He stared at the vodvod Canyon Wheeling, emotion twisting inside of him, wondering if the male was Sage’s fated mate.
A wolven fated to a foxen was something he never thought he’d live to see.
What would their young look like? Could such a thing bring foxen and wolven together?
Rhogun had never dared to dream such a thing, but at that moment, he felt the first yearnings of hope stir inside him.
What he wouldn’t give to see his kin and his young accepted by the vod, working with them—trusting them and trusted by them.
Prophecy told of such a time, but the Citlali thought nothing like that would happen for hundreds or maybe thousands of years.
Dreams of a better future kindled inside Rhogun.
Determined to do his part, he tightened his focus.
His blood rushed in his ears, sounding impossibly loud, streaming the responsibility of the prophecy into his brain.
How could he decide such a thing? Sure, Canyon Wheeling seemed reasonable, but was Rhogun really supposed to pronounce him worthy based on that?
The gravity of the moment filled him with tension.
On a whim, he closed his good eye and lifted his eyepatch. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw—the wolf inside the man: strong, silent, principled, and trustworthy, staring openly back at Rhogun, waiting for Rhogun’s pronouncement and knowing full well what it would be.
“Worthy,” Rhogun whispered, surprising himself. The tension fell away, replaced with deep exhaustion and hollow grief for himself and his kind.
“What’s that?” Canyon said.
Way to go, jackass, Abigail White said faintly in his head. Rhogun blinked, startled. Damn. He didn’t want Abigail as an enemy, but what could he do differently? As powerful as Abigail was, she couldn’t alter prophecy. She couldn’t stop fated mates from finding each other.
The vodvod stared at him.
“Nothing,” Rhogun mumbled. He dropped his eyepatch, thinking hard, his mind whirling through all the prophecies he knew. The ‘captive’ had a lot of them, and if Rhogun didn’t play his part well, foxen would suffer.
The captive sees much but knows naught till the taking, then his eye opens and his mind fills.
Rhogun tried to keep his surprise off his face. He was fated to make this choice because of his useless eye? Another prophecy came to him.
The captive knows the captor’s interests lie deep and many-faceted. Foxen secrets spill or wolven die.
Rhogun’s mind stuck on that one and he felt suddenly panicked. If he got this right, ‘a vixie took her rightful place among the vod.’ If he got it wrong, ‘wolven die.’ He wiped his face.
In the hallway, he heard talking—the others on their way back. He snatched up the paper and pen from the desk and wrote quickly, feeling the weight of Canyon’s eyes on him, praying to Rhen that he was spilling the right secret.
The voices in the hallway got louder. Rhogun wrote one more word.
He underlined it savagely, then dropped the pen.
He folded the paper, then shoved it at Canyon, imploring the male with his expression.
Canyon nodded once, barely a dip of his chin, then he took the note and pocketed it without reading it.
The other two males came into the room. Rhogun knew their names—Macalister ‘Mac’ Niles and Timber Wheeling.
“You and Timber gotta go,” Mac said, leaning against the doorframe, a half-eaten taco in his hand.
“Fire’s calling for police assistance at Renway Industrial.
Several buildings have been burning all day and now some chemical tanks are threatened.
They need the whole area evacuated and we don’t have anyone else to do it. ”
Canyon herded the males just outside the room where they had a short conversation that Rhogun easily overheard.
“What’s the plan for him?” Canyon asked.
“Did he tell you anything?”
“Nothing. What’s the plan?”
“If he won’t talk, I’ll put him in a cell until Wade can interview him.”
Rhogun knew who Wade was. Wade Lombard was the powerful wolven Citlali for the entire region, and he hated foxen. It was theoretically possible that Wade could bind Rhogun and make him spill foxen secrets whether he wanted to or not.
In the hallway, the sounds of the three wolven moved away from the room.
Canyon spoke to Rhogun one more time in ruhi. I’ll be around. Ask for me if you need anything.