Chapter 14 #3
They turned and sprinted to the next street, bursting out into a crowd of costumed revelers.
Damn, Felix was right, it was packed. Tarps and canopies had been set up across the entire street.
Jena caught herself as she tripped over a guide line and almost took out a table of goodie bags.
Kelsey yipped and changed direction, bowling people over.
A man yelled, and people turned to stare.
Shit, shit, shit! Nothing for it—Jena and Felix sprinted after her, running past blinged out trunks and through mobs of trick-or-treaters.
Another person yelled behind them, and a woman screamed as something crashed in their wake.
The shrill screeches of kids sliced through the air, and Jena’s stomach churned, terrified to look back.
Felix dropped his spell, and Jena pushed herself to go faster, lagging behind them. The pain in her side was awful, and a stitch was setting in beside it. God, she was not physically equipped for this shit…
Kelsey changed direction again at a privacy fence, and they raced across someone’s side yard.
The pasture where the tracks cut through was just beyond.
A were howled behind Jena as Felix and Kelsey disappeared down the embankment at the edge of the lawn.
Damn it—Jena bit back a ragged sob, her chest burning.
She clutched her side, cramping up, and trying not to break her neck as she fled pell-mell down the slope to the pasture.
Felix waited for her on the other side of a split rail fence.
Kelsey was nowhere in sight. Another howl sounded at Jena’s back, and he stared, pale and wide-eyed at something behind her.
Oh, Jesus. That couldn’t be good. Her feet pounded over the bumpy turf—too slow, too slow, too slow—and a manic laugh burbled up her throat.
There was no fricking way she was gonna make it—a growl and the thud of paws closed in on her—
Felix drew a glyph in the air, then slammed his wrists together over his head as a hot wash of breath hit the back of her neck. A wave of force rippled over her, and a wolf howled in pain—
Others answered it.
A half-dozen massive red weres bounded over the pasture’s fence.
“Get on!” Felix screamed, climbing onto a wolf’s back as another brushed up beside her.
What? Was he—the were turned to her, his eyes amused as he lowered himself to the ground, then huffed.
Shit. Jena swallowed her protests and threw a leaden leg over his broad back.
She leaned forward and buried her hands in his ruff—then screamed, plastering herself to him as he rose and was off and running in one smooth—airborne, holy shit, they were fucking airborne—the breath went out of her as they cleared the fence and landed.
Jena squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on not falling off, and the were was off and running again.
“How we doing in there?” Patrick’s voice echoed down into the deep foundation.
At least Chase thought it was Patrick.
Chase cracked an eye against the rain beating down on him. Between that, the head injury, and the hum of the leyline rattling through his skull, he wasn’t thinking very clearly. The curve of an umbrella’s shadow sliced over the hole above.
“Peachy,” Chase rasped, still not entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but either way…“I’m assuming you’re not here to help me out.”
“No.” Patrick laughed. “Not after all the trouble Malcom went to making you disappear.”
Chase gritted his teeth, not about to give Patrick the satisfaction of asking why. Chase also wasn’t sure he could coherently string that many words together.
“Here.” Something plummeted down the shaft and splashed into the water. A bottle bobbed up, and a plastic sandwich baggie floated beside it. “Wouldn’t want you to get piqued while you wait.”
Asshole. “Dad’s gonna kill the both of you,” Chase growled up at him, squinting against the rain.
“Doubtful. He’s got bigger problems than you going feral again and vanishing into the woods.”
“What?” Chase staggered to his feet. “Are you fucking kidding me? Everyone thinks I’m feral?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Patrick snorted. “You’ve been giving quite a performance lately, stalking around like you want to rip everyone’s heads off. Sprouting fur at dinner was a nice touch. I couldn’t have scripted it better.”
That goddamn, slimy—Chase’s hands fisted at his sides. “All this bullshit with Crystal was your idea?”
“No, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how you were gonna react to it.” Patrick’s shadow shrugged beneath the umbrella. “Dad should’ve seen the writing on the wall, but I’m pretty sure he’s beyond regrets by now. It’s a good thing there’s contingencies in place.”
Contingencies? Chase pinched the bridge of his nose, light-headed. Christ, he wasn’t in any condition to try and figure out Patrick’s squirrel’s nest of logic. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“Not your problem. You know, you and Dad are just alike. He didn’t read through the agreement either. But then, why would he with me acting as his legal council?” Patrick laughed again. “Eat up, Chase-y. You don’t look so good, and you’re gonna need your strength.”
The umbrella pulled back and he was gone.
Fucking hell. Chase leaned forward to snag the bottle of water and almost went ass over teakettle, the pool at least two inches deeper than it had been.
He splashed back down to sit and glowered at the bottle.
The seal was broken, and Chase wouldn’t put it past the prick to poison him.
Patrick was definitely trying to do that with the sandwich.
It was tuna, and unless Chase wanted to go into anaphylactic shock, he wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.
How sweet of his brother to give him an out.
Chase tossed the bottle back, letting it float and scowled, his skull throbbing so hard it threatened to split.
Contingencies. Great. So Patrick was using this to get him out of the way.
No surprise there, but it was surprising that Malcom had broken faith with their father to co-sign whatever the hell Patrick had cooked up…
and that they hadn’t just killed him. Not that he wasn’t grateful, but it bothered Chase—a lot.
He huffed out a breath, his stomach clenching and his skin pebbled with cold.
Christ, he was freezing. Chase’s brow furrowed, everything Patrick had just said preying on his mind.
What the hell could’ve made Malcom turncoat?
He was stupidly loyal to Chase’s father and had seemed just as invested in this sham of a wedding as the rest of them.
Chase winced, his head pounding in time to the hum around him.
Speculation wasn’t gonna do him any good; he couldn’t think clearly enough to follow a solid train of thought.
He closed his eyes and leaned back again, flexing a hand.
Sooner or later, they’d let him out, and when they did, there was gonna be hell to pay.