Whatever entry Valerie had found into my subconscious, the others pushed her out, prowling the halls of my mind like creatures on the hunt.
“I’m staying,” I said.
Valerie smiled. “I was hoping you would.” She glanced toward the shadows and lifted one eyebrow. “Caroline will show you to your room.”
Caroline moved silently, each step measured, not a single hair falling out of place. She walked past me, and I saw a glint of metal as the lamplight caught the blade concealed in her left hand just so.
Lake.
Devon.
Chase.
I could do this. I would do this.
As Caroline and I began to climb up the battered staircase, Valerie’s voice drowned out the sound of creaking wood. “Sleep well, Bryn.”
I think everyone in the room—and those guarding my mind—knew that Valerie meant the words as a threat.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE SUN DIDN’T RISE UNTIL SEVEN THIRTY, SO I had hours to kill, ensconced in a faded denim comforter and all too aware that the moment I went to sleep, my Keep the Psychics Out of My Head plan would be tested to the limit. There was a part of me—a sizable one—that wanted nothing more than to keep my eyes and ears open and my back to a wall, which was probably Valerie’s intention all along. She wanted me tired, off my game, and out of it enough that I’d stop resisting her assaults on my emotions.
She wanted me scared.
I closed my eyes and allowed my breathing to slow. Sleeping in their house—if I could manage it—would be like staring another alpha straight in the eyes.
I’m not scared of you, I thought as the rest of my mind went blank. You have no power over me.
For the longest time, I didn’t dream. I just lay there, my body relaxed, my senses perfectly attuned to the world around me, and then a dam broke somewhere in my mind, and in a rush of color and sound, I was gone.
Back in the forest, dressed from head to toe in white, I waited. One by one, my friends came out from behind mounds of snow and tree trunks the color of black cherries, the pads of their paws skating lightly over the frozen ground.
Lake and Devon and Chase.
Anyone else would have gone stiff with terror the moment they saw the three of them, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. I knelt on the ground and waited, unable to shake the feeling that someone else was supposed to be here.
Someone or something was missing. It took me a moment to realize what—who—I was looking for: the wolf from my other dreams, the one I could never quite catch.
She wasn’t there.
The world around me flickered, like someone was trying to change the channel on an old-fashioned TV. Within the span of a single heartbeat, I was surrounded on all sides by muscles and fur. They kept their backs to me and their eyes forward. My lip curled, baring my useless human teeth.
Archer’s trying to get in, and he can’t, I thought, buoyed by that realization. Still, I turned—wary, ready—taking in a three-sixty view of the forest.
Silence.
Pressure built at my temples. Sweat rose on the surface of my skin. I held my position, and as my friends circled around me, their wolf eyes scanned the darkness for signs of life.
Bryn. Bryn. Bryn.
My guards held the perimeter, my name a constant hum in their animal minds.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard a wolf—the wolf—howling, and the sound resonated with me, blood and bones and bittersweet longing. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, I woke up.
“Good morning.”
The words took me by surprise, but I had enough presence of mind not to go for my knife. Years of dealing with frustratingly stealthy werewolves had equipped me with an excellent poker face, and I refused to let a human—particularly this human—know that he’d gotten the drop on me.
“Anyone ever told you that watching a girl sleep is pretty much the textbook definition of creepy?”
Archer inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. “You were blocking me. I was curious. Shoot me.”
“That an invitation?”
Channeling Lake was second nature, and I felt a snuff of agreement in my head. Both Lake and her wolf approved of the threat, though her wolf half would have preferred if I’d delivered the threat while digging my fingernails into the fleshy part of the intruder’s throat.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Archer replied, completely unbothered. “If any teenage girl is going to put a bullet in me, it’s going to be Caroline when Valerie finds out that all I got out of your dreams last night was two smells and a sound.”
He waited for me to ask him to elaborate, but I didn’t.
“Wet dog, pine needles, and howling.” He shrugged, but his eyes went cold, and he clenched his jaw. “Werewolves.”
I snorted. “You’re scared of Caroline. You hate werewolves. Your pupils are on steroids. Shocking.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “You do realize that those emotions aren’t really yours, right? That Valerie’s messing with you?”
Archer’s pupils spread outward, blocking the color of his eyes altogether. Just like that, it was as if the words I’d spoken were completely uninteresting, like my warning that Valerie was messing with his mind was the most boring thing he’d ever heard. Ignoring me, Archer reached for his back pocket. As a matter of reflex, I went for my knife and wrapped my fingertips around its hilt, but instead of pulling out a weapon, he brandished a piece of charcoal and turned to the wall.
I watched as he began to draw, and after a moment, I let go of the knife. Based on the size of his pupils, I was going to go out on a limb and guess that Valerie had programmed him to disregard anything she didn’t want him to hear, and I forced myself to remember that the man who’d infiltrated my dreams, stalked me, hurt me, and called me a mutt-lover wasn’t the real enemy here.
Archer was just a symptom. Valerie was the disease.
I’d come here to find out what I could about Shay’s connection to the coven and to take Valerie out of commission long enough for the rest of the coven to clear their minds. I hadn’t come here to fight Archer, make him bleed.
Just a taste? Lake asked plaintively. Wouldn’t hurt to show him that messing with you is about as far from a good idea as ideas get.
Lurking in my mind, Devon wasn’t as opposed to violence as he otherwise might have been, and Chase was even more bloodthirsty than Lake—which, as a general rule, was really saying something.
If he touches you, I will kill him.
Coming from Chase, the thought wasn’t a threat as much as a statement of fact. If Archer was smart, if he had any common sense whatsoever, he wouldn’t keep his back turned on a Were.