My bare arms and feet scared me and made me wonder if he’d stripped me of everything, but what little feeling I had left in my body—the ropes were tight—told me that I wasn’t naked.
But I wasn’t wearing my clothes, either.
He must have stripped me to search for weapons, and the clothes he’d put me in afterward weren’t mine. I was wearing a dress.
I hated dresses.
It was lacy and frilly, the kind of dress that a very little girl would wear for Easter Sunday, not the kind that should have come in my size.
“He has them made specially,” a voice said calmly. “It’s what he likes us to wear.”
I looked up at the source of the words. “Madison,” I said, and she flinched at the sound of her name. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I continued, keeping my voice low and gentle, which was ridiculous, considering the fact that I was an unarmed human tied to a chair and she was a weapon in and of herself. “I’m here to help. I just need you to untie me. I know what happened to you, I know what he did, and you—”
“He told me not to,” Madison said, her voice empty and dull in a way that made me wonder what had happened to the girl who liked the color orange and popping bubble wrap and macaroni and cheese. “He told me not to untie you, and we have to do what he says. He’s in our heads.” She paused and when she spoke again, her voice sounded even less like it was coming from a real person. It sounded robotic. Dead. “He just wants what’s best for us. He’s the alpha. He’s our Maker. He protects us.”
Callum had brought Chase into the Stone River Pack and taught him how to fight the Rabid in his head, but Madison had never had another alpha to protect her from Wilson. She couldn’t disobey him. Arguing with her wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “What exactly did he tell you?” If anyone knew how to maneuver around orders and dish out half-lies, it was me.
“He said, ‘Don’t untie her, don’t help her, make her pretty.’” Madison curled her arms around her waist, hugging herself and taking a step back from me. “He said it’s your birthday tonight.”
“That’s right, Madison. Tonight, Little Bryn will be reborn. She’ll be your sister. Exciting, isn’t it? If things had gone right the first time, she could have been the one teaching you the ropes.”
That voice. Gone was the pretense of being a harmless man. Though his words were friendly enough, the tone was sinister. Creepy.
Insane.
“Go tell the others to get ready,” he told the girl. “Our distraction will only keep her little friends in town for so long.” He paused, and the girl turned to hurry out of the room—like she was trying to escape hearing what she knew he was going to say next.
“When they get here, kill them. Tell the others. It’s an order.”
For a moment, a familiar expression settled over the other girl’s face, and I might have been looking at myself, or at Chase. She wanted to say no. She wanted to rebel. She hated him, but her wolf wouldn’t let her disobey, and in the back of her mind was the reminder—always present, never quiet—of the years and years and years of being told that he’d made her. Being taught again and again what happened to you when you tried to fight the impulse to obey.
And then she was gone.
Kill them. Tell the others. It’s an order.
I didn’t know how many others there were exactly, but I knew they had my friends outnumbered and that no one on my side of this little war would attack to kill—not when Wilson’s soldiers were his victims, too.
My brain rebelled against the idea that the Rabid had issued an order for his wolves to kill my friends, half because I didn’t want it to be true, and half because it didn’t make sense. I would have pegged this psycho for trying to bring Chase to heel and reclaim his mind, or making a stab at claiming Devon or Lake. Then again, as far as Wilson knew, Lake and Dev were still Callum’s. He could reasonably kill them for invading his territory, but trying to claim them as his own would be the equivalent of declaring werewolf war. The Senate might have voted to make this man a deal, but if the Rabid stole Callum’s wolves, it wouldn’t be a matter for the Senate. It would be a direct personal challenge, and Callum would be free to handle it however he wished. In other words, it would be suicide, and I was beginning to suspect that this psychopath was smarter than I’d given him credit for being.
Unsettled, I cast my own mind inward, looking for the others, for my pack. I had to warn them that Wilson’s wolves had orders to kill. Their voices crashed over my inner ears like a tsunami—she’s okay—Bryn awake—son of a—these people are—crazy—run—can’t hurt them—can’t Shift—they’re… human.
Great. The townspeople must have reacted to the gunfire and fighting, but somehow, Wilson had slipped away with me, leaving my friends to deal with the fallout.
“You must be wondering where your friends are,” Wilson said, pulling up another chair and sitting directly across from me, like we were going to have a nice chat over cookies and tea. “You see, after we made our little exit—dirt bombs do wonders for compromising werewolves visuals—your erstwhile protectors got a little caught up in town. People in Alpine Creek don’t like me, but they like outsiders even less. Especially the type who come in armed and start shooting up Main Street. I mostly keep to myself. Your friends, on the other hand, well, you can see why someone might think they were dangerous. I can only imagine that someone must have called the sheriff. He’s easily bribed, but unfortunately for you, he’s more of a shoot-first-demand-money-later type of guy.”
An image flashed into my mind. Devon, hands in the air, poised to make a run for it, men closing in from all sides.
“Don’t worry,” Wilson said. “The sheriff doesn’t shoot silver.”
I tried to send this information to the others, but their minds were too full. I couldn’t get in, couldn’t risk distracting them by pulling on our bond. Their problem right now was the humans of Alpine Creek. To come for me, they had to get away from a gun-happy small-town sheriff—and since it had been ingrained in each of us since childhood that Weres didn’t hunt humans—they were struggling.
“Good thing we got out of there when we did,” Wilson said, bringing one hand up to touch my cheek. I jerked back, and he smiled. “I imagine that’s something you know a little about. Escaping against all odds. Coming out of a fight without a scratch when you should be dead.”