Wild Things

The elves closest to us unlocked our chains with small keys they pulled from leather cords around their necks. Damien and Jeff stood again, grimacing as they rubbed the spots on their wrists where the shackles had chafed. Even in the dark, it was easy to see the skin beneath was mottled and red, irritated by the silver.

The rest of the army released the tension from their bowstrings and dropped the arrows back into the leather quivers strapped to their backs. They all stood straight again, turned on their heels, and disappeared into the woods.

• • •

Their departure left the three of us, wounded and exhausted, looking back at the army who’d come to save us.

Ignoring the shifters around him, Ethan stalked toward me, lifted me up, and buried his face in my neck, releasing the tension he’d been holding while an army of elves surrounded his girlfriend.

“Thank Christ, Sentinel.”

I didn’t generally object to public displays of affection, but we were surrounded by hard-bitten shifters, and embarrassment bloomed in my cheeks.

Ethan pressed a hard kiss to my lips, leaving little doubt of the ravishment he intended at a more appropriate time. He released me, saw the pink in my cheeks, and smiled. “Let them see, Sentinel. I’ve no interest in hiding my affections.”

We weren’t the only sups in the mood for reunion. Tanya checked Damien’s wounds while her sister stood shyly beside her, clearly not sure if she should step forward or if her attentions would be welcome. But Damien had eyes only for her. His dark brow was furrowed, his dark gaze focused on the girl’s face, his expression intense and needy. I guessed the prospect of battle had sped his blood.

Jeff and Fallon talked quietly nearby. She pushed his hair behind his ears and inspected his face, the movements equally efficient and tender. As the second oldest in the Keene family, I guessed she’d taken care of her share of scrapes.

“Healing begins with loved ones,” Ethan whispered.

“So it seems,” I said, squeezing his hand.

Gabriel walked to us.

“Is Lupercalia usually this exciting?” I asked.

“Only when vampires are about. You two have a unique way of inciting trouble.”

I smiled a little at the attempt at humor, but Ethan’s gaze was heavy and accusing. Gabriel had withheld information, and Ethan wasn’t happy about it.

“I’d like to speak with you,” Ethan murmured, low and threatening.

“When the opportunity permits,” Gabriel said. He turned to walk toward Damien, but Ethan grabbed his arm. The look in Gabe’s eyes was deadly. He cast a glance at Ethan’s hand like it was an alien thing, as if no one had ever attempted to grab him bodily.

“Careful, Sullivan,” Gabriel said.

“Careful?” Ethan gritted out, jaw clenched and anger radiating off his body like heat off asphalt in summer. “My Sentinel was accosted, beaten, marched, and nearly beheaded in front of your shifters. She was held at arrow point—kidnapped from a public place—because you failed to mention the elves were alive and living in our backyard.”

Since I’d held my own, I silently objected to “nearly beheaded” but found the rest of it accurate enough.

Gabriel’s jaw twitched, his eyes swirling like a warming brandy. “Now is not the time or place to discuss these matters,” he said, which made me wonder how much he’d kept from the rest of the Pack.

I took the opportunity to glance around, check the faces of the shifters, who still looked shell-shocked that an army of elves shared their territory. Whatever Gabe had known, he hadn’t shared it with the rest of the Pack. And I guessed that omission was going to require some reckoning.

Ethan swallowed down irritation and released Gabriel’s arm. The tension eased, just a bit.

“When,” Ethan bit out, “would be an opportune time to discuss what just happened, and the fact that my Sentinel was kidnapped by elves?”

Gabriel watched him for a moment, his face offering nothing. “I need to speak to my people. Wait for me at the house.”

He didn’t wait for Ethan to respond.

• • •

Gabriel arranged for Damien and Jeff to get the car—and Boo—which still waited at the restaurant. The rest of us drove back to the estate in the variety of vehicles the Pack had used to get to the wood.

This time, neither the Brecks nor anyone else stopped us when we walked into the kitchen. The house was silent, the staff hiding or otherwise occupied.

Without waiting for permission, Ethan sat me bodily on a stool at the island while he searched the enormous, glass-doored refrigerator for sustenance. He pulled out two bottles of Blood4You, popped the tops on the edge of the counter like a frat boy at a mixer, and handed one to me.

“Drink,” he said, putting the other bottle down.

“I don’t need blood,” I protested, but only weakly, as my stomach began to rumble from need. I wasn’t exactly hungry—my nerves were still too shot for that—but my body was attempting to heal from the elves’ abuse, and it wanted sustenance.

“Drink it,” Ethan said again, staring down at me until I lifted the bottle to my lips.

It was gone in seconds, and I replaced it with the second before he could argue.

Mallory and Catcher walked into the kitchen, and Mallory rushed over. “You’re all right?” she asked, scanning me for injuries.

“A little bumped and bruised, but I’ll heal.”

“Where were you taken?” Catcher asked.

“Shopping center in Loring Park. Four of them jumped me, bows and arrows right there in public view. They knocked me out—a choke hold,” I explained, touching my neck. The skin was no longer tender, but the muscle beneath still ached.

A wash of shifter magic flushed through the room like a moody tsunami, angry and tense. It left an uncomfortable prickle on my skin and made my clothes feel uncomfortably tight.

I rubbed my goosefleshed arms. “What do you think’s going on out there?”

Ethan made a sympathetic sound. “I imagine Gabriel is explaining to his Pack why he didn’t mention the elves before tonight. Why he didn’t mention the wolves at their door, no pun intended.”

I finished the second bottle of blood, placed it on the counter beside the first. “How did they not notice it? The humans? The Brecks? A hunter, a farmer, a utility crew? Someone had to have seen them.”

“Magic,” Catcher said with a shrug. “A mechanism that allowed them to blend into the trees, or which obscured them completely.”

“A village of hundreds in Illinois,” Ethan said. “And that’s one clan. If they came west from Ireland and Scotland, how many more clans might be sprinkled between here and the Atlantic?”

“Very many,” Catcher guessed. “But perhaps the better question—how many of them have arrangements with the rest of the American Packs?”

“Probably too goddamned many,” Ethan said grimly.

“Fuck you, too, Sullivan.” Gabriel walked in alone, moved to a cabinet, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey with a plaid ribbon around its neck. He loosened the lid and took a slug directly from the bottle, throat moving as he swallowed. Maybe shifters had a different metabolism, as the quarter bottle he ingested would have put me on the floor. And maybe he was stressed enough to need it.

He put the bottle back in the cabinet, then braced his hands on the countertop and dropped his head. It was the second time in as many days he’d let his guard down in front of us. I both appreciated the trust—and regretted the need. Even with his back turned, it was obvious he was exhausted. His Pack had come to the Brecks’ estate for camaraderie and fun. And they’d met only threats, violence, and death.

We waited until Gabe stood straight again, running his hands through his hair and turning back to us.

“The contract was negotiated by my father. He told Papa Breck when the Brecks bought the property, thought it was only fair Papa Breck know who was living nearby. When my father passed, Papa Breck told me. I’ve never even seen the elves until tonight.”

“I’m not certain that’s an excuse,” Ethan said. “Not for what my people and yours have been through.”

“The elves’ interest is in keeping quiet, in staying underground. They were nearly eradicated. They wanted to live peacefully, and they have done so.”

“Until tonight,” Ethan emphasized, voice firm. “They are barbarians. They protect their lands without regret, kill without remorse. They do not believe in weakness, and they don’t overlook it. They don’t believe in pity. They kill children they don’t believe will flourish, men and women past their prime. They do not live peacefully. They wait.”

The reference to children and the elderly made me think—I hadn’t seen either at the village. Everyone appeared to be in the prime of middle age. Maybe twenty-five to forty-five in human years. Anyone outside that group could have been indoors or hidden. Or perhaps they’d been culled.

“We have no fight with them,” Gabriel said.

“Because you have not seen them fight,” Ethan insisted. There was hard experience in his eyes. He’d been born in Sweden, had served his time as a soldier, and had nearly been killed because of it. He’d also apparently been in Europe long enough to have seen elves there on the ground and know their practices.

“I have seen battlefields littered with women and children. Ground they stained with blood. They attack without mercy, and they allow no survivors. That Merit, Jeff, and Damien were allowed to live today was a miracle.”

“Or it is proof that this clan is different from those which lived in Europe,” Gabriel said. “Humans are different now, too. Humans fight differently, battle differently.”

“Humans battle with and through machines,” Ethan said. “But that does not absolve them of their atrocities.”

Mallory moved closer, catching both of their gazes. “Let’s pause,” she said, and I felt a gentle nudge of calming magic. It was a nice thought, but considering the story the elves had told about nonconsensual magic, it just left me feeling uncomfortable.