Taken

Chapter 22

He put his fist through the bar’s heavy wood surface, disregarding the splinters and the way the skin over his knuckles broke and briefly bled. The lacerations closed almost instantly, but the jolt of pain up his arm was worth it for the clarity it brought in its wake.

Control, Zach. You’re not a savage.

The short, sharp movement brought all motion in Cullen’s bar to a halt. The assembled Tribe—most of them had been there when he arrived, and more were showing up all the time—turned still and silent, watching him. Julia clamped a sodden, bright-red towel to her arm. Brun slumped against her, dark rings under his eyes and the acrid tang of worry hanging on him. The smell of blood added a teasing note to the stew of anger riding the air.

“Listen,” Zach said, quietly and reasonably, in the silence that followed. “I did not come here to sit and listen to you idiots whinge and moan. They’ve taken our shaman. And you’re sitting here wondering what the fuck to do?”

Cullen sighed, folded his arms. The bar was full of snarling, a river of bloodlust running right under the surface of the air, and most of it was coming from Zach. Eric shifted restlessly, and one of the Bear Tribe—Cullen’s alpha, a female with the wide shoulders and studied, careful movements of their kind—stared unblinkingly at him.

“They’ll crucion her for sure,” one of the Felinii said softly.

“Crucion?” Eric started forward, but Zach put his arm out to stop him. Getting to the bar could have been hazardous; but the upir had vanished.

They had what they came for.

Zach’s decision to find other Tribe had been instant. There were more upir than he’d ever seen in one place before, enough to litter the entire house with bloody rotting matter and overwhelm four Carcajou desperate to reach their shaman for the small, critical time necessary to spirit her out of the house.

She had to still be alive. Had to be.

The majir would know that a shaman was in trouble, and still alive. The shamans—two from the Bear Tribe, one from the Felinii, and a slim-hipped kohl-eyed woman of the Tanuki Tribe—all had the glaze-eyed look of listening to the spirits, but not the look of devouring sadness that would mean Sophie had joined the earthbound wisps.

“Since when do we just let upir take and kill our shamans?” Zach asked quietly. Julia let out a sobbing breath. She was healing, but painfully slowly, upir venom working in the claw marks.

And Sophie might already be dead. But she was triggered, the majir would know. Wouldn’t they? Unless she hadn’t been triggered enough, maybe, despite everything. Or if something was wrong, or if—

He told that rabbit-jumping part of himself to shut up. They were all looking at him. As if he was some sort of new animal, one they weren’t quite sure they liked.

Of course, without a shaman, he and his Family were only here on borrowed grace.

“Carcajou.” One of the Felinii made a swift, abortive movement, stopped when he glared at her. “There’re so many of them.”

“Fine.” Zach folded his arms, his hand hurting briefly, one final red grinding of pain as the animal turned over briefly inside his bones, finishing the job of healing. “Where are they likely to be holding her?”

Cullen finally spoke up. “You’re not seriously thinking—”

“She’s our shaman.” And my mate. Though she doesn’t know it yet. “What do you not understand about this? Where are they likely to hold her?”

“Zach.” Eric surged forward again, was held back again. “You’re not going without me.”

“Or me,” Julia piped up. Brun muttered something that might have been assent or “Here we go again.”

Zach ignored it. “Where?”

Cullen shrugged. The bones in his hair shifted a little, clicking. “Armitage has estates. Harris has a house out in Hammerheath—the tony section of town, a suburb. It’s crawling with upir. One of our sleuth did pool cleaning up there, and he says it smells like death all over, especially in the past six months. But—”

“Addresses. I’ll start at Harris’s house.” Probably the same place listed in the divorce papers. Wish I’d thought to write it down.

“You’re not seriously considering—” The door opened, a few more Tribe trickling in. They could smell something happening, of course—and the night outside was probably crying with Sophie’s distress.

Zach took a firmer hold on his temper. “If she’s still alive, they’re probably not going to kill her tonight. Especially if they’re using the crucion, they’ll want from dusk to dawn to do it right.” A little shudder of distaste and fear ran through him. Thinking of Sophie strapped to an X-shaped frame while the wheel turned and bones splintered—

Stop it. The majir would know. They always know. It’s their job.

“We can’t let him go alone.” A Felinii, her hands clasped together like a schoolgirl’s, straightened as a ripple ran through the assembled Tribe. “They outnumber us, yes. But we have several advantages.”

“It’s that kind of thinking that got our other two shamans killed,” the Tanuki shaman said, her narrow nose lifting.

“Small teams headed by a shaman don’t work,” the Bear alpha said, quietly, but with a great deal of rumbling force behind her words. “What if we emptied out the city? Got every Tribe and every shaman involved?”

“Coordinating Tribe is like herding cats,” one of the Tanuki muttered, and quickly ducked his head when a Felinii gave him a meaningful look. “Sorry.”

“I don’t have time for consensus building.” Zach’s fists ached to batter something else. “I need to find my shaman, and I need to find her now. Either help me or not, I don’t fucking care. Either way, I need those addresses, and I’m going to teach those bastards not to hunt Tribe. And especially not to hunt a Carcajou shaman.” I’m not too picky about how I teach them that lesson, either.

“It might be possible.” The Tanuki shaman’s clever dark eyes sparkled. Her fingers twitched. “Think of it. We could take our city back.”

“If we could have done that, we would have done it ages ago.” Cullen sighed, rubbed at his eyes. Exhaustion sat heavily on his big frame, darkened the rings under his eyes until he looked almost like the Tanuki. “I know it’s rough, Carcajou, but—”

His hands ached to grab the Bear shaman and throttle him. “Fine. I’ll track her my own way.” He turned on his heel, and surveyed his Family.

Eric, his prized leather jacket shredding. Julia, peeling the blood-sodden towel away from her arm. Brun, who looked steadily back at his older brother.

A ripple ran through the assembled Tribe. “I think we’re all equally sick of taking crap from upir,” said a very soft, deceptively gentle female voice.

It was the other Bear shaman, the one who hadn’t spoken yet. She was slim for a Bear, but wide-shouldered and generously hipped. Little bits of copper wire were strung in her hair, and her voice held such a wealth of calm power every Tribe in the room took a deep breath.

Except Zach. The anger was growing inside him, a rage even Sophie might be hard-pressed to soothe. If we lose her… He took a good look at them, at how Julia’s face was thin with pain and hunger, Brun cringing at the slightest sound, and Eric quivering like a leashed greyhound. She hadn’t had any time to start smoothing their rough edges and welding them together. But she was still their shaman, their one shot at belonging again. Being a part of the Tribes instead of jackals at the edge of the world, falling off a bit at a time.

And then there was Kyle. Those fuckers had killed his little brother. Never mind that Kyle had been too weak to carry the alpha, and Zach had known. Ever since the fire, when Zach had been driven back by the heat and grabbed Kyle, keeping him from throwing himself into the flames, he had known Kyle was too weak—and he let him carry it, anyway.

Now he’d screwed up their only chance of keeping a shaman. They’d been depending on him, and he’d let them down again. He’d let his mate down, too—even if she didn’t know she smelled like she belonged to him. He would never have the chance to maybe coax her into considering the idea that he was worth her.

Because he’d failed. Again.

Not this time, he told himself. Not now.

“The majir have told us to be patient. The majir have told us to wait, and now they do not.” The Bear shaman moved slightly, copper bangles sliding on her wrist and making a chiming sound. “It is time. Come dawn, we can have every Tribe in the city aware of what we intend. Those that will help us, will help us. The majir will aid us, as well.”

“Ilona.” Cullen sighed, spread his hands. “I don’t want to lose another shaman, either. But think about what you’re saying.”

“Cullen.” The other Bear shaman fixed him with a steely glare. “Ask the majir for us. Cast the bones. But I’m telling you right now, any except the cubs who want to go are free to go with my blessing. This has gone far enough. And with Carcajou with us—”

“There’s only four of them!” Cullen objected.

“Four’s more than enough,” the Tanuki shaman replied. “We’ll help. We’ll unlock any doors and steal any shinies.” Her nose twitched again.

Cullen stared at Ilona, who returned the stare with interest. It wasn’t quite a struggle for dominance, but there was a general move backward, anyway. If the two decided to tangle, nobody wanted to be in the way.

Zach saw his moment and slipped back. The Tanuki shaman gave him an odd look as he passed, her kohl-smudged eyes bright and intelligent, and the low thrumming growl in the air mounted another few notches.

There was a crowd by the door, but they parted for him. “Zach—” Eric sounded breathless.

“Stay with the Tribes.” His tongue felt too thick for his mouth.

“Zach—” Julia, this time.

“Stay with the Tribes.” The Change ran inside him like glass wires. His failure, his responsibility, goaded the animal living under the surface of his skin.

The animal stretched, finding that he would not chain it this time. There was a meaningless babble of noise, ignored like everything other than what the animal understood. Food. Shelter.

And possession.

The rain outside was flung silver needles, soaking through his hair and useless clothing. The blood in him burned, his nose lifted, tasting the night. Wet concrete, burning exhaust, the jungle of a city like every other wilderness. Only this one had a clear crystalline ringing under each raindrop, a distress call muted by concrete and inimical metal.

It was the call of a shaman in danger.

The human part of him couldn’t have heard it. But the animal knew, and it responded with a throaty howl that ended with a series of clicks. The rage was sweet fuel to them both, a golden thread he would follow until it ended at what he sought.

Something that belonged to them had been taken.

And he would not rest until he had taken it back.