Wrong Side of Dead

Chapter Twenty-three

2:55 P.M.

“To do what exactly?” Wyatt asked.

Phin took a few steps forward, putting himself near the foot of the hospital bed. Over his shoulder Kismet remained silent and steadfast, listening and watching everyone involved in the conversation. “I had a chance to speak with Elder Dane a few moments ago, regarding his knowledge of the Lupa,” he said. “As you’ve already been told, the Lupa were once one of the most powerful of the Therian Clans, and not just because of their bi-shifting abilities. They were also the most magically sensitive of the Clans.”

“What does magically sensitive mean?” I asked. “They’re Gifted?”

“No, not in the sense that you use the word to describe humans and their Gifts. Consider the ability to sing. Most of us are average, many awful. A select few are extremely talented, and once or twice in a generation there is a truly magnificent voice.”

Okay, I got that he wasn’t saying the Lupa were all opera stars, but the rest of the analogy wasn’t quite working for me.

“Therians are considered magical by most because of our shifting abilities,” Phin continued, probably prompted by my blank stare. “However, unlike Gifted humans, we do not require contact with the Break in order to shift. We can travel from here without ill effects. From my experience, all Therians are like this. I would assume Lupa, as well.”

“Then what makes them ‘a magnificent voice’?” I asked.

“They possess, within a Pack, a sort of telepathy among their members. It is especially strong among siblings, and strongest if they are the offspring of the Alpha female.”

“They talk to one another with their minds?” It was my clearest understanding of telepathy, even though I’d met a handful of Gifted telepaths with quite varied talents. Brett Lewis used his psychometry skills for us on a freelance basis (it was hard to believe that it was just last night when he’d identified Thackery as Aurora and Ava’s kidnapper). Claudia Burke had been a Hunter, and she’d used her telepathy to sense the truth in people’s words—until she was killed in the field last week by a trio of Halfies.

“Not quite. Elder Dane described it as more of a proximity sensor. Siblings can sense the distress of other siblings, and the Alpha female can often sense all members of her Pack.”

“So you think they’ll sense Wyatt?” Kismet asked.

Phin nodded. “Or he’ll be able to sense them. He shares their genetic traits now, so it’s possible he’ll be regarded as a fellow Pack member. If they can sense his current distress, they may already be seeking him out.”

“Even though Thackery ordered them to guard Ava and Aurora?”

“They are Lupa first, trained dogs second.”

Wyatt grunted.

I absolutely hated the idea of taking Wyatt out of the Watchtower and making him a target, especially with his emotions on such an uneven keel. But I saw Phin’s point. It might be our only chance to find the Lupa before seven o’clock. I wasn’t going to speak for Wyatt, though; this was his decision.

“The Assembly won’t like it,” Kismet said.

“You’re right,” Phin said. “In my limited experience as a member of the Assembly, I’m fairly positive they would rather execute Wyatt, see the last of the Lupa dead, and sweep this entire incident under the metaphorical rug.”

That comment earned a deep-chested growl from Wyatt.

Unperturbed, Phin continued. “Many Elders still see the Lupa as a blight on our collective history and their removal as a cleansing of evil. It’s what they learned from the Elders before them, and I can only guess at my own Clan Elder’s thoughts on them. But none of them likes talking about it, and it’s why the information isn’t known among the general Therian population.”

“I have a question,” I said. “If the Elders don’t like talking about it and would rather forget, why bother passing down the information? They thought the Lupa were killed off centuries ago.”

“To learn from the past, I suppose. You still teach your children the evils of wars fought long ago, in countries thousands of miles away. The Lupa are part of our collective history. A dark chapter, probably the darkest, but it isn’t something we should forget.”

“Just something to hide from the general population?”

Phin’s mouth twitched.

“Sounds like it works well as a boogeyman story, too,” Kismet said. “This is what happens when a Clan gets out of line, so make sure you and your people play by the rules.”

Phin angled his body to face her, his expression blank.

“That sounds oddly familiar and not a little ironic, coming from an ex-Handler.”

She frowned.

“Okay,” I said, “so what exactly is your plan? Put Wyatt in a car, drive him around the city, and hope his werewolf radar goes off?”

“In a nutshell, yes,” Phin replied.

“Really?”

“Unless you have a more specific starting location in mind.”

It sounded like a great way to waste our entire afternoon. Unfortunately, unless they managed to get something out of Thackery besides more fingers, it was also the only plan we had.

I looked at Wyatt, whose lips were pressed tight, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He glanced at me with those eerie, silver-rimmed eyes. “This is our only real option, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s the only good one,” I replied, “since none of us is about to sit around and do nothing.”

“You’ll bring weapons?”

“Of course.”

“No, Evy, for me. If I lose control out there—”

My heart beat just a little faster. “You won’t.”

“But if I do, you need to be prepared to kill me before I infect someone. And I mean kill me. You know I won’t be able to live with myself if I do.”

“I know.” I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. He was right. Taking him into the city while the infection was still fresh, before we’d had any real practice at keeping his wolf under control, was beyond risky. It bordered on suicidal. And yet, as with every other major decision in our lives lately, what fucking choice did we really have?

“Promise me, Evy.”

“I promise.”

He held my gaze a moment, resolute and angry, then glanced past me. “You, too.”

“I promise,” Kismet said.

He didn’t bother asking for Phin’s word.

“Elder Dane won’t like us taking Wyatt out of here,” I said.

“The Watchtower isn’t exclusively run by the Therians,” Kismet said. “I’ll tell Adrian the plan. He won’t say no.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he might be a foot taller than me, but he knows I can kick his ass.”

Impressed with the implied threat, I smiled. “Works for me. Wyatt’s going to need clothes.” We’d have to get food for him before we left, too. I could use a snack myself, after all that teleporting.

“I’ll get them,” Phin said. “As well as some weapons. We’ll return in ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

They left together, and Wyatt and I were alone. We sat in silence for a moment.

“Think you can stand?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Using the wall for support, he slid up it until he was on his feet, the gown still twisted awkwardly around his hips. I’d asked him before how he felt, and one of his answers had been “aroused.” Standing up, it was obvious he still was, although he didn’t seem aware of it. He’d also said “hungry” and “angry,” which meant he was likely still those things, as well, deep down below the wall of calm he’d built to contain the wolf.

I wanted to reach out and tug the gown down, but was too afraid of startling him. So I stood up slowly, careful to avert my eyes. “Wyatt, you’re kind of hanging out.”

He blinked, confused, then looked down. He pulled at the gown so quickly he almost ripped it. Red spots flamed his cheeks. “Dammit,” he said.

“Should I be flattered?”

As soon as the teasing question passed my lips, I regretted it. Instead of smiling, Wyatt only looked more miserable. He adjusted the gown, but wouldn’t look at me. “Don’t be,” he snapped. “Considering the circumstances, it’s pretty fucking inappropriate.”

“What circumstances? The fact that you didn’t die today, like everyone was telling me you would? That you’re alive, and you haven’t hurt me, and you’re sane enough to beat this?”

“There’s no beating this, Evy. It’s part of me now. I can feel the wolf prowling around. It wants to fight. It wants to fuck. It wants you.”

Something in my chest tightened, as much at the implicit threat as the misery in his voice. “I don’t care what the wolf wants, Wyatt. All I care about is what you want.”

“I want to be able to trust myself alone with you.”

“We’re alone now.”

His eyes flickered toward me, then back to a spot on the floor. “Why do you think I’m staying over here?”

Oh boy. “So you’re saying what? If I walked over there and touched you, you’d lose control, throw me to the floor, and rape me?”

He flinched, and his entire body seemed to wilt. “I don’t know.”

God. The fact that he was entertaining such a scenario knocked the wind out of me. He knew what I’d been through—seen the results with his own eyes as he watched me die my first death. The idea of doing what a goblin had done to me, what a pùca had tried to do, had to be killing him inside.

I was desperate to prove him wrong, to show him he could control the raging instincts of the wolf, but what if he was right? If he did hurt me before someone stopped him …

Fuck no. I had to believe in him, or no one else would. He absolutely didn’t believe in himself, and no one else had as much to lose as I did.

“Did you or did you not sacrifice your free will to bring me back to life?” I asked.

He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t look at me, either. Finally, he said, “I did.”

“Did you or did you not take a bullet for me and die for your trouble?”

He still paused, but the second reply came a bit faster than the first. “I did.”

“Did you or did you not save me from an exploding Halfie in a parking garage, love me no matter what bullshit you learned about my past, support my decision to save Phin by going with Thackery, and combine your Gift with mine to create a truly impressive display of human magic by summoning half a car through a wall?”

His head turned in my direction, gaze still on the floor.

“Yes. I did.”

I took a chance on two steps forward. He tensed but didn’t draw away. Three long strides separated us. With my heart in my throat, I said, “You know I used to fuck around, Wyatt. I was no angel. I liked sex and I had a lot of it. Mindless, emotionless sex. Even, for me, our one time before I died.”

His entire body flinched, and I hated that, but it was true. As nice as it had been, sleeping with him three months ago had meant a lot less to me than to him.

“But that morning in the boys’ apartment, before I went to Thackery, was different. It was beautiful and it was real. So did you or did you not become the first and only man I’ve ever made love to?”

That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes meeting mine. Wide with surprise and understanding, he opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He shifted until his body angled toward me, hands loose by his sides. I wanted to leap across the space between us and pull him into my arms. To feel him around me, holding me again. Physical proof that he was alive, heart beating, blood pumping.

I stayed still. He had a question to answer.

He took a step, then another, tentative and calculated. Three more small steps and he was in front of me, breathing hard, eyes brimmed with unshed tears. He raised a trembling hand; I forced myself to relax, let him do this. He brushed the pad of his thumb across my cheek, down my jaw. Warm breath gusted across my lips, and I breathed him in—the unfamiliar scent of earth, a tang of blood.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine. His skin was damp, hot, almost feverish. The hand on my jaw loosely cupped my cheek. He didn’t kiss me. He simply stood there, touching me, breathing me in. Working whatever inner demons he was fighting into a rational calm, despite our proximity.

I almost didn’t hear him whisper, “I was.”

“You are,” I said.

“I want to be, always.”

“I want that, too.”

He turned his head and pressed his cheek to mine, breath tickling my ear. His skin was rough with stubble, his hair damp. The sweet hint of cinnamon I’d always associated with Wyatt was gone, replaced by something else—foreign and still somehow familiar. Our bodies remained apart by a few meager inches. It was too far …

“I love you,” he said.

“Me, too.”

He nuzzled my cheek, and I broke first. I turned my head until our noses touched, mouths aligned. The cuts on his lips terrified me on one level, but deep down I knew I’d be okay. I’d survived the bites from Wolf Boy a month ago; I’d survive a kiss from Wyatt. But he needed to initiate it.

The hand on my cheek slid around to the back of my neck, a loose hold.

Please …

The gentlest brush of his lips sent my heart galloping. It was all I needed to capture his mouth in a desperate kiss. All of my love and need tried to show itself, and he responded in kind, kissing me hard. Nothing existed except our questing mouths and our bodies pressed together, hearts beating, hands holding and pressing. Somehow I ended up with my back against the wall and I didn’t care, because it was Wyatt holding me there.

I wanted him in a way I’d never thought possible, and I didn’t care that it was the wrong time, place, circumstances—wrong everything. He was hard against my hip, my jeans the only real barrier between us. It had been almost two months since we’d been together in any meaningful way. Hard, fast, and dirty had been part of my old life, but goddamn I’d take a little of that right now.

Except Wyatt was my gentle. Wyatt was my slow and nice. If we had sex like this, up against a wall in a haze of desperation, he might regret it after. Might blame the wolf for his lack of control. He did self-hate way better than I did, and I wasn’t about to give him another excuse.

I also wasn’t about to drag him into the city without taking the edge off, first.

My hand slid between us, beneath the gown, to grasp his erection. He gasped into my mouth. I managed an awkward stroke, and my own arousal surged at the deep (and very human) growl that it elicited from Wyatt. He thrust into my hand, mouth still working mine. My lips tingled; our kiss tasted faintly of blood. Harder, faster.

With a choked cry, he pressed his face against my shoulder and came, spilling warmth over my hand and wrist. He shuddered and gasped. I worked him through it, my free arm tight around his shoulders, holding him close until both of our heartbeats calmed to a reasonable pace.

I wiped my hand on the hem of his gown, then threw that arm around his waist. Our clinch became a hug—an embrace of souls I never wanted to end. The outside world wasn’t allowed to invade the little bubble of peace we’d created for ourselves—only I couldn’t stop it.

A shadow in the doorway reminded me of our deadline and, with regret, I gently squeezed Wyatt’s neck. “You okay?” I whispered.

He loosened his hold and pulled back. His eyes were red, cheeks streaked with tears, but he smiled. Nodded. “Thank you.”

I pressed my left palm flat against his cheek and looked right into his silver-rimmed eyes. And I smiled back. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m being pretty selfish this time.” At his curious look, I said, “I can’t lose you again.”

He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. As he pulled back, his nostrils flared and he tensed just a little. “Phineas is outside.”

“How do you know?” His back was to the door.

“I can smell him.”

“Oh.” That was going to take some getting used to.

“Dare I ask what I smell like?” Phin said as he stepped into the doorway. He had a bundle of clothes in one hand and a knapsack slung across his chest, likely holding our weapons. His expression was unreadable.

“I wouldn’t ask, no,” Wyatt said without turning around. “Gina’s not back.”

“She’s meeting us in the garage.” He put the clothing bundle down on the foot of the bed. “I’ll wait down the hall.”

“We’ll be right there,” I said.

The clothes he’d brought were Wyatt’s, right down to the black sneakers. I handed the items to him one at a time—boxers, jeans, polo, socks—as he dressed. I didn’t know how we were going to get him past Dr. Vansis, or anyone else who didn’t like our plan. Hopefully no one would be dumb enough to try to stop us from leaving the compound.

Wyatt peeled away the last of the bandages on his arm and neck. The wounds had scabbed over and looked nowhere near as raw and infected as they had only a few hours ago.

“You want me to rebandage those?” I asked.

“They’re fine.”

“Ready to go?”

“No, but I suppose we don’t have a choice.”

Did we ever?

I heard Phin and Dr. Vansis arguing before we reached the outer office. I squeezed Wyatt’s hand and held tight, as much for his courage as for my own.

“—still don’t know how infectious he might be to others,” Vansis was saying. “You’re putting thousands of people at risk.”

“We’re only putting me at risk,” I said, earning their collective attention. “I’ll be at Wyatt’s side the entire time we’re out there. Even if he bites me, I don’t think it’ll do anything other than bleed. I’ve been infected before and beaten it.”

Vansis scowled. “And if he’s not finished changing? If he attacks someone who isn’t you?”

“Phin has weapons. We’re all prepared to use them.”

“You’ll shoot your lover dead to save an innocent?”

I couldn’t seem to say yes.

“She knows that’s what I want,” Wyatt said.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Vansis replied.

“No, it did,” I said. “And I don’t plan on having to find out.”

“No one ever does.” He glanced at Phin, whose expression remained frustratingly neutral. Phin could make a fortune at high-stakes poker with that face.

“This might be our only chance to save Ava and Aurora.”

“I know. I won’t stop you, but please be cautious with him.”

“We will. The vampires?”

Vansis shook his head. “Three of their own healers are on their way with some specialized equipment. Maybe they’ll be able to find something I can’t.”

“We need to go,” Phin said.

We had a long walk from the infirmary to the garage and absolutely no way to hide Wyatt from sight. The Therians lingering in the corridor would smell something odd about the man with us, no matter what we dressed him up in, so we chose to walk with our heads high. Humans and Therians stared at us. A few texted messages. Someone even growled.

But no one was dumb enough to get in our way.

At the entrance to the garage, two figures lingered in our path, arms crossed over their chests like a pair of silent sentries. Milo and Marcus were certainly the last two people I’d expect to try to interfere.

“Astrid couldn’t be bothered to stop us herself?” I asked as we drew near.

Marcus frowned. “She’s choosing to not acknowledge that this is happening. She can’t condone Truman’s leaving the premises, but she does believe your decision is correct.”

“So why are you here?”

“To help.”

“Really?”

“We want to go with you,” Milo said. “Since we’re both technically wounded and not on duty, no one will look too hard if we aren’t here.”

The show of solidarity planted a little seed of pride in my chest. To Marcus (who’d lost his walking cast at some point in the day) I asked, “You’re defying your Elder?”

“Technically, no,” Marcus replied. “Not unless he finds out you’ve removed Truman from the premises and I’m assisting you and he orders me to bring you back. Then I’ll be defying my Elder.”

At that moment, I really, really liked Marcus. “Terrific. Then let’s go.”

We left the mall parking lot without incident or alarms. Kismet drove, with Phin riding shotgun. Marcus and Milo took the rear bench seat of the SUV, while Wyatt and I sat together in the middle. Without being asked, Kismet pulled into the first burger joint she passed and ordered a bunch of food off the value menu.

Wyatt worked his way through a bag of cheeseburgers with all the grace of a stumbling drunk, devouring three in the time it took me to choke down a grilled chicken sandwich.

“All right,” Kismet said after we’d settled lunch and gotten back on the road. “It’s three-twenty. Anyone have a thought on a good place to start?”

Looks were exchanged, but no one spoke.

“I do,” Milo finally said.

I twisted around in the process of unwrapping a second sandwich. “Where?”

“Amalie’s avatar was also the lawyer handling the property where the Lupa lived, right? Isn’t her name Edwina Fair?”

Damn, I’d actually forgotten about that connection during all the chaos around Wyatt’s infection. “Right.”

“Where does she live?”

Next to him, Marcus pulled out his cell phone and checked something. “A development called Forest’s Edge. 345 Applewood Lane.”

It sounded familiar.

“Forest’s Edge?” Phin repeated.

“Yeah, somewhere northwest of here. Why?”

Phin made a rude noise. “Because that’s the neighborhood where Michael Jenner lived.”