Cool Hand (23 page)

Through the door was a smaller, bleaker room. It was empty of furniture.

A couple more Trolls stood by the far wall, one of them with bloodstains splattered across his chest. Beside him was Rita from the bar this afternoon, neatly dressed, arms crossed and stony faced. On my right, there was a group of Were, including Evans. Savannah was trembling in a corner behind them, her arms around a young guy I assumed was Claude. I’d thought he’d be about eighteen, but he looked sixteen and terrified. Savannah’s face lightened with a sliver of hope as she saw me.

Too early for that.

There were two male bodies on the floor: Were—not from Albuquerque—blood congealing in pools around them. One alive, one not.

A woman slumped against the left wall, wrists fastened behind her, clothes torn and blood-soaked. She’d obviously been tortured. She was alive, but only just.

Oh, God, no.

She was Athanate. Athanate from House Romero.

Finally, in the middle of the room, commanding the space, the man who could only be the alpha, Zane. He turned and glared at me. His eyes were different colors: brown and green. Any shielding he’d had up to then dropped away, and dominance flowed off him like a sandstorm in the desert—stinging and crackling with energy.

It made my skin crawl and set my pulse racing.

I’d expected him to be a huge version of Bode, and he wasn’t that. He was big enough, but more contained—wiry strength rather than rolling muscle. His face read like a map of the secret history of New Mexico: dark, proud and fierce; red and brown, black and white, all rolled together. His pants and button-down shirt were loose and casual, hiding his strength rather than advertising it. His hair was tightly coiled rings, dark as wet otter and springing up from his head.

“The last of our uninvited guests.”

His voice was rich and full after the hoarseness of Bode and Haz. It was the sound of a leading man in an old Hollywood film, but more careful, as if it was something learned later in life. And completely at odds with the staring eyes.

Don’t be prey.

“I’m in New Mexico on Athanate business. I needed no invitation from you for that.”

His pack stirred and their anger seethed through the room.

My wolf wanted to react. I wanted to snarl back.

Push that thought down.

“And as for being here, in the Calle, I did receive an invitation.” My eyes went to the injured woman and my mouth ground on. I couldn’t stop it. “I didn’t realize it was to witness torture.”

“Torture? You’re too late for that,” he said.

He looked at the woman and back at me.

“Do you have a problem with that?” He shrugged and opened his arms, indicating the woman on his right and the group with Evans on his left. “Are you with her? Or with them?”

My heartbeat thudded in my head. Did he just mean Athanate or Were? It couldn’t be that simple. This was one of those questions there was no right answer to.

Ignoring the threatening rumble of his pack, I stepped closer to the alpha.

“Neither. I’m a hybrid. I don’t fit into your groups.”

I looked at the woman and swallowed dryly. What outcome rested on this? “I don’t believe there are affiliations between my House and Romero any longer.”

My Athanate hardwiring agreed with that.

I looked at the other group. I recognized Iversen and pointed. “I’m certainly not with him or the Confederation.” I pointed at Evans. “Or him.”

Being pointed out challenged Iversen. He found his balls and stepped forward.

“I know it’s not formally an invitation, but I’m an accredited representative of the Confederation—”

“Your
accreditation
is something you can wave in front of packs that acknowledge the Confederation,” the alpha snarled at him. Iversen put his hands up and stepped back. Reluctantly. He didn’t want to be grouped with Evans and the other Were either.

“Bode,” the alpha said, and jerked his head at the bound woman.

It was so sudden, it caught me off balance. Bode crossed the space with three strides. His head distorted, stretching into gray fur and fangs. His hands wrenched the Romero’s head back and before she had time to realize what was happening, he’d bitten right through her throat. Arterial blood sprayed over him.

Shit!

Savannah screamed.

I took a step and stopped.

The woman was already dead. There was a growl from the Albuquerque pack that reached into my chest, and told me in no uncertain terms they’d wanted her dead.

The alpha was watching me, waiting.

There was nothing I could do for her. And I knew little about what had really just happened. I had other responsibilities, however sick to my stomach I felt.

Not on my list.

I had to put it behind me.

Concentrate. Information on Diana. Savannah and Claude. Me.

It was getting harder to not respond. The smell of blood in the room, every new shock—it was all loosening my hold on both my wolf and my Athanate. I closed my eyes and thought about running through a sun-dappled forest, breathing cool mountain air, a carpet of fallen pine needles springy beneath my bare feet. Anything but the hot stench of blood in this claustrophobic room.

Whatever it was he was expecting from me, the alpha seemed satisfied by what he sensed.

“Get this cleaned up,” he said to the Trolls. He turned and walked towards a double door next to where Rita stood. “Bring that one.” He pointed down at the Were lying unconscious on the floor.

“The rest of you, follow me.” He waved to include all of his ‘guests’.

I let the Were go ahead and went over to Savannah, blocking her view of the rest of the room.

“You two okay?” I whispered, even though the whole room would be able to hear.

She managed a nod, her eyes still shocked and unbelieving.

Both of them were crying. Claude jammed the heels of his hands against his eyes, tried to wipe them and sit straighter. He’d been knocked around. There was bruising on his jaw and cuts on his forehead, but nothing like the beating the others had taken. Savannah hadn’t been injured, from what I could see.

My gut clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Savannah mouthed at me, her eyes flicking over my shoulder to the Were, spilling more tears.

I shook my head. No time for that now. No time to question what had happened to Claude to cause those injuries. I knew there’d be a limit to this alpha’s patience.

“Come on,” I said.

I put the Stetson on Savannah’s head and draped the stockman’s coat around both her and Claude. It wasn’t cold, but they were in shock. A little warmth would help. And I knew they’d also feel better with the illusion of a barrier between them and the Were, however flimsy.

And as far as the Albuquerque pack were concerned, their scent would mingle with mine. It marked them.

I hoped that was going to be a benefit.

We walked together into the next room. It wasn’t so bare. There was a tiled floor of polished stone, heavy wooden furniture, light from wall lamps, windows with curtains. In comparison to the last room, it was luxurious.

The other Were guests were already sitting at a table in the middle of the room. There was a sofa against the wall. I guided Savannah and Claude there before joining the rest.

I had to walk around the unconscious Were.

The alpha watched me as I pulled up a straight-backed chair.

Good. Attention on me, not on Savannah and Claude.

We were sitting around an ancient oriental dining table—heavy, circular, with carved legs like elephant trunks and the top tightly covered in dark green baize, like a card table.

The alpha was opposite me. Iversen was sitting to the alpha’s right. The Were whose marque I didn’t recognize was to my left and Evans was sitting to my right. Evans still had the bruises and black eye from our last meeting, and hate flared in the expression he cast my way.

He and Iversen were silent: apprehensive and angry. They hadn’t expected the killing, and the suddenness—the casual brutality of it—had shocked all of us. From their reactions, they hadn’t been in that room much longer than I had. I didn’t think they’d seen the Romero woman tortured.

The last Were, the one to my left—he was different, less shocked. More…I drew in the scents in the room, letting their messages flow down into the wolf…more excited.

He’d
enjoyed
seeing the woman killed. He’d have enjoyed being there earlier.

My stomach threatened to heave again, and I concentrated on the alpha.

His elbow was on the armrest of his chair, his hand held up and Haz touching it. I thought for a second that it was an odd gesture of affection, but Haz’s fingers were pressing patterns in his palm. It seemed the Albuquerque Were had a variation of sign language for speaking when there were other werewolves around.

Handy.

She was looking at me as she signed, and I could imagine what she was telling him about me.

After a minute, he nodded. “Thank you, Haseya,” he murmured.

She joined Rita and Bode against the wall behind the alpha. Rita’s face still showed no emotion. Bode and Haz glowered at the rest of the room. Not just me on their shit list, then.

The alpha nodded at the Trolls and they left, pulling the door closed behind them.

Then he focused back on me.

“I’m Zane,” he said.

“Yeah, the alpha of Albuquerque,” I replied, anger bubbling up again. I struggled to keep my voice level and reasonable. “You know who I am and why I’m here.”

“Yes. Rita has explained. Including your claim that these two,” he indicated Savannah and Claude, “are Farrell kin. I find that interesting. The boy’s not any Athanate’s kin, and the girl doesn’t have your marque.”

He held up his hand to stop me from speaking. “I’ve heard your explanation.” His eyes wandered arrogantly over me, lingering, full of sexual heat.

With the coat off, the HK was in full sight, tucked into the holster under my arm.

“A Mark 23, by the look of it,” he said, and extended his hand across the table.

Crap.

Nothing I could do about it. My mouth dry, I pulled the HK from the holster, rechecked the safety and handed it over, butt first.

I didn’t
think
he was going to shoot me, but then I hadn’t thought he was going to kill a Romero Athanate in front of me either.

His eyes held mine while he ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber, worked the slide and dry-fired.

“Well kept, well used,” he murmured.

He pushed the release pin and the gun came apart in his hands. He held the components to the light, ran his fingers down the metal and rubbed them together, gauging the amount of oil I used. Then his fingers danced like brown spiders over the gun, slotting it back together in seconds.

Only I was allowed to show off like that, and I’d earned the right with years of teaching recruits in 4-10 until they could do it like me, in the dark and behind their backs, upside down and underwater.

He checked the safety and placed it carefully on the table beside him.

Ask for it back
, his expression dared me.

I wasn’t going to give him any indication of how much I wanted it. I kept my face calm, and the tension around the table eased off a fraction. The sense of violence that had been pouring out of Zane had ebbed while he played with my gun.

Suddenly he became a host. The change was as unnerving as the killing of the Romero had been.

“You know Mr. Evans and Mr. Iversen,” he said, waving at them.

I nodded. Neither of them liked me, but they liked each other even less, from the looks that passed across the table.

“And this is Mr. Fuller of Gold Hill, who arrived accompanied by Mr. Evans.”

Evans had joined Gold Hill, then. But why come down here?

“They’re all claiming to be envoys,” Zane said, his voice neutral. “Are you an envoy too, Ms. Farrell?”

“Amber,” I said automatically. “And no, I’m not an envoy. I came down here on Athanate business. These two kin have done you no harm. I just want to take them and be on my way.”

The mismatched eyes glowed and the wolf showed through again.

“
On your way
,” he repeated. “But rescuing these humans wouldn’t conclude your business in New Mexico, would it?”

“No.” I glanced around the table. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to be open with Rita about searching for Diana. I certainly didn’t want to talk Athanate problems in front of others.

Zane pursed his mouth. “So you’re claiming more Athanate business. Our worlds overlap in New Mexico, and you are Were as well as Athanate. What might Larimer be interested in, down in Albuquerque, I wonder?”

Iversen stirred as if to interrupt, and Zane stared him into silence.

“I have no idea what information Felix might be interested in,” I said. “I’m not here officially.”