"What if it's just a nut? Your average human psycho," I said bluntly. A rapist, a murderer, a monster of strictly human origin. What the hell would Cerberus know about your average Gein or Dahmer holed up in Mommy's basement? "What do we do then?"
"A demon is a demon, Cal. If he's human, he'll simply be easier to kill. Finding him won't be any more difficult," he said with absolute conviction.
As lies went, I wasn't sure if it was solely for me or if he was lying to himself too. The really good lies are flexible that way. Two days later we made a deal with the devil and all lies went out the window. And so did the comfort that went with them.
Chapter 8
Caleb's message was stained with blood, fresh and red.
It wasn't George's blood. No, the warm liquid flowed freely from another source, the message itself. That would be Flay, or, as he was better known, our old pal Snowball. A message, he wasn't bright enough to be a messenger. Inert piece of shit was the best he could hope for.
He had come to our door only minutes ago. After two days… two days of no sleep as we scoured the city. Endlessly falling. Two days of hating myself for not telling her what she wanted to hear, not telling her the truth of what I felt for her. I could've been honest with her for once. I could've made her happy. Could've made myself happy, but no. Why the fuck would I want to do that?
And then Caleb had called this morning. He'd accepted our deal when Niko called days ago, accepted it promptly. We would waive our fee for the Boaz job and the Kin would help search for George. He told us that Cerberus would be sure to go along. Not a problem. The Alpha knew a good business deal when he saw it. We should've been suspicious, but we weren't. It was a good deal for them. Yeah, we just didn't know how good. At least, for Caleb.
He'd said he'd send Flay, his wolf, with information on what they'd found so far in their search. He lied. That wasn't the information Flay had come bearing at all, and what he had brought was now causing the living shit to be beaten out of good old Snowball. We'd thought Cerberus had a spy in his organization. He did and he didn't. The spy was Caleb, but he wasn't in the organization. Wasn't Cerberus's accountant. Didn't work for Cerberus at all, although he coveted something of his pretty fiercely, it seemed. He was the one, however, who had leaked the information to Boaz that we were coming. He'd wanted to know if we could "handle" ourselves. Lucky us, we proved that we could. And when we did, he had taken George. Now he wanted to make a trade. He wanted us to do the dirty work, and it was Flay's bad luck he got to pass along this little tidbit of joy. Get me what I want or your little psychic dies. "Dies"—that wasn't the word Flay had dutifully parroted in his shattered-glass voice. It was something far worse than that.
My hands circled the wolfs throat and slammed his head one more time against the floor. Crimson bloomed brilliantly against the blank canvas of his white hair and trailed from the corner of his mouth across transparently pale skin. And with the next thudding blow our floor turned red as well. The contrast wasn't as striking as it could be, but it still made me happy. Very, very happy. Goddamn ecstatic, in fact.
"If he kills him, it could make things worse." Goodfellow's voice came faintly through the haze, sounding indifferently musing and not particularly sympathetic to a certain albino wolf. "Of course, could isn't necessarily would."
While Robin didn't have strong feelings either way about Flay living or dying, Niko did. A hand fisted itself in the back of my shirt and lifted me off the wolf. "Cal, stop it."
With the sound of tearing cloth, I pulled away from his grip. The rage was a white-hot noise in my brain that blocked any other emotion from penetrating. But that was fine by me. I loved rage. It was better than fear or pain or agony. Better than despair, guilt, and desperation. Yeah, rage was my friend right now, and I wasn't ready to turn loose of it yet.
But before my hands could regain their grip I was yanked backward again, this time with an unyielding arm around my throat. "Don't make me choke you out, little brother," Niko warned quietly at my ear, "because I will."
Sucking in a breath that did little to tame the bubbling acid rising through my stomach and lungs, I rested my chin on Niko's arm. I stared down at the blood on my hand that made the fist I formed slippery and warm. The stitches that wreathed my other arm from elbow to hand were torn in spots and leaking my own blood to mix with Flay's. "Okay." It came out strangled and hoarse and that had nothing to do with the arm pressed against my neck. "I'll be"—the grin that twisted my face was carved with the darkest of knives—"good."
"Good is a relative term. As long as you don't kill him." The arm fell away as Niko amended grimly, "At least not quite yet."
Not yet. I could live with not yet… just barely.
Niko crouched beside the fallen Flay. He took in the blood, the lips locked in a rictus of pain, the ruby quartz eyes full of seething fury. "Not a good day for you," Niko observed icily. "Quite a shame."
"Oh, I don't know." Still leaning against the kitchen counter, Robin examined his latest manicure. "Caleb seems like a progressive creature. Perhaps our hairy friend here has a nice worker's comp package. This may be a dream come true for him." The smile he flashed was vulpine. "Then again, funeral benefits might be even better."
"Now… I'm certain Caleb has long deserted his office, but why don't you verify that for me." Niko straightened the collar of the wolfs black jacket with exquisite care, then wrapped his hand lightly around his already bruised throat. His fingers rested on the carotid pulse. "If you lie, I'll know it, and then… well, then I'll have to hurt you. Perhaps even maim you for life. And I don't want that. I don't enjoy setting a bad example for my impressionable younger brother. So, please, do cooperate."
It was a long speech for Nik, and he meant every word of it. Standing behind him, I watched as white lashes blinked with an uneasiness the automatic snarl couldn't hide. Working his mouth, Flay turned his head cautiously in Niko's grip and spit blood onto our floor. Oversized pointed yellowed teeth showed as his lips peeled back and he gave a strangled hiss. "Gone. Caleb… gone."
Big surprise.
"Do you know where he is?" The long fingers tightened on the pale throat until they almost sank from sight. "And, Flay, do think carefully before you answer. An albino wolf might not ever be Alpha in the pack, but a paralyzed wolf is five steps below a lame sheep."
Flay didn't have to think. His options were extremely limited at the moment and he knew it. With hatred warping the lines of his face into a violent mask, he told the truth. "No. Don't. Don't… know. Gone."
Caleb was gone and damn unlucky Flay was left in his place. Murderous, stupid, and too loyal for his own good—it wasn't a combination tailor-made for survival. Now ask me if I give a shit. Braced on one knee, my brother continued to study the increasingly blue wolf under his hand. When the blue shaded to a delicate lilac and Flay's heels began to drum against the floor, Niko released him. "Annoying." Standing, he repeated, "Very annoying." Insinuating a toe under the wheezing, coughing wolf's side, he expertly flipped him over onto his stomach and pulled his hands behind him. "Handcuffs," he said tersely.
Despite being in the midst of emotions as malignant as any cancer, I felt my eyebrows rise. We didn't have handcuffs. It wasn't as if we were going to drag a howling, jaywalking ghoul down to the local jail. If any eventuality could be prepared for, Niko would be standing at the front of the line. But this? But before I could ask what the hell he was talking about, Goodfellow dangled a pair from a finger. "I could show you something in a velvet-lined manacle," he offered matter-of-factly, "but I doubt you would be interested."