“Fuck!” Pitching forward, he tumbled away from the bars, panting.
Silver. The bastards had used motherfucking silver bars to line the cage. Why the metal had burned him, however, was baffling; simply coming into contact with silver wasn’t supposed to hurt in his human form. Being stabbed or shot with it? Sure. So this went down as one more torment to face, the fact that even if he regained the power to shift or use his other gifts, he couldn’t bust out.
He couldn’t take this much longer. He and his wolf were already going out of their collective minds at being held against their will. Hunched over, he concentrated on calming himself. Taking in air, exhaling. As he did, awful smells began to invade his battered senses.
Urine. Feces. Unwashed bodies and the stale, untouched crap that doubled as food. The stench turned his stomach and he concentrated on not being sick. That would only make things worse and—
Another smell seeped into his consciousness and Aric slowly raised his head. I know that scent. Oh, my God.
“Micah,” he whispered. Then louder. “Micah?”
No answer. For the first time, Aric took stock of the area outside his own prison. His cage was one of many in a row against the wall, and several other figures lay crumpled in theirs much as he’d been when he’d awakened, naked and hopeless. Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose, desperately shutting out all but the one scent he wanted to discern, following the trail to the end.
Behind him. Somewhere close. Scooting around to face the opposite direction took forever and left him panting, aching as though he’d been beaten with hammers. But he had to learn the answer to the question that had haunted the Pack since they’d discovered their brother might be alive—where was Micah?
And the answer was right in the next cage. His old friend lay on the dirty floor, curled into himself as though that would keep the monsters at bay. Micah’s brown hair, once a rich sable color worn to his collar, was now filthy and matted, so long it pooled on the concrete around his head. Strands hung over his angular face and his eyes were closed. The man’s breathing was ragged, the horrible rattle in his lungs attesting to his lack of medical care. That fact plus a plate of uneaten dry dog food by the barred door—fuck those assholes for giving his friend that shit—and Micah’s pronounced ribs, hip bones, and concave stomach, told the story of just how critical his situation had become.
His friend was on the brink of death, and Aric could only sit and do nothing.
The urge to reach through the bars, offer comfort, was overwhelming. It hit him that this was likely part of the reason the metal was made of silver, to keep the “test subjects” from having any sort of positive contact, to kill all hope, and it made his blood boil with rage.
“Micah? We’re gonna get the fuck out of here, soon as the Pack comes,” he whispered. “And they will come. You hear me?”
His friend didn’t stir.
Aric lowered his head. And for the first time he could recall, tears dripped off his chin to mix with the filth on the floor.
Talk was scarce on the helicopter, given the noise. Rowan would’ve felt a little better with a few more details about where they were going and the plan of action on arrival, but that would have to wait. For now, she sat and eyed her group, still amazed that they were oblivious to her presence.
Guess there’s something to be said for magic after all.
Which brought to mind the gift Sariel said she possessed. Days ago, she’d have dismissed the idea as insane. Now? She’d seen so much in the short time since she’d arrived at the compound, it was mind-blowing. She wasn’t crazy, so that left only one other option.
And she was beginning to believe.
Micah was a Dreamwalker, Nick had claimed. She and her brother had shared dreams since their childhood. Were they able to do that because they shared the same gift? How could she find out?
A headache began to form, so she stopped thinking about anything but getting to her brother. Nothing else was as important.
The Huey began its descent and she checked her watch. Almost two hours they’d been in the air, and it seemed like eons. In minutes the copter touched down and the men prepared to disembark, some checking weapons. All of them, she suspected, qualified as a weapon themselves.
Rowan filed out behind the men, standing off to the side to avoid bumping into anyone as they gathered. Checking out their surroundings, she noted they’d landed in a field bordered by woods on all sides and majestic mountains in the distance, all of it against the vast, beautiful backdrop of a full moon and a zillion stars.
“This is a change,” Jaxon commented. “Chappell usually prefers to set up his clandestine operations in or near major cities.”
Nick agreed. “Don’t know why he thought moving one of his sites to Bumfuck, Colorado, would draw less attention from the locals. Took a while for our government contacts to sniff this one out, but his tactic eventually backfired.”
“Still think we should’ve gone in hot,” Ryon said anxiously. “I don’t like giving the goons time to find out we’re here. Those Hueys can be heard for miles.”
His comment earned him a smack in the back of the head from the bald guy, Hammer. “Idiot. You forgetting last time we went in guns blazing? They were waiting for us, which is how things went to hell and they snatched Aric.”
The blond’s expression was suddenly haunted. “They’ll be ready for us, anyway. The ghosts around us, some of their victims, I think, are urging us to be careful.”
Rowan stared at him. Ryon’s “gift” is communicating with the dead? The others get to do all sorts of cool stuff and this poor guy gets stuck with being followed around by a bunch of stiffs? Jesus, that sucks.
“This time we go in quiet,” Nick reiterated. “Remember, watch for traps or any signs of an ambush. Detain any personnel who are on duty and liberate all prisoners. Grant has ground transportation waiting close to the target to assist with the victims who need urgent care. Let’s go—and be careful. We can’t afford another screwup.”
As they moved out, she jogged behind the group, thinking not only of Micah but also of the other man, Aric. The Pack was devastated over the loss of all their men in the past few years, but Aric’s capture was recent, salt poured into a reopened wound. The guys spoke of him with equal parts aggravation and reverence, and she wondered what he’d be like. For some reason beyond the obvious one that he was their friend who was in danger, she hoped she would have the chance to know him.
She was so engrossed in her musings, she failed to see a fallen log the others had cleared easily. Cursing, she jumped at the last second and almost did a face plant in the undergrowth. Then she nearly ran right into Zan’s back when Nick, in the lead, brought the group to an abrupt halt.
“Wait!” Nick cocked his head. “I could’ve sworn I heard a woman’s voice.”
“I heard it, too,” Zan said, looking around. “Sounded like she said ‘shit.’”
Rowan repeated the word, in her head. Damn it, Sariel’s spell must be wearing off. But if it just would last until they reached their destination, Nick might not send her back to the helicopter.
“Maybe it was one of Ryon’s spirits?” Jax suggested.
“I’m not sure, but I guess anything’s possible,” Ryon speculated. “They can sometimes gather enough energy to make themselves heard.”
After a few tense moments, Nick led them on. Though she was a police officer and in great physical shape, it was a miracle that she kept up, since their night vision and endurance far surpassed hers. By the time the boss slowed and signaled his men to crouch, she was drenched in sweat. The others weren’t even winded.