Andrea Cremer
Treachery
A book in the Nightshade series, 2011
The weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret machination, or by confederacy with others.
Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan
THE PAIN NO LONGER kept me awake, no matter how much I needed it to. Sleep would kill me. I was sure of it.
I tried to move as often as possible, forcing my body to remember that it was bruised, scraped raw in ways that should always jolt me back to the present moment. Pressing up against the cold steel of the cell walls, I sucked in a sharp breath when the icy surface met my skin through the ruins of my clothes. But I didn’t relax. I couldn’t. No matter how much my bones were screaming at me to collapse. To puddle onto the floor, letting go of the conscious world.
I’d let it happen before, more than once. When exhaustion pushed on my head and shoulders, forcing them to the ground. When everything that had happened shoved my eyelids down with tears burning beneath them. That was the most dangerous time because I couldn’t hold my mind in check. I couldn’t fight off the swell of feelings that rose up, choking me with confusion, fear, and regret.
The torture I could take-at least until it killed me. But I’d quickly learned that my mind was the real problem. When that broke, I’d give up. And I was so close to breaking. I no longer remembered how much time had passed between being shoved into this cell and now. I knew I existed on the verge of losing it. And it got much worse whenever I passed out.
Because I only had two dreams.
I never knew which one would take me when staying awake slipped out of my control.
But they were both deadly.
Everyone is here. My whole life, embodied by the wolves I live with and the witches who rule us. The Keepers stand apart, but still in sight, tall shadows illuminated by firelight and moonlight. Nightshades and Banes ring us-shadows lurking in the woods just behind the pack. The new pack. My pack. Haldis.
The air is static with anticipation and I can hardly keep still. Bryn stands opposite me, but I can see her through the leaping flames of the bonfire. The burning pile of logs sends glossy waves of heat into the night sky. Above us the blood moon is bathed in ochre and crimson.
Voices join the smoke and flames that leap skyward. First Nev. Then Sabine. I haven’t heard this song before. It’s nothing like Nev’s tunes when he plays at the Burnout, or favors the pack with an impromptu, exclusive acoustic set. The minor key of this melody is old, but it feels familiar. Already I want to howl-to lend my voice to the ancient song that speaks of loyalty, honor, courage. But it’s not time yet.
My eyes meet Bryn’s in the flickering light.
I love you, I mouth. I see her eyes brim and dimples appear on her cheeks when she smiles at me.
It’s almost here. The moment where we’ll be together. Living together. Our future.
The song ends, though Nev and Sabine’s voices linger in the air, filling the forest a moment longer.
Without a word, we shift. All the wolves. I lift my muzzle, staring at the blood moon, and howl with all my being. My call is a hundred calls. I’ve never heard all the voices of the Nightshade and Bane packs united. It sends electric waves beneath my fur. We are the night. We are power.
In his wolf form, Ren steps from the shadows, dark as the smoke rising from the bonfire. He stands before us. The only wolf not joining in our song. He waits, alert and unwavering. Our alpha.
I continue to sing, though I’ve drawn my eyes from the moon to search the edge of the trees for my sister. I think of how her white wolf will look like a ghost materializing from the dark. How her light will contrast the shadow gray of Ren’s coat.
I don’t see her.
We’re still singing, but the mood of the packs ripples. Ren stirs, turning in an anxious circle as his gaze darts to the forest.
Where is she? Bryn’s thought enters my mind.
I force my tone to be light when I answer. Cold feet?
God, I hope not. Bryn has stopped howling. Beside her, Sabine bares her teeth.
Mason whimpers in my ear. Something’s wrong.
I don’t answer. I don’t want to. The thrill of the night racing through my veins has grown cold.
The chorus of howls falters. Intermittent snarls and low growls begin to filter through.
The Keepers, who’ve been standing apart, silent and watchful, begin to move. Efron Bane, standing with Logan and Lumine, suddenly shouts:
“Emile! To me.”
I watch the burly Bane alpha lope to his master’s side. I can’t hear what Efron says, but a moment later Emile is racing into the forest with five elder Banes at his heels.
A large, dark shape shoulders into me. My father doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension in his body. The way he’s standing is defensive, as if he expects an attack at any moment.
My hackles raise, but I force myself to stay still.
Bryn creeps across the circle, standing close to me but careful not to touch me. There are too many watchful eyes here. What if she’s hurt?
What could hurt Calla? I ask, but my stomach is knotted.
The other young wolves begin to cluster and I notice that we’ve split into our former groups. Sabine, Dax, Ren, and Nev huddle together. Mason and Fey appear at Bryn’s flank.
New howls echo in the woods and I jump. The Banes’ call is alarmed and furious.
Stay close, my father says as a low growl rumbles in his chest.
My mother comes to his side, pressing her muzzle against his.
I wish I knew what she was saying to him.
Emile bursts from the trees, shifting form as he reaches Efron. He keeps his voice low, but I watch the Keeper’s face contort with outrage. Efron points at us and Emile grins. He’s a wolf again, barreling toward my parents.
My father jumps in front of my mother and Emile stops just short of him. His teeth are bared and drool slips from his jaws.
What do we do? Bryn is trembling beside me. What’s happening?
I don’t know. My hackles are raised, but we can’t attack a Bane alpha. Can we?
As my father and Emile stare at each other, fur bristling and muscles quivering with rage, Lumine and Efron move together, closing the space that had separated the Keepers from the wolves.
Lumine passes Emile without a glance. Her eyes are cold as they pass over my mother to rest on my father.
“This will be much more pleasant if you stand down, Stephen,” she says. I can’t detect anything amiss in her calm voice.
Keeping his eyes on Lumine, my father shifts form.
“Mistress, please.” He bows his head. “What’s happening? Where’s my daughter?”
Lumine stiffens, but Efron smiles.
“That is something we’d all like to know,” he says. He flicks his wrist and Emile lunges forward, knocking my still-human father to the ground.
The squeal of the cell door opening woke me. I cemented my jaw shut, forcing myself to swallow the sob at the back of my throat.