Where Wild Things Roam

Storm

Darby    

Nearly unbearable pain throbs in my leg, blood streaming down it and over Ian’s sleek coat. I’m grateful for his smooth gait, because I don’t think I could take the jarring otherwise, but nevertheless I shudder with relief when he halts at the packhouse.

I don’t know where he learned to do it, but as Ian shifts, I wind up in his arms. Carrying me as easily as a beloved small child, he rushes up the steps just as the door opens from inside. Looking over his shoulder, I see a timber wolf position itself outside, guarding, and two leggy but more finely built tan and black ones start their shift.

The desert pack brothers. I recognize the deep honey colored eyes, one of them boring directly into mine.

“Townsend—.” Ian shouts, working his way around the furniture and setting me gently on a sofa. Tessa leaps up beside me, laying her head in my lap to comfort me.

“Clothes are coming, Alpha. What else do you need?”

Carelessly, Ian flips the skirt of my dress up into my lap, exposing me all the way to my thighs and propping my feet on the edge of a sofa table. “s**t! You were burned too. Why isn’t this healing, baby?”

“It can’t. There’s a piece broken inside it.”

Ian stands, deftly catching the sports shorts tossed to him by someone behind me and I cringe at the wide swath of my dried blood from his lower back, along his V over his hip and down his thigh. In my periphery, I see two other flashes as clothes are thrown to each of the brothers. Feeling exposed and useless, I lean forward to look at the still seeping gash, quivering like an open and raw nerve and gag at the unnatural bumps and bulges under my skin.

“Sit back, Darby.” Ian pulls the shorts up his legs. “A first aid kit, Townsend, and something calming for the Luna and our guests.”

Efficient as ever, one of Townsend’s staff—a waiflike girl with baby-fine flyaway hair so pale it’s almost white— sets a watertight plastic kit beside Ian, then vanishes. Townsend’s two steps behind her, carrying a small tray with a set of heavy bottomed crystal tumblers and a bottle of single malt whiskey.

As Ian’s rooting through the first aid kit, Townsend hands him a tumbler with two fingers of whiskey in it and immediately he reroutes it to me. “Drink this.”

I stare at it blankly. “Why? It’s not as though I’ll feel it.”

“It’ll calm you.” Ian looks up, dark blue eyes locking with mine. “Drink it.”

“I beg your pardon, do I not look calm to you?”

Tossing the shot back, Ian slams the glass on the table. Taking another glass from Townsend, he hands it to me with an ominous scowl, then snarls darkly through clenched teeth, “Drink. It.”

My heart pounds mercilessly against my ribs at the threatening rasp of his alpha voice and the black glare he gives me for defying him. Unable to bear the intensity, I drop my eyes and lift the glass to my lips.

The amber liquid has a pleasant spicy-sweet smell that faintly burns the sensitive passageways in my nose. He’s not angry at you, I remind myself, tipping the glass so the molten fluid pours into my mouth. He’s frustrated because he feels helpless and barking orders and commands is something he can still do.

I shudder fiercely at the hot scorch over my tongue and in the back of my throat as the whiskey sears its way into my stomach, then the blazing heat fades to radiating warmth rolling outward soothingly from deep inside me. My shoulders I didn’t know were hunched slightly relax with my soft sigh.

“There’s nothing but f*****g metal in here!” In a fit of temper, Ian slams a handful of sterile packaged tweezers, scalpels and hemostats on the table and drops his eyes to the floor. “Townsend, do you have anyth—.”

“I’m sure I have small bamboo tongs, and wooden skewers, but nothing nonmetal you’d be able to cut with.”

“Bring those, please. I just need something to get the broken piece out.”

**

Jack    

Once I’ve stopped the anarchy in the plaza and my team has people routed calmly away from the city center, I start searching the vampire’s remains looking for any kind of clue where he came from. He’s wearing some strange shoes, and there’s some kind of black soot on them, but it doesn’t smell like ash. Other than that, there’s nothing particularly distinguishing about him.

As much as I wasn’t into this whole huge Luna party thing, I’m really not into shitty-ass bloodsuckers thinking they can port into my territory anytime just for shits and giggles and to ruin the whole huge Luna party thing for anyone who did happen to be into it.

“Jack! Jack!” I look up, spying Kasey and her girls, flanked by Michael and Ellie’s wolves, following directions out of the plaza.

Leaving the body, I dash over. “Everybody all right?”

Kasey shakes her head violently but continues to usher her girls forward.

When I reach him, Ivan’s clutching the injury on his side and a small amount of blood has seeped from the reopened wound into his clothes. Sweat sheens his brow and his breath comes in pants. “Jack, I—.”

“Save it. I’ll get a crew over here and get you to the hospital.”

Before I can turn, Ivan grabs my wrist. “No! It’s important!”

I summon an ambulance through the pack link. “Go ahead.”

“I was looking at Darby when it happened.”

“So? This whole shindig was for her—I’m sure lots of people were.”

“No. Listen.” Ivan grunts and flinches, holding his side tighter as another stab of pain hits him. “Before the ward. I knew the vampire was coming. I don’t know how, but I did. This,” he looks down at his side, “this happened when the ward was breached.”

“f**k,” I sigh in comprehension. “You’re a battleground.”

“Yes. You have to tell Darby to take me out of the ward. Tell her what’s happened. She’ll know what to do.”

By the time I get Ivan loaded in the ambulance, the plaza is clear. My team collects clothing, phones, keys and other lost items in plastic crates for safe keeping. In the morning, people can come to the station, identify and collect them.

A towheaded slip of a girl—one of Townsend’s house staff— waits at the door with sports shorts when I get to the packhouse, and Townsend’s right behind her with a shot of Ian’s best Oban. Oddly, the Desert pack alpha and triumvir—the brothers, I’ve forgotten their names already—are also here, standing at a distance as Ian plays doctor with caveman tools on Darby’s open and bleeding knee.

“Make it double.” Without question, Townsend fills my glass higher. I tank the liquid gratefully.

As I’m pulling on the shorts, Darby gives a keening wail. Ian lifts a flap of her skin with a wooden skewer and tries to get what I think are toaster tongs under it. She scrabbles frantically at his shoulders, trying to push him away.

“Ian, no! Stop! Stop!”

Darby slumps against the sofa panting weakly, her head falling back in pain and exhaustion. She’s shuddering violently and tears stream from the corners of her eyes, carrying smudges of makeup into her hairline. Seated on the edge of the sofa table across from her, a tormented Ian strokes her leg, trying to soothe her, tears standing in his tortured eyes.

“Um, why aren’t you using the first aid kit?”

“He can’t,” one of the brothers replies, the Second triumvir I think. “All the tweezers, the prongs, the scalpels, the needles—they’re all metal. And we checked at the hospital—same there.”

My eyes narrow. “I’ve seen plastic tweezers somewhere here.” Think. Think! Long minutes pass as I mentally sort through the contents I know in each room of the packhouse. “The girls’ playroom. I’ll be right back.”

I dash down the hall. It takes several more minutes rooting through the plethora of toy bins in the closet before I find what I’m looking for—a child’s bug collection kit. Still wrapped in its cellophane packaging, it’s never been used. Inside, it contains bulky plastic tweezers with large serrations at the tip, but they’re still leaps and bounds smaller than the tongs Ian’s trying to use right now.

“Here.” I toss them to Ian as I return to the family room.

“You’re a lifesaver, Jack.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say to the back of Ian’s head as he sets the tweezers on some gauze and pours isopropyl alcohol over them.

**

Sean     

I’m not certain what Jack means about being vaporized, but I don’t think I can take any more of Darby’s agonized terrified screams. Every single one of them feels like someone pushed pulse with my guts in a blender, inciting a desperate drive to brutally murder whatever is hurting her.

I didn’t know about fae and metal, but I see it makes it difficult to be prepared, and clearly Ian suffers twice over. There’s no way the hunk of broken glass can stay in her and getting it out is going to hurt like a raging b***h—so he must hurt her, but he’d rather die a slow anguished death himself than do it.

Ian peers at me over his shoulder, debating hard. I know he knows I want her—it’s incredible control on his part that he hasn’t torn into me already. And if he knows that, then he knows I understand his conflict exactly.

“Tessa, off.” The dog jumps down immediately at his command but lingers close to Darby.

Scooping Darby into his arms, Ian stands and turns to me. “Sit down. I’ll set her against you.”

When I’m seated across from Ian, he sits Darby between my legs, her back pressed to my chest, her head lolling on my shoulder with her eyes closed. She struggles weakly, repeating, “no, please, no”, and both Ian and I cringe.

Positioning her leg where he can reach the wound and making his primitive tools ready, Ian draws a deep breath. “Take her wrists and cross them over her chest. Once I get the glass out, push her into me. Don’t hesitate. Not for a second. And, Sean—?”

“I understood. It’ll happen exactly as you said.”

“It’s not that. Get ready, because when she taps that magic, we’re going to be in for the fight of our lives. Ready?”

Marveling at how dainty she is, I pick up Darby’s arms by the wrists, crossing them over her chest, and try not to thrill at touching her right in front of her mate. “Ready.”

As quickly as he can, Ian lifts one edge of the gash, then forces the tweezers into it. “I’ve got the edge of it.”

I think we’re both thinking it’s going okay, then Darby’s eyes fly open.

They’re mindless, the pupils constricted with green magic tendrils twisting like vines out of them. A high-pitched shriek erupts from her and she thrashes against me. Where a moment before she was pale and cool, now her skin is flushed and growing hotter to the touch than is comfortable to hold.

“Holy, s**t! Get out of here!”

At the triumvir’s warning, Silas looks to me.

“Silas, go!” As he sprints out of the room, I shout, “Ian, she’s burning—like some kind of brand on my chest!”

Her back arches and every muscle in my chest and arms strains to keep her against me, her shriek growing louder as the force she’s creating between our bodies grows, swelling into the room like a living thing. The wind howls, but I can’t tell if it’s the wind or an earthquake or thunder from the wild cracks of lightning that light up the sky, causing the lights to flicker and the windows and doors of the packhouse to rattle.

“Wings!” Ian shouts back, pushing down on her thigh with all of his weight, the muscles of his arm and shoulder straining against the force coming off Darby in waves. Finally worked loose, the bloody edge of the glass emerges from the wound. Gritting his teeth, Ian yanks it free, then opens his arms wide. “Sean!”

There’s no need to push her.

In fact, that’s not even an option.

As soon as the glass is gone, Darby explodes out of my arms, the force flipping the sofa over on top of me, pushing everything in the room flat against the walls and shattering the windows.

Against the opposite wall, Ian managed to catch her, but he’s pressed against it, three or four feet above the floor. His massive arms strain, pinning her glowing wings against her back like a damselfly, his mouth crushing hers in a terrible kiss. After the ear-splitting scream and the wind and rumbling, the peaceful silence is ominous and unsettling.

But the force in the room is fading. At the same time, Darby’s wings dim, and Ian drops lightly to his feet, her limp body cradled in his arms.

**

Jack    

Climbing to my feet, I extend a hand to Silas. I flip the sofa off Sean and drag him up too.

Sean rubs a hand down his face. “That was a hell of a thing.”

“Actually, that went better than the last time.” Squatting, I call Tessa to me. “You okay?”

I can’t help my chuckle.

Without a word, Ian carries Darby out of the room, but for the MacOmb brothers and me, our eyes flick about at the devastation in this one.

Behind us, Townsend returns from the kitchen with the tray and glasses and the bottle of Oban. Though he says nothing, his eyes are like saucers and his mouth hangs open in shock.

Swiping the whiskey from him, I pull the cork with my teeth and spit it out on the floor.

Townsend gives me a dirty look.

“What? The room’s trashed anyway.” I take a long drink, directly from the bottle, then pass it to Sean.

“B-b-b-better? B-better than last time? What the hell happened last time?” Silas stutters, staring about him in disbelief.

Sean hands the bottle back to me. “Last time she pulverized the furniture into splinters, then drove them through solid stone in the walls.”

Silas snatches the Oban from me, tipping it back and draining the bottle. Righting a chair, Sean dusts the cushion, then sits, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee and surveys the damage. “That was a hell of a thing.”

**

Ian    

“Is she going to be alright?” Sean asks as soon as I return to the room.

A cool breeze whispers in through the shattered windows, billowing the tattered drapes. They’ve restored what they can of the furniture, but Jack rocks slowly in a chair that didn’t rock before. With one front leg and the opposite rear leg broken, there’s little else it can do. The sofa where the brothers sit is missing one armrest, and outside on the covered entry, I hear the sound of broken glass being swept and see Townsend’s ash-blonde assistant busily cleaning.

There are two empty bottles of my best Oban on the floor between Jack and the two brothers and a third is already open.

“The cut’s closed, but still healing. She’ll sleep now.”

“Good. I’m all for her sleeping the murderous faery rage off.”

Leaning against it, I slide down the wall to sit, and reach for the whiskey. “We’re drinking out of the bottle?” When Jack nods, I take a swig.

“That was rage?” Sean asks. “It didn’t look like there was anything there. It felt like it was—in the room.” He waves his hand in front of his face.

“It’s not rage. It’s unrestrained magic. Best I can tell, it overwhelms her. Besides him,” I point my chin at Jack, “I don’t know what causes it.”

“So you want the rest of the bad news? Or the good news?” Jack asks, completely ignoring my dig.

“Shit.” I sigh, exhausted in every way, rubbing my eyes with one hand. “Alright, hit me.”

“Ivan. He knew when the vampire was coming. Before the ward.”

“How long before?”

“He said he was watching Darby by the tree. So maybe a couple minutes?”

“Kassandra knew too. Even Charlie was weirder than he usually is.”

“Wait—what ward?” Silas looks from me to Jack. “Was that the attack that hit you both?”

“Not meant to be an attack. It’s some kind of magical barrier Darby creates and connects to us—like an early warning system. Either the warning is much stronger for vampires, or weres are more sensitive to it than she is. What else, Jack?”

“When the ward alerted, the wound flared. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t shift. “

“No more ward for him then.”

“That’s what he said too. What did Kassandra say?”

“That others are coming for Darby. Many others. But not who. Or when.”

“f**k. That’s about as accurate as the weatherman.”

“Agreed. So what else?”

“Tessa can shift. She’s a bad-ass.” Beside Jack’s chair, Tessa’s head pops up and she wags her tail.

“I heard. I also heard she shifts faster than you.” As if acknowledging the accolade, Tessa stands and stretches in a low downward dog.

 “She shifts from a dog to a wolf,” Jack whines. “It’s not the same as from a man to a wolf.” When we all just stare, he concedes, “Okay, fine. She shifts faster than me.”