Deceived By the Others

chapter 25



Arnold picked up after a couple rings.

“Arnold, it’s Shia.”

“Hey, how was the trip? Are you home?”

His cheerful greeting made me feel even worse for what I was about to say. Gripping the phone tightly, I wandered over to the window and peered between some cracks in the perpetually drawn blinds. Ever since the paparazzi had decided my personal life was of interest, I’d needed to be extra vigilant about keeping the interior of my apartment closed off from prying eyes and long-range cameras.

Which was a sudden, frightening reminder that Jim Pradiz had been intent on a story at the beginning of my trip. Had he caught wind of anything at the lodge? Followed us back to the city?

“Shia?”

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head and gripping my free hand into a tight fist. “I’ve got a situation—”

“Oh, hell. You didn’t break my computer, did you?”

I paused. Tragic as the loss was, his busted computer wasn’t what I was worried about at the moment. Time to use some evasive tactics.

“That’s not what I’m calling about. Are you alone? Sara’s not with you, right?”

“No, she’s on a job. I’m at home. What is it?” The alarm in his voice was palpable. Little I could do about it at this juncture. “I can keep a secret, Shia, but I can’t promise she won’t find out some other way. She’s a good P.I.”

“I’m not just talking about Sara here. No one can know this. Not your coven, not Sara, not my family—no one.”

“Yeesh, what’d you do? Blow up a building?”

“I’m not kidding around. They absolutely cannot find out from you under any circumstances. Understand? I need your word.”

“All right, I get it. I’ll keep it secret, whatever it is.”

I examined the bloody crescents my nails left in my palm before speaking, the words coming in a rush. “Last night, one of the Sunstrikers scratched me while turned. I may be one of them next month—I might be infected. There’s no way to know yet. Not for sure. I can’t let my family find out, not until I know.”

It felt a bit like running a marathon to get all that out. Aside from my somewhat heavy breathing, the silence dragged between us.

I couldn’t stand it. “Jesus, Arnold, say something.”

“Christ,” he breathed, and I gathered from the shuffling and scraping coming through the line that he’d settled—perhaps collapsed is a better word—into a chair. “Are you sure? You—I—have you gone to the hospital or made an appointment to get tested yet?”

“No. I spoke with Rohrik Donovan, and he didn’t recommend it.”

“Rohrik Donovan? No shit.” He paused. Exploded. “Jesus Christ, Shia, how did it happen? Are you okay?”

“No,” I said, fighting the tears that suddenly threatened. His concern was shattering my careful control. “I mean, I’m not hurt too badly, but I might be a f*cking werewolf next month. I’m not okay. There’s nothing that could ever possibly be okay about this. F*ck, Arnold, you don’t even know the half of it.”

“What else could there be? I mean, this isn’t the end of the world—you’re not dead—but this isn’t the greatest way to end a vacation. Does Chaz know?”

“F*ck Chaz!” I cried, slamming my palm down on my computer desk, sending papers spilling to the floor. “The f*cking bastard was cheating on me, okay? The whole freaking pack knew he was doing it. Why didn’t I know, Arnold? How did he get away with it this long? He’s been screwing that … that whore for who knows how long, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. Chaz was cheating on you? With who?”

I snarled something unintelligible before slumping into my office chair, rolling across the plastic floor mat until one of the wheels stuck on the carpet. Now that the shock of being potentially infected had worn off, my anger was coming back in force. I spat out the words, rubbing hot tears off my cheeks with my knuckles as I vented.

“That bastard has been sleeping with some other Were named Kimberly. They met at his gym. I can’t believe he would do this to me—”

“Shit, Shia, I’m sorry. Do you want me to check the archives and see if there’s anything The Circle might be able to do for you?”

“You have a spell to make Chaz’s dick fall off?”

“No.” He barked unsteady laughter, though it tapered off soon enough into a more serious, professional attitude I’d only encountered in him once or twice before. “No, but we might have one to cure lycanthropy. I know of ways to suppress the change after the fact, so we might have an antidote on file, too.”

That sobered me. I rubbed the palm of my free hand against my jeans, then noticed I was leaving bloodstains behind from where my nails had dug in and stopped, clenching my fist on my knee instead. The cuts didn’t hurt, not yet, but I didn’t want to ruin any more of my clothing after all I had already lost this weekend.

“Yes, please. If there’s anything that can be done to stop it, I’ll do it. God, Arnold, I don’t want to be one of them. I don’t want to be an Other. Not this way.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you or anything, but speaking from experience here, it isn’t the end of the world. Whatever happens, I’ll help you get through it. Let’s focus on the positive for the moment. You said you won’t know for sure if you’re infected right away, right? Well, you might not be. Don’t write yourself off yet.”

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, placing my hand on my forehead. Arnold was right. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow or set aside, but he was right, nonetheless. “Okay. I’ll try not to freak out any more than I already have.”

“Good. This probably isn’t the right time to ask this, but what are you going to do about Chaz?”

Good question. My eyes popped open, my gaze shifting toward my bedroom as though called. An idea was forming, one I wasn’t about to share with the mage.

“I’m not sure yet. Keep that under your hat, too; let me tell Sara. I need some time to get myself together before I discuss it with anybody.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “This might sound stupid, but don’t do anything to provoke him. He may be in the wrong here, but you could get hurt if you go after him for revenge.”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

“No,” he said, tone sharp. “Don’t be a cowboy, Shia. He’s got no reason to play nice anymore if he thinks you’re out to get him. The Sunstrikers don’t have a great reputation for playing by the rules. If he gets the idea that you’re going to report him or a pack member to the authorities for assault, he might do something to ensure the sentence never gets carried out.”

My blood chilled, fingers tightening on the phone. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

He sighed, the sound crackling through the receiver. It did nothing to reassure me. “Maybe it’s nothing. I never said anything before now because he was your boyfriend, and it wasn’t my place, but the Sunstrikers have a reputation for playing dirty. Nothing lasting, nothing that would stick in court, but that might be because no witnesses ever stuck to their guns or survived long enough to see the witness stand.”

“Are you telling me I was dating the werewolf equivalent of a mob boss?” I squeaked.

“Maybe,” he replied, all seriousness. “I can’t say for sure. There’s a supernatural grapevine, and nothing I’ve heard on it about them has been any good. Whenever I saw Chaz with you, he displayed perfectly good behavior, but it may have been a front. I hate to say this, but he was probably using you for something. You know I never trusted him during the time you were looking for the Focus. I wasn’t lying then; he probably sees you as a stepladder to something he wants. Maybe it’s a tie to Royce, or maybe it’s nothing at all. He might still try to play you somehow when he thinks you’ve cooled off.”

“Oh, that’s freaking fantastic. Just peachy keen,” I snarked, thinking once again about how Chaz had talked of his “needs.” Now that I had some perspective, there wasn’t much doubt in my mind that he’d been intending to talk me into being his next alpha bitch. That, or a broodmare for his kids. Either one would most likely have suited his purposes. “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch. One way or another.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” came the pointed reply. “Think long and hard about the consequences before you rush headlong into a fight. He’s got, what, fifty or sixty other werewolves at his back?”

“He couldn’t stop the cops. Not if he didn’t want a war on his hands. He’d be screwing things over for all the Weres, not just himself or his pack.”

“You don’t seem to get it. They might not care. If they have nothing to lose, why not fight it? And take you down with them.”

I paused. Considered and discarded any idea of discussing my violent train of thought with Arnold. The mage was far too cold in his calculations; right now, I needed someone with a temper that matched mine. Someone who would agree with what I was saying, back me up, and, best of all, not tell me to stop once I started down the path of revenge.

“Okay. You’re right. I won’t do anything about it for right now.” No, not right now. Later was another story.

“All right. Anything else I can do?”

“Not for the moment. Just keep quiet about everything, and let me know if you find a cure.”

“You got it.”

I had another task to see to before I could do what I was thinking about. The rolodex beside my monitor held all the numbers that had been in my cell phone. Luckily I’d gotten past my inability to keep my life organized and implemented the system of copying all the numbers in my phone as a security measure after losing my second-to-last cell phone to Max Carlyle.

Part of me still worried the crazy vampire had collected the contact info from it and might seek to use it against me some day. It had been a couple months, but that was no time at all to a creature who’s seen the passing of several millennia. He could strike at any time, which I’d done my very best to think about as little as possible. That didn’t mean I didn’t have the occasional niggling feeling of panic when something reminded me of the psycho vampire or what his plans for me had been. Plans that might not have changed, only been delayed.

As they say, you’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you.

Royce’s card held every number, address, and e-mail he’d ever given me, written in my cramped chicken-scratch so it would all fit. My usual hesitation to contact him had been replaced by a hesitation to tell him what had happened to me. Thankfully, that would most likely be put off for a while. It was only midafternoon. Though I’d seen him up and about during the day, chances were the vampire was resting. I’d leave him a message, and no doubt he’d return my call as soon as night fell.

As expected, his phone went immediately to voice mail. I waited for the beep, and then left a curt, perfunctory message with little more than my name, home number, and a semi-politely worded request for him to call me back as soon as he got the message.

After I hung up, I rose and headed to my bedroom. Tucked away in the bottom drawer of my dresser lay my hunting gear, arranged just as I’d left it. I ran my fingers over the handles of the three silver stakes, the belt they were attached to lying quiescent. The spirit inside would wake after sunset, the same spirit that hated all things Other. Whoever it had been, it had once hunted creatures of the night. Years of practice added to information collected from all who had worn it resulted in a formidable and deadly weapon, as it passed all that anger and experience on to the current wearer.

Maybe it would have some advice for me.