“So, come here often?” He chuckled, mostly to cover his own nerves. “Okay, lame question, I know. It’s just…. I don’t know what to say to you. I know you said those men hurt you, and I truly believe that. But what I don’t understand is what happened to them.”
Caden’s scent changed. Now it was fear tinged with regret and pain and sorrow. After thirty years, Quade’s senses were sharp enough that he could tell Caden wasn’t feeling guilt, but more the aftereffects of what happened.
Deciding to take a chance, Quade reached out and let his fingers touch Caden’s hand. A sharp inhale cued him in that Caden was on the edge.
“Open your eyes, Caden. Look at me. I swear to you, no one here will hurt you. I know you don’t know me yet, but I give you my word. You’re safe here.”
It took several long, drawn-out moments, but Caden’s breathing slowed. The fear was still there, but not as overwhelming.
“That’s it. Trust me. Open your eyes. Please?”
Quade counted heartbeats as time ticked by. At seventeen, he saw the lids of Caden’s eyes raise and was graced with stunning green iris held in a corona that reminded Quade of the forest. Even his pupil was dark like jade and became progressively lighter as it expanded outward, then all rimmed in a black ring. It was what Quade had heard referred to as a sprite ring. Eyes so deep, once you were ensnared in their gaze, you could never find your way out again. It chilled him to his core as his wolf lay down, paws over his snout, and whined.
“My name is Quade.”
Caden squinted. “Are you a werewolf?”
If any other person said it, Quade would bite their heads off—maybe literally—but when Caden asked, Quade’s wolf was amused. Quade had no clue what brought about the change from a slavering beast demanding blood to an almost puppylike state, but his headache eased and the tension drained from him. He couldn’t believe it as his wolf rolled on its back, tongue lolling out. Never had he heard of such a thing. Lycans were, by nature, vicious beasts. Even mating was a brutal affair, with blood and guts. Quade used to joke that it was about as romantic as a Klingon ritual. That joke fell flat with the First. Oh well, sucked to be him.
“I prefer lycan, if you don’t mind.”
Caden’s brow furrowed. “I thought that was a dream.”
“No, sorry, definitely not a dream. I wish I could say it was and that nothing was wrong, but unfortunately, everything you remember happening really did.”
Like a balloon with a slow leak, Caden deflated. Sorrow once again overwhelmed him.
“I don’t know what happened to them. All I wanted was for them to leave me alone.” Caden jolted up, his eyes wild. “What about the attendant? They dragged him off somewhere.”
It was the first Quade had heard about anyone else being there. He pulled out his phone and tapped Jack’s contact. When the gruff voice answered, Quade asked about another victim.
“Not that I know of. Let me check. Give me a minute.”
It took a few before he came back on. “The sheriff’s department found the attendant, Thomas Ernst, not far from where the attacks happened. They took him to a nearby hospital, where he was in surgery for massive internal hemorrhaging. They worked on him for eight hours before he died. The damage, according to the doctors, was consistent with being beaten to death with blunt objects.” A few key taps were followed by a soft sigh. “And he was raped repeatedly. Damn. I’m sorry, Quade.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that makes everything better.” He hung up the phone, irritation burning in his gut. “I’m sorry, the attendant didn’t make it.”
Caden gasped. “Oh.” And the waterworks started. “That could have been me. Right now, I could be dead and—”
“Stop it. You’re not dead. You survived by quick thinking.”
Those green eyes narrowed. “Quick thinking? Something tore those men apart and I ran because I was terrified. What part of that is quick thinking?”
“You ran because you wanted to live. It’s called survivor’s instinct. I get that you’re angry and hurt, and the doctors will be here to help you deal with it, but for right now—”
“Where am I? This doesn’t look like any hospital I’ve ever seen.”
Lies sprang easily to Quade’s mind. It was how he’d been trained. Deflect, deny, disavow. But Jack had made Caden his problem, so being untruthful probably wasn’t the best way to start a relationship with him.
“You’re in a facility beneath Mount Katahdin. Right now, you’re in our infirmary, where our doctors treated your injuries.”
“That’s bullshit. This whole thing is. There is no such thing as a werewolf or lycan or whatever you call yourself, and I know for a fact that there’s nothing beneath the mountain.” He started to sit up, then grasped his side. “Let me out of here. Please.”
God, Quade hated the expression on his face. Fear dominated it, but hopelessness was mixed in too. No surprise from a man who’d almost died twice. What was going to happen when Quade told Caden he couldn’t leave? Ever.
The day they’d brought Quade here, after finding him half-crazed in the mountains, he’d fought them tooth and nail. He was scared shitless that they’d take him back to his clan and the First would allow them to tear him apart. In the world of lycans, separating yourself from anyone who wasn’t a lycan was the law. After a marathon session with a young vampire, Quade had come home, never thinking about cleaning up. His reception had been… less than welcoming. Bad enough he’d been with a vampire, but a male? No, that was a disgrace to his clan that would have to be eradicated. The sentence was death for both Quade and the vampire.
Quade had been listening in, fearful of their judgment. He called to warn Alomir, telling him that he needed to flee or else his people would kill him. When they found Quade, they locked him up, caged like a rabid dog. That would have been bad enough, but it was only the beginning. For bringing shame on his kind, Quade was sentenced to death. But, as was the way of his people, it wasn’t going to be quick and painless. No, Quade would be hunted by his family and friends. They gave Quade a head start, because it would be no fun to kill him outright. Seeing no other options, Quade ran. He knew it was going to be a failed effort, because no one ever escaped.
Within minutes, the whole pack descended on him, tearing the muscles in his hind leg, crippling him. If it hadn’t been for Alomir, Quade would have died that night. Alomir came with a veritable army of vampires. Apparently he was some kind of royalty among them, and he risked it all to save Quade.
The First was enraged that filthy vampires dared to set foot on their lands and stick their noses where they didn’t belong. Alomir reminded the First that as a prince of their kind, he was within his rights to claim Quade, and that if the lycans stood in the way, war between them would be inevitable. And, unlike lycans, their kind were numerous.
Knowing a war between them would result in an untold number of deaths, the First spat on Quade, then told the vampires to take the garbage out of his sight, and if he ever laid eyes on Quade again, he would kill him. Then the First and Quade’s people, who he’d lived among for eighteen years, turned their backs and walked away.