Taken by Storm: A Raised by Wolves Novel (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

G
RIFF? AS IN
GRIFFIN
?
A
S IN …

“Lake,” he said again. “Lakie.”

I hadn’t heard anyone call her that, not since the first summer she and Mitch came to visit the Stone River Pack alone. We were six years old, and she was wild—wild with grief, with anger, with an emptiness that slowly, over time,
Devon and I had seemed to fill.

An emptiness that, looking at Lake now, I knew we never had.

“This isn’t happening,” Lake said. “You aren’t real. You’re never real.”

The depth of anguish in her voice told me how much I’d
never known about one of my closest friends. She made a
point of being strong and fearless and bulletproof in every way that mattered. She was the one who’d pulled me out of the dark place after Callum had ordered me beaten, and I’d never fully realized—she’d never let me realize—that she had a dark place of her own.

Every time I’d come close to it, she’d pulled back.

But now all of that darkness was bleeding off her, like radio waves of pain—and her brother, her
dead
brother, was standing there in front of us, with a body that bullets passed straight through and a scent the others couldn’t quite grasp.

A scent present at the Wyoming murder.

“Lake—” I was going to tell her to back away from him, but realized that she wouldn’t hear me if I did. It was like she and this boy—this creature with her dead brother’s face—were the only two people in the world.

She walked toward him, her body shaking with every step, her head thrown back, like if she could just face this head-on, everything would be fine.

She would be fine.

Watching her, I thought of Katie and Alex, the bond between
them growing stronger by the day. I felt something building up inside of Lake, fire where she once was frozen, numbness giving way to pain.

“I told you once,” the boy who couldn’t have been Griffin
said, “that I was never going to let anything get you, and I never
have. Every fight you fought, I fought. Every tree you climbed, I climbed. And when you ran, Lake, I ran with you. Always.”

I could hear Griffin in this thing’s words. I could see the boy I barely remembered in the lines of his face. But this couldn’t be Griffin. Griffin was dead, and we had every reason to believe that this thing in front of us was a killer.

“You weren’t there.” Lake’s voice was uneven and shrill. She sounded like a little kid on the verge of a meltdown. “You weren’t there, and every time I thought I felt you, every shadow I saw out of the corner of my eye—on our birthday—”

“I was there. I was always there.” His voice was an echo of
hers, quiet and intense and so full of emotion that I thought he might choke on the words, trying not to cry. “And now I’m here.”

The thing I felt building up inside of Lake—the fire, the pain, the
hope
—filled her. It overcame her. Something deep in her soul reached out for something deep in his. The bond between them surged, electric and undeniable, and I felt it the
way Lake did, like a phantom limb brought suddenly back to life.

I knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that whatever
else this thing in front of us was, whatever it had done, Griffin’s face wasn’t just some mask it had chosen to wear. This
was
Griffin, as surely as Lake was Lake.

“What
are you?” Caroline took a step forward, her eyes
narrowed into slits, her tone lethal. She may have revised her opinion of werewolves in the past six months, but the Griffin standing before us wasn’t a werewolf.

Not anymore.

“I’m dead,” Griffin said, then he nodded toward Lake. “But she’s not.”

To Caroline, who couldn’t feel the bond between them, those words probably weren’t very illuminating, but to me,
they sounded like an explanation, intuitive and complete.

Griffin was dead.

Lake was not.

Female werewolves were always half of a set of twins, the girl’s survival in the womb dependent on the boy’s. Katie and Alex were two halves of the same whole. That was what Griffin was to Lake, what she was to him.

“You’re dead,” Lake said, bitter and trying not to sound
broken. “You’re dead, and I’m not, and you’re telling me that you just hung around? And you didn’t say anything, didn’t tell me—”

“I
couldn’t
,” Griffin said, the words cutting through the air like a whip. “Don’t you think I tried, Lake?” His voice got very soft, and I felt like I was eavesdropping, even though I wasn’t.
“Sometimes, late at night, there were moments when you
could see me, right before you fell asleep. And on our birthday, every year, when hurt was tearing through your insides and you were smiling on the surface, I tried even harder. That one time, when we turned sixteen …”

He trailed off, and I realized that maybe Lake had seen
him—in her dreams, on her birthday. Maybe she’d seen him, or thought she’d seen him, or imagined seeing him and hadn’t told me. I wanted to believe that, to believe that this was some kind of miracle and not a nightmare, but Griffin’s scent—as faint and hard to define as it was—had been all over the Wyoming murder site.

We’d found him here, where another victim had just been killed.

No.
Lake’s voice was firm in my mind. She must have known by the look on my face what I was thinking, but she didn’t want me to go there.
Just no, Bryn.

“Why now?” she asked Griffin, but I knew she wasn’t asking for my benefit or because she had any lingering suspicions herself. She was asking because she had spent years broken and incomplete, missing him, and she needed to know.

“I couldn’t make you see me before.” The quieter Griffin’s voice got, the harder it was to hear anything in it but truth. “But now I can. Everything’s changed, Lake.
Everything.
”

Lake nodded, her lips pulled into a thin and colorless line. Through the pack-bond, I could feel a nauseating ball of fear
unfurling in the pit of her stomach—not because she was
afraid of her brother, but because she was scared to believe that things had really changed. Scared to close her eyes, for fear that she might open them and discover that all of this had been a dream.

“You’re dead, but you’re here.” Caroline sounded calm, but her eyes were locked on to Griffin’s, like a snake’s as it swayed gently in front of a mouse. “What exactly does that make you?”

“I’m a dead werewolf with a twin who’s still alive,” Griffin replied, giving the hunter a look I remembered well from my youth—one that said she was really very slow. “If you want to get technical, I’m pretty sure the word you’re looking for is
ghost
.”

Werewolves. Psychics. And now ghosts. It made a sick kind of sense—especially given the things we’d seen—and
not seen—smelled—and not smelled—at the murder scene in Wyoming. What kind of predator smelled like a memory, a dream? What kind of werewolf could drag a body to Main Street without being seen? The same kind that could dance in blood without ever leaving footprints.

A dead werewolf, brought back as a ghost.

“You killed that girl.” Chase said the words that I couldn’t force myself to speak. Griffin didn’t bat an eye, didn’t seem surprised at the accusation.

Lake reared back like Chase had punched her. “Griffin didn’t do this,” she said, her lips peeling back into a snarl. “He gets sick just looking at human blood. Dad always said he had no stomach.” Her voice wavered, and for a moment, she looked less like she was about to shoot someone and more like she might cry. “If one of us so much as skinned a knee …”

Lake believed what she was saying. She did. But Griffin
wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t even a werewolf. He was a ghost, and we didn’t know what that meant, what dying and lingering and existing in some kind of limbo without contact, without touch for years could do to a person.

Everything’s changed.
Griffin’s words echoed in my mind,
and I couldn’t help thinking that if
everything
had changed, we had no idea what Lake’s brother was capable of—what he had done to get back here, what he might do to stay.

“Back away from him, Lake.” I didn’t realize I’d said the
words as an order until her feet started moving backward, against her will.

“Bryn,” she bit out, “you go alpha on me now, and there’s no going back.”

I came to stand beside her, reaching out to touch her arm. “Sorry.” I reined in the power building up inside of me and broke off the command. That wasn’t the way to get through to her, not about this.

“We don’t know for sure, Lake—what he’s doing here, what he is.”

She didn’t want to listen to me, but she couldn’t entirely shut out my words, either.

The target of our discussion cleared his throat. “You could always ask, Bryn,” he said quietly.

That was the first time Griffin had said my name, and I couldn’t steel myself against the sound of his voice, couldn’t help remembering that for a while—a short little while—he’d been my friend, too.

“You were there,” Chase said, stepping in between Griffin and me. “First in Wyoming, and then here.”

That wasn’t a question, but Griffin responded as if it was. “I was there, but I was too late.”

“Too late for what?” Caroline asked. I didn’t need any kind of
special access to her mind to see that she didn’t trust anyone—
or anything—she couldn’t shoot.

“I was too late to stop what happened in Wyoming.” Griffin closed his eyes, his head bowed, his entire body tense. “I was too late to stop this.” He forced his eyes open and spread his arms out, gesturing toward the blood-splattered grass beneath our feet. “Not that we know how to stop it, exactly.”

We? I’d been so focused on Griffin—what he was, what he might be capable of—that I hadn’t thought even for a second about the person we’d come here expecting to find.

Maddy.

In the dream we’d shared, she’d told me that the only person
who could help her was dead. I’d assumed she was talking
about Lucas—but what if she wasn’t?

“We,” I repeated, watching Griffin’s reaction and searching his eyes for some hint of what was going on inside his head. “As in you and Maddy.”

I should have put it together earlier, but when your friend’s twin brother comes back from the dead and lands smack-dab in the middle of a murder spree, it has a way of short-circuiting the part of your brain responsible for “logic.”

“I spent years watching you all,” Griffin said finally, “watching out for Lake. But after that last fight, after the challenge—”

For the first time, the word
challenge
didn’t take me right back to the forest, to standing over Lucas’s dead body. I was too busy trying to diagnose the expression marring the boyish innocence of Griffin’s face. Guilt? Sorrow?

Hunger?

“You didn’t need me, Lake.” Griffin said the words like he was making a confession, like Lake was his priest. “But Maddy did.”

“You went with her.” Lake reached out to touch the side of his face and pulled back at the last second, as if she’d only just remembered that her hand might pass straight through. “When Maddy left the Wayfarer, you left me and went with her. You watched out for her.”

It was a beguiling thought, that even once Maddy had lost us, she’d never really been alone. But whether or not I could afford to believe it—that was another story. A drop of water landed on my forehead—rain. I looked up. This was thunderstorm season, and by the looks of the sky, things were only going to get worse.

“We need to go,” Griff said. “The weather’s getting bad, and Maddy shouldn’t be alone.” An alien intensity fell over his face, his eyes glowing in a way that made me wonder how anyone could ever mistake him for a human or a Were. “When I’m not there,” he said, his voice low and hoarse and nothing like the boy I’d once known, “when I have to go somewhere—that’s when it finds her.”

The words sent a light chill over the back of my neck. I could feel my palms sweating, clammy.

“When what finds her?” Caroline asked.

Griff glanced at the scene around us—the signs of the struggle, the blood. “The thing that did
this
,” he said. “The
other ghost.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

G
RIFFIN HAD JUST GIVEN ME EXACTLY WHAT
I
WANTED:
a reason to believe that he wasn’t our killer, an alternative explanation that fit the evidence just as well. Chase could barely grasp Griffin’s scent. If there was another ghost, it made sense to think it might have that same not-quite-there smell.

But the Griffin I’d known had been a very smart little boy. Smart enough to know exactly what to say to make us follow him. Smart
enough to throw suspicion onto someone—some
thing
—else.

“Here.” Griffin—who hadn’t said a word the entire time we’d been following him—spoke in the low voice of an adult trying not to wake up a napping child. He tilted his head toward a small opening in the brush.

Maybe he was leading us to Maddy. Maybe he was leading us off the side of the cliff. Right now that was a risk I had to take. Finding Maddy, making sure the rest of the Senate
didn’t
find her—that had to be my top priority.

Glancing back at Griffin, I thought of the room I’d built for my fears. I readied myself. Then I ducked through the brush.

The cave I’d seen in Maddy’s dream was smaller than I
thought it would be, and darker. My head scraped the ceiling as I stepped over the threshold; Lake and Chase had to duck. Behind us, Jed and Caroline lingered near the mouth of the cave, either to cover our backs or because they knew that what was about to happen was private.

Griffin wasn’t lying. Not about Maddy. She’s here.

Knowing Maddy was close, knowing what she had gone through—already, it cut me to the bone. Beside me, Chase’s mind was flooded with scents: damp stone, fresh dirt, sweat, and something sour.

Outside, the storm was raging. Inside, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

An unreadable expression on his too-pale face, Griffin pushed past me and made his way farther back into the darkness. When
my eyes adjusted, I saw a small form huddled against the wall of the cave. She was lying on one side, her arms curved protectively around her middle. Her clothes were worn, her face dirty, and the slant of light from the entrance caught her eyes just so, giving her the look of a person caught in the throes of fever.

But she was Maddy, unmistakably
Maddy
, and a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding whooshed out of my chest when I felt that spark of recognition deep inside me. Even after listening to the story Griffin had spun, I hadn’t been certain what we would find here.

Who we would find here.

But she still looked like our Maddy. She still felt like Maddy.
She wasn’t the killer, and she was alive. That was more than
I’d hoped for, more than I had a right to ask for, when I’d believed she was capable of the things we’d seen.

The other ghost.
Griffin’s words lingered in my mind. He’d brought us here, to her, but what was the likelihood that there were two ghosts following Maddy around?

Then again, what had the likelihood been that there was even one?

“Bryn?” Maddy didn’t sound sure of herself, like she
thought I might have been a dream—which was probably a
fair assumption, all things considered.

“Maddy.” Everything in me wanted to go to her, to kneel beside her, but I couldn’t bring my feet to move—not until I knew that she wanted me there, wanted me close. “Mads.”

“You came,” Maddy whispered. For a moment, all I could think was that the first time I’d seen Chase, locked in a cage in Callum’s basement and half out of his mind with the Change, he’d said the same thing.

“Of course I came.”

Maddy closed her eyes, and as Chase inhaled beside me, he caught a scent, too faint for my human nose to pick up.

Tears.

She hadn’t shed them yet, and I didn’t know whether I should go to her or just go. But we’d come here for a reason, and Callum’s warning was still fresh in my mind.

“The other alphas will be looking for you,” I told Maddy, matching her whisper with one of my own. “Soon.”

I wanted to be saying something else—that we loved her, that we missed her, that if I could have taken her pain and made it mine, I would have, in a heartbeat.

“The Senate doesn’t know about the baby, Maddy, but if they find out, you won’t be safe here.” I paused, and my eyes traveled to her stomach, round against her rail-thin frame. “Neither one of you will be.”

This wasn’t how I’d imagined our reunion with Maddy going, but I didn’t know how to say anything else. Hesitantly, I crouched where I was, my knees pulled tight to my chest. I forced my own guard down, so she would know that I wasn’t trying to scare her or threaten her or imply that she’d made a mistake. Instead, I let my face show my feelings, let my own tears come.

“I was scared, Maddy, so scared that something had happened to you, and that we wouldn’t get here in time.”

She looked at Griffin and nodded, and he shot me a warning look and then backed up to stand next to Lake, leaving nothing but a few feet of space separating Maddy and me.

“I left to get better,” the girl who’d been one of us said simply. “And everything got worse.”

I ached for the bond missing between us, for the ability to take on her thoughts as my own, to feel them with and for her and protect her from those who would see her harmed.

But every instinct I had was screaming at me that I wasn’t Maddy’s alpha anymore.

I wasn’t even sure we were friends.

“I knew,” she said, her hand rubbing small circles over
her bulging stomach and leaving no question what she was referring to. “When I left, I knew, Bryn, and I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell anyone. I thought I could do it—just go away and get better and stop missing Lucas, who I thought he was, what I thought we had. “

She eased toward me. Or maybe I eased toward her. I
couldn’t be sure.

“I didn’t know how much it would hurt.”

I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the pregnancy, or leaving the rest of us behind.

“I didn’t know that having someone inside of you could make you a hundred times more lonely on the surface. But I was doing it. I was.” She nodded, as if to convince herself of that fact, even as the tears she’d been holding back spilled over and carved tracks into the grime on her face. “We were doing fine, but then there was a full moon. It wasn’t the first one, but the baby …”

“He Shifted, too,” I said.

Maddy met my eyes. “She,” the pregnant girl corrected softly. “She Shifted, too.”

It wasn’t uncommon for werewolf pups to Shift in the womb—that was part of the reason so few human women
survived giving birth to werewolf kids. Combined with Maddy’s
own body morphing and breaking, the effect must have been excruciating, so much so that I could almost overlook the other thing she’d just said.

Behind me, Lake could not. “She?”

“It’s a girl,” Maddy said. “Don’t ask me how I know, but I do, and that full moon, when she was Shifting, and I was Shifting, I thought—”

She’d thought she was having a miscarriage. Because female pups only made it to full term if there were twins.

“But nothing bad happened, Bryn. I was fine, and she was
fine, but my body—it was like being split in two, cut up from the inside out. It was like dying, and then, suddenly, I wasn’t alone.”

Her eyes landed on Griffin’s, and he smiled, a tragic smile that looked out of place with the freckles on his face.

“You brought Griffin back?” Lake’s voice was very small. Through the bond, I could feel the slight tightening of her throat, the aching knowledge that, for years, she hadn’t been able to do what Maddy had that night. “There was a full moon, and you Shifted, and you just brought him back? That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Maddy looked down at her hands—away from Lake and her question. Griffin picked up where Maddy left off, speaking the words she couldn’t bring herself to say.

“It wasn’t like that, Lake. One second, I was there, watching, invisible, and the next, I could feel Maddy’s Shift, feel the baby Shifting, feel the moon pulling me closer, turning me inside out. Maddy was screaming, Lake, and it hurt me. I started to Shift, too, and then it was like a nuclear reactor went off inside my body.”

His eyes shone just describing it, even now.

“Being dead is like being under anesthetic.” Griffin struggled to put the feeling into words. “Your emotions are there—the important ones, but everything else is numb. Nothing is the way it used to be. Nothing is right, but that night—” His eyes went back to Maddy. “I could
feel
. I was
there
.”

For one second, maybe two, Maddy smiled. Then she looked down at her hands, and I knew that whatever she said next wouldn’t be good. “The corpses started showing up a week later.”

There was a full moon. Griffin came back. And a week later, things started to die. Maddy had to realize how that sounded—but it was clear from the way she looked at him that she did not.

“Corpses?” Jed prompted, his voice so gentle, it surprised me.

“They were animals,” Maddy said. “At first.”

I thought back to the blood in the cabin in Alpine Creek. “Something killed them?” I asked, forcing my gaze to stay on Maddy and not dart over to Griffin.

Maddy continued on as if I hadn’t said a word. “I woke
up that morning, and Griffin was gone. He just disappeared, and the moment he left, I felt it.” Maddy shivered. I was close enough to her now that I could have reached out and wrapped my arm around her—but I didn’t.

“I didn’t see anything, not at first, but I heard the door open. Then I heard bones snapping and skin stretching, and even though I couldn’t smell anything, I knew someone was Shifting. At first, I thought it was Griffin, so I walked out into the hallway.” Maddy stopped blinking, her eyes far away and glassy, as if she could see it happening, all over again. “The front door was open, and there was a dog standing on the porch. You could tell it was someone’s pet, because it was wearing a little red collar.”

I could see where this was going—well enough that she didn’t need to relive it by putting the experience into words, but when I opened my mouth to tell her that, her voice grew louder, more decisive.

“I didn’t know what the dog was doing there, and I thought that maybe I’d imagined the sound of Shifting. But then I saw the tag on the dog’s collar moving, and I realized he was shaking.” Maddy swallowed, but forced herself to continue. “The dog was a mutt, maybe a year old, and he was shaking so hard that I knew whatever I’d heard, whatever I was feeling, he could feel it, too.”

Now
I
could see it: Maddy and the mutt and a villain neither one of them could see.

“The puppy saw me. It came right up to me. It nuzzled my hand. And then something cut it in two.”

Blood on the floor and walls of the cabin.
I couldn’t see through Maddy’s eyes, but I didn’t need to. I’d smelled the cabin, I’d seen the blood.

“It just kept going and going, claws digging into it, teeth ripping out chunks, and I just
stood
there.”

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” Griffin murmured. “You couldn’t even see it.”

Maddy continued on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “And then it stopped, and I thought whatever had killed the dog might come for me, but it didn’t. Griffin came back.” Maddy blinked, and I could see her coming back into the present. “We buried the dog—what was left of it—out back.”

It was an odd thing for a werewolf to do, to bury an animal that should have smelled like prey, but the horror of what had been done to the little dog in the red collar had left a mark on Maddy that was visible on her face even now.

This wasn’t just hunting.

This was torture.

And she’d been helpless to stop it. There was nothing a person like us hated more.

The rest of the story made its way out of her mouth in halting, staccato bits. She’d showered, scrubbing her hands raw, using an entire bottle of shampoo, but never feeling clean. Griffin had come back, and whenever he was near, things weren’t so bad, but the second he disappeared …

It happened again. And again. And again. Sometimes it was strays. Sometimes it was someone’s pet, but always, it was brutal. She and Griffin left Alpine Creek, but wherever they went, what
ever Maddy did, the monster followed. It always knew where to find her, and Griffin was the only thing that kept it away.

“What happened during that full moon, Maddy?” Jed spoke before I had a chance to, and I wondered if he knew something on the subject of ghosts that the rest of us didn’t. “The night you saw Griffin for the first time—I need you to tell me exactly what you did to bring him back.”

I saw the logic in the question—if we could figure out how Maddy had brought Griffin back, we might be able to figure out the likelihood that she’d brought something else back, too.