White Knight (4 page)

Sometimes Rook longed for the days when the biggest decision in his life was what t-shirt to wear to band practice. And then he remembered the beautiful, spirited woman he’d married. He wouldn’t trade Brynn for any amount of personal security. He loved her too damned much.

He loved Devlin, too, and he wasn’t leaving another brother to suffer like he’d allowed Knight to suffer. “Look, would it make you feel better if I gave you the chance to beat the shit out of me?”

Dev’s eyebrows arched. “What?”

“Good old-fashioned wrestling match. You and me and a big patch of grass. What do you say?”

“I say Brynn’s going to bitch you out when you come home with a black eye.”

Rook grinned. “She thinks my wounds and scars are sexy. She might just jump my bones if you give me a black eye.”

Devlin rolled his shoulders. “Rachel doesn’t think they’re sexy, but she does like to kiss and make them better.”

“Just as good.”

“Got a patch of grass in mind for your future ass-kicking?”

“I thought I’d let you pick the place I’ll be wiping down with you.”

“You wish.”

Devlin sauntered across Belle’s toward the exit, Rook trailing a few feet behind. He could suffer a few bruises if it meant Devlin working through his anger. They didn’t fight to hurt, but they were Black Wolves.

They fought to win.

The four walls of her prison shifted and swam like gray paint stirred in a can. The thin cot mattress beneath her was alternately soft as wool and hard as steel, sometimes comforting her aching bones, and other times cradling her in a painful embrace. Nothing seemed real, not even the occasional cries of the baby nearby.

A baby she could no longer tend to. She couldn’t even stand, much less walk across the room to hold the child. A child whose welfare she cared about for no good reason other than it was an innocent life.

The odor of waste tickled at her nose. Hers or the baby’s, she wasn’t certain.

I have to get out of here.

Her beast snarled and whined its agreement. They both needed out. Her beast was angry and in pain from being collared for so long. She needed to shift. Needed to run. Needed out.

Knight, where are you?

The gray paint coalesced into a darker rectangle. A door.

Exit to freedom.

Shay rolled off the cot. The hard floor jolted her shoulder and hip, and she cried out, unable to block the sound. Cold cement shocked her to the bone, and she lay there awhile, unfocused eyes fixed on that door.

Need to get through.

She didn’t have a key. The hybrids locked her in from the outside.

The room had no tools, nothing she could use with any success. She’d searched tirelessly her first few days in this prison. She remembered those early days of fear and anger. She no longer remembered how it was to live without pain. Pain had been her constant companion forever, it seemed.

She gazed around the murky room, seeing little except the liquid walls and the cot. The underside of the cot was a metal mesh. She smelled the harsh scent of rust. She raised a heavy hand and brushed numb fingertips across the cold metal.

I can use this.

With every ounce of energy in her, she curled up into a sitting position and flipped the bed onto its side. The metal mesh was attached to the frame with large springs. They were tight, most of them rusted into place. She poked and pulled and clawed at one of the springs, ripping into her fingers and palms, uncaring of the blood.

A desperate snarl tore from her beast as the spring finally came loose. She stared at the object in her palm, no larger than a C battery and the length of her middle finger.

The scent of blood roused her beast even more, urging her to go to the door. To find a way out.

Shay inched her way across the floor, mindful of the bloody smears her hands left. She cared nothing for the pain or the cold. She had to get out. Nothing else mattered.

The knob was so high. Getting up, leaning against the wall, it took forever. Long enough for the baby to stop crying. The silence made her head throb. She preferred the noise. The noise meant she wasn’t alone.

I’m sorry, little one, I can’t stay.

If she stayed, she’d go insane. Hurt the baby. Then they’d hurt Brynn.

She had to get out for all of their sakes.

She studied the doorknob, blinking hard to keep it in focus. Simple brass knob, round black plate attached to the door. She touched the plate, bloody fingers skimming. Two raised lumps on either side of the knob. She scratched a long fingernail over the black paint.

With the top of the coil, Shay scraped at the raised lump, tearing away paint and layers of something white. Putty. They’d tried to hide the screws on her side of the door.

The tiniest flare of hope lit deep inside of Shay as she uncovered both screws on the knob’s plate. A pair of Phillips-head screws, too small for the big head of the coil.

I’ve come this far, damn it.

Her beast roared, demanding she find a way. Shay tugged at the collar around her throat, skin throbbing and sore.

We’ll get there.

She crawled back to the overturned cot. With time and patience, she pried a piece of the mesh underside away from the others. It was slim, the size of a hairpin. Using the coil as leverage, she bent the curved end back into a straight piece of rusted metal. She put one end flat to the floor and smashed the coil down. Over and over, until her shoulder ached and the tip was thin.

She studied her creation.

It has to work.

Too much time had passed. She had no idea when the hybrids would visit her next. If they came too soon, all of her efforts would be for nothing. She hauled her tired, sore bones back across the floor, aware of the streaks of blood still dripping from her damaged hands. It stuck to her legs and face, and probably her hair as well.

Didn’t matter.

She pushed her makeshift screwdriver into the closest screw.

Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.

Her damp fingers slipped. The screw stayed put.

She screamed loud and long. She needed traction, some kind of grip on the slim metal.

The coil.

Back across the floor to where she’d left it. Return trip to the door. She lay there awhile, panting, nauseated by the stink of blood that made her sick even while it stirred the energy of her inner beast. It craved blood. Wanted to shed more. To rend her enemies to pieces and feast on their flesh.

Knight.

As much as her beast craved violence, Shay craved her mate more.

Up against the wall. The room tilted and spun, the paint walls swirling and whirling. She pushed the flat rod into the screw, then stuck the other end into the coil’s hook. She gave the whole thing a solid yank—it turned. Only a tiny bit, but it had begun.

In fits and starts and a lot of dropping both instruments, Shay worked her way toward freedom one screw at a time. Hope burned brighter. The knob and plate fell to the floor with a clunk as loud as a gunshot. She jammed the coil into the hole, which knocked out the other side of the knob assembly.

Another insanely loud clunk.

She inhaled through the hole. The hybrids’ scent was faint. They hadn’t been close by in a while. Another scent, though, carried to her. It had clung to the hybrids a handful of times, difficult to discern because it was both familiar and foreign. It was stronger now, nearby.

Someone else is here.

Another prisoner, maybe the mother or father of the baby?

Find out later. Go!

She pushed. Resistance from the top of the door dashed her hope. She slammed her shoulder into it, but had little energy. Not enough to break whatever secondary lock they’d installed on the other side. She screamed, a sound that turned into a mournful howl from deep inside of her beast.

Shay sobbed and raged and slammed her bruised and aching shoulder into the door, over and over, demanding release. Screaming for it. Shrieking for her freedom and promising a bloody death to her captors. She was going mad. Tottering on the edge of her own sanity.

“Who’s there?”

The unfamiliar voice, high-pitched but distinctively male, tunneled through Shay’s rage. She wrangled her beast in, trying to calm it so she could concentrate. She managed to turn so she could see through the hole in the door, and a stronger concentration of that scent stung her nose. Familiar spring grass, a scent marker from her old run in Stonehill. A marker shared by the hybrids, because they shared Shay’s mother.

Through the door, she spied a boy whose age she couldn’t guess, but could possibly be in his teens. He was insanely thin, faded clothes clinging to his bony body. His strawberry blond hair was long and curly, much like Shay’s. He knelt against the opposite wall, one palm flat against it, his face turned in her direction. His eyes, though. . . .his eyes were gray and cloudy. Unfocused.

Blind.

She sniffed again to be certain. He was a Stonehill loup.

Impossible.

“Please,” Shay rasped, her own voice unfamiliar. Strained and broken.

“Who are you?” the boy asked. “I smell blood.”

“Shay. They’re keeping me prisoner. Please help me.”

“Shay.” He tilted his head, his expression both curious and surprised. “They told me about you. I wanted to meet you but they said no.”

She didn’t care about any of that. “Please, can you get me out? There’s another lock on your side. I can’t get out.”

“No, no, no, Des and Ally won’t like it if I let you out.”

“Please, I hurt so much. I need out or I’ll go insane. I have to shift, please.” She hated herself for begging. Hated prostrating herself like this to a stranger, but she was running out of time. “Please, we’re the same. Can you smell me? We’re the same.”

His nose worked, doing as she asked. “Yes, they told me.”

“Then why won’t you help me.”

“Des and Ally won’t like it.”

“I’m going to die in here.”

He frowned, then shook his head. “They promised they’d take care of you.”

“They aren’t. They don’t understand the quarterly. I need to shift.” She had to get through to him, make a connection. She pushed through her panic and latched onto logic. “What’s your name?”

“Leopold.”

“Leopold, are you loup garou?”

His face crumpled. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a weakness.”

What lies have they been feeding this boy?

“No, it’s not a weakness. I’m proud of being loup garou. We’re strong, and there are thousands of others like us, who want to protect us. We’re very special, not weak.”

“Loup are monsters. Weak monsters.”

Trying to undo what was probably years of brainwashing wasn’t going to happen like this. “Leopold, have you shifted into your beast? Shifted because you have no choice and simply must?”

He went red-faced and looked away. Nodded.

“Don’t be ashamed of it,” Shay said. “All loup do. It’s called a quarterly. It keeps us sane. Shifting is natural. Please believe me.” Her energy for explaining things was waning. Her body throbbed. She needed to sleep or escape. Talking took too much energy.

“Shifting hurts,” he said.

“I know. But not shifting hurts more. I can’t shift and I need to. Please, Leopold.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Shay hated the wail in her voice. She hated being so weak, and she hated the hybrids for making her weak.

“They’ll be unhappy.”

“I don’t care. I need to shift or I’ll die.”

His empty eyes widened. “I’ll ask Des when she comes home. Ask her to let you shift.”

“I’ve asked her. She doesn’t understand. She’s never shifted. She doesn’t believe me.”

“Maybe she’ll believe me.”

Shay had no hope that the hybrids would respond to Leopold’s pleas any more than to hers. At this point, the hybrids had to know they couldn’t control her if she shifted. She’d tear through all of them and lick their blood from her coat with glee. She would die in this room if she didn’t convince Leopold to help her.

“Come with me,” Shay said. “Help me escape and you can come with me. There are others like us, other loup who will take care of you.”

He shook his head so fast and hard it made her own neck hurt. “No, no, I can’t. The other loup will kill me for my weakness.”

“They won’t. I promise.”

“No, Ally said they’ll kill me because I’m small and blind. I’m a burden and the loup are monsters, but my sisters love me.”

Sisters.

The scent made sense in her mind and heart. He smelled of the Stonehill run, which wasn’t possible because she’d been the only survivor when the hybrids attacked. And he couldn’t mean sisters literally. Unless. . . .

“Leopold, who are your parents?”

He folded in on himself, a small, bony lump of misery on the corridor floor. He truly seemed to hate that he was loup garou. Shay wanted to hug him, to reassure him that being loup was a beautiful thing, and that he had a future outside of this prison the hybrids had stashed him in. He didn’t have to be afraid of himself or his people.

His body went rigid. He tilted his head to the side. Listening.

Shay’s hope shattered even before he said, “They’re home.”

He scrambled back down the corridor, out of sight.

Shay gave in to her fatigue and pain and allowed it to swallow her up.

“Stupid girl, you shouldn’t have done that.”

Shay pushed through the haze around her mind and fought toward consciousness, aware of being on her back. Her hands were stiff and aching, fingers immobile. The stink of bleach made her eyes water as she woke fully.

Still in her room, the cot mattress flat on the ground now. Desiree knelt beside her, frowning down. Shay smelled roasted meat. Her stomach rebelled at the idea of eating. Even her beast stayed quiet, too tired to react anything, even the proximity of her enemy.

“Shift,” Shay said. Her dry throat hurt.

“You scared Leopold with all that shifting talk.”

“Need to, like him.”

“He does sometimes shift and he’s really mad when he does. Says he can’t help it.”

Please, please tell me you’re getting it.
“Can’t. All loup do it.”

“Allison says it’s too risky to let you shift. She says you’ll attack us and kill the baby.”

“Won’t. Promise.” Shay had no problem lying to Desiree’s face. She wouldn’t kill the baby or Leopold if she could prevent it, but she’d joyfully rip out Desiree and Allison’s throats.

“You don’t like me. Your word means nothing.”

“Leopold.” She had to know. “Your brother?”

Desiree grinned. “Yours, too, sister.”

Shay’s stomach churned. “How?” He had no other scent markers to suggest he was a hybrid like the other girls.

“Twist of fate.” Desiree glanced fondly at the door, as though something wonderful—besides freedom—lay on the other side of it. “Our mother was pregnant when she was sold to the Magi.”

The world turned itself on end. Shay’s vision swam with unexpected tears. She had a brother. An actual, living, genetically linked brother. Leopold. Had her father known her mother was pregnant when she disappeared? Had her mother known? To his dying day, her father repeated the story that Chelsea Butler had disappeared one day, and was never seen again—no trace of foul play, no hints as to where she’d gone.

Shay knew now that she’d been a prisoner of the Magi, subject to torture and probably rape, and had given birth to both a set of half-breed twins and half-breed triplets. The hybrids insisted that Chelsea had been sold to the Magi by her own husband—a lie that Shay could not believe. She knew her father. She knew the value of a White Wolf to its run. No amount of money was worth the loss of a White, not to mention a wife, mother, and the Alpha female.