Taken. Lilith Saintcrow
Chrissake. Don’t think about that. Think about how good you look right now.” They reached the entrance to the Paintbox. Pounding music spilled out, neon lights flickering, cigarette smoke and sweat exhaling into the cold.
The night was chill, but Sophie’s heart was already galloping along uncomfortably hard. It was strange to be out in public at night. And unsettling. The sky was too big, and there were too many people to keep track of.
Sophie kept breathing. The therapy books all said deep breathing was key. You couldn’t control a lot of things, but you could control your breathing.
On Friday nights, if you paid ten dollars, you got to go into every club and bar on Broadway Square without a door fee—and get a free drink in most of them. It wasn’t worth a whole roll of laundry quarters, to Sophie’s mind. And the thought of so many people clustering around her made her a little sick. Just keep breathing, she told herself.
“God, Soph, you’re divorced, not dead. Come on.”
I’m wondering if one is analogous to the other, really. She dropped Lucy’s keys in the teensy plastic-jeweled purse at her hip. Lucy pulled Sophie through the door into blessed muggy warmth full of pounding bass played way too loud to be healthy. The bouncer wolf-whistled; Luce swished her hips in response and laughed.
This is going to be trouble. Sophie sighed, but the sound was lost under the music. What the hell, right? Lucy was just being a good friend. The only friend she had left, really, since the others had fallen away one way or another during the first year of her marriage to an egotistical bastard. Stop thinking, she told herself as Lucy actually hopped with excitement, aiming straight for the crush of people around the bar. The Paintbox’s major attraction was its dance floor, blocks of light in the floor turning different colors in time to the beat. The place was packed and only going to get more so. Sophie kept her arm carefully over the tiny jeweled purse, borrowed from Lucy—just big enough for ID, keys, cash, and a tube of pale-pink lip gloss—and let her friend tug her along. That’s an Unpleasant Thing, and it’s in the Past. Leave it there, for God’s sake. Look at how hard Lucy’s trying.
She plastered a smile on her face and followed her friend, wincing every time the music hit the decibel level right before “jet takeoff.”
This is going to be a long night.
Chapter 2
“Now, all of you behave.” Kyle’s eyes glittered with a random reflection of silver, catching the glow of a streetlamp. “This is for food and supplies. We can’t afford another incident.”
“Aw.” Julia rubbed at her forehead, her long dark hair falling forward over her shoulders. The pale streak at her temple, just beginning to grow in, glowed dully. “Can’t we have a little fun?”
Fun is one thing. Almost eviscerating a man because he’s patted your ass is another. “Kyle says to behave.” Zach looked back from the front passenger’s seat of the blue minivan.
“That means behave.” His tone was soft, but the windows in the van rattled.
“Sure.” Julia ducked her head to the side. So did Brun, mimicking her submissive posture. “You got it, big brother. Behave.” She made a low, soft sound, the please-don’t-rip-my-throat-out-I’ll-be-good sound. Zach’s nostrils flared. She was overacting just enough to be sarcastic, and her pheromone wash was spiked with thinly veiled aggression.
“We can have fun just fine without blood,” Kyle said. His hair stood up in soft spikes. “We’re Carcajou. Eric?”
“No blood,” Eric said from the backseat, his bitten leather jacket creaking. “Brun?”
“No blood,” Brun said, his light tenor almost piping. “We’re not savages.”
“Good.” Kyle took the keys out of the ignition. “Everyone’s dressed?”
“Quit fussing.” Julia tossed her head impatiently. “Let’s just go. I’m hungry.” She was whining a little, already. Brun rubbed at her nape, and she shoved her twin’s hand irritably away.
It’s not her fault, Zach told himself. She was young, barely past her first Change, and a spoiled brat to boot. Kyle pretty much allowed her to run wild, because she was the only female in the Family. It was his call … but she was getting harder and harder to control.
You’re not the alpha, either. It’s not your job. Zach settled himself, one boot on the dashboard, and waited. He wouldn’t move until his little brother did. Ky stared out the windshield, the glass beginning to fog up with five healthy young animals breathing inside. Little brother was wearing his scruffy face today, a shadow of stubble across his cheeks, the circles under his coal-dark eyes attractive instead of worn down. Women liked him with a little bit of rough on; otherwise, Ky was too pretty.
Better to be tough than pretty, Zach reminded himself for the thousandth time. He studied his boot toes, ran over the situation again inside his head. They needed cash, and the kids needed to bleed off some energy. It was dangerous, especially with the young ones in such a state.
He’d almost talked Kyle into letting him and Eric do it alone. They had the quickest fingers and the best control of their tempers. But Kyle didn’t want to be left home to babysit, and he especially didn’t want them separated if Julia had another one of her fits. It took a lot to control her sometimes, and Zach was the best at it.
Though sometimes he wished Kyle wouldn’t always take the easiest way out.
But thoughts like that were dangerous. They were the thoughts of someone who was about to challenge the alpha, and Zach had made up his mind. No challenging Kyle, that was the rule.
It had been the rule ever since the night of the fire, when Zach held his little brother back from plunging into the flames.
“All right,” Kyle said. It was the signal, and they got moving.
It was an autumn night full of rattling naked branches and the faint smell of dry-cinnamon leaves. The sound of thumping bass was clearly audible, running under the concrete like a pulse in the throat of sweating prey, and Zach breathed deep, rolling the cold air over his tongue. There was danger on the wind tonight, and it wasn’t just the danger of starvation haunting their little Family.
The beast in the floor of his mind stirred restlessly. Instinct blossomed into certainty. Something’s gonna happen.
“I don’t like this,” he murmured. Kyle paused as the others preceded them—slim dark Julia, Brun trailing in her wake as usual, Eric hunching his shoulders and glancing from side to side warily. “It smells odd.”
Kyle agreed silently, his chin dipping in the facsimile of a nod. “Wish we had a shaman.”
You and me both. We could settle down if we had one. And Zach wouldn’t be half so tempted to do something drastic.
But resisting temptation was getting to be his middle name. “I’ll keep an eye on Julia.” I’m such a diplomat.
The half-blind, animal part of him raised its head, interested in a thread of scent. Brunette and young, tantalizing in its evanescence. Hmm. Wonder who that is. Smells interesting.
“Good. We can blow town if we get enough tonight.” Kyle glanced up at him, as if Zach was the alpha. “South, I’m thinking.”
Nice and warm. Easy pickings, too, if we just stay under the radar. “Sounds like a good idea.” Except we’re traveling blind, without a shaman. Nobody to throw the bones, and Julia’s unstable. She’s too headstrong. She should marry into another Tribe, if we can find a male strong enough.
But good luck finding a mate for her without a shaman. Good luck finding anything. None of the other Tribes would so much as give them the time of day if they didn’t have a shaman