Blake
I walk out of my haze of powers onto a level, gravel road lined by farmland. Streaks of deep navy and fading violet paint the sky as stars twinkle into view, a masterpiece I’d stop to inspect if I didn’t have somewhere to be. Along either side of the valley, houses built along the mountainside shine like their starry counterparts, and a few farmhouses are spread out, but the animals in the barns and sheds are silent, sleeping.
Silverhide is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s quiet here. Calm and restful, even during the rush of spring planting and the fall harvest. Ryan turned this valley into a utopia, and his pack is happy, healthy, and prosperous, but they still live as simply as possible. I get it. Sometimes I long for a life like that–something normal. Something still and calm.
Quiet. Always quiet.
A soft spring breeze carries the scent of snow still lingering on the mountaintops as I walk toward the center of the village where the farmhouses bleed into trios of cabins, then buildings made of stone stacked close together, housing stores and workshops.
The pack house rises in the center of what this pack calls the village center. A bonfire that never burns out glows, casting amber hued light across my boots as I move through the shadows.
My cloak fans out behind me in the breeze when I reach the door to the pack house and pull it open, met by a blast of heat from within and several murmured, male voices tangled in low conversation.
“Blake,” Andrew, one of Ryan’s many best friends, greets me with a nod and a stiff clap to my shoulder.
“Where’s Evander?”
“The kitchen in the back.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “It’s getting messy back there.”
I roll my lower lip between my teeth as I scan the room. I know all the faces, all the names, all the men Ryan keeps close. When they were my age, they left everything they knew behind to come here for a different life outside of the modern restraints of Crescent Falls. It was a pilgrimage back to their wolfish roots.
I nod at Andrew in thanks and slip through the group of men gathered around long wooden tables. I feel their gazes as I open the door to the kitchen where group meals are made twice a day–breakfast and supper. The kitchen is large for that reason and modern in comparison to the rest of the village. At least, it’s been that way for the last ten years or so.
The sleek modernity of the space will make cleanup easier after this is all said and done.
Stainless steel blinds my senses. I close the door behind me, inspecting the individuals arranged at different points around a man tied to a chair, his face beaten, swollen, and bloody.
I scan the knuckles of Ryan, Evander, Soren, and to my great surprise, Cole, finding them intact. This man wasn’t beaten here. Not yet.
I eye Cole warily, wondering if he can see the lingering flash of confusion behind my eyes, but he gives me a tight nod, bracing a hand on a worktable as he leans beside his medical kit.
I realize then that Evander means to keep this man alive, at least until I’m done with him.
The man spits blood and growls at Soren, who smirks, rolling his eyes to mine. “Blake.”
“Soren.” I match his bored tone as I come to a stop beside Evander and unclasp the neck of my cloak, draping it over a workbench. Ryan postures nearby, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s taller than both Cole and Soren by a fraction of an inch but takes up much more space as he widens his stance, glowering down at the thin, somewhat scrawny and desperately underfed and unkempt man in that chair.
“You’re a fuckin’ leach,” the man croaks, his words directed at Soren. “Traitor.” He spits at Soren’s shoes, but he doesn’t back away from the assault.
“Traitor to what, exactly?” Soren arches a brow. “Being the Viper’s little pet? I never was.”
“And I was only a runner,” the man grinds out, glancing at Evander before quickly looking away. “I rarely came within ten feet of that bitch. You know it. You were one of her big dogs, her favorite. I was nothing.”
“Where are the rest of you hiding?” Soren asks, pacing in front of him. “Tarsian?”
“I dunno. Can’t remember much. Been spending the last of my money on booze these days.”
Evander lets go of an impatient sigh, his eyes sliding to mine, and gives me a quick nod.
My turn.
“What exactly has he said so far?” I ask the group, ignoring the prisoner completely.
Ryan replies, “Nothing we didn’t already know.”
“His name is Kurt,” Soren adds. “He’s a runner for one of the Viper’s clients in the dark market, running contraband–drugs, minerals, the like–over the border of the Roguelands and Tarsian.”
“Which means I don’t know shit about the Spider,” Kurt adds, teeth bared in a snarl. “I can’t tell you shit. I never worked with him or for him.”
“But you had buddies on that island off the coast, didn’t you?” Soren asks, tilting his head to the side and smiling cruelly down at Kurt.
“Yeah, well, so did you, you fucking traitorous dickhead. Where are your little friends, huh? The Viper’s slut? What’s his name? Or the thief from up north? Beckett and Patton, right? Then you got Louis and Maverick on your side. What’s your game, Soren? Huh? Take over her business with the royal fucking family behind you?”
Soren crouches and smiles at him, going so far as to tuck the man’s grayish brown hair behind his gnarled ears. “You were a runner, but it goes beyond contraband, doesn’t it, Kurt? You were a messenger. You had high clearance within her operations in Twin Rivers, and all we need to know is where her clients and the other den leaders are hiding. That’s it.”
“I. Don’t. Know,” he says, exaggerating each word, and Soren sighs, looking bored, as he rises.
Evander takes me aside, walking me to the corner of the kitchen, just out of earshot from the prisoner. “We’ve apprehended a dozen of these men over the past three weeks during your absence,” he begins, his voice a low whisper. “All of them have some type of memory loss we can’t account for. They know their names, what they did for the Viper and the other den leaders, but any locations on other den leaders or clients who used their services are gone.”
I hold his gaze. “I see.”
“Have you or the Mystics seen anything about Hannibal?”
“No.”
He nods, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Our current plan is to flush out the den leaders. We know most have moved to Tarsian at this point and are in hiding. Their men are on the loose and much easier to catch, but Soren is familiar with this guy. He worked for the Viper, running messages between the den leaders. He doesn’t remember a Goddess damned thing about their locations, though.”
I nod again. “I’ll take over now. Clear the room.”
Evander turns and motions to Cole, Ryan, and Soren, but Soren doesn’t leave with the other men. Instead, he perches on a workbench, his ankles crossed as he peers down at Kurt with a void expression.
“You don’t need to be here for this,” I murmur, cuffing my sleeves.
“I’d like to be. I’m awfully curious.” There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes that I don’t miss.
“Suit yourself.” I move in on Kurt, ignoring his sudden jolt of fear and loud, tangled protests. I roughly clap my hand against his forehead, forcing his head back as my powers surge forward, and his scream of pain when I tear into his mind fills my ears then shudders out like someone just blew out the flame of his existence like a candle.
His thread is thin and insignificant. No ties, no mate, no children. It weaves where it shouldn’t have been, marking a few deaths that have had ripple effects in the lives of others. His thread is a muted stain in the tapestry–trivial. Unimportant. His death won’t make a difference in the current flow of things.
His mind, however, is a tangled mess of broken memories. Surface images, like faces and images of the places he’s gone, are still there, but the details are hazy, like someone cut them away, and blood pooled, soaking the fabric of his mind beyond recognition. I dig through it until I meet a vast nothingness.
Entire memories, which I imagine as shining globes of thought I can reach out and touch, are gone. His mind is as empty as a baby’s would be, honestly. There’s nothing here, like he’s a fresh body, a new soul.
“Fuck.” I snarl then put more pressure on his head until his neck is bent at an angle that could easily kill him if I make even the slightest movements.
I feel Soren approaching me. I ignore him and his morbid curiosity as I dig, and dig, finding nothing of substance. I follow his thread from beginning to end and see… nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
I can do this to a person–break their minds, erase memories, manipulate what’s already there.
So can Hannibal, it seems. He tried to do this to me, but he’s not as good at it as I am. He couldn’t break past my mental shields. I showed him lies, fake memories, my only weapons against people like him, and other people like me, rare as those are.
“He’s bleeding,” Soren says beside me, emotionless. Blood drips from Kurt’s ears and nose.
“Do we need him alive?” I ask, gritting my teeth as my powers shudder, warning me of the possibility of depletion. Being in someone’s head like this is… incredibly hard on my powers. It’s far easier looking at someone’s reflection in the stars instead, but this provides so much more information… usually.
“I doubt it–”
I pull back before Soren even finishes the sentence, my powers latching onto what’s left of this man’s mind, and pull his thread from the tapestry, snapping it.
Kurt slumps, his eyes glassy with a quick, painless death. It’s probably more than he deserved.
Soren crosses his arms over his chest, his lips pressed together in an appraising fashion as he inspects the dead body being held upright by rope, and shrugs. “That wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be.”
“What did you think would happen?” I grumble, moving past them to wash my hands, which are coated in Kurt’s sweat.
“I thought his head would explode.”
“It did, just on the inside.” I feel ice in my veins that doesn’t thaw when I run my hands under warm water.
It takes all of twenty minutes to explain my findings to Evander, who is obviously frustrated by the lack of information I have to give him. The showdown that took the Viper’s life happened just under a month ago, and moves are being made in the defense all over Eastonia. His armies are moving, positioning themselves along the coast. Smaller factions of Ghosts, and Soren’s rag-tag legion of rogues in the Roguelands, are sniffing out the last frays of thread connected to the Viper while also hunting down other den leaders who are now hiding like their lives depend on it–because they do. Evander isn’t keen on keeping anyone alive, and his daughter gave him the green light to do as he pleases, which means everyone is dying.
“I need to be back in Moonrise by dawn,” I say to Evander as we walk around the exterior of the pack house where a few additions have been made, and a room has been carved out for me to sleep in. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No,” he says but then glances over his shoulder at Soren, who’s following behind us, taking in the sights of Silverhide in the glow of the moon. “We’re going to Veiled Valley tomorrow morning, as well. Kenna is coming back to get us at first light.”
He squeezes my arm in farewell before dipping into the shadows. I imagine he’s staying at Ryan and Aviva’s place with Cole, who’s services were deemed unnecessary after all. I wonder if he’s disappointed he’s not stitching anyone up right now.
“Not staying with the father-in-law tonight?” I ask dryly as I step into one of the shed-like additions and switch on a light, which illuminates a… bunkhouse. Twin beds on either side of the room and not much else.
“I offered to sleep here instead of taking up what I believe is Nora’s bedroom at Ryan’s house.” He drops a backpack on his chosen bed and sits, stretching out his legs with a soft groan.
I eye him before dropping my cloak on my bed for the night and sit as well to unlace my boots. Silence settles for several moments before Soren says, “That was rather impressive, not gonna lie.”
“Thanks.”
“It takes a lot of power, huh? I noticed the ice starting to line your eyes, just like Maeve.”
“It’s called–”
“A depletion event, I know.” He lies down flat on his back with his hands resting on his chest. “Trust me, I know a lot about that.”
“I’ll be fine by morning, but I will not risk ruining my day tomorrow trying to spirit back to Moonrise on limited reserves.”
“What’s the hurry?”
I eye him wearily as fatigue echoes through the marrow of my bones. I don’t… I’m trying not to like Soren. I have to keep reminding myself of that. I shouldn’t feel like I can trust him, I think. I don’t seek him out for company. I don’t seek company. I never have.
But he knows a lot more about me than anyone else, including details about the two people who mean more to me than my own life.
“I’m training Marianna in the use of metal shields starting tomorrow. Your respite from the palace is actually going to work in my favor, seeing as your mate won’t be snooping around.”
“Maeve is so curious about what you’ve got going on with Marianna,” he chuckles and then sighs, amused to the highest degree. But then he turns his head and holds my gaze. “You good with this? Marianna, the mother of your secret kid, being around again? You made it sound like she wasn’t a huge fan of yours.”
“Things were difficult when Skye came into the picture.”
“But that’s changed.”
“Not really–”
“You were all over each other at the ball.” He laughs, looking back at the ceiling. “From what I remember, at least, she did drag you onto the dance floor, and you let her. You looked peaceful. You weren’t being a dick for once.”
“This isn’t something we’re going to discuss. You and I aren’t friends.”
“Suit yourself.” He chuckles and rolls over onto his side, his back to me. “But mental shields? You’re sure she can grasp it? That’s elite Ghost warrior training you’d be putting her through.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I murmur, lying down and closing my eyes. “Neither does she.”