Shift Happens(32)

Still unable to find my words, I nodded at the man. I recognized him as one of the Weres who held the net over me when I was captured the second time. He gave me a brief nod before he went back to frowning. “I know her name, Mel. She’s the one Wick captured and had to bring before Lucien. Are you saying this Andy is the same as...”

“…as my Andy. From my last pack. Yes.” Mel squeezed my arms again. “We looked for you after, you know. The girls. When we couldn’t find you, we split up and went our own way.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Your last pack?” Wick interrupted whatever Mel would say next. She turned and nodded at him.

Looking around, I realized every Were had stiffened at the mention of Dylan’s pack. Mel must’ve told them about it—the forced union  s, the rapes, and the humiliation. My heart thumped against my breastbone. I smelled the burnt cinnamon of their anger and the salty, sickly sweet tang of my fear.

I squeezed my eyelids shut, and whispered my new mantra, Dylan’s dead.

Wick turned to me. “You were in the same pack as Mel?” he asked. His sweet rosemary scent, overpowered by burnt cinnamon rolled off his skin in storm waves that hit my face, one after the other. I wrinkled my nose at the smell and looked away, unsure of what to say.

Mel reached over and rubbed Wick’s arm, comforting him. He removed her hand, but squeezed it before letting it go. “You were in Dylan’s pack?” Wick asked me again, spitting the other alpha’s name. He waited for a response making it clear he wouldn’t let this go.

Stay cold. Stay untouchable. I couldn’t feel right now, or I’d break down. This wasn’t my home, not my pack, not my people. I couldn’t trust them. Not even Wick. Stay strong. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to face him. “I was his mate.”

If the room was quiet before, it was deathly silent now. The scent of Wick’s anger rose and spread through the room, setting everyone on edge. Every head turned to me. Every eye locked on my face. No one dared move.

“That explains a lot,” Wick said quietly. “It’s a good thing he’s dead.” His fists clenched. “I wish I could have done the honours myself.”

“Well good,” I bristled. “Now that we have that out of the way, I have some more investigating to do.” Flashing Mel the biggest smile I could muster so she’d know it wasn’t personal, I stalked out of the room.





Chapter Sixteen


“Welcome to the Supernatural Regulatory Division Employee Hotline. My name is Amy and I will assist you with your call.” The computerized female voice droned on, “For workplace injury including the loss of limb or accidental death, please say, ‘injury’. To request supplies, such as spell ingredients, weaponry and silver ammunition, please say, ‘supplies’. To report a crime involving a Supe, please say, ‘crime’, or hang up and call the Supernatural Disaster Hotline at 1-800-555-2424…”

My nails tapped out the tune for the Star Wars anthem, the one they play for Darth Vader, while I waited for the option I wanted. If Amy was a real person, I could at least visualize punching her in the face. The idea of slamming the computer operated voicemail machine repeatedly against the floor, however, provided some therapy.

“For all other queries, please say, ‘other’ and wait for the next available SRD representative,” Amy finished.

“Other,” I sighed.

“Did you say injury? If yes, say ‘yes’, if no, say ‘no’.”

“No,” I growled.

“My mistake. For workplace injury including the loss of limb or accidental death, please say, ‘injury’. To request supplies…”

“Other,” I spat into the receiver. There was no way I would sit through her listing off all the options again.

“Did you say office? If yes, say ‘yes’, if no, say ‘no’.”

“No.”

“My mistake. For workplace injury including the loss of limb…”

“OTHER!” I held the handset back and shouted into it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please hold, while I transfer you to the next available representative.” For a computer, Amy sounded a little put out.

“Oh for the love of God,” I cursed and sat back in my chair, well, Wick’s chair. Despite the high level of comfort it provided, I wanted to rest in my own lounger, in my own home. Then I could wander around in my underwear and drink milk straight from the container—without judgment.

The phone blasted out some classical electric fusion music some musician on speed composed back before the Purge. It did nothing to soothe my nerves. My fist needed to sink into something.