But I wasn’t wearing my clothes, either.
He must have stripped me to search for weapons, and the clothes he’d put me in afterward weren’t mine. I was wearing a dress.
I hated dresses.
It was lacy and frilly, the kind of dress that a very little girl would wear for Easter Sunday, not the kind that should have come in my size.
“He has them made specially,” a voice said calmly. “It’s what he likes us to wear.”
I looked up at the source of the words. “Madison,” I said, and she flinched at the sound of her name. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I continued, keeping my voice low and gentle, which was ridiculous, considering the fact that I was an unarmed human tied to a chair and she was a weapon in and of herself. “I’m here to help. I just need you to untie me. I know what happened to you, I know what he did, and you—”
“He told me not to,” Madison said, her voice empty and dull in a way that made me wonder what had happened to the girl who liked the color orange and popping bubble wrap and macaroni and cheese. “He told me not to untie you, and we have to do what he says. He’s in our heads.” She paused and when she spoke again, her voice sounded even less like it was coming from a real person. It sounded robotic. Dead. “He just wants what’s best for us. He’s the alpha. He’s our Maker. He protects us.”
Callum had brought Chase into the Stone River Pack and taught him how to fight the Rabid in his head, but Madison had never had another alpha to protect her from Wilson. She couldn’t disobey him. Arguing with her wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “What exactly did he tell you?” If anyone knew how to maneuver around orders and dish out half-lies, it was me.
“He said, ‘Don’t untie her, don’t help her, make her pretty.’” Madison curled her arms around her waist, hugging herself and taking a step back from me. “He said it’s your birthday tonight.”
“That’s right, Madison. Tonight, Little Bryn will be reborn. She’ll be your sister. Exciting, isn’t it? If things had gone right the first time, she could have been the one teaching you the ropes.”
That voice. Gone was the pretense of being a harmless man. Though his words were friendly enough, the tone was sinister. Creepy.
Insane.
“Go tell the others to get ready,” he told the girl. “Our distraction will only keep her little friends in town for so long.” He paused, and the girl turned to hurry out of the room—like she was trying to escape hearing what she knew he was going to say next.
“When they get here, kill them. Tell the others. It’s an order.”
For a moment, a familiar expression settled over the other girl’s face, and I might have been looking at myself, or at Chase. She wanted to say no. She wanted to rebel. She hated him, but her wolf wouldn’t let her disobey, and in the back of her mind was the reminder—always present, never quiet—of the years and years and years of being told that he’d made her. Being taught again and again what happened to you when you tried to fight the impulse to obey.
And then she was gone.
Kill them. Tell the others. It’s an order.
I didn’t know how many others there were exactly, but I knew they had my friends outnumbered and that no one on my side of this little war would attack to kill—not when Wilson’s soldiers were his victims, too.
My brain rebelled against the idea that the Rabid had issued an order for his wolves to kill my friends, half because I didn’t want it to be true, and half because it didn’t make sense. I would have pegged this psycho for trying to bring Chase to heel and reclaim his mind, or making a stab at claiming Devon or Lake. Then again, as far as Wilson knew, Lake and Dev were still Callum’s. He could reasonably kill them for invading his territory, but trying to claim them as his own would be the equivalent of declaring werewolf war. The Senate might have voted to make this man a deal, but if the Rabid stole Callum’s wolves, it wouldn’t be a matter for the Senate. It would be a direct personal challenge, and Callum would be free to handle it however he wished. In other words, it would be suicide, and I was beginning to suspect that this psychopath was smarter than I’d given him credit for being.
Unsettled, I cast my own mind inward, looking for the others, for my pack. I had to warn them that Wilson’s wolves had orders to kill. Their voices crashed over my inner ears like a tsunami—she’s okay—Bryn awake—son of a—these people are—crazy—run—can’t hurt them—can’t Shift—they’re… human.