Whoever, or whatever, was in the basement was probably dangerous. And based on the fact that Sora had felt it necessary to tie me up before she left, there was a very good chance that the danger in question was the very thing that had Callum assigning wolves to shadow my every move.
I paused when I reached the door.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I tested the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t.
I really shouldn’t be doing this.
I listened for a sound, anything to spur me onward or send me running, but heard nothing.
I have to do this.
Even if I ran as fast as I could, there was no way that I could get to Ali in time to offset any damage I might have done.
My presence there would just make things worse for everyone, but twenty feet below me, there was someone in the basement. Someone who’d asked for my help.
Someone just like me.
I cracked open the door. Halfway through the job, I got tired of even pretending caution and threw it open the rest of the way. The basement was dimly lit, but my eyes adjusted quickly and I realized before the door even hit the wall and bounced back toward me what exactly it was that Callum kept in his basement.
Cages. Lots and lots of cages. I recognized steel when I saw it, and reinforced titanium—metals that wouldn’t hurt a Were but couldn’t be easily snapped, either. The doors on Ali’s house were made of similar materials—added protection in case a wolf chanced to violate the mandate that made all humans off-limits as prey.
I walked down the basement stairs without even realizing I was moving, and my hand reached out completely of its own volition to touch the thick, tubular bars. The cages themselves were big—easily big enough to hold a hefty Were in either wolf or human form, with room for him to move and pace. The metal was cold under my hand, and something about it horrified me. I hated that Callum had given me a curfew. I couldn’t imagine a larger loss of freedom—not like this.
“You came.”
The voice took me by surprise, which just goes to show how out of it I was, since the whole reason I’d ventured into the forbidden basement was because I’d heard someone yelling.
I forced myself not to show that I’d been caught off guard, and responded without turning around. “I came.”
Twin instincts battled inside of me—one told me that I had to act as if I wasn’t concerned about my safety, because nothing whetted a Were’s appetite like human fear, but the other told me that turning your back on a wolf was never a good idea. After a few seconds had passed, I casually twisted, leaning my back against the cage I’d been touching, my eyes searching out the person I’d come down here to see.
A boy, about my age. Dark hair, light eyes, a few inches taller than me and built along lean, muscular lines. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and something about the way he lay in his cage looked completely natural—and feral beyond anything I’d seen in a very long time. The expression on his face, in contrast, was entirely human.
“I wasn’t even sure there was anyone up there,” he said, his eyes on mine. “I felt Marcus and Sora leave, but then I smelled you, and I heard … I heard things.”
I took a step forward, drawn toward him, this boy in the cage.
“You smell good,” he said. “Like meat.”
I immediately stopped moving forward. He sniffed the air again.
“Like Pack,” he said, tilting his head to the side, trying to understand how I could be human but smell more predator than prey.
“I am Pack,” I said. And you’re not, I added silently. “I’m Bryn.”
I expected him to recognize my name. Most Weres did—even those visiting from other territories. Even those in the grips of madness. It wasn’t often that a human child was adopted into a pack, let alone by the alpha himself, and the circumstances around my adoption made me even more of a minor celebrity among this boy’s kind.
“I’m Chase,” he said.
“Kind of an ironic name for a werewolf.” The observation slipped easily off my tongue. The boy didn’t blink. In fact, I was beginning to doubt that he’d blinked once since I’d come into the room. “Werewolves do a lot of chasing,” I explained.
“And your name is Chase. Hee.”
Some people laugh in the face of danger. Some people run. In my lifetime, I’d done both, but this time, with Chase’s eyes on me, his posture more wolf than man, the best I could manage was a good old-fashioned babble.
“You’re not a Were.” There was a humming quality to Chase’s voice, a slight vibration that could have been a growl, but wasn’t. “You’re not a Were, but you’re Pack.”