Chapter Nineteen
I have to take a slow, focused breath to gather my thoughts on this bombshell.
Boyd—this wide-jawed, black haired, mass of a man—is his brother. A man who, pretty obliviously, runs a bar full of magically-enhanced werewolves—werewolves that seem to have an unquenchable thirst for witch blood.
If they find her, they'll kill her. Dad's voice whispers through my mind like a wisp of chilling wind through the trees. A sickening, heavy feeling—dread—soaks into my bones as Beck's thumb twitches atop my hand.
After everything—saving my life, helping me find my memories—I still don't know who Beck is. I've been so concerned with finding a solution to my problems that I completely overlooked who my help was coming from. Yeah, he's been secretive and cryptic from the very beginning—which I justified his reserve with the excuse of our small window of interaction, when really, the amount of time we've known each other isn't exactly comparable to the spectrum of events we've experienced together—but he should've been honest with me from the start. If he had been, we probably wouldn't be in this situation.
Boyd is obviously Elite, but the question is if his brother is apart of the group, too, then why is he helping me? To figure out if I'm part of the prey?
"Boyd." Beck gives his brother a swift nod.
Metallic irises, blank of expression, cut through mine when we make eye contact. The color—the only physical similarity between brothers that I can currently note—sends shivers rippling up my spine.
"Never a dull moment with you, is there, kid?" He says, his tone coated in a sarcasm that seems misplaced with the gravelly sound of his voice. Even from behind a desk, the man is a tower of thick, solid muscle. His shoulders are broad, sculpted, and stretching his Beauchamp's navy polo to its limits.
"You know me. I like adrenaline." On the surface, Beck seems calm and collected, but really he's squeezing my hand so hard that I can practically feel the blood pulsing through his fingers. "What're we doing here?"
Boyd's cold eyes flicker briefly from mine to Beck's for a long, uncomfortable moment. I can't find what exactly he's searching for, and neither must he, for after a moment, he slides his gaze back down to his paperwork unsatisfied. He picks up his pen and begins jotting down short marks, not bothering to look up from scribbling when he asks,"What's my rule?"
Despite Boyd's unreadable eyes, this comes out like a demand for an answer rather than a question. "What's the only rule I've ever expected us to follow?"
Beck inhales sharply through his nostrils, his grip tightening on my own. "No outsiders," he replies through clenched teeth.
"No...outsiders." Boyd's lips twitch under his dark beard. "I assumed that'd be the rule freshest in your mind."
Beck winces hard, like Boyd's just delivered a near fatal blow to his gut. Whatever his intent behind the statement was, it worked. Maybe its because I've been so wrapped up in my own issues lately, but looking over his taut face now, I realize I've never seen anyone—especially Beck—look so pale...or weak. Is Boyd why he looks so weirdly sickly—from brotherly-induced stress?
"Is she a recruit?" Boyd asks curtly.
"No."
I wish Beck wouldn't hide so much. I think back to the conversation we had at my house. It was barely a week ago, but after everything that's happened since, it seems so distant a memory. At the house, Beck was describing The Purge—how the witches were enslaved and then murdered after the wolves used them to be upgraded into monsters—but when I had asked him what side he was on, he never gave me a direct answer.
"Is she a part of the Salem Coven?" Boyd asks in that same straight-to-the-point voice, like he's conducting a survey or filling out a bland questionnaire.
"No." I can practically hear Beck swallow.
But then, in the basement, Val had said so menacingly, "This is what happens when you threaten the Elite."
A cold sweat slithers down my neck.
Beck is Elite.
How could I not see it before? Everyone around him is Elite. Hell, this place is like a breeding ground for steroid-indulging monsters. That's why Beck's been so resistant to answer my questions—why he didn't want me to come around here unless it was on his terms. This entire time, he's seemed so anti-Elite that I assumed he wasn't one. How could I have been so oblivious?
"Look, just leave her out of this. She's not important."
"She seemed pretty important earlier." Tripp snorts, stepping from the shadows like a vulture waiting for scraps. "He s'willing to fight for her. He claimed her."
I feel Beck's hand twitch against mine again. I had been just as surprised as Tripp was when Beck first stepped in between the two of us, but after meeting Tripp, I understood why. He's dangerous and perhaps a little unstable, at least when intoxicated.
"Let her go," Beck demands. "She's human. She's nothing."
Though I know that he's only trying to get us out here, the comment still stings.
Tripp smirks. "Now, I know that ain't true."
"Tripp," Boyd cautions, blasting his cold, calculated stare straight at him.
But Tripp doesn't take the hint. "She don't smell human! C'mon, Boyd, tell me you can't smell that?"—he points a shaky finger at me—"It's like...something sweet, but with a bite! Like apricots and blood."
My pulse picks up pace.
The Ironide. He's smelling the Ironide and the agrimony from my pills. I know this because Apricot is the same thing I smelled when I cast the memory spell in my bedroom.
Tripp is staring at me, his eyes glossy but still wild in his inebriated state.
You need to get out of here, my intuition warns. Tripp is determined to figure out what I am. I can see it in the way his glare lingers on me, the way he licks his lips as if his mouth is watering, just praying for me to be the thing he can devour.
"Tripp!" Boyd's voice booms against the walls, authoritative and fierce. I swear I see dust rattle from the light fixtures behind him.
Tripp cowers, watching—almost with fear—as Boyd drops his pen and stands, moving around to the front of his desk. It's only now that I really comprehend how massive this man is. At six-foot-seven, his body is wide, each limb thick and padded with so much muscle that his skin looks like it's barely holding it all in.
I glimpse at the boy standing beside me, seemingly opposite in frame. He stands at a flat six, just half a foot taller than I am, but his body is far leaner and more agile than Boyd's. If it weren't for the eyes, I would never have guessed they shared a bloodline.
Boyd takes two strides forward and Beck immediately yanks me behind him.
This makes Boyd chuckle, as if the attempt to shield me is cute and totally worthless.
"I'm a little disappointed," Boyd says, the corner of is mouth threatening to curl into a dark smile. "After everything I did for you, to ensure that you followed our rules, you broke them anyway."
"Boyd—"
His brother flicks him a glare so icy hot that I half expect steam to blow from his ears. "You know, I'd like to think that this is some sort of delayed rebellious phase, but we already went through this. I thought, perhaps, one lesson would have been enough to teach you, to help you understand that we're different, but you just couldn't resist."
Tripp's deep laughter vibrates against my skin in waves, igniting the dormant coals in my gut.
Get out of here! My body screams. That familiar heat is building in my core, flowing up through my blood like electricity through live wires.
"Boyd, she's not going to say anything."
Boyd shakes his head, his tongue clucking in his cheek. "You know there's only one way to ensure that."
"No!" Beck lurches forward, only to be blindsided by Tripp as he body slams him to the floor.
For a brief moment, I forget about Boyd as sharp growls and cries of pain echo through the room. The boys are tumbling, slamming each other against the floor in a fight to gain the upper hand. Just when I think Beck is going to win, Tripp knocks the wind out of him with a hard punch to the gut. Before I can even think to react, to help, Tripp is standing over Beck, his foot digging into his skull.
"Boyd! Don't!" Beck cries out. I've never heard him sound so scared, so desperate.
I raise my palm, aiming directly at Tripp. I take a deep breath, and try to concentrate. I'm terrified that I'll hit Beck too.
Focus. You won't hit him if you focus on your target.
Maybe.
Tripp's brows arch, his expression changing from confusion to amused as rakes me over.
"I wouldn't do anything if I were you," he says with a smile. He shifts his foot from the back of Beck's head, to his neck. Beck screams when Tripp shifts forward, adding pressure to taunt me.
"And I wouldn't do anything if I were you," I call back, refusing to drop my hand. Fire is coarsing through my veins, licking my fingers, ready to burst.
"Enough!" A boisterous snarl grumbles, followed by a series of loud snaps that pulls my attention back to the Elite monster in front of me. His smile is so wicked, so excited, that my nerves spark with white hot electricity.
A deep, guttural sound ripples from the back of Boyd's throat, and I watch his demoniac grin twitch, his jaw snapping with austere force as it unhinges to make room his now-elongated incisors and canine teeth.
His breathing grows heavier, the inhales deep and throaty, as his bones snap beneath his skin. His shirt billows, ribs cracking and moving beneath the thin polyester.
"Stop!" Beck coughs. Blood is pouring out of his nose into a pool on the floor.
"Don't let him go!" Boyd barks the order to Tripp, but keeps his glowing, metallic stare dead on mine. Black claws, sharp and dangerous like a falcon's, burst through his finger tips. Blood, skin, and nails shed to the floor as each claw emerges, leaving a trail of human flesh as he saunters toward me.
Each step he takes, I counteract with a step back. My heart is pounding so hard between my ears that my brain feels like its about to combust.
Black, matted fur springs to life as more skin sheds from his forearms. His polo finally gives away, exposing the skin stretching open on Boyd's chest, fur sprouting underneath as bloody chunks add to his trail.
My back hits the wall.
Focus.
A ball of fire materializes in my palm, and just briefly, I catch Boyd's expression. He seems shocked, but also almost impressed. He gives me that wicked smile again, and this time, I return it. The fire is scorching my hand, but I don't feel pain.
I feel...alive.
Boyd lunges forward and I dig deep, pulling all the energy I can into a powerful surge of fire, aiming the ball directly at his chest.
Heat explodes from my palm in a wave of heat.
Blinding red light flashes, and the sound of wood cracking splintering rings through the air.
When my eyes finally adjust, I see Boyd's monstrous body laying, crumpled, in a pile of splintered wood. Embers and ash are floating through the air as smoke fills the ceiling, coming from the bonfire that was once his work desk.
A high-pitched cry pierces my ears after the sound of wood cracking fills the air. I immediately aim my palm at the source, fully expecting to have to incinerate Tripp, but when I look, Beck has switched places, hovering above him with his foot on Tripp's neck.
I hear a horrid crack when Beck leans forward without hesitance, and Tripp's body goes limp.
Breathing hard, Beck tilts his head up from the floor and our lines of sight converge; his eyes frosted and mine full of fire.
Suddenly the sprinkler system kicks on in an attempt to douse the burning desk. Beck moves across the room frantically and slides his fingers through mine, pulling us down the staircase and back into the bar.
The sprinkler systems have kicked on everywhere. The fire alarms are screaming and wolves are panicking trying to get out of the bar.
"This way." Beck pulls me through the hallway and out the back door to avoid the chaos as we make our way to the car. The parking lot is filled with drunken wolves and confused patrons, most of which have their eyes fixed on the smoke billowing from the attic.
I'm not sure if Boyd is dead or still unconscious in the building, but neither of us want to stick around to find out.
We use this opportunity to weave through the area unnoticed. We don't stop. We keep moving, moving, moving until we find my car and get in.
Beck insists on driving, and for once, I can't protest. Despite the cold air to act as an ice pack, my skin is still on fire, my fingers charred but alive and electric.
Beck skids out the drive, blazing down the road without looking back at the scene unfolding behind us.
But against my better judgment, I look. And standing as a silhouette against the backdrop of flames against snow is Val, her body terse with a shadowed outline of her claws protracting.
As her image shrinks in the mirror, I can't help but feel like I've just rattled the cage of a long dormant, but very dangerous creature.
A/N: I'm so sorry for the delayed update, everyone. This chapter was really hard for me to write, as I was struggling to convey the right amount of sinestral tension without it becoming a cheesefest of villainous monologue or Shell going bazerk and just roasting them all. I really hope you enjoyed the chapter, and being that I already have most of the next two written, updates should start to become more frequent. Thank you! XOXO