Silver-Steel Read online

  Silver and Steel

  Belinda McBride

  With love and gratitude to Ian: Your songs truly made me feel much better. They also inspired the atmosphere for Dylan’s Homewood and many of the residents of Arcada. You are my muse.

  Also to the first responders and firefighters who risk their own lives to preserve our lives and property. You are forever my heroes.

  Acknowledgments

  Without the support and encouragement of my family, friends, and the Loose Id community, this book might not have seen the light of day. How many computer failures can one manuscript survive? You guys listened to me cry, laugh, and swear.

  My gratitude goes out to the Friendly Computer guys who managed to retrieve the content of my hard drive.

  Contents

  Untitled

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Sneak Peek: The Tenth Muse

  Also by Belinda McBride

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  About the Author

  “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful village in a magical forest. It was called Homewood, and there lived a prince who dreamed life into the woods…”

  Prologue

  Everyone dreams.

  Even those who wake without memory of their dreams spend time on the unconscious plane. Some people dream in vivid color and detail, while others amble along, their nocturnal journeys little more than a regurgitation of the prior day’s events—in black and white, no less.

  Dylan Ryve stalked through this particular dreamscape, aware of the importance of this setting. It wasn’t the abstract sexual images or the disjointed sequence of events holding his focus. If he paused to look, the scene would cause revulsion. He moved almost blindly, focusing on one single subject: his quarry. His prey. He allowed himself a brief glance at his surroundings, letting the perverse landscape strengthen his will.

  His heart raced. He breathed, not scenting his subject but slowing his respiration. Adrenaline laced his body, and he deliberately calmed himself, going still and opening up his senses. Dylan was rigid with tension, but not because the hunt was drawing to a close.

  His quarry came into sight. Rufus Brown sauntered through the macabre setting of his subconscious, looking on the faces of young women he’d killed over the course of his short life. They grew in his garden like bloody flowers that he’d harvested long before they’d come to bloom. Spotting Dylan’s tall black form amid the gore, Rufus stumbled to a halt and gaped at him in surprise.

  Dylan was accustomed to the reaction by now. He didn’t always apprehend his targets in their dreams; he’d haunt them, dwelling in their minds day and night, wearing them down to near insanity. Sometimes it was most expedient to capture them in their sleep, especially if the client didn’t care if the subject was alive or dead when he brought them in.

  While the client definitely wanted Rufus Brown alive, Dylan couldn’t risk capturing the psychopath; he was far too dangerous. And if caught, Dylan would have a tough time explaining this whole thing to the human police. He couldn’t take chances with a serial killer, nor could he afford a kidnapping charge.

  He remained still, allowing Rufus to study him. The killer stared, his cold, limpid gaze traveling from head to toe and then back up. He smiled.

  “You’re beautiful. Almost as pretty as a woman.” Brown flexed his hands, curling his fingers into claws. As Dylan watched, the nails grew, curving and glinting in the dull light.

  He never forgot: this wasn’t his dream; he was merely visiting. It could be dangerous.

  Dylan didn’t respond to Rufus Brown. He waited as Rufus approached. The man casually circled him until he returned to face Dylan. The killer licked his lips, drawing a long, wicked knife from a pocket far too small to hide a weapon like that.

  Nothing like a bit of phallic symbolism.

  Faced with the weapon, Dylan felt his heart drop to its normal, steady rate. He gazed calmly at the killer.

  “Tough man, standing there so cool and calm.” Rufus stepped closer. “Fearless. You think you’re immortal?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am immortal. You cannot kill me with that knife.”

  Rufus froze as awareness bled into his eyes. To his credit, he didn’t panic, and he didn’t run. Somehow he knew he looked into the face of his destiny.

  “You don’t belong in my dream.” Rufus glanced away, and the gory dreamscape shimmered, but he didn’t awaken, nor did he flee. It didn’t matter if Rufus did try to escape by waking up. Dylan stood at the foot of his bed in a shabby little apartment in a small town called Manteca. Part of him remained awake, guarding the sleeping murderer while his subconscious mind stalked and hunted Rufus Brown through the killer’s dreams.

  “You a cop?” Rufus’s courage wavered. He lifted the knife, brandishing the cold steel blade. Dylan saw the moment that illusion and reality collided within the dream. Rufus suddenly realized that the visage of death before him was not merely a dream; he was real and dangerous.

  Dylan didn’t answer. He waited, patiently gazing down into Rufus’s boyish face. If one ignored the pale blue eyes, he appeared friendly and harmless. That was how he’d captured so many trusting young women. That was how he’d captured the daughter of a man with otherworldly wealth and connections.

  Now he’d captured the attention of the dream hunter.

  The thing about demons was that when they got you, they kept you for eternity. Rufus Brown wasn’t facing the end, not by any means. He didn’t know it yet.

  Rufus grinned coldly. He leaned forward so Dylan could hear his whisper. “Is it true that if you die in dreams, you die for real?”

  He lunged and struck out at Dylan with the blade that had suddenly doubled in length. Dylan countered swiftly, then swept the feet out from under Rufus and landed on top of the killer. He shoved his knee into the human’s belly. It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a struggle. Dylan reigned here. He put his lips close to his victim’s ear and whispered, “I don’t know, Rufus Brown. Do you want to die and find out?”

  In that moment, Brown stared up at him in fear and confusion. He’d always been the aggressor, the one to strike terror into the hearts of his victims. Now he was bewildered. Afraid. Dylan gritted his teeth against the flutter of compassion he felt for the man.

  “I don’t understand why I do these things.” Rufus looked up, pleading not for mercy, but for sympathy. Dylan understood all too well. “Tell me. If I die in my dream, will I die for real?” he asked again, then struggled under Dylan’s weight, the need to survive kicking in. He bucked and fought savagely, but his gaze never left Dylan’s face. Finally he submitted and went still.

  And Dylan answered. “No. If you don’t want to die, you won’t.”

  Relief flashed into blue eyes, followed by wicked intent. He struck out with the curved talons of his dream hand, and the claws sliced through the sleeve of Dylan’s heavy wool coat.

  He deftly clasped the man’s other wrist and forced the blade to the base of Rufus Brown’s rounded chin. The murderer’s eyes grew wide in horror, and Dylan thrust, watching as the knife slid into flesh. Deep red seeped from the gash, and he turned the blade
to the side, slicing into Rufus Brown’s throat. Blood sprayed from the wound, and Rufus opened his mouth to an empty scream.

  Dylan stepped away and tossed the weapon far into the rapidly fading dream.

  Just as everything started to vanish, Dylan opened his eyes and looked down at the dying man on the bed before him. Even in the darkened room he saw that the pillow was clean and unsoiled. There was no blood anywhere. Rufus Brown lay dying, and then he was dead, his eyes open wide in horror. He’d seen what awaited him in the afterlife.

  Dylan reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a cell phone. He fingered the slash in his sleeve. That had been too close. He took a photo of the corpse and sent it to two separate numbers. Within a second a reply came. It was a simple text on the screen of his phone.

  #999 complete. Prepare for final task.

  Dylan Ryve took a deep, shuddering breath. One more hunt and he would be free.

  Chapter 1

  This wasn’t the first time Travis had fucked up, nor would it be the last. But this time Travis Feris might have gone too far. Up to this moment his life had been a series of bad pranks, off-color jokes, and serious lapses in judgment. He’d been the one to goad the high school football team into carrying the English teacher’s VW Bug up three flights of stairs, then strand the car in the middle of the upper playing field. In college he’d succumbed to the urge to steal a hideously ugly statue from the lawn of city hall and deposit it in the community swimming pool. His mouth didn’t have any better judgment; his biggest lapse to date was calling his half-brother Lukas Blacque a faggot—right in front of the entire pack. That had earned him a psychic bitch slap that knocked him down a few pegs within the pack.

  But now he stood naked and defenseless before one extremely pissed-off wolf bitch. A pregnant wolf who just happened to be one of the betas of the pack. Michella was fully shifted, her hackles bristling and bad temper emanating from her very essence. Behind him another female cowered, hunkered low on her belly. The beta bared her teeth in a snarl, and Travis sensed movement; the omega was compelled forth by the dominant wolf. He stepped in front of her, blocking her from Michella’s line of sight.

  All around them ghostly figures hovered, weaving in and out of the trees. Tension rang through the air, and Travis wished like hell he hadn’t lost his temper, hadn’t flung foul curses at Michella. But he had, and if he tried to shift now, she’d launch herself in an attack he simply couldn’t defend against. Her pregnancy kept her off-limits. Ironically Michella’s pregnancy endangered the entire pack with her hormonal mood swings. If he weren’t so frightened, it’d be funny. This time he wasn’t laughing. Nope, he was scared shitless.

  He straightened and did his best to project calm and confidence. “Michella, back off. She didn’t mean to do it.” He held his hands out, breathing through his nose. If he panted, the adrenaline coursing through him would spike, and fear, like the stench of burning hair, would flood the clearing. If Travis could be said to have a skill, it would be the ability to mask fear, because no matter the situation, if pack was involved, he was afraid. Yet no one was ever the wiser.

  Damn them all to hell, anyway.

  “Stupid bitch exposed us!” The blonde woman who snarled the accusation came up from her four feet, still giving the impression of an angry beast. Michella already stood upright, her tawny hair a ruffled mess around her head, her belly swollen with pregnancy. She glared at Travis, then at the omega cowering behind his legs.

  Come on, Mama. Get up!

  But he wasn’t telepathic, and neither was his mother. So Travis had no choice but to shield her from the fury of Michella and the other females. The beta advanced on him, and he knew damn well he was fucked. Royally. On a good day he might be able to hold his own, but with her hormones controlling her emotions and his unborn niece or nephew at stake, nobody would dare fight Michella. So he took a step back, sensing Melody moving with him. As they cowered back, his temper began to rise.

  “Shel, you know she’s not fast as the rest of the females.” He glared at the assembled wolves. “What’d you guys do? Leave her behind? Push her into losing control? Did you prank her? ’Cause it sure as hell isn’t funny.”

  The sharp sound of Michella’s slap echoed through the clearing and burned Travis’s cheek. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  “She shifted in the middle of a road…right in front of a car!”

  “A car that hit her. Makes me wonder if you guys led her—”

  The second slap hurt worse. He staggered at the force of the third. Her hand came up again, and he flinched, bracing for impact. It didn’t come.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  At the sound of his half sister’s voice, Travis’s heart plunged. The last thing he needed was to be rescued by Drusilla. The only thing worse would be his father. Or, God forbid, Lukas. Behind him, Melody breathed a soft sigh of relief, and shame washed over Travis. He could afford to lose face as long as his mom didn’t take the brunt of Michella’s bad mood.

  “None of your business, Drusilla.” Michella’s voice went from angry to venomous. “I’m the pack beta.”

  “And I’m Travis’s sister. I’d seriously like to know how he got two black eyes and why Mel is terrified of you.” She sniffed the air, not commenting on the scent of blood rising from both Travis and his mother.

  Drusilla stood to the side, fully dressed, somehow looking neat as a pin in her sweatshirt and jeans. She’d pulled her dark hair back in a thick tail and appeared to be the dominant of the entire group. Unfortunately for Travis she wasn’t, and Michella was now beyond pissed. Her lips pulled back, baring white teeth.

  “Dane is out of town, so I’m in charge of this pack, Drusilla. Melody ran out into the highway, panicked, and shifted. She endangered us all and needs to be punished.”

  His mother pressed forward again and cowered against Travis. He winced but stood firm.

  Drusilla lifted her chin defiantly. “Actually, Shel, you aren’t in charge of the pack. Lukas is. I suspect he’ll be really curious why you’ve been bullying the omega and her son. You know Melody is off-limits.”

  In spite of the wild energy surrounding the beta, Drusilla didn’t back down. “We all respect you, Shel, but you’re in no condition to be leading a run or handing out discipline.” Drusilla edged closer to Travis, adding another level of protection to the omega. She rested her hand on Melody’s head. The thick fear that had been choking Travis began to abate. She might chafe him like hell, but his big sister walked the talk.

  Unlike several of his friends, who watched from the fringes.

  It wasn’t like Michella planned to kill his mother, but she’d beat her down, and Melody Feris didn’t need that in her life. He didn’t either.

  Travis curled his fingers, but his reaction wasn’t aggression, rather the need to flee, to get the hell out of Dodge. Arcada might be a sanctuary for some, but for Travis it was a trap. He’d have been long gone but for his mother. Outside the city in another pack, she was a target not only for other shifters, but for anyone with the ability to spot a soft mark—or a victim.

  A small wave of power disturbed the air, and behind them Melody squatted, her fists on the ground. He reached down and tried to bring her to her feet, but she wouldn’t budge. More important, he caught the scent of blood. Blood and piss. She’d wet herself. A wave of hatred washed over him, and again Travis shut it down.

  “Michella, was she hit?” Drusilla’s voice was hard and angry.

  The beta, backed up by several other angry pack members, held her ground.

  “I smell blood on her. Was she hit by the car?”

  “If she was, she fucking deserved it!” Michella spit on the dirt.

  At that, even the angriest of the pack fell silent. Michella had crossed a line. Travis swallowed, his need to fight thick in his gut. For once, he used the self-control he generally ignored.

  “Okay, then.” Drusilla’s voice was steely. “We’ll take this to
Lukas. But for now I really have to get her to the house. We need to see how badly she’s hurt, Shel.” Beside him, Drusilla turned and knelt down next to the injured omega. Travis didn’t dare turn his back. He heard the rustle of clothing and the beep of a cell phone being activated.

  “Lukas, can you meet me at the house? We’ve got a situation. You’re there already? ’Kay… See you in a few.”

  Michella snarled in fury. Dru stood, the omega cradled in her arms. Melody kept her face hidden, afraid to look at the angry shifters. Travis took a step away, then another, watching steadily, never meeting Michella’s gaze but never fully looking away. When he was several yards back, he turned to finally get a good look at his mother.

  Blood dripped from her bare legs; gravel studded her arms and legs. She was covered with road rash, bruised, and shocky. He glared back at the gathered wolves and caught a hint of weakness in Michella’s face, a trace of guilt. The expression fled when she saw him looking.

  The kitchen in the alpha’s home served as the unofficial meeting spot for pack business, but also for family issues. At the moment the fragrance of holiday cooking wafted through the air. A half dozen pumpkin pies cooled on the broad counter, and hundreds of cookies had been packaged into baskets. The spicy scent of warm cider filled the air, and a mug before him steamed, a stick of cinnamon jutting from its golden depths. Travis sat uneasily, his hands folded in front of him, anger simmering at the back of his skull. The kitchen might be the hub of warm and fuzzy for most of Dane’s kids, but for Travis it wasn’t so pleasant. He’d been lectured to, threatened, and turned over the alpha’s knee in this room. So no warm and fuzzy for him.