Silver-Steel Page 11

  “That will be sad. I enjoy you.”

  The presence withdrew, leaving Dylan aware of his predicament and with the knowledge that Arcada meant to protect her own. He became more aware and tried to stretch his mind, toying with the edges of the dreams surrounding him. He found one that was familiar and welcome, and stepped into the dreamscape, smiling as he watched Travis. The shifter was sunbathing nude, reclining on a glistening rock that jutted out over a crystalline lake. His dark hair tumbled back, and his navy-blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Did he always look like that? He was healed, all the marks of the fight gone, but the bruises Dylan had left from sex were still there. The mark of his teeth was dark on Travis’s shoulder.

  It was Travis’s dream—why would he keep the bruises?

  When Travis looked up and spotted Dylan, he smiled, and his cock began to thicken. He stroked his shaft, displaying it as his erection lengthened and nudged up his belly. He tipped his head back, dropped his eyes closed, and began to slowly rub himself. He glanced up at Dylan through his lashes, and his tempo faltered when he saw that Dylan stood over him, staring down, his own swollen shaft in his hand.

  “Don’t stop,” Dylan said.

  It felt odd to be naked in the sunlight. Dylan looked down and watched his hand move in time with Travis’s rhythm. He stroked himself, and the younger man copied him. He cupped his balls, then watched the shifter mirror his movement.

  Dylan gripped himself harder and thumbed his slit, smearing precum over his cockhead. He grew so slick that he heard his foreskin slip up and down his cock. The sound echoed from where Travis lay, the sun gleaming on his skin, glistening off the waves of his hair.

  Travis had freckles on his nose.

  Dylan gasped, blinking against the tears that surged forth. He disguised his sob as a moan and worked himself harder, faster, then watched in fascination as milky seed spurted from his body. It caught the light as it slowly fell and spattered the skin of Travis’s belly and chest, then dripped down onto the granite boulder.

  Travis cried out. His seed joined Dylan’s, and it ran down his side in a stream to form a viscous pool on the hard surface of the rock.

  From that pool of seed, green seedlings cropped up, their roots searching for purchase, for nourishment. Travis scrambled away and stared in amazement as a small tree came forth from the stone, its taproot twining around Dylan’s leg, pulling itself close to him. With a thought Dylan urged it on, reveling in the transformation of death to life, even if at the cost of his own. It fed from him, drained him, but he still had more to offer. He lifted his arms to the sky, and the tree’s branches grew, entwining with his fingers and then pulling him into its supple, fragrant embrace. Leaves dragged through his hair; twigs gently probed his face.

  Finally the tree loosened its embrace, and he looked up into its stately branches, smiling at the life it sheltered up there in its leaves. It let him go, and he dropped to his knees, weak and weary but so very, very happy.

  “Dylan?”

  Travis was on his knees, facing him, an expression of awe and wonder mingled with fear. Dylan leaned forward and kissed the shifter, then gazed deeply into his beautiful, dark eyes. He then let go, fell back, and threw himself out into the vast, black realm of sleep once again.

  “DON’T GO!” TRAVIS bolted upright in bed, nearly head butting the man who leaned over him, shaking him into wakefulness. “Shit! What are you doing?” He batted at two long black braids that dangled down in his face. “Uncle James?”

  James was squatting by the side of the low cot, looking down at Travis in bemusement. The slight smile on his face faded as he looked from Travis to where Dylan still lay unconscious.

  “What are you doing here?”

  James wasn’t really his uncle, not by blood, anyway. But he was brother to Lukas and Drusilla’s mother, so Travis had managed to inherit the relationship. Add to that the fact that he was damn near best friends with Travis’s mother, and the bond was as deep as blood. When Travis was a kid, he’d fantasized that he and his mom lived with James as a real family. But that had never happened and never would. James had never shown an iota of interest in women. Ever.

  “Your brother called yesterday. Told me there was a rogue pack hanging around and that he was shorthanded. So I came on out.”

  “Just like that. You managed to brave the worst snowstorm in years and got here in record time?”

  “I flew in. Didn’t have any problems getting here from the airport.” He slid to the floor and sat next to Travis. “So you had a run of bad luck?” He looked comfortable, sitting there cross-legged. Amazing given the fact that he was an enormous man, running somewhere around six and a half feet tall. With his dark coloring, long braids, and rugged clothing, James had an intimidating presence. Oddly enough, he was the most easygoing person Travis knew.

  He was too easygoing to be alpha but had more than enough mojo to take the position if he wanted it. Luckily for several men and women in his pack he had no interest in being their leader. He just wanted to be accepted and not have to worry about who was at his back.

  “Just the usual. You know, if not for bad luck…”

  “You’d have no luck at all.” James laughed, a husky, warm sound. “You got smacked down by your beta, got roofied, rescued by a fae, and then attacked by a pack of rabid shifters. Not bad for one week.”

  Travis scooted so he was leaning against the wall. “Less than a week, thanks very much. That stuff at the bar… I guess I had that coming, but—”

  James clasped his arm. “You didn’t have it coming. Don’t ever think that.”

  Travis swallowed hard, his behavior weighing heavily in his mind. “You don’t know, James. The way I act… I go in and get in people’s faces. I mess with their dates, start fights. These guys, well, I pushed them too far. I acted like a cock-tease. I flirt with them, get ’em all riled up, then tell ’em I don’t do men.”

  “Bullshit. They’re mean little cowards. They couldn’t take you down on their own, so they drugged you. And you should know by now, rape isn’t about sex.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just…you know…”

  “I know, Travis. Been in some ugly spots myself over the years.” James wrapped a big hand around his knee. “I’m big. I’m gay. I’m a challenge. There was a time I felt like I had a target painted on my back. Or on my ass.” He didn’t laugh at the joke; neither did Travis. For a long moment they avoided each other’s gazes.

  “How’s your mom after that face-off with Michella?”

  “She’s fine. She was shaken, but damn… James, you should have seen her during the fight! She ripped through one of those wolves! I can’t believe she did it!”

  He grinned at Travis. “Her baby was in trouble. Of course it brought out Mama Wolf. I’m proud of her. I taught her good, didn’t I?”

  “You taught her to fight?”

  James nodded, gracefully rising to his feet. “Years ago. She’s got the skills when she wants ’em. But she’s an omega and would much rather make peace than war. Kinda like me.” The skin at his eyes crinkled when he smiled, making him look even more like Blacque. “Now I’m here on a mission. We need to get to this fellow’s motel. The snow’s cleared off enough that we can get his car. And yours as well. We need to empty out his room. Old Phillips says he’s paid a month ahead, but I doubt he’ll have any scruples about going through this fellow’s stuff. And given what he is…”

  “It might be best if nobody sees what he might have in his room. Gotcha.” Travis stretched, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth. He rubbed his lips, still feeling a lingering kiss from his dream. It had been odd…a distressing dream: arousing and frightening at the same time. It was fuzzy now, but the fae had been in it. The dream had been erotic, and Travis belatedly dropped his hand to his crotch and was grateful he hadn’t climaxed in his sleep.

  He turned to look at Dylan, reluctant to leave his side. James waited patiently. Travis frowned, trying to recapture some of the dream—it se
emed important. It seemed oddly…real.

  “What is he?” Travis looked up at James. He didn’t know how old his uncle was but suspected he was older than many, if not most.

  “Fae, definitely. Maybe elvish, with those ears. But they’re usually earth linked, generally beautiful like he is, but not so dark.” He tilted his head. “Not really dark, but he gives off that vibe.”

  “A dark elf, maybe?”

  James laughed. “No such thing. Closest to that are the vampires. No, elves are usually guardians. They often reflect the appearance of their environment. It’s a form of camouflage. With his appearance, he’s more linked to the night than day. And I don’t see any runes or identifying marks.”

  “Sometimes I see a glimmer of silver at his wrists and throat. Like a collar.”

  “More likely a torc and bracelets. Sounds like an enchantment. I’d like to see that. You remember any of the marks?” James tilted his head, gazing speculatively at the fae.

  “No, it barely shows up against his skin. I’ve only seen it…well, hardly ever. When he was asleep once.”

  Travis gazed at the fae. He was glad it was James at his back; the big man was infinitely patient and nonjudgmental. Absently he rubbed his neck. The bruises there were fading but tender.

  When he was ready, he looked at his uncle. “So he’s staying?”

  “For now. He can’t exactly go to a hospital. And we can’t just toss him out on his ear.”

  Travis turned to leave. “Blacque gave the approval?” That was a surprise given how hostile he’d been to the fae.

  “Yup. He’s had a couple of days to think about it. He figures that for now, there’s nothing the fellow can do to cause trouble. He’s more worried about the rogues.”

  Relief washed through Travis. He’d literally been afraid to leave Dylan’s side. It wasn’t that he distrusted Blacque, but things were going to shit, and his brother was worried—not only about the fae and the rogues, but about Dane’s whereabouts, and even about Travis himself. Driving the unconscious fae back to his motel and leaving him there might be the safest course of action, even if it seemed hard-hearted.

  “How are the two of us going to manage three cars?”

  “I’m helping.” Jason peeked shyly around the door, looked first at Dylan and then at Travis. He looked at Dylan again, then backed away to wait in the hall.

  It was the dead of winter, but Jason appeared as though it was full summer. His tanned skin was slightly freckled, his blond hair streaked by the sun. Given that no one had a clue where Jason really lived—or what he was—it was very likely he spent his free time halfway around the world. Dane said he was a gremlin or possibly a machine elf. Travis had no idea, but he was damn good with cars and a reliable—if rather skittish—friend.

  “Cool. Give me a couple of minutes. Gotta clean up, then find my mom.”

  James started for the door. “She’s down the hall, checking in on one of the rogues. The others are up and around, but the one she nearly took out is still in bad shape.”

  “I hope she’s not having a guilty conscience.” Travis used the tiny bathroom to pee and clean himself up. How long had he been sleeping? More than a day, it seemed. He was hungry and tired but not feeling too bad. He stretched, pleased all his parts were working. He carefully closed the door behind him and followed James down the hall to the high-security rooms. The basement extended beyond the perimeter of the house above, with the lower level set up for any emergency, from families needing shelter to locking down dangerous paranormals. They passed a large recreation room and rounded a corner, then arrived at the cells where a guard was stationed on each door.

  One door was ajar, and that was where Travis found his mother.

  “Hey.” He touched her shoulder and looked down at the wolf she tended. He had shifted, but the wounds she’d inflicted were severe. He’d probably run afoul of Blacque earlier in the fight as well. They’d secured him with shackles and high-tensile steel rope. He was unconscious; his color was poor and his breathing raspy.

  “Is he sick?”

  She shook her head. “I punctured his lung, and it’s infected. None of them are recovering as well as they should.” She looked past Travis and smiled when she saw his uncle.

  “James. I’m so glad you’re here.” She stepped into his arms, and he held her tightly, her form tiny against his. The intensity of their affection always made Travis a tiny bit uncomfortable. But he didn’t have a best friend—not that way, anyway. They both denied any sort of attraction, and considering James’s sexuality, that was a given. But when those two were together, Travis got the feeling that the rest of the world went away.

  He cleared his throat.

  James let Melody loose and held her at arm’s length.

  “I was just taking Travis out to get his car and to gather the fae’s stuff before the landlord notices he’s gone.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” They exited the room single file, leaving the guard to secure the door.

  “Blacque’s had Oliver out scouting after dark, and the sentries haven’t found any stragglers. We’re assuming the survivors have gone to ground somewhere. Jason’s coming with us, so we’ll have extra hands if we need them.”

  She bit her lip and looked worriedly at them. “I could come too, but I need to stay here. We’ve got some badly injured members upstairs. I was hoping you could help me, James. Your skills as a medic would be welcome.”

  Relief warred with chagrin within Travis. He didn’t want her stepping into Dylan’s cold little room. Not only would the smell of their sex linger, but he wanted to have privacy. He didn’t know what he might find among the fae’s possessions.

  “Can you wait until we come back before checking on the others?” James asked. “We shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hours. Less, I imagine. I’ve got my medical kit out in the car.”

  “You haven’t even unpacked yet.” She gave an odd little smile. “I’ll wait upstairs and help with dinner, then. Travis, I made sandwiches for you…if no one snuck off with them.”

  His belly rumbled, and in just minutes he was in the passenger seat of a brand-new SUV, wolfing down a sandwich while James carefully drove the icy roads out of Arcada. Jason leaned between the front seats and touched the radio, which skipped over stations till he found a classic rock station that made them all happy.

  They left Jason at the Roadhouse since the old Mustang was reluctant to start. His special touch with mechanics had it running in just moments. If Travis drove it, the car would be stalling out in the cold. He watched the taillights vanish over the city limits, and then James took them away from Arcada, driving slowly until the motel came into sight.

  It was nearly empty; a few cars made indistinct mounds in the parking lot. Dylan’s black sedan sat alone, the snow over it undisturbed. James handed Travis the room key while he started pushing snow off the gleaming vehicle.

  “This is quite a car.” He got in, turned the key, and the engine purred to life. He left it running and followed Travis into the room.

  They turned on the lights. The room looked just as spartan and gray as it had when Travis had been there the last time. Without a lot of discussion, James pulled down a black suitcase and started folding clothing into it. “Not much imagination.”

  “I think he just dresses to stay warm.” Travis gathered Dylan’s toiletries kit and a few items from the nightstand. He flushed in embarrassment as he retrieved the condoms and lube, along with other intriguing accessories. He slipped those into a pillowcase, rolled it up, and stuffed it into a corner of the luggage. He spotted a cell phone charging on the table by the door, and as soon as he touched it, the display screen lit up. A message had just landed in the box with a soft beep.

  “What’s that?” James straightened from the drawer he was emptying. “Maybe he has an ICE number in there.”

  “New message. I wonder… Nah, I’d better leave it alone.” He unplugged the phone and bundled the charger. “But then, he
might have family.”

  “Go for it.” James opened another drawer and started to transfer the contents.

  Travis looked at the phone, sighed, and swiped the screen. The message was there, along with a stack of others, all saying the same thing:

  #1000. Status?

  He searched the contacts and found no numbers at all. The call history was clean.

  “Nada. Nothing here. Just spam, it looks like.” He slipped the phone into his pocket; it was the single thing he’d want most after a long illness. Well, after a toothbrush.

  “Ah… Here we have it.”

  Travis turned to where James was setting a box on the bed. It was about the size of a shoe box but sturdy and quite old. James carefully lifted the lid, and they looked at the odds and ends inside. Obviously Travis had been wrong about Dylan having no sentiment.

  James unwrapped a small, leather-bound book that was fragile with age. Gently he opened it a bit and peeked in at the graceful script inside. A tiny dried flower was pressed between the pages.

  “What’s it say?”

  “I have no idea.” James rewrapped the book and set it down. “The script is badly faded, and it’s old. I have no idea what the language is.”

  After setting that to the side, he picked up a small pouch. He untied the strings and gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Family crest.” He slipped a pendant from the bag, and they carefully examined it. The piece was skillfully wrought in a white metal so pure it looked as though it had just been made. “We should have kept Jason around. He might recognize it.”

  “Maybe Kell and Pim can come over…” Travis trailed off, wondering if Dylan would feel his privacy had been invaded.

  James picked up on his uneasiness. “Maybe we should just let Jason look, since he already knows Dylan is with us.”

  Travis nodded in agreement. There were other items in the box, including a leather packet containing seeds. Travis and James looked at each other in puzzlement. “Recognize those?”

  James shook his head. “No, but it sort of reinforces my thought that he’s forest oriented.”