Chapter Text
*
Robby woke in increments, his entire body ached. His eyelids were heavy. His head was pounding. His mouth was dry. The floor beneath him was cold, and most likely concrete. The doctor in him was already cataloging his injuries, assessing the damage.
Possible skull fracture; fissures already healed. Must’ve happened a couple of hours ago. His ribs ached, signs of broken bones mending themselves. Bruising on internal organs, likely hematomas all over his body. He felt sluggish, overly tired.
He groaned. He was too old for this shit. He strained his ears, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. His heartbeat was slow and steady. A bit too slow. Wolfsbane poisoning, his brain supplied. That would explain the raging headache and the fact that he could barely open his eyes, as well as his low heart rate. Wolfsbane also meant slowed healing. He could’ve been unconscious for days, not hours.
He inhaled deeply. Underneath the overwhelming stench of dried blood and stale sweat, there was a damp, musty smell. Traces of humans who had been around. And more blood.
He forced his eyes open. His vision was fuzzy at the edges; there was barely any light. He could make out some shapes—a bunk, a sink, a toilet, bars. He was in a cell.
Hunters.
Fuck.
He tried his memory. He’d been on his way home from the annual lupus-cross medical conference, steering his trusty bike over less-traveled roads back to Pennsylvania, when he’d noticed that he was being followed. The truck had been behind him for quite a while when, suddenly, a tree had fallen across the road in front of him, and he couldn’t stop in time. A crash, and then nothing.
His best guess was hunters.
And they must have wanted him alive.
That didn’t bode well for him. The conference had been in Nashville. He had told his pack that he might take the long road home, stretch his legs a little. He had been taken somewhere in Kentucky. It would be at least a couple of days until Jack and Dana were alarmed. His chances of being rescued were slim. If he survived that long. No, he was on his own.
He blinked a couple of times and took stock of the cell. Concrete floor. Metal bars, through which the rest of the dimly lit cellar was visible. Crates were stacked next to other junk. All out of reach. First, he had to heal, and his liver needed to metabolize the traces of wolfsbane in his blood.
Robby groaned again and tried to sit up, twisting his neck. What he’d give to change into his wolf right now. But there was no chance of that as long as the wolfsbane was still coursing through his veins.
“You’re awake.”
Robby whipped his head around.
Big blue eyes were staring at him out of a pale face. A young man was sitting with his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him.
No heartbeat. No human smell.
Not human.
A vampire.
Fuck his life.
“How long have I been out?” Robby croaked. Great. His voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. He probably had, now that he thought about it.
“You were already here when they brought me in yesterday. I thought you were dead at first.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
Robby studied the vampire. He was so pale his skin seemed translucent; there was no hint of color in his cheeks whatsoever. His hair was curly and blond, and he wore a flannel that must’ve been blue at some point, but was now torn and bloody.
“How did you get here?” Robby asked.
“I … I don’t know. I was at a bar, and then …” The vampire buried his head in his hands. “They must’ve grabbed me in the back alley, when I—”
“Human hunters?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“What do they want with us? Why keep us alive?”
“I don’t know.” The vampire lifted his gaze again. His softly glowing blue eyes were the only color in him; the rest was grayish pale. “I don’t think they’re trying to keep us alive. I mean … look at you.”
“Werewolf healing. I’ve had worse.” Robby would’ve shrugged if he’d been able to. “Give me a few hours and I’ll be right as rain.” At least, he hoped his body would have recovered by then. It had been a couple of decades since he’d been injured this severely.
“What do you know about our captors? Have they been down here?” Robby rasped.
“Yeah, once. A woman and a man. Both in their mid-forties, I think. Could be related, siblings or cousins. Brown hair, the man was on the heavier side. They didn’t say anything, just shined their flashlight into the cell, then left in a car. I think we’re alone at the house right now. I can’t smell anyone. Well, except you. Your scent is everywhere, like a wet mutt.”
“Thanks, kid.”
“Hey!”
“I’m Robby, by the way.”
“Robby.” The vampire tested the name on his tongue. “I’d say nice to meet you, but that doesn’t really apply to the situation. I’m Dennis.”
“Where are you from, Dennis?”
“Broken Bow, Nebraska.”
Robby grunted and closed his eyes again. He was in a cell with a vampire from fucking Nebraska.
“Are you all right?” Dennis asked.
“I will be. I need a couple of hours. Try to wake me if you hear the hunters coming back, okay?”
*
Dennis was so screwed. If it weren’t for the barely visible rise and fall of the werewolf’s chest, he would’ve assumed Robby was dead. His clothes were in rags, drenched in dried blood and other substances Dennis didn’t want to think about. He was curled into himself and had hardly moved during the few minutes he’d been conscious. Swelling and bruising covered every inch of visible skin; lacerations were closing with glacial slowness. Even Dennis knew that werewolf healing was supposedly superfast, but there had to be wolfsbane in the mix.
At least the werewolf seemed … almost friendly, if a little gruff. Dennis wondered how old he was. He knew that werewolves aged slowly, and he had never seen one with a salt-and-pepper beard. And his hair. There was so much of it. On his arms, on his chest, clotted with dirt and blood. Dennis tried to avert his gaze. Vampires were notoriously hairless from the neck down. Well, Dennis was, at least. He had never been in close quarters with a werewolf before. He had heard stories, of course. About werewolf strength. Their endurance. Their viciousness. Their animal behavior. Their rudeness. Their hostility toward vampires. At the moment, there wasn’t a vampire-werewolf war that he was aware of, but vampires and werewolves didn’t mix. Vampires were lonely creatures, and werewolves were notorious for their large packs.
This was the first time he’d ever been this close to an actual werewolf. Were werewolves always this massive? Even slumped over, curled in on himself, Robby was huge. Not that Dennis would ever admit it, but he’d watched some werewolf porn, and the wolves were never … this big.
Dennis curled himself into a ball. He was freezing. The concrete was cold, and there was an icy draft. It didn’t help that the last time he’d had blood must have been a week ago. He’d gone to the bar to find a willing host, someone to rub up against in the back alley, leech off a little body heat and a few sips of blood, maybe even an orgasm. The man he’d followed into the back alley must’ve been bait.
Trin was going to kill him, if the hunters didn’t do it first.
Fuck, Trin. She was probably worried sick by now.
Dennis tried not to cry, but he felt the first pinpricks of tears gathering behind his eyelids. His stomach was cramping; he was starving so badly. He didn’t know how long he could last without fresh blood. He’d never been this weak, this exhausted. But then, that could also be the silver he felt all around him. He could feel the silver lines woven through the concrete, through the iron bars, a cell built to contain creatures of the night. At least the hunters hadn’t beaten him up the way they had the werewolf, who was barely breathing. Fuck. This was bad. This was really bad.
He rested his head against the cool concrete behind him. He’d close his eyes for only a minute. He was so tired.
*
There was a warm hand on his ankle. Dennis shot awake.
“Hey, kid, you okay there?”
The werewolf had rolled onto his back, limbs loosely spread out. Some color had returned to his face; the bruising on his chest and face already looked a little better.
“I’m not a kid.”
Robby had one arm stretched out and had carefully nudged Dennis’s ankle.
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-seven!”
“Huh. You don’t look like it.”
“I was twenty-four when I was turned.”
“So … you’ve been a vampire for a total of three years?”
Dennis nodded.
“You’re not a kid. You’re practically an infant.”
“Hey!”
Robby chuckled and groaned. The werewolf let go of his ankle and rubbed his face. “Were the hunters back? Any movement?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“Is anyone looking for you?”
“I—maybe. My friend, Trinity. She’s also a vamp. She’ll worry. But I didn’t tell her that I went to the bar … and she’s been doing her own thing for a while.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“How about you?”
The wolf turned his head and looked at him with deep brown eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. Well, whatever was left of his soul, anyway. He sat up and cracked his neck. Dennis winced in empathy. Robby huddled closer and murmured, “There might be cameras and microphones around. Don’t speak too loudly about things you don’t want the hunters to overhear.”
“You’re telling me this after I mentioned Trinity?”
Robby chuckled darkly. “Sorry, kid. How good is your hearing?”
“Fine.”
“I meant: Vampire hearing is better than human hearing, right? Not on par with wolf ears, of course, but if we whispered in each other’s ears, I don’t think any mics would pick that up.”
Dennis suppressed a shudder. Whisper in each other’s ears. He imagined feeling the werewolf’s hot breath tickle the shell of his ear. What was wrong with him?
Robby groaned again and slowly got to his feet.
Wow.
Dennis had known that the wolf was massive from when he was a crumpled heap on the floor, but Robby was tall. Really tall. And broad. His shirt hung in tatters from his chest, highlighting the width of his shoulders. Gray-and-black chest hair led down to … Robby’s jeans hung low on his hips. There was a sizable bulge visible. Dennis swallowed. From his vantage point on the floor, the wolf was … impressive.
Robby rotated his neck, stretched out his arms, and cracked his back.
Dennis tried not to stare. If there had been any blood left in his body, he would have blushed.
Robby gave him a thin smile. “Let’s see if we can get out of here, shall we?”
For the next hour, Robby threw himself at the bars. Tried to rattle them. Scratched at the walls. Howled.
Dennis felt close to fainting. There was so much violence inside the wolf, unfurling only a few feet away from him. He’d never been in close proximity to a werewolf before. He’d heard stories. Warnings. The wolf: the archenemy of the vampire. The only predator that matched a vampire’s strength, the only predator that was deadly to vampires. That must’ve been a lie. There was no way vampires were a match for wolves in strength. What Robby was—the bulging muscles, the strength, the tenacity, the stamina … Dennis was no match for that.
Dennis winced each time Robby threw himself at the bars and was flung back into the cell. He heard something crack, but it wasn’t the bars. It had to be one of Robby’s bones. Dennis wanted to shut his eyes and pass out again, but the spectacle in front of him was the hottest thing he had ever witnessed. He was so glad there wasn’t any blood left in him. He couldn’t have hidden his physical reaction to that. And then there was the scent. Robby had started to sweat, and Dennis could track every bead rolling down Robby’s neck. His neck. The visible veins in his arms, thick and pronounced when he tore at the bars. The wolf smelled musky. Sweaty. Like the woods. Like the outside. Greenery, mixed with a hint of motor oil.
The wolf would probably kill him if he found out about Dennis’s impure thoughts. Robby looked like the type of wolf who had a litter of kids waiting for him at home. Straight. Robby definitely looked straight. Dennis buried his head in his hands. If the hunters didn’t finish him, the wolf absolutely would. Maybe this was the divine punishment he had been waiting for. He had thought that being turned had been the penance for his life in sin, for leaving his god-fearing family behind, for desiring men. But being a vampire was not all bad. He had met Trinity, and life after death had become bearable. Fun, even.
“You all right there, kid?”
Robby had stopped throwing himself at the bars. He used the remains of his torn flannel to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.
Dennis stared.
“You look awfully pale, even for a vamp.”
Dennis gulped. He needed to get a grip. “I’m just hungry. I haven’t fed in a while.” He expected Robby to recoil in disgust, but Robby just hummed softly.
“I was going to, at the bar—I always make sure my hosts are willing, I swear—and I followed this man outside into the alley when they—” Fuck. Had he just revealed that he preferred men? Sucking blood could be intimate, almost sensual—vamps usually preferred the gender of the host to be the same as their sexual preference. Did werewolves know about that fact? Did Robby know?
Robby looked at him strangely.
“I—”
Robby motioned him to be silent. Then Dennis heard it too. The engine of a car being shut off. Faint voices. A door opening and closing. Heavy footsteps. A muffled conversation. And then creaky stairs that led to the basement.
Robby’s soulful brown eyes bore deep into his. Dennis couldn’t look away even if he tried.
“Don’t be scared. They’re just human.”
The footsteps came closer. Dennis could smell them now. Undoubtedly human. Unwashed, a little greasy.
A middle-aged man and a woman appeared on the other side of the bars. Both had rifles slung over their shoulders and knives strapped to their belts.
“Look who’s awake,” the man sneered.
“What do you want from us?” Robby asked calmly.
“Look, Bel, they haven’t killed each other yet,” the man said to his partner.
“Huh. Although the vamp looks half dead already.” Bel spat.
“What do you think?” the man asked, scratching his beard.
“Let’s start with the vamp. He’ll be easier to break.”
What? No. No, no, no, no, no. He tried to curl up tighter. He looked at Robby, who had positioned himself between Dennis and the hunters.
“How about you leave the vamp alone?” Robby growled.
“Shut up, wolf.” The female hunter raised her rifle and shot Robby through the bars in the chest.
Dennis screamed.
Splatters of Robby’s blood were everywhere. Robby was a mess on the floor, bleeding sluggishly from his chest.
“Is he out?” the man asked.
“Yeah, I used the wolfsbane-laced buckshot.”
The hunters unlocked the cell door and came in. Dennis wanted to fight, but in less than a second, he had a silver knife pressed to his throat, and his hands and feet were tied with silver cuffs. Then the hunters pulled a hood over his head, and the world went black.