Grave Secret

“Secret…” He only said my name, but we’d done this song and dance before, so I knew exactly what meaning was loaded in that one word. I’d once asked an apocalyptic demon if he would give me three wishes. I was no stranger to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.



In this case, though, I was trying to buy time. I didn’t know if kicking the hornet’s nest was the best way to go about it, but it probably wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had. The longer I kept them talking, the longer I avoided finding out how much a punch in the face really hurt.



That was one human experience I could do without.



“You are bold, girl,” Pony-boy said.



“Thanks.”



“Boldness often leads to misadventure.”



Well…that was a threat worthy of someone much scarier than an ugly dude with a ponytail.



I rubbed my empty hand against my leg, wiping away the sweat on my palm. “Let me ask you something. You seem like a smart guy, I mean, in spite of your vacation from rationality.”



Desmond’s teeth ground together.



“Smart enough to see the right path,” Pony-boy replied.



“That’s just it. You’re smart, but you’re making such a goddamn stupid mistake right now, I wonder if you haven’t been knocked on the head.”



“We are not making a mistake. The only mistake here is you.”



Ouch. Who needed motherly disapproval when she could send a whole pack to belittle my existence? Talk about taking my mommy issues to a whole new level.



“This is fucking stupid,” one of the minions grumbled. “Why are we still talking to her?”



“Because we can’t hurt her,” said another. I recognized him as the one I’d confronted outside the restaurant—Ian.



“Shut up,” Hank snapped, a vein in his neck throbbing an ugly purple color.



Guessing they weren’t supposed to let that tidbit slip.



“Let me guess—‘you can scare her, but no one touches her… I want her for myself,’” I said, mimicking my mother’s bitchy soprano the best I could.



“No one said anything about him,” another goon said.



I didn’t care how fragile my new human bones were, no one threatened my loved ones. I raised my gun and aimed it at the wolf who’d spoken. He was six feet tall and built like a linebacker. Why couldn’t there be more out-of-shape werewolves out there? Or little scrappy ones like Hank? I’d rather Hank be the rule than the exception. Too bad for me most wolves looked like they could be semi-pro wrestlers in their downtime.



“I say something about him,” I told the wolf. “And I say if you come a step closer to us, you lose a head. Capice?”



He curled a lip at me but didn’t say anything else and didn’t advance on us.



Desmond probably didn’t love having me jump to defend him when he had gone into this thinking I’d be the one who needed protection, but it was in my nature to be defensive of the people I cared about, and that didn’t change because I wasn’t a monster anymore. If push came to shove—literally—I was going to need him. But I was hoping big talk and posturing could keep us out of that.



“The queen said we couldn’t kill her,” Pony-boy said. “I don’t recall hearing anything forbidding us from hurting her. And there were no rules against killing the other one.”



Pony-boy was pretending not to hear me. This was a tactic I was used to.



“What did your queen say about returning home with all your limbs?” a voice asked from behind the posse. The six men parted, and on the sidewalk behind them was someone I couldn’t have been happier to see if he was carrying six puppies and a credit card with no limit.



Holden looked bored with our present company.



“Who does this chump think he is?” the stupid linebacker asked.



“Use your nose, you idiot,” Hank grumbled, taking a few steps away from Holden. “He’s a vampire.”



“He’s only one vampire.”



“Oh, you’re cute,” Holden said, casually unbuttoning his camel-colored coat. “If you think there needs to be more than one of me to dismantle this…gathering…you must have a very inflated sense of self.”



“Or they’ve never met a two-hundred-year-old vampire,” I added.



Holden and I were both talking out our asses. Six-on-one wasn’t the best odds, even in a vampire vs. werewolf scenario. Had I been myself, with Desmond in the mix, this would have been an easy win for us. As it was, we’d probably still come out on top, but it wasn’t going to be the cakewalk it should have been.



Our warning seemed to be doing some good, because the new additions to the pack appeared less than thrilled to be standing between Holden and Desmond and myself. Good. I wanted to get them nice and uneasy. I was hoping one or two would commit mutiny and run for the hills. I lowered my gun, since all the attention was focused on Holden for the time being and my arm was getting sore.



Pony-boy gave a growl that negated any hopes I’d harbored of seeing the minions flee. All scuttlebutt came to an abrupt halt, and the uneasy shifting from foot to foot ceased entirely. It didn’t matter that my mother was a crazy-faced bitch, she definitely had good taste when it came to the help she enlisted.



“Enough,” he snapped, as if the growl hadn’t been suitable indication of his displeasure. “We came here to do a job and we’re going to damned well do it.”



He received no arguments.



“My mother’s business with me—”



With an expression that spoke to more violence than what he’d already threatened out loud, the wolf stared me down, stopping my words mid-sentence. “I’ve had enough of your mouth too. You’d best listen to your man when he tells you to shut up.”



Beside me, Desmond sighed heavily, aware of the impact Pony-boy’s words would have. Holden, equally familiar with my attitude, snorted and shook his head. “You really are the dumbest son of a bitch on the planet, aren’t you?”



I fought the urge to lift my weapon again. This had the feel of something that was going to take an ugly turn soon, but I didn’t want to be responsible for making it happen any quicker than it would have naturally.



“Did you come here to insult me?” I asked.



“No.”



“And you didn’t come here to kill me, your blockheaded friend made sure I knew that much.”



Pony-boy looked unimpressed. With the threat of my death off the table, the worst they could do was rough me up. Granted, that was going to suck a lot more than usual given the circumstances, but when you stop fearing death, the worst-case scenario usually looks a lot sunnier.



“Death is sometimes a gift.”



“I’m big on re-gifting,” I parried.



“We came to deliver a message,” he said, not batting a lash at what I thought had been a very clever comeback. Ah well, I wasn’t going to dazzle everyone with my humor.



“You needed six guys to bring me a message? Must be a complicated one.”



“No.” Missed my sarcasm again. “It’s quite simple. She wants you to know your time has come to an end.”



He was more right than he could imagine.



“That’s it?”



“Did each one of you need to remember one word?” Holden asked. “Imagine how embarrassing it would have been if you’d mixed up the order. Time to come.”



I rolled my eyes, but in my hand the gun was shaking slightly. If anyone alive would go the distance to kill me, it was my mother. I’d made plenty of enemies in my life, but none had hated me since the moment of my birth. She blamed me for every ounce of her unhappiness, and now I was worried.



If I wasn’t careful, she could do it this time.



I was more afraid of the invisible threat of my mother than I was of the thugs she’d sent to deliver it.



“Noted.”



The three wolves I didn’t know shared uneasy glances, as if wondering if that was it. Hank licked his lips and edged in front of Pony-boy. “There’s one more thing.”



Pony-boy’s face went pale, and he looked as if he was about to say something. He went so far as to take Hank’s arm, but the sinewy redneck werewolf jerked away and with two quick, long-strided steps he ran at me.



My senses weren’t at their normal level, and it took a second for me to recognize that Hank had taken to the air. At first I thought Pony-boy might have a chance to stop him, but Hank was out of his reach and halfway to me before I understood what was actually happening. Desmond wasn’t as slow. He stepped in front of me, blocking Hank’s assault, and threw him onto the ground where he hit the concrete with a meaty smack.



There was a dead-silent pause where everyone stared at the tableau of Desmond standing over Hank, neither man moving, and none of us daring to breathe. Hank had attacked me, but Desmond had created the first real violent act by defending me.



Maybe we could call it a draw?



The linebacker genius behind Pony-boy didn’t seem to think so. He let out a roar and shoved past their fearless leader, his arm cocked back and already mid-swing by the time he’d crossed the distance between his group and Desmond. This time my wolf didn’t see the strike coming, he was so engrossed in the figure at his feet.



The punch cracked Desmond across the cheek with enough force to snap his head to the side, and even with my limited human senses, I could hear the bones grinding. Blood flew from his mouth and painted the sidewalk in red droplets.



My heart seized, throbbing with a fast, panicked rhythm.



So much for peacefully dissolving things.



The fight was on.



Chapter Forty



The first hit took me by complete surprise.



I should have been expecting it. With nine people all surging together and fists flying, the punch was inevitable. When a balled fist smashed into my sternum, though, it didn’t matter that I should have seen it coming, because I didn’t. And when pain exploded over my flesh and rattled my bones, knocking the air out of my lungs and doubling me over, I learned something.