Captive Mate - Eliot Grayson Page 0,24
of his lap and steadying me with a hand around my arm as I nearly fell across the table. “Then let’s go.”
He towed me out of the room just as Ian slammed the door open, frowning and muttering about how short we were on time.
We stepped out of the front door of the pack house a moment later, and I stopped, stunned by the fresh air and the feeling of sunshine on my face. It was the first time I’d been outside since my capture, and I hadn’t realized how heavily the lack of it had been weighing on me.
The sun. Oh, the sun. Stretching out, rolling onto my back and letting my belly grow warm and cozy, the breeze ruffling my fur…but I had these fucking cuffs on, and that was impossible. It was a beautiful day, though, even in my human form. Pine-scented eddies of cool air wafted past my nose, carrying tantalizing hints of running water and rabbits and wildflowers. Springtime was my favorite season, with all the daffodils and soft green grass and baby birds — which I didn’t even eat, thank you very much. I knew that probably made me a secret wuss, but fuck it. It wasn’t like anyone was going to find out about it.
“Can we move it along?” Ian said, sounding exasperated, with an undertone of anxiety I couldn’t help empathizing with. “We have to meet them at the border. If they get past it and into the territory, we can’t hide the fact that we had a battle here a few nights ago and how badly prepared we are for another one. They’ll know how fucking weak we are in two seconds.”
I didn’t see a waiting car, so I wasn’t sure how we were going to get there in time anyway — but then I jumped as a weird black vertical slash in the air appeared out of nowhere and widened quickly into a rectangle. The black-clad mage who’d helped capture me stepped out of it, as I watched in gaping shock.
I’d never seen magic like that. What the fuck was he? I couldn’t tell by his scent — and then it hit me. He didn’t have one. I could see him, and I knew I could hear him if he spoke, but if I’d been blindfolded and he’d remained silent I’d never have known he was there.
“Nate’s already at the meeting point,” the mage said. Dor, they’d called him? “If you would, gentlemen.” He stood to the side and gestured at the opening, which looked like it led to some kind of depthless void. Light didn’t enter it or escape it.
Matthew tugged me along, and I dragged my feet without even meaning to.
But a second later we were there, and Matthew wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me through willy-nilly. With the manacles on, it didn’t feel like anything at all, but I wondered if I’d have had a different experience with my magical senses.
In a split second we emerged on the other side, and I was shaking my head, disoriented, as we stepped into a grove of redwoods by the side of the dirt and gravel access road into the Armitage territory. The small two-lane highway the road branched off of was barely visible a hundred yards or so away, the asphalt showing dully through the tree branches. Ian stepped out behind us, followed by Dor, and the opening vanished.
Ian moved to join Nate as if drawn on a string, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling his hair like they’d been separated for days instead of a few minutes. A few feet closer to the road, Jennifer and Paul stood in a small circle with another middle-aged were, probably another councilor, talking quietly enough that I couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were flanked by a pair of big, tall, dangerous-looking guys in leather jackets who looked like they based their fashion sense on trying to copy Ian. Idiots. I dismissed them instantly, as I knew Parker would. If Parker had come looking for serious trouble, they wouldn’t be any use. And if he hadn’t, it wasn’t like they’d impress him much. Parker’s pack was heavy on muscle.
There was one more person there: the vampire, Charlie Fenwick. He’d been in the fight the other night, and Adam, the Kimball shaman, had shown me his picture before that so I’d know who he was. It was hard to believe he wielded any real power