Page 66 of Cold Moon

I swallowed hard, but nodded.

His smile was tiny and cold, and he reached up with his free hand to brush my cheek. “Good boy.”

It was all I could do not to be sick.

He waved the gun in the direction of the door, a clear order to go out, but... well, come on. I might be naive, but no one is that naive. If I went with him, quiet and meek like he wanted, my body would be found in a ditch three weeks later.

So instead I went limp, dropping to the floor. I tried to roll away, but his foot came down in my way. I got my hands under myself, took a deep breath to scream bloody murder, because let’s be honest, if you have to get shot, you might as well do it in a hospital—but then, there was a sharp crack, a blinding pain in my head, and everything went dark.

* * *

I woke in a dark room,on a strange bed. It smelled like dust and, I dunno, death? Mothballs? It wasn’t something I’d smelled before, but it was stagnant and ugly and oppressive.

The duvet under me was rough and heavy—the fabric felt almost more like a tapestry than a blanket. When I moved my hands, the scent of dust increased, and I almost sneezed.

There was a little light, coming from a door opposite the bed, but between me and it was the old man. Pacing. Gun still in hand.

“You shouldn’t have made me do that, Emile. You always make me do these things.” He turned to me, pointing the gun in my direction. “Why won’t you be good? I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. Aren’t you all supposed to be docile and meek?”

Somehow, it seemed like a bad idea, pointing out to him that I had no idea who he was. What he wanted. That I didn’t know Emile, and definitely wasn’t him. And that sure, maybe I was a stereotypical omega in a lot of ways, but no one was going to make me be meek and docile, least of all by insisting I should be.

So for once, I took my mother’s advice. I had nothing nice to say, so I kept my mouth shut.

“I’m not going to let you mutts ruin me,” he told me, and I couldn’t see the expression on his face since the light was behind him, but it was easy enough to imagine the nasty sneer. People who called werewolves “mutts” were always sneering. “The whole valley is like a fortress, that’s what my men said. Discovered before they’d been there twelve hours, chased off by some dog.”

A fortress? Grovetown? I thought we were well protected, sure, but I’d hardly call the valley a fortress. We were a center for tourism, for goodness’ sake. “Look, mister—if you want to talk to the pack, you should talk to Alpha Grove, not me. I can’t ruin anyone. I don’t really have that kind of power.”

He didn’t even acknowledge that I’d spoken by looking up at me, just turned and continued to pace and mutter. “Is he the one you left me for? The big blond one? It doesn’t matter. He’ll have to find a different bitch.”

All mystery aside, that was when I saw red. Where the hell did this racist old bastard get off, calling me names?

I sat up on the bed, opening my mouth the give the asshole a piece of my mind—sure, yes, and probably get shot—when somewhere nearby, a door slammed open and then shut.

“Grandfather? I have to talk to you.” Footsteps echoed through the building, giving me the impression that it was huge. We were upstairs from where the other person had come in, I was sure, and in a small bedroom. But the sounds echoed much farther than just to a door and back.

The old man slunk over to the bedroom door, pulling it mostly shut. The crack of light from it fell on his face as he half turned to shoot me a venomous glare. I supposed he wanted me to keep quiet again.

Forget that.

Before I had a chance to screech at the top of my lungs, the door was yanked back open from the other side. “Grandfather? I went back to Grovetown and talked to the boy doing their tests. They’ve outfitted a real lab, and—What the hell? Who are you?”

The guy who stepped in was a redhead, but that was about all I could tell with him backlit.

“Skye,” I rasped, as I deliberately turned to look at where the old man stood with his gun.

The man followed my gaze, mouth falling open in shock when he found my kidnapper. Wait, was it kidnapping when I wasn’t a kid? Adultnapping? Was that a thing?

“Grandfather, what the hell is going on? Who is he? Why are you—Why do you have agun?” He stressed the last, as though that was the most shocking part, and not, oh, the unwilling man being held prisoner.

“I don’t know who you people are, but your grandfather is crazy. He kidnapped me from the hospital.”

The nose of the gun flew up, once again pointed in my direction, albeit at the end of a trembling arm. “Quiet!” the old man snapped. “You be quiet. You had your chance to talk, and you said the wrong things.”

The redhead flipped a light switch, leaving the old man and I blinking at the brightness for a moment. “Grandfather—”

“Go home, Archer,” the old man said, casual as you please. Like his grandson finding him holding a gun on someone was nothing. “I have to handle this. The little whore is trying to ruin me. I should have known he would. Never wanted to stay, oh no, but he’d come back to ruin me, wouldn’t he?”

And that, well... that was it. I’d kept my mouth shut long enough, but I wasn’t going to sit there and be berated for crimes I hadn’t committed. Not that I suspected the person he was talking about—Emile, maybe?—had done anything wrong either.

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