Requiem for the Dead

Chapter Six

Some serious discomfort in my left arm helped wake me up from total blackness. I blinked a cement block wall into focus. The ground beneath me was hard and cold. I wiggled my left arm, which was bent beneath my body and numb from the pressure. My head hurt from the concussion blast and I tasted blood in my mouth.

"Evy?"

Marcus's voice somewhere nearby. It echoed, though, hinting at close quarters. I grunted in response. Got my arm out from beneath me, then tried to sit up. Something heavy weighed against my neck—a metal collar of some kind. A collar attached to a length of chain. The chain was threaded up to the ceiling, connected to some sort of pulley, and it went out the front of my cage.

Shit. I knew exactly where I was. I'd been here before.

Five-by-eight jail cell. Iron bars in front of me and to my left. Four cells, and I was in the last one. I'd been jailed here once before, months ago, by a bunch of idiot teenage Halfies working for Tovin the Crazy Elf.

I yanked at the thick metal collar and couldn't get it off. Reached for the Break, intent on teleporting my ass out of that cell—only the Break wasn't there. Just like the first time, something was blocking its magic from me. "Fuck," I said. To compound the badness of the situation, I'd been stripped out of my damned clothes. Right down to my bra and panties.

And I wasn't the only one half-naked. In the cell next to mine, Baylor lay unconscious, modesty protected only by his boxer-briefs. Marcus was next to him, already on his feet and prowling his cage. Unlike Baylor, he was totally naked—he'd told me once clothes made shifting take longer, so he wore as few layers as necessary, which meant commando. The skin beneath his collar was bright red.

Silver. Damn.

In the far cage, the same one where I'd watched my friend Alex die only to come back as an infected half-Blood, lay Milo, also skinned down to his boxers. He was starting to wake up, though, and Marcus squatted close to the bars on his side.

"Milo?" Marcus said. "Milo, wake up."

"Working on it," came the pained reply.

Baylor grunted and twitched, and soon all four of us were awake.

Four of us. "Where's Wyatt?" I asked.

Marcus lifted his face and sniffed. "Truman hasn't been down here." His lips curled back into a snarl. "Bengals."

"Seriously?" Milo asked. "The Bengals kidnapped us? Why?"

"We will assuredly find out."

"Evy," Baylor said. "Can you teleport?"

"No, I'm being blocked." The first time I'd been here, a magically infused orange crystal had been blocking my access to the Break. I didn't see another crystal, but that didn't mean it wasn't there somewhere. And how the hell had a Bengal gotten his paws on one, anyhow?

Our clothes lay in a heap near the basement door—a door that wouldn't open to anything good. Strange to think that I'd been here before, and I still had no idea where "here" was. Wyatt and I had gotten out the first time thanks to Smedge. And Smedge wouldn't be coming to the rescue today. I had no idea if Wyatt was still alive, and my heart ached with the uncertainty.

We didn't have to wait long for answers to our burning questions. Marcus began growling seconds before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man with dark auburn hair walked in. His shining copper eyes gave him away as Felia. Marcus snarled louder. The stranger ignored him and stepped over to a pulley system with several levers—our chains and collars.

Not good.

He flipped a switch and turned a crank. Instantly, the tension in my chain tightened as the slack was pulled upward into the pulley. The chain went taut, the stiff collar pressing against my throat, tight enough to pull me nearly to my tiptoes. He stopped and locked the chain in, leaving me with nowhere to go. My hands and feet were still free—thank God—but I was one solid yank from being choked to death.

The man went down the row until all four of us were strung up in a similar way, never saying a single word.

Marcus broke the silence first. "What do you want, Vale?" he asked.

The fact that Marcus knew the bad guy surprised me more than it should have. There weren't that many Felia in the city, and being part of the ruling family meant Marcus probably knew most of them. Still, everything about this felt personal, and that made me very, very nervous.

"I have a simple request, Marcus," Vale replied. "I want the security codes to the Dane mansion."

Marcus made a noise that was part-laugh and part-snort. "You know that will never happen."

"Never say never."

This wasn't going to end well. The Dane mansion was a small fortress, and it housed not only Marcus's family, but also the last members of the Coni Clan. Marcus would never betray the people there like this, no matter what Vale dealt out.

"So this is how your family will see Riley defeated?" Marcus asked with a disgusted snarl. "You fear a fair fight just as your brother did, so you'll sneak up from behind and stab him in the back?"

"Actually, I was planning to stab him in the face."

The coldness in Vale's voice gave me chills. Not simply because of the lack of emotion as he spoke of murder, but that he'd said it in front of all of us. We were dead in his eyes, no matter what. Please, Wyatt, please be alive.

"You're a fool, Vale, as is your entire family," Marcus said.

I wanted to tell him to shut up and not antagonize the bad guy, only he was doing exactly what I usually did. Bluster and bray in order to buy time for help to arrive. Only we hadn't managed to call anyone in time. No one at the Watchtower knew where we were. They might not even realize we were missing.

"We'll see who's the fool," Vale replied.

He snapped his fingers, and a second Felia came inside. He was shorter than Vale, but had the same auburn hair and muscular build. The Goon walked to my cell, unlocked the door with a set of keys, then pushed the door to the side with a metallic clank. My stomach tightened. Every instinct in my body screamed.

Goon got close enough. I grabbed the chain over my head with both hands, held tight, and kicked out hard with my feet. My heels slammed into Goon's mouth and snapped his head back. He yelped and stumbled right out of the cell until he hit the far wall. Blood dripped from his split lip. His copper eyes flashed with fury.

Vale chuckled. "I see she lives up to her reputation."

"Take the collar off and you'll see what I can do, Fuzz Face," I snapped. I'd been sparring with Marcus for weeks just for the practice, and I had no doubts I could deliver a solid beat-down to Vale's ass. Especially with so much extra motivation hanging by their necks.

Vale came to my cell door, but stayed out of reach of my kicks. His nose wrinkled. I really hated it when Therians—Felia, Cania, or otherwise—sniffed me. It made me want to apologize for having not showered recently, even if I had. Athough in this case, I hadn't.

"You reek of the half-breed," Vale said with obvious disgust in his voice. "What sort of person would lie down with an animal like that?"

"You got a wife I can ask the same question to?"

His eyes narrowed. "This one belongs to another. His smell is all over her. She won't be useful."

Crap. Yes, I'd seen my fair share of torture recently, but of the four of us here, I was the fastest healer. I needed to keep this asshole's attention on me as long as possible. "Where's Wyatt?"

"Who?"

"The half-breed, where is he?"

Malice pulled the corners of Vale's mouth into a twisted smile. "Don't concern yourself with him any longer, woman. Enjoy your final few hours alive."

"Like I haven't heard that before."

Vale's gaze wandered from me up to the chain keeping me dangling from the ceiling. "Suffocation is a slow, painful way to die."

My guts twisted. "I've been tortured before."

"Indeed."

Vale and Goon left my cage door open—which didn't help me any, because I couldn't get out of that damned collar—and walked down the row. Past Baylor—whose intimidation face was on full-force and looked as easy to persuade as a brick wall—and past Marcus, who looked pissed enough to pop a few blood vessels. Vale opened Milo's cell door and took a single step inside.

Shit.

I had to angle a bit to see them through the bars and the two bodies in my line of sight. Milo seemed relaxed, but I'd seen him fight. I knew his poker face and how quickly he reacted to threats.

"How about you, boy?" Vale asked. "Have you been tortured before?"

Milo didn't answer. Didn't seem to react at all, and I wanted to know what he was thinking. He'd been beaten as a child, and he'd been wounded as a Triad Hunter. But torture was another animal altogether, something not really understood until it was experienced. Milo had suffered so much these last two months already.

"I'm the only one with the information you want," Marcus said.

"You're right," Vale replied. "But you know as I do that some things hurt much more than physical pain. And this human smells like you, Marcus. Why is that, I wonder?"

Milo's shoulders flexed. Marcus moved toward the bars, only to be jerked back by the collar around his neck.

Good God, that must have been some kiss, if Vale still smelled it.

Vale snapped his fingers. Goon turned the crank, and the chain yanked Milo right off his feet by the neck. Milo gasped and grabbed the chain with both hands. The collar lifted from behind, putting the curve of metal directly over his windpipe. Vale lunged forward and punched Milo in his unprotected midsection—the perfect blow to make his lungs seize up and knock the wind out. Milo's face flushed bright red. He coughed and sputtered and couldn't seem to keep his grip on the chain.

Marcus roared—a terrible sound more animal than man. I wanted to scream and yell, too, to make them stop hurting my friend. To make them hurt me instead. I'd heal. I always did. Milo didn't have my healing powers, and I'd already lost so many friends.

All I could was watch, and somehow that hurt more than any physical blows that Vale could have landed.

The moment seemed to last for hours, though in truth was probably only a minute or two. But when you can't breathe—when you're watching a friend who can't breathe and you can't do anything to help—even a minute is an excruciating eternity. Vale finally gestured at Goon, who released the slack on Milo's chain. Milo hit the floor hard and rolled onto his side, away from us, coughing and gasping.

Vale stepped out and closed the cell door. "Think about it a while, Marcus," he said. "You're quite alone here, and I can make his death last for days."

"I will kill you with my bare hands, Vale," Marcus said in a voice so deadly it sent chills down my spine.

"Who's the one in a cage, Jaguar?"

Vale and his goon exited without loosening our chains, leaving Marcus, Baylor and I no choice but to stand there.

"Milo?" I said.

His reply was a fierce grunt. He raised his right hand and gave a thumbs-up, but didn't turn to face us. He just laid there, panting.

"I'm so sorry," Marcus said. His voice was a whisper, but sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the prison. I'd never heard him so unsure of himself.

"Not your fault," Milo rasped out. He rolled onto his back, then sat up. His face was still red and he looked like he wanted to vomit. "I know you won't tell them anything. You can't."

"He'll kill you."

"Maybe." Something sad passed across Milo's face. Sad and determined. "But the future of your people is more important than me. More important than any of us."

Marcus's hands clenched into fists. He looked like he wanted to disagree. He didn't, though, because Milo was right.

"Can you tell how many Felia are in the building?" Baylor asked. Leave it to Cerberus to get us back on point.

"I can detect three distinct scents, including Vale and Peck." Peck must equal Goon. "Both have been in contact with Truman recently too, because I caught his scent on them."

Which really meant nothing—they could have killed Wyatt as easily as locked him up somewhere in the building.

"Anything useful about our location?" Baylor asked.

"Not much," Marcus said. "No traffic sounds, so we aren't near a highway. There are odors of rot and disuse, but nothing distinctive."

"This is some kind of lockup area," I said. "Wyatt and I were held here once before."

"You were?"

I explained it for Marcus's benefit, as much as Milo and Baylor, who had some idea of this part of my past. I'd been on the run from the Triads at the time, during what seemed like a different life altogether. "Are there any old jails or precincts that this could be?" I asked Baylor.

"Several, actually," he replied. "Depends on what part of town we're in. I'm surprised you never went looking for this place."

"It never seemed important, what with everything else going on." Vale's earlier animosity toward Marcus came back. "Marcus, why does Vale hate you so much? It seemed more personal than Riley."

Marcus growled, low and deep. "It is personal. Prentiss? The Bengal who kidnapped Keenan?"

"And was executed by the Assembly. Yeah, I remember him."

"Prentiss was Vale's brother."

Fantastic. A whole family full of crazy, treasonous tigers.

"So this is revenge?" Baylor asked.

"In all likelihood. Vale's personal revenge is tangled up with his fanatical need to unseat my family from our position of power within the Pride."

"That's comforting." Even Baylor could be sarcastic once in a while.

"Sooner or later, our absences will be noticed. Our friends will search for us."

"Who else knew about the message under the bridge?" I asked.

"Gina and Astrid knew," Baylor replied. "But Vale isn't completely stupid. He won't leave any clues behind, and scents are difficult to detect there with the river and highway so close."

"But they'll start looking."

"For five people in a city of half a million?"

I didn't answer. I had to stay optimistic about our chances of escaping alive, and Marcus beating down each argument wasn't going to help. Let him be Mr. Negativity. I had to find Wyatt and make sure he was okay. I had to know what Vale did with the elf scroll and the medicine pouch. Most importantly, I had to get that cure to the vampires as soon as possible. None of that could be accomplished while dead.

Somehow we all had to stay alive.

With no way to measure the passage of time, I could only guess at how many hours I stood at the end of my taut chain while Milo was tortured. I couldn't do anything but remain present—checking out or turning away felt like abandoning him. I wouldn't do it. Baylor and Marcus didn't either, even though the silver collar around his neck was making Marcus feverish and unsteady.

The first time Vale and Peck came back, they cuffed Milo's hands behind his back and then choked him unconscious. Before they left, Vale asked Marcus for the security codes. Marcus told him to fuck off. Not long after Milo woke up, they were back with a wooden cane.

Each sharp thwack of the wood against the backs of Milo's legs echoed in my brain like shrill whistles—harsh and painful. Stretched by his neck onto his tiptoes, Milo couldn't avoid the blows. Couldn't do anything except take them until his legs gave out. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I cried silently for his agony—agony I knew too well and desperately wanted to take away from him.

"Your family is so smug," Vale said during his fourth go at Milo. "The Danes think themselves kings of the Felia when you're anything but."

"We've always been fair," Marcus replied. "You came at us first when you kidnapped Keenan."

"Perhaps, but you drew first blood the day you killed my brother."

"He was judged by the Assembly and executed according to our laws."

"You turned him over. You and Astrid and that human fool. You're all responsible."

The name Prentiss rang in my head from last night's conversation in the cafeteria. This wasn't only about leading the Pride. This was personal for Vale, which meant he was being ruled by his emotions. Emotional people made mistakes.

Milo's chain had been loosened enough to allow him to kneel. His back, legs and arms were a mosaic of welts and blossoming bruises, with the occasional stripe of drying blood. Sweat trickled down his face and chest. He didn't seem quite aware of what was happening, as if he'd gone deep inside of his own head where the pain couldn't touch him.

Rage for his agony and hatred for Vale built up in me like a shaken soda bottle, the pressure too damned much. Desperate to explode somewhere. To make someone pay for Milo's suffering. And for Marcus's suffering as he watched someone he obviously cared for tortured because of those feelings. Even the normally cool-under-all-kinds-of-pressure Baylor was getting twitchy as one hour turned into two, and then more.

Vale stopped for a while to take a phone call. Peck followed him out. The only sound in the prison was Milo's ragged, shallow breathing. His entire body was shaking. I tugged at the chain around my own neck, desperate to get loose and help him. I sought the Break and couldn't find it. I couldn't do anything, and I did not wear helpless well.

"Talk to me," Milo said in a broken voice. "Anyone, please, just something." He hadn't cried out once during the beatings, but he was close to the shattering point. It was in his voice, his shivering body, the harshness of his breathing.

"The obstacle course is coming along well," Baylor said, his voice clear and steady. "Gina's brilliant when it comes to physical training."

"Army Rangers," Milo said.

"Yes, because she was a Ranger. Construction will take a little time, but the plans are fantastic. Better than what we had at Boot Camp."

Milo made a snorting sound. "Anything's better than Boot Camp."

"That is the fucking truth," I said. "But it had some good ideas, and Gina will help design a fantastic obstacle course for training. It'll keep all of our asses in fighting shape, especially yours, Gant."

"Don't think I'll be running it for a while."

"Bullshit. You'll be the first to show me up, and you know it."

He angled his head sideways and gave me what seemed like a grateful smile. Distance made it hard to know for sure. "Can't do this much longer," he whispered.

Fresh tears stung my eyes and closed my throat, making words impossible.

"You'll do this as long as you have to," Marcus said. "Until we get out of this. But you must be awake and aware when we do. Please, Milo."

"I'm trying."

The door swung open. Peck waited there while Vale came into the room again. Sauntered was probably a better word and it made me hate him even more.

"Word on the street is the Watch has sent out several of their little squads to look for you," Vale said. "This is, as you can imagine, excellent news."

"How's that?" Baylor asked.

"Because it gives my people more moving targets. We can't touch you when you're holed up in your Watchtower. In the city, you're vulnerable. You idiots proved that this morning."

"More targets also means more eyes looking for us."

"They won't find you here. Although I may plant a few breadcrumbs. I'd love a chance for a go at the human traitor Tybalt. It's certainly a shame he wasn't with you today, Marcus. Maybe your little toy wouldn't be taking the brunt of my attention."

"Leave Tybalt alone," Milo said. He had a strength in his voice that surprised me and shouldn't have—Tybalt and Milo were as close as any blood-related brothers.

Vale laughed and walked over to the chain levers. "You, boy, won't be around to see me kill your friend. But I promise you I will kill him for his betrayal. You can take that promise to your grave." Vale turned the lever.

The chain yanked Milo to his feet. He cried out as he was lifted up to the tips of his toes. Then Vale lifted him a fraction higher, until he could no longer touch the ground. Milo didn't kick, didn't scream. He just…dangled there.

"You're going to kill him!" I screamed. I couldn't help it. The building wave of hatred was rising up and right out of my mouth. "You fucking asshole, let him down!"

"No," Vale said.

"Marcus won't tell you anything. It's pointless."

"Hardly. I find it entertaining to see the unflappable, badass Marcus Dane coming undone over the death of a scrawny human male."

Marcus snarled. He had murder in his fevered eyes.

Vale stepped into my open cell door. He made a point of looking me over, which made me want to gouge his eyeballs out with my thumbs.

"Like I said, take off the collar and let's go at it, Fuzz Face," I said.

"I'm tired of you," Vale said. "And let's face it, you have a habit of not dying when you're supposed to." He reached beneath his un-tucked shirt and produced a handgun, which he pointed right at me. Finger on the trigger, safety off.

I stood up straighter, stomach tightening. I could survive a lot of things, but not a point blank bullet to the head Stall. Stall. Stall. "The goblins, Halfies and Fey are your enemies, Vale, not the humans. And certainly not your own Pride members."

"Pride politics are not your business, human."

"They are when my friends are involved."

"Those so-called friends have divided loyalties. They made their choices."

"We've all made our choices, and I have some pretty well-placed friends. Not just Therians, but vampires and gremlins and a few other species." Maybe I was stretching it with the gremlin thing, but Vale didn't know any differently. "You kill me and you'll be making the Pride some serious fucking enemies. You gonna take on that responsibility, Alpha?"

Vale hesitated. He stared at me, his expression neutral, long enough to freak me out a little bit. Milo was slowly strangling to death, and I was having a stare-down with a pissed-off Bengal. Finally, Vale blinked. He tucked his gun away, then stepped over to our pile of clothes. Selected a blue shirt—Baylor's, I thought, but I honestly hadn't been paying attention to what anyone was wearing earlier—and then reached for the pulley controls. My collar lifted me just past my tiptoes, then right off the ground. My throat constricted. I grabbed the chain and held on tight before it choked me.

Baylor said something I didn't catch, then something was touching my belly. I kicked out instinctively, but Vale was already out of reach. What the hell had he done? Rubbed Baylor's shirt on me?

"You're right, I think," Vale said. "There's no sense in me killing you when someone else can do it for me."

With my arms above my head and my whole body stretched out, breathing became a minor challenge. Pain was also an issue, in both my shoulders and hands. Vale stood outside my cell door, waiting. I figured out what he was waiting for when Peck came through the prison door, dragging something with him on one of those poles that animal catchers used on wild creatures.

My heart nearly stopped when I saw Wyatt on the other end of that pole. His face was half-shifted—jaw elongated, cheekbones broken, black fur sprouting all along his throat. His eyes were pure silver, his teeth sporting a pair of wicked fangs. I'd seen this face only twice before, and it scared the hell out of me both times. He was also shirtless, his torso and face bruised, showing evidence of his own abuse at Vale's hands.

Wyatt snarled at Marcus when Peck pushed him closer to the bars. Marcus hissed right back.

"Bring him here," Vale said.

Peck changed his angle, putting Wyatt between him and Vale. I knew Wyatt, could see the fear and confusion in his eyes. Saw how hard he was battling the wolf and trying to keep it together. They'd done this to him, forced the wolf out.

Putting Baylor's scent on me made chillingly perfect sense.

"I told you, half-breed, that she would break your trust," Vale said, as though he and Wyatt had been in the middle of a conversation. "I can smell the human male on her. He tried to rid her of your mark."

Wyatt bared his teeth at Vale, then took a step toward my cage. Peck stepped in first, keeping a distance from me by putting his back to the cement block wall. He stopped with Wyatt right in front of me, close enough to touch.

Vale stayed nearby. "You can smell him on your mate," he said.

"Wyatt, you know better," I said. Talking wasn't easy hanging like this. "I love you."

"How could the unfaithful bitch love a half-breed like you? You're a monster. Embrace your beast."

Wyatt's eyes flashed with pure fury, and for an instant, I thought he was lost to me. Lost to the animal that was a part of him. Lost to jealousy and rage. He raised his right hand, fingers longer, the nails hooked into black claws. One swipe and I'd be dead. For good.

Shit.