He didn’t want to play the “who came first” game. He’d loved Benie longer, and he wanted to believe he loved her more. Ian shook the petty thoughts from his mind. The important thing healing Trace. When Ian had seen him crumpled on the ground, a disheveled figure of a man, Ian had felt a rage like never before. It had taken every functioning brain cell in his head to keep himself from going full-out wolf and tracking down the man who’d harmed his pack mate.

  Eustan arrived with Trace a few minutes later. Ian helped the dragon shifter put Trace on the bed. Calder was covered in bruises, gaping wounds, blood, and filth. His naked body curled in until he lay in the fetal position. His black hair was clumped and greasy. Why hadn’t he shifted? The change would ease his pain and help his torn muscles and tendons to mend. There was something wrong with Trace.

  “Calder.” He lightly tapped Trace on the back, wincing when the normally strong man flinched at his touch. “You need to turn. You need to heal.”

  “Can’t,” Trace muttered. “…did something to me. Can’t take my wolf form.”

  They’d done something to him? What could they have done that would screw with Trace’s own nature? The man had endured terrific and terrible pain, both physical and psychological, and was never allowed any relief. Ian’s desire to rip out someone’s throat brought his wolf closer to the surface. He liked the new entity he shared head space with. The wolf was instinct, not logic, and sometimes Ian really wanted to act and not think. But to help Trace, thinking was required. He pushed back the wolf, suppressed the rage he had toward Garrick and anyone involved in his pack mate’s torture. He would get some of Trace’s blood, analyze it, find out why he couldn’t shift, and by God, he would fix him.

  Ian moved closer to the broken man and was hit with the smell of feces and urine. “I’m going to help you, Trace. I’m going to figure out what they did to you, and I’m going to make it right. I promise. Then we’ll track this fucker down and take him out.”

  Trace responded with a low groan of pain, and once again, Ian had to fight his wolf back. When he exited the bedroom, intent on getting a blood draw kit from his lab, the dark-haired woman stepped in front of him.

  “Is he okay?”

  Ian blinked, his lip curling into a snarl. “Get out of my way.”

  She held up her hands. “I’m just…worried.”

  Ian pushed past her. He didn’t have time for this stranger. Didn’t have time for her fears. Benie mattered. Trace mattered because he mattered to Benie. The woman, she didn’t matter. Halfway down the stair he heard the front door open. Benie was back, and Ian grabbed the kit and rushed back to the living room.

  Benie stared at him, her red hair wild and in tangles, and her face pale and lined with worry. She had a tan blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and Ian wondered where she’d picked it up. One of the triplets, he supposed.

  “I’ll just go,” Shade said, backing toward the door.

  Benie turned her glare on the leather clad, gun-toting woman. “You stay,” she said to her. Then she pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders and looked at Ian. “Where’s Trace?”

  *

  “Hello,” Benie said.

  Trace’s soft moan startled her. He was a shapeshifter. An other worlder with unique abilities to survive much worse than this. She gulped the thick knot in her throat and looked for answers in the one person she could always count on. She turned her gaze to her best and oldest friend. “Why isn’t he healing?”

  “He can’t shift,” Ian said. “I’m going to figure out why.” He stepped forward, opening up a white tub. Inside he had a rubber arm band, a tube with a red cap, a tube with a purple cap, and a butterfly needle. Benie was familiar with the equipment. Ian had used the same kind of kits to draw her blood in the past.

  Benie walked to the far side of the bed—the side Trace’s face was turned. She tried again. “Hello.”

  He cast her a quick glance, but just as quickly, he looked away.

  She reached out. His head jerked up and away from her. Alarmed, Benie scrambled backward and fell on her ass. His normally soft brown eyes were golden—the color of pale ale. Under the bruises, the blood, the filth, was a man she loved, but she barely recognized him.

  Destan knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Can I help?”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Her nosed stuffed up as tears prickled the corners of her eyes.

  The dark beauty, Shade, peeked her head in behind Destan’s. “I’ve run Trace a bath, if these guys want to carry him in. He needs to be cleaned so his damage can be assessed.” Her words were clinical, dispassionate. And in a way, the coldness made Benie feel better.

  She nodded her head. “Yes.”

  She went ahead into the bathroom, stretching her hand to the tub. Steam rose from the white porcelain, so she added cold, testing it on her forearm. Just the right amount of warmth.

  When Ian walked in cradling Trace in his arms with such tender care, Benie wanted to weep. “Can you set him in the tub?”

  He answered by laying Trace gently in the water. Trace’s soft moan of pain gutted Benie. She took his hand. He felt real and solid. Without looking away, she reached for a bar of soap and worked it into a creamy lather. She took the cloth Ian handed her and began to wash Trace in light, smooth strokes.

  “Don’t,” the broken man whispered.

  Benie let the blanket fall off her shoulders. “It’s okay.” She kept her voice steady, soothing. She took his hand again and with the other kept washing him, careful to not press too hard over the deep wounds in his joints.

  At one point, Benie gently pushed him forward with Ian’s help, careful to protect his head as she washed his back. Her Trace, her beautiful, magnificent man. Garrick had tried to destroy him, and for that, she would return the favor. As the dirt and blood washed away, she began to see him again, the strong warrior she fell in love with. The man her body and her marks had chosen as worthy. He’d survived the torture, never once giving her up. He was more than worthy. A swell of emotion forced her to her feet. She positioned herself behind Trace and sat down in the few inches of water. She straddled him then eased his head to her chest, and stroked his hair.

  Ian took the detachable shower down, turned on the water, but not so much that it shot out in a hard spray, and kept his hand under the shower head until the temperature was warm without being hot. Benie swelled with love for Ian. Her friend who had always been there for her, and even now, he was doing everything he could to make her happy. She tried to convey her gratitude with a look, and Ian’s gentle smile told her he understood.

  He unplugged the tub to let the water drain. Carefully, he held the shower head inches from Benie and Trace’s bodies to rinse them off. Benie stroked Trace’s arms, whispered comforts and reassurances. She tried to love him through the pain—grateful she didn’t have to do it alone—as the warm water washed the dirt and grime down the drain.

  When they’d finished caring for him, Max, the mute brother, waited in the hall to help. They dried Trace with a large, white towel and took him back to the bedroom. A new, multi-colored bed spread draped across the bed. The stand on the right had 4X4 gauze pads, a bottle of betadine, sterile saline, rolled gauze, tape, and scissors.

  Max inclined his head toward the medical supplies. Benie nodded, and the young man went to work on tending to her lover’s wounds.

  “You’re safe,” she whispered, crawling in to bed next to Trace, careful not to get in Max’s way. “You’re safe now.” But even as she said the words, she found it hard to convince herself they were true. Until Garrick was dead, none of them would ever be safe again. “Ian.” Her gaze fell on her other lover. “We can’t lose him.”

  He nodded, his blue eyes almost black in the dim light. “We won’t.”

  Chapter 14

  Hot shame filled Shade. She had once been married to Trace Calder. She had once loved him, even if it hadn’t been an enduring passion. She’d been young, dumb, and full of cum, as the saying went. Only later did she realize she wasn’t relationship material. She’d left him, and at the time, and still now, believed it had been the best gift she could have given the man.

  She worried his condition was because she’d told Keane about Trace’s involvement with this young woman Benie. Keane had been a trusted friend. He’d helped Shade to find a different path when she wanted to leave Trace. He understood she would bring their friend nothing but misery. She couldn’t seem to love anyone. Not completely. Trace had deserved better. Still, if her revealing Trace’s relationship to the woman was responsible for his torture, she would put Keane down, old friend or not.

  Why did Garrick want this Benie chick dead? What was it about the girl that had the king of the Caledon so freaked out? And why should Shade care? All good questions. She planned to get answers before she left the safe house to begin her hunt for Caledon.

  *

  Garrick Mauldin, reigning king of Caledon, and a person whom he considered beneficent in his rule, stayed in mist form until the polandrial poison could no longer affect him physically. The venom, even without a body, burned. His daughter had been stronger than he imagined. Her power growing beyond that of her mother. Marta had been born with a chameleon-like ability, but Benie had become more somehow. He’d felt the power of the Triune pulse through her when they’d grappled. He missed how comforting the marks could be during stressful times.

  In a way, the girl’s strength had made him proud. He’d been a part of creating such a unique and dominant creature. Maybe he’d been wrong in wanting the child dead as well as his wife and first husband. He could have molded and shaped her as a weapon in his rule.

  Garrick shook his head. No. If anyone had discovered she still lived, they would have backed her against him. It was the very same reason she had to die, but maybe not as soon as he’d planned. Calder bore the mark of the Triune on his shoulder, the same as Garrick had all those years ago. It meant for a certainty the girl was pregnant with an heir to the throne. If her child held even a fraction of her power, she could strengthen Garrick’s rule and make him untouchable. He just needed to figure a way to separate his daughter from the two would-be fathers.

  *

  The pain ate at Trace. Every cell in his body screamed, and instead of getting better, the agony seemed to be getting worse. Keane injected him every day before the torture began, but Trace hadn’t been familiar with the serum or the technique. He’d never been on that end of the wardens. He hadn’t been responsible for intel gathering, so torture techniques had not been a part of his training.

  He burned as if acid flowed through his veins.

  “You’re awake,” a soft voice said, barely a whisper.

  Trace blinked, unable to enhance his vision. He couldn’t even change his eyes. However, he did recognize the woman. “Semina.”

  She was crouched next to the bed, her long hair pulled back tight and out of the way. “It’s just Shade now.”

  Trace nodded his understanding. It had been six years since he’d last seen her. He’d married her when he was nineteen, and she’d excited him like no other woman. But after a couple of years together, the shine had worn off for both of them. He’d told her he wanted to quit the wardens, that he’d had his fill of killing. It hadn’t been the direction she wanted to take her life. So when she’d told him she was leaving him, Trace hadn’t been surprised.

  When he attempted to move, the pain in his joints made it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

  Why are you here? he projected into her mind. It was a relief when she opened her thoughts to him. Semina, now Shade, wasn’t a telepath like Trace, but she was an empath. She could sense feelings in people, which made her a very good hunter, investigator, and assassin. It had also been why they’d been paired together.

  Who is this woman? Shade asked. “Who is she to Garrick, and why does he want her dead?”

  You don’t know?

  Would I be asking?

  She is…Before he finished, he felt Benie sit up behind him.

  “I’m his daughter.”

  Shade seemed genuinely startled. “He doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “Yes, he does,” Benie said. “And he’s trying his best to remedy the situation.”

  Trace leaned his head back into Benie’s hand as she wound her fingers in his hair. The light touch relieved his aches and warmed him. He watched as Shade studied them both. “Then you are the rightful queen. I will serve you. If you’ll have me.” She was talking to Benie, not Trace.

  Benie ran her hand lightly down Trace’s arm—a small act of possession. It made him feel stronger.

  “Okay,” Benie finally said. “Now, get the hell out of our bedroom.”

  After Shade left, Benie asked, “Do you love her?”

  “No,” Trace said, surprised by the question.

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, once.” When Benie didn’t respond, Trace added, “It was a childish love. One built on sand and never meant to last. I don’t love her. I don’t hate her. She isn’t even a painful memory anymore.” Every deep breath he took to get the words out made him physically hurt, but he knew Benie needed to hear them. And whatever Garrick had done to him was killing him, and so, Trace also needed to say them. “You are the only thing that matters now. The last two weeks showed me just how much I love you. How much I can endure to keep you safe.”

  “Oh Trace,” her voice broke.

  He couldn’t stop the groan of pain when she wrapped her arm across his chest, but he found the strength to grab her hand as she recoiled when she realized she’d aggravated his shoulder wound.

  “Stay,” he said. “Touch me. It helps.”

  Benie inched her body closer to his, pressing her breasts and stomach against his back. His mark began to pulse as it had when she crawled into the tub—when they were skin to skin. The pain ebbed, and for the first time in weeks, he could inhale without feeling like he would shatter.

  *

  The bright, clean lab filled with whirring noises and ticking sounds as the centrifuge separated blood solids from serum through centripetal force. Ian tried to relax under the siege of white noise. The logical part of his brain, which in his case, happened to be the largest, told him that everything in the physical world could be explained with science, and the things that couldn’t was a failure of man’s intelligence, not magic.

  But the less logical part, the part that craved the high of shifting from man to beast, believed that some things defied explanation. He was a creature of evolution now, like Benie, and he had to stop thinking so linear if he wanted to resolve Trace’s inability to become a wolf. When the machine slowed to a stop, the silence startled Ian from his reverie.

  The tox-screens showed elevated levels of arsenic. He smeared some of the separated blood onto a slide and held it up to his nose. He breathed in deeply, allowing his wolf’s keen sense of smell to take over. He detected whiffs of lead, iron, and…Mercury? Quickly, he grabbed the tub of sodium bentonite from the lower shelf in his supply closet. He used it as a desiccant for lab spills, but its absorbent and adsorbent properties made it a good detoxifier. The bucket was only half-full. Hopefully, it would be enough.

  *

  Ian ran into the room with a bucket of gray powder, a gallon jug of distilled water, a power drill, and a large beater attachment from the kitchen. He mixed the mud and water using the power drill with the beater attached, and instructed Benie to position Trace onto his back. In his weakened state, Trace didn’t resist.

  “Why are we packing mud on him?” Benie asked.

  “To draw out the poison.”

  After a few minutes, when the mud turned into a gel-like substance, Ian began to scoop handfuls of the stuff and push it over each of Trace’s wounds.

  “Wet some towels, Benie, and bring them in here. We’ll cover the poultices to keep them wet.”

  She knew Ian had his reasons, and his confidence gave her hope.

  “How do you know Trace was poisoned?” She’d made herself sick with fear for Trace, and she needed reassurance from Ian.

  “I discovered it was heavy metal toxicity. Specifically, mercury. The bentonite should draw the metals out.”

  “Mercury?”

  “Yes, and I believe in wolf shifters, it’s crippling. I called Gray, and he concurs.”

  “I thought silver was a werewolf’s kryptonite.”

  He continued to ply Trace’s skin with the mixture. “That’s a myth. I’ve tested silver on myself without any ill effect.”

  “Of course you have.” Benie fought not to roll her eyes. It didn’t surprise her that Ian had been experimenting on himself again. “So, mercury.” She knew it was a poison for humans, and if it had made Trace sick, she didn’t doubt for a second it was deadly for wolves. “How will we know if it’s working?”

  “If the clay can draw the metal from his wounds and leech the trace amounts from his skin, we should see some improvement in the next couple of hours.”

  Again, it was a waiting game. Benie rubbed her stomach as she felt a flutter across her lower abdominal area. “Oh,” she said, when it happened again.

  “What’s wrong?” Ian’s alarm startled her.

  “The baby,” she said. “I can feel her.” For the first time since she’d been told about the Triune, told about her legacy and the pregnancy, it felt frighteningly real.

  Ian wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his chest. The strong beat of his heart calmed Benie.

  “It’s okay, Benie. Trace is strong. You’re strong. Together, we will get through this.”

 

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