Moon Tortured (Sky Brooks Series Book 1) (6 page)

He nodded. A coyote was supposed to be the smaller version of the wolf. Steven’s coyote hadn’t gotten the memo. I vividly remember his massive form ripping a vampire to shreds and I only knew it was a coyote because his nose was slightly longer than a wolf’s.

“Are you the youngest member of this pack?” I asked taking in the full effect of the nonthreatening teen who sat in front of me. Now showered, shaved and groomed, his youthful appearance was more apparent.

“I’m the youngest of primary-ranked members of the pack. I turn eighteen in three months.”

“How do you become ranked?” I asked, placing the empty plate on the table, sitting back on the bed and folding my legs under me to give him my undivided attention. The gentle teenager didn’t seem as reticent as the others. Perhaps I could gain more insight into the Midwest Pack.

“It’s based on dominance.”

“So whoever’s the meanest and the toughest wins,” I stated casually. That would explain why Sebastian was the Alpha and Ethan seemed to be the second runner up.

“Mean doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s a combination of things: mostly fighting ability, skill and beast control. Were-hyena’s are usually mean—really mean, in fact; but they are rarely ranked. Jackals and lynxes are tough but are not always the strongest.”

“What’s your rank?”

“I’m fifth and new to the position. I transferred from the Southern Pack about a year ago. I’ve been in this position for little over six months.”

“Why did you transfer?”

He shrugged an answer. Good grief they didn’t like giving out information.

“Where is the guy whose place you took?”

“The grave,” he stated in a flat voice.

I snapped my mouth close once I realized it was hanging open. Forcing the look of shock off my face, I searched for a good follow-up question. What was a good follow-up to a response like that?

“Old age?” I asked, trying to pull off blasé and failing terribly. I wasn’t prepared to react to a statement like that.

He shook his head slowly; his face, for a brief moment, lost that childish innocence as the predator within peeked through. “No; I killed him.”

Please leave.

Blinking several times a placid look became my mask as it hid my horror. He considered my reactions, studying me keenly. I wasn’t sure if he were trying to shock me or determine how comfortable I was with the level of violence they seemed to encounter regularly. He chose his words carefully as he spoke. “He was killed during a challenge for his position.” He added as though that would make things better.

“We are responsible for the safety of the pack. The strongest survive. When a challenge is made, the challenged can choose whether it’s for position or death,” he continued in a gentle methodical voice. I assumed it was for my benefit, to calm me. My heart raced, realizing that I was sitting in a room with a teenager who was just as dangerous as the others. “He perceived my age an insult. He could have declined the challenge and accepted lower rank or even transfer to another pack. We all understand and respect the importance of the strength of the pack. He was foolish to allow pride to influence his choice.”

“And Winter? What is her rank?”

“She’s third and Ethan’s beta.”

“Where’s the fourth?” I asked.

“Gavin’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“Not here,” he repeated firmly. He seemed disconcerted by the mention of Gavin but the tense look on his face dissuaded me from asking any further questions about him.

Steven stayed in the room for several hours. Even after our conversation turned to mundane dribble about television shows and books, he still stayed, seemingly interested.

“So you got the job as the babysitter to make sure I don’t leave again.” I finally stated when he continue to hang around even after I started watching a show that was too estrogen imbued even for me.

He smiled guiltily. “No, I am enjoying your company. I haven’t met many female wolves. In this pack, most of them are much older than I am and aren’t nearly as interesting as you are.”

I looked at him suspiciously. He was probably lying through his teeth, but he was as cute as a button and could tell you that it was raining candy and look convincingly enough to make you believe it. For that very reason, I believed I was sitting in the room with one of the most dangerous pack members in the house. With his charming ways and innocent features, you could never prepare yourself for the level of brutality he was capable of.

“If you get to know me, you’ll find that I’m not that interesting. I play the flute and hate peanut butter. That is about as interesting as I get.”

Smiling, he shrugged, and then he made a face. “The flute? Why? Were you assigned to be the school’s nerd?”

I laughed. “It’s a cool instrument … ”

“Yeah, it is if you want to make someone cry during a chick-flick.”

“When I play, it relaxes me. In the past, I’ve had problems preventing my animal from emerging when I get too upset. Playing the flute helps me stay in a calm state," I admitted.

He nodded. “That happens a lot in the beginning, but it gets better,” he stated with a sympathetic smile. “I never had too many problems, but Gav … some of the other were-animals have.” What was it with him and Gavin?

He grinned, “You are still interesting enough. It beats the hell out sitting in my room watching television or hanging out with people I already know. I’m stuck here too until Josh returns. I might as well get to know the woman who has single-handedly sent both Ethan and Sebastian into fits of rage and still lives to tell the tale; most don’t,” he stated with an amused grin.

“Fits of rage? No, I sent them past rage. If Joan wasn’t there, Ethan was going to yell until his head exploded, or mine. I thought he was going to strangle me.”

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have done that. We are not allowed to kill you, yet,” he admitted, sliding in the “yet” almost unnoticed. “Yeah, you really rub him the wrong way,” he admitted, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair.

“In my defense, it seems like there are few things that don’t rub Ethan and Sebastian the wrong way. They are a bit high strung,” I stated.

He grinned but looked uncomfortable with this conversation.

“I didn’t mean to enrage them; I just wanted to go home.” Or anywhere other than here.

“Whether you intended to or not, you really pissed them off. Try not to do that often—okay?” he advised, and though he was still smiling, his voice held a very serious undertone—a warning.

I nodded.

Steven stayed until my yawning, though unintentional, became contagious. He excused himself for the night.

I couldn’t sleep that night; instead, I decided to take my own personal tour of the house. It had come to a noticeable calm as I walked quietly in my fluffy purple print socks that matched my shirt and blended with my plum fleece pants. I rarely wore pajamas; in fact, I only owned four pairs and they all paid homage to an obsession with my favorite chocolate treat wrapped in a hard shell, M&Ms. They were comfortable and utterly ridiculous—I loved them. I usually wore them the night before a full moon. It gave me something to smile about before I had to go to that place of darkness.

The flashlight on my phone lit the way as I tiptoed down the midnight hallway, down a different set of stairs, at the other end of the hallway. Joan brought me back to the room this way but I wanted to explore some of the rooms we passed. The house was huge. Eventually, I came to the kitchen. Beautiful, dark, ceramic tiles covered the large open space. Stainless steel appliances, large double oven and an island that was larger than our dining room filled the spacious room. To the left of the eat-in kitchen was a large dining area that comfortably seated twenty. How many people did they keep hostage—or “guests” at one time?

Most of the doors were locked. I pushed into a couple of them with force, hoping the lock would give. I realized a locked door meant stay the hell out, but curiosity about these people trumped common courtesy. But the heavy doors wouldn’t budge. I don’t know what would make me think they would. In a house where they spared no expense, I doubt locks would be where they decided to cut corners. Several of the rooms had a fingerprint lock, keypad lock or both.

Finally, I stumbled onto an unlocked room and I felt like I had hit the jackpot as I opened the double doors only to find a library. The smell of weathered paper, leather bindings and subtle musk of were-animals filled the space. It was a drab white room with large built-in shelves. The only colors in the room were the spines of the various books that populated the shelves. Most of the books had foreign titles and the others were denoted just by symbols. I wasn’t familiar with any of the books with English titles. On the far end of the room, tucked in the corner was a locked small cabinet. I tugged at it, hoping it was unlocked. It wasn’t.

After scanning the titles of several books, I grabbed some of them along with the binder I found on the computer desk simply titled “VAMPIRES.” I sat at the conference table in the middle of the room. The first book was filled with enchantments, curses and spells detailing their purpose and their effects on faes, elves, vampires and were-animals. As I continued to read, my skin chilled.
Faes? Elves?
The idea of more beings I knew little of fueled my anxiety. I didn’t like this world that I had been pulled into, with creatures that went bump in the night that I didn’t even know existed—or how to stop.

This library wasn’t to entertain but to inform, and it did just that. I tossed aside two books with symbols on them that I didn’t understand, and trying to figure it out was giving me a headache. I opened the “VAMPIRES” book ready to verse myself on the very things that were hunting me.

“This is a private library,” said Ethan’s familiar cold voice as he stood just inches from me. I jumped to my feet and took several steps back. I hadn’t heard him come in. He was supposed to be helping me, one of the good guys—so to speak. But I didn’t feel safe around him. When he was near, I went straight into flight mode.

He quickly reshelved the books. “The door was unlocked,” I pointed out as I continued to distance myself from him. This was a task because his presence swallowed the small space we occupied between the books and the table.

“This is a private library,” he repeated firmly.

“Then it should have been locked.”

He glowered, “It’s private just to you.”

“Perhaps the next time you have guests, they should be informed of what’s public and private domain.”

His eyes roved over me, hitting every inch of my face, then to my odd nightwear, and back to my face where they lingered. The irritated expression turned down into a deep frown. Whatever it was about me that Sebastian and Ethan saw, they didn’t particularly like it, and they weren’t able to mask it.

When he continued to stare at me with his harsh penetrating gaze, I tried to return it with false bravado.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, closing the distance between us, towering over me.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“There’s a television in the room.”

I shrugged. “There wasn’t anything on.”

“There are two hundred channels; surely
you
could have found something to hold your interest,” his lips kinking into a bemused grin.

Malicious, violent, smug
and
condescending; was he working on points toward a jackass award? “I prefer books over television.”

“I will get you a ‘Cosmo’ or something tomorrow,” he stated derisively.

It’s not that I didn’t occasionally enjoy a “Cosmo” or any other fashion magazine; they were entertaining. But this smug bastard was being condescending and it was dripping off every word. “I prefer novels, and since I don’t have my laptop or e-reader, I thought there would be something interesting in here.”

“Fine. I’ll bring you a couple romance or YA novels off the best sellers list,” he offered smugly.

“I like legal thrillers.”

He chuckled; it was a dark sound, tarnished with amused doubt. “Fine, Skylar, I will get you the books.”

Ethan must have exhausted the allotted time his temperament allowed for him to be remotely cordial to people because he was starting to look annoyed and disinterested. “You look tired; maybe you should see if sleep will come now,” he suggested as he looked at the library door. In other words, get the hell out of the library.