His family. God had to be laughing at him now.
Shaw pointed to the nearest man. "This is Grant; he leads the Wild Wolves." And from there, he continued, spilling out names to which the owner nodded in greeting. Wild Wolves. Dog Warriors. Hell Hounds. Devil Dogs. Demon Curs. Shaw meant it when he said the clans were gathering.
"What is your fixation on dogs?" Atticus asked after the last of them were introduced.
"Prime didn't infect a human." Degas, who led the Demon Curs, answered with a look toward Shaw, as if rebuking him for not being clearer. "His only Get was a wolf; it was the wolf that created the Pack."
"We have him stamped on our minds," Shaw admitted. "His DNA laced through our genetics—his instincts threaded through our soul. Sometimes when we dream, we run the dappled green on four furred feet."
"There are those who are most comfortable running around like packs of wolves." Degas made it clear with his sneer that he excluded himself. "Some of us, though, aren't totally happy with embracing the way of the beast, Boy."
Atticus understood then that they had given him a nickname, one as stupid as Cub: Boy. "No, I'm Atticus. Atticus Steele."
Degas smirked, apparently pleased that he'd nettled Atticus. "Where's your chew toy?"
It took Atticus a moment to realize Degas meant Ru. In a flash of anger, Atticus lashed out, striking without holding back as he normally would. He caught the clan leader totally unaware and Degas dropped with a sickening crack of his neck. Atticus had always had a morbid curiosity of what he could do with his full strength—the day had been a continuous lesson.
"He will get better from that?" he asked guiltily.
"Shortly," Hellena murmured.
Shaw snorted a laugh. "Except his pride. He did ask for that."
"I-I didn't realize I could hit so hard."
"Degas would have killed you if he could. He tried to kill your brother—it was a close fight."
Atticus glanced about, realizing whom he most wanted to see. "Where's Ukiah?"
A low growl rose from the Pack, rage and anger unifying them nearly as tight as the Ontongard had been. They stood out, though, as individuals in their fear, anxiety, and worry.
"They have him," Shaw said.
"What? Who?"
"Those religious nutcases!" Shaw snarled. "We've spent the day looking for him."
"How did this happen?"
Hellena explained their plan to trap Ice and how they'd been distracted by the Ontongard's attack on Atticus. Her distress grew as she talked until there were tears in her eyes. "Somehow, they took him so quickly, he didn't get a chance to call for help. We scoured the park and found no trace of him."
Shaw put a hand to her shoulder and she grasped it tightly.
Had the cult killed Ukiah again? Would they burn him, as they had done with the others?
Atticus pushed away memories of the burned mice to focus on what he knew of the cult. "Ascii said that they need him to translate something. He's probably safe as long as he's useful to them." But that was far from comforting. If the cult had grabbed him instead, thinking Atticus was also an angel, he wouldn't be able to translate diddly. "Does Ukiah understand the Ontongard language? Can he translate like they want him to?"
"Yes, I gave him one of my mice." Then, seeing that Atticus didn't understand, Shaw explained. "Our memories are genetically coded. Absorbing another person's mouse adds their memories to yours. I gave Ukiah all my memories, which extend back to the beginning of the Ontongard race."
His brother's life was so weird. "He can do it then?"
Shaw looked away.
Atticus turned to Hellena. "Can he or can't he?"
"Our Cub . . ." Hellena's voice quavered with strong emotions. "He believes strongly in doing what is right—no matter the cost to himself."
And a wave of sorrow and anger went through the Pack.
They know Ukiah won't cooperate.
From the pond's edge, the bikers started into a drunken chorus.
"Why aren't you out looking for him?" Atticus asked. "What are you doing here—having a party?"
"We've tried looking blindly all day," Shaw snapped. "Now we're waiting."
"For what?"
Stillness ran through the Pack. Atticus could sense them listening, focused on the rumble of incoming motorcycles.
" It's them," someone near the road mentally reported.
The Pack melted into the woods, leaving him alone with Shaw, Hellena, Degas, and the Demon Cur's alpha female, Blade.
"You should leave." Shaw gave him a slight push toward the clearing's edge, back toward the Jag.
Atticus resisted. "What's happening?"
"We don't have time for niceties anymore. Things are going to get messy."
"What are you going to do?"
"Daggit knows where the cult is. We're going to do everything short of tearing his head off his shoulders to get that information. And the only reason we're stopping there is because dead men don't talk."
"You can't torture him."
"We're in this mess because that's what your brother said," Shaw said. "Go home. Better yet, go back to Washington."
"No."
Oddly, Shaw's stare was neither as feral nor penetrating as Ukiah's. "Don't interfere. We will kill you and drop your body with your team if you try. We won't let even you stand between us and getting our Cub back."
"Fine."
The Iron Horses entered the campground cautiously, but the noose was already tightening around them. The Pack moved silently through the woods, surrounding the bikers, communicating mind to mind.
They took Daggit down hard, knocking him from his bike. After disarming him of various knives and guns, they dragged him kicking and swearing to the clearing. Having suffered the same treatment just days before, Atticus found himself wincing in sympathy.
As the Blue Oyster Cult sang "Don't Fear the Reaper" on the distant stereo, two Dog Warriors—Bear Shadow and David Stein—flung Daggit to the ground in front of Shaw, and the Pack closed ranks around the man.
"Let's try this again, Daggit," Shaw rumbled, his voice full of menace. "Where is the Temple of New Reason?"
Daggit scrambled to his feet, his sweat sour with fear, his nose running with blood. Still he managed, "Go fuck yourself, Shaw."
"They have our Cub, Daggit." Shaw began to circle Daggit.
"You should have watched him a little more carefully then." Daggit backed as far away from Shaw as the watching Pack allowed, turning to keep the Pack leader in front of him. "You knew they were after him."
Shaw lashed out, faster than even Atticus could see. In a blur of savage motion, he had Daggit down on his knees, right arm dislocated and forced up behind his back. As Daggit flailed at him with his left arm, Shaw leaned down and growled into Daggit's ear. It wasn't the sound of a man imitating an animal, but the deep chest growl of a true beast that raised the hairs on the back of Atticus's neck.
"I'm not going to tell you squat!" Daggit cried.
"We're not going to take 'squat' as an answer." Shaw shifted his hold and broke Daggit's right pinkie.
Daggit grunted but otherwise remained stoic in the face of the pain. The ring finger broke with the snap of a dry branch. On the middle finger, Daggit cried, "I don't fucking know!"
"Animal said you knew."
"Animal was wrong." Daggit panted and peered at the encircling Pack. "Funny thing, I don't see him here."
"Focus. Your life is on the line, Daggit. Blink wrong and you're dead. Now, where are they?"