“That’s me,” Sophie said weakly. “Showing up in the nick of time.” Or rather, that’s Zach. He saved my life.
There were rickety wooden stairs. She hung on to Brun and got a faceful of strong musk, and a red smell. It was probably a good thing she was too tired to be afraid, because the red smell reminded her of fists meeting flesh, of screaming, of contorted faces and pain.
It was the aroma of rage.
A shape moved on the stairs. It was another shaman; her nose told her it was a male bear before her eyes deciphered long hair and a strong jaw. The ice-and-silver smell came off him in waves, and Sophie took a deep breath. Unfamiliar relaxation washed through her, and she suddenly understood a whole lot more about this entire thing.
“Good Christ,” the bear-shaman said. “Look at you. You should be in bed.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.” Sophie’s eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. Brun carried her past the man, letting out a slight hiss as he stumbled.
Sophie had a sudden vision of falling down into the cellar and would have winced, if she could. That would just top everything off, wouldn’t it?
A loud, low growl filled the air, rattling her entire body. She recognized it even as Brun flinched, his scent curiously masked by the deeper musk in the room.
Another shape loomed in the dimness. It was Cullen; her nose identified him with no help from her eyes. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Positive,” Sophie lied. “Point me at him.”
“He’s tied. Right over there.” Brun pointed, and her eyes adjusted a little more. “Against the wall, and—”
“I see him.” Her heart gave a painful leap. She did see him. The long, lean shape, sliding with fur, his eyes flat shining discs. There was a flash of white teeth, and the nose lifted, sniffing.
The low thunder of the growl stopped.
Until that moment Sophie hadn’t realized just how loud it had been. It had been running through the house like the vibration of a subway, and the sudden cessation was ominous.
Cullen drifted back toward the stairs, so quietly Sophie barely noticed him moving.
“What do I do?” she whispered.
The furred shape against the wall sniffed again. She could see the ropes now—several of them were broken and messily slopped over with fresh ones. He must have been struggling for a long time.
“I have no idea,” Brun whispered back. His pale aroma almost vanished under the welter of confusing smells in the basement. “Can you get close to him? I’m…”
He was afraid to get any closer. Sophie summoned every last scrap of strength. “I think I can.” I might fall flat on my face. What will happen then?
“I’d try talking to him first,” Cullen offered.
At the sound of his voice the growl came back, a warning.
“Now stop that,” Sophie said, sharply.
The rumbling died, spiraling slightly up at the end like a question.
She braced herself, pushed away from Brun, and took two weaving, faltering steps. “Zach? I know it’s you. I’m right here, I’m okay. I kind of need to talk to you.”
No sound. The furred shape hunched on itself, and she thought she saw it shiver. It was a challenge to stay upright. She tacked out over the uneven concrete floor, and the similarity to the wine cellar would have made her shudder if she hadn’t been concentrating so hard on not falling on her face.
“Zach?” Her voice sounded very small. “I really would like to talk to you.”
The shape erupted into wild motion. Sophie let out a short, surprised cry, tipping over, as ropes snapped. Her knees failed, her eyes shut tight, and she had enough time to think I’m going to hit, it’s going to hurt, dammit—
—before something broke her fall. Something hairy, very warm, smelling of musk, and growling loudly enough to shake the foundations.
The noise stuttered, stopped. They were definitely arms around her; she hadn’t hit the floor. Tension filled the air, made it thick and hard to breathe.
She peeked out into the darkness, daring to open her eyes.
The animal’s face was inches from hers. He inhaled, deeply, blew the air back out, and inhaled again. Those teeth were curved and wicked, and the flat shine of the eyes reminded her of a cat’s eyes at night.
It looked like it could eat her. But she’d still take this over Mark’s plummy, contorted face any day.
This was one monster she didn’t have to be afraid of.
“Zach,” she whispered. He kept sniffing her. “Come back. Please.”
He stopped sniffing. A shudder went through him. The strength in those arms could snap her in half, but she felt only a dozy faraway concern that she might pass out before he came back.
That’s funny, I can see him in there. Why can’t they?
There was a crackling, creaking sound like boughs snapping under icy weight. Fur melted, and he shuddered. Bones restructured themselves as she watched, fascinated, the dimness down here suddenly kind.
He was shaking. So was she. The arms holding her thinned as his face rose from behind the animal’s. He went heavily to his knees, the jolt going all through her, and Sophie raised her leaden arms.
“S-s-s-s—” He stuttered, his lips working over the word.
He’s still trying to say my name. Her heart cracked again. She finally got her arms around him.
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “Do you do parties?”
And the darkness became complete, the heat of Cullen’s drink deserting her at last. But this blackness was kind, and even as she drifted away she saw the majir smiling with approval, stroking Zach’s trembling shoulders.
“Sophie—” He was hoarse, his voice scraped raw.
She was out.
Chapter 26
Two days later Zach was still on the knife-edge between wanting to kiss her so hard she couldn’t breathe—or shaking her so hard her head bobbled.
She’d been deep in shaman-sleep, that restorative, vulnerable unconsciousness that replenished more than just the body. She smelled like a shaman now, and a powerful one, too.
Zach held out his hand, watching it shake just a little. The rage wasn’t completely gone, but breathing in her smell kept it leashed. It would probably take weeks for the adrenaline and violence to fade.
They were nervous around him. Not his Family, but the sleuth who owned this house, and even the Tanuki healer-shamans who came to visit, smoothing their hands over Sophie and reassuring everyone that she would, indeed, be all right.
The sun had come out, and it filled the small room. Sophie’s eyes were open, and she was looking at him.
He tried to figure out what her expression was, and failed. Down the hall Julia was humming in the bathroom, Eric was probably in the kitchen downing shots with a couple of the Felinii, and Brun was out looking for a new van. They all slept in this room, on the floor, Zach waking up every hour to make sure Sophie was still breathing.
Her lips were dry, and slightly parted. She looked at him for a long time, her gray gaze steady.
Zach stood, frozen in place. Was she disgusted? Still frightened of him? Angry? Had he tried to hurt her? Brun said he hadn’t, but you never knew, with the Rage burning in your veins. She probably hadn’t had any idea how to handle it—but she’d brought him out, hadn’t she?
Silence stretched between them, the animal shifting restlessly inside his bones.
When she pushed the covers back he almost tripped over himself getting to the side of the bed. “Take it easy, Sophie. Just take it real—”
“To hell with taking it easy.” She sounded hoarse but steady. “I want a shower and a toothbrush and some fresh clothes. I feel greasy.”
She sounds fine. Thank God.