Pack Ruin (The Splintered Bond #3)

30. They Killed Me First

30

They Killed Me First

FLOR

T he best part about living at Southern—maybe the only good part—was it taught you how to take a shovelful of shit to the face and keep on going.

But a knife to the heart was still tough to handle, when so much else was going to hell. My heart ached to be standing in the small house Del had lived in for my entire life. So I focused on the shit.

“Glen, help Grigor inside. Luke? There should be cloth and bandages in the bathroom. Maybe some bottled water, too.” I kept my voice as quiet as possible, as Glen grabbed Grigor and did as I asked, locking the door behind them both and carrying the injured male to the threadbare sofa.

“Where did he keep the water?” Luke asked.

“There was a jug under the sink.” I followed him into the bathroom, hoping the gallon jug of water Del had kept for emergencies would still be there. It was, and I kneeled down to check the cabinet, searching for anything else useful. Luke grabbed clean rags from the shelf and turned toward me, our bodies taking up too much space in the tiny room. Especially his body, all six foot two naked inches of him, though most of him was covered with dirt and mud from the storm drain.

Most of him. His dick was practically at my eye level. When he tried to cover it with the bundle of rags, I realized I was staring. I slammed my eyes shut.

“Isn’t the water still hooked up?” he asked.

“If the pipes make noise, the neighbors will know someone’s here.” I kept my eyes down, filled my arms with supplies, and Luke followed me back to the sofa. “Sorry we don’t have fresh water,” I apologized to Grigor. “Del’s pipes practically yodel. We can’t risk it.”

Grigor groaned. “Give me… a minute. I’ll use magic… to contain…” He stopped talking when Glen moved away, and I let out a curse.

His abdomen was a mess. He still had the black trousers on, but they had small holes clear though, and bloodstains gleamed a darker black on the material. The skin of his torso was even bloodier.

There wasn’t one silver blade in him, but a bunch of… “Buckshot?” I wondered aloud. “The bastards used silver shot?” I felt an odd stirring of rage inside. “They brought guns here?”

Luke had grabbed Del’s ratty old bathrobe from a peg on the wall and was pulling it on. “Callaway had a shotgun in the armory. We didn’t ever use it, and I didn’t know he had silver shot. But it was probably already here.”

Glen muttered, “Fucking Southern,” as he examined the wounds.

The smell of the silver was even stronger now. I sighed and ran into the tiny kitchen area, fishing out some leather gloves from a drawer, and grabbing a pair of tweezers from the bathroom. By the time I got back in, Luke was pouring water over the bloody entrance wounds, and I nudged him out of the way.

“You look like a whole-ass scout troop got their BB gun merit badge on your stomach,” I grumbled as I started picking out the silver. A bowl appeared on the sofa next to Grigor, and I nodded a thanks, dropping the silver pellet in it. “What happened?”

“I wanted to make certain… the women got out. There was one who had fallen, carrying an injured girl. They had your… scent on them.”

“Iris and Delia? Are they all right?” I took a deep breath, steadying my hands for the next piece, and the next. He was bleeding too much for my comfort, and I couldn’t stop. There were dozens and dozens of silver pellets in him. If I left even one in…

“They both escaped. I was not quite so fortunate. I’m afraid I have… very little strength.” He groaned. “At least I destroyed… the gun that did this.”

Small favors, but it made me feel slightly less enraged. “Food,” I said firmly. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

Grigor closed his eyes. “Luke needs it more than I, my queen.”

I glanced at Luke. He was drinking a glass of water at the small table, while Glen rummaged in the cabinets. He’d found a pair of sweatpants somewhere, maybe some of Del’s. I’d need to find clothes for all of us, and more towels, and…

Glen’s voice interrupted my thoughts, bringing my attention back to the job at hand.“We can’t cook, but I found some crackers and a jar of mustang grape jelly, whatever that is.”

I almost smiled, but kept working on Grigor, wiping the blood away and using the tweezers without hesitating. “Wild grapes. Really good. Big seeds, though. Del and I perfected that recipe. I reckon that’s the… the last jar.” Drops splashed on the bloody skin beneath my face, but I kept going. “There oughta be some canned beans somewhere in there. Spoons in the drawer left of the sink.”

Glen found enough food for a sparse meal. He served Luke, then carried a bowl to me. “Not yet, thanks,” I murmured. “I need to finish with the silver.” I knew I couldn’t eat with that stench in my nose.

“Your hands are shaking, Dream Girl. You have to be thirsty, and hungry. Let me take over.”

Grigor’s eyes snapped open. They were wild with pain and power, bright red fires burning in the pupils. “My wolf… is very near the surface, little br…” For some reason, he stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded odd. Different. “You are my brother. Yes. You may help me.”

Glen moved closer, keeping his head bowed and slightly tilted to one side in submission. “Thank you, brother. Flor? Please eat.”

For some reason, watching me eat the cold beans and jellied crackers seemed to soothe Grigor. No, Grigor’s beast. That’s who was watching me, unblinking, out of those fire-black eyes, as if he were deciding whether to claim me or kill me.

My gaze kept returning to his, then sliding away, my own wolf intrigued and wary. She liked seeing his wolf rise. Honestly, I did, too. I knew I shouldn’t find it attractive, that show of magic and slipping of his control. He was a killer and a criminal. A monster.

I shivered. I guess I had a thing for monsters.

I perched on the edge of the sofa next to him, giving him a sip of water and feeling very much like I was hand feeding a dragon, or a gator. “I read about you in some books back at Mountain. They said you killed thousands. Tens of thousands.” He snarled slightly, and Glen went still. I just took another drink from the cup. “So, did you? Kill a whole lot of people?”

His voice was still odd when he answered. “Winter kills every year, little queen. Ice and snow and frost take countless lives. The ocean drowns ships and submerges entire cities. It is the way of things.”

Was he comparing himself to natural disasters? “Well, I’m not about to consider a whole season of the year or the Pacific Ocean as a suitor. So answer my question, Joaquin. ” I arched an eyebrow and met his gaze, even if the fire there was way over the edge of creepy.

This time, it sounded like the man I knew was speaking. “I did, little queen. I killed many. At first, I killed for my father, at his command. Later, I killed my father, and his pack, and everyone who ever raised a hand to help him, or pledged allegiance to him.” He paused. “But they killed me first.” Grigor’s words hung in the air for a long moment, ominous and confusing.

“What does that mean?” Glen muttered, saving me the trouble. “They killed you first? Did they shoot you with silver back then, too?”

“No.” My throat was tight, but I spoke clearly as his meaning dawned on me. “He’s talking about his mate, Anya. They killed her. You loved her, didn’t you?”

Grigor was still staring at me, but a flicker of unease dimmed the flames. “I will tell you my story, little queen. But you have no reason to fear. My heart is yours.”

“Was she your true mate?”

“She was… my soulmate. But?—”

Gutted, I closed my eyes and turned away. I’d wondered about the woman who’d been mentioned in the books. The spark that had ignited Grigor’s most famous killing spree had been her death, and his own father had been the one to kill her. But hearing that Grigor had loved someone else was a pain I hadn’t been prepared for.

I looked over at Glen, who was still picking the shot out of Grigor’s stomach. “Glen, you finish up. I’m going to put Luke to bed.”Luke had fallen asleep at the table. I got up, made sure Del’s bed had a pillow and sheets, and helped Luke shuffle into the small bedroom. He was asleep again before his head hit the pillow, and I got clothing out of Del’s drawers for all of us.

I let myself cry for a moment then, holding one of his old t-shirts up to my face, and smelling him. I missed him so much. He’d been my one safe place in this pack. My rock.

Pulling off my own filthy shirt, I replaced it with that one, then left a set of clothes for Luke on top of the dresser, before carrying more out to the main room. Glen had finished, taken the bowl of silver away somewhere, and was now holding a cup of water to Grigor’s mouth. I took another damp cloth, wet it, and kneeled next to the sofa, ready to wipe the remaining blood away.

“Please don’t,” Grigor rasped. “Never kneel to me.”

“I don’t want you getting blood all over Del’s shirt, so shut it, old man.”

“Old man?” He blinked at me as I pushed his hands away and wiped him down. His skin was healed, only the faintest traces of the silver shot still evident. They would be gone in minutes.

Glen winked at me. “I’ll let you get on your knees for me, Dream Girl.” I reached over and punched him in the groin. Not hard. Just enough to remind him not to be a degenerate.

I ignored Glen while he pretended to be injured, and held a shirt out to Grigor. “How old are you, then? And how did you live this long? I want to know everything.”

“Why?” Grigor’s question was subdued. “It will not make you love me. I’ve done… shameful things.”

“Who hasn’t?” I shrugged, thinking of how many times I’d eaten out of the trash, or stolen bits of food from the ranked shifters. I’d broken dozens of rules over the years. I’d sawed off a man’s head and… “I did a shameful thing tonight.”

Both men waited, and I took a breath, still on my knees. It felt right, for a confession like this. “I killed a shifter with silver. I didn’t have to. I could have knocked him out. I probably could have run, and gotten away. He wasn’t as fast as me; none of these wolves are. But I panicked, and I… I had a weapon, and I used it. But he was just a kid. Not much older than Bo and Leroy. Doing what he was told, what his Alpha ordered.”

I lifted my eyes to Grigor. “The silver I did it with, it splintered in his throat so he couldn’t howl for help, or bark, or breathe. It was a terrible death. An avoidable one.” Probably. I wasn’t certain he would’ve given up without me doing some real damage. Most males saw a scrawny female shifter and thought they could take me, then got pissed when they started to lose to one.

Suddenly, Glen was on his knees beside me. “That wasn’t shameful. That was necessary. Joaquin, you said the girls all got out safely? Well, that was because you gave them that chance, Flor. You saved them, and if the cost of that was one shifter’s life…”

“I killed ten thousand.” Grigor admitted. “I killed my father first, then burned his palace, then hunted down every one of his pack—villainous and innocent alike—and erased them from the earth. And I did not mourn their loss. I did not feel regret.”

Glen’s hand closed around mine, and I could tell he was one more confession away from grabbing me and forcing me out of this house, away from the serial killer.

I wasn’t completely against that idea. But then, I remembered something. “Brand’s father said you left your own mate there. In the palace. Did you… burn her along with the rest?” If he said yes, it wouldn’t matter how many of my tormentors’ hands he made into arrangements, I was not going to add him to my mate group.

Brand could help me figure out a way to cut those ties to Luke and Glen.

“I would never have hurt Anya. She was the other half of my magic. My…” He said a word that had far too many consonants and swallowed vowels—and sounded like he was coughing up a hairball—then smiled softly at my expression. “The word is in an old language, but it means witch mate. She was incredibly powerful, far more so than I. When we bonded…”

His hand moved to his upper arm, and I noticed something there. A very faint scar in the shape of a small x, two lines crossing. It looked a little like my scar, only made of two lines instead of five that originated from a central point. “You know that the power a shifter gains from a true mate is what creates the most powerful Alphas. My father was the Alpha of Alphas, ruling over an entire continent. He did not share power.”

“He had a true mate?” Glen asked. “Your mother?”

Grigor shook his head. “No. My mother was not his true mate. My father’s true mate was like your own mother, Lily. Mated to a monster, and driven mad. My mother, she was gentle. From an immensely powerful line of dark witches, but she had chosen to live differently. She taught me all she could.” He closed his eyes. “I haven’t spoken of her for centuries.”

I decided to ask about the whole “centuries” part later. My wolf was sniffing around the painful heart of this story. His witch mate.

“My father hadn’t known my mother was a witch when I was conceived. It was forbidden in that country to mingle the lines.”

Glen muttered, “I thought it was impossible, not just forbidden.”

“Humans cannot procreate with shifters, brother. But witches and shifters share the moon’s magic. It’s entirely possible, but rare. When it happens—especially when two overly powerful beings come together—the result can be a creature so terrible, it cannot be allowed to survive.” He winked at me.

I scowled back. “Anya. Tell me.”

His amusement vanished. “Yes. I did leave her, I suppose. My father knew what I was, but believed my mother had been a weak witch, since she mostly used her magic for small things. When he discovered I had mated with my Anya, one of the most powerful witches on that side of the world, he sent his warriors to bring her down. They brought her to the center of his judgment hall, where he bound her in chains and slaughtered her. Tore her into pieces so small, no healing magic has ever existed that could revive her. I made a pyre for her out of his palace, and his pack.”

“You didn’t leave her.” I would need to tell Samuel, and make sure the pack history books were corrected.

“We had a child. Anya had taken him to her coven. I hid him in another village, making certain no one would be able to find him. I left no one alive who knew he existed.”

Glen sucked in a breath.

“You killed them, too?” I asked. “Her coven?”

“They were the ones who gave Anya over to my father. They kept our child, but let my witch mate die, because she had rejected their ways.”

“What happened to him? Your son?”

He closed his eyes. “I failed him in every way but one. I gave him to a family that loved him, and allowed him to live without anyone knowing who his true father was.”

“Is he… Is he still alive?” If Grigor was who-knows-how-old, I had to assume his kids might be just as long-lived.

“No. He died too young. But his human wife survived, and their children, and theirs, and so on. I made certain all of my line have never lacked for wealth. But the true gift I’ve given them all is anonymity. No one knows they are mine. Not even they do.”

“Maybe you should give that gift to Flor,”Glen muttered.

“If I could have done so, I would have,” Grigor admitted, but something in my face must have alarmed him, because he grasped me tightly. “For your sake, my queen. Your safety. You should refuse me, though I must warn you that I cannot let you go, no matter what you decide. Whether I worship you in the light or from the shadows. Whether I am allowed to stand at your side, or fight without any recognition. I cannot regret what I have done. I would do far more for you; my wolf would demand it.”

“Your wolf?”

“You are his mate, Flor. His true mate. When they killed Anya, only he kept my witch side alive. Only by allowing me to kill everyone who needed killing.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Needed killing? You know you sound really crazy, right?”

He made a noncommittal sound. “I do not pretend to be sane. My wolf has waited in madness for you, has kept us alive for this moment. Anyone who would hurt you—human, wolf, or witch—he would snuff their lives out.”

He went silent, since I’d climbed up on the sofa, onto his lap, and was kissing his mouth. I held his face in my hands, tasting him. It felt a little like kissing a winter storm, or the ocean. Like I was flirting with death just by being this close to him.

But it wasn’t my death I was flirting with. It was that of anyone who tried to hurt me or mine. This future mate would do anything to protect me. To protect the ones connected to me.

And his “anything” was something any shifter should fear, even a whole corrupt Council full of them.

“Grigor Dimitrivich?” I announced, ignoring Glen’s muttered, “Call him Joaquin,” as he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door softly. “You may be crazy, but you’re my kind of crazy, aren’t you? I guess I ought to give you a chance. I’ve gotta let you know, I don’t think Brand’s gonna be so easy to convince.”

A smile slid across his face, as his hands lifted to hold my cheeks as well, both of us gazing into each other’s eyes, the house shaking slightly as he pulled my face to his for another kiss. “I’ll work some magic, little queen.”