Kelley Armstrong - Broken

Jeremy hesitated, as if as reluctant to say anything as I was to hear it. “Reports in two papers about an outbreak of rat bites in the downtown area, but it pales in comparison with the water contamination problems.”

“So far,” I muttered. “Any signs of things spreading beyond Toronto?”

He shook his head. “Everything appears to be contained to the city, and primarily the core.”

“It’s likely to stay that way too,” Jaime said, her first words since we exchanged good mornings. “The effects are usually localized.”

“So-”

The ring of my cell phone cut me off. An unfamiliar local number appeared in the display.

“Shanahan?” Nick mouthed.

“Let’s hope so,” I said before I pushed the talk button.

“Good morning,” sang a chipper female voice. “I’d ask to speak to someone specific, but I don’t have a name. I suppose I could ask for the lovely lupus I met the other night.”

“Hello, Zoe,” I said. “You got my message?”

“Message?”

I told her about my visit to Miller’s.

“Ah, no. Message undelivered. I didn’t stop in last night and Rudy can be a bit protective, so he didn’t phone me to say you’d called. Here, let me give you my number, in case that happens again.”

I jotted it down. “You remembered something?”

“After a night of mind-clearing thievery and a morning of mind-settling yoga, I do believe the memory files are creaking open. I’m just running off to the library right now, but perhaps we could meet for lunch?”

“Which library?”

“At the uni. Getting a head start for my fall classes. Got to keep the mind sharp. At my age, it’s the first thing to go.” A tinkling laugh. “Or, with vamps, the only thing to go. Are you familiar with the campus?”

“York or U of T?”

“U of T.”

“Very. Give me a place and time, and I’ll be there.”

WE’D BEEN AT THE UNIVERSITY ONLY FIVE MONTHS AGO, when Clay had done a stint of lectures, filling in for a hospitalized colleague. We hadn’t come to this particular cafeteria, though. I’d avoided it, sometimes going several buildings out of my way rather than grab a drink or snack at this one. Clay knew why, though we never discussed it. When Zoe suggested this cafeteria, I’d been tempted to insist on someplace else, but hadn’t. I needed to get past this.

This was the cafeteria I brought Logan to the first time I’d met him, and the one we’d always used when he came to the university to see Clay and me. Logan, my Pack brother, the best friend in those years when I’d fought my ambivalence about the Pack, about being a werewolf, and about the man who’d made me one. Logan, dead five years now.

Five years. My breath caught when I even thought about it, as if unable to believe so much time had passed when the pain was still so sharp, when I could look down the hall, see those empty tables and see him there.

“I can grab Zoe,” Clay murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Bring her outside instead.”

I shook my head.

“Can you grab us some cold drinks?” Clay asked Nick, with none of his usual mock-bullying bluster. He even reached for his wallet, but Nick waved him away.

Logan ’s relationship with Clay had been an uneasy friendship even before I came along. They were too different for anything more. After Clay bit me…well, they’d never been close after that. Clay hadn’t been able to control his jealousy of my friendship with Logan when I was often barely on speaking terms with him . Logan had never forgiven Clay for biting me, not after he’d sworn he’d never hurt me.

I remembered the first time Logan saw Clay after he bit me. I’d finally asked Jeremy to revoke Clay’s banishment, and a week later, Logan had come to Stonehaven. He hadn’t known Clay was back, and we hadn’t known Logan was coming. At the time, I’d been out grocery shopping with Nick while Antonio and Jeremy had gone to Syracuse.

When Nick and I came back, we found Clay and Logan on the back patio. I can still see-no, I can hear it. That’s what I remember-hearing the dull thwack of fist hitting flesh.

We’d raced to the back door. There was Logan -good-natured, easygoing Logan -beating the hell out of Clay. And Clay? Clay just let him-just took it, his face already swollen and cut, his shirt bloodied, blood flying from his mouth.

In the years that followed, I’d thought of that scene, and I would tell myself that Clay had staged it, that he’d let Logan whale on him because he’d wanted me to see him taking it, like a little boy getting a whupping he thinks he deserves.

I knew better, even then. Clay was incapable of plotting and carrying out a ruse like that. He’d taken the beating because he’d thought he deserved it, and because he’d thought Logan deserved to be the one to dish it out.

Clay cleared his throat. I looked over at him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I know you don’t want to talk about names…for the baby, I mean. And this probably isn’t the time, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and maybe you wouldn’t want to, but if you did, if we have a boy…” He shrugged. “ Logan ’s a good name.”

My throat constricted, and I couldn’t answer.

After a moment of silence, Clay looked around the almost empty cafeteria. “I don’t see-oh, there she is.”

I smiled. “Don’t sound so thrilled.”

“I don’t know why she needed to do this in person.” He looked over at me. “No, I do know. I just wish she could have saved us the bother.”

I performed introductions.

“My, my,” Zoe said, checking out Nick. “You boys don’t come in ugly, do you? It’s a good thing I wasn’t born a werewolf, or I might have had some serious conflict.”

Nick grinned, that easy grin of his that makes women’s stomachs flip, and the most blatant come-on sound almost sweet. “If you do start feeling conflicted, I can help.”

“Oh, I bet you can,” she said with a lilting laugh. She laid a hand on Nick’s arm. “I appreciate the offer, but I worked it out long ago.” She flashed a smile my way. “I’m willing to extend the same offer to anyone who hasn’t.”

I touched my belly. “I think I’ve worked it out too.”

Zoe started to respond, but was cut short.

“Dr. Danvers,” a voice called from halfway across the cafeteria.

Clay didn’t turn. Maybe he was intentionally ignoring the hail. More likely, he was so unaccustomed to the form of address that he didn’t recognize it.

A heavyset young man appeared at our table, smiling at Clay, his hand extended. Clay hesitated-he hates physical contact with outsiders-but the pause lasted only a second before he took the student’s hand in a firm, if brief, shake.

“Are you teaching next term?” the young man asked. “I didn’t see your name on the schedule.”

“Just visiting.”

“Damn. I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed your lectures. That’s exactly what I’m interested in, and I’ve read all your-” He stopped, flushed, then laughed. “Sorry. Academic fan boys-what geeks, huh? Anyway, I wanted to thank you for the comments you made on my paper. I really appreciated the encouragement.”

Clay’s gaze slid my way. I only smiled.

“Oh, and it’s Mrs. Danvers, right? I remember you from class.” He looked down at my stomach. “Don’t remember that, though. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And I read your paper too. It was great. Clayton will have some competition in a few years.”

The young man blushed again, thanked us, then hurried off after imparting a warning to be careful. “Not a good time to visit Toronto,” he said. “Weird things happening.”