Lilith Saintcrow: Taken

“Aw.” Julia rubbed at her forehead, her long dark hair falling forward over her shoulders. The pale streak at her temple, just beginning to grow in, glowed dully. “Can’t we have a little fun?”

Fun is one thing. Almost eviscerating a man because he’s patted your ass is another. “Kyle says to behave.” Zach looked back from the front passenger’s seat of the blue minivan. “That means behave .” His tone was soft, but the windows in the van rattled.

“Sure.” Julia ducked her head to the side. So did Brun, mimicking her submissive posture. “You got it, big brother. Behave.” She made a low, soft sound, the please-don’t-rip-my-throat-out-I’ll-be-good sound. Zach’s nostrils flared. She was overacting just enough to be sarcastic, and her pheromone wash was spiked with thinly veiled aggression.

“We can have fun just fine without blood,” Kyle said. His hair stood up in soft spikes. “We’re Carcajou. Eric?”

“No blood,” Eric said from the backseat, his bitten leather jacket creaking. “Brun?”

“No blood,” Brun said, his light tenor almost piping. “We’re not savages.”

“Good.” Kyle took the keys out of the ignition. “Everyone’s dressed?”

“Quit fussing.” Julia tossed her head impatiently. “Let’s just go. I’m hungry.” She was whining a little, already. Brun rubbed at her nape, and she shoved her twin’s hand irritably away.

It’s not her fault, Zach told himself. She was young, barely past her first Change, and a spoiled brat to boot. Kyle pretty much allowed her to run wild, because she was the only female in the Family. It was his call…but she was getting harder and harder to control.

You’re not the alpha, either. It’s not your job. Zach settled himself, one boot on the dashboard, and waited. He wouldn’t move until his little brother did. Ky stared out the windshield, the glass beginning to fog up with five healthy young animals breathing inside. Little brother was wearing his scruffy face today, a shadow of stubble across his cheeks, the circles under his coal-dark eyes attractive instead of worn down. Women liked him with a little bit of rough on; otherwise, Ky was too pretty.

Better to be tough than pretty, Zach reminded himself for the thousandth time. He studied his boot toes, ran over the situation again inside his head. They needed cash, and the kids needed to bleed off some energy. It was dangerous, especially with the young ones in such a state.

He’d almost talked Kyle into letting him and Eric do it alone. They had the quickest fingers and the best control of their tempers. But Kyle didn’t want to be left home to babysit, and he especially didn’t want them separated if Julia had another one of her fits. It took a lot to control her sometimes, and Zach was the best at it.

Though sometimes he wished Kyle wouldn’t always take the easiest way out.

But thoughts like that were dangerous. They were the thoughts of someone who was about to challenge the alpha, and Zach had made up his mind. No challenging Kyle, that was the rule.

It had been the rule ever since the night of the fire, when Zach held his little brother back from plunging into the flames.

“All right,” Kyle said. It was the signal, and they got moving.

It was an autumn night full of rattling naked branches and the faint smell of dry-cinnamon leaves. The sound of thumping bass was clearly audible, running under the concrete like a pulse in the throat of sweating prey, and Zach breathed deep, rolling the cold air over his tongue. There was danger on the wind tonight, and it wasn’t just the danger of starvation haunting their little Family.

The beast in the floor of his mind stirred restlessly. Instinct blossomed into certainty. Something’s gonna happen.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured. Kyle paused as the others preceded them—slim dark Julia, Brun trailing in her wake as usual, Eric hunching his shoulders and glancing from side to side warily. “It smells odd.”

Kyle agreed silently, his chin dipping in the facsimile of a nod. “Wish we had a shaman.”

You and me both. We could settle down if we had one. And Zach wouldn’t be half so tempted to do something drastic.

But resisting temptation was getting to be his middle name. “I’ll keep an eye on Julia.” I’m such a diplomat.

The half-blind, animal part of him raised its head, interested in a thread of scent. Brunette and young, tantalizing in its evanescence. Hmm. Wonder who that is. Smells interesting.

“Good. We can blow town if we get enough tonight.” Kyle glanced up at him, as if Zach was the alpha. “South, I’m thinking.”

Nice and warm. Easy pickings, too, if we just stay under the radar. “Sounds like a good idea.” Except we’re traveling blind, without a shaman. Nobody to throw the bones, and Julia’s unstable. She’s too headstrong. She should marry into another Tribe, if we can find a male strong enough.

But good luck finding a mate for her without a shaman. Good luck finding anything . None of the other Tribes would so much as give them the time of day if they didn’t have a shaman of their own. Not even the Tanuki would talk to them, and Tanuki were some of the most gregarious around.

He sighed, a cloud of breath hanging in the cold air, and Kyle gave him another one of those odd sidelong glances. Quit looking at me that way. You’re the alpha, I’m the second—that’s the way it’s going to stay. God, I wish Dad was here.

“You’ve got the quickest fingers,” Kyle finally said. “You take point tonight.”

Zach nodded. “By this time tomorrow we’ll be driving toward orange groves and white-sand beaches.” And still running one step ahead of disaster.

She meant to have fun. Really, she did. But the gin and tonic was watered down, the dance floor was so crowded she’d gotten elbowed and damn near molested in the five minutes she’d spent on the floor, and the pumping, throbbing music was going straight through her head with glass spikes.

Great. All I need is a migraine. Why can’t I enjoy myself like everyone else?

Lucy was having a fine time, shaking her thang on the dance floor with a guy who looked like the epitome of Latin Lover, right down to the poufy white shirt. She looked good, and the guy was leaning in, talking in her ear or nibbling. They were rubbing hips, and Lucy had her hands up in the air, abandoned to the dance in a way Sophie couldn’t even dream of being.

I was like that once, though, wasn’t I? She couldn’t remember. Instead, the image of copper-bottomed pans hanging over a kitchen island rose up, their bright shapes moving slightly, and a cold rill of fear slid up her back. A half-guilty glance around showed nothing out of the ordinary.

Still jumping at shadows. She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to dance without being afraid. And her nerves tingled, whether it was from weak gin or the infrequent pins-and-needles feeling that meant something bad was about to happen.

Those pins and needles had saved her from a car crash once. Or, at least, she firmly believed so. The feeling had made her sit at a four-way stop until a car zoomed through the intersection, not even pausing. Whether the driver was drunk or just careless didn’t matter.

The trouble was, that feeling would never warn her when she was, say, about to marry a man who thought “wife” meant “slave.” Or “punching bag.”

Sophie sighed. She could have left her glasses in the car, making the world into a soft fuzz much easier to deal with, but then she’d be half-blind. She probably should have left them, this was just the sort of crowd who would accidentally knock them off her face and step on them, and there went two hundred bucks’ worth of frames she couldn’t afford to lose. They were cute, yeah, and they didn’t require the care and expense contacts did.