Second Skin Part 21

"Very much so," I said, still staring at Jason's face. The whine of the bullhorn and the screams of the people behind the cordon came back to me from a long way off.

You must have something to live for . . .

"The sooner you find that wild clan and their shaman, the better," said Lucas. "I don't like to speak ill of my own people but some of them are just bad. Makes it hard for the rest of us to lead decent lives."

"Some weres, too," I agreed.

"We should go," said Lucas. He got the army jacket from his bedroom, even though I was still sweating through my top.

"All right. I'll follow you back to the road." I watched him walk ahead of me and felt guilt stab me between the shoulder blades. It's never easy telling someone the family member they haven't seen for a while won't ever been seen again. It flat-out sucks, actually. But Lucas didn't know, and he had to.

Outside the heat was still drifting out of the dirt and sending zephyrs across my face like spiderwebs, but the air had started to cool down. Lucas stopped me as I stuck the key into the Fairlane's door.

"I enjoyed our meal."

"Lucas," I said in a rush, at the same time. "I have to talk to you about your brother, Jason."

"You got some reason to think Jason's involved?" he shot back.

I shook my head, not breaking our eye contact. If he thought he was going to pick up on my tell for lying, he had a disappointment coming. Spend enough time talking to liars and you learn to be a pretty d.a.m.n good one yourself, on or off the job.

Lucas startled me by putting a hand on the curve where my neck and shoulder met. His hand was bigger than Priscilla's, but my skin p.r.i.c.ked at the memory of the claw wounds in my shoulders. "I have not seen, heard from, or talked to my brother since the night he blew up at my father and me and walked out. Not when Pop died. Not ever. I don't know what he's been doing, just that he's wild and I don't give one thin a.s.s-hair about him since he turned his back on us. He's living his life." Venom had crept in, and Lucas's face twitched, ugly, even though he remained dispa.s.sionate, to a casual observer.

His hand was much cooler than my own skin, dry and slightly puckered from the dishwater. He smelled like lemons on top of the normal copper and steam. I fought the urge to turn into his grasp.

"You haven't heard from him? At all?"

"That's what I said. Not a phone call, a postcard, or a G.o.ds-d.a.m.n Pony Express rider."

Oh G.o.ds. Telling someone their family member is dead should be some sort of torture in the hottest of the seven h.e.l.ls, not a bullet point on a job description. "Lucas, there's a reason you haven't heard from Jason."

Jason looked at me, unconcerned, and then simply leaned out and down off the ledge.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "But your brother . . . we had him as a John Doe, but I recognized him from the family pictures. He's dead, Lucas. I'm very sorry."

Lucas stuck a hand straight out and caught it on the side of my car, letting it support his weight. He blinked twice, long and slow, shock painting broad strokes across his face. "Why . . . ?"

"I don't know," I said. "I was hoping maybe you would."

He shook his head, looking away from me. "Jason would never . . . who killed him?"

I blinked. "He wasn't murdered, Lucas. He jumped off his apartment building. His body is still in the morgue."

"Oh . . ." Lucas let all the air out of his lungs. "I have to go inside."

"Wait!" I caught his arm, and he hissed softly. "Do you think . . . when you're able . . . you'd mind talking to me a little bit about Jason? Coming into the city?"

"Can't," Lucas whispered. "The treaty. If I get caught by a were who still follows it, I'd be killed on sight for trespa.s.sing."

"I won't tell if you won't," I said. "And you have my personal word nothing will happen while you're with me. Just a few hours. Please?"

Lucas sighed and rubbed his hands over his cheeks. A few spots still gleamed when he took them away. "All right. I'll come get the body taken care of but that's all. I can't help you anymore. I have to see to my own people. They need me."

I nodded silently. "I can find my own way back to the highway. Thank you, Lucas. I'm sorry."

"He was my brother . . . ," he murmured as I got into the Fairlane and gunned the engine. "I can't believe it . . ."

I watched Lucas in the rearview mirror as I pulled away. He was angry, yes, and grieving, but he had not been surprised. He faked it well enough, but he'd known something before I opened my mouth. All the blinking and gasping is show-people who get slammed in the gut with death usually just shut down. That "unemotional" facade that juries hate so much. It's the only way to hold together, sometimes.

But Lucas had no need of it.

He was probably afraid, I reasoned, if his brother had indeed been palling around with the Wendigo who had made those things in the morgue. The "why" still eluded me, but I could taste it now, a solution. The wild Wendigo would give it to me.

Lucas was a good actor, but something else was going on during his impa.s.sioned speech about his people and how they needed him. Something that he thought I didn't need to know.

You spend enough time talking to liars, and you learn to recognize the bad ones, too.

CHAPTER 15.

At home I found leftovers in the refrigerator and Sunny gone. Dmitri was sprawled on top of the covers in the bedroom, snoring softly, wearing boxers with flying toasters printed on them. I leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm home."

"Hey," he murmured, pulling me down next to him. "You're all right."

"Of course I am," I said, turning on my elbow. "What, did you think they'd drag me off and make me into jerky strips?"

"You never know with the G.o.ds-d.a.m.n Wendigo," Dmitri muttered. "They hate weres."

"Not all weres," I said. "They were perfectly polite to me." Once they got through holding a shotgun to my head.

"You stink of them," said Dmitri. "Like rusty metal."

Figuring that was as close to an endearment as I was going to get, I kicked off my boots and headed toward the bathroom, shedding clothes. "I'll take a shower."

Dmitri got up and padded after me, leaning against the wall while I started an arthritic jet of water into the old tub. "Thought I fixed that thing."

"No," I said. "You talked about fixing it, before we had that huge fight."

"I should do it," Dmitri mused. I stepped into the water and let it beat down on me. I knew better than to pop my head out, bright-eyed, and chirp So does this mean you're sticking around? So does this mean you're sticking around? Were men were even more skittish than plain human men, and plus it would probably just come out b.i.t.c.hy in my current state. Were men were even more skittish than plain human men, and plus it would probably just come out b.i.t.c.hy in my current state.

I changed the subject instead. "Tell me about the treaty between the Wendigo and the were packs."

Dmitri snorted in surprise. "Who told you about that?"

"Lucas."

"That figures."

"He seemed pretty p.i.s.sed over the treaty. What's the deal?"

"Let me guess," said Dmitri. "He gave you the speech about his 'men' and his 'clan' and batted those pretty-boy eyelashes at you."

I peered around the curtain at Dmitri. "You've been holding out on me."

"Hey, I met the guy once. Didn't say I knew him."

"Look," I said, squirting shampoo into my palms, "are you going to tell me about the treaty or not? Is it some big pack mystery? Will you lose your secret decoder ring if you tell the gutterwolf?"

He shot a glare at me before I ducked back under the water. "You're taking this way too personally. I can't tell you much because I don't know know much. The treaty was laid down by the five founding packs of Nocturne City, and all weres who want to live within the limits abide by it." much. The treaty was laid down by the five founding packs of Nocturne City, and all weres who want to live within the limits abide by it."

"What does it say?" I asked. "What are the particulars?"

"That Wendigo are not to trespa.s.s within the city limits without some hoodoo bulls.h.i.+t going down, and weres stay the h.e.l.l off the Wendigo's land, and everyone holds hands and f.u.c.king sings 'k.u.m Ba Yah,' " said Dmitri. "That's it. That's all the old pack leader ever told me when I took over."

"Towel?" I said, turning off the water. Dmitri held one out and then s.n.a.t.c.hed it away playfully.

"Oh come on," I said. "I'm wet and naked over here."

His mouth lifted at the corners. "So I see."

"Dmitri . . ." I warned. "Better give me that towel."

"Or what?" he said, backing toward the bedroom.

"Or I'll come get it from you and get you all wet!" I threatened, jumping on him and using his Fram T-s.h.i.+rt to dry myself off.

"Quit it!" Dmitri yelped. "I had a bath today!"

"Shouldn't have taken my towel away, sucker!"

He pinned me down on the braided rug just inside the bedroom, both of us giggling like schoolkids on helium. He tickled me, and I shrieked, wriggling under him. "I give!" I finally cried. "Knock it off!"

Dmitri dropped his head to my neck and gently lapped the skin, making me wriggle in a new and different way. "I'm glad you don't smell like them anymore."

"Mm-hm," I said, undoing his belt. He put his hands on my hip bones.

"I'm glad you got out of there okay. It kills me that I couldn't be there to protect you."

"Please, for once, don't start with that and just be happy I'm here," I said, not unkindly, pressing myself into him. The wet fabric cooled and caused gooseflesh to blossom on my skin. "And be happy that I'm ready for my night to get very enjoyable."

"Luna," Dmitri whispered, and kissed me. His hands slid up to my shoulders, holding me fast to him, and for the first time in weeks I let myself relax and remember that this was how it should be.

"Luna," Dmitri said in my ear. "I don't want to lose you . . ."

I looked, and saw the tiniest hint of black ripple across his eyes. I tamped my unease down. It was fine. He was in the throes of it and I was, too, the phase curling under my skin. It always made for the best s.e.x I'd ever had. I didn't fight it. "You haven't lost me," I said. "I'm here."

Dmitri kissed over to my ear, behind it, over my neck, his teeth fanging out and raking down the curve to my shoulder, his tongue on my bite scars.

His teeth p.r.i.c.ked me, and I smelled my own blood. "Luna . . ."

Dmitri landed halfway across my bedroom before he had a chance to blink. He looked up at me, eyes black, from a pile of my clean laundry.

"What the f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," I snarled, "was that that?"

"I . . ." Dmitri pa.s.sed a hand over his eyes and they went green again. "I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"You tried to give me the bite!" I had bypa.s.sed indignation and gone straight to yelling. "I don't believe this! You sneaky Hexed b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

I grabbed a nights.h.i.+rt and jerked it on, covering myself from Dmitri's eyes as he stared up at me.

"I couldn't help it . . . ," he said almost plaintively as I got into bed, throwing his pillows onto the floor with vicious plops plops. "I just thought about you being with the Wendigo, and not coming back to me, and you smelled so . . ."

"Do me and your nuts a favor," I said, "and don't make this about me." I spitefully pulled the covers up to my chin.

Dmitri followed after a time, but he didn't say anything and I didn't try to make him. He curled up facing me, but I turned my back and turned out the light so I wouldn't have to feel his eyes on me as we lay silent.

"This isn't working, is it?" he said finally. "We want it to, but it isn't." I tried to ignore how crestfallen he sounded, but I rolled over and looked at him, finally. He was subdued and hollow-cheeked in the slim moonlight coming through my windows.

"It sucks," I said, crus.h.i.+ng the pillow in my fist. "What were you thinking thinking?"

Dmitri got up and put on his jeans. "I was thinking about you, being my mate. My real mate. I can't stay here."

Little bits and pieces of me wanted to yell at him, and beg him not to leave, but mostly I just felt a grim sense of anticlimax. It was a whimper, rather than a bang, that was for d.a.m.n sure.

And I wouldn't admit that I was also relieved Dmitri had been the one to break it off. The black mark was in his column. "Where are you going?"

"None of your business at this point," Dmitri said. "I'll call. If you want me to. Later."

He's doing this, I whispered to myself. I whispered to myself. You're not responsible You're not responsible. You're not the cause. You're not the cause. It was a cold little sliver of comfort as I listened to Dmitri leave. It was a cold little sliver of comfort as I listened to Dmitri leave.

I got up and out of the house before sunrise, and made the trip downtown in under an hour, which was a miracle with all the roadblocks and closures from the quake. I was waiting at Bryson's desk when he stumbled into the Twenty-fourth at 7:17 AM. "You're late," I said.

"Lord, what have I ever done to you?" Bryson asked the ceiling. "I pay alimony. I don't cheat on my taxes since the audit. I visit my Aunt Louise in the home even though she thinks I'm her brother Rupert who died in 1971. And yet, you curse me with my own personal harpy, who dogs my dreams."

"You dream about me, Bryson? That's sweet," I said. "Here, have a donut. Cops love donuts." He eyed the jelly-filled on the paper plate that I offered him.

"Is it a Sam's donut?"

"As if I'd ply you with anything less."