Page 9 of Pack Rage (The Splintered Bond #4)

Chapter 8

Connections

GRIGOR

“ D amn, it stinks in here.” A man’s voice pushed through the agony that wracked me. “How much silver does she think it takes to hold one shifter?” The unmistakable feeling of a boot hitting my ribs punctuated his question. “How many silver spikes are in this asshole?”

Sixty-four, I thought.

“Huh. One fell out, looks like. Here ya go, fucker. I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

A stabbing sensation, followed by a wash of agony and nausea, almost sent me back into the darkness. Sixty-five.

I had no idea where I was, or how long I had been in this state, but I was so close to my final death, I knew that even one more splinter of silver might carry me away.

I’d done all I could to close off the connections I’d forged with my little blade, and her mates, Glen and Luke. They didn’t deserve to suffer with me. I deserved it, though.

After all the years of thinking myself stronger than any other, I’d let a moment of surprise and a well-crafted containment spell catch me off guard. Of course, I’d depleted my power almost entirely saving Luke and Glen. Then I’d cast the look-away spell over the house so she could rest and be safe. Like a fool, I’d cast one over myself as well and waltzed right into the Pack House, looking for Torran.

Instead, I’d found a creature I hadn’t seen in centuries. Her spirit was bloated like a tick, filled with stolen energy, pure darkness. Recognizing that might not have been enough to drop my guard, but this one had worn a face that was so like the one I’d bound my soul to long ago, I’d left an opening for her to strike.

My Anya had been born into a coven filled with witches whose line was so pure, and so evil, there was no mistaking them for any other breed. Anya herself had those same sharp features, the same red-gold hair, the eyes… but hers had always been filled with compassion, where Elina’s were as cold as deep winter.

Elina McDonnell could pass as a twin of my Anya’s coven sisters. The thing that haunted me was this: I had killed every single one of her line. Every last man, woman and child from that line of witches, who fed on misery and drew their power from blood sacrifices, willing or not.

All but one. Our son. Mine and Anya’s.

I’d hidden the boy in a village and left his new family with wealth and guards, and him with every form of magical protection I knew how to create. He’d had no magic of his own, from what I could tell, and he’d lived and died in that village. I’d kept track of all of my descendants. Or so I’d believed.

But I’d been mistaken. At some point, somehow, one of mine must have come to this side of the world, where my existence was a legend, and nothing more. And that descendant had retained enough of Anya’s magic or mine, to produce the one who now had the entire continent in her grip.

And me in her dungeon. That was where I was. I was wrapped in heavy cloth, and even heavier magic. Blood, that fueled her power. Blood magic, used by a witch who was half wolf as well. A witch who was my many-times-over granddaughter.

I couldn’t smell through the cloth bag they’d bound me in, but the heavy fabric was tissue compared to the weight of the power that had soaked into these walls from the blood magic performed here.

I inhaled slightly, my broken ribs screaming in pain as I did so. So much sacrifice. So many had died.

I began to slip away again, into blessed darkness, when another voice, one I knew, roused me. “What are you doing down here?”

“The Alpha Mate messaged on her way out. Said to double check the silver bindings on her latest project.” Another kick, and the sound of chains moving. “Some Southern shifter.”

The familiar one spat a curse. “This isn’t some shifter. And he’s not a Southerner. It’s Grigor fucking Dimitrivich in that bag. I don’t know why Mother brought him home, but he could be burned into a pile of still-smoking ash, and I still wouldn’t turn my back on him.”

“Grigor… No way, Finnick. There’s no—” I faded for a bit, only resurfacing when I felt silver sliding through my body. I mustered the strength to snarl, though the sound was so muffled, I’m not sure he heard it.

“Hold still,” the voice—Finnick—whispered. “If you move, they may break off. More of them, anyway.” Another slide of silver. It was agony, but he was removing them. I stopped breathing again, as he pulled a long one out of my right shoulder. “I’m going to leave these under the bag for now, and I’ll come back as soon as possible. I’ll take out as much silver as I can, and bring you some food and water. For some reason, the cameras aren’t working in this room.” He pulled the next dozen nails out more quickly.

My mind began to clear slightly, and I felt a tiny green thread of energy, almost within reach. His? His connection with Flor. I was desperate to grab hold of it, consume it, but I wasn’t certain if it would hurt her.

My magic right now was a ravenous void, and I would most likely kill anything I touched. Like I had the cameras. I assumed that was what had drawn me back from unconsciousness. I could draw power from anything—electricity, blood, or moonlight.

Even unintentionally. Nervous, I checked on the threads of my own magic that had been tied into the others. They were cauterized now. As good as destroyed.

“I hope what Luke said was right. That you’re on our side, or hers, at least. If you kill me, you’ll hurt her. If you let me help, I can get you… well, I’m not sure about free just yet. But I can help with some of this.” As he spoke, he slowly, carefully, pulled out the silver along one side, then rolled me over onto it and began removing the nails from my back. “They brought Luke here. Brand is on his way, at least that’s what I’ve heard from my parents. The emergency Council meeting will take place after Brand vows his allegiance to the Council.”

More silver was withdrawn, a spike that had punctured one of my lungs. I inhaled slowly, trying not to weep with relief.

“The Hilliers are in a cell next door, bound with silver. They’re alive, but they’ll only stay that way as long as they’re useful. Patrick is gathering an army at Northern, and may already be on his way. I stopped into the tech room, and they’re tracking vans on the way to Southern from Mountain. If they come here… well, they may think their numbers will give them superiority, but they won’t be ready for the kind of weapons my parents have in their arsenal.”

The last nail slid out, and I let out a long, shuddering breath. I could still feel the silver chains on the outside of the cloth around me, but I heard clicks and knew it was locks being removed, and a zipper opening.

Finnick leaned closer and breathed a question. “I can hear your heartbeat. Are you awake?”

“Yes,” I rasped.

“What can I bring you? I can get you food and water, but what will heal you fastest?”

“Blood,” I whispered without hesitation.

He stopped breathing. Then he muttered, “Vampires are real, then.” If I hadn’t been so close to death, I would have laughed. Flor had accused me once of the same thing.

But he did the unexpected. He stuck his hand through the unzipped opening and pressed his wrist to my mouth. “Take what you need.”