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A year-and-a-half later, he still was.
He’d left his pack in in the care of his second-in-command, Jeremy. The strong, beta wolf was close to alpha status and had done an excellent job keeping the pack in order while Braden worked his mission.
Braden went back to Savage monthly to sustain his bond with his pack. His wolves supported him completely in what he was doing. They’d lost Laura as well and wanted justice for her as much as he did.
As he grew more awake, he became aware of an unusual scent in the room, something like lemons and lavender. His cheap hotel room didn’t smell like this at all.
Right. So, he wasn’t at his hotel.
Where was he then?
He struggled to open his eyes, but gradually forced his eyelids up. Since he was on his back, the ceiling came into focus first. It was tall, maybe ten feet high and had squares bordered in dark wood. The ceiling itself was painted a muddy mustard color with a slight sheen. Oddly pleasing. There was a name for framed-up ceilings like this, but he couldn’t think of it.
His brain sloshed around.
Coffered. Right. A coffered ceiling.
His gaze took in the space. Maybe he would recognize something. Shake his memory loose.
He reclined in a king-sized bed. To the right, a large painting hung on a dark purple wall, an abstract floral, with glitter in some of the paints. It should have been garish, but wasn’t. Purple. Gold. Some red.
Dynamic.
A dark, large Asian chest stood directly across from the bed, with intricate wood carvings. Above the chest, a Samurai sword.
An antique, full-length mirror stood in the far northeast corner. His wolfness had easily fixed the compass settings in his mind. Yup, the bed faced east.
A massive mahogany dresser rested against the adjacent wall to his left.
He worked hard and craned his neck all the way to the headboard wall and saw an opening of some kind, an entrance, maybe to a bathroom. It was strange, though, because the space held a small dark wood table against the wall with an arrangement of fresh flowers on top.
He lifted his wolf nose. Then he knew, he was in an underground apartment of some kind.
The air was fresh enough, but a table with flowers was a trick to give a feeling of the outdoors. Even the yellow ceiling gave a sense of airiness.
Still, nothing looked familiar. His pack had an underground compound. But he knew he wasn’t there. He sensed he wasn’t in Savage Territory at all. He was still in Elegance.
He drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He’d been a warrior for ten years. He lived on the edge. But he’d always been able to rely on his instincts once he’d become an alter-wolf.
He moved his arm and felt a tugging sensation. He looked down and saw he was hooked up to an IV. What the hell? Was he ill? And what wolf ever needed treatment like this? He could self-heal better than most.
His memory roared back to life.
The Graveyard.
Six toughs. One of them a warlock. Gammet, with five shifters under his command.
Knives and boots.
More pain than he’d ever known.
How the hell was he still alive?
He shifted his shoulders back-and-forth. He felt bruised inside and out. He tried to sit up, but the effort was too much.
Right.
The shores of death.
