Inside Out. Amy Lee Burgess

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СКАЧАТЬ of it, though.” Paddy was astonished and almost angry. His different-colored eyes bored into my face as if he could find the knowledge buried in my brain somewhere if he only probed hard enough.

      “You need at least forty people in a pack to do it, otherwise the Alphas have too much control.” Murphy spoke again as Paddy stared at me.

      “I know what it is,” I told them both. Did they think I was an idiot—ignorant of the Pack’s history? “I just didn’t think any pack did that anymore.”

      The pack bond was mind control pure and simple. Blood from both Alphas was mixed with an herbal concoction then consumed by each pack member. Through the Alphas, the pack as a whole was connected. The Alphas could exert subtle control over individual pack members. I hesitated to call it magic, it was more instinct—an innate ability unique to the Pack akin to the fusion that occurred during group sex before a hunt.

      Generally it was used to bring harmony into a large, diverse and potentially dangerous group. It also sped up the healing process in injured pack members. Pack healed more rapidly than Others, but with a pack bond the healing was supposedly even more accelerated.

      “We have the Councils to oversee us now,” I argued, although neither man with me said a word. “We don’t need some barbaric method of mind control from the Dark Ages.”

      Paddy began to quietly fume.

      “Nobody uses it to control and dominate anymore,” Murphy said hastily. “It’s meant to help, Stanzie. When someone in the pack is hurt—physically or mentally—the Alphas can use the pack bond to speed up healing. That’s all. No Alpha in Mac Tire has abused that sacred trust in centuries. In big packs like Mac Tire, we have to have it to keep the peace.”

      “Then you do use it to dominate and control,” I said. “I’m not going to do it.”

      “Friggin’ Americans. One by one you bloody idiots have discarded the old ways until the Pack is a fucking shadow of what it used to be.” For some reason Paddy was really angry. The scent of his fury coated my tongue and clogged my sinuses. Alphas were intimidating as hell when they really got pissed.

      His words sent a paralyzing shot of ice through my veins. Paddy. Defending the old ways? Could his anger have made an idiot of his tongue? Or did he think Murphy and I weren’t aware of the conspiracy within the Pack?

      “In Europe packs less than forty are almost never allowed to form and if accident reduces the numbers somehow, two packs are blended together. How can you have a proper pack with only seven or eight frigging people? It doesn’t work. You bounce the Alpha status between yourselves like a bloody rubber ball and nobody respects anybody. You have to work to be Alpha of Mac Tire and other packs in Europe. You have to fight and prove yourself. You don’t just get handed the baton because there’s only the seven of you.”

      “Alpha pairs are mainly for procreation,” I responded before I saw Murphy’s warning shake of the head. I ignored him. I wouldn’t have shut up anyway.

      Paddy’s withering glare made me stiffen.

      “Now there speaks a truly ignorant American.” He raked a hand through his curly hair and grimaced when his fingers got stuck. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Can we please get on our way? We’re going to hold up the entire friggin’ funeral debating pack culture. And you’d lose, Constance Newcastle, because you haven’t got a friggin’ leg to stand on.”

      Without waiting for us, he stomped back to the car.

      “Do you think—” I began in a scared voice.

      “No,” Murphy said sharply.

      “Just because he’s your friend doesn’t mean he can’t be a part of it, Murphy.”

      “He’s not just a friend. He’s bonded to my twin sister. And he’s my Alpha.” Murphy’s expression made it clear he was finished with the conversation. “Let’s go.” He stalked toward the parking lot and I was forced to follow, although I was far from done with the subject.

      Paddy waited in the car which smelled like coffee, doughnuts and his anger. I buckled my seatbelt and avoided his eyes. Murphy slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

      “I’m sorry I lost my temper,” said Paddy after we’d merged onto the highway. “Now’s not the time to discuss it, but the pack bond is a fact of life for members of Mac Tire.

      “Later,” he insisted when Murphy opened his mouth to say something.

      I didn’t bother to argue but there was no way in hell I was taking a pack bond. We did not live in the Dark Ages anymore, no matter what some people wanted to believe.

      * * * *

      My body understood where we were before my brain did. The moment we crossed the border into the small town of Easton, Vermont—Maplefair territory—I broke into a cold sweat.

      Murphy’s GPS device directed him to turn right and when he did, I realized we were on the pack’s road and in less than two miles we’d pass a small blue mailbox and a dirt driveway that led straight to hell. And it was on my side of the damn car.

      “Fuck.” I spoke the word aloud before I could call it back.

      “What’s wrong?” Paddy had never been here before so he didn’t have a clue, but I could tell by the sudden tenseness of Murphy’s shoulders that he got the picture.

      “I’ll turn around,” he told me.

      “No. No, just drive fast. I’ll close my eyes.”

      I’m not a coward, I told myself, even though I was pretty sure I was.

      With my eyes shut, I felt the car accelerate then, a moment later Murphy said, “It’s okay. We’re nearly there, Stanzie.”

      “Where is there?” I asked. My black blouse clung to my ribcage like a sodden second skin. The car’s interior was flooded with the unattractive sour scent of my fear.

      Paddy was half turned in the passenger bucket so he could keep me in sight. Pack don’t like to turn their backs on people who smell of terror. They were too unpredictable. Even in human form.

      “The forest,” Murphy answered. Up ahead I saw the maple trees thin out to reveal a small dirt lot crammed with cars. Most of Maplefair could have made it here on foot from their houses. The cars belonged to people from other packs. Bethany’s funeral would be a big one.

      Murphy parked between a light blue Toyota Camry and a forest green Jaguar that looked all too familiar—Kathy Manning’s car.

      Terror had left my legs weak and rubbery. I had no idea if I would be able to walk.

      “Jesus Christ, I’m more scared now than I was when I woke up chained to that fucking gurney. What in the hell is wrong with me?” I pressed my clammy forehead to the window and wished I could bash through the glass with my stupid skull.

      “You’ve had time to think about it,” Murphy told me. “But Nate Carver is dead, Stanzie. Your wolf killed him. He can’t harm you or anyone else anymore.”

      Simple statement. Obvious. Nothing I didn’t already know. But it helped.

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