Pack Mentality: A Wolf Alone

Chapter 5

Seth had woken up with his wrists bound to a bed before, but he usually remembered some of the events that had landed him there. This time his mind was a blank, so he tried walking his memory back. He could feel shorts twisted around his hips, so he wasn't naked; it probably hadn't been sexual then. His ankles were tied down as well, but none of the bonds cut off his circulation; whoever fastened them knew what they were doing and didn't want to harm him. The sharp smell of wolf-tinted sweat hit his nose and he grimaced. The full moon was at least a day ago; why hadn't he showered yet?

As he thought his way through sensory details, Seth kept blinking his eyes until they cleared and he saw his basement retreat, what Becky called 'the wolf room'. He had just been there recently, hadn't he? He remembered someone walking him in, stroking his ears and saying that someone would be in the house waiting for him. "Hello?" he croaked, looking around to see if he could spot anyone. Someone should be there. He remembered voices in the SUV, arms wrapped around him. Sex when he was human again, hungry and demanding. "Becky?"

"Don't, Becks." That voice was an instant balm, solid and reassuring, and a moment later, Roman was at his side. "Hey, bro. Sorry about the ropes. We didn't want to take any chances."

"What happened?" Seth tried to lift his head, but with the way his arms were tied down, he couldn't move far off the Murphy bed's mattress. "What did I do?"

The subtle sorrow in Roman's eyes made Seth's gut clench. He would rather anger Roman than upset him. "What do you remember?" Roman asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We . . . came home. From my mom's?" They had been there for a reason, but Seth couldn't think of it at the moment. "We got here. Becky and I. . . ." When he glanced over at Roman, his friend rolled his eyes and made a continue motion with his hand. "Then . . . cold. A shower? There was pizza . . . or going to be pizza?" He gave the air a tentative sniff, but he couldn't smell any of the traditional scents; something else was in the air, tickling his nose, but he couldn't quite place it. "We were talking about the attack. . . ."

Attack. The word lanced through him and hooked his heart, making him go shock still. Out in the forest, he had been attacked by other werewolves. Dean and Becky had too. And then here, in his home, in front of his friends, he had attacked—

"Becky. Where's Becky? Is she okay?" Seth struggled against the ropes that kept him down, but he caught a glimpse of his right hand and saw dark red flaking and cracking along his fingers. Blood. Not mine. Now that he had seen it, it was all he could smell, and the thoughts it brought to mind made him want to vomit. "Where is—"

"She's here," Roman said softly. "What else do you remember?"

"I hurt her." Each word felt like trying to swallow an ice cube and having it lodge in his throat. "I hurt her, didn't I? But . . . as me, right? I hadn't wolfed out yet, right? Roman, tell me, please. What did I do?" A hundred different possibilities ravaged his mind, each worse than the last. He and Becky had just been fucking not even half an hour before they were all sitting in the living room. What would he have done if something happened then, with Dean and Roman too far away to hear, let alone help?

"Roman, tell him." It was Dean's voice and there was a strain in it Seth had never heard before. "We need to know what to do."

"Stop talking around me. I'm right here." Seth's heart leapt as soon as he heard Becky's voice, but it held a hint of wrongness too, as if she were trying to talk with marbles in her mouth.

Roman stood and walked past the foot of the bed; Seth could barely see his silhouette. "Becky, you shouldn't be in here. Wait upstairs. I'll ask Seth what to do and then Dean can go get—" Then Roman swore and Seth saw a sudden wave of reddish orange.