To Be More (Slate/Gray Book #2)
Chapter 15

When Slate is roughly shoved out of the car, he has no hands to use to balance or catch himself, so he quite gracelessly face plants. He expects to get torn up by concrete or maybe grass, but instead he hits...snow. It’s compact enough that the impact still feels bruising, but he has definitely fallen on something softer and wetter and colder than concrete or grass.

This immediately tells him he’s somewhere north of the equator. He reaches for his connection with Asher, but before he can summon the concentration he’s dragged upward with choking force by the neck of his shirt. His thin, short sleeve shirt that is now damp and wet. The cold hadn’t really hit him until then, but now he feels it acutely, his whole body shuddering at the shock of it. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Come on, wolf,” Gil mutters, still almost dragging Slate’s stumbling form along behind him. “Time to meet your new owner--for now.”

His hands tighten into balls, still cuffed behind him, feeling enmity growing ever stronger as he gets a sudden feeling he knows this new, temporary “owner”. The air around him feels thinner in a way that has nothing to do with climate or elevation.

“Ah, just the person we’ve been waiting for!” Still blindfolded, Slate has no problem identifying Alpha Charles Jackson by his voice alone. He keeps his face blank, not betraying thoughts of all ninety-seven disparaging remarks that come to mind.

Footsteps come closer and Gil’s hand leaves Slate’s shirt just as his blindfold is ripped from his face, throwing Slate back into blinding brightness. Being able to see again makes him realize just how disturbing it had been deprived of one major sense. A tightness that had grown with every hour he was in darkness loosens as bursts of light slowly fade and Slate can take in the room around him.

“Well done, boys,” Alpha Jackson tells Gil and Trenton as Slate’s eyes flick around. He seems to have been brought to a small cabin, one filled with knick knacks everywhere. Every horizontal surface is covered. It’s like a spot it game in real life. If one was ever going to hide something in plain sight, it would be here.

Slate doesn’t know if Alpha Jackson has young children, but he would wager a guess that this house doesn’t belong to the alpha based on the number of mini amateur clay works and pottery among an even larger sea of 2D artwork.

Alpha Jackson abruptly lunges forward and grasps Slate’s chin in one hand. “Look at me, wolf,” he hisses. The man is now close enough that Slate would have to crane his head around to see anything else anyway.

Knowing he really shouldn’t antagonize the man who holds Slate’s life in his hands, Slate raises an unimpressed eyebrow against his better instincts. Apparently haughtiness and derision are Slate’s coping mechanisms when being kidnapped. Good to know.

“Insolent brat,” Jackson spits before stepping out of Slate’s space and flicking his fingers at the two lackeys. “Let us have a moment of privacy.”

“You sure?” Trenton asks skeptically.

Jackson growls, “I think I’m capable of defending myself against one cuffed, weakened wolf.”

Trenton holds up his hands in innocence as he follows Gil out the door without another word. Once the door has closed behind them, Jackson grabs Slate by the back of the neck and directs him roughly until he’s close enough to push down on the couch. Slate is wary, but doesn’t resist.

When Jackson settles himself next to Slate, he leans back against the cushions and crosses one leg to rest his ankle on the knee of the opposite leg. The picture of casual indifference probably doesn’t quite exude as much power as he probably thinks it does.

“You, my friend, are one very unlucky individual.” Slate says nothing. Jackson presses forward, “Do you know why?”

Slate shakes his head. He could think of many reasons why he has been unlucky as of late, but he senses Jackson loves to hear the sound of his own voice and he’ll give up more if he thinks he’s got an audience rather than an opponent.

“You are not what I was looking for, my friend. Are you aware of that? Hm?” Jackson assesses Slate with narrowed eyes. “Are you familiar with the name Grace Holt?” Slate presumes Alpha Jackson is expecting some big reaction to his conjuring of the name of the fabled healing wolf and is rather unhappy when he doesn’t get one.

He leans closer to Slate, working his jaw. He’s trying to play the calm, collected villain when really it’s obvious to someone like Slate that he’s barely containing his volatile emotions. “No answer? A quiet one, eh? I get it, you just need some incentive. Let’s get a few things straight.”

When Jackson pauses dramatically, Slate inclines his head in invitation to continue. Jackson huffs in annoyance but his voice is even when he admits, “I know Grace Holt is the healer. I’ve been aware of her long before she was ever a dream in your little brain. You must have become close, yes? If you are from the same pack? Well in that case, you might be interested to know that my men tell me you are a healer as well and if that is true, then I have no need for Grace Holt. Convince me you are all I need and I will leave your lovely little packmate alone.”

Slate thinks this over for a minute. He feels like he’s missing half the pieces of this puzzle. Alpha Jackson was looking for Gray all those months ago because of her role in her parents’ death more than her healing ability--that’s Slate’s understanding of what they pieced together after the fact. Jackson has no need for a healer, that was Silas’ part of the transaction. So why does he need her now?

Then he thinks back to what Gil had said earlier. He referred to Alpha Jackson as Slate’s new temporary owner. Slate stares at the man in front of him and feels revulsion. He wants to sell Gray.

Theoretically, all Slate has to do to get out of Alpha Jackson’s clutches is convince him he’s good enough to trade into the next owner’s hands and he’ll be free of the man. But he also needs to find an angle that keeps Jackson from just going back to get Gray himself, since he knows exactly where she is.

Alpha Jackson is...not an evil mastermind, it seems. He’d had six men surrounding his special healing wolf and none of them could find her in plain sight. In Slate’s other interactions with the man, it had been Silas leading the show with Jackson just trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He’s not the idea man, he’s a hothead, he doesn’t think before he acts. Slate can take advantage of that.

“And what if I just keep my mouth shut?” Slate asks coolly.

Alpha Jackson exhales heavily in anger. He’s frustrated that he hasn’t been able to intimidate Slate. He shouldn’t feel bad about himself, not many people can. “If you keep your mouth shut, then you’re going to the Dreidens tomorrow anyway, and they won’t be nearly as nice as I am. They’ll get you to break, I can promise you that.”

Slate only has to last a day then, interesting. He can definitely last a day, all he has to do now is make sure Alpha Jackson can’t go after Gray once Slate is gone. “And what if I’m not a healer?” Slate prods.

“Then I’ll march right back down to your sweet little pack home and burn that stupid forest until I find Grace Holt. You’ll be sorry then, I’m sure of it,” Jackson seethes, leaning into Slate’s space again.

“And what will you do when you have nothing to pass on to the Dreidens? They’ll come after you, won’t they?” Slate tilts his head questioningly, tone careful and face blank.

Jackson’s eyes harden. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Slate shakes his head and decides to take the offense. He leans into Jackson’s space until he’s looming threateningly, his presence big and strong enough to overshadow the fact that his hands are still cuffed and he’s weak from hunger and thirst. “I’m proposing an idea to you. You’ve already lost, Jackson,” he tells the man seriously, “and you know it. Time has run out.”

Jackson’s lip curls, but Slate can see a shred of doubt enter his eyes. “And what’s your proposition then? You’re not exactly in a place to offer much.”

“I can keep the Dreidens off of you while you find a new place to get away and start over and never touch my pack again, or I’ll tell everyone all about you and your men and your deceit. The second I hear about you being anywhere near the Atwood pack again is the second I tell the Dreidens all about how you lied to them and the fact that you have a plane that’s housed only half an hour from here and who would tell them exactly where you’ve gone. You and I both know that there are people in your land who would sing all the pretty things for the Dreidens if they put the pressure on them.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Jackson scoffs with much less bravado than he would have even five minutes ago.

“Oh really?” Slate nearly mocks offhandedly. “And what if I tell the Dreidens you have a mistress named Anne Barclay and an illegitimate son that’s nearly the same age as your middle child, Henry? Or maybe I’ll tell them about the pilot you bribe to take people across the border clandestinely. You very well know he can be bought for the right price. And then of course there’s the Paisley West family. The ones you promised you could deliver their matriarch’s killer to. Their loyalties will shatter real quick once they hear what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slate leans back slowly and lifts his brows meaningfully as he leaves Jackson’s space to let him understand the truth of Slate’s words. He finishes with a steely certainty, “You need the time I can give you and you need my silence.”

“How do you know all that?” Jackson whispers angrily.

Slate lets a grin stretch onto his face slowly. He knows exactly how menacing he can be when he smiles, especially now that he has those gruesome scars. “Maybe I’m not just a healer.”

In reality, Slate is just a good listener and Jackson’s lackeys are rabid gossips, but it’s nice to see Alpha Jackson pale a shade or two, looking Slate up and down with new eyes. “You’ve never promised you can heal, don’t think I haven’t noticed that,” Jackson says with some measure of triumph, as though he’s proud to have outsmarted someone. “Your little plan doesn’t work so well if they find out I was lying right away when they ask me to prove you can heal before we hand you over.”

Slate resists rolling his eyes. Even in that case, Jackson would just be killed immediately, if he’s judging the macabre culture of these packs correctly. But maybe he can use that to his advantage. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. If I’m not, just tell them you weren’t able to break me. They’ll like that, they’ll take it as a challenge,” Slate wagers.

“Then they’ll think I’m an incompetent idiot,” Jackson growls.

“An alive incompetent idiot,” Slate growls right back.

Jackson breathes heavily for several moments, glowering at Slate with all the fury of a man who knows he’s got one foot in the grave. Without warning, Jackson lunges forward and presses Slate back into the couch cushions with one clawed hand digging into his shoulder and the other grasping his jaw, puncturing his cheeks and jaw where the claws embed themselves.

“You little brat, you think you’ve ruined me, but this is not the end. This cannot be the end!” He rages, spittle flying from his mouth in all his rabid anger.

Slate just sits and smirks right into Alpha Jackson’s face. Slate has won and they both know it. With one last enraged roar, Jackson flings Slate aside and storms out of the house, telling Trenton and Gil, “Knock him out, I need to get ready for tomorrow.”

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