Run (Caged Trilogy Book 1)

by H G Lynch

  Run

  Caged Trilogy: Book One

  by

  H.G. Lynch

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Novi, Michigan 48374

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Cover by H.G. Lynch

  Edited by: CLS Editing

  Text Copyright © 2015 H.G. Lynch

  All rights reserved.

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  Dedication:

  To My Blue-Eyed Hero

  Chapter One

  ** Tilly **

  Run! Run, Tilly, and don’t stop! A voice screamed in my head.

  I ran. I ran until my feet ached, my legs burned, and my breath sawed in my lungs. I kept running, even when branches tore at my face and arms, nettles stung my bare calves, and I could hardly see where I was going for the stinging tears blurring my vision. When I fell, scraping my knees on rocks and hard dirt and gouging my palm on a jagged stone, I scrambled up and ran again.

  When night began to fall, darkness descended through the woods—turning the trees to living monsters and the singing of crickets to tiny screams. I fell more often, and still, I got up and kept running. My knees and hands were stiff and caked with mud and blood, and my heart was hammering so hard in my chest, I thought it would explode. Blood pounded in my ears, my breathing rasped in my throat and my muscles flamed as I pushed myself to keep going, and then I was going down.

  My foot caught on a root or branch that I hadn’t been able to see in the darkness of the woods under the bare, frosty night sky, and I suddenly rolled, tumbling down a hill. Stones and leaves flew into my face, pelting, blinding, and choking me. Rocks loomed out of the spinning grey-black of the world and whacked into my ribs, arms, and legs—leaving cuts and searing pains that would turn to bruises soon enough. I might have screamed, but I don’t know if I did.

  At last, I stopped rolling, very abruptly, when I slammed into a tree at the base of the hill hard enough to knock whatever breath was left in me right out of my chest. I made a harsh, breathless whimpering sound, and that time, I didn’t get up immediately to keep running. Instead, I lay at the base of the tree, gasping and aching. I felt battered all over, as if I’d been pelted with rocks. I couldn’t tell if the dampness running down my face was from tears, sweat, or blood. My legs were on fire, my ribs were screaming, and I could barely find the energy to breathe—it just hurt too much.

  I knew I had to move. I wasn’t safe yet. I wasn’t out of the woods—literally or figuratively. So I dragged myself upright, biting down on a gasp of pain as a twinge shot through my left leg. I was almost blind in the darkness, but the moon was out, peering through the trees and giving me just enough light to see by. I looked down at my legs and saw they were blackened with dirt, my knees smeared with blood from falling on them repeatedly. My elbows, scraped raw, weren’t much better. My forearms were lined with thin slices from the whipping branches. I reached up to the throbbing spot at my hairline, and when I drew my fingers back, they were stained with dark liquid. My hair was tangled with twigs and blood and falling into my eyes. I pushed it back and saw my hand was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. In fact, I was shaking all over.

  Slowly, swallowing a groan of pain, I hauled myself to my feet, stumbling against the tree that had so kindly stopped my rolling descent. Breathing hard, I tried to think. I knew I couldn’t keep running, not in that state, but I had to get somewhere safe—or at least somewhere with a little cover. If I stayed there, they would find me…and then they would drag me back.

  Come on, Tilly, think. Move. Think and move at the same time. You can do that much, right? I wasn’t so sure, but I tried. I pushed myself regretfully away from the tree propping me up, ignoring the protests of my weary legs, and took a few unsteady steps. A sharp pain jolted up my left leg again, and I grabbed for the tree, gritting my teeth so I wouldn’t cry out. They might hear me.

  Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against the rough bark of the tree trunk, feeling my muscles tremble. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a numb coldness and the burning ache of my wounds. My own breathing was disturbingly loud in my ears, and I tried to calm my racing heart rate. You need to find shelter, my mind told me in an annoying, condescending voice, as if I hadn’t already figured that out. Well then, get moving!

  I pushed away from the tree, ready to make another attempt at walking, but then I heard a quiet sound—a snapping branch. A footfall on dry leaves. My heart jerked hard into my ribs, my stomach slammed into my throat, and I went deathly still, holding my breath. They found me! The thought was a panicked scream inside my skull. Every muscle in my body was tense, frozen, and my vision swam. Black trees against a navy background tilted and sparkles danced in my peripheral vision. I let out my breath slowly, silently, and took in a clean, crisp gulp of air. I strained my ears, listening, too scared to move my head to look around me.

  After about a minute had passed, and I still hadn’t heard anything more, I cautiously relaxed, loosening my howling muscles. My breath hitched halfway out of my throat, and threatened to dissolve into sobs, but I stuffed my knuckles into my mouth, biting down on them and tasting dirt. When I gained control of myself again, I started to move out from behind my tree. I heard another sound, like a whisper, to my left, very close. I whipped around to face it, eyes scanning the dark. The sudden movement was too much for my shock addled mind and exhausted body. The darkness rose up over my vision, and I fell again. That time, thankfully, I didn’t feel it when I hit the ground. I just kept falling, falling into unconsciousness.

  ** Spencer **

  The girl was unconscious when he found her, lying in the dirt like a broken doll someone had thrown away. In ragged shorts and a torn t-shirt, she looked like a street kid. He could see the beads of blood spilling from cuts and scratches on her arms and legs and crimson liquid matted into her pale, dirty hair from a head wound. He looked up at the top of the hill, saw the disturbed leaf litter churned up from where she’d obviously rolled down it.

  Cautiously, he crept forward, sniffing the air. She smelled like blood, sweat and the acrid scent of fear. With his ears swivelling to pick up any noise, any sign of what had been chasing her, he lowered his head and gently pressed his muzzle into her side. She didn’t wake up. She was so still, that if he hadn’t been able to hear her heart fluttering, he might have thought she was dead.

  He raised his head, his ears twitching, as he thought he heard a twig snap. Then he caught the scent of a fox on the breeze, and relaxed. He returned his attention to the girl with a chuffing sigh, knowing he couldn’t just leave her there for whatever she was running from to catch up to her. Even if there was nothing chasing her, which he suspected, because he couldn’t hear anything but the usual noises of the woods. There were other creatures out there that would take full advantage of an injured, unconscious girl. No, he couldn’t leave her there.

  Stretching out his paws, the wolf dug his claws into the dirt and began to shudder, spasms rolling through his body from his muzzle to the tip of his tail. He whimpered once before closing his eyes and thin
king of anything but the agony of his bones breaking and shifting, muscles tearing and rejoining, blood vessels bursting and sealing, every cell in his body burning and changing shape. It felt like forever, but it only took minutes for the wolf to become a boy.

  On hands and knees on the ground, he quaked, his muscles twitching with the after effects of the Change. His chest heaved with gasping breaths as he tried to get air into lungs that suddenly felt too small and wrong. His dulled human senses made him anxious. He couldn’t hear, see, or smell half as well as in his wolf form, which was a real problem in the dark with a girl to protect. Shaking off the itchiness of his skin, he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at the girl with new eyes. With his dimmed human vision, she was just a shadow on the ground, but he could still see the paleness of her hair and skin.

  For a second, he just stood there, debating what to do with her. She needed first aid to clean up those cuts, and probably water to replace the sweat she’d lost running. He could take her back to his cabin quietly. Nobody ever came into his cabin but him; nobody would have to know. But he had a feeling that she’d be frightened when she woke up, and he wasn’t exactly great at calming crying girls. He was more used to them flirting with him, or avoiding him because he was scary in some indefinable way they couldn’t put their fake fingernails on; it was a side effect of being a werewolf. Some humans could tell there was something different about him, and some couldn’t. It didn’t really matter, seeing as he avoided most people anyway, because, well, he just didn’t like them very much.

  But the girl…no, sneaking her to his cabin wouldn’t do. If he got caught trying to slip her in, his father would give him hell for it, maybe even kick him out of the pack. He was barely allowed in the pack as it was, and that was fine, but he didn’t want to push it. So he’d have to take the girl to the camp and hope Jane’s compassionate nature would mean she couldn’t turn the girl away when she clearly needed help.

  With his mind made up, Spencer bent over and easily lifted the girl into his arms. She was light, and he could feel her ribs through her t-shirt. She hadn’t been fed very well—maybe she was a street kid after all. It didn’t matter who she was for now. He could worry about that later. With her hanging limply in his arms, he loped back toward camp, imagining the look on his father’s face if he found out he’d brought a human girl into their den. The thought made him wince and smile at the same time.

  Chapter Two

  ** Tilly **

  Waking up, the first thing I registered was the pain in my body. My head was splitting, and my ribs creaked with every breath, but I was still breathing at least. That was a good sign.

  Without opening my eyes or trying to move, I attempted to work out where I was. I was lying on something soft, there was a rough blanket covering me, and there was a strange musky scent in the air—like moss, earth, and wild animal. I could hear muffled noises nearby, voices, and beyond that, a rushing sound like water—a stream. That puzzled me and worried me immensely; the only stream I knew of was deep, deep in the woods on the very edge of town. That meant I was several miles from home, but it also meant I was miles away from them. I wasn’t sure how much good that would do me. They would find me eventually.

  Concluding that, at the very least, I was alive and relatively safe for the time being, I finally opened my eyes. Soft, yellow light surrounded me, and I groaned as I rolled over, blinking. The bed under me creaked, the complaint of metal springs on a foldout bed. The kind you might use for sleepovers or camping. I suppose that explained why I was in, what appeared to be, a very large tent. Across the room from the whiny bed I was lying in, there was another bed. That one was empty, but made up with a cosy looking waterproof sleeping bag and some ratty blankets. There was also a white plastic cooler, a first aid box, a gas lantern…and a little girl staring at me with wide, excited eyes.

  She clapped her hands together when I looked at her, and I flinched back. Where the hell am I? I wondered. The little girl, who was sitting on the floor at the foot of my bed, hopped up, grinning. Her dark hair ponytails swished as she bounced from foot to foot, watching me.

  Uneasy, I tried to smile at the cute little girl. Her grin widened, showing tiny white teeth. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, shining with childlike curiosity.

  Sitting up slowly, so as not to aggravate my injuries, I said, “Hi there. I’m Tilly. What’s your name?” Before I’d even finished speaking, the girl squeaked and ran out of the tent through the fluttering gap in one wall. I blinked, frowning. Had I scared her?

  Outside, just beyond the flapping doorway, I heard a high, sweet voice saying to someone, “She’s awake! She’s awake! Come look, the girl’s awake!”

  A moment later, the girl ran back into the tent and stopped just inside the doorway, pointing at me. As another, larger figure entered behind her, I shrank back, suddenly hyper aware of the mess I was in. I probably looked downright feral. Also, I was embarrassed to be lying in someone else’s bed, in someone else’s tent, having obviously been taken in by some kind strangers as if I was a wounded stray cat.

  The person who entered the tent behind the little girl was a boy, probably about my age. He tugged on one of the little girl’s ponytails as he brushed past her, eyeing me with a small smile on his face. Nervously, I tugged the blanket higher around my neck. The boy was cute—he had curly chestnut hair that fell into sparkly green eyes, and a dimple in one cheek. He was fairly tall, a little lanky, dressed in camouflage print trousers and a khaki t-shirt that looked a size too big for his slender frame.

  The boy’s smile twitched wider, and I realised I was staring at him. I blushed and dropped my gaze, twisting the edge of the blanket between my fingers nervously. With my eyes on the bumps under the blanket that were my knees, I heard the rustle of clothing as the boy moved, and the low murmur of his voice as he spoke to the little girl.

  “Annie, go get Sarah and tell her the girl is awake. I’ll keep an eye on her until you get back.”

  I peeked up and saw the boy kneeling next to the little girl, Annie, who was chewing her lip hesitantly. She glanced at me, and then back to the boy, before nodding and bolting out of the tent. I assumed she was going to get Sarah–whoever that was. That left me alone with the boy. He stretched to his feet again and sauntered further into the tent, keeping his eyes on me. In return, I kept my eyes on him, until he casually sat down on the empty bed opposite me and put his hands on his knees. I waited for him to say something, but he just sat there and stared at me thoughtfully, an odd fey smile on his lips.

  Uncomfortable, I cleared my throat, and not quite looking at him, I said, “Um. Hi.” My voice came out dry and hoarse, and I swallowed, curling into a tighter ball. I shuddered, and the boy’s eyes narrowed, but he had the tact not to say anything about it.

  Instead, he said, “Hello. How are you feeling?”

  His voice was gentle, and I glanced up at his face. He was still smiling, but it was a kind sort of smile. I looked away again, clutching the blanket to my chest.

  I nodded. “I’m–” My voice cracked, and I swallowed again, taking a breath and trying again. “I’m okay, I guess.” I was alive, I didn’t seem to have any broken bones, and I appeared to have been rescued by some nice campers. It could have been worse—a lot worse.

  The boy’s smile faded a little and his eyebrows drew together slightly, giving me a concerned look. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly two days. What’s your name?” he asked quietly, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. A chestnut curl fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back absently, not taking his eyes off me.

  “Tilly. My name’s Tilly,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

  The boy tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing curiously for an instant. “Tilly. Is it short for something?” he asked.

  Carefully, I nodded. “It’s short for Matilda. Everyone just calls me Tilly, though.” I hated it when people called me Matilda. Only they ever called me Matilda.

  Grinning,
the boy nodded. “Tilly it is then. I’m Dominic. You can take you pick of shortened forms: Dom, Nick, Nicky, or my least favourite, Dick. I’m actually not really a Dick kind of guy.”

  His grin turned roguish, and I laughed, surprising myself. It seemed to please Dominic, and I found myself smiling back at him. He seemed friendly enough.

  “Don’t forget Minnie. I thought Minnie was your least favourite nickname,” a dry voice stated from the doorway, and I jumped a little.

  I hadn’t heard anyone else come in, but a second boy was standing by the doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest, showing off more pronounced muscles than Dominic had, and he had a lazy grin on his mouth. It didn’t look as friendly and open as Dominic’s, but it didn’t look unfriendly either. The new boy had wavy brown hair, but the same green eyes as Dominic, and I guessed they were brothers.

  Dominic sighed at the other boy good naturedly. “Yes, I hate being called Minnie. That’s probably why I didn’t mention it to Tilly, just in case she decided to call me that.”

  He gave me a sideways grin. The other boy’s eyes slid to me, regarding me with curiosity and pursed lips.

  “Tilly, this is my brother, Desmond. He’s too cool to introduce himself,” Dominic said, waving a hand toward the other boy.

  Desmond scoffed and unfolded his arms. Giving his brother a pointed look, he strolled over to me, and held out a hand. I stared at it for a second, and then looked up at him blankly. He raised his eyebrows into his wavy hair expectantly.

  “It’s a hand. You’re meant to shake it. It’s generally regarded as the polite thing to do when you meet new people,” he said, and I scowled at him.

  “You don’t seem like a polite person,” I said, the words rolling off my tongue before I could think about them.