Run (Caged Trilogy Book 1)

by H G Lynch

  “Shut up! I was not!” I covered my ears with my hands, but I could still hear him laughing. I scowled at the dirt on my trainers. Remind me why I like this guy? Oh, yeah, because he saved my life…and he’s a hell of a kisser.

  All of a sudden, he was kneeling right in front of me, leaning in. With a choked noise of surprise, I jerked backwards, my hands sliding on the leaves on the ground under them. Spencer grinned, and for the first time, I noticed he had a faint silvery scar just under his lower lip. Then I realised I was looking at his lips and moved my gaze back to his eyes, but it didn’t help one bit.

  His eyes were so intense; it was like staring into radioactive pools of blue liquid. Something inside me quivered in delight, and I thought of him kissing me there and then, on the ground, far away from anyone to interrupt us. I let out a jagged, shuddering breath.

  Spencer’s mouth turned up at one corner wryly, his lids half-lowered, and he leaned back. “Primitive things indeed,” he murmured.

  Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, I asked, slightly breathlessly, “How did you get that scar? On your lip? I thought werewolves could heal things like that?”

  Looking surprised by my question, Spencer lifted his fingers to his lip, touching the faint scar. His eyes took on a distant glaze, as if he weren’t seeing me anymore. “It was inflicted with silver. When I was very little, so little I only barely remember it. I was playing with a knife in my mother’s kitchen, reaching for it on the countertop, and when my fingers touched it, it burned. I yanked my hand back and the knife fell. It cut me, and I must have wailed like a banshee, and my mother was so upset. She blamed herself for leaving the knife lying around. She picked me up and cradled me, wiping away the blood and tears, and she sang to me. A lullaby…I don’t…I can’t remember the lullaby anymore…”

  There was something suddenly so raw and vulnerable in Spencer’s expression that I had the urge to put my arms around him and comfort him. I didn’t move, fearful that if I did, it would disrupt his memory. I had never seen him look like that before—as if there was something, someone, he really cared about. Someone he truly loved with the kind of love one could only feel for family.

  He blinked and half-gasped as if he’d been jolted back to the present by a punch to the gut. He stared at me for a long second before recognition flashed in his eyes, and his throat moved as he swallowed, his vulnerable expression hardening. I could practically see the cold, hard armour he had around himself being built up again link by link, brick by brick. It was amazing and terrible at once, seeing him withdraw into a skin made of ice, distancing himself from the world like a tree pulling its roots from the earth and shrivelling.

  I wondered, if a person separated their self from other people for long enough, did they shrivel? If they kept everyone away, hiding, shielding their self from possible love and friendship, did their soul become weak and dry?

  “Spencer,” I murmured gently, leaning toward him.

  He got to his feet hastily, brushing off his jeans with brisk, sharp movements. “We should get back to the cabins. We need to talk to Frank about what happened last night, and we’d better do it before Dominic changes his mind about keeping his mouth shut about what he witnessed.”

  What he witnessed? You mean, you kissing me? I got to my feet slowly, hiding my face so he wouldn’t see I was stung by his brusqueness. “Okay,” I said, nodding.

  Spencer glanced at me, a fleeting glance, and his expression flickered for a second, but I couldn’t read it. Then he jerked his head once and said, “Follow me, or else you’ll be lost out here for days.”

  He turned and started walking quickly through the trees, his back to me. I watched his tense shoulders receding between the branches, and sighed softly before hurrying to catch up with him. I made a decision, though, as I walked. I decided that, no matter what it cost, I would find a way to make Spencer let love in through that hard armour. I would not let his soul shrivel.

  “No, there is no way that is happening!” Frank boomed, shaking his head. His lips were pressed flat beneath the bristles of his moustache.

  I shrunk back, wishing I hadn’t opened my mouth and suggested it. Spencer, next to me, was stock still and taut.

  Frank turned his steely grey eyes on me, and his grimace deepened. “No. What are you thinking, girl? And Spencer, I thought you knew better. I thought you knew the laws of the pack!”

  Spencer opened his mouth to say something, shook his head, and closed it again, speechless. Honestly, I was pretty much speechless too. This was not the reaction either of us had expected when we’d come to talk to the alpha.

  Frank rubbed his prickly jaw, and said, “No, there’s no way you’re leaving, Tilly. I don’t care why those witches are after us. I don’t care why they’re after you. They picked a fight with us, and we’re not going to back down. You saved us when you didn’t have to. You didn’t have to come running at that gunshot, and didn’t have to stop that witch from exposing Spencer. You could have saved your own skin, and you didn’t. That means something to us, and I’m not letting you walk away from the best protection there is around here. A strong werewolf pack. That’s the end of it.” He shot Spencer a meaningful glower, which I couldn’t decode, and then turned and walked away.

  Spencer turned to me and raised one eyebrow slowly. “You just had to suggest leaving, didn’t you?”

  I couldn’t tell from his voice what he thought of that, the idea that I’d be willing to leave. I wasn’t willing, but I thought I’d throw it out there, just on the off chance that my going away would mean the wolves wouldn’t decide to make me go away. Turned out, the wolves didn’t want me gone after all. Well. Frank didn’t. I suspected I was still going to be a pariah among the pack, but at least I’d be a well-protected pariah.

  I shrugged. “I just thought he should know all the options. I was sort of expecting him to call me wolf chow, and you know, eat me.” I shuddered dramatically, and grinned at him, but Spencer didn’t grin back.

  He had that brooding look again—eyes narrowed, brows pushed down, staring at me as if he was trying to see inside my skin. “Would you really have left if he’d told you to?”

  With a sigh, I shrugged again. “Yes, I would have left. If I thought it would keep the pack safe, and if I thought I might become doggy snacks if I stayed, I’d go.” But I’d pray for you to come with me. I didn’t say that bit out loud, and I kept my head bowed, so he wouldn’t read it on my face. He didn’t need to know he was the only thing keeping me there, protected or not.

  Unexpectedly, Spencer snorted. I looked up in time to see him rolling his eyes. “You’re more loyal to the pack than I am,” he muttered.

  He turned, motioning for me to follow him, and I did. We started to wander off toward the stream. It wasn’t hard to guess where we were going. Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets, his narrowed eyes scanning the bushes as we walked. I wasn’t sure if he was looking for threats, or if he was just always on his guard.

  We came to the stream, and he sat down on his boulder, stretching his long legs out in front of him. I hesitated, my gaze flicking to the tree he’d backed me up against earlier. I felt heat stain my cheeks, and then felt Spencer’s gaze on me, no doubt noticing. I turned around, making it look as if I was just casually strolling up and down the edge of the stream. His gaze rested heavily on my back, but I refused to turn around. I watched the clear water of the stream bubbling and swirling over rocks, leaves, and the algae clustered at the edges.. I realised it had been days since I’d meditated.

  “What are you thinking about?” Spencer asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

  I glanced at him over my shoulder, lounging on that rock as if it was a perfectly comfortable piece of furniture. Somehow, he still looked graceful, sprawled out like that. I didn’t know if it was a werewolf thing, or a Spencer thing.

  “Meditation,” I answered simply, continuing to walk with my back to him.

  He grunted. “Mh. You meditate?”
<
br />   “It helps me focus, helps me control my temper and my power. I can feel the energy of the woods around me. It’s like a living, breathing creature, with thoughts and feelings. It’s just that most people don’t have the ability to feel it, to sense its thoughts and emotions, the way I do,” I explained.

  There was a thoughtful silence for a moment, and then Spencer asked, “Is that something all witches can do, or just you?”

  Absently, I said, “Some witches can, some can’t. It’s part of what makes me so weird. Different from normal witches, I mean. I have certain powers that shouldn’t reside together in one witch.” I shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but it was. I waited for him to ask me what I meant or what my powers were, but he didn’t.

  I turned to him, and changed the subject. “Thank you, by the way…for…staying last night,” I murmured, hugging my elbows. I was embarrassed I’d broken down like that, but I’d been so scared and exhausted. And I’d been so angry at Dominic. I didn’t know what I would have done if Spencer had left me alone in that room all night. I know I wouldn’t have slept.

  Spencer blinked, evidently surprised by my thanks. He stared at me blankly for a second, as if he didn’t understand the words I was saying, and then he smiled, a stunningly sweet and shy smile, just a little lopsided. “No problem. You seemed like you needed it.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I sort of did. Sorry, though…for the crying. I’m not usually…I don’t normally go off like that.” I grimaced. “I guess I was worried about the witches coming to kidnap me, or making me sleepwalk again, or something.” I wondered why my personal wardings didn’t prevent that, the sleepwalking. It was definitely an issue, but I had no idea how to fix it. I’d sort of skipped over the Sleep Summoning part of my witch approved learning curriculum.

  Spencer made a low, concerned sound, frowning. “Yes, the sleepwalking is a problem. Much as I’d like to spend more nights in your bed,” he flicked me a mischievous glance, and I looked away,“it’s hardly practical. Plus, someone is bound to catch on, make assumptions, and tell Frank I’ve been fraternising with an outsider, and then we’re both royally screwed.” He shook his head in frustration. “So, what we need is help. Help from someone not interested in pack laws or politics. Someone who has power of her own.” He tapped his chin with a forefinger in a mockingly thoughtful pose, and I scoffed at him.

  “And you happen to know someone like that?” I asked.

  He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  ** Tilly **

  “So this is where your witchdoctor lives?” I eyed the crumbling, leaning shack sceptically. It was small, rickety and looked sort of like it had just grown out of the ground and been forgotten about. Moss crawled up the walls, leaves piled around the porch, and cobwebs smothered the cloudy, darkly curtained windows. It seemed to be slumping down on one side, the rotting porch steps twisting like a frown at the front of the shack. It was only a fifteen minute walk from my cabin, and I was surprised I hadn’t come across it in my wandering before.

  “She’s not a witch doctor; I said she’s a witch, who happens to be the pack’s doctor. A Healer. Since, obviously, we can’t really go to a normal doctor without them figuring out there’s something wrong. I mean, besides, undoubtedly, a shard of metal sticking out from one’s ribs. We come to Jasmine,” Spencer explained, but he was giving the twisted porch steps and sagging, lichen coated roof the same wary look I was.

  “Well,” I said, “do we go in? Or do we need to make an appointment first?”

  Spencer cut a sideways glance at me with a silently laughing smile. “You’re a real cutup. No, no appointment needed. In fact, she probably already knows we’re here,” he said, gingerly loping up the steps.

  The old wood groaned miserably under his weight, and even creaked under my slighter body. I shuddered. Creaky old cabins like that were always the setting for gory horror movies. But then, I supposed, my life had been pretty much a horror movie since I was six, and the past couple of weeks hadn’t changed that one bit.

  How much worse could it really get?

  Swallowing that thought before Fate picked up on it, I asked, “Your witchdoc— Healer woman is clairvoyant?” One of the witches I’d lived with was clairvoyant, but only weakly. Naomi, the youngest, and possibly the kindest, if you could call any of them kind in any way, had occasional visions. Of course, she’d used demon blood to strengthen her powers.

  After a long pause, the door started to crack open with a weary whine. A puff of cool, lavender and sage scented air swept out onto the porch. I grabbed Spencer’s hand nervously, gripping his dry fingers tightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spencer cut me a quick, surprised glance, his eyebrows rising, but I kept my gaze straight ahead on the widening gap between the door and the wall—only darkness showing beyond it. I was suddenly terrified. The only witches I’d ever met were the sisters who’d adopted me. I didn’t know what to expect of this one. Would she be as cold and dark hearted as Olivia, Naomi, and Gwen? Would she take one look at me and know I’d dabbled with demons, and banish me from her cabin in horror?

  Slowly, the door peeled back to reveal a woman much younger, and much less creepy, than I had expected. I took a second to be ashamed of myself. What had I been expecting, an old lady with warts on her nose? Some of the most beautiful people I knew were witches, and the woman behind the door, maybe twenty-five at most, was no exception.

  She was lovely, with smooth hair the colour of autumn leaves cut into a stylish bob, and skin as fair as mine. Her full lips were as red as rose petals, and curved in an amused smile. Though she was half a foot shorter than me, she had a figure so slender, I was jealous. The only thing that struck me as odd about her was her eyes. They were wide and bright, but every time she blinked, they seemed to change colour—brown to green to blue to grey and back to brown.

  I wondered if it was a side effect of seeing different futures as a clairvoyant. Naomi’s eyes didn’t do that, though. The woman must have been a particularly strong seer.

  “Well, well,” the woman said, her strange colour shifting eyes resting on Spencer. “Look what the wolf dragged in.” She leaned against the doorframe, giving Spencer a sultry kind of look.

  I glanced at him, expecting his usual blankness in response, but he was smiling. Actually smiling, fondness for the woman written in the cheekiness of his grin. I felt a spark of something nasty and pushed it down. Is there something going on between these two? I pushed the thought down, too, and hard. I didn’t know what the witch’s powers were; if she might be a telepath as well as a clairvoyant.

  “Afternoon, Jazz.” Spencer ducked his head briefly in greeting.

  I pursed my lips at the nickname. Obviously they were very familiar. I tried not to wonder just how familiar they were. Spencer had said relationships with outsiders were forbidden—he hadn’t said anything about casual sex.

  Spencer waved a hand, drawing the woman’s attention to me. Her eyes, an eerie shade of green, fixed on me and widened, lightening to hazel.

  “Jasmine, this is—” Spencer started.

  “Matilda,” Jasmine breathed.

  I flinched. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Oh God, what if she knows the witches? What if she’s helping them? I began to panic internally, my fingers tightening on Spencer’s, so suddenly, that he cast me a concerned look. But the witch went on, her voice low and strange, the way I’d heard Naomi talk when she was in the midst of one of her visions.

  “The Leyland Sisters’ adopted child. The one with the double powers. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I swallowed, putting my free hand into my pocket, so she wouldn’t see how badly I was shaking, unnerved by how much she knew about me. The one with the double powers. That was one way of putting it, and only ‘the Sisters’ knew about my unusual combination of powers. Not even Spencer knew exactly what my powers were, though I had told him they were not normal for a single witch.

  “Tilly,” Spe
ncer said quietly, reassuringly.

  Jasmine blinked and her eyes, now a dark shade of blue, flicked back to him, and then to our joined hands. I was squeezing his so hard, his knuckles were white, but he didn’t show any signs that it was hurting him. There was only worry in his voice, no pain.

  Abruptly, Jasmine smiled, a pleased and self-satisfied kind of smile. Spencer noticed and blushed. I was startled out of my panic for just a moment. Spencer did not usually blush, not easily, but there was definitely a smear of pink across his cheekbones and he was looking down at his feet.

  Jasmine giggled. “And you said it would never happen! Ha! I told you, I’m never wrong, Spence baby, never!” She clapped excitedly like a little girl.

  Spencer’s blush darkened. He muttered something, so low even I couldn’t hear what it was.

  Jasmine leaned forward, cupping her hand around her ear. “What was that, Mr. I’d Never Fall For An Outsider?”

  He lifted his gaze, glowering at her, and bared his teeth. It was a look scary enough that I wanted to take a step back, but the witch just continued to grin at him smugly.

  “Nothing,” Spencer growled between his teeth. “But if you’re so all seeing, Jazz, I guess you know why we’re here?”

  Jasmine nodded, stepping back from the doorway and gesturing for us to come in. Spencer ducked in the door, and I had no choice but to follow. The door closed behind us, and the room became so dim, it took my eyes a moment to adjust. All the curtains over the windows were closed, the only light provided by large, fat candles scattered around on desks and bookshelves and hanging in sconces on the walls. The smell of lavender and sage was much stronger inside, though not unpleasant.

  Jasmine skipped past me to touch a spot on the far wall, flipping a switch. Suddenly, the electric lighting flared to life, and I squinted against the brightness. Once it was properly illuminated, I could see the shack looked bigger from the inside, and not nearly as run down as the outside. There was a door in the wall next to the light switch, presumably leading to a bathroom or private bedroom, and another in the adjacent wall that was flung open, so I could see inside. Beyond it was a pale, bright room that seemed to be some sort of sickbay, with a clean, neatly made bed, a metal cabinet, a red plastic bucket with a grey cloth hanging out of it hiding in a corner, and a comfy looking chair like the kind you might find in a hospital. Obviously, that was where she did her doctoring for the wolves, and maybe other supernatural creatures too.