“Thank you,” Johnny called, tending his pots.
Zoe jogged down the front stairs and out to the war zone.
The moment Izzy got here she claimed the garden. It was her favorite place on the grounds. She liked to read out there. Izzy had always had a thing for plants for as long as Zoe could remember. She’d already added a few herbs, and the rose succulents were coming along.
It wasn’t hard to tell Johnny felt threatened by Izobel’s encroachment. He hadn’t said anything but his suspicion grew whenever Izzy mentioned anything about herbs. He also kept uprooting her Matthiola Incana. He wasn’t fooling Zoe.
Zoe plodded through the rows searching for rounded, boat-shaped leaves. A cracking noise snapped her head toward it. She didn’t see anything. The sky was clear and black as velvet shimmering with a few stars strewn across its surface.
Eerie silence settled in behind the sound like it had never happened. Zoe swallowed and leaned to one side trying to see past stacked bales of hay. The storybook vibe of the Hundred Acre Wood as she’d come to call this place turned sinister the moment the sun set behind the mountains.
In the daylight, the gardens were studded with vegetables and hanging flowers. The house was a stately creature. A little worn and rundown, it was hard to ignore its former glory. At night, it was like a great animal bathed in shadow and creaking with the wind. It surveyed the grounds like a predator from the top of the hill, ready to pounce and shred anyone foolish enough to get too close.
“Helloooooo. Is anyone there,” Zoe called hoping no one answered.
She spotted the bay leaves and wasted no time picking the plant clean with hurried enthusiasm. Zoe jumped at another noise. This one was a lot harder to dismiss. Closer too. Zoe swallowed past a dry mouth. Her eyes were a little wider than she wanted them to be.
“Come on, Zoe,” she admonished. “You’re a beastie of the night now. Big Werewolf energy.”
Her little pep talk helped her to at least remove the shake from her voice. But her hands still rattled. Her heart hammered a beat you could dance too. Zoe forced herself to stand a little taller. Shoulders straight as razors. Izobel used body language like that her entire life. Zoe understood why now. It isn’t enough to think you aren’t afraid. You have to believe it. And the stance helped with that.
“Show yourself,” she demanded inching forward.
She clenched her fists so hard the dull aroma of the florid bay leaves burned her nostrils. The scent was so powerful she swooned. It was like a wave crashed into her. Surprising, it pinned her to the ground with a stunning spike. Her pupils pinned.
The primordial races don’t mix. Most of them can’t stand the sight of the others, but it’s more than that. The universe likes specifics. It crafts and maintains each thing with a reverent eye. Someone born a witch could not also be a vampire for example. One overwhelms the other. Lycanthropy worked a little different.
The will of the beast was singular in its rage and bedlam. So elemental, its bite overwhelmed the natural ways of the universe. That brush was all the door the beast needed to overwhelm the will and push its way into the world. A lethal curse spread by tooth and claw, victim begat victim.
Only the Kin are born with the tools to reign it and capitalize on its monstrous qualities. All others suffered at its whim. Where it got tricky was the caveat that it was only a piece of that person. A rider. A separate entity.
Metri on twenty-nine days of the moth were human. It changes them profoundly but only shows itself to those who know how to look. That door can be closed. And while it is shut Zoe was Zoe.
And Zoe was born a witch. She just didn’t know it. Magic answered her call anyway. Always eager. Always ready. She asked it for werewolf energy. Magic provided it.
The tips of her fingers itched with a fiery undercurrent that threatened to drive her mad. The pressure was oceanic. It crushed her beneath air as thick as water. There is a reason we don’t question things like the air, there’s just too much of it. The word infinite has a mind-boggling weight. Zoe was keenly aware of every atom of the sea we swim in every day. She couldn’t breathe it anymore.
Now it burned her throat and squeezed her lungs. Now it dragged her deeper smothering her under its bulk. Zoe’s half step turned into a stumble rather fast. She caught herself on the swing dangling from the branches of a Poplar tree. The chains sang the thing swung back and forth violently, but Zoe managed to stay on her feet by some miracle.
Something moved toward her. A shadow just a little darker than the sky it was silhouetted against. Zoe caught just a glimpse of it as her world spun and tilted. Now she flailed around trying to find it once more.
She turned and there it was only a foot or so in front of her. The shadow reached out to her. Zoe threw her hands up around her head and screamed.
Abel collapsed to the ground in a heap of blood and pain. It took her over ten seconds to realize the monster had not gobbled her whole. She opened one squeezed-shut eye at a time and her fear dropped into concern with her recognition.
She dropped down to one knee next to him. Reaching out she was afraid to touch him. His shirt was black, seeping with blood. He was pale and gaunt.
“Jesus! What happened to you?”
Zoe gauged the distance between here and the front door and really did not like the math. The logistics of getting him up that hill were daunting. Abel coughed. A rasping wet sound punctuated by his body convulsing with the agony of it. He moaned rocking back and forth.
“Silver,” he croaked.
“Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of here I promise.”
Everything else forgotten she wrapped one arm around his shoulder, hooking her hand around his armpit and struggled to drag him to his feet. Zoe was five foot four, thin and fragile with the bones just as hollow as a bird. She looked even smaller compared to Abel’s six foot two feet of athletic muscle.
They staggered going first right and then left before Zoe’s determination centered them on the path. He sagged against her. Body shuddering, his skin was cold, clammy, and wet with perspiration. She never thought the word vulnerable could get tagged on a guy like Abel. Boy was she wrong.
“Johnny!” Zoe cried propelling them through the rows of neatly planted vegetation.
Atlas had nothing on what it took to drag Abel through the gardens and up the meandering hill. Johnny jogged past but stopped and came back, spotting them he took off at a full run. Zoe saw him and melted with relief.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, kid,” Abel rasped.
His eyes fluttered and he slumped unconscious. Zoe lowered him to the ground careful as she could manage. Johnny skidded to his knees next to them.
“He’s going to be okay, right? He has to be.” Zoe said.
54
Chapter
Abel huffed out a breath and scratched at the wound in his chest. He regretted it immediately. Pain rolled out like a wave spreading burning throughout his core. His face scrunched with it, eyes squeezing shut tight. Despite the flare of agony, he did it again.
Izobel rolled her eyes. She couldn’t watch it anymore. She huffed her way out of the room and came back in a few minutes later her hands full.
The first aid kit was bigger than most people are used to. They housed theirs in a plastic tackle box. Werewolves can take a hit and keep on coming. But they also shed more blood, break more bones, it changed the logistics of how you approach a problem like that. They found over the years they went through more bandages than your average family.
She also carried a few things from her apartment. Grateful to have them again, Izobel dropped to her knees next to him and sat a jar, a candle and chrome zippo lighter on the floor in front of her. Lighting the candle she leaned in reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
He didn’t stop her. Abel bit his lip and gave her the benefit of a questioning brow instead. God, she smelled good, jasmine with just the hint of earthy spice. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, gentle on his w
ounded side. Her milky skin was cool and smooth as porcelain.
“Why is this taking so long to heal?” she asked removing the bandage.
“Silver. It’s the only thing that soothes the savage beast. Silver puts our abilities to sleep. If those were regular bullets the natural healing would have mended it within hours. These I’ll heal as though I’m human.”
“This will help you then,” Izobel said opening the jar.
She dipped three fingers in the ointment. A cloudy white it shimmered in the overhead light. Flecks of green and red, along with petals and dried herbs and such were suspended in the oil. Abel backed up just a little bit.
“What is that?” He asked, suspicious. His lip even pulled up one side in a sneer.
“Wild yam, shea butter, and a few other bits and bobs from the garden and other places.”
He laughed. “You don’t fool me, witch, there’s eye of newt in there isn’t it?”
She made a face. “Ground up caterpillar,” she admitted.
“That’s what I thought. You take your nasty poultices on over there,” he commanded.
“You are going to suck it up because it will make you feel better. In an hour, you’re going to begging me for more. It’s that good,” she said spreading it over his wound to a wince and a growl.
“Here now, you big baby,” she scolded playfully. “You need the caterpillars for the magic to feed off you see. If they weren’t mixed in, the magic would feed off you instead. And you can’t even tell it’s in there.”
His face crumpled into a scowl. Abel had to admit he could feel it working already. A soothing tingle, it leached the heat away from his wound. It diffused an uplifting current down to his bones and dragged comfort in its wake.
Izobel’s smirk was knowing. “See. What did I tell you.”
“Ground up caterpillars,” he reminded her.
“If I hadn’t told you, you’d never have known,” Izobel argued.
“So you’re telling me those little chunks isn’t hacked up bug?” Able asked, pointing.
“No, that’s wintergreen and pomegranate rind.”
“Oh.”
Izobel snickered at him, pressing down at the corners of the clean bandage. “So tell me what happened?” Her tone was soft.
“We were ambushed. They took Martine and no one can figure why. Isaak is moving freely behind the scenes and no one wants to believe he’s there. I swear he’s playing chess, and everyone else only knows checkers.” Abel huffed out a breath and touched his chest above the stitches. He grimaced.
Izobel shrank back into her place next to him. She flipped her black curls over one shoulder and he had such an urge to touch her lips. He swallowed hard against it.
She tucked a swath of the luxuriant hair back behind her ear and bit down on her lip. The combination overwhelmed him. Such a simple ballet, still its grace hammered him to the spot. It gave way to the flood of his thoughts.
There was color here again and he was thankful for it. It leached out of this enigmatic woman and the aggressively sunny outlook of her baby sister. They infused this place with life and stirred the ghosts that haunted the shadows around here. And where seeing some of them tore open old wounds the only way to heal a bone set wrong is to re-break it.
“You got me through that fight, you know?”
She arched a brow in question. “What do you mean?”
“You and your sister. Pissed as I was Johnny brought her. I haven’t looked at this place and seen home in a long time. You two made me want to fight for it again.”
Izobel smiled, absolutely charmed by his lovely sentiments and rosy cheeks. Able cocked his chin back and looked at the room like he was seeing it again for the first time.
“It’s good to have a purpose again.”
Abel wasn’t really talking to her. He was admitting that to the world in general and he wasn’t sure when the slide started. He was stunned by the splash into such deep admissions. Izobel recognized his manner. She’d been stomped into the floor by this ointment a time or two. All Deklan told her when he taught her the ingredients was It facilitates healing. Most people don’t realize it’s not just about broken bones that need to be knit back together. Our emotions are just as shattered by the trauma we face.
“It’s the ointment. It packs a wallop,” she answered the question he hadn’t asked out loud. “It’ll knock you on your ass. Have you spilling universal truths and swimming in reflective epiphanies for a few hours.”
“That’s cheating,” he accused and they both fell into laughter. “You Sparrows are so damned tricksy.”
“The universe wouldn’t have us any other way,” she conceded.
Abel touched her hand. Both of them looked down at it. He tightened his grip and met her watery blue eyes. Izobel licked her pink lips.
“Listen, I know you’ve been hiding something about this charm you keep talking about.”
She sat back, her mouth falling open to deny it. Abel shook his head. “I saw the book.”
You went through my things?” she accused.
“Don’t change the subject,” he stonewalled.
Izobel’s mouth dropped open and snapped shut just as fast. She wasn’t going to apologize. “What do you want from me?” she asked. “I don’t play games. I want nothing to do with your Kin and what they stand for. The only thing I give a damn about is my sister.”
He hung his head. “I know that. And I don’t fault you for it either. But if we don’t stand for what’s right who is going to?”
“You chose this wall you seem so keen on backing me against. Now you’re going to fight me over how I defend myself?” she accused.
“Not everything in the world can be slashed and burnt, Sparrow.”
Her shoulders settled with a little flutter. Every time he’d won an argument that was her bowing to her opponent. He hated to admit he thought it was kind of sexy.
Izobel clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip and it was all he could think about. That and her lovely eyes. She had a way about her. Her skin was pale as milk. He reached out without thinking and pushed the strap up over her shoulder.
The gray silk of her bias-cut dress shimmered with blue shadows. Luxuriant black waves spilled down her back. He meant to walk away ten minutes ago. He had things to do. And yet here he stood completely lost in the shaded lines of her throat.
“We’re a pack, Izobel. We work together. You’re not alone no more.”
And that’s precisely what had her ready to bolt. Izobel didn’t dare get close to anyone. The holes they leave are just too painful. Not to mention the dents and creases that linger long after they leave you behind.
“My sister is a part of your pack. I’m not a werewolf.”
“Pack is family, doesn’t matter what your blood screams.”
55
Chapter
It was all Alex could do to stand there. Everything about the walking corpse repulsed him. Nora didn’t say it was this bad. Wouldn’t have mattered if she had. He wouldn’t have believed her. The great man he once knew was laid low by age and decay. Shuffling around a shadow of his former glory.
This is why men died on the battlefield. It took the shame of running away for him to understand why the Kin revered that sacrifice. He’d questioned it from the moment his father was gutted in the mud and left to bleed out while a hundred men killed each other over a land squabble.
No one deserved the indignity of the world standing by while they faded a little more each day. Stephan Worthington committed atrocities in his day, and this was still too much to bear. Alex’s home had withered on the vine while he was fleeing the mistakes of his past. He wasn’t sure what Nora thought they could do to save it.
God, he needed a drink. The sun could not set fast enough for his liking. He craved Vic’s arms. She was the only thing that brought him comfort. She was his heroin. She had him strung out and feening for her. He welcomed his next hit.
Nora gave him a look and he raised both ey
ebrows in response.
“There will be feasts!” Worthington crowed happily “Make sure it is noted that each of the families will attend. We must celebrate.”
The other heads weren’t sure what to make of Alex’s return to the fold. Most had written him off chasing other leads. He brought chaos with him whatever the reason for his miraculous appearance. Nora paid particular attention to the heads of Marcone, Martine, and Britons. Any push back would come from them.
Risguard fussed with the button at his wrist. The room was just this side of too stuffy. Everything he’d dragged into place over the past year shook and threatened to fall away into the sinkhole Nora opened up beneath him with this power move. It was obvious Ellis failed.
Alex moved closer to his grandfather a little stiffly despite the welcoming smile the old man had for him. He did not look happy to be here. That didn’t change the fact that he stood there poised to dash all their plans. And Isaak was blinded by his love of family.
Nora had him in check.
Isaak’s attack hinged on his claim to the throne. Without it, the fighting would never stop. Taking a fiefdom is not so hard as you might think. It’s bloody and brutal. It’s keeping it that gets tricky. Usurper is a dirty word. A title that left you with fear as your only option to rule a land.
Nora’s smirk was predatory and far too pleased with itself for Risguard’s taste. He didn’t begrudge it though. She played this one smart. She used Isaak’s weakness against him for full effect. Like he’d told Isaak she would. The girl fought dirty and she had style to boot.
If only Isaak saw how dangerous she was. Hell, if Worthington knew he had a viper cuddled up at his feet pretending to be a loyal little bitch Risguard wouldn’t have half the problems he was running around trying to fix today.
Not fond of her holier than though attitude but boy he respected her craft. He’d tip his hat if he were wearing one. He had to reshuffle his entire way of thinking to pull Isaak’s ass out of the fire on this one.
He returned her smile and raised her a nod. Michael Risguard said his goodbyes and left out the back without much fanfare. He checked behind him twice to be sure no one followed. He got in his car and made sure to look non-chalant as he made his way away from the square. Isaak had to know what was going on.
Aching Silver (House of Wolves Book 1) Page 19
