Which left the dilemma of calling magic, harnessing it to work in a time of stress, while also channeling it in such a way as to not appear to the mundanes that I was using it.
Example: blow out a tire, break the tape, pull the sack off my head, get out, and run. Coincidence, a shock about the tape, but still believable events.
And if they caught me? This time we’d be face-to-face. I could fight back, channel greater strength, be seen by other drivers.
I focused on breathing.
One tire. I could gather the force to blow out one tire.
Focus.
I’d hardly heard mumbled voices of the men, not registering as my mind raced. So I hadn’t noticed the movements until something touched my ear through the bag and I realized one of them was leaning over a back seat above me.
“No tricks,” he said, breathless. It was the one who’d been speaking another language. Yet his accent was nothing but English. “We know what you’re thinking and you can’t get away with anything. Right? Nothing at all.”
Two fresh horrors. First, they knew what I was. Second, that cold, round metal pressure through the nylon was the nose of a gun.
I waited, motionless while my thoughts sped and didn’t get anywhere.
I needed a list. I needed to balance alternatives, weigh options. I needed points A and B, choices One or Two. Instead, my mind replied with white noise of panic.
Minutes passed, the vehicle making turns, then rapidly gaining speed, leaving the city.
Focus. Gather force.
My magic couldn’t stop a bullet. It might help—twist the gun from his hand—but it could also get me killed if I made a mistake in timing. And they knew. Which meant that if something weird happened, such as a tire blowing, they would assume it was me even if I’d done nothing.
Goddess, grant us a smooth journey.
Then what? Once we arrived … somewhere?
What did they want? Should I try to talk?
I feared my voice shaking—betraying myself, losing my own strength.
I kept silent. Only struggling for that energy, ready to harness once the gun was off my head.
The gun did not stay, however. The pressure soon vanished. I sensed the man looming above me, keeping an eye on me. They said no more as we drove.
Ten minutes, twenty, thirty? I wasn’t sure how long, how far.
Then slowing, turns, a smooth road becoming rough, more turns, worse road, bumped and jarred.
At last, we stopped.
Doors opening, shutting. Still, I lay motionless, arms aching, heart pounding, but ready to act, to fight if at all possible.
How long before Melanie missed me? Was the sun setting? Even if it had, she would think I’d gone for a drink with my historical society friends.
Heavy steps on gravel. The back opened. Quick hands, strong and impatient, yanked me up by an arm. I stumbled and pitched forward as I was dragged from the back, caught and steadied on my feet by those same hands.
I didn’t fight or speak. I focused on the magic. Ready.
Ready for what?
Tape was cut and ripped off my wrists with a sudden pain that almost made me cry out. I sucked in a breath and bit my tongue instead. Breathing even faster, rigid with the effort to stand and keep my magic ready.
Two guys pulled me forward, one to each side, a hand on each upper arm, and we crunched over gravel. Only two of them all along?
Next thing I knew, I was tripping and stumbling through grass or weeds, a rough lawn. No, a field, maybe a hay field. Across tall grass and jagged earth and cool evening air.
Several voices ahead, low, male and female, growing louder as we seemed to be coming up to them.
Then, abrupt silence.
Chapter 3
“What—?” A woman’s voice.
“Told you we could get her, cataja.” Voice of the man immediately to my right. The one with the bag. The one I was sure I’d kneed in the groin. Now, though, his tone was cheerful, even smug.
Unseen hands shoved me forward. I tripped and dropped to my knees as voices murmured ahead and around us. They sounded alarmed, not threatening, but I wasn’t sure beyond that. English mixed in with that strange language.
My focus had to stay inward while my pulse raced, skin damp with sweat. Prepared to fight.
Fight who? What?
Hands free, I snatched at the hood over my face, loosening the drawstring.
“What have you done?” Same female voice.
“Just what I said we would.” The bag was yanked away by the owner of the voice above my painful right shoulder.
I sat back on my heels, breathing hard, envisioning inner power, the fire in my chest ready to be guided by my will. Even with the murmurs, however, I was not prepared for how many there were when I finally saw.
It was twilight, the sun below a little wood to my left, while I was indeed on my knees in an unkempt field. I faced dozens of individuals arranged in camp chairs, on logs, on the ground, or standing up in rows behind them for a look at me.
As I blinked and regained my sight, an older woman before me was getting to her feet. Face drawn, she approached. Her blazing eyes were directed above me.
“If you cannot complete a simple task, Kenaniah, seek guidance from your orataj.” The same one who’d already been speaking.
“We did complete—” he started.
“You said you could retrieve the scry!”
“We—”
“Not maul and torment her!”
“What were—?”
Still holding the magic, prepared to escape any way I could, I stole a glance around. To my right was the protesting Kenaniah. I knew him at once. The carved jaw and high cheekbones, ripped jeans and intense eyes from advanced scrying this morning. He’d also been the blur that dropped the drawstring bag over my head.
“I thought ambitions for core meant more to you than this,” she snarled and Kenaniah flinched. “And you, Jedediah, will wear the cuff if you ever treat another human this way.”
I didn’t recognize the one to my left, Jedediah, though he was cut from the same mold. Young, powerfully built, jeans and T-shirt—all black in his case. While the other tried to argue, Jedediah only stood there, scowling, shoulders hunched. His biceps made three of mine in circumference. Above the square jaw and black stubble, I was pleased to see flecks of blood that he hadn’t mopped up from his nose. Must have been his face I’d kicked in the back of the vehicle.
An older man and a young woman moved forward.
The two flanking me took a step back from the one reprimanding them. She managed a deep breath, her gaze dropping to me. A relatively small woman, though still as tall as myself, with silvering hair twisted up on her head, wearing a black summer dress with a gray half cape across her shoulders.
Not only her expression but whole body changed when she looked at me. Her eyes softened and grew sad. Her back eased, her chin lowered, and she opened her palms toward me.
“The council welcomes you to the South Coast Cooperative,” she murmured in a voice like someone else—a shout become a whisper, a warning become an endearment. “You have been treated unfairly. We must beg your forgiveness.”
I blinked, staring stupidly up at her in the gloom, still on my knees. “I…”
“What would you have us do, cataja?” Kenaniah was having another go to argue his case. “When the council asked them before, no worm would speak to us.”
“So you have explained nothing to her?” The old woman snapped, back to the sharp tone and glare to face him.
“Plenty of time for that. She’s here, isn’t she? That’s sorted. You said ‘bring her’ for Moon’s sake! Not chat her up.”
“Watch your tongue!”
But the two others had come up to us. The woman from this morning, burnt honey hair, very young, stepped past me to take Kenaniah’s arm, shushing him. The older man offered me his hand, also apologizing.
“Are you all right, miss?” He had a graying
beard and eyes crinkled with laugh lines, though the eyes looked concerned now.
I didn’t want to take his hand, afraid to break my own focus, but, slowly, I did and allowed him to help me to my feet.
“She’d never have come willingly—” Debate still on.
“If you had no intention of explaining the situation, you should have said so. Peter and Isaac could have talked to her.”
“Like we’ve ‘talked’ with worms before? She’d have told us to boil our heads. Like any other worm would!”
The long-haired young woman was tugging his arm. “Kage, that’s enough.” She must have been stronger than she looked because he stumbled, breathing hard, and checking his words.
“Your pardon, cataja,” Kenaniah—Kage—mumbled, finally averting his eyes.
“It’s not too late,” the young woman hurried on, glancing between them and me. “Maybe she’ll still help. It’s not the council’s fault this happened, cataja.” She cast me a mute appeal, her eyes desperate. For what? For me to say, Sure, no harm done, and laugh the whole thing off?
Then, somehow, they were looking at me. Every one.
After the yelling, I’d just about vanished. Or so I’d hoped.
The older woman inclined her head as she faced me, about to speak. I didn’t want her groveling. I just needed to know what the hell was going on.
I spoke first. “What is it you want? Who are you? Council of what?”
She looked up, startled, though she knew they’d told me nothing. “Why … council of wolves.”
Chapter 4
The three of them, Kage, Jedediah, and the honey-haired young woman, stood sideways to the old woman, all eyes downcast. This shift in their postures also changed tension in the air. No more arguing, no more fighting back.
Everyone who was looking at anything was looking at me.
“Please.” After a breath, the old woman offered her hand. “Will you allow us a moment of your time? We will not harm you. More,” she added with a hint of a growl, eyes darting to Kage and Jedediah—who had remained silent.
I took her hand briefly, unable to resist stepping back even so. No one moved to stop me.
“I am Diana, silver of the Sable Pack and member of the South Coast Cooperative, humbly requesting your forgiveness. This is Elijah, silver of the Aspen Pack.”
The one who’d helped me up nodded.
Still easing back, I said, “Cassia Allyn. So you’re … shifters?”
It didn’t make sense. There were supposed to be werewolves in Montana and Canada, maybe elsewhere in North or South America. Some remaining in Europe and Russia. But a whole gathering here in the South of England? How?
I didn’t know much about them. Not many humans, even in the magical community, did. Elusive, shunning human company, keeping to themselves. So what was this?
If there were werewolves running around densely populated England, why were they kidnapping humans and demanding … what?
Diana nodded in answer.
“Why have you brought me here?”
“To ask your assistance.” Soft voice.
“Right,” I said, facing her and not backing away anymore. “And sending a couple of thugs to drag me here with a gun to my head was a good start?”
“Gun?”
Many of them looked around to each other, or Kage and Jedediah, who smirked. Kage chuckled.
“We don’t have a gun,” he said, startling me with a lopsided grin. “That was the nose of an old hammer. Just couldn’t have you thinking you’d use your … magic … duff…” He faltered and looked away again in the heat of Diana’s glare.
“Kage, really?” The young woman started.
“Jed’s idea,” Kage muttered. “I thought it was pretty canny, actually.” He seemed surprised. Maybe Jedediah didn’t have many good ideas. Or Kage simply didn’t like him.
“Jed—” But she stopped and looked to me. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed in Brighton and talked to you myself. They’re proper daft sometimes; dead from the neck up.”
I hated it when people apologized for other people. Obviously, Kage could speak for himself—although I was beginning to wonder about Jed. And “sorry” didn’t look like it was cracking the top ten of how he was feeling. Jed had gone back to scowling at the grass while Kage gazed off into the distance as if hoping to catch a view of the sunset.
It was beyond true twilight. The western sky faded to indigo. Getting tough to see. Not a comfortable feeling in the silent crowd. No one made a move to light a campfire or even an electric lantern. They just watched in gloom.
Diana seemed to have been ready to follow up about the gun charade. Instead, she took a long, careful breath, dragged her gaze away from Kage, and focused on me.
“Our pack, and, perhaps, the whole South Coast Cooperative, is in jeopardy.” Her tone was gentle as she ignored the two delinquents. “As to you, however, you were brought here unfairly, and are free to go.” She opened her arms. “Rebecca can give you a lift back to Brighton whenever you wish.”
The young woman with Kage nodded.
I hesitated.
“Or I can explain the trouble here and you decide for yourself.” Diana gestured with her arm to take in the group. “If you will allow us a moment of your time we would be in your debt. It will not take long. Perhaps you would care to sit?” Maybe one was still smirking because the soft tone sharpened. “Kenaniah, Jedediah, find places in the circle.”
Dismissed, Kage and Jed slipped away, skirting behind her. Other dark figures enfolded them into the group.
Rebecca waited, presumably to see if I wanted her chauffeur services.
I swallowed. There were the obvious issues about even agreeing to listen—all that had just happened, the situation, the dark, the “wolves.” But there was an even worse issue coming to mind: no more magic.
A witch giving up the craft.
Mundane forever.
Inviting in magical creatures, leading to greater entanglement into my life, could only be bad news. For me.
What about for them?
Did they really need help? If so, why me? In all of Broomantle—a human group they knew of—they could have asked anyone. Why have their eyes on me today?
Did they have something for, or against, American witches? I’d stood out in that regard. Otherwise I was nothing special. Just a normal witch. There had been dozens of spellcasters there with greater power and skill than myself.
And what was the trouble? Were they really in danger?
Nana used to say we were fading: human casters, shifters, undead such as vampires, and the faie. We were all that was left, few and far between. With the possible exception of the faie—elementals and the very essence of magical spirits.
Collective of remaining humans and magical beings. Be our own allies. Or this community will continue to fade.
I took a breath and spoke slowly. “No promises, but I’ll listen.” So I really was a sucker. “If you’ll start a fire or bring lanterns, or there’s somewhere we can go inside.”
This caused a stir. I couldn’t hear what all was whispered, but got the gist. What did she say? She wants what?
“Do you always have council meetings in fields in the dark?” I asked, catching my tone and hoping I sounded more confused than as if I were accusing them of anything unintelligent.
“Moon rises. There is no room for us to gather indoors here,” Diana said, also careful in her tone, diplomatic. “We do have a fire pit beside the barn. We can group there and build a fire?” Like a question. If that would suit you, madam?
She made me feel like a prima donna. Lifting her eyebrows after I’d chipped a nail and burst into tears over it. But this was crazy enough as it was. They could humor me with a light.
“Thank you,” I said again. “Then maybe you can tell me what’s going on.”
She nodded to her fellows and several jumped up—presumably for firewood.
Diana led me to a new meeting site, others straggling
after, some with objects they’d been sitting on. The mood was subdued, tension, even fear, thick in the air. Fear for what was happening to them? Fear I wouldn’t help?
My own heart still beat too fast, palms sweaty in the cooling night. Maybe it was my own fear getting the better of me, making me sense it in them.
It took only minutes to have a fire going and our gathering repositioned near a crumbled stone barn. Then I accepted a seat from Elijah to face Diana by the growing blaze, and she began.
Chapter 5
“The South Coast Cooperative comprises the packs of southern England. The Aspens in Devon, Greys in Somerset, Beeches in Hampshire, and the Sables, my own family, here in West Sussex.”
At mention of the Beeches in Hampshire I heard muttering in the crowd.
Diana added, “The Beech Pack opted to forgo these gatherings, and much interaction of any sort between themselves and others, a generation ago. Which is their prerogative.” A firm note at the end.
There had seemed like a lot of them when I first got a look. Now it struck me how few there were if these represented members of three different groups and, presumably, much of this Sable Pack who lived here. Forty or fifty at most.
“What about the rest of the country? Europe also? I hadn’t known there were werewolves in England at all.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Diana said quietly. “There is a pack in Wales and a few who keep their own council in the North of England and Scotland, as well as some on the Continent. France, Germany, though mostly Eastern Europe. As far as I am aware, their numbers are low as our own. I have a correspondent, distant relations, in Bavaria in a pack made of only two families. The same in France, though more in Romania. Beyond this, I could not say.”
“Sounds like casters, now that you mention it. But you do still have four packs in this part of the world? That’s no small feat.”
“Life here can be challenging. Rewarding as well, while we seek a balance between our shared lives with humans and honoring our ancestors and ourselves. Now, though…” She looked away into the fire.
“What is it that’s happening to your pack?”
The field was so quiet, deathly still besides the crack of the blaze, I heard an owl hoot at the top of the wood.
Moonlight Desire: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 1) Page 2
