Wolf's Promise

by Elyce de Reefe

  They reached the top of the second ridgeline before they found the first gap in coverage. Aaron leaped back and forth over a tangle of undergrowth until he figured out exactly which way he had to twist the camera. He was panting by the time he shifted and clambered up the tree to change the angle. Cray obligingly bounded over the bushes until he had it just right. Aaron dropped down into the soft earth, the thick layer of leaves dampening the sound. He was uncomfortably aware of how close they were to Lyla’s property. Just a mile or two through the forest to the northwest. Even after two shifts, her scent still clung to his body. He couldn’t ignore the way Elizabeth’s scent adhered to Cray. Maybe he should ask Cray about it. But no. What would he say?

  Cray turned and scented back toward the pack house. Even here on the property, Cray didn’t like to be away from Elizabeth for long. Well, none of them had forgotten how they’d found her. Human females generally didn’t go hiking through the forest in the middle of the night for no reason. Aaron turned back to business. Better finish this up.

  ***

  It was just after four in the afternoon when the bells on the door jingled and three men walked into the shop. Maybe stalked in was a better description. The hair on the back of Lyla’s neck rose. Three big, athletic-looking men who moved with purpose, fanning out around the store, exuding menace. The one in the middle grabbed an ax from a display rack and marched up aisle towards her. Her mouth went dry. I need a panic button.

  He stood silently in front of her for an endless minute—stroking the edge of the blade and watching her like she was some kind of zoo exhibit. Without a word, he plunked the ax down on the counter. The other men stood watchfully, as if waiting for her to bolt. His nostrils flared, and her stomach flipped over.

  “I’ll take this,” he said, his voice rough.

  Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the ax.

  “Sure thing. Let me ring it up.” Her voice was a little shaky too.

  He smirked at her, but she had the ax now. She punched the sale into the register. He paid cash. Naturally. What kind of ax murderer wants to leave a paper trail?

  She wrapped the ax in about seven sheets of packing paper, which normally she wouldn’t do—but hey—under the circumstances…

  She tucked it in a bag and handed it to her unwelcome customer.

  “You have a nice day now,” she said brightly. Anger at being so easily intimidated helped push away the fear.

  He smiled a truly wicked smile. “Oh, I will, darlin.’ Never fear.”

  A shiver slid down her back. He gave her one last stare, then turned and strode out the door, his cronies falling in behind him. The bells tinkled as the door swung shut again. Her knees almost buckled, but she pushed them straight. I am not a victim.

  The man glanced back at her through the window, as if hoping to catch her weakness. She gave him a jaunty little wave. Take that, you prick. Bullies counted on you backing down. It was like waving a red flag at a bull. They couldn’t resist it.

  That night, Lyla took extra care closing up the shop. She was still spooked by that weird ax-purchasing trio, although nothing else unusual happened before closing time. She checked carefully before going out the back door to her car. She didn’t see anything. It was still light out, the April sun still bright at five-thirty, but her skin prickled as she walked across the parking lot.

  You’re imagining things, Lyla. The combination of Aaron last night and those customers today had her totally freaked. Still, she knew better than to ignore her instincts. The second she slid into her car, she flicked the locks and got the hell out of there. She kept glancing in her rearview mirror the whole way home, but couldn’t spot anyone following her. She went straight inside and locked the door anyway, instead of poking around in the garden and watering her flowers like she normally would.

  She couldn’t stop herself from double checking the back door and then all the windows. Maybe she was overreacting, but that didn’t stop her from heading to the pantry and gathering her herbs. A little spell of protection would not go amiss right now.

  The den, where she kept the rest of the things she’d need, was bright and sunny in the late afternoon light. She loved this room, with its white lace curtains and large, double-hung windows. She’d painted the walls a creamy yellow and the built-in bookshelves a bright clean white. The well-worn hardwood floors glowed a deep amber in the last golden light of the day. Her heavy, scarred worktable sat beneath the front windows looking out on the porch and the mountains beyond.

  She went to it now, grabbing a handful of dry pine needles from the basket below and placing them in the large stainless steel bowl lined with copper that sat on its surface. The copper amplified and intensified the magic. The bowl perched on a slab of stone that protected the table from scorching. She struck a match and lit the dry kindling in the bowl. The clean scent of pine filled the air. She threw in a pinch of rosemary for protection and healing. Her nerves needed healing, if nothing else. A sprinkle of ginger, “Fiery protection,” she whispered, and dried thistle to repel threats. She felt the hair on her arms stir and rise as the power gathered.

  The tiny fire crackled and smoked as she chanted the spell:

  “My house is protected, my walls are secure,

  My hearth is my center, my home will endure.

  None here may enter, breach the barrier of my door,

  No evil may come in now, my walls are secure.”

  Finally she added a pinch of dragon-fire powder to give strength to the spell, making the flame flare briefly with a blue white light and then burn out. That was the beauty of pine needles, not only did they smell nice and offer protection against evil, but they caught easily and burned out fast, usually lasting just long enough to cast a spell.

  The crisp scent of rosemary and ginger lingered on the air, pleasant and soothing. She could feel the soft thrum of power she’d called with the spell. She took a deep breath and let it out, feeling better. Not that she was all that powerful, but any witch worth her salt should be able to defend her hearth. And it wasn’t anything like what her aunt did—using her coven to tie everyone in knots, manipulating events to suit her needs. Everyone had the right to call on power to defend their hearth. She felt a little niggle of doubt. She hadn’t lived here that long… what if it wasn’t enough?

  Well, she’d just light a fire in the fireplace and seal the perimeter. That should do it. Hopefully.

  An hour later, she sat in the living room contemplating the roaring fire and feeling mildly ridiculous. Maybe she was overreacting. Yeah, well, what the hell was that creepy stuff with the ax? Normal people just don’t do that. She’d made a potion on the stove with lavender oil, and more rosemary, and mint steeped in water, and then sprayed the windowsills and doors with it. For some reason, her hand kept straying to the wolfsbane, but she wasn’t putting that in boiling water. It was extremely poisonous, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it wafting through the air. But she made a little bundle of the dried flowers, along with some blue thistle flower and sweet alyssum, and tied them over the door jamb. Somehow that just felt right. She sighed and went to make some popcorn. It looked like another night spent watching the classic movie channel.

  ***

  Aaron slept poorly that night, in spite of the absence of false alarms. Maybe he’d gotten so used to the damn thing waking him up every few minutes, now that it was fixed, he was doing it on his own. At three o’clock, he switched the alarms to Cray’s cell, as they’d arranged, and he was finally off duty. But he still couldn’t settle. Something kept pulling at him. A nagging sense that something was wrong. With Lyla. By three-thirty, he’d had enough. He threw back the covers and stalked outside, sending Cray a quick text that he was going for a run and would be back in the morning.

  Cray’s text came back immediately.

  You got anything? I got nothing from the alarm.

  No. Just restless. Keep watch.

  Will do.

  Cray didn’t ask any questions, whi
ch was a relief. He really didn’t want to try to explain this. Although, Cray might be the one person who would understand…

  He dropped his pajama bottoms in a heap on the back bench and considered leaving his phone there too. It was a royal pain to carry in his mouth, but he was spooked enough that he decided to bring it. He tucked it in the case he used on his foreleg. Maybe he could maneuver it onto his leg himself. It had Velcro, after all.

  Ten minutes of wiggling and struggling later, he finally had the thing wrapped tight enough on his leg that it wouldn’t come off when he ran, and off he went. There was no lazy spiraling around the territory this time. He went straight as an arrow along an invisible path that seemed to get clearer as he went. Weird. It was like he could feel Lyla; a very faint beacon out in the night.

  The normal night sounds surrounded him. He couldn’t detect anything unusual on the air. He settled into a steady loping run and moved through the night. A startled rabbit bounded out from under a bush only a few feet away. He ignored it. He just needed to check on her; then he could relax. An owl caught a vole almost soundlessly off to his left, only the smallest scuffle announcing its victory. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves of some birch trees as he came down a ravine to a small stream. Once he reached the crest of the hill on the other side, he would be leaving pack territory. He’d have to be more cautious, although the pack didn’t have any close neighbors.

  He had to shift back to human form to scale the fence they’d erected there, but it was just as well. He was expecting a text from Cray as soon as he triggered the perimeter alarm. Sure enough, he was only halfway down the next hill when his phone vibrated.

  What gives?

  Just a feeling. Stay alert.

  Got it. Let me know if you need backup.

  Stay with the women.

  Right. Fifteen minute updates?

  Twenty.

  Don’t be late.

  Aaron made a face. He really didn’t want to check in every twenty minutes, but Cray was right. Under the circumstances, it was only practical. Really, with only the two of them, he shouldn’t have left the territory at all, but—

  You got it.

  He typed in the message and shifted back. After what seemed like forever, he got the damn phone secured to his leg again. He snorted and took off at a run. He had to check back in again in fourteen minutes. Dogs-teeth. He ran faster. The terrain hadn’t changed any when he left their land, it was still hills and forest and large craggy outcroppings of rock, but he worked his way steadily uphill as he went. The ground would flatten out for a while and then descend again before he hit the more populated area near Lyla’s house. He was about to start back downhill when the alarm on his phone chimed.

  He stopped with his back to a large rock face and shifted again.

  All’s quiet. How about you?

  Nothing since your naked butt going over the fence. Nice shot too.

  Aaron grimaced and then smiled reluctantly. Based on the camera angle, he could just imagine.

  Funny. Check you in twenty.

  This time it took him over five minutes to get the damn phone secured. He would have just carried it in his mouth, but he was going to be jumping down a series of boulders and crags, so that wasn’t an option. Halfway down, he lost his footing on loose gravel, bounced off the trunk of a gnarled tree—feet first, thank the Maiden—and landed hard on his side in the dirt. He shook himself and checked for damage, but aside from sore ribs, he was fine. He drew in a deep breath, sniffing, but everything seemed normal.

  He continued down the slope more cautiously and had to stop just before he reached the bottom to check in. This was getting old. But he took the opportunity to test the air once more. He could smell human habitation just faintly, a trace of motor oil on the roads, a tinge of garbage waiting for pickup. Nothing out of place. He could feel Lyla though, just there. It seemed like it was getting stronger.

  This time he just grabbed the straps of the phone’s case in his mouth and loped off into the darkness. It was easier going now, and he made good time though the trees. He skirted around a group of houses at the end of a road and cut diagonally through a patch of forest. He hit another street and circled around to the south. He scented the air. He was getting close now. He moved through another pocket of forest. He had a feeling that— yes, this was Lyla’s street.

  He sat well back in the trees and dropped the phone, panting slightly. He took in a deep breath but the wind was wrong, he’d have to work his way around to the other side of the house. After checking in once more, he dug a quick hole next to a fallen log and dropped the phone in. He wanted to be able to move fast, and he wasn’t going to waste time with the stupid straps. He moved off, circling wide to approach from the other side with the wind in his face. As he got closer, something tickled his senses. The fur on his nape rose, and he had to hold in a snarl.

  He stopped again and scented, sorting through the marinade of smells. There. That was what was making his hackles rise. Mont-Tremblant Pack. Son-of-a-dog, what were they doing here? He tested the air, trying to determine the exact location—

  He moved around to the north, staying downwind. The offending odor seemed to be coming directly from Lyla’s backyard. And it wasn’t just one member of his former pack either. What in the wicked-hills?

  He got down low and crept closer.

  And there they were. Just at the edge of her backyard, standing around in the trees. They were in human form— which was good because it dampened their senses a little. They were talking, or maybe arguing about something. He needed to get closer.

  The sky was just starting to lighten in the east, birds beginning to stir in the thickets and trees. A mockingbird sat silhouetted against the roofline of Lyla’s garage and heralded the new day with shrill abandon. Other birds fluttered and chirped through the bushes nearby. That was good since it masked the sound of him creeping closer. He slipped through a gap in the underbrush and slunk down on his belly. He could just make out what they were saying. This close, he could detect three distinct scents.

  “…understand about the sister, but how many females does he need?”

  “At least one.”

  Both speakers laughed.

  “I think this one’s the backup plan. In case they never do find Aster.”

  “What’s so special about this one? At least Aster is one of the People.”

  “Aster made our dear fearless leader look like an idiot, that’s why he wants her. But don’t let Bill catch you talking about it.”

  The wind shifted slightly, and Aaron caught a scent he could identify. That was Larry talking, one of Marten’s flunkies. He’d come with Marten when he’d issued his challenge for the pack, something that had gone out of style in the Middle Ages. Unfortunately, it was becoming alarmingly more frequent in recent years.

  The smaller one shifted uneasily as Larry continued.

  “This one though. Did you smell her? I’d take that myself if not for the Alpha. The sister’s a stuck-up bitch—spit at you as soon as look at you. Not that it matters. I don’t think our Alpha will be satisfied until he has both of them in front of him, waiting for him to choose.”

  A rustle from deeper in the woods made both men still. The little one turned, hunching his shoulders as a third figure emerged into the tiny clearing.

  “Anything?” That was Larry again.

  “Nah. Not that I could hear anything, with you two ladies cackling like a bunch of crows.” The bigger man turned to spit.

  Aaron went cold. That was Bill, Marten’s right-hand man. The fact that he was here—

  “I’m done waiting. We go in now.”

  “I’m telling you, we should just wait,” Larry said.

  “She’s got to come out of the house sooner or later,” agreed the skinny one. Aaron didn’t recognize him. He looked young, maybe even still in his teens. And nervous. “That was the plan, right? To avoid attention. And um… injuries?”

  “We’ve been waiting all n
ight. I’m sick of waiting. It’s Sunday. She could sleep ‘til noon. I say we go in and get her.”

  Aaron sucked in a silent breath.

  “I told you, I checked the doors. There’s some kind of barrier.” Larry again. The guy always was a whiner.

  “The barrier is your thick skull. You don’t think we can break through those locks? What do you think I bought the ax for?”

  A chill snaked down Aaron’s spine. Bill leaned over and plucked a vicious-looking, long-handled ax from where it leaned against a tree. He turned and strode purposely through the backyard. Straight toward Lyla’s back door.

  Aaron acted. He leaped from the cover of the bushes with a tremendous snarl. Larry and the smaller one were just starting after Bill. They jumped and spun as he rushed out of the underbrush. Bill paused, pivoting to face the commotion. That’s right, asshole. Come this way. He had no idea what this was about, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t getting Lyla.

  He leapt forward, jaws snapping, narrowly missing the smaller one’s wrist. The man snarled and shifted, wriggling out of his clothes. He launched himself straight at Aaron’s neck. Aaron rolled away and lunged— coming up behind Larry, still half trapped in his jeans. Larry whipped around, snarling. The smaller wolf landed squarely on Aaron’s back, going for his neck. Aaron threw himself sideways. The bite came down on his shoulder, ripping through flesh. Aaron ducked and bucked; something Jesse had taught him. The little wolf went flying.

  Larry attacked his left flank, trying to rip out the tendon there. Aaron scooted forward, tucking his leg protectively under him. The little wolf came at him, but Aaron twisted in the air. His jaws snapped down on Larry’s left hind, neatly hamstringing him. See how you like it, dog’s breath. Larry rolled in the dirt, whining. At least now he’s got a reason.