Untamed Fate (Magic Side: Wolf Bound Book 2)

by Veronica Douglas

  pressure, the responsibility, the resentment.

  In my chest, my wolf raged to be let free. But I just looked away and tried

  to stop from quaking. “Trade my life for a bunch of people I don’t know,

  who’ve never shown me any compassion or kindness?”

  Silence hung in the air.

  Then she pushed her fingers to her temples and dropped down on one of

  the bleachers. “Fuck. I don’t want you to give yourself up. If I were in your

  shoes, that option would be burning in the back of my mind, but I grew up

  with these people, and I love them more than my own life. I know you don’t,

  and none of this is fair.”

  “It’s not,” I snarled. She didn’t look up, and I could smell her shame and

  regret.

  She pushed her hands through her hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just afraid

  of how bad this could get. These are my people. But…” She paused and

  flexed her fists. “You’re part of that group now. I’ll fight with you and help

  you any way I can. But if the cost gets too high, if Kahanov starts killing—”

  I put up my hand and walked back past the old bleachers and down the

  hall to the ladies’ room, leaving Regina and her fear and resentment far

  behind me. I plopped down on a toilet, closed the door of the stall, and slid

  the latch shut. Then I wept.

  It didn’t last long. I’d used up most of my tears when my parents died and

  didn’t have much in the way of reserves of self-pity. So after a few moments,

  I gingerly dabbed my face and eyes with some toilet paper.

  Damn it, Savy, get a grip.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and concentrated on retracting my

  claws, just like Jaxson had taught me. Of course, they didn’t budge.

  Gritting my teeth, I thought of his voice. His scent. The feel of his

  presence, his command over me.

  That did the trick.

  Annoyance tugged at me. How was it that he still had control even when

  he wasn’t there?

  As my claws retracted, the turmoil of emotions churning in my chest

  slowly began to subside. The rage faded, my wolf let go, and clarity returned.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and opened my eyes.

  It wasn’t a nice toilet stall, and I instantly regretted my hiding spot.

  Over the years, scores of girls, and probably quite a few guys, had carved

  hundreds of graffitied marks into the walls of the stall—phone numbers, dirty

  phrases, existential questions, and a few naughty stick figures on roller-

  skates.

  One made me smile—a girl with large tits kicking a guy in the balls. The

  text beside it said, Give your man what he deserves!

  “Kick ’em in the nuts” used to be my solution for most things. But then

  again, I was a lot more put together before I knew that sorcerers and

  werewolves existed. That had thrown old Savy for a bit of a loop. Where was

  that girl now?

  Sitting on the crapper, hiding from a mean girl like she’s back in high

  school, my wolf chided. Let me go talk to her. I’ll teach her a thing or two.

  “Regina’s not my problem,” I muttered. She was just a mirror of my own

  guilt. That was what I was hiding from in here. Guilt. Not her. Just the faces

  of the sleepers hanging on the wall.

  I pushed my palms against my head. “What the hell am I going to do?

  Even if we can get the witch to help us stop the dream attack, how are we

  going to stop Kahanov?”

  Kill him, duh, my wolf offered, somewhat unsympathetically.

  “Easier said than done. He’s crazy powerful with all sorts of demons and

  spells and God-knows-what. How am I supposed to stop him?”

  Rip out his throat. Massive blood loss is an effective way to kill

  everybody. I’d be happy to do it for you, the monster inside of me eagerly

  chirped.

  I knew where all of this was heading sooner or later: Kahanov and me,

  face to face. Him with all his magic and demons, me with my ignorance and

  lack of control. What edge could I possibly have?

  Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the Soul Knife, trying to recall the

  way it felt in my hand and the sensation of its magic. After a while, electricity

  tingled in my arm, and the blade slowly took form.

  I hefted it, measuring its weight. It was something, at least.

  With a deliberate motion, I jabbed the tip of the knife into the door and

  started carving graffiti as I considered my options.

  After few minutes, a series of light footsteps echoed outside, and the

  bathroom door swung open. Sam. I knew her instantly by her scent.

  “Savy? Are you in here?”

  “Yes.” I started to gouge out another letter.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You coming out?”

  “In a minute.” I sighed.

  I could see her leaning against a sink through the crack in the door. She

  crossed her arms. “Between us girls, if you’re having trouble, I really

  recommend adding more fiber to your diet.”

  I stopped mid-scrape, and heat flushed my skin. “No! I’m not…”

  “I know,” she said, voice low and reassuring. “Regina told me she fucked

  things up. I’m here to sort it out.”

  I scratched out another letter. “She’s a bitch, but that’s not why I’m in

  here. I just needed some peace and quiet to think and to get my claws back in

  before my cousin and his idiot friends caught me. It’s just all overwhelming.

  Having this wolf inside me. New magic. Being hunted for weeks on end.”

  She crossed over and leaned against the side of the stall. “I know, I’m

  sorry. I can’t imagine.”

  I angled my blade to cross an A. “Thanks, but I’m not in here trying to

  host a pity party. I’m just trying to decide what to do. Regina’s right. This is

  happening because of me.”

  “No. The bad shit is happening because of Kahanov. That circle out there

  is happening because of you. Our people have hope because of you,” she said

  with conviction.

  I almost believed her, but I shook my head. “The circle isn’t enough. We

  don’t know if the witch will help. And I need to solve this before things get

  out of control. Before we’re talking about hundreds of wolves with sleeping

  loved ones. It’s on me, and the truth is, I’m not up to it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. This isn’t all on you to solve. You’re part of

  this pack now, whether you like it or not. That means you don’t have to face

  things alone. Not anymore. You have Jaxson and me, and when the chips are

  down, all the others will have your back. We look after our own.”

  “That’s what people keep saying, but I don’t believe it. I’m not pack. I’m

  not even really a wolf—just a LaSalle with a bad hair and nails problem.

  Maybe I look it, but I’m not part of this family. When the time comes, I’m

  going to be the first one voted off the island.”

  She hesitated a suspiciously long time. “You’re more a part of this pack

  now than you can know. You have Jaxson’s protection, and that means

  everything to us. Hell, I lent you my favorite shirt. I wouldn’t do that if I

  thought there was the slightest chance someone would hand you over to the

  sorcerer.”
<
br />   I looked down at the faded purple I Hit Like A Girl shirt and blinked.

  “This is your favorite shirt?” I said flatly. It was bottom of the hamper

  stuff.

  I saw her flip her hair through the crack. “Absolutely. I like keeping

  trophies of all my conquests.”

  I laughed. “Oh, and what other trophies do you have?”

  “That’s a conversation for another time. After some very heavy drinking.

  But speaking of deviant behavior, what in the name of the gods are you doing

  to that door, anyway?”

  I paused for a second, then started on the last letter. “Carving a sorcerous

  enchantment.”

  “Really?” Her voice hushed and had the slightest hint of trepidation.

  Wolves were so superstitious.

  “No. I’m joking. I don’t know how to do that yet. Bathroom graffiti is the

  best I’ve got.” With a flick of the blade, I unlatched the door and swung it

  open to let Sam inspect my completed handywork.

  I WILL KILL KAHANOV

  She raised her eyebrows, and I shrugged as I dismissed the Soul Knife

  into the ether. “I figured that maybe if I wrote it down, that would make it

  true. Kind of like a spell. Of course, that’s just wishful thinking.”

  She tightened her jaw and looked me in my eyes. “Savy…you understand

  how magic works better than you think you do.”

  I glanced back at the words. Silver sparks flickered to life in the etching,

  and soon, all the letters were shining with an ominous black light.

  Oh, shit, what did I just do?

  34

  Savannah

  Jaxson was waiting when I emerged from the bathroom.

  “Ready?” he asked. Clearly, he’d been waiting for a while.

  “Absolutely. Let’s go on a witch hunt,” I said, mustering as much

  confidence as I could.

  I didn’t tell him about the glowing black words. Sam had agreed to take

  care of the stall door, even if she had to take it off its hinges, as we didn’t

  want any werewolves spooked away from the gym because of random

  glowing magical death threats in the women’s bathroom.

  But that was only one of my problems. Getting to Magic’s Bend required

  another portal journey, and my stomach suggested returning to the bathroom

  and voiding its contents at the thought.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Jaxson grumbled as I continued to complain.

  It was, as I’d feared, horrendous—spinning and tumbling and a mass of

  gray, and then suddenly, we were standing in the middle of a museum. After

  a valiant show of restraint, and with only a slight sprint for the doors, I threw

  up in the bushes outside.

  Thankfully, the rest of our journey was by taxi. Never had I so

  appreciated having four wheels beneath me.

  We passed through a charming little town that made me long for home

  and my godmother, and then headed down a winding road through the forest.

  At last, our taxi pulled up opposite an isolated two-story cottage that looked

  like it had been pulled from another era. The blue paint was chipping, and

  several wooden shingles on the roof were missing.

  “Are you sure this is the address?” I asked the driver.

  He gestured to his phone on the dash, which had Wayz opened. “You tell

  me.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Jaxson climbed out of the car, and I

  followed.

  I had steeled myself for a twisted hovel in the midst of an ominous,

  rotting wood inhabited by a sinister crone who made books out of the flayed

  flesh of her victims. I had a very real image of it in my head.

  “You know,” I mused aloud, “somehow, this wasn’t what I was

  expecting.”

  Jaxson opened the rickety gate in the white picket fence that surrounded

  the property. “Don’t let the façade fool you. Keep your eyes open.”

  His body was tense and alert, like a predator stalking an enemy’s

  territory. There was something utterly captivating about the way he moved.

  Power and grace. I’d never fully appreciated it before.

  I tried to ignore my magnetic draw to him as we followed the concrete

  path that cut through the overgrown yard. The front steps creaked as I took

  them two at a time, glancing at the white rocking chair on the porch and the

  pots of herbs hanging from the railings.

  My heartbeat accelerated.

  The place was so unassuming that it was almost ominous. An incredibly

  powerful being lived here. She was capable of entering dreams and

  summoning nightmares, but there was no sign of her power. Something

  wasn’t quite right.

  A deep sense of unease rooted in my gut as I thought of Hansel and

  Gretel and the gingerbread house. Heart pounding, I picked up the brass

  knocker bolted to the door frame and rapped twice. “Here goes nothing.”

  The echoes died away. And then, just as I was about to knock again, my

  sharp ears detected the faint sound of footsteps gliding over the creaking

  floorboards. I sensed Jaxson tense, but before I could speak, the door flew

  open.

  A middle-aged woman in a bathrobe stood in the frame. Her face was

  done up, but her wispy, red-dyed curls shot wildly around her head. “I told

  you, Molly, I’m not— oh!” she said in surprise as she locked eyes with me,

  then Jaxson. “You’re not Molly.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and

  slowly stepped behind the door. “If you’re selling something, I’m not

  interested.”

  I’d conjured all sorts of terrifying images of S.L. Delamont, and the

  woman standing before me was not one of them. Perhaps we’d gotten the

  address wrong, or maybe the person we were looking for had moved.

  I plastered on my best waitress’s smile. “Hi, we’re looking for S.L.

  Delamont. And we’re not selling anything.”

  The woman peered at me curiously, then took in Jaxson’s full form.

  “Well, that’s me. Who are you, and what do you want?”

  I opened my mouth, but Jaxson went straight to the point. “Jaxson

  Laurent, Dockside alpha, and this is Savannah Caine. We want to ask you a

  few questions about The Grimoire of Nightmares. We know you’re the

  author.”

  She scrutinized us and pursed her lips. “The grimoire. How odd. I haven’t

  thought about that thing for years. Do you have it?”

  “Unfortunately, no. That’s why we’re here. We’re hoping you can help.”

  After a long pause, she gestured for us to enter. My skin prickled, but my

  instincts told me her intentions were sincere, so I stepped inside.

  Flowery wallpaper covered the space, and the furniture was so quaint and

  homey, I nearly burst out laughing. This was definitely not what I’d

  imagined.

  The woman crossed the living room and glanced over her shoulder. “Can

  I get you two some lemonade?”

  Jaxson pressed his lips together, but I nodded and smiled. “Sure, that’d be

  great.”

  She disappeared into the other room, and I whispered to Jaxson, “Be

  nice.”

  He glared at me and continued scanning the space vigilantly, clearly not

  trusting the witch. That was fair. She didn’t seem any more threatening than

  my aunt…who, in fairness, was an arms manufacturer, could summo
n

  demons, and kept the Sphere of Devouring in her closet.

  The witch appeared a few minutes later carrying a tray and three glasses

  with painted lemons on them, and she set them on a coffee table in the living

  room. She took a glass and perched on the arm of a sofa, then eyed Jaxson

  curiously. “Tell me, what is it that you need, exactly?”

  “Someone has stolen the grimoire from the Order’s Archives and is using

  it to trap people in their dreams. We’re hoping that since you’re the author,

  you might know how we can help these people and put a stop to this.” His

  voice was calm, but I could sense he was on edge.

  I passed him a lemonade. He looked down and begrudgingly took it with

  a subtle shake of his head. The witch didn’t seem to notice.

  “Ah! So that’s where the damn thing ended up. It always had a mind of

  its own.” She frowned and took a sip of her lemonade, then drummed on her

  glass, seemingly lost in thought. “Yes, yes, your situation sounds unfortunate,

  but I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what to do. I’m not the author, you

  see.”

  “What?” My spine stiffened, and I slid my glass onto the table. “I thought

  you said you were S.L. Delamont.”

  “I am, and please call me Sorsha. I wrote the thing, but I’m not its

  creator.”

  I could sense Jaxson’s irritation as he set his untasted glass of lemonade

  on the table beside mine. “Can you explain? We’re short on time.”

  Sorsha raised her eyebrows. “It seems you’re short on patience as well,

  but I’ll bite.” She stood and sauntered over to the bookshelf along the back

  wall, dragging her fingers over the spines. “The year was 1992. I was young

  and experimenting with all sorts of drugs. You know how that goes.” She

  glanced over her shoulder at me and winked.

  Um, no, lady, I don’t. I smiled and nodded.

  Her fingers stopped on a black leather tome, and she pulled it out.

  “Anyway, on one of my vision quests, I met an entity in a place of dreams.

  She was alluring and powerful, very persuasive, so I agreed to help her.”

  “What does this have to do with the grimoire?” Jaxson asked, his patience

  all but extinguished.

  Keeping my eyes and smile locked on Sorsha, I slid my hand over the

  couch and squeezed his thigh to shut him up. Jaxson tensed, and I felt his