by Zana Wilder
I empty some luxurious bubble-bath into the steaming water of the jacuzzi bath and pad around the en-suite lighting candles, getting ready for a soak. I'm just starting to feel more relaxed when I hear Marc arrive home unexpectedly. He crashes through the apartment and into the bathroom. His face is a thunderstorm. A small gasp escapes me, and I'm suddenly acutely aware of being naked.
“You said you were going to the library” he spits, his eyes raking me up and down hungrily “why the fuck do I have an alert about parking for the Merc over in Finnieston where bloody Liz lives then?”
I pick up a towel and wrap it tightly around myself, feeling my body betraying my nerves - my eyes widen and my hands shake slightly.
“I... changed my mind, wanted to see Liz” I stutter trying to edge around him to get my bathrobe. Before I can register what's happening Marc's hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, twisting it until I drop my towel and yelp in pain.
“Don't lie to me babydoll” he leers “I hate it when you lie.”
“Marc... stop! You're hurting me” tears spring to my eyes.
He gives a final harsh twist before he lets my wrist go.
The red imprint looks livid against my pale skin. I just stand in front of him, unsure if I should make a grab for my bathrobe, wary of his twitching hands, and feeling incredibly vulnerable in my nakedness under his inscrutable stare.
“I don't like you hanging around Liz. You know that. You and I need a little 'talk' once I get back” he snarls “you, I and that delicious little body of yours. You need to behave, and do as you're told. If you don't, you need to learn there are consequences.”
He turns and storms out the bathroom and my whole body starts shaking. It's not fair, I just went to see my friend. I shouldn't need permission for that. He bangs around the apartment shouting about an emergency, and instructs me in no uncertain terms to stay put, and not cause him any more trouble before slamming out the front door.
I take a deep, trembling breath in. Slipping quietly into my robe I walk, wet toed and dejected, into the living room. It isn't the first time I've been the subject of Marc's quick temper, but it is the first time he's laid hands on me hard enough to bruise.
I rub my wrist ruefully and realise my aunties charm and my engagement ring are still in the bathroom with the abandoned bubble bath. I start back to get them, but a surge of indignance runs through me and I throw myself down on the sofa instead. How bloody DARE he?!
It hits me like a bucket of cold water – this is the first time I've let myself be angry at Marc since we got engaged. Normally, I end up angry with myself for making him cross.
∞∞∞
I turn over again in bed, frustrated with the bedsheets tangling themselves around my ankles, frustrated that my mind wont settle. I can't stop thinking about what this emergency might be – an emergency that my best friend and my fiancée are likely on the opposite sides of.
My wrist aches, and inside I feel raw.
I recount Marc's behaviour towards me and I feel embarrassed and humiliated all over again. It's a familiar gut-twisting sensation – it's the way I feel whenever we argue, and whenever we're intimate – degraded, debased, devalued. Now that I'm angry, I see the past few months in an entirely different light.
The arsehole is fucking manipulating me. How the hell did I become this weak excuse of a person? I've been letting him make all my decisions, worrying excessively over what he'll think, how he'll react.
My mind whirs, refusing to settle. Things are not okay. I need an out.
Eventually I give up on trying to sleep, and pad through to the home gym. I try a spot of meditation which finally calms my racing mind. It's probably as good a time as any to practise some magic – I might be slightly more relaxed, but I'm not bloody sleeping tonight.
I'm just moving on to attempting some basic fast-flow when my mobile rings with Liz's theme tune. Without thinking I dive across the apartment, reaching the phone in a blink. Fast-flow achieved I think triumphantly as I answer.
My triumph vanishes rapidly when I hear indecipherable gasping on the line. Liz's voice breaks through intermittently, sounding very alarmed. I make out only a few snippets, before the connection breaks. I'm left standing holding my phone in complete and terrifying silence.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aaron's POV
The Coven have to know exactly what Tavey is. It's the only reason the council can come up with that explains why Tavey was targeted, instead of me. And absolutely none of us can explain the friendly vampire. For a vamp to be in a shifter bar is pretty much unheard of, never mind for one to be helpful.
Rumours are filtering through of other covens across the world kidnapping hybrids. A witch and a pure-bred shifter wouldn't normally reproduce, unless they were fated mates... but a hybrid is a very different story.
The fuckers are running breeding programmes, ensuring shifter healing powers and longevity are passed to the kids of forced witch-hybrid matings, then removing the kids and indoctrinating them. It'll strengthen the Coven's numbers rapidly, within a generation.
There are darker rumours too – torture and experiments gone wrong, hybrids and shifters separated from their wolves in order to control them – heartbreakingly similar to my sister's story.
The council's indecision and inaction under my father's command is frustrating to watch. We're just fucking waiting for the Coven to make the first move. I don't like it – it's unnatural for wolves to be so bloody passive.
When the emergency line rings I'm mid-stride, pacing up and down the library trying to keep my calm. The message is brief - one of our facilities is under attack... it shouldn't be good news but my wolf is positively gleeful at the thought of finally having a purpose.
The council's plan, made hastily last week by Rennard, after the incident with the she-wolf, is put into action; Liz & Tavey will stay out of the fighting. They, and few of the younger members of the pack, will guard the estate.
It's fucking baby-sitting duty, not worthy of a beta, and I know it. But, as much as I despise Rennard, I see the logic. The Coven have a vested interest in Tavey as a hybrid. If they can get their hands on Liz too, they can control him.
Tavey's frustrated, but thankfully doesn't argue. Thank fuck - I don't have time to persuade him. I give him a big slap on the back, turn, and in two quick strides shift. The rest of the pack shift behind me, and we bolt out of the estate towards the attack.
We run hard cross-country – some of the pack, Rennard included, have been trapped in one of our facilities ten kilometres away. When we finally arrive my sides are heaving and my breath's whistling in my chest. Staring around in surprise, I almost forget how out of puff I am. I can't believe I don't know anything about this place – it's like a bloody army compound.
Too much is going on in this pack without my knowledge. Who the hell's been managing this place? My stubbornly peaceful father doesn't seem to fit the bill, unless I've seriously underestimated the old man.
I scope the area quickly - the 6ft high fence is topped with razor wire, cameras peek out from various positions and the main gates are resolutely shut. Muffled shouts carry towards us from inside the compound. Fuck knows how this place was over-run, but we need to break back in, and quickly.
On my command we shift, scale the fence, and throw ourselves towards the building ahead. Bursting inside I'm momentarily blinded by a bright white light. As my eyes adjust I see our kappa and pack members, all in human form, trapped against the back wall. Something's definitely wrong, or they'd have shifted.
In the centre of the room, protected by mercenaries, is fucking Marciel. He's sitting oddly still, with a picture of calm concentration playing over his face. As my wolves engage the fighters I head straight for him – he's casting and I bet he's the reason the others can't shift. If I can take him out, and they can shift, we'll definitely have the upper hand.
As my wolf barrels across the floor, I'm aware of two slim figures dropping in to flank me –
my twin cousins, young but already ferocious fighters. They happily help me wreak havoc on the mercenaries. Together we fight through Marciel's inner circle of protection, the twins keeping my way as clear as possible to let me reach him.
My front paws touch down at Marciel's feet just as his eyes fly open. He brings his staff up, but he's too slow – my impact sends us both flying across the room, landing only a few meters from each other. I scramble up and lunge for his neck. In the same instant an explosion shakes the entire building, momentarily blinding me.
My teeth clack shut on empty air and I land awkwardly in the dust where Marciel had been only seconds before. I spin, snarling, expecting him to come at me from behind, but there's nothing. Marciel is gone. Vanished. Growling in frustration I round to help the twins. Fucking sneaky witch.
Without Marciel's magic the whole pack is able to shift, and we quickly turn the fight in our favour. The remaining mercenaries are rapidly subdued and the witches who remain drain their power quickly defending themselves against our superior numbers.
As we get a grip on things, I note with grim pride we've only taken a few casualties, and no fatalities. I feel fucking cheated of the chance to flatten Marciel though. He would have been a valuable prisoner, if my wolf let him live. My nostril's flare at the thought.
Abruptly, the pack's self-congratulations are drowned out by a distressed mind-link from Tavey. He bombards us, with no control over the strength of his message. His wolf is panicking and he's making little sense.
“Help, NOW!”
“What is it Tavey? What's wrong?” I try to reach him down our mind-link, but it feels oddly heavy and difficult to send.
“They're here. They're attacking the estate...”
What the fuck? Was the fight we just won a fucking decoy? Something to draw us far enough away for the Coven to get to the estate, to get to Tavey? How the hell did they know he'd stay behind?!
“Aaron... Fucking get here now. We can't...”
Tavey's mind-link cuts off, mid-thought. Mind-links don't do that. Not unless something has happened to the sender.
Anger escapes me in a tormented howl.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Freya's POV
Slowly, I become aware of myself. Am I dreaming? I'm running, and I'm going fast, really bloody fast. It dawns on me - I'm fast-flowing and I'm doing it really, really well! Trees and rocks fly past in blur, and I've no idea how I'm avoiding hitting them. I glance at my hands and, shocked, come to an abrupt halt.
My hands are filthy, and the nails are torn and bloody. Alarmed, my hands fly to my face. I can feel drying rivulets of caked, cracking blood.
My tongue flicks over my teeth, expecting to find some missing, but they're intact. The rich metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, making me retch. Is all this blood mine? Fuck, what if it's someone else's? What the hell is happening? This doesn't feel like a dream any-more, it's far too real.
My memories filter back slowly; I remember Liz's panicked phone call, her telling me where she was, something about being attacked then the line getting cut off. Without thinking I'd set off - fast-flowing towards Liz. Then what? I'm struggling to put things in the right order.
I was disorientated after my first ever long-distance fast-flow. I arrived, to find the Coven surrounding Tavey, Liz in cougar form, and a few young wolf-shifters. The cougar looked pissed, hissing and clawing at a sinister collar clamped around her neck.
My head swims, and I have to fight to focus on my memories. Just as I arrived, a spell was being cast, but I was way too slow to stop it. The shifters and the cougar took the full power of its blast and froze on the spot, before they crashed to the floor.
I recall trying to use all of my powers to protect Liz, Tavey, and the fallen shifters. With piercing clarity I remember more Coven members arriving, and amongst them Marc... fucking Marc.
He sneered at me, his face contorting like some awful mask.
“You're fighting on the wrong side, you stupid bitch. You're mine, you fight on my side” he snarled.
I feel proud of myself, watching the scene play out again in my head. “I'm not yours Marc! I've chosen the right side, and it's certainly not fucking you!”
I brandished my ring-less hand at him. A flash of indescribable alarm crossed his face and he shrieked like a banshee.
Looking into his panicky face, realisation had finally dawned on me. Could it really be that the fucking ring was important? Was he somehow using it to control me? Of course - the few times I'd had it off my feelings for Marc dissipated, rapidly. That old crone had almost told me as much – why the hell didn't I listen?!
Seeing his utter dismay, a calm clarity washed over me - my suspicion was fucking awful, but it was right. Those feelings I had for him... they were nothing more than a nasty conjuring trick. The calm lasted mere seconds before anger took over. How the hell could I have been so blind?!
I broke inside, and a wave of wrath rolled through me with a furious darkness I'd never felt before. I directed it at the Coven.
I feel like I'm forgetting some vital bit of information. I remember seeing a terrified witch, then the sensation of my face buried deep in her neck, a rip of flesh and a gush of blood down my jaw, accompanied by a vicious elation before I sprang at my next victim.
What the hell am I? What have I done? I killed people, I pulled their throats out with my fucking teeth, who does that? I've completely tipped over the edge. I killed them.
Then it hits me, even worse, I killed in vain.
The last memory I have is of Marc grabbing Liz by that fucking collar, and fast-flowing away while the remaining Coven members blocked me from following. I killed them, every last one of them, but it was too late to save Liz.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aaron's POV
My sides heave as I skid to a stop in the clearing, my nostrils flaring. The smell of blood hits me first. I'm too late. The juniors are scattered on the cold ground, unmoving, fur matted with red. They've fought valiantly - Coven members are sprawled between them with viciously torn out throats.
I turn away distraught, and catch sight of Tavey. How the fuck did I fail him so badly? I take a hesitant step towards him, grief catching in my throat. He's slumped over a rotting tree stump. Another step closer and I see his chest rise, it's barely moving but he's alive!
I run toward my friend but, just as I reach him, a familiar piney scent hits me, stopping me dead. Freya. It smells of Freya. She's been here with the Coven. She was part of this. A cold fury engulfs me.
My jaw clamps shut on my wolf's howl of protest and I stiffly, purposefully, walk toward Tavey. He's only able to move painfully slowly. Fuck, he must be really badly hurt. He gives a low groan and his eyes flutter open. He tries to stutter a few words but I silence him with a glare. There's nothing he can tell me that'll change things now, and he'll need all his energy to heal.
Finally, the rest of the pack arrive – knowing my beta was in danger had spurred me to run much harder, much faster than anyone else. We all stand, looking at the bodies in dejected silence.
Full of gloom, we begin to move the young shifter's bodies. It's not until I heft the first one onto my shoulder that I realise the youngster is still alive. Most of them are still bloody alive.
Relief floods me – they're catatonic, frozen in place like blocks of ice, but they're damn well alive! I'll take that over a half dozen dead teenagers any day. I mind-link the pack house, sending for the doctor and stretchers immediately.
Something doesn't fit. I can't make sense of this. The Coven created a diversion at our facility so they could attack Tavey while he was essentially alone. If they were after Tavey, why leave him behind when he was still alive? Surely he's valuable to them. More importantly, how the hell did they know where he would be? Do we have a fucking spy?
I will hunt down any traitor in this pack and tear them limb from limb, agonisingly slowly. My wolf agrees with a snarl. He's distracting my train of thought though
. He's taken leave of the little control he had, and is just yowling. It's fucking annoying.
Coming across Freya's scent after so long has pushed him over the edge - he keeps screaming at me that she belongs to us. He wants to take off after her, and I don't have time for inner wrestling. She's the enemy, and my pack need a cool head. I push my wolf forcefully to the back of my mind.
Pacing around the clearing, I'm completely unable to bring my thoughts to order. My father and Angus have to restrain me from taking off after the Coven. I want revenge.
As the adrenalin fades I realise my wolf wanted to follow Freya's scent to the East. The surviving Coven members' scents go West. My wolf perks up to gloat as the realisation smacks me in the face. They split up – why?
Before I can work it out, my father calls me over. The kids are beginning to come around. I look in astonishment at Tavey, who's also making a remarkable recovery – to the point he is having to be physically restrained.
Piecing things together from Tavey's snarling profanities I realise Liz has been kidnapped, and feel immediately guilty. She's one of us now, cougar or not, I should have realised her body wasn't here with the others.
The young shifters tumble over themselves trying to explain what happened.
“One of those sneaky fuckers cast a spell to paralyse us”
“Just not playing fair”
“Like stabbing someone in the back”
“Just then she appeared – she was awesome!”
They describe excitedly how, just as one of the Coven cast a spell on them, a shifter arrived in human form. The spell rendered the teenagers completely immobile but their senses remained. It's fucking bad luck that they could only see in the direction they were facing when they fell, but still it makes them a better source of information that the raging, incoherent Tavey.
