Daryl and Weldon were fighting for their lives—snapping, snarling and biting. They had three Wolves down already and those three weren't getting up again. There were still seventeen to be reckoned with and they were all trying to rush Weldon and his son at once. I wondered where the rest of the pack was. Turning my head, I saw them, all sitting off in the distance like they were waiting for the outcome.
That pissed me off. Nobody was helping and there were more than enough to help. I waded into the pack of slavering wolves that was attacking Weldon and Daryl. I can't say how many bites I got getting to Weldon, but it was a few. I was smashing ribs and breaking necks as I went through those wolves. Some of them I flung so far into the surrounding field they landed with a yelp and didn't get up again. Weldon and Daryl were still fighting when we got down to about three of the attackers. Those three backed off a little. Weldon was still growling at them and Daryl was doing the same. I thought it was over. It should have been over. Except that it wasn't.
Another ten werewolves separated from the larger pack, approaching the three of us. The three wolves that had backed off circled around to join the ten new ones. Time for a new strategy. Weldon had a deep gash on his left hip; somebody had done his best to rip the Grand Master's leg off. He was the main target, so that left Daryl in better shape. "Daryl," I said, looking down into his golden wolf eyes, "when I get your dad, I want you to run as fast as you can right into that inert pile of shit that looks like a pack, over there," I nodded toward the main body of werewolves that seemed content to do nothing. "If some of these shitheads follow you in, it'll turn into a free-for-all. At least some of the others might get pissed and start fighting and you could get lost in the scuffle."
"Weldon," I turned to the Grand Master of the werewolves who was bleeding sluggishly from the hip wound, "I'm sorry to treat the Grand Master this way, but right now I don't think there's any help for it."
I lifted his wolf body up and flung him over my shoulder. He wasn't heavy to me, just bulky, and I hoped that his body wouldn't get in my way when I ran. I was about to see if a vampire could outrun a werewolf. I took off in a blur and most of the thirteen came after me. I was jumping over logs, across streams, running up boulders, through outcroppings and wading through snow faster than even I thought possible. Weldon was grunting after a while and somewhere, I couldn't really tell you where, he turned into a man. I now gripped a naked man over my shoulders and I was running out of steam. The bites I'd gotten were burning almost as badly as the burns from the sun. I was going to have to stop soon and rest a little.
I didn't want to set Weldon down anywhere; the Wolves chasing us would be able to pick up his scent. At the moment, they were only following mine. We reached a stand of trees when the idea hit me. "Weldon, are you still alive?" I asked softly. I could hear the wolves following us off in the distance.
"I'm good," he mumbled.
"Great. Hang on, we're going vertical." It was difficult, climbing a tall pine tree with a fully-grown man over my shoulder, but I did it. I hope I never have to do it again. "You think you can hold on here so I can lead them away?" Weldon had his arm wrapped around the trunk of the tree and his skin appeared a little gray as he sat there on the rough bark of a thick tree limb. His hip was still bloody although it did seem to have stopped bleeding. Haggard best described how Weldon looked as he shuddered slightly and gripped the trunk of the pine.
"I'll be fine," he murmured, staring at me with those black eyes of his. He was a handsome man, even wounded.
"Good, because I'm getting down, now. Hopefully they'll chase after me, thinking I've still got you. Stay quiet, alright?"
Weldon was about twenty feet above the ground in a huge pine and pretty well hidden. I just hoped his scent wouldn't drift to the ground. "You don't have to tell me to be quiet," he grimaced.
I climbed down quickly, landing at the spot where I'd started climbing. Scuffling around a little, I took off running again—the Wolves had almost caught up with me while I'd gotten Weldon settled in the tree. I found the river after running for nearly half an hour. Not knowing how long those Wolves could run or track me, I gambled a little more. They'd followed me without stopping at Weldon's tree, after all. I waded into the ice-coated edge of the river, hoping to make my pursuers think I'd gone into the frigid water. Standing there in the bone-freezing river, I shivered and turned my body to mist.
The point of the river where I turned to mist had to be at least ten miles from where I'd left Weldon, but as mist I can move as fast as my mind can, almost, and I was back at his tree in no time. He was still sitting there on his limb, his body covered with bites and rips, his eyes closed in pain and breathing with difficulty.
"Did you think I wouldn't come back for you?" I asked softly, materializing on the limb next to his. "And since I'll never have grandkids," I grunted as I hefted him over my shoulder again, preparing to make the descent, "you'll have to tell yours about how you got rescued from a tree by a cookie baking vampire."
Coming down with him was a lot slower than going up but I managed it, loping off toward the cabin as soon as I hit the ground. Weldon grunted painfully from his spot over my shoulder, so I apologized to him for making the trip so rough. We made it back to Emmett and Kipp about half an hour later. I was wiped and Weldon wasn't in any shape to do anything except get medical attention. "Get him in bed and clean up those wounds," I ordered the two werewolves, who stood staring at both of us as if we were a bad dream come to life. I wished I knew if Daryl were still alive, but there wasn't any way I could go and check. Unfortunately, my nightmare was only beginning.
Emmett and Kipp hauled Weldon into his bedroom and started working on him. It looked like they knew basic first aid, at least. I figured they knew better than I did what a werewolf might need, so I started to go into the bathroom and clean out my own bites. That's when I heard the howling. Somebody, I had no idea who, was heading toward the cabin and he didn't sound friendly.
I made my stand at the front door of Weldon's log house. I'd quickly piled as many thick logs from the woodpile in front of the door as I could, but that wouldn't keep attackers from going through the windows. All that stood between what was coming and the three werewolves inside the house was me. Sending up a silent prayer, I dumped my down jacket off to the side so I'd have freedom of movement, rolled up the sleeves to my sweater and watched the pack of fifteen come after me at a run.
Chapter 10
They hit me like a storm and again I was punching and breaking, tossing and fighting. There were so many bites after a while—so much of my flesh ripped away—I didn't know what was left of my body. I'd managed to take down nine of them but there were six left and they were still coming after me. I don't know how much longer I might have been able to stand and take the beating before they took me down when Daryl, Martin Walters and Thomas Williams showed up.
Daryl still had some fight left in him, thank goodness, and Martin was ripping into the enemy so viciously I knew right away how he kept his spot as Packmaster. Thomas Williams was putting everything he had into the fight; he managed to take down two of the attackers before one of the remaining wolves ripped out his throat. Martin managed to get that one while Daryl took down the last wolf.
My clothes were in shreds and my breathing shallow and labored as I slumped down before the pile of logs I'd placed in front of the door. My body felt as if acid had been poured over it and I was nearly numb from the pain.
"Dad?" That was Daryl's first word.
"Inside. Emmett and Kipp working on him," I wheezed.
Martin moved me to the side and he and Daryl removed the logs so they could get into the house. I was left sitting in front of the cabin, a bloody mess and unable to move.
* * *
"Werewolf saliva has this effect on vampires," I heard the words from a strange voice and scent. I didn't know where I was; everything looked dark to me. And the pain? My body was on fire.
"Surprised she's not dead yet," another f
ragment floated past. I wanted to know if Weldon was all right, but that thought, along with my consciousness, drifted away.
I woke up a little when they moved me and somebody was dripping blood from a bag into my mouth. "Go ahead and swallow," a voice urged. I wanted to cry but there wasn't anything left in my body to produce tears. I wanted to move, but my body felt paralyzed. The pain wasn't going away. I wished I was dead and then remembered that I already was.
"She's opening her eyes," someone said. My ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, deadening the sound. I blinked, there was light, but I couldn't bring anything into focus. "Lissa? Can you hear me?" I thought it might be Daryl, but I didn't know for sure. Blackness came again.
* * *
Daryl carried Lissa up the steps to Winkler's jet. He was flying back with her and turning her over to Winkler. What was left of her, anyway. Weldon had been stiff for a few days but held the meetings as if nothing had happened, although he did cut them short by three days. Lester, Bart, and about thirty-five others had died in the attempted coup, including Thomas Williams, who'd fought and died to keep Weldon alive.
Weldon buried Thomas on his North Dakota property, and many of the werewolves carried large stones from the river to cover his grave. Weldon gave the eulogy, naming Thomas a hero. Lissa, though, she probably wasn't going to make it. At least that's what the werewolf physician said when they brought him in from Chicago. Winkler demanded that she be brought back to Texas. If she were dying then he'd see to her comfort beforehand. Weldon didn't want to move her, told Winkler that he'd see to her and he and Winkler held a shouting match over the phone. Winkler won out eventually, sending his jet to pick her up.
Martin Walters sat down at Lissa's bedside before she was taken away and took her hand. "I wanted to explain to you, before they took you away," he said softly. "Thomas and I came to help there at the last, because we have children. Thomas's kids are grown, but mine—I have a daughter who's four and a son who is two. I didn't want them growing up in a world where they have to watch their backs if they smell vampire. None of us kept the peace the other night. You did." Martin patted her hand and stood up to go.
"Lissa, I wish you'd wake up," Daryl whispered softly in her ear as he settled her into the seat and buckled the seatbelt around her. Winkler was growling when Daryl came off the plane carrying Lissa's body wrapped in a blanket. "You have to be careful, the wounds drip fluid and won't heal," Daryl said, handing the bundle over to Winkler. Gavin stood off to the side, an unreadable expression on his face.
"What the hell did they do to her?" Winkler asked, finally controlling his anger.
"The doc says that werewolf bites do this to vampires," Daryl said. "Their skin tries to heal itself, locking the saliva inside. It acts as a poison in their system. It should have been cleaned out right away and it wasn't. She has bites and rips everywhere. I know dad told you she saved him, but she killed herself doing it. She accounted for at least twenty of the thirty-seven who tried to take dad down."
The night sky was overcast as Davis drove Winkler and Gavin back to the beach house. Winkler held onto Lissa the entire way, growling at the others if they got too close and he and Gavin lifted the blanket from Lissa's body when they got her inside. Winkler carried her into the main house instead of her guesthouse bedroom and made sure the room was as dark as he could make it.
"What did they do to you?" Winkler said as he and Gavin pulled the blanket away. They'd dressed Lissa in some sort of loose gown to send her back and it was soaked in a yellowish fluid. Gavin felt ill, staring at the weeping wounds.
"Send somebody out to buy as many bottles of peroxide as they can find," Gavin turned to Davis and Glen, who were peeking over Winkler's shoulder.
"How many do you need?" Davis asked.
"Enough to fill a bathtub to about six inches, at least," Gavin said. "And buy scrubbing brushes. The stiffer the brush, the better."
"What are you going to do?" Winkler looked at Gavin.
"Attempt to do what those fools should have done to start with. All those bites need to be reopened and cleaned out. She won't survive like this and that's the only chance we have. If it kills her, well, she'd die anyway." Gavin looked both angry and determined.
"Christ," Winkler muttered. "All right," he waved at Davis and Glen. "Go clean out everybody's supply of peroxide and get back here as quick as you can." Davis and Glen took off. Every pharmacy, grocery and discount store had their shelves emptied of peroxide that night. Davis and Glen had to make four trips to the car to bring it all in. Gavin made sure the bathtub was watertight before pouring the peroxide into it.
"This is going to hurt," he told the unconscious Lissa. "I apologize beforehand."
"She looks like shit," Phil stuck his head inside the bathroom door.
"And you may, too, if you don't get the hell out of here," Winkler was up and growling. Phil disappeared.
Gavin started on Lissa's legs first, scrubbing with one of several brushes that Davis and Glen had bought and rinsing the scrubbed skin often. When he made his way to her thighs, she started whimpering.
"Just hold on, baby," Winkler was kneeling at one end of the tub, stroking Lissa's hair. Gavin worked on her throughout the night, getting the last bit of skin on top of her head shortly before dawn. Lissa moaned and thrashed while he did her ribs and the area around her breasts. Winkler was crooning to her when that happened. Gavin let the peroxide run out of the tub afterward and then bathed her carefully, using the mildest soap he could find.
"There, now," Winkler had Lissa out of the tub and wrapped in a towel as soon as the bath was over. Leaving her naked, they placed her in the bed and covered her up.
"Now, we wait," Gavin said, rolling shirtsleeves down his arms. "Don't disturb her during the day. Her body has to heal if it can. If not, well," he didn't finish the sentence.
* * *
They told me later that I'd been unconscious for nearly two weeks, and that Gavin had scrubbed out the saliva that my body was attempting to lock inside skin and tissue. If I had known how toxic werewolf saliva was, I might not have stood there and fought with them on that cold North Dakota night. But what's done is done. There's no way to take it back, now. What I did know, for the first time in days, was whose arms were around me when I woke up completely. It was his arms, and his scent, and he left me as soon as he knew I was waking. Gavin.
I was stiff, too. Stiffer than my arthritis had ever made me. Gavin had already gone out the door to start work that night, so I limped and scuffled my way down the steps of the guesthouse. I didn't know then that I had slept for three days and nights inside the beach house before Gavin talked Winkler into placing me inside my bedroom. Someone had also unpacked my clothing, washed what needed washing and folded and hung all of it. My suitcases were empty and inside my closet.
"You should have called us, someone would have come to get you," Winkler was frowning as I walked through the French doors.
"I need to get myself around," I said, my voice sounding as rough as sandpaper.
"Sit down," Winkler pulled a chair out for me at the dining table. He'd been having a sandwich when I walked in.
"All right," I heaved myself into the chair, sighing heavily when I stopped forcing myself to move.
"Daryl's coming tomorrow just to see for himself and to take a report to the Grand Master," Winkler watched my face. I'd seen it myself just a few minutes before when I'd painfully showered and combed out my hair. There were red lines everywhere, covering my body, top to bottom. There were even telltale indentations in my scalp, indicating the bites I'd gotten there.
"I want to send a message to Thomas Williams' children, if they're still alive," I rasped.
"You met Thomas?" Winkler sounded surprised.
"I watched him die," I said. "That last batch of werewolves would have killed me if Daryl, Martin Walters and Thomas Williams hadn't shown up. Thomas was killed after taking two of them down. And if it's possible, I'd like to send a thank y
ou to Martin as well."
"I think that can be arranged," Winkler told me. "Thomas' son is Packmaster now. He was Thomas' Second and has successfully fought off the challenge."
"He was probably pissed. I know I would be."
Winkler left for a few minutes, going to the bedroom he used as his workspace and coming back carrying a laptop. "You know how to use a computer?" he asked. I just glared at him.
Thomas Williams Junior's e-mail address was already pulled up, the cursor blinking, waiting for me to write a message. My brain had slowed along with my body, so it took a while to think of something to write. This is what I wrote:
I am sorry for your loss. I had the privilege of fighting alongside your father, as well as the sadness of watching him die. He killed two Packmasters before a third took him down and he died with more than dignity. He died for your future and the future of every werewolf child. It is my hope that you honor him and remind your Pack how fortunate they were to have him as a leader. I wish you fond memories and brighter days.
-Lissa.
Winkler was reading over my shoulder as I typed and he didn't object when I hit send. Then I wrote the note to Martin Walters after Winkler pulled up his e-mail address.
Mr. Walters, I thank you for your timely rescue and for your words afterward. I was barely conscious when you said them and in much pain, but I appreciate them more for those very reasons. It is my hope that your children truly do grow up in a world where there is no danger from the source you mentioned. Every child should have the opportunity to grow and prosper in a hate-free environment. My best wishes go out to you for your continued health and well-being.
Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1) Page 14
