Lost Vegas Series

by Lizzy Ford

  The she-wolf had sat up, tugged off the cloak, and was grooming her babies. When they were clean and fed, the pups piled up next to her for warmth. Arthur collected them gently and replaced them in the cloak.

  The wolf stood and shook off the leaves clinging to her fur. She gave the men a long look before turning and walking into the forest.

  Arthur hastily kicked dirt over the embers of their fire. Marshall followed her, hugging himself and grumbling about the cold, lack of food, and the cursed Hanover’s. Arthur trailed and listened to him with newfound patience – and a great deal of dread.

  “Will we ever go home?” Marshall asked.

  “Yes, we will,” Arthur answered. It was inevitable that he would return to his home, and inevitable that Marshall discovered the truth. Of every thought on Arthur’s mind, he could not help wondering if he had the power and influence necessary to save the remaining Cruise from his father. Marshall would hate Arthur for hiding the latest Hanover massacre, but this would not deter Arthur from protecting him.

  Marshall grumbled more quietly this time.

  Cold and miserable, Arthur focused on formulating the explanation he would have to give Marshall eventually. For once, his father was not present to give his side of the story, even if his side was often an excuse. Arthur had accepted all his father’s excuses, not because he did not know better, but because he hoped one day to make a difference in how the city was managed. He could not do that, if he challenged his father and lost his position as heir.

  As they walked through the awakening forest, Arthur could not help realizing there was no excuse he could accept for what his father had done and what his father would try to do to Marshall and possibly Tiana. He was beyond choosing blind obedience, beyond towing his father’s line to those who already knew better. He could not see himself returning to the role of dutiful son and ignoring all he had chosen not to see before. Neither did he see himself walking away from the city that had suffered long enough under the rule of mad Hanovers’. He had always intended to become the leader his father was not, to help the city rather than punish it.

  Where did that leave him? If he wanted to help the city and repair the damage done by his family, did he not have to return to his father’s nest and play the role expected of him?

  His eyes went to the back of Marshall’s head.

  What if returning meant sacrificing his friend and sister?

  He could think of only one way to protect them, an option he had not wanted to entertain for weeks.

  “Tell me again about this alleged plot to overthrow my father,” he spoke quietly.

  Marshall glanced over his shoulder at him then back. “Are you addressing me or the wolf?” he snapped through chattering teeth.

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “You. I may be willing to talk to your … friends,” he said with effort. “You said there were people who wanted to rid the city of my father.”

  “You want to betray them to your father.”

  “No. I want to hear their plan for saving the city from him.” Arthur was careful not to advocate for the murder of his father, even though he suspected that was the plan.

  Marshall stopped and faced him. “Why?” he asked, gaze sharpening as he studied Arthur. “You have been ignoring me for weeks when I tried to address you on this matter!”

  Arthur measured his words before speaking. “I have heard you, even if I did not respond,” he said. “Something about our adventure to the forest has changed my perception. I do not disagree with you, Marshall, about the city deserving better than my father.”

  Marshall’s eyebrow lifted. “Suddenly, you do not disagree with me? Does that mean you support what I have said, or are you planning to use this knowledge against me? Or is this a moment of weakness you will regret when we return?”

  “Perhaps I have had a vision of what may come to be, if I do not prevent my father from acting as he intends to,” Arthur said. “How entrenched is this movement against him? Are you the only one in it?”

  “No.” Marshall studied him until they both began to shake harder from the lack of movement. He spun away and began trailing the wolf again.

  “Who else is involved?”

  Marshall was quiet for a moment.

  “I am sorry, Marshall, but I need reassurances this movement has the ability to usurp my father and is not the daydream of the Cruises alone.”

  “Many powerful men are involved, including my father, and someone close to your father,” Marshall replied. His tone had lost its edge. “And … Ingram.”

  “Gavin Ingram? My father’s security advisor?” Arthur had not known if this plan extended beyond the Cruises or not, but the mention of the Ingram patriarch, whose prominent family was the third most influential and wealthiest in the outer city, led him to wonder if it were possible to cultivate Marshall’s accomplices as allies. He stood a better chance of outmaneuvering, or outright overthrowing, his father, if so.

  Assuming his father did not witness his betrayal in a vision.

  “The same,” Marshall said.

  “Then this plan has deep roots in the elite.”

  “It does. Very deep. There are more supporters for our plan than your father has supporting him. Four and a half centuries of mad rule is enough,” Marshall confirmed slowly. “I am supposed to test you to ensure you were not like your father, then sway you to our side, and if I succeed, introduce you to Ingram and the others upon our return.”

  “What is your determination? About me?”

  “You are arrogant, proud and foolish – but you are not your father.”

  Arthur did not deny the assessment. In fact, he found it sound, even though it came from a Cruise.

  “You are truly interested in usurping your father?” Marshall asked with another uncertain glance towards him.

  “I want to protect those I care about and my city,” Arthur replied. “If there was a way to do it without challenging my father, I would prefer that.”

  “And if there is not?”

  Arthur hesitated. “I am open to an alternative.”

  “This is more than I ever thought I would hear you say,” Marshall said.

  Unable to identify a path where those he cared about lived, and he returned to his duty as the Hanover heir, Arthur lost himself in troubled thought.

  They walked until midday. Spring came in full force this day, after the longest winter he could recall. By noon, he was sweating from the heat and sun. Seasonal streams formed as the snow and ice melted, and the forest filled with the movement of animals who no longer feared leaving their burrows. Squirrels leapt from branch to branch above their heads while rabbits rustled in the underbrush.

  The she-wolf panted and kept several dozen feet ahead of them, pausing on occasion to ensure they followed. Marshall quietly picked his way through the forest, and Arthur cradled the pups as they walked.

  Reaching a stream, they all stopped in silence. Marshall dropped to his knees, cupped his hands and drank from the trickling waters. The she-wolf drank for a moment then approached Arthur. She nudged the pups with her nose. Arthur set them down and unwrapped them while the mother wolf nudged his hands to hasten him. He moved aside for her to inspect the puppies.

  “From winter to summer in half a day’s time,” Marshall complained.

  Arthur dunked his head and shivered at the icy water before drinking his fill. “I hope this holds out.”

  “Me, too.”

  The she-wolf fed and cleaned her babies. Marshall gathered the tiny wolves and bundled them up again.

  Together, the two of them set out once more, following the wolf as she continued north.

  Not far past the stream, she stopped abruptly, head elevated.

  Arthur and Marshall froze and waited. Her tail stayed down, her ears forward. She did not growl as she had when she saw Ghouls, and she did not appear alarmed.

  Shifting their direction, she walked another half a mile before pausing again at the top of a shallow gully.

>   Marshall’s breath caught, and Arthur hurried to his side.

  At the bottom of the gully lay the skinwalker, half man, half beast, unmoving. Two of his limbs were at odd angles. His beast fur was matted with blood and his human skin smeared with it.

  The wolf’s tail wagged. She trotted down the gully to the still skinwalker and began to lick his bloodied skin.

  Marshall cursed.

  Arthur was still.

  “We should have guessed she would lead us to the beast that’s murdered hundreds!” Marshall muttered.

  Arthur had a different reaction. “Tiana did that?” he asked, surveying the gashes, crushed body parts, broken limbs and blood of the mangled man.

  “Are you not concerned we found the creature that murders entire villages in one breath?” Marshall demanded.

  “He can murder no one now,” Arthur pointed out.

  “Good. I hope he dies here.”

  “You sound like a Hanover,” Arthur said, amused.

  Marshall glared at him.

  Help him. The she-wolf’s whisper was anxious.

  Any desire Arthur had to let the skinwalker rot in place was lost when the she-wolf spoke to him. She did not have to ask again, not after saving his life a second time.

  “She saved our lives, Marshall, and she brought us here for a reason,” Arthur started. “We cannot leave them like this. She is too weak, and he is –”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Marshall was striding angrily towards the wolf and skinwalker. “The sooner we are done with this, the sooner we can go home and overthrow your father!” he snapped.

  Arthur almost smiled. He asked his magic for help knowing which direction to go in and was pleased with the response. A village belonging to the Newe, their Native allies, was located less than three miles away.

  His satisfaction faded when he reached the skinwalker and witnessed his mangled condition firsthand.

  The man was alive and blinking, glaring at Arthur and Marshall.

  “I … found … you again,” the Native said in a gravelly voice. His breathing was ragged and irregular, though he displayed no outward sign of pain.

  “I believe we found you,” Marshall retorted.

  Arthur debated how to handle the skinwalker and squatted beside him. “We can help you,” he began. “But if we do so, when you are well, you must leave the territory around Lost Vegas for a thousand miles, without causing any further loss of life, and never return. You have hurt too many people.”

  The skinwalker gave a wheezy laugh.

  “You have no room to negotiate right now,” Marshall seconded in a hard tone. “I am usually the diplomatic one between the two of us, but for once, I find myself agreeing with a Hanover. Either do as Arthur says, or we leave you here to die.”

  “I … agree,” wheezed the dangerous Native.

  Arthur assessed the beast that was half transformed. “You are a mess,” he said. “Can you choose one form? Preferably human, as you will be easier to carry.”

  The skinwalker closed his eyes.

  Arthur waited for a response and then witnessed the beast changing slowly into a naked, fully human form.

  “A word,” Marshall said to him.

  Arthur stood.

  Marshall moved a short distance away. “How exactly are we going carry him and the pups? And where are we going to find help? His wounds are beyond our ability to dress without the proper supplies.”

  “There is a friendly village three miles from here. We can have him there by sunset,” Arthur said.

  “Sunset? Three miles?”

  “We can build a stretcher out of branches.”

  “And use leaves and fairy magic to bind his wounds?”

  Arthur sighed. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I do. One of us goes to the village and asks for help then returns with a healer and enough men to carry him.”

  “Very well, Cruise. We will adopt your plan,” Arthur said, surprised Marshall had an answer that was sound. “Your plan, your choice on who goes to the village.”

  “I do not want to be left with that thing,” Marshall admitted quietly, eyes on the skinwalker. “Agreement or not, I do not trust it. But you have the ability to navigate that I do not.”

  “Take the she-wolf. She can do what I can.”

  “Will she leave him and her pups to go with me?”

  Arthur approached the wolf, which continued to lick the skinwalker’s wounds.

  “Would you accompany Marshall to a Native village to fetch help?” Arthur asked the animal, ignoring the native.

  The wolf lifted her head.

  “You would have to leave your babes and your master. But we need the assistance of the Natives in the village. Marshall can speak to them on your behalf. They are allies of my family,” Arthur stated.

  The wolf gazed at him for a long moment, not blinking.

  “You will be back by the pups’ suppertime,” Marshall added. “I cannot navigate the forest alone, and we cannot leave your pups and master exposed. One of us must stay. Arthur is more adept than I at treating the wounded. He is a Hanover. He does not mind blood on his hands.”

  Arthur rolled his eyes.

  The she-wolf looked between them then at the skinwalker.

  Yes, she answered.

  Arthur nodded to Marshall.

  “Do you know the place you seek?” Arthur asked the animal. He formed a vision of the path and the destination.

  Without answering him, the wolf spun and loped in the direction of the village.

  Marshall hurried after her.

  Arthur watched them go and then moved closer to the skinwalker. He sat down on a log and placed the bundle on the ground between them.

  “How are they?” the skinwalker wheezed.

  “Healthy from what I know,” Arthur replied. He peeled off his shirt and began tearing it into strips. “How is it our paths continue to cross?”

  “You … hunted me,” the skinwalker responded. “I hunted you.”

  “You hunted me?” Arthur asked. “You did not seem interested in me when I was stalking you all those days.”

  “Did not know … your name.”

  “Ah. You did not think my father would allow his heir to wander the forest like a lost dog. The secret is, he did not know.” After a quick assessment, Arthur shifted forward to bind the worst of the wounds. He started with the Native’s right leg and then paused. “Have you always been missing your left leg?”

  “It will return.”

  Arthur studied the skinwalker’s features. They were tight, and an unhealthy gray shaded half his face. “Because it is magic,” he said. The skinwalker was the man in the world he least wanted as a companion, but as long as the creature continued talking, he would not fall asleep and die from his substantial head wounds. “The legend I heard claims your magic lives in your leg.” Arthur shifted forward to look at the stump. “This was not a wound. You were born deformed?”

  The skinwalker did not answer.

  Arthur moved on to the other wounds. When he ran out of shirt, he removed the pups from their cloak and tore it in half. He left half for the pups and ripped the rest into strips.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked, wanting to hear someone other than Tiana had.

  “A little girl with Ghoul eyes.”

  Arthur was quiet for a moment. “I did not know she was capable of this.”

  “You know her?”

  “My sister. The one you swore not to harm.”

  The Native gave another rattling, shaky laugh. “I have been lying here … planning her death. Nothing has given me … this much pleasure in years.”

  “Unfortunately for you, you already agreed to spare her,” Arthur reminded him. His thoughts went briefly to the changed vision.

  The Native grimaced as Arthur cinched tight one of his wounds.

  “I do not know how she could do this to any living creature or how you are alive at all.”

  “She did not want me
dead … or … I’d be dead,” the skinwalker said.

  “There is that.” Arthur’s hands paused, and he recalled what Tiana had told him about murdering Marshall’s sister, who had been Tiana’s stepmother. Had her first experience wielding her power scared her out of murdering anyone else? “I hunted you, because I had visions of you killing her. How is that possible when she can do something like this?” The question was more for him than the skinwalker.

  To his surprise, the skinwalker answered. “What did you see? Exactly? Tell me again.”

  Arthur’s hands paused. He remembered how interested the skinwalker had seemed when he mentioned the vision before, at the frozen river. He began to wipe and bind the wounds again.

  “You were chasing her across the grasslands …” Arthur murmured and told him the scene he had witnessed nightly for months. When he finished, the skinwalker was silent.

  Arthur shifted forward to ensure the man still lived.

  “Then you did not see me kill her,” the skinwalker said.

  “No, but why else would you be pursuing her?” And why was their father now in the vision?

  “I do not know,” the skinwalker admitted. “But what you saw was … what you saw. It was not more or less than this.”

  “You think I should not assume you were trying to hurt her?”

  “What you saw was what you saw.”

  The skinwalker had a point, and Arthur was not certain he liked taking advice from a beast that had slaughtered every living being in three villages.

  “You said you were hunting me?” he asked. “Why?”

  “Paid to hunt people.”

  “Who paid you?”

  The skinwalker smiled.

  Arthur’s family had never been beloved. His father uncovered at least one plot a year to assassinate him and another to assassinate his heir. “For once, I do not blame someone for wanting my family dead,” he said, thoughts on Marshall.

  “He wanted you … alive.”

  “Ransom is a good motivation as well. My family is wealthy, and my father powerful,” he said. “Who is this man? How did he come to have enough money to tempt anyone to kidnap a Hanover?”

  “My price is never money,” the skinwalker reminded him.

  “He must have had something of value.”