"Charity," Victoria said in a tense voice. "We need to know the location of that gold mine. Our friend went looking for it and he hasn't come back."
Joseph bridled, clearly startled. His head jerked, and he glanced frantically about. "What was that?"
"It's okay, sweetheart." Charity captured her husband's cheeks again. She met and held his gaze. "We can be together now, forever. Just tell me something first. Can you do that?"
His agitation waned. "Yes, of course. I'd do anything for you."
"I need to know about the treasure map you had to the lost gold mine."
Joseph's face reddened. "Ah, Cheri. You know that old thing was baloney."
Charity stilled—deadly serious. "That wicked man murdered you for that map, Joey. Tell me how to find the gold mine."
"All right." Joseph squared his shoulders. "The closest landmark is Slaughterhouse Gulch. Two creeks feed it—branching northwest and northeast. The mine was located in a deep canyon along the northeastern arroyo about two miles from the Slaughterhouse Gulch headwaters. I'm sorry. That's all I know."
"Thank you, my love. That's exactly what we needed." Charity feathered a quick kiss over her husband's mouth and then shot a questioning glance toward Victoria.
Not wanting to disturb Joseph again, Victoria nodded and mouthed her thanks. While it wasn't as ideal as a longitude and latitude, the directions were more than they'd had before. It'd have to be enough to go on.
The couple kissed again. The portal above them brightened in a blinding flash. Reflexively, Victoria shut her eyes and turned her face away. Heat washed across her skin, and a clean, sweet scent—lilacs and plums. She waited until the blaze died down before she looked again. Charity and Joseph were gone. Her breath hitched, and she reached up and found her cheeks were wet with tears. She'd witnessed the crossing over of countless spirits and escorted a number to Valhalla, but this counted as one of the most marvelous and truly touching ascensions ever. It left her wondering, just an inkling in the back of her mind, about the identity of Charity's mysterious benefactor.
"That was amazing. I'm glad we were able to help them." Daniel stepped away from Victoria and stooped to pick up the crowbar. "I'll make sure someone collects Joseph's remains and sees to it he's interred with Charity, but we're running out of time, especially if he's fallen into a haunted gold mine that only appears on All Hollow's Eve..."
Victoria nodded. "Let's go find old Mac Guffin."
Chapter Nine
* * * *
Overhead, the moon was a bright and silvery disk against the black canvas sky. The stars shimmered and winked down upon them, providing ample illumination. Dawn remained a few hours off yet. True solitude. They'd run out of what could be called a proper road some time ago. The bumpy, narrow pathway they'd been following for the last several miles hardly qualified as a path—it bore closer resemblance to a furrow. She'd seen deer trails with more definition.
The Chevelle's wheel hit a pothole that caused the front right wheel to drop. The car veered to the side. Victoria braced herself against her seat and released a sharp huff when the vehicle came to a safe stop.
Behind the wheel, Daniel glanced over and met her gaze. An unspoken thought passed between them—many more jolts like that and they risked becoming stuck or breaking an axle. He shut off the engine and said, "That's it. We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot."
"That's okay. If we're on foot, I stand a chance of picking up Mac's scent." Stretching her arms overhead, Victoria took a deep breath, tasting the cool air. The surrounding shrubs and trees had a dry aroma that reminded her of a wood pile. Throughout Arizona, areas normally classified as arid were in the midst of a more than decade-long dry spell. She loved the irony—drought in a desert.
"Good idea." He checked his cell phone. The LCD cast its glow upon his face. "There's no signal—I have zero bars."
"I'm not surprised." She joined him at the back of the car. It'd been miles, almost an hour, since they'd passed the last sign of civilization. Now, it was just the two of them. A profound thought—out here in the middle of nowhere, so far from friends and family, with no means of communication. They were not only alone but dependent upon each other for survival.
"If Macan got hurt or stranded, he couldn't have called for help." Daniel opened the trunk and rooted around, extracting a tactical combat flashlight and a rifle from within. He slung the firearm's carry strap over his shoulder. Aside from various non-magical knives and the holstered handgun, he also wore the enchanted knife sheathed within its scabbard on his belt. He had a backpack well stocked with survival supplies.
"Do you think you have enough weapons?" While he had his back to her, Victoria pulled her shirt and her bra over her head. She tossed the garments past Daniel into the trunk and started on her jeans.
He glanced over, aiming his flashlight toward where her clothing had landed. He reached and came up with her bra straps dangling from his fingers. To her surprise, he didn't turn immediately. Instead, he stared as though riveted by the sight of her practical athletic bra. Damn it—talk about missed opportunities. She could've worn a lacy pushup.
Freya giggled. Next time.
Victoria rolled a smile heavenward. Yes, My Lady. Next time.
"Victoria?" His voice fluctuated. The intoxicating aroma of arousal accentuated the cardamom notes she associated with his basal odor.
"I'm going to shift to a wolf so I can better track by scent. I'd rather not ruin my clothes so I'm leaving them in the car." She finished peeling off her pants and underwear, and picked up her flip flops too. Rolling everything together, she pitched the bundle into the trunk. It dropped in—a neat slam dunk.
The chilly night air nipped at her bare skin but not too badly. As soon as she undertook the change to her animal form, her comfort would no longer be an issue. As a wolf, she preferred cooler climates. Rather peevishly, she'd always considered the desert to be a habitat better suited to coyotes than wolves, thought she kept such thoughts to herself. No good came from upsetting her parents or packmates with complaints beyond their control.
"Good idea." He cleared his throat and dropped her bra back into the trunk. Reaching overhead with both hands, he closed the lid. "Is it okay if I turn around? I haven't witnessed many full shifts."
A grin split her face. She strangled on her laughter. "Oh, so you'd like to watch? Purely out of professional curiosity, I'm sure."
He snickered. "Yeah, that's it."
"Okay, sure." Victoria shrugged. She wasn't modest or shy—few shape changers were. In fact, she harbored no doubts as to her own attractiveness. Not every man wanted her, but most heterosexual men looked. She had a trim, athletic figure, with a compact torso and the powerful legs of a ballerina. She also possessed the grace of a dancer due to years of formal training.
Slowly, Daniel turned and came to a full stop. His gaze locked on her, a thorough appraisal with the weight of touch. He stroked her curves, creating a controversy of conflicted sensations—heat and chills, immobility and trembling.
"Wow," he drawled.
She flushed with pleasure—loving the attention—but she refused to indulge in excessive vanity. Preening wasn't her style. Settling into a crouch, Victoria pressed her fingertips to the rocky ground. She gathered her energy, preparing to change shapes. Power flowed over her—her skin rippled over shifting muscles—but the transformation started more slowly than normal. The events of the evening had already drained her reserves, and she hadn't eaten since before the fight with the wight. Swallowing a cry of frustration, she raised her hands from the ground. Dirt and small rocks clung to her palms but she ignored the debris, clenching her hands. When she flicked them open again, all her finger bones broke with an audible crunch. It hurt. She grimaced and growled.
"Are you okay?" Gravel crunched beneath Daniel's boots.
"I—" She tried to offer assurance that she was fine, but it hurt too much. Her skin prickled, hot and flushed, unbearably itchy as white fur pushed to th
e surface. Her ears grew pointed and migrated to high on her head.
"Victoria?" Daniel bent and reached for her.
"Stop." His proximity threatened her while she was at her most vulnerable. She opened her mouth just as her canines erupted and her jaws distended, pushing into a muzzle. No more words. She snarled, baring her teeth.
Daniel froze, hand extended, surprise on his face as though the family golden retriever had taken a mean turn. Thankfully, for his sake and her own, he refrained from making any sudden movements. He sank into a crouch, lowered his arm, and rested his hand on his knee. Unassuming—maybe even reassuring if she allowed herself to consider him a guardian instead of a potential foe.
Victoria surrendered to her wolf and rode out one of the roughest transformations she'd ever endured. The change clanked through her body like falling dominoes—bones breaking, remolding, and healing. Agony—not the good pain she associated with shape shifting.
At the midway point, she gained in height and weight and resembled nothing so much as the classic movie wolfman—the "fighting" form of most wolf shifters because of the additional stature. Her size once again shrank as she progressed toward her canine form.
As a wolf, Victoria wasn't much bigger than most coyotes and smaller than some of the males. Her fur was pure white, unmarred by even a hint of dark guard hairs. Her father liked to tease her that her color was the reason she disliked heat so intensely. "Victory, you are a snow wolf who had the misfortune of being born in the desert," Adair had said and laughed.
Breathing hard, she dropped to her belly, rested her head on her front paws, and lay there while she recovered her strength. Her belly rumbled its hunger. It hadn't been long since she'd last eaten, but the process required an enormous amount of energy. Come morning, she'd be ravenous. She dreaded the prospect of becoming human again—didn't even want to think about it.
Daniel rocked onto his backside, seated beside her, and reached over. He held his hand hovered over her head as though waiting for a protest or permission. She raised her muzzle, whined, and then yawned.
"Man, this has been a Halloween to remember." Daniel chucked and stroked his palm across the top of her skull, trailing his fingers between her ears. "Silky."
With a snort, Victoria clamored to her feet. All right, rest break over—time to get to work. She took a couple wobbly steps, gaining strength as she walked it out. Daniel rose in a smooth motion and trailed her.
"You ready to go?" he asked in a husky voice.
She ruffed in agreement and charged ahead to assume the lead, running with her nose to the ground. It took a few seconds before she caught the scent of another vehicle—rubber ties, recent exhaust—definitely not more than a day old. With an excited yip, she kicked it into high gear and galloped down the path.
"Hey, hold up!" Daniel's footsteps pounded on the dirt as he charged after her. His rough gait jostled the flashlight so the beam of light bounced wildly.
With a wolf's smile, Victoria slowed her pace to an easy jog so he could keep up. She followed the scent markers for about a half mile. At one point she stopped to examine a tire print in a patch of mud. The width and pronounced threads led her to conclude they were tracking a truck or SUV, the obvious conclusion since any vehicle capable of tracking the rough terrain must have had four-wheel drive. Her suspicions were confirmed when they rounded a bend and came upon an abandoned Chevy Silverado.
"This is Macan's truck. At least we know we're on the right trail." Daniel tried the front door but it refused to open. While he worked on the lock, Victoria ran a circuit about the vehicle with her nose close to the ground. She picked up the missing hunter's scent leading away from the pickup.
Bursting with excitement, she woofed and waited. Daniel didn't come. She barked again but lacked the patience to see if he'd attend. Damn it, she really needed to work on the man's obedience training if they were going to hunt together on a regular basis. Irritated, she doubled back to fetch Daniel and found him still trying to jimmy the door.
"Yeah, just give me a second."
"Nnnnooooohhhh..." Victoria bayed, vocalizing her annoyance, a couple octaves shy of a full howl. She darted toward him and placed a sharp nip on the back of his calf. Not hard enough to pierce denim but definitely to be felt.
He jumped and spun around, aiming the flashlight at her. "All right already! I'm coming. Geez, being nagged by a she-wolf..."
She huffed in satisfaction and reared her front quarters. Twisting about, she returned to where she'd picked up the scent, found it again, and hurried along in a roughly northeastern direction. The ground got rougher—steep slopes covered in loose dirt and gravel. For almost a couple miles, give or take, their route ran parallel to the northeastern arroyo that eventually flowed into the headwaters of Slaughterhouse Gulch.
Out of consideration for Daniel, she kept her pace slow and steady. She sought the safest route even when it took them away from the shortest possible route. Fortunately, Macan had done his best to negotiate an easy course so they seldom strayed more than a few yards from his trail.
Capriciously, the scent trail rose along the base of a butte. Victoria ascended at a hard scramble which sent loose debris shooting out from beneath her paws. She worried about making the ascent worse for Daniel who was behind and below her but a glance over her shoulder confirmed the hunter was keeping up.
She paused, giving him a chance to catch his breath. "Ruff."
"Do you think we're getting close?" Daniel asked, panting with exertion.
"Rrruunnoohhh," she said, doing her best Scooby-Dooism. Dog speech was more difficult than she'd imagined.
"Sorry?" Daniel cocked his head and grinned at her, obviously enjoying himself despite the rough going.
"Roh-roh-roo."
"Hey! No need to be rude."
Muttley wound up being much easier to impersonate—she snickered. After a short break, she resumed hiking. The nearer they got to the summit, the more difficult the climb. Behind her, Daniel muttered a few more choice phrases beneath his breath. She caught the general gist—What the fuck had possessed Macan to come out here alone in the first place? She didn't blame the man for his ire, and frankly, she agreed with him.
Cresting a sharp incline, Victoria ground to a sudden halt. A few inches before her front paws, the earth gave way to a precipitous drop off—not the plateau she'd been expecting. She stared at the spot on the ridge that'd been flattened when something—or someone—landed atop it. To her, it looked as though Macan had tripped and fallen, tumbling down the other side.
Daniel stopped beside her and aimed the flashlight at the patch of disturbed ground. Clearly, his conclusion paralleled hers. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted—"Macan!" He repeated the call twice more.
His voice carried on the deceptively quiet night. It seemed like they were the only living things around but her sensitive ears read between the sound waves. She detected the too-silent hush of wary prey become aware of predators in their midst.
"Damn." Daniel lowered his hands and took a step forward.
A man's hoarse voice cried out across a great distance. "Hey! I'm here! Don't leave!"
They exchanged an urgent glance and then scrambled to peer over the crest of the hill. Their combined weight sent an alarming amount of dry earth tumbling down the slick slides of the mount. It was fifty feet down at least.
Daniel called out. "Macan!"
"Yeah! I'm down here!" A second later a red flare shot into the air, illuminating the sides of a canyon below. "Danny, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me—"
"Oh, hell. I've never been so happy to hear another person's voice."
"Victoria Storm is with me. Hang in there. We're coming."
"Watch that last step!" Macan croaked, barely audible. "...a doozy."
With a howl of enthusiasm, Victoria leapt over the summit and plunged headlong down the other side. She took it at breakneck speed. Her front paws crashed into the slope, bringing down an avalanche
of rubble. Her rear feet touched earth and she rode the cascade for several paces before she pushed off again. The miniature landslide gathered volume as it progressed along the hill.
Her footing remained deft the entire descent—a predator's surefootedness and strength. She was free of fear—even a severe fall couldn't kill her. Broken bones healed at an accelerated rate. But even then, she noticed her own depleted reserves. The evening, including the wight fight and two shifts, had drained her energy. She verged on exhaustion. It concerned her but there was no opportunity for such indulgences. The humans worried her more. The difficult descent would be dangerous for Daniel. She hoped he had the sense to proceed with caution. Ideally, she should have stayed with him but Macan sounded as though he was in serious distress.
She arrived at the bottom of the slope amid a landslide of loose earth. Bounding along at a full run, she found herself heading straight for the opposite side of the canyon at an alarming rate. She dug in her claws, entering an uncontrolled skid in her effort to avoid a head-on collision with the rock wall. She spun in a full rotation, skating on the tips of her nails, and pulled out only to find herself barreling straight at Macan—a flash of gray bristle attached to a beastly huge man.
"Fur fuck's sake!" The old-timer flapped his arms overhead, his accent strong in his agitation.
A wolf's chortle built in her chest. Huffing, Victoria gathered herself and executed a neat leap that carried her clean over Mac. Though, one of his waving hands brushed her rear leg. She landed and executed a tight turn.
By the time she came around, Macan had recovered his sensibilities. His infliction settled into his Americanized-norm. "You're a mad rocket, Lassie, but I'm damn glad to see you. Is Danny on his way down?"
She barked affirmative, assuming it to be true, but left the task of interpretation to Macan. The hunter rested on the ground beneath a camouflage tarp with a backpack beside him. He hadn't made any effort to stand so she walked over to greet him, wagging her tail.
Hunter's Mark: A Star-Crossed Book (Loki's Wolves 0) Page 9
