The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Oh well.

  It all went onto the table beside the wolf, except the first aid kit. She rummaged in it for needle and thread.

  “You really are a vet.” Color was returning to Zach’s cheeks, and he looked at Emma with a kind of pained relief.

  Her heart sank. She gave a little shake of her head. “Actually, no I’m not. I am — was — studying vet med. Still in first year.” She took a deep breath and blew it out, avoiding Zach’s gaze. “But I’ve done this sort of thing before.” Which wasn’t entirely true. She’d done a three month internship at the wolf rescue center in Indiana when she finished her undergrad degree, so she’d handled wolves, and she’d stitched Ricky up, and her anatomy knowledge was great. But she’d never done anything like this before. Sewing up Ricky’s minor scrapes and cuts was one thing. This, another thing entirely.

  Needle threaded, Emma paused to take the wolf’s pulse, fingers tentative beneath the armpit. She had to dig a little harder to get anything. The pulse was slow and feather light, all wrong for a shapechanger. She pinched some skin between her thumb and forefinger; the wolf’s hide lacked elasticity, didn’t smooth down right away.

  “His pulse is okay for now, but he’s dehydrated. I want some fluids in him before I start. What’s he had, Zach, and when did he have it last?”

  “He drank some water early this morning, but wouldn’t take more. Before that, I don’t remember.” Zach scrubbed his face. “He was drinking at first, but then it was like he gave up.”

  Emma nodded and went to the fridge for a bottle of water. She emptied it out into the sink, refilling with lukewarm tap water. “Telly,” she said. “I need you to do, I don’t know, whatever you do, and keep him calm. If you can. I need to get some of this into him.”

  Telly blinked at her, then placed his hand over the wolf’s throat. He lowered his head, blond hair falling into his eyes, hiding the way they turned pale with power.

  “Come on,” he said to her, lifting the wolf’s snout with his other hand. The wolf’s eyes stayed closed, jaw slack and breathing steady, while Telly gently tilted the jaws open, lifting the neck, so that when Emma poured the water in, it trickled unhindered down the wolf’s throat.

  Telly swallowed audibly. Emma watched the unconscious wolf echo the motion. The silence in the kitchen got thicker. When the bottle was almost empty, Emma stopped, satisfied. She hoped the fluid would make it easier for the wolf’s system to cope, fortify it against the stress of what she was about to do. Even if he wasn’t conscious, the body would still be taxed.

  Emma said, “Zach, put your hands on him, it might help. Telly,” she met his eyes. “Hold him down.”

  She moved as fast as she dared, bathing the lacerations and stitching up what she could, gritting her teeth against the weird feel of living flesh moving in tiny, creeping tendrils like sea anemones evaporating against her fingers. If she never operated on another shapechanger like this, it would be too soon.

  Heart in her mouth, she refused to think about the implications, about how it would heal if it ever did at all, what kind of use the shapechanger would have of his legs. The wolf’s respiration remained steady, and he stayed under thanks to Telly’s compulsion, not even a twitch of movement despite the total lack of any form of sedative, and Emma tried not to think about that too much either. If she thought about any of it, she’d realize she was flaming nuts, and that might impair the procedure just a little bit.

  By the time she had the final splints bandaged in place, the wolf looked like Frankenstein’s dog, and at least a couple of hours had to have passed. She didn’t know. She only knew her hands were full of cramps, the small of her back hurt, and she was very thirsty — anxiety had kept her mouth dry.

  She straightened, and coughed before she spoke. “Do not, under any circumstances, let him walk on those.” Zach looked up at her, bleary eyed. “I’ve patched him up, but only because I’ve got to believe he can heal the rest himself. What I’ve done is, just, Jesus.” Emma scrubbed her face with the heels of her hands. “If he were ordinary, you couldn’t —”

  She’d been about to say you couldn’t let him live, but saying that kind of thing out loud within earshot of the patient was just bad taste. Even if he was unconscious.

  Emma pressed her knuckles against her eyelids, and jumped when somebody touched her wrist.

  She opened her eyes and found Zach very close to her. She could hear somebody growling; a small angry sound, had to be Felani. A deeper bass rumble joined it. Telly straightened behind the human, one hand still on the wolf, face neutral — for the moment.

  “Step off, Zach,” Emma said softly. “No offense.”

  He duly took a step away from her, but his face was full of resolve. “You saved him. I owe you. Anything, anything —”

  “I didn’t save him. Don’t thank me, at least not until he changes and comes out of it with two whole hind legs.” She turned her back on him, feeling like a chump, and headed for the hall with her bloodied hands out in front of her. She thought it might clear a path, but it didn’t work. The look she gave the guards did, though, and the maidens parted after them to let her through.

  Against her will, she paused in the doorway. “He needs to rest. You can take one of the guest rooms, I’ll share mine with whoever wants to volunteer their bed.” She shot Andres a look when he raised an eyebrow at her. “My room, Andres. Not my bed.” Andres smiled widely, and Anton growled.

  Emma managed half a turn toward the bathroom before Zach called out to her. “Amelia.”

  She turned around, met his tired eyes. “My name is Emma.”

  He nodded, unsurprised. “Emma.” He glanced down at the wolf. “His name is Rain.”

  “Rain.” Emma watched the rise and fall of that skinny lupine chest. “How old is he?”

  Zach’s eyes softened, and the rest of his face hardened. “Fourteen. Human years.”

  Emma swallowed. Her face was suddenly very hot. Her jaw clenched.

  She made it to the bathroom just in time to be glad she hadn’t yet had lunch.

  9

  After scrubbing her hands and face and brushing her teeth a few times, Emma went to find Telly, or Anton, or preferably both of them in the one place.

  They were on the back deck that opened off the kitchen, and Horne was with them. So was Bruce, draped over the low slung doggie bed she’d set up on the porch.

  A quick check with Fern, and she knew where everyone else was. Most importantly, Zach Matheson and Rain were resting in one of the guest rooms, with Felani hovering around them like an angry bee. Or that was how Fern imagined her. Emma knew better; Felani packed more than just a sting.

  Horne narrowed amber eyes at her as she closed the door to the kitchen behind her, one hand absently smoothing his thin goatee. He was the leanest of the jaguar guards, and the palest, though his tan still made her look like a white fish in comparison.

  “You don’t make our job easy, Emma,” he said with a rich rolling accent. He crossed his arms over his considerable, muscle shirt-clad chest. He was the only one of the guards narrow enough to be capable of actually crossing his arms. He was also the only one of the guards who didn’t intimidate the shit out of her.

  “Yeah well, you make my job hard. Zach will need to stay here until we know what to do with Rain.” She ignored Anton, who cocked his head like he wanted to argue. “Somehow,” she continued, “I doubt Zach would be comfortable leaving him, and I don’t think he should be moved. Plus,” she added, knowing exactly what Horne was about to say by the look on his face, “We need to keep an eye on him until we know more about him. Like how the hell he found this place.”

  Telly grunted. “Same way everyone else here finds it.” He flashed white teeth. “I let him.”

  Horne exhaled like he’d been punched. “You what?”

  “I let him,” Telly said smoothly. “Anyone I’ve touched can find this place if their heart is pure and they wish no harm.”

  While Horne was busy swearing, T
elly turned his bright gaze to Emma. She raised both eyebrows at him. “And why would you do that?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “A hunch.”

  “Well, thank you mister mysterious. Maybe if you’d warned us, the guards wouldn’t have pulled a big SWAT on his ass when he drove up, and he wouldn’t have as much information on us. As it is, he can now deduce that not only are there shapechangers living here, but that the one human who does live here seems to be pretty hot property. Maybe if you’d played it cool, we could just let him go.”

  Horne snorted. “Wishful thinking, chica. We can’t risk the human knowing anything about us, no matter how small.” He sighed, shaking his head. “We will just have to kill him.”

  Emma stared at him, nostrils flaring in outrage. Until he cracked a grin. She felt her face go hot.

  Horne laughed out loud. “Ah, chica! ” He pretended to wipe his eyes. “Besides, what makes you think he knows you’re human, eh?”

  Emma sighed. “Next to the ocelot maidens I stick out like the ugly duckling, that’s what. And don’t chica me, you oaf.” She gave him a dirty look and turned her attention to Telly, who was smirking. What she said next wiped the humor off his face, though. “Why do the jackals want me to visit them so bad, bad enough to kidnap somebody?”

  Telly seemed to freeze. He went so still Emma wondered if he was still alive — or at least if he was going to answer her. Anton watched him, nostrils flaring, face unreadable.

  Horne made a small, uncomfortable sound behind her. Emma glanced at him. He was looking at Telly with wary eyes. The look softened when he looked down at Emma, and then she liked it even less; it looked like sympathy. Pity.

  “Telly.” Her voice was so low it was a growl — hanging around shapechangers, she was getting good at that.

  Horne cleared his throat in earnest. “I’m gonna go, get one of the maidens. Or two.” Emma stared at him, incredulous, as he made a run for it.

  “Anton?” She fisted her hands on her hips. What the hell was going on? They were both standing around like a pair of sheepish schoolboys.

  With dawning apprehension, Emma recalled something Seshua had said on the phone — “No one has told you. That is interesting.”

  Something she’d ignored. Stupid.

  “Whatever you need to tell me,” she ground out between clenched teeth, “You’d better spit it out. Now.” She raked them with the hottest glare she could muster; it was a little more lukewarm than she would have liked. She was tired.

  Telly crossed his arms and leaned against the railing behind him. The gesture looked casual, but there was tension around the corners of Telly’s almond shaped eyes. Their blue was dark as slate, and Emma couldn’t read the look in them. Whenever she began to think she knew Telly, he gave her a look like that, reminding her of hidden things — secrets, lies maybe.

  She steeled herself. She would not lose it in front of him, even if the thought of Telly lying to her made her want to cry like a baby.

  “Please,” she said. Trying and failing to keep her gaze hard on his.

  “Emma?” The door to the kitchen banged shut. Emma jumped, turned, found Felani standing there. As usual, she hadn’t heard her coming.

  Horne was not with her — seemed he’d fled completely. The maiden’s big, ember-bright eyes were full of worry.

  “Felani, I want to know.” Emma set her shoulders, squaring them against the nervous tension tugging at her spine. “I want to know why the jackals want me to come to them.” She saw hesitation dawn on Felani’s face. “I need to know, Felani. I’m asking you as Caller of the Blood. ”

  Everything changed. Felani’s chin came up like she had been slapped, eyes wide; Anton and Telly straightened, tension thrumming through the air like a struck magnet.

  Jeez, Emma thought, she should have used that one earlier.

  Felani swallowed, delicate throat working. “The jackals have, I assume, extended formal invitation to you via Seshua as your representative and guardian.” The maiden held up a shaky hand before Emma could protest. “The rest of the world assumes that your time with Seshua means he is your caretaker. Bound to you, as you would have been to him.”

  Emma had to breathe against sudden sense memory; Seshua’s huge, hard body dwarfing hers, his deep liquid voice in her ear: “As king and as claimant to thy body and thy power, I offer myself as altar to your sacrifice. I offer myself as worthy vessel, as keeper, as caretaker, as commander. Do you accept?”

  “The rest of the world does not,” Felani continued, “suspect that the ritual was never completed. As far as they know, you have been brought into your full power as caller of the blood, and part of your role is to…” The maiden took a deep breath, looking for a moment frightened and overwhelmed, but she forged on. “To bind the races of our kind together in alliances of power which transcend the boundaries of time, space, and magic.”

  Emma blinked at her. “The boundaries of time, space, and magic,” she repeated slowly.

  Felani nodded, seeming a little more comfortable now that Emma was back to looking clueless and not ordering her around. “Connected through magic,” she said, heat rising in her rich contralto voice. “Able to call on each other across time and space, communicate, lend and borrow power. And binding it all together, your power.” Felani’s eyes got hard and bright, and Emma wished the look in them were not all for her.

  Felani blinked at her, then her molten gaze slid for a moment to Telly, who was motionless. Waiting. Was it apprehension in the stubborn set of his slim jaw?

  Felani gathered herself. “The binding. The connection. That is the purpose of the jackal’s invitation.”

  Emma closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Jesus.

  She moved away, needing distance, leaning against the railing and looking out over the lush back lawn. The dusty corrals beyond it. The tree line, a dark wall, walling her in.

  “What is it they want me to do?” Emma asked, refusing to look at Felani, at any of them. “How is it done, this connection thing, whatever it is?”

  Emma had a bad feeling; she was remembering Fern, blood and venom and pain, the invasion of her mind, blind red rage.

  Felani cleared her throat; a small, dainty sound. “Certain beings of great power — leaders or powerful members of a race — they may undertake to pledge themselves to you by body, by blood, and by magic.” Emma felt the maiden move closer to her, saw Anton out of the corner of her eye shift uncomfortably. “It is,” Felani continued, “akin to the initial ritual awakening of your power, only in this case, the binding is reversed — where in the first instance you would become, whilst powerful, bound in some way to whoever initiated the ritual, in the second instance, they become bound to you. It is the nature of binding magic, to exchange in this way. They are the sacrifice, where before, it was you.”

  Emma turned, slowly, gathering herself, wrapping herself in the hard thrum of dawning comprehension and the anger which followed.

  Felani took a step back; the maiden had seen Emma furious only once, but it had been memorable.

  “You basically mean,” Emma said, voice low, “that I have to have sex with them.”

  Telly twitched. Anton made an uncomfortable noise like he was trying to swallow and couldn’t. Felani just gazed back at Emma.

  “My lady, ” she said, soft. An apology. “The jackals, I can only assume, would have extended their invitation to you intending to meet, assess your compatibility, for you to consider whether you might see fit to accept a pledge from one of their royalty.”

  The maiden shrank back a little from the look on Emma’s face. Scaring an immortal who was thousands of years old — go team Emma.

  But the anger was not for Felani. Felani had not betrayed her. Felani was her protector, a willing servant — an idea Emma still was not used to and didn’t like — but Felani was not her friend. She trusted Felani with her safety, with matters of the jaguar kingdom, she trusted Felani as an adviser — but she did no
t trust her with her heart.

  Unlike Telly.

  Emma stabbed him with the darkest look she could muster. It probably wasn’t pretty. “Why didn't you explain this to me before?” Her voice shook. Much to her horror, Telly glanced away. His cheeks flushed hotly.

  “You've had a lot to deal with.” He met her eyes, and his were dark as flint, darker than she had ever seen them. “It wasn't important before. It's not important now.”

  Heat washed through Emma. “How do you figure that?”

  He shrugged, shoulders stiff. “It would only matter if you were planning on accepting a pledge, any pledge, from anyone. Since I didn't think you'd be too keen on the idea of banging random shapechangers to expand your power base and theirs,” he added, voice like knives, impossibly bitter, “I never bothered to mention the possibility.”

  Em stared at him, incredulous. Why had Telly, of all people, kept her in the dark about something like this? He was the only one she ever felt she could trust to be honest with her, to not pander to her emotions.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. He stared back as though he had nothing to hide, but she knew now that wasn’t true.

  “Well?” he said. “Do you?” His face was as belligerent as she had ever seen it.

  "Do I what?" She bit out.

  “Do you plan on accepting the jackal’s pledge?”

  Felani choked. “Surely she can’t know —”

  “Hush,” said Emma, voice harsh, eyes never leaving Telly’s. She faced him and refused to look away, fear warring with the anger, fluttering at the back of her throat like a moth. It was not easy to meet the stare of the walking god, but maybe if she could just hold it long enough, she’d understand what the hell went on behind those eyes, behind that not quite human mask; what he was thinking, asking her such a stupid question. What he wanted her to say.