“Have you nothing to say for yourselves?” says Anyga, my Chieftess.
“Nothing at all?” adds Umak, the Packmaster of the wolf kneeling before us.
The man with short, dark hair, pale skin, and hateful black eyes spat at the feet of my Chieftess. I step forward quickly and deliver a vicious backhand, rocking the man's head to the side. When he looks back at me, there was a red glow in his eyes, his lips are curled back into a snarl, and a trickle of blood runs down to his chin from the lip I'd cut.
I can tell that he wants nothing more than to shift and tear my throat out. And there's part of me – that savage part of me deep down – that wants nothing more than to let him try. But it's not my place. And he can't shift because of the silver binding him.
“You will mind your tongue,” I say, re-taking my position, standing next to the seat of my Chieftess.
“You expecting me to beg?” he spits. “Screw that and screw you. I don't beg, you piece of shit.”
I look at him and for a brief moment, a flicker of rage sparks within me. I suppress it, but not before I allow myself a moment to enjoy the fact that I get to watch him die. I look away from him and just shake my head. Some people are just too stupid to let live.
“Fine. I'll say somethin'. The only good bear is a dead bear,” the wolf replies. “And that's all I got to say. So do what you gotta do, asshole.”
Anyga sighs and turns to Umak. He looks back at her and shakes his head, a displeased look upon his face.
“What about you?” I say to the bear on the ground before me. “Anything to say?”
He looks up at me with baleful eyes and a sneer on his lips. “Just get this shit over with already.”
I look over at Neesa, my wolf counterpart. She serves as the Sword of her Packmaster and is tasked with the same duties I am. And judging by the look on her face as she stands next to the seat of her Packmaster, she doesn't enjoy it anymore than I do.
“Well then. I suppose it's time to carry out your punishment,” Anyga says and then turns to Umak. “Unless you have objections?”
He shakes his head. “None,” he says gruffly. “Let's be done with this.”
Depending on the crime, the Packmasters and Chiefs have a lot of leeway in doling out punishment. For most crimes, those who break the laws are subject to lashings – the number of which, depends upon the severity of the crime and the mood of the Chief or Packmaster. In cases of what amounts to minor crimes – a simple bar fight or theft -- they both have to agree on the punishment that is to be dispensed.
Not that getting to that agreement is always simple or easy. The dislike between wolves and bears is so ingrained that we often take contrary positions just because. Deliberation on punishment is often loud and contentious, filled with posturing and preening with one side not wanting to appear to be giving in to the other. It's annoying as hell, but eventually, they get around to agreeing on something.
But in cases where lives are taken – on either side – there is no leeway. No discretion in handing out punishment. In those cases, the only sentence is one of death. And this is one of those cases.
Anyga turns to me, a slight look of sorrow in her eyes, and nods. I suppress the sigh that is in my throat and step forward, sliding my sword out of the scabbard on my back. I stand behind my prisoner and Neesa stands behind hers. We exchange a brief look and then nod, our faces grim.
Moving as one – we've been through it enough times to be able to anticipate each other's movements – we drive the points of our swords forward, piercing the bodies and hearts of the condemned. As our silver blades burst through their chests in unison, blood flows onto the floor beneath them, adding another layer to the stain already upon the wood. Both men throw their heads back, their agonized screams filling the inside of the building.
That's always the worst part for me – the screaming. It apparently doesn't matter how many times I hear somebody's dying wails – it still gets under my skin. It bothers me and the sound of that scream echoes around in my head for days afterward.
Their screams eventually die and the two men slump forward. Putting my boot on the man's shoulder, I withdraw my blade at the same time I push him forward. My sword is freed and he falls face first into a pool of his own blood -- and is forever still.
Neesa had done the same thing and we stand side-by-side, swords in hand. I look to my Chieftess and she to her Packmaster.
“Justice has been done,” she and I echo at the same time, completing the archaic ceremony.
Without speaking a word, Anyga and Umak rise, gave each other a small, courteous nod, and then depart the room through different doors in the wall behind their seats. A couple of the newer members of our clan come in through one of the room's side doors, their faces tight and anxious.
“Get this cleaned up,” I bark at them.
“And be sure to burn the bodies,” Neesa adds.
We step over to a table near the rear wall of the room as the attendants drag the bodies from the House. I dip a cloth into the bowl of water and begin to clean my blade. Neesa does the same. As we stand shoulder to shoulder, washing the blood from our blades, it strikes me how little we talk. Hell, we hardly ever say a word to each other at all. We've been part of this dog and pony show together for years and I've seen her more times than I can count – and yet, we never exchange so much as a friendly greeting.
But then, given what we're there to do, I guess that normal, friendly chit-chat isn't really on her mind. But our duties have been discharged. The ceremony is over.
At least, until the next one.
Chapter Two
I look over at Neesa and can't stop myself from doing a double-take. For the first time in all the years we've been doing this, I really look at her and notice how attractive she is. She's about five-foot-nine with a gorgeous hourglass figure. I can tell she works out and is athletic. She's got an olive colored complexion, hair blacker than midnight that she usually keeps in a ponytail that reaches the middle of her back and eyes as dark as the nighttime sky.
“What are you looking at?” she snaps.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
We continue cleaning our weapons in silence, but I can't stop myself from stealing glances at her. I can't believe I've never really noticed how pretty she is before today. She's more than pretty really, she's exotic. And actually, she's pretty damn gorgeous.
But she's also colder than an Arctic wind.
I clear my throat. “Never gets easier, does it?”
“What doesn't?” she asks without even looking at me.
“What we have to do here.”
She shrugs. “It's my duty,” she says. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
I turn and look at her. Notice how soft and smooth her skin is. See that there are silvery flecks in her eyes, making them look like stars in the nighttime sky. There's something about her I find overwhelmingly compelling – and I can't even begin to explain it. I can't even believe I'm feeling it – she's a wolf, I'm a bear. That's like oil and water.
Still, maybe it's just boredom. Maybe it's loneliness – I haven't been with anybody in a while. Maybe it's some combination of the two. But, there's something about her I find intriguing.
“So, it doesn't bother you?” I ask. “Executing one of your own.”
“Does it bother you?” she asks, finally turning to me.
“Yeah,” I say. “A lot. Sticks with me long afterward.”
“Then maybe you need to step down as your Chieftess' Sword,” she says, her tone frigid. “You're obviously getting too soft for the job.”
She slides her sword back into her scabbard and turns, walking away from me without another word. I don't know whether to be amused or pissed. I catch up to her as she reaches the door and stand in her way.
“I'm not soft,” I say.
She looks at me, her expression annoyed. “Good for you.”
Neesa tries to go around me, but I move with her, keeping my body between her and the door.
Her face darkens with anger.
“What do you want?” she snaps.
I shrug. “Just to talk, I guess.”
“Talk?”
“Yeah, talk,” I reply. “You know, like normal, civilized people do?”
She lets out a snort of derision. “We're not normal,” she says. “And you're far from civilized.”
“Well now, that's just mean,” I say, feigning hurt.
“Get out of my way.”
“Not until you tell me whether or not doing what we do bothers you.”
Neesa puts her hand on the hilt of her sword, looking at me menacingly. “Get out of my way,” she says, her voice ice cold. “Or I'm going to cut you in half.”
I laugh. “No, you won't.”
Instead of drawing her sword, Neesa throws a punch. I wasn't quite ready for it and manage to get my hand up to block it – but not quite quick enough to keep her fist from glancing off my jaw. I rub the spot she'd connected and flex my jaw, nodding, and smiling – but still don't get out of her way.
“You're fast,” I say.
Neesa throws another punch, this time low, but I'm ready for it. I swat her hand aside with ease – and then realize my mistake. She'd followed the low punch with another one. And I realize it just as it smashes into my nose. The explosion of pain in my face is instant and I feel the warm flow of blood. I raise my hand to my nose and then look at the blood on my fingertips. She's looking at me with a devious smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“That the way it's going to be?” I ask.
“That's the way it is.”
I throw a quick combination of jabs aimed at her head. She gives ground as she parries my punches, deflecting each one with ease. But that was just my own little distraction. As she's busy trying to keep my fists from connecting with her head, I strike out with my foot, driving my boot into her midsection. She's knocked backwards and falls on her ass with a grunt.
She's back on her feet in an instant though, her eyes smoldering with anger. Neesa launches herself at me, her hands and feet a blur of movement. She throws punches and kicks with a speed and dexterity I seldom see. And it makes me understand why she's the sword of her Packmaster. I'd always known she's a ferocious fighter – she'd have to be to maintain her position in her pack – but to see it on full display is something else entirely.
She fights in a style of martial arts I'm not familiar with, but I'm still able to fend off her attack. She's lithe, graceful, and way more athletic than I'd thought – and I already knew she was pretty athletic. She's a skilled fighter and I find that I'm enjoying our little impromptu sparring match.
Our bodies move in what feels like an elaborately choreographed dance. It's the best, most exciting and exhilarating fight I've had in quite a long time – and I feel invigorated by it. We throw and parry punches and kicks, neither of us gaining an advantage over the other.
Until she makes a mistake.
She throws a punch aimed at my throat and I spin to the side. But rather than follow up by throwing an elbow to my face, Neesa leaves herself exposed. I seize the opportunity, grabbing her by the arm and slam her hard against the wall. I press my body close to hers, my forearm pressing against her throat.
She stares back at me with anger and defiance. “Do it,” she says between ragged breaths. “Kill me.”
I scoff. “I'm not going to kill you.”
“Then let go of me,” she says, her tone commanding. “Now.”
I stand there for a moment longer, holding her gaze. Feeling my body pressed against hers lights a fire low and deep inside of me. I stare into her eyes, letting my gaze slip down to her full lips, and then travel down to her long, elegant neck. Her skin is so soft, so supple, and I catch a hint of a citrusy scent on her skin.
I really don't know what's come over me, but I'm overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her. The air between us is electric and for a moment, I feel like she'd welcome it.
But the moment passes and not wanting her to feel the erection straining against my pants, I step back and clear my throat.
“What is your problem with me, Neesa?”
“Did I say I have a problem with you?”
“You obviously do,” I say. “I try to make casual conversation and you snap on me.”
She looks at me for a long moment – much in the way a parent would look at a developmentally slow child. And when she speaks, it's in an exaggeratedly slow, condescending voice.
“You're a bear, Jackson,” she says. “I'm a wolf. The two don't mix. Like peas and carrots. Understand?”
“It doesn't have to be like that.”
“Unfortunately, it does.”
“Why?” I ask.
She looks at me and I see her clenching her jaw – but there is a brief flash of uncertainty in her eye. As quickly as I saw it though, the uncertainty is gone. Like a fish just below the surface of the water, it's there one moment, vanished the next. Neesa is very well in control her herself and her emotions. It would be admirable, if it weren't so damn frustrating.
The intensity of the moment between us is shattered when the door is thrown open with enough force that when it hits the wall behind it, the whole House shudders. Umak stands in the doorway looking at us with rage upon his face – a dark rage he doesn't even bother trying to hide. He strides in, never taking his eyes off of me, the look upon his face saying he would like nothing more than to tear me apart where I stand.
I stand my ground and hold his gaze. He's a big, powerful man, but so am I. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let him think that he intimidates me. He finally tears his eyes away from me and looks over at Neesa.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice deep and gruff.
Neesa looks at me and then down at the floor beneath her feet. “Yes, I'm fine.”
“Then let's go,” Umak says. “Now.”
She casts one last, quick glance at me before turning and walking out of the House. Umak though, remains behind a moment longer and then steps closer to me. He looks me up and down slowly and deliberately, obviously taking my measure – and going by the look on his face, finding me wanting.
“You know,” he says. “Even if you weren't a bear, you still wouldn't be good enough for her. The fact that you are a bear – that just makes you wholly unworthy to even breathe the same air she does. We only tolerate you because we have to. But believe me, if I had my way, I'd tear your throat out.”
I give him a grin. “You'd tear my throat out? Or have one of your little minions do it for you because you're too scared to have a straight up fight?”
There have long been rumors about how Umak came to be Packmaster – and none of them are exactly a good look for him. The story goes that after he challenged the previous Packmaster for control of the pack, he had one of his friends drug him. Umak had easily won the fight – killing the previous Packmaster rather than simply exiling him as is customary among the wolves, to establish himself as a firm leader. But to also cover up what he'd done.
“Tell me something, Umak,” I say. “Did you kill the minion you had drug your previous Packmaster to tie up all your loose ends?”
A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Guess we'll never know, will we?”
I shrug. “Doesn't matter to me,” I say. “You guys can kill yourselves down to the very last wolf, for all I care. The less I have to deal with you, the better.”
Umak holds my gaze for a long moment, his expression one of smug annoyance as he turns away and heads for the door.
“Best you forget about Neesa,” Umak calls over his shoulder. “I mean it when I say, you're really not her type.”
The door slams shut behind him, rattling it in its frame, leaving me alone in the Peace House. With a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions swirling around in my mind, I'm feeling anything but at peace in that moment.
I don't understand why I had the reaction to Neesa that I did. Or what's going on in my head. Something inside of me just feels – different. It'
s something I've felt brewing over the last few weeks. Months maybe. Lately, I've just been seeing and feeling things – differently.
But seeing her there and having that compulsion to talk to her – that was when it all seemed to have come to a head.
Now, I'm left with the fallout of it all. And I have no idea what any of it means. Have no idea how to even begin sorting through the debris that's cluttering up my insides. I have no idea because I don't know what any of it means. I don't understand what it is I'm feeling. And it's driving me crazy.
“Sir?”
I turn toward the voice and find the two men who'd taken the bodies out standing in the doorway looking at me.
“What is it?” I snap.
“We – we need to clean up.”
I look around and see that there are still large puddles of blood on the floor. “Right,” I say. “Sorry.”
I walk briskly to the door Neesa had gone through and walk out into the night.
Chapter Three
Neesa
“What in the hell was that back there, Neesa?” Umak snaps.
I set my sword down on the table and turn to him. “What was what?”
“Playing grabass with the bears now, are you?”
I roll my eyes and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. I twist the top off and toss it in the trash can, taking a long pull. I serve as Umak's Sword – which is just another way of saying I'm his assassin. He hates it when I call it that, but really, that's my function within this pack. My job is to take out the trash – like that idiot I had to kill tonight.
I don't necessarily like killing. In fact, I don't like it at all. But, it's what I'm required to do. Umak, my Packmaster, demands it of me. And so, out of duty to my pack, I do it.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” I say.
“Oh, I don't?” he spits. “You two certainly seemed pretty cozy to me.”
“That's what was called a fight, Umak,” I say, rolling my eyes again. “I know you may not be familiar with –”
He closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, grabbing my face in one of his hands, squeezing my cheeks hard. His eyes glow a deep red and a low rumbling growl escapes his throat.
Mated to a Bear (Legends of Black Salmon Falls Book 3) Page 2
