Fox Blood
Moon Marked, Volume 3
Aimee Easterling
Published by Wetknee Books, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
FOX BLOOD
First edition. December 23, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Aimee Easterling.
ISBN: 978-1386934035
Written by Aimee Easterling.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Wolf Dreams
Chapter 1
“I think this is called the walk of shame,” Kira suggested, her voice cutting through the foggy evening air like a sword through warm butter. I swiveled in unconscious reaction, peering through almost-raindrops hovering around us on every side.
Between the fog and the night, I couldn’t see anything, unfortunately. Which didn’t mean we were alone...just that visibility was painfully low. Unfriendly werewolves could be hovering just out of scent range, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce upon us. Good thing I wasn’t as oblivious as my pampered younger sister to the danger we were currently walking through.
So—“Shh,” I huffed out, hoisting a trio of cardboard containers a little higher in my arms while hoping the suddenly overwhelming aroma of stale beer wasn’t emanating from one of them. Perhaps I should have sprung for new boxes rather than begging for used ones behind the neighborhood liquor store....
“Well, it is, isn’t it?” Kira demanded, turning around to walk backwards down the gravel road leading up to our secluded cottage. “I mean, if we weren’t ashamed, we would’ve taken Gunner up on his offer to rent a moving truck. We would have come when it was daylight out. And we wouldn’t have parked twenty miles away so nobody would hear Old Red squeak her way up the drive.”
“Old Red isn’t so bad,” I rebutted, defending the new-to-me car. I’d never wanted a vehicle until I began living over a hundred miles away from a boyfriend who only visited in the company of needy pack mates. Skype had kept us in contact, but I had needs that weren’t being met via video chat.
Gunner had offered to throw money at the problem, but I wasn’t ready for that level of entanglement just yet. So I’d found a new job, had saved my pennies, and had bought a twenty-year-old, off-brand vehicle the previous week.
Old Red made it feasible to move into a secluded, rural village without feeling like I was trapping myself and Kira next door to a bunch of werewolves. The car gave me an easy out if we needed to flee and allowed me to spend time with Gunner without having to become monetarily indebted to him. Now, however, I was having second thoughts about the cleverness of my ploy.
Because my skin prickled with warning of hidden werewolves in the vicinity. Turning in a tight circle, I barely managed to keep Kira’s box of stage-magic paraphernalia from teetering off the top of the stack while I peered around the barrier. I knew they were out there. This was Atwood clan central after all. Even at the crack of dawn, there should have been patrollers out guarding the boundaries and early risers jogging down tree-lined paths.
Instead, the territory appeared empty even though it smelled far too strongly of wolf...plus impatient little sister. “And we didn’t park twenty miles away,” I continued, trying to get Kira off topic before I was forced to tell her what a walk of shame really was. “We parked a quarter of a mile away so Old Red’s brakes wouldn’t wake up the neighbors. It’s the considerate thing to do. You need to learn to be polite now that we’re denning with—”
“Whatever,” Kira cut me off, darting away to dance up cobblestone steps toward our cottage. The first dead leaves of autumn lay on the stones between us, and in daylight I suspected they would have glowed beautifully orange or red.
In the evening fog, however, the discarded plant matter merely appeared gray, slippery, and dangerous...like everything else about this place.
“Kira, wait.” I wasn’t in fox form, so I couldn’t be certain. But I got the distinct impression someone had marked his territory on the bottom step in the form of very lupine-smelling pee. Gunner had promised the pack was ready to welcome us into their midst, but urine wasn’t generally considered a sign of open-armed acceptance. More worrisome, however, was the fact that the liquid had been deposited so recently that it still puddled atop the cobblestones in my path....
“Kira.” This time I snapped out her name as close as I could come to a werewolf compulsion. But, of course, we weren’t wolves and my sister saw no reason to obey me.
Instead, she turned the knob of our new domicile without even glancing backwards. Pushed the door open into darkness...and walked straight through an overwhelming cascade of strangely sulfurous eau de wolf.
THE BOXES WERE ON THE ground and my sword was clasped in white-knuckled fingers before several sets of hands—at least they were furless—yanked my sister into the death trap. But I was four steps too slow to prevent them from enfolding her into their midst.
Enfolding her...and flipping on the light switch to reveal smiling faces and party banners. Apparently my attempt to move in after sunset hadn’t been as secretive as I’d initially supposed.
“Surprise!” werewolves howled, only some of the voices human. Then a whoosh of displaced air warned me of Gunner’s presence half a second before a large hand tucked itself into the small of my back. He guided me through the doorway, my sword reluctantly dissolving into the magical ether even as I did my best to paste a pleased smile onto my face.
“I take it surprise parties aren’t your favorite,” Gunner huffed into my ear while his free hand massaged tension out of my neck muscles. And even though I was bound and determined to give Gunner every opportunity to rebuild his splintered pack without our relationship derailing his efforts, I still found myself swiveling so his guiding arm turned into half of a hug.
“No, I’m not generally a fan of surprise parties,” I agreed. “But I am glad to see you.” After all, it had been nearly three weeks since we’d spent more than five minutes in close proximity. No wonder his fingers on my bare skin acted like balm. I melted into his arms, forgetting my worries as I tilted my head back in preparation for a kiss.
Only, no kiss was forthcoming. Instead, Gunner released me and pulled a small notebook out of one pocket.
“I’ll be sure to remember that in case it comes up later,” he said. And even though cold air where warm hands used to be explained the sudden rise of goosebumps along my exposed forearms, my shiver was out of proportion to the chilliness of the night.
Blinking slowly to tamp down my frustration, I stood up on tiptoes to peer at Gunner’
s notebook. And what he’d written returned the smile to my face. “My place tonight once Kira’s sleeping?”
No wonder he hadn’t wanted to even whisper the words in the midst of the pack where shifter ears were bound to overhear him. My cheeks heated even as my head snapped up to peruse the partygoers. Somehow I was positive every werewolf present had read Gunner’s words right alongside me....
But the crowd looked just like it had previously. Werewolves partying. Werewolves laughing. Werewolves muttering in dark corners about the kitsunes in their midst.
“Maybe,” I answered, trying to decide whether I trusted Atwood shifters enough to leave Kira alone in the cottage after night fell.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Gunner interrupted, raising his voice until it was loud enough to be heard at the far end of the overcrowded living room. “New rule—all disputes must be settled with blades hereafter. Tournament rules, to first blood.” Then, as someone near us complained that he knew nothing about blades, that swords were archaic. “If you need instruction, I recommend asking our new sword master for tips.”
Gunner’s hand settled against the small of my back, subtly pushing me forward. And once every eye was upon me—exactly what I’d hoped to avoid by taking the walk of shame with my sister—the pack leader added: “Don’t forget to pay her. Old Red needs new brakes.”
Then just like that, Gunner left me alone in a room full of werewolves with nowhere to hide and no choice but to follow him deeper in.
Chapter 2
“He’s besotted with you.”
The voice curling over my left shoulder sounded pleasant, but it wasn’t. Instead, my instincts screamed “Angry werewolf behind you. Careful!” one second before I swiveled around with a fake smile pasted on my lips.
“Edward. Left your posse behind, did you? Braving the scary kitsune all on your lonesome?”
Because the middle-aged male who’d been Gunner’s principal ally in the battle against Liam was apparently not my greatest supporter. Moments earlier, Edward had stood at the center of the huddle of unhappy shifters shooting angry glances in my direction. So the fact he’d come all the way across the room to engage me likely meant he had an ultimatum to drop on my head.
Meanwhile, the rotten-egg aroma that permeated my cottage was so strong now I could only conclude it emanated from this shifter. It couldn’t have been his signature aroma, however, or someone would have warned me about the foul stench.
“Bad choice of cologne,” I noted even as he grabbed my arm and drew me into the dimly lit hallway with a grasp so bruising I had to fight down a flinch.
“This pack is barely hanging together,” Edward growled as soon as we were out of easy earshot of the rest of the partygoers, not bothering to comment on my snarkiness about his scent. “Liam was important to us and now he’s gone. Ransom was an asshole, but the transition away from him is still difficult. We don’t need you here making things more complicated. If you love Gunner, you’ll leave him alone.”
I wanted to snipe right back...but, unfortunately, Edward hadn’t said anything I didn’t already believe to be truthful. On the other hand—“Gunner asked me to come here. So I came.”
As I spoke, I stared at the hand clenched around my arm until Edward realized what would happen if his pack leader saw the lines of parallel bruises welling up beneath his fingers. Reddening, he shrank back so rapidly I might as well have swiped at him with my sword.
“Shit,” the male muttered under his breath. “If he smells me on you, he’ll go berserk.”
This, at least, I was prepared for. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out an aerosol can of scent-reducing compound, spraying it liberally across my injured flesh.
“I’m not here to make your life difficult,” I said as I worked, the chemical drifting up my nose in the process so I had to pause and stifle a sneeze before I could go on. But then I returned to the most important business—clarifying my place within the Atwood pack. “I’m here to support Gunner,” I continued. “And if you care about the clan, you’ll let me get on with my task.”
Which was all very true even though the words sat between us like a lump of brussel sprouts on the plate of a picky toddler. If Edward wanted the Atwood clan to hang together, he’d make nice and pretend he didn’t have a bone to pick with the pack leader’s mate.
I could tell from his scent—no longer quite so harsh and astringent—that Edward had gotten the message. Unfortunately, werewolves have a hard time dropping a juicy bone. “What happened four months ago...”
“Was the fault of an Atwood werewolf,” I interjected, not wanting to remember the awful battle of wolf against wolf fueled by the kitsune magic of my dead mother. “I would never do anything to damage this pack.”
The vigor of belief added volume to what was meant to be a private conversation, and this time I really did wince as my words rang a little too loudly in the echoing hall. Shit. I’d intended to say my piece to Edward then let him propagate it through the pack at the speed of werewolf gossip. I hadn’t intended to create a scene.
Ignoring the shifter beside me, I swiveled just as I’d done while walking up the path with Kira. Unfortunately, this time I wasn’t lucky enough to find our surroundings devoid of life. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered werewolf towered in the open doorway between hallway and living room, silhouetted against the light behind his back.
“Something the matter?” Gunner demanded, taking in our proximity, our stiff-legged anger, the strange floral overlay of the de-scenting compound.
“Of course not,” I lied. “Edward was just giving me the recipe for his famous lasagna.”
Grimacing in what was clearly meant to be a smile, the male in question played along. “The secret,” he offered, “is in the sauce.”
“Hmm,” Gunner started, far from satisfied. Only he had no time to debrief us further, because the living room behind him erupted into howls, growls, and one long, quavering scream.
“KIRA.” THE WORD EMERGED from both my and Gunner’s lips in perfect synchrony, but we didn’t have time to gaze meaningfully into each other’s eyes. Instead, I sprinted down the hallway, sword materializing in my hand in a blaze of blue-tinted glory even as Gunner rounded the corner three steps faster and dove into the melee of angry wolves.
Because, despite their alpha’s ultimatum moments earlier, two-thirds of the pack had donned their fur forms and turned their teeth into weapons the second they felt threatened. Those still human were more obedient but no less dangerous—they’d grabbed up cutlery, some of it as long as my forearm.
Meanwhile, the entire room smelled like a forgotten egg factory, the scent even worse here than it had been beside Edward in the hall. How did everyone manage to go against a direct order from their pack leader? Did Gunner forget to imbue his words with alpha compulsion? The questions hovered over me like a foul-smelling storm cloud. But I pushed premonitions aside, hunting for my sister instead.
There she was...then there she wasn’t as she shivered down into the red fur of her fox. Ever since Kira had melded with our mother’s star ball, she’d been unruly and snarky and prone to shifting at the drop of a hat. Which wasn’t helpful in the current situation...but the chain of events also meant that her unusual fur form hadn’t been what set the werewolves off.
So what...?
I waited only long enough to glimpse Tank—Gunner’s trusted second—tackling my sister and enfolding her in a werewolf burrito of protection before I thrust my way deeper into the crowd away from them. Because the growling mob wasn’t facing toward either me or Kira. Instead, they were pushing and shoving, trying to get into the kitchen, or perhaps through that to the dining room beyond.
Mindful of the fact that these were supposedly my pack mates, I used my elbows and knees rather than my weapon to open up a pathway. But it was slow going, teeth snapping and claws scraping as I pressed past. My favorite pair of jeans was going to be spaghetti by the time this was over...but on the plus side, Gunner would never know
that Edward had been the one to leave a bruise on my upper arm.
With that heartening thought at the forefront, I thunked a werewolf on the nose with my sword hilt, taking advantage of the resulting pocket of space to press through the narrow doorway separating kitchen from living room. And my grin of triumph promptly faltered as I took in the scene on the other side.
Because there was a fox perched atop the stainless steel refrigerator. Its fur was puffed up like the pelt of a cornered cat while its body pressed back against the wall behind it. No wonder since a werewolf currently swiped toward it with human fingers, attempting to pull the stranger loose from its hiding place.
There were a dozen other werewolves in the room with a similar agenda. But I had interest only in the much smaller canine cowering above their heads. Because even though its fur was pitch black instead of blazing red like mine and my sister’s, I knew the moment our eyes made contact that this wasn’t any mere fox wandered in out of the forest who’d accidentally ended up in my new home.
No, this was a kitsune. A being the like of which I’d never met outside my own family. After all, what right-minded wild animal would willingly walk into a cottage full of wolves?
Chapter 3
Not such smart behavior for a kitsune either, I noted even as I continued elbowing my way closer to the refrigerator on which our uninvited visitor perched. Despite my snarky internal commentary, however, I was as in awe of this being as if it was a unicorn walking out of a rainbow and into my life.
Because I’d never met a kitsune who wasn’t a direct relative. Could count the number of fox shifters I’d come in contact with on two fingers of one hand. If I’d thought about it, I would have realized that my mother had to emerge from somewhere. And yet, I’d somehow just assumed that Kira and I were the last of our kind.
“Who are you?” I murmured, knowing my words wouldn’t carry over the yipping and snapping of the werewolves between us. But, somehow, the fox heard. Swiveled its ears. Gently inclined its head.
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