I couldn’t believe I’d lost to a mother wolf protecting her child. I couldn’t believe....
Then we both shuddered in tandem as Kira slammed a fist into the wolf’s belly. “Your alpha”—punch, pant—“said to fight with swords only”—kick, twist—“so what kind of pack wolf are you?”
Kira was magnificent above us, and she also brought up a very good question. Why was yet another Atwood shifter willing and able to disobey her pack leader’s overt command? Perhaps I could chalk this up to maternal instinct, but after the melee surrounding Oyo I wasn’t so sure.
The inconsistency felt important...but not quite as important as the claws digging into my skin. Then the pup was on top of me also, attracted by the blood of my oozing forearm. The youngster bared its teeth and started gnawing, and in reaction the female above me growled before shifting back into human form.
Becky. I remembered her name from our meeting last summer. Recalled the way she’d helped Gunner with transportation so he could hunt a bear and wrench the pack away from his brother without descending to the level of a physical fight.
Not that it had worked out as painlessly as we’d hoped after Becky tossed us those car keys. There’d been plenty of blood on the ground before the night was over, and Becky’s mate had been one of the few who lost his life.
No wonder she’d been ready to tear me to pieces. But, to my surprise, the naked woman’s face twisted apologetically as she scooped up the puppy, then she danced backwards rather than menacing me a second time.
“Curly, we do not gnaw on humans,” she chastised, holding her offspring by his ruff and shaking him until he whimpered acknowledgement of the misunderstanding.
Then, turning back to me, Becky dropped her eyes to the floor even as that rotten-egg odor I was becoming unfortunately familiar with filled the room. “Alpha’s mate. I was overwrought and out of line. I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please forgive me for the mistake.”
Chapter 6
“Everything will be forgiven,” I said simply, “if you tell me the fastest way to get pancakes into this starving teenager.”
“The fastest way?” Becky’s eyebrows rose and the sulfurous scent fled. “The fastest way is to go to the midnight breakfast Edward is organizing. But I’m not sure it’s the smartest thing to....”
“Who cares about smart? I want pancakes,” Kira interrupted, heading toward the door. “Midnight breakfast! I love being a wolf!”
And I could have stopped her forward motion. I probably should have too, given the way her usually sunny temperament seemed to be descending into demands and domineering at the drop of a hat. But, for once, Kira was smiling...and I was starting to get an idea of what caused the here-one-moment-gone-the-next scent of sulfur. So I didn’t even interrupt my sister’s chatterbox monologue as we strode along a secluded road and out into a well-lit picnic scene.
I was physically hungry, the salty tang of bacon dragging me toward the food being carried out in huge vats and on platters. And I was also hungry for companionship, glad to find the clan had forgotten us for a reason that didn’t relate to the shape of our fur-form skins.
Still...Gunner must have known about this community mealtime and he hadn’t dropped back by to invite me. Which suggested Becky was right and this wasn’t the smartest place to feed my sister and my soul.
No wonder my eyes scanned our surroundings, looking out for signs of danger even as I noted the distinct lack of familiar faces in the werewolves’ midst. Tank, Allen, and Gunner were all elsewhere, but at least there was no rotten-egg aroma filling the Green. Well, there wasn’t until a gob of spittle struck the grass before us, a sulfur-scented werewolf I’d never met pressing her way into our personal space.
“Disgusting,” the old woman growled, and I had my sword in hand to protect Kira before I realized the speaker wasn’t interested in the two of us. Instead, Becky was the one scooping up her son, neck bent in submission. And Becky was the target of the old woman’s jabbing finger as the crone continued with her tirade.
“If Old Chief Atwood was still alive, he never would have allowed such an abomination,” the older woman said while spraying us all with spittle. “Liam knew better too. If he’d lived, he would have dealt with this rot before it went so deep.”
She raised her cane as if to strike either Becky or Curly, which made me, in turn, prepare to tackle the foul-mouthed bitch. But clearly the call of pancakes was greater than the allure of ornery hatefulness. Or maybe the crone had finally noticed my aggressive stance. Either way, the old woman turned away with only a sniff of dismissal, taking her foul scent with her as she stepped into the longer of two lines forming up on either side of the expanse of grass.
I wanted to ask Becky what the deal was, but the female barely knew me and was unlikely to spill her guts in public. So, instead, I changed the subject. Heading toward the shorter line—the only one with bacon, were these werewolves crazy?—I offered, “Let’s find ourselves something to eat.”
“Not there.” Becky’s hand was on my arm then off again so quickly I barely registered the contact, and her gaze was still riveted on the ground as she spoke. But her voice was nonetheless loud enough for me to understand as she deciphered the bacon mystery for me. “That’s the line for warriors. If you join it, you’ll be asking for a fight.”
Sure enough, a newly arrived family split up on the threshold. The father headed for the bacon, the mother and two children veered right toward pancakes and eggs. Rather than joining the end of the line, however, the male insinuated himself midway down it, setting the neighboring shifters bristling for a moment before they chose to subside. And, in reaction, the pancake line easily made room for the newcomer’s family in the middle of the queue, right about where her mate would have stood had he chosen the longer line instead.
Seriously? Werewolves made even group meals into power struggles? Well, that answered the question about how to carve out a place for me and Kira within the Atwood community.
“I want scrambled eggs, pancakes, and a banana,” I told my sister. Then, allowing my sword to form in its sheath along my backbone, I headed for the bacon line.
GIVEN THAT GUNNER AND his closest lieutenants were apparently occupied elsewhere, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the square shoulders and closely shorn hair at the head of the line. But as Edward turned around to face me and immediately emitted enough sulfur to drown out the delicious bacon aroma, I grumbled internally. Of course my least favorite Atwood werewolf would be the one I was facing to get my fair share of pig fat.
For half a second, I hesitated, considered choosing a spot a few werewolves back instead. Did I—and Becky and Kira by proxy—really need to proclaim ourselves the most dominant shifters in the entire clan? Wouldn’t second or third best suffice just as well?
“Lost?” Edward asked as I debated. His smile was so smug as he motioned to the head of the opposite line that I felt my teeth grinding together even as the decision made itself. “The alpha’s mate eats over there.”
His words were a minor concession and everyone knew it. An acknowledgement that if Gunner were here, the pack leader would win by default and I’d head up the non-bacon-enabled queue.
But I didn’t intend to hang upon Gunner’s coattails. He had enough on his plate without slapping down shifters who disrespected me. Instead, I was perfectly willing to fight this battle on my own.
Willing...and excited as I drew my sword out of its sheath with a musical ring of magic-imbued metal. I was sick and tired of backhanded put-downs. It was time for Edward to find a weapon and face me like a man.
Only, my chosen opponent had no intention of engaging in a sword fight. Instead, the male made room for me before him, somehow managing to turn a motion that should have been submissive into a slight instead. “By all means, if your only other option is to use a weapon none of us is familiar with. Stand in for Gunner. The rest of us will all move back.”
There were grumbles from the queue behind me,
high-pitched annoyance from the opposite side of the grass. Now I looked like a bully, unable to bend to Atwood customs and instead hiding behind Gunner’s requirement that everyone in the pack settle their differences with swords.
That wasn’t going to garner Becky the protection I was going for, nor would it smooth the path for my sister in the days ahead. So, opening my hands wide, I let my sword flare back into an immaterial star ball. Then, toeing out of my sneakers, I shifted into the form of my fox.
Chapter 7
“First blood, one-year moratorium on further fighting?”
The question came from behind me, the male second in line for bacon suggesting rules I understood to be the Atwood default in duels such as this. But Edward didn’t answer, nor did he take the time to untie his shoelaces. Instead, he shifted in a burst of alpha aggression, shreds of fabric flying everywhere...including into the food trays we were all hoping to serve ourselves from.
Good thing I wasn’t married to the idea of bacon, I noted even as I danced backward, assessing the shape of Edward’s wolf. He was every bit as large as Gunner in fur form, his more advanced age far from obvious as he paced toward me on silent lupine feet.
Which would have been daunting eight months earlier. But I’d been sparring with the guys off and on all summer. I knew the relative strengths and weaknesses of fox form and was confident I could win first blood.
I was far less confident that I could vanquish my opponent if Edward declined to stop at a simple scratch and instead aimed for serious injury. But, in the skin of my animal, future worries quickly faded away. Instead, I yipped a playful taunt at the large canine facing me, then I slimmed down my body and scurried fast as an adder between his front legs.
Because male wolves were so blissfully predictable—get close to their reproductive organs and they transitioned from posturing warriors into terrified children in an instant. Edward was no exception. With a yelp, he plopped down on top of me, lying prostrate in an attempt to protect his family jewels from imminent attack.
Which solved the problem he was going for, but left his paw pads exposed, bare skin easy to scratch. Nipping hard with sharp fox teeth, I tasted salt exploding on my tongue.
First blood. Ten seconds after commencing our battle, I’d earned the right to stand at the head of the line.
Which should have been the end of the matter. Would have been if Edward had agreed to the other shifter’s suggestion or if Gunner had been standing over us ready to growl the loser into defeat. As it was, however, my opponent wasn’t thrilled at my not-quite-kosher victory. Or so I gathered as his snout darted toward me, teeth closing so hard around my ruff they nearly met in the middle despite the intervening fur and skin.
At least it was just a fold of pelt he was holding onto. He could have bitten straight through my neck and ended this entire game the easy way. But as I was slung back and forth so hard my eyeballs threatened to pop out of their sockets, I had a hard time feeling gratitude for anything at all.
Especially when Edward dropped me in front of another werewolf a few seconds later, this one in human form but with no less aggression in his grip as he used my ribs as a punching bag. I scratched as best I could, trying to escape or at least buy enough time to summon my star ball. But my magic was elusive and a fox was no match for a werewolf when the latter wasn’t bound by the agreement of first blood.
And now I was being tossed to a third shifter. Then to another and another yet. As if no one wanted to hog the pleasure of proving the hard way that I didn’t belong within their pack.
“Gunner won’t answer his cell phone.” Kira’s voice sounded very far away as my head thudded against a shifter’s foot this time. Smart little sister to call for backup, I thought vaguely even as I tried and failed to bring my magic to the fore once again. Too bad she didn’t realize Gunner crushed his phone underneath his boot.
I was too confused to even attempt shifting to tell her that, though, and was starting to lose my ability to think. All I could muster was the knowledge that none of the preceding punches had cut through my skin or broken any bones. Which meant these shifters were, perhaps, hoping their alpha would never find out what had happened behind his back?
“The pack bond isn’t working either.” That was Becky. Or at least I thought it was Becky. I was starting to lose track of names...including my own.
Then my teeth contacted with the fist of yet another werewolf. And I knew the solution my addled brain hadn’t been able to come up with before now.
I’d use kitsune magic to control these shifters. Would force them to release me. And, in the process, consolidate my place within the pack.
It was brilliant. Okay, maybe not so brilliant. But at least the strategy would ensure I made it out of this hazing alive.
I SHOULD HAVE POSSESSED a vast reservoir of available magic already since I’d bitten at least two of the werewolves in my efforts to escape from the beating. But my opponents had shaken that energy right out of me with their kicks and punches. Good thing I had more blood waiting to be swallowed...and with it access to the wills of every single shifter who had beaten me up until this point.
Because I’d fought back as best I was able while being manhandled. So little bits of werewolf matter were bound to be embedded beneath my claws. The only trick was reaching them, and doing so without biting off my own tongue in the process....
Even as I thought through a plan of action, my current manhandler tossed me skyward, probably intending to scare me but actually providing a much-needed reprieve. I almost scratched myself in the eye while attempting to lick the first toenail, but then dirty salt saturated my senses and hit me like a sugar rush right between the eyes.
Hold me over your head, I ordered the male who caught me as I descended. And I was pleased to find his two spread hands now formed a wide, raised platform rather than clenching back into menacing fists. Just what I needed—space and time to search for werewolf fluids while I was kept far out of other shifters’ reach.
“Hey! What’re you doing?”
“Come on! We weren’t finished!”
The complaints grew louder and louder, but I ignored them as I licked and gnawed at my own nails. Then...
There. Heady energy flooded my senses, dulling the aches and pains that resulted from being pummeled so dramatically.
Now I was the powerful one. The one able to do whatever I wished with these werewolves. Time to see what my assailants thought of that.
Chapter 8
It was tempting to revenge myself upon the bullies. But now that my head was clearer, I understood that there was only one way to end this debacle. I had to rebuild the clan with me in the center rather than trying to fight my way inside.
Even as the thought coalesced into existence, visions emerged before my eyes. Glowing threads of connection slid hither and yon around me and I struggled to make sense of the images materializing beneath the magically obedient shifter’s hands.
Could someone have kicked me in the head hard enough that I was hallucinating? I would have jumped to that conclusion quite willingly if the illuminated lines hadn’t made far too much sense.
Because my own bonds were just what I would have expected. There was one connecting me with Kira, a slender thread leading to Becky, and several others flowing into the distance and out of sight.
The thickest led to Gunner. I somehow knew this without having to see the far terminus, knew this even though the scent of rose petals seemed to waft toward me down that particular bond.
What are you up to? I murmured, intrigued despite myself. And for half a second I looked out through the alpha’s eyeballs. Felt my/his fingers setting a bottle of bath salts on the edge of a massive tub even as wax melted from flickering candles arrayed all around the edge.
Aw. Gunner was setting the scene for our date this evening. Which was unbelievably sweet...and at the same time reminded me of what would happen if I called him here to save my skin.
The overprotective alph
a would take one look at my bruises and go ballistic, a problem when pack bonds were already stretched and strained. After all, I could see Becky tugging hard on a thread that should have connected her to Gunner but was instead severed and faded. No wonder the alpha hadn’t answered. He had no idea what was happening since Becky’s connection was rotten and stinking five feet away from her hand.
The female wasn’t the only one with that problem either. No, from up here werewolves looked like they were caught in an aged and decaying spider web. Even as I watched, more bonds snarled and splintered, each break setting off another burst of sulfurous scent.
Was this what my arrival had done to the pack that meant so much to Gunner? I was already regretting using kitsune powers to free myself since similar actions were likely responsible for the tangle we were all caught within.
But, on the plus side, watching Becky had filled me in on how pack bonds operated. So, tilting my head until my own tethers wrapped around my muzzle, I gave one of my lesser connections a tug.
ALLEN—GUNNER’S NERDY and level-headed lieutenant—didn’t show up until I’d already shifted and started solving the problem the hard way. No, not with swords or punches but with much-needed TLC.
“It’s over,” I informed the watching shifters, trying to look like I wasn’t analyzing them for signs of further attack...while covertly analyzing them for signs of further attack.
Because I’d relinquished magical control over their actions as soon as my feet hit the ground and my sword was back in my fist. Which left me wide open to the mob mentality, but I hoped also gave my audience an incentive to listen rather than react.
They glared at me but didn’t argue, the sight of my injured body enough to give most of my recent assailants pause. Now that they weren’t in the midst of their instinct-fueled blood haze, I could tell they’d started wondering what Gunner would do to them once he heard about the evening’s events.
Fox Blood Page 3
