Goldenseal

by Gill McKnight

  With an irritated growl one of the beasts reached over and, taking the tip of her weapon in its claws, simply shook it loose from her grasp and casually tossed it aside. Amy frowned. It was all so reminiscent of her fire extinguisher incident with—

  “Leone?”

  The other wolven brushed past her, intent on reaching a cowering Elicia. Amy turned protectively toward Elicia, confused at this new wolf’s intentions. But it merely greeted Elicia with muted growls, and was answered by her sad whimpers. It had to be Jori. A massive brute, taller, with more densely packed muscle than his sleeker sister.

  Leone retreated, and Amy followed her out to the porch and into the moonlight. She was relieved to be out of the stifling confines of the cabin, leaving Jori and Elicia to deal with their own lives. She had a life of her own to deal with, and it was in shreds at the moment.

  Exhausted, she partially collapsed to sit on the porch steps. Her hulking companion stood nearby, watching her intently with those eerie amber eyes.

  “I could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up to this friggin’ nightmare,” Amy told no one in particular.

  It was too much for her system. Her brain was beginning to shut down.

  “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had,” she told the werewolf she now knew was Leone. “Is he still out there?”

  It raised its nose to the air, nostrils quivering as it inhaled. The lip curled and a low growl rumbled deep in a broad furred chest. Amy had no idea what that meant, but assumed there was no danger present. From afar a distant howl echoed into the night.

  “Which cousin is that?” Amy said bitterly. The beast squinted at her, quiet and curious. Then it moved away, down to the river, and waited, looking back at her. Amy guessed she was to follow. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. Her body felt leaden and her head groggy. She had reached her limit a long time ago and had been running on empty ever since.

  When she reached the bank she stooped to unlace her boots. She’d have to wade across, and despite the fact she’d spent the night being attacked by werewolves, holing up with werewolves, and finding out her entire adoptive family were werewolves, it seemed important to not get her feet wet and catch a chill.

  With a snort the beast reached for her and scooped her up. She found herself carefully cradled in its arms, feeling like a small child. It was ridiculous. She clung on as it waded into the water, uncaring of the cold. Amy was stunned. She couldn’t remember ever being held like this by her parents.

  I never get my families right. I never fit. Her head sank onto a dense, matted shoulder and she found herself crying. A furry cheek briefly rubbed across the crown of her head, and the creature kept on walking.

  It didn’t cross to the other bank; instead it waded upstream, thigh deep, using the river as another trail through this part of the forest. When the current got too fast or too deep it plowed out of the water and along the bank. It carried Amy back to their rock. Their teenage rock, their lover’s rock.

  The beast carefully laid her down, then spooned around her, pillowing her head on its arm. The heat from its body could have driven a steam engine. It felt warm and secure, and in her exhausted state she allowed herself to be cuddled into the safest place she knew in the whole goddamned valley.

  A wet nose snuffled her ear, hair, and neck. She was settled in closer still. She smelled its earthiness, its musky fur, and found it comforting. Falling asleep was her body’s natural defense now that she was safe. Deep fatigue crawled over her. She could not have stopped it even if she tried. She was done.

  The creature cradled her and gave comfort. She knew it was Leone, but it was also still a beast to her. Unnatural and unknown. It cared for her, but she wasn’t sure what she felt for it. Her Leone. Her mind was too tired to think about it now, to process this discovery’s effect on her heart. Her last thought before sleep overtook her was that after all these years she had never really known Leone Garoul. Not at all.

  Her mate slept. Dull, exhausted, and wounded on a level licks would not heal. Salves and potions wouldn’t help either. The bleeding was too deep within her. Heart blood, rich and ripe, all full of love, and it was seeping away and Leone didn’t know how to stop it.

  She had followed Virgil until his trail crossed Jori’s mate and began to circle her. This concerned Leone greatly. Jori’s scent was all over Elicia; it should have protected her from a rogue.

  Soon she’d found Jori. He was aware Elicia was in trouble. He could see Virgil was actively hunting her down. Together they tracked their quarry to the cabin by the river. They knew Elicia was hiding inside, so they lay in wait for Virgil to make his move. Once he was sure it was safe to do so, he would attack the human woman. It was his way. But in the distraction of Amy’s arrival Virgil had become uneasy. Sensing a trap, he had slunk away.

  Jori had a lot of soul-searching to do tonight. Leone felt for him and this new revelation about Elicia. She curled more protectively around her own mate. A brave fighter. Leone was proud of her. She was never going to let her go.

  Dawn was still a few hours away. She would stay with her mate, on the special rock. She would mutate back to human form with the sun, in her sleep, the traditional and less stressful way to revert. And in the morning her human self would be there to protect and comfort Amy, too.

  Leone was in Connie’s cabin again. The fire blazed out warmth, and Amy was by her side. They were happy and in love. She could feel the love energy coursing through her. It made her heart beat stronger. Her blood pounded steady and sure. She felt younger than she was. Amy looked younger, too. She looked like she did the day Leone realized she was her life mate, forever and ever.

  Laughing and smiling, they were so close, so together, it felt perfect. The air was scented with pine, and the logs on the fire crackled. So good together—and then she began to change. She couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop it.

  First, her hands. The nails blackening and thickening. Her fingers began to twist. The tendons of her hand and forearm tightened painfully. Her muscles and sinews cramped and truncated along her chest and shoulders into strange, mutated shapes. Her fingers curved into vicious hooks.

  It hurt so much she cried out. And as she cried, her mouth filled with blood. Through the copper taste and sharp pain, her teeth elongated, ripping open her gum tissue. Facial muscles popped and distended, forming a stubby muzzle, cracking and dislocating her jawbone. Sinuses became a screaming agony, her ears filled with a deafening roar that once was her voice.

  As a teen, the first time she mutated, her mother had cradled her through it. Claude had held her twisting hands, murmuring words of encouragement and support. Connie had cried quietly for the pain all the young ones had to suffer on that first, cruel change. Now she was alone with Amy, and as frightened as that first time. She heard her own howls of agony, hollow, echoing. Her skin coarsened and fur crawled over her, drowning her, suffocating her. And what scared her most, above her own cries, were Amy’s screams.

  Horrified, Amy was backing away from the mutating freak before her, eyes filled with terror and rejection. No love there. Never again would there be love there. That pain cut through Leone deeper than any cracked bone or torn ligament.

  But Leone still wanted her and moved toward her, fully wolven now. The pinesap filled her nostrils, but she could still smell Amy. Scent her mate, heady and heartwarming. Her whole world. Slavering and hungry, completely bewitched with Amy’s scent, and skin. Then Amy’s beautiful, pale skin was in her mouth, soft and silky on her tongue. It tasted so beautiful that she bit down hard—

  Leone jerked awake.

  A steel gray dawn crept over the tree tops. Her back on the granite rock was cramped and chilled. Cold seeped into her bones through her naked skin. She turned her head to see Amy lying beside her, watching her, hazel eyes remote and unreadable.

  “Do you always have nightmares when you change back?” Amy said.

  Leone blinked at the strange question. “I don’t know. I don’t t
hink so.” She hesitated. “Tonight I did.”

  “It looked so painful, even though you were sleeping.”

  “It hurt in the dream.”

  They lay looking at each other in silence in the cold dawn. Neither seemed inclined to move.

  “Amy,” Leone said. “All those years ago I couldn’t control it as well as I can now. And Connie was afraid I’d hurt you. Not kill or dismember,” she explained awkwardly. “But maybe bite and mutate you when we made love. The wish to be with you, and in you, and all around you—that part can be so intense. And she was right. Sometimes when we were making love, I wanted to bite you so bad.”

  “Marie never hurt Connie like that?”

  Leone shook her head. “Mom was an Alpha, and an adult. She would have had more control than a young wolf like me. And Connie didn’t want to change…” Leone trailed off. They both knew Connie had little choice now. “There’s a ritual, when a mate decides to join her partner as wolven. A special way it has to be done. It’s important, as it’s so dangerous.”

  “And I wasn’t allowed to know any of this?”

  “Not unless you were my life mate. Garoul mates know everything. I was too young and inexperienced to ask you that. Mom told me to wait until I was older. To take you as a mate then. But I wouldn’t listen, so I had to be sent away to keep you safe.”

  Amy lay quietly watching her.

  “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m sorry I lost you your home.”

  Amy shivered and stood. “I’m freezing. Let’s go. Take my jacket.” She began to peel it off even though she was trembling.

  “No, keep it. My clothes are stashed over there. I always change at this rock.” Leone foraged in a bush and pulled out a backpack. Quickly she threw on the clothes stuffed inside and pushed the bag back into the undergrowth.

  Together they walked back silently, Amy deep in thought, Leone giving her space to process what she had heard.

  “What happens when two werewolves become mates? Like Jori and Elicia?” Amy said, out of the blue.

  “Mmm, it’s not unusual. Patrice turned for Claude.”

  “Aunt Patrice?”

  “Yeah. That’s why they had Jolie and Andre, the twins. Werewolves always have twin cubs.”

  Amy came to a sudden halt. “Elicia said cubs.”

  “Huh?”

  “Elicia said she was going to have Jori’s cubs. Twins. She knew she was carrying twins. It’s crazy.” She shook her head and moved on again.

  “Elicia’s having Jori’s cubs?” Leone stood rooted to the ground. “Wow. On top of her being a rogue? What a roller coaster for Jori.” She quickly caught up with Amy.

  “Oh, it gets better. She was part of Virgil’s pack, but fell for Jori and turned against the rogues. That’s why Virgil came after her last night. He wanted to kill her and her cubs.”

  This time Leone stopped them dead in their tracks. “What? I never scented her. Not once. Well, it was hard to, I suppose. Jori’s scent was all over her. I mean, she was his mate.”

  They moved on again and Amy asked, “Will they be okay?”

  Leone nodded. “Yeah. I think so. Jori loves her, and she’s having his cubs. She’d already turned away from Virgil. The minute she mated with a Garoul she was a goner.”

  “Is that what happens. People become goners?” Amy asked dryly.

  Leone looked over anxiously. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Since when have you ever allowed me to do what I want? You just reach in and take, Leone. You steal things. And you give nothing back. Not even honesty.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t. I understand what happened in our teens. I’m not happy that you selfishly pursued your own wants and left us both open for eventual heartache. But I understand the reason it happened, that Marie and Connie cared about us, and rightly so. After watching what Elicia went through last night, I’m actually grateful to Connie and Marie.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  Leone walked beside her in silence, head bowed.

  “What I can’t forgive is your cowardly seduction this time around. We’re adults, Leone. The Garouls are my second family. By keeping me in the dark you exposed me to terrible danger. You only just managed to get me away from Virgil. Connie wasn’t so lucky. The only ally I’ve had throughout all this was actually Elicia. She put her neck on the line. Not one Garoul told me the truth about what was out there. And I told you time after time I saw something. Did you behave the same way to Connie?”

  “We didn’t know there was a threat until Connie was attacked. I was protecting you. The only danger you were in was when you wandered off and we didn’t know where you were. And as for Connie, I didn’t want to worry you until we knew how she was coping—”

  “How dare you all keep that from me? She’s my goddamn family. She’s all I have in the world, and you took that away, too.”

  “Amy, it’s not like that.”

  “It is like that. You brought me over to do her job. Even though you knew she’d been savagely attacked because of it. And you lied to me about her condition.”

  They came to a fork in the path, one way leading to Connie’s cabin, the other to the compound.

  “We need to part ways, Leone. And not just on this path. I’m sorry things were so hard for us when we were teenagers. At least, years later, I finally understand why. But I’ll never forgive you for not telling me the truth about Connie’s illness, and for your continued dishonesty with me.” Amy’s words were cool and clipped. “Would you ever have told me if I hadn’t cracked your precious code? As far as I’m concerned, you lied your way into my bed.” She took a step forward and looked Leone in the eyes. “It’s not like you’re the only one to ever do that, either. But when I find I’m sleeping with a cheat, I simply walk away.”

  She turned and left, satisfied she’d flung a final killer blow to Leone Garoul’s ego. Let it pop like a soap bubble—she was through with her, through with the lot of them and their games. After she was certain Connie was doing okay, she’d pack up and go. Their precious almanac could burn in Bosch’s Hell for all she cared.

  Leone watched her go. It was killing her to let her walk away, especially after that final slapdown, but she knew Amy needed to vent. Every word she said had a grain of truth that stung like salt in a wound. Leone had withheld the truth, but she was also madly in love with Amy and had always feared the rejection she’d ultimately brought down on her own head. And the truth was Amy didn’t know everything, not even yet.

  Leone felt conflicted by many things. Her wish to follow Amy home was hampered by her need to report to Marie. She was also worried how Jori and Elicia were coping. And the architect of everyone’s misfortune, Virgil Bloomsy, was still on the loose. If he had any sense he’d be miles away by now, but he still had to be dealt with. Loaded down with worries, Leone turned onto the compound track.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Leaving Leone behind did not make Amy feel any better.

  She was very close to tears as she walked away. She was miserable and confused, and wanted Leone to say perfectly reasonable things that all made sense and took the hurt away. Except Leone hadn’t any reasonable things to say. Amy had been correct on every single point—and sometimes just loving someone wasn’t enough.

  Gloomily, she reached the clearing before her cabin, desperately wanting a shower and a change of clothes. Then she intended on finding Marie and demanding to see Connie. She wanted a full explanation from the Garoul Alpha.

  After that she was unsure what she would do. So much depended on how Connie was feeling. Amy couldn’t see beyond that point.

  Something was wrong. She halted on the porch steps. The closed door was battered. Lacerations ran across the entire front facing of the cabin. There was a confusion of massive muddy paw prints all over the porch floor. Cautiously, she pushed at the door. Locked? She never locked it. Only a Garoul would have the key. So someone from the fa
mily had come by and locked up her cabin. Why?

  Connie’s spare key was always hidden under the second step up. It was still there, wrapped in an oily cloth. Freed from its cobwebbed home, it slipped and turned effortlessly in the lock. The door swung gently open, allowing her to peep inside. The early morning light spilled over her shoulder, illuminating the main room. It was trashed. Connie’s books littered every surface, torn and ripped apart. Furniture was upended, snapped like twigs. Lamps and porcelain and crockery, everything breakable lay in pieces. The beautiful watercolor paintings had been torn from the walls and shredded. Everything had been destroyed in an absolute frenzy.

  Flies buzzed around the haunch of a deer. Torn and partially eaten, it lay in the middle of the polished floor, the flesh hanging from it in shreds. The air was pungent with blood and the smell of offal. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. Flies droned. The cabin had a quiet lassitude that assured Amy it was empty. The Garouls must have locked it up after Virgil defaced it.

  Connie’s beautiful home was in pieces. Amy’s final place of refuge in the whole wide world had been destroyed. She had to fight not to sink to her knees and simply give up. What was she even fighting for? This vile vandalism was a token of all that had happened to Connie since she’d last seen her.

  Virgil must have done this looking for the code keys, and as a last act of sickening revenge. Amy had been far from clever; she had told him about the keys and had ruined everything. Virgil would not be leaving Wallowa alive. He has desecrated the Garouls in every possible way. If he was still stupid enough to be in the valley, then he must be totally suicidal.

  With a sad sigh Amy turned to go to Marie’s when she noticed the dull gleam of the Ruger Bearcat on the mantelpiece. Its promise of security was enticing. But she was loath to enter the violence and chaos that had once been her much-loved family home. She hesitated at the doorway.

  Could he still be in there? What if it was a trap? She knew she was spooking herself. Virgil wasn’t there; his werewolf funk was easy to smell, even with a human nose. Nevertheless, she hurried across to the fireplace with trepidation, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her goal and not on the destruction around her. She grabbed the revolver and on the way back out fumbled in the dresser drawer for the box of silver-tipped bullets. She scrabbled through silk scarves, and hairpins, and combs, but couldn’t find it. The box was gone.