Unpredictable (Waifwater Chronicles Book 2)

by Laken Cane

  “Your alpha?”

  She nodded. “His council tossed him into the woods after he attacked them. People who go into the woods never come out again—until now.” She lifted her chin, proud.

  “Yeah,” he said, and closed his eyes for a second. “Until now.” He reached down to lay his hand on Elmer’s head, and the dog ducked away from the touch, growling. “How are the others faring, nowadays?” the cowboy asked, unconcerned with Elmer’s unfriendliness.

  She frowned. “Other dogs?”

  “Others,” he said. “Nonhumans. The wolves, vampires…” He gestured at her. “Witches.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Why would you call them others?”

  He stared at her, not appearing to breathe. “Fuck,” he whispered, at last. And a spark went out of his eyes, leaving them flat, dead.

  Empty.

  “Fuck,” he repeated.

  He’d taken leave of his senses. Perhaps he’d never possessed them in the first place. Something about him was…off.

  She took a cautious step backward, and the dogs went with her.

  “Yours is not the right portal,” he said. “There are different fucking portals.” But he wasn’t talking to her, not really. “Different paths. How many? How fucking many?”

  She felt his despair. It was heavy, unending, overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “I’m very sorry.”

  He nodded, but he was not the same. “I won’t stop trying,” he murmured. “I’m not one to give up.” Then he focused on her once more. “Be careful here, Waifwater Witch. It’s a dangerous place.”

  “Where are all the people?” she asked.

  “They’re in places you don’t want to find, with creatures you don’t want to see.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  “Cowboy,” she called, but he didn’t look back. In seconds, he was gone, and she was alone.

  With one last glance at the dead creature, she clenched her staff, then began to walk slowly after the strange, despairing stranger. It was as good a direction as any.

  She’d found one lost soul in the woods.

  She’d find her alpha.

  Chapter Twelve

  She regretted the cowboy’s desertion, for he was human, company, and familiar with the woods. Having someone to talk to would have made the unfamiliar, echoing woods less frightening.

  Yes, she was changed.

  But she was still afraid.

  She had no idea where to go. She’d take a few steps, then stop to listen. Her breathing was strained, her heart thumped too hard against her ribs, and the deeper she went into the woods, the more hopeless she felt.

  She finally decided the cowboy was an asshole. He could have offered her some help, but when he’d discovered she couldn’t aid him in his quest to return to his world and his Others, he’d simply lost interest.

  Maybe he’d thought there was no help for her.

  Overhead, the crows continued to caw.

  Perhaps Jewel was in her head, but if she was, Abby didn’t feel her.

  She walked, and walked, and walked. And still, she didn’t find another person.

  “They’re in places you don’t want to find…”

  She shivered, then finally stopped to feed and water the dogs. She had some water, but her stomach was in knots and the lump of fear in her throat was too large to allow any food to pass.

  What if she never found her alpha?

  What if Jewel was mistaken? What if she couldn’t get Abby out of the woods?

  What if Abby was now just another person doomed to wander the edge of hell forever?

  After she’d fed the dogs, they continued walking once again. Sadie and Elmer bounced along in good spirits, but Abby’s doubt never left her.

  She realized quite suddenly that the woods were beginning to darken, and the wind had picked up. The temperature dropped abruptly as the sun disappeared, and suddenly the moon was there.

  It hung over the woods, huge and white, and where there had been full, leafy trees only moments before, there were now only naked, reaching branches.

  “What on earth?” she muttered. She hadn’t dressed for cold. Her jacket would help if it rained, and it was lovely with its large pockets, but it was not meant for cold weather.

  Yet the cold came anyway.

  And someone was following her.

  She felt his stare like a heavy, greasy film covering her back, and the short hairs on the nape of her neck lifted in response.

  Sadie whirled suddenly, her hackles raised, a low growl drifting from her throat. Elmer stood beside her, quiet, but watchful.

  “What is it?” Abby whispered. She missed her wand. Surely the staff would do more than even the wand could have done, combined as it was with Camilla and the magic of the woods, but her wand’s familiar grip would have comforted her.

  She tightened her fingers on the staff, murmured a few words, and sent a ball of blue light out into the night. “Illuminate the lurker,” she whispered.

  The ball of light shot into the sky, hung there for a few breathless seconds, then began a free fall back toward the ground. And then, it simply disappeared.

  Abby gasped and stepped back, a hand to her chest.

  The spell, the power, had been blocked. Not only blocked, but killed.

  She was being followed.

  And whoever it was had enough power to cancel the spell.

  “Trace?” she called, though she knew it wasn’t the ghost. “Who’s there?”

  She could have surrounded herself and the dogs with a circle of protection, but it would only have helped them if they’d stood still. There were other, stronger spells she could have created, but they’d have taken time to make. And a fire, a pot, and concentration.

  She gave one last searching glance into the darkness, then turned and continued on her way. There wasn’t anything else she could do. The alpha waited.

  Somewhere.

  Ten minutes later, as she walked a path painted silver and white by the fat moon, she caught the somewhat lonely scent of wood smoke. The dogs lifted their noses to the wind, their bodies jerking as they sniffed the air.

  She spotted a long column of gray smoke rising into the sky, and then she saw flashes of red and yellow light flickering through the trees.

  Someone was there, reasonably close, and they’d built a fire. Friend or foe, she would soon find out.

  She stiffened her spine and took a few steps forward, but Sadie whimpered and the dogs hung back.

  “Proceed with caution?” she asked them, “or do we walk away?”

  Sadie panted, then edged toward the firelight. It flickered welcomingly in the distance, but Abby trusted the hounds. She would listen to them.

  The dogs wanted to go to the fire, but at the same time, they didn’t.

  She frowned. “What’s wrong, sweethearts?”

  Elmer whined and pushed against her legs—Sadie was willing to press on, but Elmer wanted no part of it.

  It couldn’t have been Eli—both hounds would have raced forward, barking with joy, had they caught the scent of the alpha.

  It was up to her.

  She hesitated, squinting at the welcoming, cheerful light before casting a glance behind her, into the darkness.

  “Keep quiet and watchful,” she told the hounds. “We’ll slip closer and have a peek.”

  She crept onward, listening intently, then she stopped to peer around a tree, her heart in her throat.

  At first, she frowned, squinting at the scene, unable to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. “Is that—”

  Then someone clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her backward, and the only thing that kept Sadie and Elmer from killing her attacker was the fact that he was using her as a shield.

  Sadie and Elmer quivered, releasing whines so high-pitched they were almost silent into the air.

  “Shhh,” he attacker said. “It’s me. Don’t make a sound. Tell your hounds to keep quiet, Abby.”


  She nodded, fast and hard, and when he removed his hand she said, “Be still,” to the dogs, then jerked free of her attacker’s grip. She spun around, her staff pointed at his face.

  Her jaw dropped. “It was your voice,” she told Trace, “but that is not your face.” She eyed his enormous, naked body. “Or your abs.”

  He grinned, his teeth white against the pure black of his skin. “Now you see why I was surprised that you saw me as a skinny white boy.”

  She lifted her eyebrows, trying—and almost succeeding—to keep her gaze firmly on his face. She nodded. “You don’t look like a circus clown, either. But you’re injured.”

  His cuts and abrasions were obvious even in the moonlit darkness. His hair, long and tangled, hung over his shoulders and hid some of the injuries, but she could see raw, bloody scrapes and gaping wounds on his ribs, legs, and arms. He sported a cut on one of his sharp cheekbones, and a gash above his left eye.

  “I’ve been here for a long time,” he said, grimly. “I am amazed I wasn’t eaten.”

  “How were you not?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly because I was high in a tree, I suppose. And I got lucky.”

  She pointed at the long, jagged cut on his belly. “What caused all the damage?” She peered at him, curious in spite of everything. “And why didn’t your body rot away?”

  “I am not totally without power,” he said, proud. “I have no idea what caused the injuries.” He shrugged his huge shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. But look at you. The contrast between the curse and the reality is quite stunning.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I’m aware of that contrast.” She tossed a look over her shoulder. “Someone was following me. I noticed a while back. I sent a light after them, but it was quickly extinguished. Was that you?” If so, he was more powerful than he was giving himself credit for.

  Although from everything she’d ever heard about the mythical—or so she’d thought—shadow wolves, they were full of mystery and power.

  “No,” he told her. “It wasn’t me. I found you as you were peering around that tree, preparing to walk to your doom.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s back there?”

  “Killers. They have enough victims tonight. You don’t need to add yourself to their collection.”

  “It looked like a fire,” she murmured. “But the fire was a person.”

  And suddenly, she was nearly overwhelmed with relief and giddiness. “I’m so glad you’re here, Trace.”

  “I gave you my word.”

  “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I don’t like this place.”

  “You shouldn’t.” He pointed his chin at the flames flickering in the clearing beyond the trees. “That’s a trap. The ones waiting at that fire would have…” He paused. “They would have done bad things to you and your dogs. Don’t ever walk into a scene like that. Promise me.”

  She nodded. “I promise.” Then she shook her staff, gently. “But I am far from powerless, Trace.”

  He looked unconvinced. “Let’s get out of here.” He turned and began to stride away, and after a momentary hesitation, Abby and the hounds followed.

  “You’re like a shadow,” she told him. “My hounds weren’t even aware of you, and they should have caught your scent before you got within a mile of us.”

  His muscles rippled as he shrugged. “I told you I am a shadow wolf.”

  “And now I believe you.”

  She kept forcing herself to look away from his bare body—he had muscles on his muscles, and his skin looked like melting chocolate, gleaming beneath the cold white moon. She wanted to touch him.

  Worse, she wanted to lick him. She wanted to bite him.

  Aghast, she turned her eyes away for the zillionth time, then stumbled, as clumsy as a love-struck teenager. What on earth was wrong with her?

  And suddenly, she knew exactly what was wrong. It wasn’t her ogling the huge, sexy man.

  It was Jewel.

  Jewel! Stop that.

  She wasn’t sure the girl heard her, but she was nearly certain that if she had, she’d simply smirk and try harder to get Abby to put her stare back on the magnificent body that belonged to Trace Ferrell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abby shrugged her bag off her shoulder, then knelt beside it on the cold, hard ground.

  “What are you doing?” Trace asked.

  “First,” she said, crisply, “I’m going to give you the alpha’s boxers. You need to cover your…um…self.” She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting until she’d wrestled control of her eyeballs once more from Jewel before she yanked a pair of rolled boxers from her bag and tossed them to Trace. “They may be tight, but they’re better than nothing.”

  He turned his back and pulled on the boxers. “I’m starving. Do you have any food in there?”

  He didn’t look like he was starving, but she knew that was the effect of magic. “I’ll make supper right now.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Sit down.” She nodded at a log, half rotted, a few yards away. “I’ll get the food started and then tend to your wounds while you tell me how close we are to finding my alpha.”

  A ripple of unease crossed his features, but he finally inclined his head in agreement and went to sit down. The hounds sighed and dropped their chins to their paws and slept.

  Abby busied herself going through her bag, setting aside packets and potions and utensils, and then she remembered the package her mother had thrust at her before she’d left.

  She pulled it from her pocket, then unwrapped it, exclaiming in joy at what she uncovered.

  “What is that?” Trace asked.

  “It’s a…” Abby paused, then shrugged. “It’s a magic pot, is what it is.”

  She found two thick rocks, then picked up the pot—a flat, round piece of copper—once again. She held it to her lips, murmuring almost lovingly to it, then exhaled three times onto its shiny surface.

  Once it had accepted her breath, she placed the disc atop the rocks, and then tapped it with the end of her staff. Immediately, the copper piece shaped itself into a small, perfect pot.

  As Trace watched, his eyes bright and interested, she poured in half a bottle of water, then sprinkled an entire packet of dried powder into the water. The pot began to heat, glowing and dimming as it maintained a perfect temperature.

  In seconds, the scent of a hearty beef stew wafted through the air.

  Trace cried out and bent forward, his hand to his abdomen.

  “Trace!” Abby said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Starvation is a painful thing, Abby. My stomach is devouring itself. Hurry up with that food. I could eat every bit of it, crazy magic pot and all.”

  “You may eat until you can’t hold any more,” she told him, smiling. “It’s a present from my crazy magic mama.”

  As the food heated, she rose and carried her first aid kit to Trace. “I’ll tend you, then you can eat.” She handed him the remaining half bottle of water and two tablets.

  “What are these?” he asked, then swallowed them down with the water without waiting for her to answer.

  “For your pain,” she said.

  He scoffed. “This is not pain.”

  She sat back on her heels and stared at him. “How on earth could you have been cursed? You seem the type to take curses and spit them back at the one who created them.”

  He smiled, pleased with her words, then sobered. “I was taken by surprise.” And that was all he was willing to share.

  She smoothed some ointment over the wounds on his chest and could almost feel Jewel writhing with ecstasy. “Tell me what you know about my alpha,” she said. “Tell me what’s worrying you.”

  He stared at her.

  She met his dark gaze. “I saw the uneasiness on your face.”

  “Do you want me to tell you what I know, or what I think?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling into the night air.

  “Yes.”

&nb
sp; He blew out a hard breath. “I know he’s wounded. I know he walked this very path.”

  “He’s alive,” she whispered, only realizing at that moment that she had been afraid Trace would tell her he was dead.

  “He’s alive,” Trace said, grimly. “But I think he’s nearing his end.”

  She smoothed a bandage over the wound above his eye, her heart aching. “We need to find him now, Trace. When will we find him?” She knew he heard the desperation in her voice, but she didn’t care. She was desperate. “We’re wasting time.”

  “We should wait for daylight. Things are worse at night in this place.”

  “Worse for him, too,” she said. “We’ll continue on after we eat. I have my power and you have…” She looked at him doubtfully. “Your muscles.”

  He laughed. “I do,” he agreed.

  She stood. “I can’t do as much for you out here, but you’ll live.”

  “Thank you, Abby.” He stood as well and strode toward the bubbling pot. “Can we eat now?”

  She gave him a spoon, then pulled a collapsible canvas bowl from her bag and spooned some of the hot stew into it. Then she dumped two large portions onto the rocks, and called the hounds. Finally, she handed the patiently waiting man the pot, which had a completely cool exterior. “Eat up, Shadow Wolf.”

  He didn’t argue.

  About ten minutes into his meal, he snapped up his head, dropped the pot, and spun around, his hands reflexively reaching for—and not finding—a weapon at his hip.

  Abby jumped to her feet, and the hounds leapt in front of her, growling, as all four of them stood frozen and ready for something that never came.

  “What is it?” Abby whispered, finally.

  Trace shook his head, his black hair brushing his shoulder blades. He turned around to pick up the pot he’d dropped, then handed it to her. “I don’t know. Remember when you said something was following you?”

  She nodded.

  “It still is. Something is out there, but I can’t…” He frowned, seeming half intrigued, half angry. “I can’t get a good scent. I don’t know what it is. It’s almost like something is—”

  “Blocking you,” she said. “Blocking you just a second after you feel it.”