by Jody Wallace
“I don’t want to talk about Harry.” In another display of alpha strength, Bianca hefted June’s chair and replaced it beside the condiments table. Oops. The pale wolf sniffed June’s leg.
“He’s not even who he says he is,” Gavin said. “Harry Smith is an alias.”
June had heard this before, and apparently Bianca had too. The alpha didn’t blink. “Lots of indies have fake IDs. I don’t want to complicate the ceremony, and I don’t want any bodies to dispose of. We have a lot of new members this month as well as…you.”
“All right, all right. You win.” Gavin’s sharp teeth flashed in the glow of kerosene lanterns. “I’ll keep her in a cage until she shifts. Me and boys will help her find the wolf. We’ve done it before.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bianca snapped. “That’s inhumane.”
“I might care about that if we were human. But we’re not, and we shouldn’t pretend to be.”
She gritted her teeth. “I won’t allow it.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, after tonight you won’t be in charge anymore. I will.” He strutted away without a backward glance at the two women.
“What a piece of work,” June commented, knowing Gavin could hear her if he wanted. “How can you stand him?”
It was in her best interests to exacerbate the strife here, maybe enough that Bianca would risk the pack’s unit bond rather than instate Gavin. She could try to push it another night, give herself time to find someone else—and give Harry and the coven and the police and the Marines and the cavalry and the Easter Bunny time to find June.
“I can’t stand him,” Bianca admitted. The wolf that accompanied her nuzzled her hand, whining. “He’s worse than Bert.”
Interesting sentiment coming from Bert’s legally wedded wife. With Gavin elsewhere, she sounded almost civil. She hadn’t let him hurt June and seemed troubled by her presence. How else was Bianca different from the person June had always assumed she was?
And how could June use it to her advantage?
“Why him? Why can’t you wait until you find somebody better?”
“You ever been in a pack, girl?” Bianca asked. “Maybe born in one before you took off?”
June shook her head. “Neither of my parents were pack.” It was true.
“Then you wouldn’t know.” Bianca aligned the bottles and jars on the condiments table in order of tallest to shortest. “The lead-up to a ceremony begins weeks in advance. Once it’s underway, if you drop the thread, it dissolves our bonds. All of them. We pushed it as far as we could. Tonight’s our last night.”
“Weeks?” Bert had only been sent to prison a couple days ago. Foreboding washed over her as the implications sank in. The Millington pack’s annual ceremony usually took place in another thirty days. Either the Macabees had planned the bonding ceremony early or Bianca had planned it behind Bert’s back…a month before Harry took his customary vacation.
Bianca nodded. “Then there’s the ceremonial drink. The ingredients are expensive, and they have a use-by date you wouldn’t believe.”
“I would believe it.” Certain herbs were the same way. They weren’t effective if the item in question wasn’t hours, even minutes from the ground fresh—problematic if you couldn’t grow a local supply. “You won’t really let him lock me in a cage, will you?”
Bianca placed the last salt shaker in the regimented line. “We’ll try the ceremony. If you go into it with a willing heart, you’ll probably make it through.”
“Probably?” June exclaimed. “I don’t know as much about pack bonds as you, but this is my life we’re talking about. Mrs. Macabee, please.”
Bianca frowned. “I’m getting a divorce. Call me Bianca.”
“Bianca, I—”
“Actually, don’t call me anything. If you aren’t going to tell me how I can find Harry in the next hour and save us from that dog shit Gavin, I don’t have anything else to say to you.” The wrinkles in Bianca’s forehead smoothed out and her exotic features became expressionless. “Other than welcome to the pack, sister.”
For the twenty-seventh time, the Caddy’s overworked engine failed to catch, so Harry motioned for Vern to turn off the ignition. The old car had coughed to a stop a mile from the compound. It was close to midnight, and part of Harry’s job was to create enough of a diversion for the coven to infiltrate the compound.
The other part, he didn’t even want to think about.
He cursed and slammed the hood. “I can’t do anything without my tools. It’s dead.”
“Congratulations. You killed both of June’s cars,” Vern said. “Some mechanic you are.”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up,” Vern replied with what had to be deliberate immaturity. Harry had never even met a preteen as annoying as Vern, and he’d been told adolescence was the most difficult age for kids.
June’s original disguise spell had worn off. Vern had been sent with Harry to cast a spell the coven swore would protect him long enough for tonight’s undertaking. The kid—man, whatever—was the strongest witch in the coven next to June, who’d be in no position to help anybody, they assumed.
Harry detested all the assumptions they were basing their plan on—like the assumption Gavin wouldn’t hurt June, or that it didn’t matter if he did, because they’d help her forget.
It mattered. It mattered to Harry.
He leaned through the back window to grab one of June’s ubiquitous containers of wet wipes. That was when he heard it. The call.
A high, mournful ululation poured over him. He felt the urge to respond more strongly than he’d experienced since his childhood. Shifters who lived where there were no true wolves had to be cautious about the howl, so it wasn’t something he’d heard in many places he’d lived. Like all indies he kept himself far away from bonding ceremonies to avoid this exact situation.
The call made him want to shift. To sing. To run. To join.
Moonlight broke into shards as his eyes changed. His fingers curled. His breathing quickened.
“Is that what I think it is?” Vern yelled through the window of the Caddy.
His voice shook Harry out of his trance. So did the answering howls scattered around them.
“Damn.” He stalked around the vehicle and opened the door. “They’re getting ready to start.”
Vern popped out of the car. “Then let’s go.”
“Help me push the car onto the shoulder. It’s blocking the road.”
He wasn’t sure how the coven intended to rescue June. They’d been crafty when pressed. June’s scent marker led straight down this road. There was nothing out here but the compound and a lot of wilderness.
She was alive, or had been a couple hours ago.
Despite Vern’s protests, they managed to inch the Caddy onto the shoulder. The grannies would be behind them soon. This section of the road was hundreds of feet above the river, and the next mile was all downhill.
The two men began trotting down the incline. Harry drew ahead of Vern, impatient to reach the compound. Would anyone be guarding the bridge? Would Gavin’s men try to waylay him? How did the coven think they were going to manage this?
Vern huffed and puffed, a heavy pack on his back. “Slow down.”
“No.”
Vern broke into a resentful lope. “You’re pretty strong for an indie.”
“Pretty pissed too. I don’t have time to wait for you. I should shift and go in alone. I can make it there in a few. I’m supposed to be Mr. Diversion—” he checked his watch, “—as of ten minutes ago. Now the pack has been called home.”
“You go in without my spell, you’re dead.” Vern stumbled on a rock. Harry caught him.
“Cast your hoodoo. What is it, a disguise?”
“Look.” Vern panted between phrases. “I know you’re not an inbred throwback, but we’re not going to tell you anything we don’t have to. It’ll be that much less to erase from your memory.”
“Good God, thi
s again? I won’t tell anybody.” They’d been arguing all day. Why should his brain be wiped clean of June, for Chrissake? They couldn’t let him keep that one thing when he was about to sacrifice his ass to save them?
“If you run ahead, I can’t help you if anything goes wrong.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Harry said, without conviction. “Why do you think they’ll let you into the compound?”
Vern wheezed out, “I’m not going to tell you that, either. Just believe it when it happens.”
“And when you screw up?”
“I don’t—” pant, pant, “—screw up.”
“Then do whatever you need to do to keep Gavin from murdering me because I can’t wait on your slow ass. They’ll instate the new alpha first so he’ll be in place to channel the group bonds. Once Gavin gets that far, we’re screwed.”
“Unless somebody shoots him,” Vern said.
Harry gestured rudely. “Who’s going to do that, you?”
“Nope.” Vern pointed at him. “You are, killer.”
“I’m not a murderer.” Though he was tempted to ignore his principles in this instance. “Guns are a coward’s weapon in most packs, and they’re forbidden in challenges.”
“Hey, if the shoe fits.”
Harry bristled. “I’m not a—”
“Kidding. You’d have tried to take them all on this morning if Junie hadn’t sent you to us.” Vern rummaged in his knapsack. He pulled out a black pistol, checking the chambers. “If it works, who the hell cares what they think?”
Vern echoed one of Harry’s favorite sentiments. However, while Harry had no problem being considered cowardly by packers, Vern had overlooked an obvious flaw in the plan. Shifters eschewed guns…to resolve pack conflicts. They were familiar enough with them otherwise and would never let Harry into the ceremony if he were armed.
“If I have a gun,” he said, “they’ll take it away from me. And they won’t be happy about it.”
“Not if they can’t find it.” Vern tossed him the pistol, which Harry snatched out of the air. Why was the idiot throwing a loaded gun around? “Can you shift this back and forth like you do your phone?”
“It doesn’t matter. You think nobody’s ever tried that?” Harry dangled the small, heavy weapon from his fingers. Outsiders weren’t allowed into a compound on four legs, and the ceremony itself had a strict two-legs requirement until the end.
Vern chuckled. “Nobody’s tried it with one of my spells on him.”
“This is the big plan,” Harry repeated incredulously. “I’m supposed to shoot Gavin.”
“Since you won’t wait for me…yeah. You need to shoot Gavin. Here’s my advice.” Vern laid a clean white cloth on the road and dumped a baggie of herbs on it. He followed with a beige powder and squirted the whole mess with oil from a squeezable ketchup bottle. “Shift to your wolf and stay there. The adults will be in the ceremony so the guards will be juvies. They’ll let you pass because of the spell. Get really close, shift back and Glock that bastard in the head. It’ll kill him instantly.”
Harry would have to be close. He couldn’t shoot the broad side of a minivan much less Gavin’s head. If this was truly the coven’s plan, he was disappointed. Who’d have thought the grannies were bloodthirsty? Had their fears of exposure pushed them beyond the pale?
“I would rather banish him than kill him.” Harry might not be a murderer, but that didn’t mean he had no vengeful spirit. Banishment meant Gavin’s suffering would last longer.
“Well, your buddy Gavin wants to kill somebody, so you’d better buck up and make this happen. We’ll take care of the rest.” Without further ado, Vern wadded up the ingredients and scrunched his face. Harry’s ears popped immediately.
Vern held out his clasped fists to Harry. Yellowish oil oozed between his fingers. “Eat some of this and shove some in the barrel of the gun. Rub the rest on your skin.”
Harry accepted the gloopy mess dubiously, poking a few blobs into the gun. “Will this clog up the gun’s inner workings?”
Vern rubbed the back of his hands on his forehead. “It’s a gun, not a computer.”
Harry checked the pistol to make sure the safety was on before shoving it in his jeans. His cell phone was in a back pocket and a bottle of pills the coven had told him would heal almost anything was in another. He wondered if they’d heal a bullet to the head.
“What’s in this stuff?” he asked before raising the gloop to his lips.
“Little of this, little of that. If you feel like you’re going to barf, shift. Should take care of the nausea.”
“Great.” The mixture had a mineral flavor overlaid with olive oil. Harry swallowed some and removed his shirt so he could rub the rest on his chest and arms. He tossed the shirt at Vern. “One less thing for me to shift back and forth. Wish me luck.”
Harry shimmered, his body morphing, while Vern repacked his knapsack. Before he could dash off, Vern yelled, “Hold on, I’m not finished.” He grabbed Harry by the tail.
Harry snapped at him, anxious to get on with it. The wolves who’d answered Bianca’s call wouldn’t take long to return home. He could smell Vern’s marker intensely in this form as well as the other man’s anger.
He whuffed again. Interesting. The kid might be an alpha too. Without the degree of exposure Harry’d had to June, he couldn’t be sure. Fine by him. He wasn’t about to get that exposed to Vern.
Vern wiped his hands on Harry’s coat and did some more ear-popping magic that made him want to howl. So he did.
To his surprise, a number of wolves answered. One or two close by, most near the compound. What was that all about? Shifters responded to pack mates and their alpha, not indies.
Vern flinched from the long, warbling sound. “Are you trying to deafen me? All right, I’m done. See you on the far side.”
Harry didn’t waste another second with the two-leg. He was off like a shot from the gun he carried, which was concealed with what June called magic.
It was a stupid plan, going in armed with a pistol and bravado, but the coven had refused his other plans and he couldn’t do this alone. He had to trust them, because they were trusting him with a lot too.
Chapter Seventeen
When several of the four-legs erupted into eerie wails again, June nearly leaped out of her plastic seat, tape or no tape.
Gavin, dressed in nothing but a tacky loincloth, hurled a log at a yodeling wolf. “Shut the hell up!”
The wood struck its ribs, and the wolf’s call morphed into a yelp. It was the pale four-leg June had noticed before. The wolf scampered to the side of the clearing, tail tucked between its legs.
Bianca emerged from behind the smoky bonfire, her inky hair loose around her shoulders and a predatory, somewhat malicious expression on her face. She wore little more than Gavin, but her sports bra and shorts weren’t as absurd as Gavin’s faux-fur breechclout. She looked like a kick-boxing instructor—fierce, energetic and poised.
She did not look like an alpha disgusted by the turn of events in her territory.
“Way to win over the pack, big man,” Bianca said to Gavin. A sack from a local discount store dangled from her hand. “Throwing shit at them really shows leadership.”
Gavin indicated the wolves in the clearing. Most of the pack had disappeared to check on their children, meditate or do whatever they did before a bonding ceremony. “Why are they calling a second time?”
Bianca raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t hear?”
Hear what? June wanted to ask. The commune had gone silent after Bianca had summoned the pack. For all she knew Bianca meant the ceremonial progress report and nobody had updated Gavin because they detested him.
“I heard you summon them fifteen minutes ago. Funny, they’re still not ready.” He paced in front of the roaring fire, scratching his heinie where the breechclout’s string dangled. “You can’t manage them?”
A gusty wind drove smoke in June’s direction. It was so thick, she could
practically cast a spell with it. Her eyes stinging, she coughed and missed most of Bianca’s response.
“…our way of doing things.”
The wind shifted, thinning the smoke. Through watery vision, June made out Gavin, hands on hips, rotating his trunk as if about to exercise. “How much longer?”
“It’s not midnight yet.” Bianca tossed a couple baggies of herbs onto the fire. Neon colors flared in the blaze.
“It’s midnight somewhere.” He pressed an arm over his chest, followed by the other. His shifter-enhanced musculature gleamed in the firelight. “Nobody’s going to show up to challenge me. You might as well confirm me so we can get the party started.”
She crossed her arms, the bag swinging in the crook of her elbow. “What if it doesn’t work?”
He paused, his arm at an odd angle, and regarded her incredulously. “The confirmation? Why wouldn’t it?”
Bianca shrugged. The fire snapped, and the scent of sage filled the clearing. That must have been what was in the plastic bags. “The girl’s inclusion might disrupt things.”
Gavin stuck his hands on his hips. “When has a pack bond ever failed to work on somebody that old?”
June would like to know the answer to that herself. Bianca’s “probably” from earlier wasn’t reassuring, and she doubted she could maintain a willing heart. Would the ceremony affect her? Would the fact she was a witch improve or worsen her chances of survival?
“I wouldn’t know.” Bianca’s lips tightened. “I’ve never included a juvenile in a ceremony.”
Gavin chuckled nastily. “Well, Roanoke has. Tell you what, baby. Since you don’t seem to have a cage around here, after my confirmation I’ll personally jumpstart her wolf. Then you don’t have to worry about her being a juvie. I bet it would make for a great floor show.”
“Absolutely not.” The expression on Bianca’s face chilled June even as it reassured her. June had escaped Gavin’s sadism earlier today, but if rape were incipient…
No, she wouldn’t let herself be distracted. She’d made progress removing the tape around her hands. She wasn’t sitting around to wait for impending doom—or rescue. For all she knew the coven had trapped Harry, erased his memories and thrown June to the…wolves. And it wasn’t as if the coven had ninjas at their disposal.
