by K.N. Lee
The front of her truck slammed into a telephone pole. Beyond desperate, Zelda threw open her door, popped off a few shots, then aimed at her truck, fired one more, and took off running.
Behind her, her truck blew up.
She’d hit the gas tank.
RIP truck.
But it didn’t matter. Something sharp slammed into her lower lip. She stumbled to the ground. Her head connected with the sidewalk, but it wasn’t until she got hit a second time that she lost her fight with consciousness.
When Zelda opened her eyes, she understood the true definition of fear. Her heart was in her throat, her chest was way too tight, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
She was in a barren room. The door was locked, and when she slammed her fists against the door, she realized her palms were all scrapped up. So were her knees. And the backs of her legs were slashed by claws.
Werewolves.
No matter what, she had to get out of here.
Her gun was gone—unsurprisingly—but she did not lack resolve. Immediately, she went over to the window. She was on the ground floor. Finally. Something’s going right!
It was daytime, so she’d been out for hours. Her body ached but not as badly as she thought it should. Adrenaline. Or fear. Whatever was providing the buffer, she hoped it lasted a long while.
Zelda removed her coat, wrapped it around her right elbow, and slammed it once, twice, three times into the window before it broke. She didn’t linger to see if anyone heard, already climbing through. The broken glass cut into her, but she hardly noticed.
Then she was out, one leg and the other, and she lowered to the ground. Onward she ran and ran and ran. She had no destination in mind; she just knew she had to put as much distance between her and them.
It wasn’t until she left behind the countryside and reentered the city that she slowed down some. Even then, she limped along as fast as she could, fearing the werewolves would find her, that they would catch up to her, that next time they wouldn’t capture her, they would kill her.
She glanced behind her and promptly plowed into someone. Zelda gasped. “I’m so sorry—”
Zelda gulped. She was looking into the silver-brown eyes of a tall woman. Her shoulders were uneven, and her purple hair was spiky and short.
Another werewolf. Why so many? Maybe there had always been some around, and she’d been ignorant. Maybe the pack was passing through. Did this werewolf belong to the same one that wanted Magnus dead, the one he killed the brother of the alpha? She was afraid they had been the ones to capture her. Probably wanted to hold her for ransom to lure Magnus out. Oh, God, what had she gotten herself into?
Stay calm. Apologize and get away from her ASAP.
“I’m so sorry,” Zelda added, stepping back.
The werewolf cocked her head. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Zelda narrowed her eyes and tried not to reveal any panic. She wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated, and she just wanted to get away from all things werewolves. “Nobody.” She moved to brush past the woman, trying not reveal how each step pained her.
“You’re someone who clearly needs help,” the woman said, not unkindly.
A nice werewolf? Was that possible? Zelda hesitated. She felt lightheaded and weak. Maybe her adrenaline was wearing off. She needed to find a place to rest and recover, one away from werewolves. “I’m fine.”
“You’re limping. You’re bleeding. You’ve seen better days.” The woman sighed and ran a hand through her spiky hair. “I know my looks tend to scare people off, but I’m not a bad person. Let me help you. You need someone to walk you back to your place? Some food?”
“Why do you care?” Zelda asked, but there wasn’t a hint of bitterness to her tone. She was curious. And she was trying not to see double.
The woman sniffed. “A bath?”
That helped to snap Zelda out of it, and she glared at the werewolf.
The woman laughed and held up her hands in a whoops kind of way. “Sorry.” Her features twisted into something resembling seriousness. “Listen. I know that things can be kinda terrible out there in the world. One woman to another. Let me help you.”
Zelda appraised her. It only took her a moment to realize that the woman must be able to smell the werewolves on her. The woman obviously assumed Zelda didn’t realize that the men had been werewolves. She just knew Zelda had been through a battle, and maybe this was a trap, but a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she knew she would never be able to walk the rest of the way back to her place, and she had no money for a cab, and hitchhiking was out because some guys were just as bad as werewolves and…
Maybe she had finally met another werewolf she could trust.
“Anything would be great,” Zelda said cautiously, swaying on her feet.
The woman wrapped an arm around her, balancing her and keeping her upright. “Great! I’m Chantal. Chantal Waring. And you are?”
“Juliet,” Zelda said with a smirk.
“Juliet? No poison for you for a silly broken heart.” Chantal winked. “I’m on my way to a friend’s house. You want to come over? You look like you might need some company, too.”
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. The werewolves who had captured her would hopefully think twice before going after her again if she was with other people, especially a werewolf or two.
“Sure.”
Chantal chatted the three-block walk. The place was small, a crammed house in the middle of a row. Chantal introduced Zelda to her friend, a hunky guy with solidly brown eyes. Zelda’s smile at the realization that he was human had Chantal frowning at her and pulling Dan close for a long, sloppy kiss.
When they came up for air, Chantal showed Zelda the shower. “Do you need me to get you anything besides a towel?”
“Some Band-Aids would be great.”
Chantal nodded. “Sure thing. I… Was it a guy? Who hurt you?”
Zelda swallowed hard, unsure what to say, scrambling for a convincing lie that wouldn’t lead to more questions.
The werewolf held up her hands. “You don’t have to tell me. Just know that you’re safe here.”
To her horror, Zelda’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Of course. The world is filled with asses. Us non-asses need to stick together.” With a wink, Chantal whisked away, returning a minute later with towels and Band-Aids.
The hot water beat against Zelda, and she closed her eyes. The impact of everything that had happened to her—the attacks, the kidnapping, the learning that werewolves are real—finally hit her. The floodgates opened, and she squatted down, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth. Tears didn’t come, but the shower cried for her.
Eventually, she pulled herself together, and she washed herself off. Cleaning her wounds made her want to jump out of her skin, but she managed.
Once she was done, she started to apply her Band-Aids when she overheard some voices. Chantal’s.
And another woman’s.
Hm. Where had Dan gone?
Zelda wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but given everything that had been happening to her, she listened, and she listened hard.
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s still alive,” the unfamiliar voice declared.
“I’m surprised you’re so upset about it,” Chantal said.
“Surprised? Seriously? He’s the reason why we’ve been forced across the country, why we’re being hunted. If he’d died, we would’ve been free. We would’ve been—”
“I thought you liked him. I thought you wanted to marry Magnus.”
Zelda dropped the container of Band-Aids. Luckily, she caught it before it hit the tile despite her shaking hands.
Chantal and this other woman must both be in his old pack! Who was the second werewolf? Why did she have so much bitterness toward him? And she’d wanted to marry him at one time? What had changed all that?
Zelda’s stomach twisted. She was jealous. It was absurd. She had no
claim to Magnus, and this was obviously ancient history, but, still, she didn’t like the idea of Magnus being with anyone else. Stupid. Getting involved with a werewolf wasn’t smart. Getting involved with one who had two packs very angry with him was asking for trouble.
“Stop pacing, Laci. You’re gonna wear a hole in Dan’s carpet.”
“Why you’re with him I don’t understand,” Laci snapped.
“He’s a decent guy,” Chantal protested. “He’ll be back in about twenty with some pizza.”
“Yeah, well… Decent guys are hard to come by.”
“Magnus is decent,” Chantal said after a moment.
A loud scoffing sound had Zelda jumping. Why did it suddenly feel like she was a prisoner again? Her cell, this time, was a crammed bathroom.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Laci asked suddenly.
“Of course.” Chantal sounded like she was dying for some gossip.
Zelda was, too.
“You know how much I liked Magnus.”
“Of course. You talked about him all the time.”
“Yeah, well… he spurned me.”
He what?” Chantal shrieked. “No way. You’re the alpha’s sister. Why on earth would he not want to be with you? I mean, you’re funny and beautiful and powerful…”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t want me. So… I went to my brother about it. I asked him for a favor.”
Chantal didn’t respond.
“I asked him to take care of it,” Laci added.
Him. Magnus. You asked him to take care of Magnus. A werewolf in your pack!
Magnus told her that the werewolves were made for fighting, but this was ridiculous!
“The night Leviticus was going to have things… fixed… something went wrong. I don’t know how the Blood Warriors became involved. I never asked my brother. I doubt he would’ve sicced them on Magnus. Maybe the werewolf he tapped for the job chickened out. I’m not sure. We’ve had trouble with the Blood Warriors ever since. Magnus killed Colin. Their alpha’s brother. What a moron. I can’t believe I ever fell for him.”
Zelda was flabbergasted. What kind of crazy messed-up people were werewolves?
Quick as she could, she finished bandaging herself up. Chantal must’ve dropped some clothes in for her because she spied a shirt and leggings near the sink, and she changed into them. She used her fingers to brush her hair, and after taking a calming—somewhat calming—deep breath, she exited the bathroom.
“Thank you for the shower.” Zelda grinned at Chantal. Did they have wolf hearing? Could they hear how fast her heart was beating? Could they smell her fright? Actually, she was equal parts afraid and infuriated. How could this spoiled werewolf have had a suitor who rejected her killed?
Did Magnus know his old pack was involved? That it had been an assassination attempt? She doubted it, but then again, if he had known, would he have told her? He had shared a decent amount of details about his life, enough for her to feel as if she knew him well despite only knowing him for a short amount of time, so maybe he would’ve shared. There wouldn’t have been a point for him to keep it a secret from her. He’d confided so many secrets as it was.
The other werewolf did make a pretty picture. She wore a tight dress that clung to her curves, and her makeup was flawless. Her silvery eyes made her look exotic, and her flowing red locks would make her a prime candidate to portray Ariel the Little Mermaid.
She yawned and glanced at the door. Laci buffered her nails on her dress. “When will the pizza be here?”
“Soon,” Chantal said. “I’m glad the clothes fit you, Juliet. Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”
“Pizza would be great. Thank you.” Zelda had almost forgotten she’d given her name as Juliet. She glanced around. Laci was lounging on the couch, and Chantal was sitting in the recliner. Zelda did not want to sit next to the evil werewolf, so she opted to remain standing.
Chantal frowned. “Sit.” And she shifted to sit beside Zelda, leaving the recliner for her.
Breathing easily, Zelda crossed the room toward the seat.
Laci watched her, nose twitching. “Who are you?” She slid her gaze to Chantal before glaring at Zelda. “Why do you smell like—”
“I did just shower,” Zelda said lightly. Her heart was beating so fast now that it made her chest ache. “I hope I don’t smell at all.”
“No. I could swear…” Laci shifted toward Chantal. “You smell it, too, don’t you?”
“I found her hurt and bleeding and offered to help her some. What’s the big deal?” Chantal shrugged, but something did flash in her eyes.
Zelda jumped to her feet. “I’m actually not that hungry. I’m beat. I’ll just go grab a cab and—”
Laci clamped her hand on Zelda’s wrist. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
The last thing Zelda saw was the werewolf’s fist approaching her face, a glitter reflecting from her claws.
Chapter 15
“Now,” Kyle said, addressing the assembly, his arms stretched out wide. “I am a reasonable wolf.”
Magnus snorted. Thankfully, the roar of approval from the crowd silenced him. During his year of solitude, Magnus had always looked over his shoulder. He had never truly felt a moment of peace. His pack abandoned him, and while he understood that they had been right to do so, he hadn’t died, and yet, in a way, he had died, anyhow. Whenever he came across another werewolf, he had felt on edge. He had fled. Always on the move. Always on the run. Trying to stay one step ahead.
Trying to stay alive.
Even though he didn’t think that the Blood Warriors had known he lived, that they had been tracking the Nightstar Hunters instead, he still felt as if he was living on borrowed time.
And now his time was up.
Strange, now that he had a moment to reflect, the only time he had felt somewhat at peace had been with Zelda, at her place when he knew her only as Juliet and then at her cabin. Leaving her behind hadn’t been easy, but he was glad he had. What did he have to offer her? Nothing but pain and misery and a life on the run.
He already knew that kind of life was no life at all.
“Magnus will die, have no fear.” Kyle walked forward, down the center between his packmates, acting like a prophet. “But we will give him a sporting chance.”
At once, Hulk unshackled Magnus.
In shock, Magnus rubbed his sore wrists. What was Kyle’s plan?
“He can fight for his chance to live. He already didn’t die the first time.” Kyle halted and turned around, smiling, displaying fangs. “He can fight,” the alpha repeated, his fingers shifting into claws. “He can fight us all.”
A meaty fist swung toward Magnus’s face. Hulk wasn’t even waiting to shift to start the attack.
Magnus ducked in time and accelerated through his change. Already the echo of cracking bones and snapping tendons and howls bounced off the walls. The Blood Warriors were ready for blood.
His blood.
He snipped and bit Hulk’s Achilles, and the man turned half wolf went down with a whimper. Wolf form or human, he wouldn’t be moving anywhere fast.
Two werewolves barreled their way to Magnus. Some of the others were fighting their friends in an effort to get to him. They were warriors, all right, ready to fight anyone.
Where Kyle was, Magnus couldn’t see, not passed the ratty fur, saliva-dripping fangs, and flashing claws. He had time to spit out blood from Hulk before his fangs clamped down on the nearest wolf’s throat.
The second werewolf slashed at his side, and Magnus howled. He shook his head from side to side, tearing out the throat of the first, but the second got another slash in, this time near where Magnus’s poisoned wound hadn’t completely healed yet.
Magnus’s howl of agony was silenced by his attack—he bit the attack’s ear and slashed and clawed every which way because more werewolves had reached the front of the room by now.
The room. A huge rectangle. The nearest window was way high up, too high for him to jump
and reach. The only window down lower was right by the window; he might as well aim for the door.
Only so many werewolves, far too many, stood between him and his freedom.
Yeah, because Kyle would allow him to leave. The only way to get his freedom would be to kill them all.
There wasn’t a prayer of a chance that would happen, not even if he wasn’t recovering from poison. He’d need a miracle.
Not that he would hold his breath.
So he fought and clawed and bit and slashed and kicked and suffocated and ripped and did everything he could do to prolong his life another minute.
But there were so numerous that for every blow he landed, they scored twice that on him. He was bleeding all over, and even though he had killed six or seven by now, he wasn’t making a big enough dent.
Even worse, the werewolves were forcing him backward, toward a corner. They could pile on him then. The end would come quickly if that happened.
But if he tried to press back against their tide, they would just encircle him. There was no way for him to win.
For whatever reason, Magnus hadn’t died before. He had fought and clung to life. He wasn’t about to give up now. He would die, but he’d die fighting.
Magnus just missed gashing a werewolf in her eye, and she went down. Quickly—well, as quickly as he could given his beaten, bleeding and bruised body—he clambered on top of her, jumped onto the back of a ferocious male, and then leaped onto the head of a short female.
By now, the Blood Warriors recognized his plan, and they fought each other to get toward him before backing off and away, to strand him until there was a wide moat around him.
He stood on the back of a large werewolf, a monster who easily shrugged him off. Magnus landed on his side.
Now, acting as one massive destructive death-bringer, the horde descended on him.
His time had come.
He closed his eyes and waited to breathe his last.
Chapter 16
Her head pounded something fierce. Blood dripped down the side of her face, but her fingers only felt a small wound. It was too dark for her to see where exactly she was, and the floor she was on felt hard and cold. Tile. No carpet or rug.
