by H. D. Gordon
One of the benefits of being a Wolf is that our blood runs naturally hot, and when we get scared or excited, we can burn through lingering alcohol in our system in a matter of minutes.
Whoever or whatever was watching me had ignited this effect, and I focused on my ears, which were easily the strongest of my senses. A moment later, I’d shifted into my Wolf.
And in this form, I could hear it, some sort of serious struggle coming from the Northern Mountains. Clear-headed and fully conscious, I debated for all of three heartbeats before tearing off in the direction of those mountains, ignoring my own good advice when I silently pleaded with myself to turn back.
The words of Madame Rama echoed in my ears: There are two paths before you, Rukiya Moonborn, and both lead to two very different fates. Your choices will determine which path you ultimately tread, so be sure that you choose wisely in the days to come… Your fate is not the only one that hinges upon it.
And still I charged forward, as if I were tragically tethered to a life lived in danger, to a life of foolhardy mistakes.
28
I’m not sure what I had been expecting, but it was not what I saw.
I’d followed the faint sounds of struggle and the instinctual pull toward the trouble, and found myself on one of the several mountain passes that was ruled by shadows under the thick blanket of night. No Apollo-blessed lampposts stood here, and even the glow of the full moon could not penetrate the gloom created from the looming mountain faces.
And, here, upon this hidden pass, a wagon of puppies had been hauling into town, pulled along by two large and used up horses, and driven by a dirty-looking male with a worn whip clutched in his hand. Two other males were in the driver’s company, and their appearances revealed them as hired hands, mercenaries paid to protect an investment—to ensure the transport of slaves.
But when I came skidding to a stop, taking in the scene, the wagon holding the puppies was on its side, the large horses still attached to it tangled and braying in panic. The driver was cowering on the other side of it, while the two hired swords clashed with a warrior as large as he was fearsome.
He reminded me instantly of Yarin, the half Fae/half Vamp warrior who had come to take Amara on the night before I’d left Dogshead. The gleaming black armor was the same, and though the two were opposites in coloring, their way of moving was also identical, as though they’d gone through similar training.
I went unnoticed, standing near the base of the mountain, crouching behind a bush that was just big enough to conceal my Wolf form, watching as the warrior took down the hired swords without even breaking a sweat.
In a handful of swift movements, he had them down on the ground, disarmed but cursing and spitting. From inside the barred wagon, at least half a dozen pups were yelping, pacing, and snarling as they watched the commotion. The wagon driver with the whip kicked at the caged pups but didn’t go to help his two employees. Instead, he stood watching the scuffle as if waiting for something.
My attention was drawn away from the driver and back to the large male who had the other males pinned to the ground. The metallic sound of a sword sliding free of its sheath rang out into the darkness, and the eyes of the two males on the ground went as wide and round as the full moon hanging above us.
“Do you have any idea who you’re stealing from?” hissed one of the males on the ground. “When he finds you, he’s going to make you wish you’d never taken a single pup.”
The large male with the sword grinned viciously. In a deep voice, he said, “Oh, I look forward to the day I get to meet your master face-to-face, rest assured about that.” Then he lifted the silver sword and relieved the Wolf who’d spoken of his head.
Even from my vantage point some forty feet away, the irony tang of blood floated on the air. I remained where I was while the large male lifted the sword again, readying to remove a second head in the same spectacular fashion.
What the male didn’t see was the cart driver as he nocked an arrow in his bow and lined up a shot, drawing back the string far enough to send the sharp tip of the arrow straight through flesh.
The large male with the sword heard the stretch of the bowstring and he turned, but he was not fast enough.
I, however, was.
I came charging out of the bushes without having the time to really consider my actions. In my Wolf form, my greatest strength was my speed, and it was one that had saved my life on more than one occasion.
With a snarling growl, I felt the power coil in my legs, and then I was springing into the air. My jaws yawned wide and clamped down on the forearm of the driver, misdirecting the arrow a split second before it had been fired.
My sharp teeth sank deeply into flesh and muscle, the curved tips of my canines snagging on bone as the sweet taste of blood flooded my mouth.
I bit and locked. The cart driver opened his mouth to scream, but the warrior with the sword had finally tuned into the interaction. He appeared before me as if by magic, and removed the cart driver’s head before his cry of agony could even exit his mouth.
A bit stunned, I released the forearm that was clamped between my jaws, treading backwards as the headless body slumped to the ground.
From my position on all fours, the enormous warrior towered over me. Under the silvery glow of the full moon, his ebony armor gleamed, polished despite the many slashes and slices that no doubt told silent stories of the battles past. Just like Yarin, this male was tall and muscular, but unlike Yarin, he had skin that was a smooth caramel, and short black hair that was cut very closely to his head. His eyes were a chocolaty brown, and they commanded the same intensity as had Yarin’s, though they seemed a bit harder—colder.
I stepped back a few paces, my head lowered and my tail held still and stiff. The warrior’s brown eyes narrowed on me a fraction.
He took a step toward me.
I took one back while releasing a low growl.
He stopped, still staring at me. “Who are you?” he asked, and his deep voice was as imperious as his gaze.
I almost ran. In fact, a heartbeat longer, and I would’ve shot off down the mountain pass like a bat escaped from hell. And even with his supernatural speed, I doubt the warrior would have been able to catch me.
But then he said, “Rukiya?” A pause. “Is that your name?”
My flight instinct diminished with my surprise. I glanced down at the three headless bodies on the ground, and then at the wagon of pups… and then I shifted back into my human form.
“How the hell do you know my name?” I asked. And not just my name, but my full name. Less than a handful of people knew that.
A slow smile came across the warrior’s handsome face, and I stared at him in confusion for a moment before glancing down at myself and remembering the way that my body was adorned and painted.
“Ah, now I see what all the fuss is about,” he mumbled, more to himself than to me as his brown eyes travelled over every inch of my body. “Thank you for the help,” he added, meeting my gaze at last.
“How do you know my name?” I repeated.
He hesitated a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell me. I folded my arms over my chest and waited. The smile that had softened his features was gone, and I got the feeling that it was an expression that was rarely glimpsed upon the male.
At last, he said, “My name is Yerik. I believe you met my brother, Yarin, not too long ago.”
My heartbeat quickened in pace. “So then you must know what happened to Amara?” My voice fell a fraction. “Is she okay?”
Yerik gave a solemn nod. “The child is well, of course.”
“Where is she?”
“I can’t tell you that?”
“Well who has her?”
The look he gave me answered for him; he couldn’t tell me that, either.
I bit back a sigh of frustration. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I just want to know that she’s safe.”
His dark eyes were unyielding. “She’s safer if
the answers to your questions remain unknown.”
Yerik turned away from me, heading over to the wagon of puppies and ripping off the bars caging them as though the strength of the titans coursed through his thick arms. Gently, he lifted out the puppies one by one, gripping them carefully by the scruffs of their necks and setting them softly on the ground.
I was beside him in a moment. “What are you doing with these pups?” I asked.
Yerik looked at me like this was a stupid question. “What does it look like? I’m freeing them. They haven’t yet been burned and collared.” His eyes went to my throat, where the magical black collar always hung, and then to my shoulder, as if he could see the crescent moon-shaped brand on the other side even beneath the body paint.
“They’ll kill you if they catch you,” I said.
The warrior shrugged. “I guess I better not let them catch me.”
“What are you?” I asked, fully expecting him to tell me that he could not answer this, either.
But he said, “Vamp and Sorcerer.”
Just like his brother Yarin, he was another Halfbreed I had never encountered. So many questions were flying through my mind, but I could hear a clock ticking over our heads. Wherever he was taking these pups, they needed to go. And I needed to return before my absence was noted, though I was pretty sure the entire city of Marisol was as smashed as shattered glass just about now. Still, the longer we stood here, the more risky this precarious situation became.
I glanced at the puppies sitting around him, their pointed ears perked and their little tails already tucked in submission. They were so young, so small. If taken in somewhere safe now, they still stood a chance at a free and happy existence. They’d glimpsed hell, no doubt, but they were fresh enough that there was still time to wipe their slates clean and offer them a life of hope.
For them, it was not too late.
“May the gods travel with you,” I said, and then thanked him earnestly for what he was doing, even if it made me feel complacent and shameful. At least someone was saving the youth of my kind. At least some of them wouldn’t end up as slaves, Dogs, and working ladies.
Yerik hesitated, and I got the feeling he was trying to decide whether or not to tell me something, but then he sighed and looked down at the six pups waiting to be liberated, and gave me a single nod of goodbye.
For a moment, I expected him to gather up the pups in his arms and shoot up into the air, as had his brother. But then the warrior’s brown eyes swirled like orbs of violet vortexes, and he waved a hand that left a purple swirl in the air.
I blinked, and the warrior and six Wolf pups were gone, having disappeared into thin air.
Mind reeling, I shifted back into Wolf form and raced back toward the glow and commotion of the city, which had carried on in celebration without me.
For some unsettling reason, no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was once again being watched, and the only thing I could hope was that if my instincts were correct, the watcher was a friend rather than a foe.
Make no mistake about it—this last encounter could easily cost me my head... or worse. It also made the second time in just as many months that I’d assisted in the escape of slaves. I was certain of only one thing: I was walking a fine line here.
And something told me that sooner rather than later, I would need to make the fall to one side or the other.
29
I was not surprised to find Ryker waiting for me outside of my cave when I returned not too much later that evening. I’d considered heading back into the city to search for Kalene and the others, but my head was spinning with so many thoughts and my adrenaline was pumping so hard that I thought only of some peace and quiet.
A stark reminder of my reality that had come with assisting the escape of those pups, wiping away any appetite for celebration, and I was not in the best of moods as I approached the entrance to the cave and saw the Hound standing there.
“Go away,” I said, moving to shove past him… but he stepped in front of me, blocking the way.
His eyes roamed over me in a slow, proprietary manner, and I glanced down again as I remembered my appearance once more. Scowling, I wished I had not let that old lady paint my body this way. Who needed brutish males leering at them even more than usual? Not me.
Ryker took a few swift steps toward me, closing the distance between us, near enough for me to feel the heat radiating off of him. His blue eyes glittered as his handsome jaw clenched with restraint. “You’re angry,” he said in greeting. “You’re too beautiful to be so angry all the time. You should try a smile.”
This was the absolutely wrong thing to say. In a show of strength I usually reserved for The Ring, I shoved the Hound aside and stalked into the cave, barking at him over my shoulder once again to leave or risk losing his genitals.
Of course, the bastard ignored this and followed me inside.
I was busy lighting a couple of the lanterns that he’d hung upon the cave walls a few weeks ago when Ryker came up behind me, the shadow of his larger form swallowing up that of mine on the wall. His arms slipped around my waist, and I stiffened as his nose nuzzled at my neck.
Where my magical, binding collar hung.
I shoved him away from me again, that burning anger that always blazed within me awakening from its dormancy, matching the flowery flames that were painted all over me. He was a Hound, a slave driver, and an enabler of a vicious tyrant. I had lost my mind in ever becoming intimate with him, and I cursed myself for being so physically driven.
Ryker approached me again, his movements focused and predatory. My hands balled into tight fists at my sides, ready to swing at him should the mood strike me. I’d asked him to leave twice, so as far as I was concerned, he’d earned whatever violence befell him.
“I want lick all of that paint off your body,” Ryker said, and his words slurred just a little, revealing that, like everyone else in this blasted city, he was fully intoxicated. Everyone else, but me, anyway.
I backed up a step. “I will literally rip your tongue out of your mouth if you bring it anywhere near me.”
His handsome face fell a touch in disappointment, and I watched as his temper flared. “Why do you play these games with me, Rook?” he asked.
Despite all the time we’d spent together, it was a very rare occasion when he actually used my name, and as I studied the Hound in his intoxicated state, a small voice inside me whispered that I ought to tread carefully tonight.
But as usual, my mouth got the best of me. “Oh, I’m the one playing games? You can’t be serious. I’m not the one who’s knocking at your cave door every gods damned night, bribing you with wine and meats and forcing you to hang out with me.”
His blue eyes narrowed to slits, that anger elevating ever so slightly. “I never forced you to do anything,” he said.
That was fair enough, but I was in no mood to concede an inch. “Just leave me the fuck alone, then,” I snapped. “Whatever you think this was, it’s over.”
In a voice as cool as the frost that had glazed over is gaze, the Hound said, “Is that really what you want? You want me to leave you the fuck alone?”
My response came as quick as lightning. “Yes,” I snapped. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it before it goes through your thick ass head.”
For the smallest of moments, I was sure that the Hound was going to strike me, as he had surely done to many a Dog in the past. To his credit, he only shook his head and shoved past me, exiting the cave without another word.
He did not visit me again the next night.
Or the next.
Or the next.
The days marched forward, the middle month of summer quickly yielding to the final of the three. The Dogs were back at our grueling training the day following the Mid Summer Solstice, the daylong celebration disappearing into the mist of hindsight.
But memories and thoughts regarding my last interaction with Ryker haunted me, no matt
er how much I cursed myself for even entertaining them. I’d done the right thing. I was sure of it. Well, pretty sure of it, anyway. The whole thing had been doomed from the start, an unsustainable and imprudent situation.
Kalene and Oren were quick to notice the alteration in my mood, as well as my evening routine, but they did not pry or question me on the matter, for which I was eternally grateful. The last thing I wanted to talk with them about was my unhealthy relationship with the Hound. I could just picture the looks of pitying incredulity they would give me.
The Games was the subject on everyone’s lips, along with the mystery of the disappearing pups. Anytime the latter was brought up I would feign indifference while thinking about Yarin and Yerik, about the two occasions I had helped them in freeing enslaved Wolves.
There was no need to explain why this was information that I could not share with anyone, no matter how fond I’d grown of my few companions.
About a week after my breakup with the Hound, Kalene, Oren, Ares and I were sitting in one of Marisol’s many taverns, tossing back cold ones after a long, hot, and grueling day in the sun.
Ares said, “You guys hear about that Seller that got robbed? Three dead Wolves and an estimated half a dozen puppies, vanished in the night… and not too far from here.”
I did my best not to stiffen on my barstool, leaning casually against the tall, circular table that sat between us. Beside me, Kalene rolled her eyes. “Where do you pick up these rumors, Ares?” she asked. “They’re all you care about lately.”
Ares gave her a grin and a wink. “Not all I care about, darling,” he said, and his voice lowered as he leaned across the round table. A spark gleamed in his eyes, his handsome face aglow with mischief. “Besides, we can’t just ignore these things. There’s too much talk, too much evidence, to just call these disappearances or random, unconnected incidents.”
Oren gave me a droll look and then clapped Ares on the shoulder. “Thank you for the brief, Detective Ares. Sounds like you’re on the case.”
