After Tabor had spoon-fed her the last bite of stew, he’d cleared their plates and brought out the last journal to appear on their doorstep. The parchment had crinkled softly as he paged through, head bent over. He’d glanced up from time to time to see his mother’s eyes still glazed over, looking into the fire.
Tabor had thumbed through until he reached a page on immobilizing one’s enemies. He’d stared at that page a long time. Like all the other journals and their entries, this one was handwritten with intrinsic drawings.
Tabor had cleared his throat and said, “Maybe the reason no new journals have appeared is because Lazarus is waiting for me to master the spells in this heaping tome first.”
Like that, his mother had come to. When Tabor looked up she didn’t even blink, simply turned her attention from the fire to him and smiled.
“Yes. That must be it,” she agreed. “That sounds like something your father would do.”
Tabor leaned over the table and flipped through the book until he found the same page he’d landed on that night. He found it about a third of the way into the massive volume. He hadn’t looked at the page since that night in front of the fire with his mother. Now it loomed into focus, conjuring up the kind of memories that twisted inside Tabor’s gut like a rusty knife.
He scooped up the book, cradling it in his arms.
The entry on immobilization included a drawing of a massive brown bear standing on his hind legs, roaring. Heavy charcoal had been used to accent his powerful jaws and shadow his large, curved claws. Bears appeared in a lot of the journal pages, especially in protection spells, which led Tabor to assume the creatures wizards considered threats were a bit different than the enemies wolf shifters worried about. He’d never come across a vulhena on any of the pages.
There were no known cases of bear aggression toward wolf shifters. Run-ins were rare and, while they weren’t friendly, both species respected the others’ boundaries.
There were two drawings of bears on the page Tabor studied. The first showed him standing, the second showed him on the ground, on his side, as though knocked over by an invisible force.
“Ferus matangi. Ferus vonku. Na veigacagaca alle. Khob hostis cov lus no.” Tabor read the spell aloud.
He paced back and forth with the book, repeating the spell until he had it memorized.
He wondered if it would work on a vulhena.
That was the trouble with these damn journals. They explained very little.
Tabor shut the journal with a smack and replaced it on his shelf. He’d look at it again when he had more time.
Outside, he took the pot off the fire then tossed dirt over the flames to put them out. While smoke rose in thin gray wisps, Tabor carried the pot inside gingerly and set it on a flat square of iron on his table to cool while he was on duty.
Night wore on and yet, all too soon, the clanging sound of the gong echoed through the forest.
It was time to guard the den.
Blurry eyed, Tabor skipped the communal breakfast an hour after the full moon to finish up the last stages of the healing potion. He gathered the jars that were ready and packed them carefully inside a satchel. Grabbing another piece of fish jerky, Tabor set off, chewing on the smoked strip as he made his way to camp.
The glade was unusually quiet that morning as he passed by. Everyone must have been tired.
They were fortunate there had never been an attack during the full moon. Even if vulhena tried, they would have had every single wolf shifter on them in an instant.
As for the rabid wolves, Tabor had always wondered if some instincts had remained intact. Perhaps they, too, felt the call of the full moon and its opportunity to procreate.
The thought of rabid wolf pups caused Tabor to shudder. He shook the feeling off and continued to Jager’s hut.
Despite the lack of activity during the full moon, Tabor felt drained. Like the rest of the single shifters, he’d spent a restless night pacing the perimeter of the den, at least the half the males were assigned to. Being around all that testosterone caused a lot of snapping and snarling.
Perhaps that was another reason would-be predators stayed away.
From the female side, there was a lot of howling, which stirred the males up even more.
Then, of course, there was all the mating taking place inside the den, which got all the single shifters on both sides even more riled up.
Tabor was more than ready to be on the other side of things, snug inside the den, starting a family with Sasha.
“Did you bring it?” came a grumbling voice.
Tabor blinked several times to clear his eyes. He hadn’t noticed he’d cleared the remaining distance to Jager’s hut.
The man stood outside his door, arms folded tight, and teeth clenched.
“Got it right here,” Tabor said, patting his satchel.
“Hand it over,” Jager said, arms coming unfolded to reach for the satchel.
“Careful,” Tabor hissed.
Jager’s eyebrows lifted, but he had the good sense to back off.
Tabor crouched over the ground and set the satchel down carefully. He pulled a glass jar out and straightened up.
“There’s more curing,” he said, nodding at the satchel. “Replace the empty jars inside the satchel as you finish them and I’ll switch them out as I make more.”
He held a jar out to Jager, who snatched it out of Tabor’s hand with lightning speed.
“How much do I drink?” he asked, lifting the jar to stare at the purplish liquid inside.
“Two large sips every morning and evening, preferably before you eat.”
Jager removed the lid and took two large gulps. After screwing the lid back on, he grabbed the satchel and limped into his hut. Once the jars of potion were inside, he re-emerged and looked Tabor over with his usual frown.
“When does this stuff start working?” he demanded.
“Give it an hour.”
Jager grumbled under his breath.
Tabor stretched and yawned. When he was finished, he grinned at Jager. “You’ll thank me later.”
Jager’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who should be thanking me. Francine came by before breakfast insisting I switch you and Raider on patrol duty with Sasha. Now I have a headache in addition to all my other pains.” Jager scowled.
Tabor clenched his teeth so hard they felt like they might crack. “You’re not switching us, are you?” he asked in a low voice.
He thought resentfully of the jars of potion Jager had squirreled away inside his hut. Tabor wasn’t brutish enough to storm inside and raid the elder’s humble home if he backed out of their agreement. But Jager wasn’t so easily cowed.
“Of course not!” he snapped, as though gravely insulted. “That little busybody of Palmer’s doesn’t decide pairings, I do. And what do you think would happen if I allowed a change to take place after I’d selected pairs? I’ll tell you what,” Jager said, wagging a leathery finger at Tabor. “Then everyone would want to make changes after every pairing. As if I don’t have enough aggravation to deal with.”
Tabor glanced up thoughtfully. “I can see how that would cause problems. I think that is wise to stick with your decisions.”
“Of course it’s wise,” Jager snapped.
Too bad there wasn’t something Tabor could add to the potion to help the grumpy elder’s mood in addition to his aches.
Tabor took a step back. “Well, I best head off for duty.”
He turned and started down the path, but before he got away, Jager called out after him. “Wait.”
With a sinking heart, Tabor turned around. He wanted to get out of there before Jager had a change of heart after all.
When Tabor faced the elder, he found him grinning, which looked a bit scary on the grizzled old man’s face. As Tabor waited for whatever i
t was Jager planned to say, the old man’s smile widened enough to show yellowed teeth. Tabor forced himself not to grimace at the sight.
“It’s working,” Jager said eagerly. “The cramp in my foot is gone.” His eyes lit up, making him appear insanely cheerful. He rubbed his thick hands together. “I think I’ll take a stroll over to the den this afternoon, check on the happy mates . . . see if any of the females have that special glow about them.” Jager winked several times. “I wonder how many new pups the hollow will gain after last night.”
When Jager flashed his yellow teeth yet again, Tabor decided perhaps he preferred the old man’s scowls; a jubilant Jager was slightly disturbing.
That evening, as they stood in line for dinner, chatting side by side, Tabor felt as though nothing could get him down, not even Zackary’s menacing glare from across the clearing. The big hairy goon would end up with muscle spasms if he kept his jaw clenched all evening. At least Zackary steered clear of Tabor. He’d kept himself scarce ever since Rebecca raged into camp and had to be put down.
Better a wizard for a father than a mad wolf, Tabor thought. He might have felt sorry for Zackary if he weren’t such a dick.
Tabor wasn’t the only one in a good mood. The sound of chuckling drifted from the front of the line where Jager dished up his stew beside Palmer.
“. . . then this crow comes down to steal berries. So Melissa’s oldest pup shifts and tries to attack it. Well, that crow flew up right over him and pecked his head, sent the pup howling across the den.”
Gravelly laughter erupted from Jager’s lips.
Tabor felt Sasha’s stare.
“Are you responsible for that?” she asked, amusement lacing her words.
Tabor leaned close to her ear. “Looks like the potion kicked in.”
Sasha breathed out heavily and shook her head. “Without the pain, he’s like a completely different person.”
“Speaking of mood shifts,” Tabor said softly, leaning even closer. “You’re like a whole new woman lately. I wonder what’s caused this change.” Tabor feigned cluelessness, staring up as though in search of an answer.
Sasha chuckled. “Not a what so much as a whom.”
“Oh, really? And who is this elusive shifter?” Tabor asked, nuzzling Sasha’s hair. He was pleased to see she didn’t pull away even after what she’d said yesterday about keeping things private. Instead, she flashed him a cheeky smile and stared at him as though he was the only shifter around for thousands of miles.
When they reached the cauldron, Tabor jumped ahead and grabbed the serving spoon.
“Allow me,” he said.
Sasha made a sound halfway between a huff and a laugh. She held her bowl near the edge of the cauldron and let Tabor dish her up.
“I’ll find us a log,” Sasha said.
After spooning stew into his bowl, Tabor handed the large wooden utensil to the shifter next in line. Several pairs of eyes gaped at him.
Once he’d turned away from the cauldron and looked around camp, he spotted Sasha on the other end of the clearing taking a seat on the ground in front of a log and using the trunk as a backrest.
As he made his way to her, he heard whispers. They traveled alongside him like a leaf floating along a river current.
“. . . but did you see the way . . .” Tabor heard as he passed Camilla, Olivia, and Rosalie, who pressed together on a log.
“Not a chance,” Rosalie said.
Camilla gave a throaty chuckle. “I told you he’s a good hump. He even got between Miss Pureblood’s legs.”
Tabor tightened his grip on his bowl and ground his teeth. He needed to focus on Sasha, who watched his approach with a warm smile. Either she was oblivious to the whispers and stares or she didn’t give two shits.
Unfortunately, Tabor had always been sensitive to pack members talking behind his back.
When he sat on the ground beside Sasha, he forced a smile.
Sasha set her bowl aside and studied him for several seconds before giving him a firm shove.
Tabor nearly fell over. “What was that for?” he asked moodily, rubbing his shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be posturing rather than sulking?” Sasha’s eyes glinted as she stuck her chin out in the direction of the shifters seated around the glade.
Apparently she wasn’t oblivious to the gossip they’d stirred up.
She lifted her chest, breasts rising beneath her sundress, as though to demonstrate the stance Tabor ought to take.
“I’m a good catch, you know,” Sasha said. “You should be proud.” There was silent laughter on her lips. Tabor had half a mind to kiss it away.
“And I thought I was the one with the ego,” he said.
When Sasha smiled at him, the whispers tapered off and disappeared like dark smoke on a gust of wind. Sasha blew away his concerns and ignited a fire inside him. His feelings for her could never be snuffed out. They burned brighter every day.
Tabor might have postured more if he didn’t care so damn much about her. With love came fear. The fear of losing her. The fear of being forced apart.
Until they claimed one another, they had a duty to put the pack first, but Tabor’s loyalties had already shifted to a single female. There would be no new patrol partner at the end of this moon cycle, only Sasha when they officially became mates.
chapter eleven
The promise of new life would have helped lift morale within the pack. Yet, three weeks after the full moon, none of the females in the den were experiencing any telltale symptoms of being with child.
Francine remained the only pregnant female, though she almost seemed unwilling to let her pup into the world. She was past due and crankier than Jager before he began taking Tabor’s potions.
As Sasha walked into camp, she heard Francine snarling at Amber, “How come these bowls were never washed?”
Francine pointed at a stack of roughly five bowls beside a log.
The color drained from Amber’s face as she stared wide-eyed at Francine.
“I’m sorry, Francine. I didn’t see them. They must have been used last night after I left.”
“That’s why you should get here earlier,” Francine snapped. “Now clear those up.”
Amber bent down and grabbed the bowls. As she clutched them against her chest and hurried away, Francine hollered, “Where are you going?”
Amber turned halfway, not facing Francine.
“To the river to clean these.”
Francine gave a gruff snarl of impatience. “I said clear them, not clean them. Breakfast is starting and people need to eat before patrol. Make sure there’s enough food in the cauldron, but first put those bowls aside,” Francine barked as Amber started toward the fire.
Amber’s body jerked as she turned in circles from the river, to the cauldron, and now to the baskets placed on a bench beneath the trees.
A few shifters milled around the edges of camp.
Sasha had arrived earlier than usual driven by hunger, another side effect of her daily exertions with Tabor.
Once the porridge was ready, she dished up a bowl and ate standing, finishing the last bits as Trish slumped into the clearing, dark circles beneath her eyes. She approached the cauldron wearily.
Sasha waved her in front. “I’ve already had a first helping,” she said. “You go ahead.”
“Thank you,” Trish said.
“Are you still unwell?” Sasha asked, frowning. The female shifter had looked bright and healthy following the full moon, as though she’d never been unwell in the first place. Then two weeks into the new patrol, Trish had taken ill. She’d spent the week resting, but the poor girl looked exhausted.
“I’m perfectly fine, thanks,” Trish said, forcing a smile. “It’s my stomach is all. Been giving me all kinds of trouble in the morning, but that’s normal.”
It sounded the opposite of normal to Sasha, but before she could question Trish further, Francine barreled over, dished up a bowl of steaming grains, and set it in Trish’s hands.
“Try this. It’s bland and should stick with you.” Francine sounded almost maternal. Perhaps this was practice before her pup arrived.
“I hope so,” Trish said.
Francine folded her arms and rested them above her belly, watching Trish as she walked slowly to a stump and sat down.
“You’re being nice to her,” Sasha remarked.
Francine’s gaze shifted to Sasha. “I told you I care about Trish.”
“I see that.”
It hadn’t taken long for Francine to return her focus to Trish, who scooped out small bits of porridge and sucked it off her fingers.
Sasha dished another heaping scoop into her bowl and sat down on a log to eat her second helping. If she weren’t so famished, she would have waited to eat with Tabor.
As more shifters arrived, a line formed in the center of the clearing leading up to the cauldron. Raider and Kallie emerged from one of the wooded trails together.
Good, maybe those two had formed a bond on duty. It would make things easier for Sasha if Raider claimed someone before she brought up Tabor with the council. She watched the pair head toward the line, but although they walked side by side, there were still a couple feet between them.
The sound of retching pulled Sasha’s attention away.
Trish leaned over the bushes, her body heaving as she lost her breakfast.
Morning meals were always quieter than evening, but everyone in the clearing went extra still as all eyes turned to Trish.
Francine hurried over. Once Trish had finished emptying her stomach, Francine escorted her out of the clearing toward the river. As soon as they were gone the whispers started up. Sasha didn’t need to hear the speculations to understand Trish’s condition.
Wolf Hollow (Wolf Hollow Shifters, Book 1) Page 14
