“What do you want?” she asked.
Zackery stood frozen on the path, staring awkwardly at the ground one moment, then at the trees the next. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” The moment their eyes met he looked away.
“Clearly you did,” Sasha felt like snapping at him, but the distress on his face made her pause.
He wrung his hands, head bent.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
A hot, festering day passed. The full moon came and went on a farewell of moonbeams that stretched through the trees but couldn’t quite reach Tabor at the bottom of the pit where his wolf paced restlessly. He shifted from time to time, only to test his throat. As soon as he could speak in a low rasp, he whispered the words of a levitation spell, but his body didn’t rise an inch off the ground.
Tabor shifted back and returned to circling the pit. Voices halted him in his tracks. Humans. The fur rose on his back, his ears went back, and his lip curled in a silent snarl.
“What have we got over there, Casey?” a man yelled.
“Footprints coming in—all male—and paw prints going out. Looks like shifters came through,” a voice answered from farther off.
“And left behind a burning fire?” a third male voice asked.
A long, narrow head appeared and disappeared above the pit, reappearing with lightning speed. The male’s mouth gaped open as he looked down. Tabor growled.
“Uh, guys? There’s a wolf in the pit.” He continued staring at Tabor with his bloodshot eyes and blistered nose and cheeks.
“A wolf in the pit?”
Soon, four faces were peering down at him.
“How did he get in there?” a tall, younger man asked.
“He certainly didn’t climb down on his own,” the shortest man of the bunch snapped. He was also the oldest and the loudest. He reminded Tabor of Garrick, which made him jerk his face up snarling and snapping at the human. The man didn’t even blink. “He looks strong. Hawk will be happy.”
“Hawk wants us to find Cujo.”
“Yeah? Well, this is the next best thing and we didn’t even have to trap him ourselves.”
“Why would someone leave him here and signal us?”
“Two someones from the look of the tracks. Three came in and two went out.”
“Maybe he did something to anger his pack.”
Their conversation whipped by in a flurry that Tabor strained to follow.
The first man to stumble upon Tabor rubbed his hand over his chin, fingers brushing over his bright red cheek. “Maybe he’s dangerous.”
“We’re dangerous, dude,” the tall one said, lifting a small firearm off the ground.
Tabor’s fangs snapped together, which was exactly what he wanted to do once he got the man’s wrist between his jaws.
The oldest man smiled, eyes glinting. “We want the dangerous ones. Put that gun down, Duke.” The young beanpole of a human lowered the weapon. The older man leaned his head over the edge, never taking his eyes off Tabor. “Hey, wolfy wolf. Why don’t you show us your human side so we can have a little conversation?” Tabor’s lips drew back, but the man continued his cool, calm speech. “Clearly your pack mates don’t value you, but we do. You’re just the kind of shifter we’re looking for, and in return for your services we offer food and shelter, in addition to the opportunity to make something of yourself.”
“And bitches,” the tall, younger one said eagerly. “Don’t forget the bitches.”
The older man’s smile widened. “You like bitches, wolf?”
Tabor growled.
“I don’t speak wolf, but I think that was a ‘yes,’ wouldn’t you say, boys?” The older one looked at the others, who grinned back. The youngest nodded. “Now how about you man up and show us what you got beneath all that fur?” Tabor’s answering snarl merely made the man laugh. His eyelids pinched together as his chest shook. “You’re not coming out of there until you shift. Boys, looks like we’re setting up camp. Casey, keep a lookout on the desert.”
“Roger that.” One of the heads disappeared.
“Rusty, check the snares and see what we’ve got for lunch.”
The one with the red nose and cheeks nodded and left.
The older man glanced down one last time. “When you’re ready to come out, give us a shout—in English. Until then, no food or water.”
“And no bitches,” the tall one taunted, eyebrows jumping.
Once Tabor heard all four men move far enough away from the pit, he shifted and sat with his back against the compact wall and took a moment to process the swarm of words swimming across his mind.
One thing he knew for certain: he was in deep shit.
He needed his voice back, and not to call out to the humans, but to get himself the hell out of there and back to the wilds.
“What a delightful bunch of pricks,” Tabor whispered, testing his voice. Words still scraped up his throat and rasped through his lips.
He looked forward to talking with the humans. His words would knock them right over. Perhaps he’d throw them all in the pit while they were unconscious and wait for them to wake so they could have that conversation they were so intent on. They wouldn’t know what hit them. Were they even aware of wizards? Tabor would make sure they didn’t live long enough to spread the word.
Tabor shifted and was able to sit still—patient and alert—now that his wolf had switched to hunting mode.
At midday, Tabor smelled fire soon joined by roasting rabbit. Saliva gathered in his throat and dripped onto the ground. Half starved and cranky, he resumed pacing, throwing angry glances at the opening above. When footsteps approached, he snarled in warning. The young one looked down as he chewed loudly on a chunk of roasted meat.
“There’s more if you want it.” He spoke with his mouthful. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”
Tabor’s growls rose up the pit like a tsunami exploding from the depths of an ocean.
The human took a step back, gaping, then swiftly disappeared only to return moments later, dangling a dead rabbit over the opening above the pit. The animal had been dead for several days and stank of rot, but Tabor would have gladly eaten it.
“You want it?” the young man asked, shaking the rabbit by the neck over the edge.
“Why don’t you step closer?” Tabor thought with a gleeful smile.
“Duke!” the older man bellowed. “Leave him alone. He’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”
Duke lowered the rabbit, letting it hang limp at his side, and looked down with a scrunched face. He stuck out his tongue then walked away.
As the day wore on, Tabor became more restless. What if Garrick had caused permanent damage to his throat? He growled in frustration, keeping his shifts to a minimum to preserve his senses and home in on the humans’ activities throughout the day.
During the short times Tabor did shift, he tested his voice in whispers, sitting with his back pressed against the earthen wall.
“Ferus matangi. Ferus vonku. Na veigacagaca alle. Khob formella cov lus no.” Tabor repeated the spell in his head over and over again until he was certain he could say it in his sleep.
While he paced, the fire burned out, taking with it the tantalizing scent of roasted rabbit.
Someone burped and laughed.
“Rusty, go check on Casey,” the older man said. “Duke, help me set up the tents. We might be here a while.”
The men didn’t talk a whole lot while they moved around and waited.
On the next shift into his human form, Tabor noticed with excitement that his throat felt a lot better.
“Ferus matangi.” This time there was no rasp in his whisper. “Ferus vonku.” Still no rasp. “Na veigacagaca alle. Khob formella cov lus no,” Tabor said louder. He grinned to himself, got to his feet, and called out. “Hey, dickhea
ds, I’m ready to talk.”
Muffled voices were followed by a sharp, piercing whistle then silence. Soon, footsteps came crashing through the forest.
“He’s ready to talk,” the older man said.
The group circled the edge of the pit and four pairs of eyes stared down at Tabor.
The older man wore a pleased smile as comfortably as an old shirt. “Tall and muscular,” he noted.
“And I’ve got a big cock too,” Tabor said, swinging it around. “You said something earlier about bitches.”
The one called Duke snorted. “I think I might actually like this one—as a human, that is. I don’t much care for his wolf snapping at me.”
The oldest one held up a rope, coiled in his fist. “I’ll toss down one end, but here’s how it works. If you shift, we shoot.” He nodded at the one called Casey, who lifted his firearm for show.
“I won’t shift.” Tabor grinned. “Promise.”
“A wise decision,” the oldest one said. “Glad to be dealing with a shifter whose got brains for a change.”
Tabor’s grin widened. He had a brain all right—and spells swarming inside it, ready to be unleashed on these miserable wretches.
The older man loosened the rope, allowing it to unravel to the ground at his feet above Tabor’s head. Tabor moistened his lips in anticipation and began reaching his hands out when a shout stopped him cold.
“Tabor!”
Sasha’s voice echoed through the forest and tunneled down the pit, nearly knocking Tabor off his feet.
The men glanced at one another quickly.
“The desert was clear a moment ago,” Casey said.
“Probably just some loony woman who got separated from her man,” Duke offered.
“Maybe.” The older man chewed on the inside of his cheek, staring down at Tabor thoughtfully. “Or maybe she’s come for him.”
Casey frowned. “Doesn’t make sense that she’d wander in on two legs if she has a set of four.”
“True,” the old man said, shoulders relaxing slightly. He glanced at Tabor. “Hang tight there, champ, while we take care of the lady.”
Duke rubbed his hands together. “Sorry, bucko, we got dibs on the real women.”
Tabor’s throat tightened in dread as the men disappeared from view. What the hell was Sasha doing here? Couldn’t she leave well enough alone?
No, of course not, the stubborn pure-blooded female always had to do what she felt was right even when that meant throwing herself directly into danger. Unlike the vulhena, these men could take Sasha down from yards away with a single well-aimed bullet.
With no time to spare, Tabor rushed out the words of his levitation spell and was thrown back against the opposite wall of the pit. Upon impact, the air was knocked out of his lungs and he fell face first onto the ground, muscles groaning in misery. He tried the spell laying down and was lifted upward, but halfway up the pit he whooshed back down and hit the ground with a whomp. At least he was making progress.
The small forest park had gone silent. If the humans hadn’t heard her, too, Tabor would have thought he’d imagined Sasha calling for him. There had been no shouts or gunshots. He still had time to get out and find Sasha before the heathens did. Maybe if he jumped up at the same time he said the spell he’d have better luck. Even if he didn’t make it all the way, he just needed to get high enough to grasp hold of the ledge.
Tabor bent his knees, preparing to jump when a soft whisper tickled his ears.
“Tabor.”
His head shot up and eyes found Sasha’s, crouched naked at the pit’s edge, leaning over, concern wrinkling her forehead.
“Quick,” she said, tossing over the end of the rope.
Tabor caught it and rushed at the wall, bare feet scraping against the packed dirt and bedrock as his fists gripped the rope and he pulled himself up one step at a time. Adrenaline fueled him. It was all he had left after three days without food or water. His arms strained and the thick rope bit into Tabor’s palms, rubbing them raw, but he didn’t pause in his climb to freedom and the she-wolf waiting above ground. As his head breeched the opening, Sasha grabbed his arms, helping pull him out the rest of the way with surprising strength. She’d tied the other end of the rope around the trunk of a nearby tree.
As soon as Tabor was on his feet, Sasha reached for his hand. He snatched it away before her fingers could touch his. Sasha’s mouth hung open and she blinked at him in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” Tabor demanded, keeping his voice low.
“Zackery told me what happened. I ran here as quickly as I could.”
“Why? ’Cause you’re in a hurry to get back to Wolfrik?” Tabor clenched his jaw.
“Now’s not the time,” Sasha hissed. “I came here for you and if you can’t see—”
“Well, well, well. Look at what we have here.”
Sasha’s sentence was cut short by the sound of the tall, gangly guy’s amused voice.
Tabor cursed himself for wasting precious seconds lobbing accusations at Sasha. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d kept his trap shut anyway. Duke must have been waiting, crouched patiently behind the nearest bush.
The color drained from Sasha’s face as Duke took slow, cautious steps toward them—a slight limp in his left leg, and firearm aimed at Sasha. Tabor stepped in front of her, but Sasha moved to his side, narrowing her eyes at the approaching human.
“I thought I was wasting my time when Boss said to double back and keep an eye on the pit, but looks like it’s my lucky day.” His eyes narrowed to slits and the hand holding the gun shook. “I want the rest of my thigh back, bitch.”
Tabor’s heart thudded against his chest. He looked from Duke to Sasha, his mouth gaping open.
One brow raised, Duke grinned maliciously. “She didn’t tell you about the time we tussled? She’s got nice tits, I’ll give you that, but she’s one nasty bitch.” Duke spit on the ground, eyes still glued to Sasha, gun aimed. “She the reason you ended up here?” Duke asked. “Yeah, I bet. She looks like trouble—the kind that will get a man maimed or killed . . . or thrown into a pit.”
When Tabor made no answer, Duke’s smile stretched.
“Where I come from, the bitches know how to bend over and submit to a man’s cock. Hell, they beg for it.”
“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Sasha said, leaping toward Duke.
The gun exploded and Sasha screamed. At first Tabor thought he’d been hit—why else would it feel as though his heart had ruptured? But it was terror that blasted through him; the gun had been aimed at Sasha.
Her teeth were gritted and her eyes squeezed closed as she pressed her palms against her thigh. Blood slipped between her fingers and streaked down her leg. It filled Tabor’s eyes the way storm clouds covered a blue sky, turning it dark with threats of lightning and ground-shaking thunder. Despite the tempest building inside him, Tabor had never felt calmer.
He walked toward Duke, feeding off the boy’s sudden wide-eyed look of fright.
“Formella lavita.” Tabor spoke in a calm, even voice, flicking his wrist at Duke’s hand.
The gun flew out of the boy’s fingers and landed twelve feet away. Duke scrambled to get to it but was halted in his tracks by the next spell that rolled off Tabor’s tongue like a tornado.
“What the fuck?” Duke said in alarm.
Howls rose from the treetops, followed by vicious snarls and human screams. Tabor glanced at Sasha, who kept both hands pressed to her thigh.
“I didn’t come alone,” she said between her teeth.
It didn’t take long for the screams to die off and triumphant howls to go up. These died down, replaced by an uneasy howl that called out for answer.
Tabor raised his brows.
“Keep him still a little longer,” Sasha said. She winced and lowered her bod
y to the ground gingerly. The moment she let go of her leg, blood gushed from the open wound and flowed past her knee. It would close up once she shifted, but they’d need to dig it out when she returned to her human form.
Duke watched transfixed as she got on her hands and knees then started to shake as she shifted. His eyes flew to Tabor.
“Please,” he begged. “Don’t let her—” Duke screamed.
Sasha cut off his words with her snarl. In two swift leaps, she knocked him onto his back and tore out his throat. Duke’s body went limp mid-scream. Giving the body one final violent shake, Sasha released Duke’s neck as though his flesh were poisoned. Blood dripped from her fangs, glistening in the sun.
Spots appeared over Tabor’s vision and he rocked unsteadily on legs that bowed like branches carrying heavy fruit. His head felt too heavy for his body and his throat was too dry to swallow.
Stumbling toward the pond, dizziness overcame Tabor, but he pressed on. He’d made it this far. He’d gotten out of the pit and disarmed the human. Sasha was hurt, but he couldn’t help her if he fainted. She trotted beside him, giving a little whine of concern as he staggered along the trail, feet dragging over the cracked and compact earth.
As soon as Tabor reached the pond’s edge he fell in face-first—a terrific splash spraying water on either side of his body before swallowing him whole.
chapter twenty-four
Sasha sat on her haunches at the pond’s edge and whined as she waited for Tabor to resurface. The seconds plodded along like foraging ants on the long march back to their nest until the moment Tabor broke through the surface in a cascade of droplets raining down from his nose, chin, and wet hair.
Sasha wagged her tail and watched him dunk his head under again. He rose up and splashed more water over his face, exhaling with pleasure.
The howls of her pack mates sounded closer, but Sasha didn’t answer—they found her soon enough. Aden whipped through the tall grass, slowing to a trot when he saw her. He was followed by Emerson, Peter, and Zackery bringing up the rear. One by one they shifted as they reached the water’s edge. When Zackery stood, Tabor’s head snapped up and his muscles corded. “You son of a bitch,” he bellowed, pointing a finger at Zackery.
Wolf Hollow (Wolf Hollow Shifters, Book 1) Page 28
