by Patti Larsen
Hungary lies on the other side. Perhaps I’d be smarter to use the Slovenian crossing. But we are here, now, and I must make a choice.
“Can we do it?” Sage’s whisper carries to my ear, barely a breath of sound. He knows how to keep his voice down.
“I think so.” I sit back on my haunches, looking up at the sky. It’s almost dark again. I want to be over the border before Isabelle and Maks return. I know my werefriend will hunt us, though the travel on the train will hamper his task. Still, if we can reach Hungary, I can steal a car or hitch on another train and cover huge distance before they can figure out where we’ve gone.
The jeep pauses by the fence, two soldiers emerging with machine guns. One steps behind the vehicle and relieves himself, steam rising from his stream. I chew my lower lip as the second lights a cigarette, calls out a joke in Hungarian I barely understand, my translation skills rusty. His friend laughs. When they step back into the jeep and drive off, I exhale in relief.
Not a border patrol, per se. Just a quick look by a pair of soldiers. Our chances have just improved.
“Stay low,” I say, slinking into the tall grass. Sage follows as I slip across the thirty feet to the fence and look around. Nothing, no cameras, no guards and the fence itself isn’t electrified. In fact, it’s rusting in places, easy enough to make a hole rather than being forced to scale it. With Sage’s shoulder the way it is, I’m not sure he could climb.
The wire cutters are cold in my hand as I work on the fence. Sage stares in awe.
“Where did you get those?”
I shrug as the first links part with a soft twang in the dying light. “Stole them in the last town,” I say.
Sage’s frown hurts me.
“We’re on the run,” I say. “You wanted me to find a store and buy some?”
He hesitates and shakes his head at last. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re right. They’re just cutters.”
He has no idea this is going to be the least of our criminal activities. Though it’s odd he cares I stole a pair of wire cutters when he’s made no complaint about hitching free rides on train cars. I’ll consider his skewed sense of morality later.
I slip through the hole I’ve made, careful not to catch my pack on the broken links. Sage joins me, deft and as sure as I am in movement. If I’m to run with anyone, he’s an excellent choice, at least. If only his issues don't get in the way of our success.
We run toward the trees on the other side of the border, feet pounding a moment over the hard-packed concrete road. The rumble of a jeep engine returning pushes me harder, but we are safely inside the woods before the lights of the vehicle flash behind us. I keep running, exhilarated by the experience, knowing I shouldn’t be enjoying myself. But the wolf in me loves this, the chase, even if she’s the one being pursued and I can’t help but embrace her enthusiasm.
This is how I’m meant to be, the life I’m supposed to live. I’ve been trained for this, to endure constant threat, the steady pressure of tension, the protective instincts to watch over the one I serve filling me with satisfaction. And no, Sage isn’t exactly a bonded client. But it feels the same, in many ways.
How can I ever go back to living in a shining palace with everything done for me? I snort in my head as we run. I may never have to worry about that again, considering what I’ve done. Death could wait for me on my return. Or imprisonment. So my reticence over being queen of the werenation may be unfounded from here on in.
I shake my head. Oleksander won’t let that happen. He’ll find a way to stuff me into a coronation dress with a giant crown on my head and chain me to the throne with a weremate and a pack of whining cubs to continue the Moreau family line forever.
I’m grateful when lights sparkle ahead, needing the distraction from the morose image I’ve created of my future. The next town greets us, the sky now full dark. As we walk its streets to the other side, I realize there is no train station. I ponder our options as we circle around the outlying homes, though my mind is made up for me when the distant sound of a siren goes off, followed by the pressure of Enforcer magic coming closer.
A small house at the far end of town is dark and quiet. Their little car hunches in the driveway, just begging for an adventure of its own. Sage keeps pace with me, though he stops when I test the driver’s side door and find it open. I’m already checking for keys when he hisses in my ear, looming in the opening like a thick shadow.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I push him back. “Get in, and hurry up about it.”
Sage moves slowly, more slowly than I’d like when a flip down of the visor rewards me with a key. It’s an old Volvo, clunky and cranky, but the engine fires up the moment I turn the key and, fortunately, the house beside stays dark. If we can just get away before the owners wake…
Sage stands outside the passenger door, immobile once again. I lean sideways, fury firing my muscles, and push the door open. It slams into him before he can catch it.
“Get. In.” I show him my wolf. He scrambles to obey as my eyes flare with power, though from the anguished expression on his face, he’d rather be anywhere than here. For that matter, so would I, but he just has to deal with it.
I drive away, moving slowly through the lower gears with the headlights dark, though I want to press the gas to the floor. The shift creaks a bit, but the car responds well and we’re soon trundling down the road. I glance back, see the house behind is still cloaked in black and thank the Universe for our good fortune. Sage hugs his bag in the passenger’s seat, scowling, looking straight ahead. I punch him lightly on the shoulder, only then remembering his wound and wincing as he flinches from the blow.
“Don’t shut me out,” I say. “Or judge me, Sage. Nothing matters to me, nothing but keeping you alive. And I will murder, steal and fight to the death to make sure you are okay. Is that understood?”
He doesn’t respond at first, still rigid. I snap my teeth together at him, my wolf’s irritation showing while I finally turn on the headlights and push down on the gas pedal.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’ll drag you, kicking and screaming, if I have to. Mark my words.”
Sage exhales heavily and nods. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet. “But I can’t help it, Charlotte. I’m not this kind of person.”
And I am? Yes, I am. What does that make me to him? And mean for us?
He reaches out, takes my hand. “Don’t think I’m not grateful,” he says. “And I have no idea what kind of horrible life you’ve led that this is normal for you. Or possible.”
I wish I could shake off the pity in his voice. I don’t need or want it. “Be happy I’m who I am,” I say. “Or you’d be dead already.”
“I’m very grateful,” he says, sitting back head turned to the passenger window. “But I wish it was different.”
He’s quiet a long time and I hold my peace, fighting for calm. This could turn into a fight, and we don’t have time to argue. The last thing I need is to battle Sage every step when I’m just trying to save him.
Sage finally turns back to me, cheeks pink in the light of the dash. “So we’re in Hungary,” he says. His entire tone, being, scent, everything tells me he doesn’t want to fight, either. I relax a little and nod.
“We have papers and money,” I say. “We should be fine if we don't draw the attention of the Enforcers.” And the hunting werewolves. I know Caine must be still seeking us, too. “We’ll ditch this car in a few hours and find another train to take us to Switzerland.” I add another layer of muffling to the shields I’ve built, the reminder all I need to add to our magic protections. It feels odd to suppress my power. I spent so many years out of control, when I was still a slave of the Black Souls. Syd’s gift has been incredible, but this trip down memory lane makes me nervous.
“Charlie,” Sage says, voice soft and careful. “I barely know anything about you, and I’m only just now realizing it.”
Why does he have to bring this up
? “Not much to tell,” I say, hoping my gruff tone will shut him down.
No such luck. Sage is relentless when he wants something, though, as usual, he’s gentle about it. “Your grandfather,” he says, “the king. He wasn’t always a king, was he?”
How does he know anything? I told him a bit when I explained his situation, but nothing of our past as a werenation.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
“It does to me.” Sage’s hands tighten on the straps of his bag, still perched in his lap as though he’s ready to run at any second, moving car or not. “A lot.”
Sage’s jaw tightens. I catch his stubborn reaction out of the corner of my eye and scowl right back. “When you’re safe,” I say, doing my best to keep my mind from exploring my past on its own. “We’ll talk and I’ll tell you what I can.”
He draws a breath and I know he’s going to argue. We’re going to fight after all. But no. He turns away again.
“Fine,” he says. “I’m holding you to that.”
We drive on into the quiet darkness while I dread that distant conversation and vow to find a way to hide everything I’ve been through from him if it’s the last thing I do.
***
Chapter Seven
I pull over in a small town for gas, and at a late-night deli for food. There is no hostel, and I’m just as glad. Stopping right now will only put us in unnecessary danger.
We park in an abandoned farmyard to eat and have a quick rest, the hulking, empty house shadowing us from sight. Sage devours his food as quickly as he had before, though he seems more aware and less savage about it. I allow a few hours to close my eyes in the shelter of the empty home and crumbling outbuildings. We probably shouldn’t stop, but I have to catch rest when I can. I can’t burn out until I’ve found what I’m looking for.
A solid five hours of sleep does me a world of good, though I shudder at the black holes of the home’s dark windows, feeling as though it’s watching us, waiting to see what we’ll do. Abandoned places have always given me the creeps, reminding me of years of loneliness I’ll never get back.
Sage wakes when I do, finishing the last of my half-eaten meal as I fire up the engine and drive off again. I think about his demand, his desire to know of my past, what made me as I am. And shudder from ever telling him. How could he possibly understand the things I was forced to endure, to do, to survive my youth and young adulthood at the hands of the Dumonts? He would never be able to cope. Never. Then again, am I not giving him enough credit? He loves me for who I am. Still loves me now, though I’ve led him to the brink of his death, to danger and life as a fugitive. It’s possible Sage would simply accept and I could finally talk to someone about the past without fear.
Maybe someday. Maybe. For now, he loves me, yes. But he’s with me because he has to be. Because without me, he’d be dead. I can’t trust I’m his first choice until this is all over and he’s healed. If he still wants me, isn’t pressured into a life with me, perhaps then I’ll consider it. But in this time and place, telling him won’t solve anything, and could drive him away.
If I were him, I wouldn’t be anywhere near me, knowing what I know about what I’ve done.
Dawn breaks lovely over the eastern horizon. Morning finds us nearing the Austrian border and I finally relent when Sage looks longingly out the window at a town appearing in the distance. We need to get out and stretch our legs anyway, and we’ve come so far so quickly I’m fairly confident we’re safe for the moment.
The little border town is just outside Sopron, a small collection of stone-built homes and little shops on a picturesque main street. Sage steps out and immediately turns on his heel, a grin on his face. He hasn’t smiled or spoken much since last night’s conversation, so I find his sudden enthusiasm encouraging.
“I smell meat.” He drifts toward the door of a deli and I follow him, eyes scanning the street. I really need to dump this car as soon as possible. It’s morning, and the owners will certainly have it declared stolen by now.
I’m slow to follow Sage inside, but when I hear his growl, I run for the half-open door. The butcher stands behind the counter, face white as old ash, hands trembling around his cleaver as Sage leans over the counter, trying to grab the raw meat on the slab.
I have to risk using power, slamming it into Sage to knock him back. He spins on me, eyes a wolf’s, hands curving into claws, though not fully transformed. I pin him with magic, mind locking on his.
ENOUGH. I’m his dominant and his wolf knows it. It retreats while Sage staggers, hand pressing to his forehead where beads of sweat stand out. The butcher stares at us while I struggle with what to do, what to say.
“Sorry,” I offer with a weak smile. “He’s a bit of an animal when he’s hungry.”
Oh, Charlotte.
The butcher tries to smile, licking his lips nervously as my magic encourages him to forget what he saw, chalk it up to his imagination. My wolf whispers to him while my heart pounds with worry. All this power use is going to draw attention.
We have to get out of here.
I lead Sage toward the door as the butcher relaxes, shrugs and goes back to work, though still shaken. Sage fights me when I drag him out onto the street, shaking him a little.
“Pull it together,” I snarl in his ear.
“Starving,” he pants back at me.
“I know.” I feel his hunger, the blood lust of his rising wolf. “I’ll find you something. But we have to go now.”
Sage whimpers, but returns to himself. “Sorry,” he says. “Charlie, I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head, leading him to the car. “It’s not your fault,” I say, in pain for him. “This is my fault.”
“Funny,” a familiar voice says, “you’re not the only one blaming yourself for this mess.”
I look up with a gasp to find my sorcerer friend—and one time mate possibility—Piers Southway, leaning casually against the bonnet of our stolen car with his arms crossed over his chest. His gray longcoat is dusty at the hem and he has a bruise on one high cheekbone. But his grin is as jaunty as ever, if tight with bitterness, shining blond hair hanging over one narrow shoulder.
“Piers.” I breathe his name, panic rising all over again. “Please, you have to let us go.”
He stands, arms falling to his sides. A hint of sadness flickers across his face before he comes to my side, touches my cheek. Sage growls at him, but Piers ignores the threat.
“I’m here to help,” he says.
“I used magic.” I tug Sage toward the car. “The Enforcers will track it.”
“They would,” Piers says with a grin, “if I didn’t get here first and use sorcery to block it.”
I could kiss him, right there in the street, but Sage is between us, glaring at Piers. I know it’s not him, it’s the wolf rising in him, but it’s enough of a distraction to hold me back.
“Thank you,” I say. And hesitate. “You want us to go to Austria?” The border is a short skip away, though Castle Wilhelm is not on my list of tourist stops.
Piers shakes his head, opening the passenger door for me. “The vampire plan was a terrible one,” he says. “They will know you’re with Sunny the moment you set foot at Wilhelm.”
Leave it to Piers to agree with me. “Then what?” I’m used to working on my own, but having him here makes me feel better. Guilt over that when I’m still holding Sage in my arms makes my heart ache.
“Dunno,” Piers says. “Though I’ve always wanted to be a fugitive.”
I gape at him. “You’re not coming with us.”
Piers’s grin is tight, angry. “Yes,” he says. “I am. I can’t transport you directly—my mother is watching my power output. She’ll know if I move more than me. But I can come with you and make sure you have backup if you need it.”
His presence is going to make things more complicated, but only with Sage. My love snaps and snarls from the front seat as I push him into the cushion. “We have to find another car,” I say,
grateful for Piers as he firmly closes the door.
“Simplicity itself.” He touches the roof and the entire shape twists, transforms. Colors shift from dirty yellow to deep green. I circle to check the plate, watch it change as well. “Now,” Piers says, reaching for the driver’s door. “Are you coming or not?”
***
Chapter Eight
Piers’s capable hands grip the wheel as he drives toward the border. I perch behind him and Sage, wedging myself between the front seats. Sage has calmed somewhat, but his hostility for Piers wafts toward me like a flower’s aroma and I know having my sorcerer friend here is triggering the wolf in Sage far more than anything else has.
There is only one explanation. My love’s wolf feels Piers’s affection for me and sees him as a threat. But I can’t bring myself to ask Piers to leave.
“So,” the handsome young Southway says in his cheerful voices, “where are we heading besides Austria?”
“California,” I say. He glances sideways at me, a little surprised.
“Why California? Ah!” He answers his own question before I can respond. “Caine and his pack.”
“They are revenants, I’m sure of it.” I lower my head, mind whirling. “But they are different, Piers. Controlled, somehow. And they must have access to power, because they haven’t devolved into emptiness and insanity.”
“Controlled,” he says. “Like your people were when the Black Souls created them,” Piers nods. “You think sorcerers have been trying to make new werewolves.” He shrugs at my tilted head. “I caught most of that when you were talking to Syd. So you think the answer to Sage’s problem,” as though it’s just a minor inconvenience or something, “resides in California.”
“Caine bit him.” I know it in my heart. Piers shoots me another look, but doesn’t argue or ask for proof while Sage hisses. “Caine's from California. And Sage is nothing like the revenants I’ve had dealings with. He’s totally different, even from Caine and his pack.”
