by Autumn Dawn
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New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2006 by Autumn Dawn
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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DARKLANDS:
HOMECOMING
By
Autumn Dawn
© copyright May 2006, Autumn Dawn
Cover art by Dan Skinner, © copyright May 2006
ISBN 1-58608-870-x
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Authors Note:
This story is a side note to Teasing Danger, meant for those of you who wanted to know Wiley's story. It's not meant to stand alone, so if you don't already know how her story ends, you'll have to read TD. ~Autumn Dawn
Chapter 1
She hated parties.
Parties were full of happy, smiling people, and Wiley James had never fit into that crowd. So she ditched her boss's birthday bash and ran off to the hills.
Literally. Sometimes a girl just had to go AWOL.
It started out like any other adventure, with her dashing off a note and leaving coordinates for her roommate and best friend, Jasmine. Nearly as crazy as Wiley herself, Jas would roll her eyes, grumble, then load up her Jeep and track Wiley down. Helping her would be Lemming, Wiley's search and rescue dog. It was good training for the dog, and a much needed vacation for Wiley.
It wouldn't be the first time she'd left a note for her good-natured friend to find after work. When Wiley had the itch to move, she waited for no one. Sometimes she thought she might explode if she didn't run into the woods. They were her solace, her grounding place.
Some people relaxed by flying to the Bahamas. Wiley preferred to tackle the Alaskan hills, the USA's last frontier.
She grinned to herself as the cab dropped her off on a deserted highway. She shouldered her pack and wondered how anyone could have dubbed her state, “Seward's Icebox,” but she smiled every time she talked to someone who hated it here.
More wide open spaces for her to play in. Less people to notice how odd she was. There weren't many women who liked to explore wolf-infested woods alone, in late September, with winter closing in. Even fewer who would call it ripping great fun to see no one but squirrels and wildlife for days on end.
Jasmine liked to blame her friend's oddities on growing up an orphan, but Wiley knew better. There was something wild inside her, something that needed to be free.
Something more than human.
Oh, she hid it well, she thought, inhaling a breath of crisp, cold air. No one could tell by looking at her that she could smell scent traces of the game that had crossed her path. No one could tell how well she saw in the dark. And nobody, not even Jasmine, whom she loved like a sister, knew what she could turn into in the darkness of the night.
But no one needed to know. That's why she was out there, stomping through the woods. As long as she burned off her emotions with constant work and rigorous exercise, no one would ever know what she was. The darkness inside, the monster that lurked just behind her eyes, that was a secret that only the night could tell.
Rusty red brush crunched under her feet, mixed with golden birch leaves. Though she could move silently when she wished to, she relished the snap of twigs underfoot. Today was a day for noise, for release. She playfully kicked a loose rock ahead of her, and felt herself relax for the first time in days. Coming out there had been a really great idea.
She walked for a long time, until even the long daylight of the Alaskan day failed and she was using night vision alone. Satisfied that she was isolated enough to remain undisturbed, she set up a two man tent and started a fire.
Ringed with birches, the hillside clearing had a lovely view of the night. A half moon rose in the clear sky. Stars, long hidden by the midnight sun, twinkled in the cool black expanse. Somewhere in the valley, a wolf howled.
She shivered and threw another stick on the fire. Closing her ears to the sad wail, she heated some water. Dinner tonight was hot cocoa and Meal Ready to Eat, or MRE. At 1250 calories each, the freeze dried packet of chicken a la king held enough food substance to keep a hungry soldier on the march ... or to seriously constipate a couch potato. All she had to do was rip open the packet, add boiling water, close it, and wait six minutes. She'd heard of other kinds that came with their own heating element and were ready to heat without adding water, but they didn't sell that kind at her local five and dime. They did sell trail mix and protein bars, which she'd stocked up on for breakfast. One experience of eating reconstituted egg powder had been enough. Even the dog had put her nose under her paws and whined when Wiley had offered it to her.
While she waited for the water to boil, she pulled out her one-man tent and assembled it. Toss in a sleeping bag and voila! All the comforts of home.
She'd just turned back to the fire to check the water when she saw them. Eyes. Dozens of them, glowing just outside the firelight.
Drawing a slow breath, she reached for her sidearm, a .357 Redhawk revolver, grateful she always carried it in the woods. Maybe the fire would be enough to scare the wolves off, but if not, a few bullets should do the trick.
"Get!” she yelled, feeling like a fool. Contrary to the tree hugger's expectations, these were no fat, mellow zoo buddies. Alaskan wolves could and would take down a lone human if they were hungry enough.
"You'll have to do better than that,” a man's voice said from the shadows. Suddenly, not one, but three men melted out of the night into the fire's glow.
Sweat made her hands slippery on the gun. The odds weren't looking good in her favor.
"What do you want?” she demanded, trying to look tough. They were downwind, so it was no surprise she couldn't smell them, but why hadn't she heard them coming?
"You're trespassing on private property,” the man spoke again. He and his blond companion were both tall, and the third man only slightly less so. All three had long hair and muscles, though his dark hair was tied back. A quick glance showed them all to be armed with sheathed pistols and wicked-looking knives. Hunters? She didn't think so, not running around in their shirtsleeves. They ought to be freezing.
"I didn't see any signs posted,” she said warily.
"Maybe you missed them in the dark,” the dark haired one on his left said. “Are you alone here?"
"I'm camping. I expect company at any time,” she said coldly. “My roommate is coming with my dog.” No need to mention that Jasmine was a petite asthmatic, or that Lemming would rather crawl up her leg than take on a wolf.
"What's your name?” The middle man asked again. His steady gaze was unnerving. She couldn't see the color of his eyes, but they were set in a strong, austerely handsome face. His voice was deep, and rang with authority. This was a man who was used to getting answers.
She couldn't think why lying would help. “Wiley James."
He jerked as if she'd slapped him. It was hard to tell through the smoke, but she thought he paled.
"It couldn't be her, Jayems,” the blond said quickly. “It's just a coincidence.” He glanced her way. “That girl couldn't be more than...” He frowned. �
��How old are you?"
"Twenty-four,” she answered cautiously. It was only a few days until her birthday, but she wasn't going to age herself unnecessarily.
The men stared at her. Unnerved, she stared back. “What's going on?"
"You...” The one called Jayems swallowed with difficulty. “You're the same age as our cousin, who we lost many years ago. Her nickname was Wiley."
A sickening slide of premonition made her shiver, and she started to lower the gun. Her arm ached. “I don't know you,” she said with ruthless common sense, trying to shake some sense back into her numb brain. “I'm sorry for your loss and sorry I trespassed. If you don't mind, I'll pack up and leave right now."
The Cherokee look-alike stepped toward her. “Wait.” He looked at her stocking hat, noted the brown hair peeking out in wisps around her ears. “You have dark hair, but many people do."
"Yes, they do,” she said edgily, keeping her arm loose and ready. One more step and he was in her sights again.
"What was your mother's name?” the blond demanded.
Sweat trickled down her back. The subject stank, and the situation did not feel good. “Don't know; I was an orphan. Stay back!” She pointed her gun at the Cherokee, who'd gotten too close.
"Keilor,” Jayems said in warning, halting him.
Keilor stopped, canting his head in acknowledgment.
"Do you know where you were born?” Jayems asked carefully, as if he held himself in check. He almost sounded polite.
"No,” she automatically.
"What age were you orphaned at?” Keilor asked, staring hard at her.
"Young. I'm not the one you're looking for,” she repeated, willing him to back off.
There was silence for several seconds. Then Jayems said, “We can't take that chance."
In a split second Keilor had leapt the fire, snatched her gun and tossed it to Fallon. Screaming, she struggled, trying to throw him off. Wiley was far stronger than she looked, but he had a surprising strength. He grunted when she stomped his foot, but he wasn't going anywhere.
So she did the only thing she could, an act of ultimate desperation. She changed.
Wiley slowly backed up in a cold sweat. She saw her hand, covered in long, silky black hair. Her thick, strong nails had blackened; her hearing, intensified. Her breath came in scared huffs as her sharpened night vision pierced the shadows, counting wolves.
Only they weren't wolves. The faces were all wrong, and they had ridges on their backs like wild dogs.
"Oof!” he grunted as she broke loose and threw him. Barely avoiding the fire, he tucked into a roll and jumped back to his feet in a crouch.
"It is you,” Jayems breathed, and his eyes were glowing. He stepped forward, his hand out. “Don't be afraid. See, we're just like you.” In a blink, he changed, growing dark hair all over, lengthening his nails. His face became the flattened face of a wolf, and his eyes gleamed golden in the firelight.
She screamed, or tried to. She had no voice to shout when she changed. She spun and ran, ignoring the animals around her, desperate to escape the nightmare behind her. She was so scared, she shifted back to human as she ran, somehow thinking the dream would end if she changed, if she woke up.
Strong arms grabbed her from behind, lifted her off her feet. Those arms were human.
"Easy,” Jayems said, subduing her effortlessly. “Easy, Rihlia."
"L-let me go!” she shouted, freaking out. That name triggered something in her, and she knew that she was dead. The monsters that had haunted her dreams for so long had finally caught her.
Then there was a burst of light, and she knew nothing at all.
Chapter 2
"You shot her!” Jayems stared at the limp bundle in his arms, too stunned to do more than state the obvious.
"She's happier that way,” Keilor said, putting away his laser gun. It had been set on stun. “She'll be easier to take home if she's not fighting us all the way.” He still looked dazed, as if he couldn't quite take in what was happening. Then he blinked and focused. “You are taking her home after all this? Or were you planning to leave her to wake up and think it was all a dream?"
"Are you insane? Of course I'm not leaving her here!” Jayems looked around. “But about her friend? She said someone else was coming. Could he be one of us, too?” The shock of finding his long-dead cousin was still muddling his brain.
His day had started out so ordinary. He'd gone over the books for the Citadel, and then made plans to walk Fallon and Keilor to the gate. Fallon had business on Earth, tending to those of their kind who'd chosen to stay behind. Keilor had been planning to visit, having never seen the planet. He'd been born in the Dark Lands, the world where most of their kind had migrated. His duties as Master of the Hunt, the captain of the Citadel's guards, he'd assigned to another. Jayems assumed that his subordinate would be disappointed to hear of Keilor's sudden return. He couldn't imagine Keilor staying behind now.
He looked at Fallon.
The blond looked torn. He'd been as fond of Rihlia as any of them. “My business can't wait, Jayems."
"I know. Don't worry, you'll be back, and she'll be there. This time, she's not leaving my sight.” He looked around. “Keilor? You can hide this camp? We'll need to watch it in case she wasn't bluffing."
"Done.” He looked at the girl in Jayems’ arms for a moment, and then shook his head. “I'll send the volti out scouting. They'll let us know if anyone is coming. I'll join you when I'm done here.” Similar to wolves in temperament and appearance, the volti shared a unique bond with Jayems’ people. Fierce and loyal, they occasionally served as guards or scouts.
Fallon said his farewells and strode off to take care of his business. Keilor dismantled the camp as Jayems hefted the girl and strode for the gate.
It was a subtle transition, the gate between worlds, and you had to walk into it just so, for the path was narrow and only accessible from one direction. Moments after he'd started on the path, the landscape changed. One moon became three in the balmy sky, and volti wove in and out of the tall ferns between giant trees. A spicy forest smell wafted on the gentle wind, mixed with the distant scent of the sea.
It took only a few minutes to reach the gates of the Citadel. The Haunt guards, always in wolf form, saluted him with respect even as their eyes lingered on his burden. Remembering how she'd reacted to his own transformation, he was glad she couldn't see them.
Parquet tiles clicked under his boots as he made his way down the hallways to his rooms. The Haunt at the doors opened them for him, and in moments he'd crossed the sitting room and laid the girl gently down on the couch. He studied her, frowned, and then straitened her head on the pillow.
She was dressed far too warmly for the climate. Keeping a sharp eye out for movement, he pulled off her hat, releasing a riot of dark hair plastered with sweat. The heavy coat had to go, too, but he dreaded taking it off. She would not be pleased to wake up and discover him removing her clothing. Taking a quick breath, he pulled it off as fast as he could and laid it next to her hat. While he was at it he dispensed with her boots and the second layer of heavy socks. The rest he'd leave to her.
Searching for a handle on the moment, he glanced out the window that took up an entire wall and looked at the three moons. She was going to wake up soon, and would want explanations. One couldn't just take a woman from her place, dump her on one's couch and expect her to take it calmly.
Practical matters first. She'd been cooking her dinner. She would be hungry and perhaps thirsty. Fetching a tray with a glass of water, bread, cheese and fruit took too little time—he was left staring at her, willing her to wake up.
When she did wake, her eyes opened with a snap. She took one look at him and tried to back up over the couch. “Don't touch me!” she shrieked when he reached out a reassuring hand.
He spread his hands and backed off a step.
Breathing hard, she stared at him, her eyes wild. Whatever their natural color, at that moment they were
swirling gold with stress. Sweat trickled down her temple and dripped down her neck.
"I'm not going to hurt you,” he said calmly, willing her to believe him.
"You stole me!"
"Yes, I did. I wanted to bring you here to explain."
"There's nothing to explain. You take me back right now or I'll...” She looked around, maybe searching for a weapon. When she found nothing more dangerous than couch pillows, her eyes shot to his weapons. She glanced at his face and shivered. Maybe she dreaded the change more than she did his gun.
"I don't hurt women,” he tried again. “I'm especially not going to hurt my betrothed."
Her expression of horror said it all. “Your wha ... wha...?” She couldn't get the words out.
Afraid she would hyperventilate, he snapped, “Breathe! You're going to make yourself sick, woman."
Anger seemed to serve her better than coddling. “You're not marrying me!” she got out. She even stopped shrinking back into the couch.
He looked to the side, searching for patience. “We were betrothed when we were both younger, Rihlia—"
"That's not my name! You've got the wrong girl."
"I hear what you're saying, but a simple fingerprint match will prove it. If that's not enough for you, we can take stronger measures. As for me, I'm convinced. It was no accident that you were there tonight. Things were taken out of both our hands."
She was shaking her head. “You're crazy. Stark-raving nuts."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You were traveling with your parents when you were four years old. Their party was attacked. You were lost in the battle and presumed dead. We never found your body, though we searched for days. Now I know what happened—you found the gateway to Earth and wandered through. Someone must have found you and...” He trailed off, unsure how the rest of the story went. “Tonight I found you again."
"You found me, and now we're not on Earth,” she said with derision.
He gestured behind her.
