by Zoë Archer
The men all grunted their acknowledgment as they sweated their way up the angled slope. Cold sunlight beat down on them. “Day’s just getting started,” Graves muttered, “and I’m already quite bored by these rocks.”
Nathan didn’t speak, but he wasn’t relishing the idea of climbing any more than Graves. Still, ever since they’d approached the base of the mountains, he’d been feeling an odd buzzing throughout, a sharp awareness that grew with each tug upward.
Must be the wolf totem. That was the only reason he could determine. It called to him more strongly than any other, since the wolf was his other form. And he kept the totem close, for safety.
They were still within the timber line, and fir clustered in groups like gossips, rustling. The trees could hide Heirs. Nathan drew on his heightened senses to search for signs of Heirs. Yet something within these mountains created disorder—he tried to grasp scent, sound, and came away with so many discordant impressions, he was almost as lost as if he’d been an ordinary human. Strange that he should grow, in such a short amount of time, comfortable with his new senses so that he missed them when they were gone.
He tuned himself to Astrid, her lithe form moving over the surface of the mountain like a creature of nature. Sun caught in her braid, a gilded rope swinging across her back, and the flex and stretch of her muscles underneath the fabric of her trousers entranced. Occasionally, he was awarded with a view of her utterly gorgeous, pert buttocks. She guided him in the sureness of her body, the intent of her hands and feet. Sometime during the night, he’d been able to drift to sleep and was glad, not just for the rest he so badly needed, but because waking with her limbs woven with his was a heady, drowsy pleasure. Yet it had taken many moments of deep and controlled breathing before he could stand to face the day—he’d awakened hard as iron and aching with desire.
That desire was banked now, but the fire of it would never burn out.
Everyone convened at an outcropping, surveying the route they’d come and where they needed to go. He felt himself tugged forward, but without focus.
“Where do we go from here?” Graves asked, wiping his forehead with a crisp handkerchief. Nathan wondered how the man managed to look so spotless and elegant, even after a night sleeping in a damp meadow and a morning climbing boulders.
From the outcropping, they had several choices. Four mountains stretched above them. “The totem could be on any of those,” Quinn noted. “And I’m not much relishing the idea of clambering up four different mountains to play Find-the-Source.”
“There must be something to lead us,” Nathan said, glancing around. “My damn senses aren’t telling me anything.”
Astrid also looked about. Gray slopes stretched out around them, interspersed with groupings of evergreens. Tall rocky spires rose up, like spines, and twisted along the sides of the mountains. Astrid squinted against the glare bouncing back from the stone, peering up at the spires. Nathan followed her look, trying to see what she saw.
She took a step closer to one of the spires, then pointed up. “Those are bear territorial markings,” she said.
Quinn and Graves also looked to where she pointed. “Those scratches at the top of that rock?” asked Graves.
“The diagonal claw marks are the same as a bear makes when marking territory,” said Astrid. “And a few feet lower, the gouges in the stone are consistent with the tooth marks bears also leave.”
“Not in stone,” Nathan felt compelled to note.
“And not twenty feet up,” Quinn protested.
“No,” acknowledged Astrid. “Bears use trees to mark their territory. They stand up on their hind legs to make the marks—a show of force for anyone who thinks about intruding.”
“Trumpeting their size,” Nathan determined.
Astrid nodded. “And strength. But none are strong enough to bite and claw through stone. And even the biggest bear couldn’t reach as high as those markings.”
“Unless,” Graves ventured, “this is no ordinary bear we are dealing with. One did leave enormous prints in the meadow.”
“The ice wolf guarding the totem was gigantic,” said Astrid. “Though,” she added with a blinding smile in Nathan’s direction, “Nathan faced it down.”
“Nicely done!” Quinn knocked his fist into Nathan’s shoulder, grinning, and even Graves looked impressed. But none of that mattered, compared to the admiration in Astrid’s eyes and the unfettered freedom with which she allowed herself to show it.
“It would make sense,” said Nathan. “If we’re dealing with magic, the scale of everything becomes bigger, mythical.”
“Do the markings continue?” asked Graves.
Astrid approached the rocky pillar that had been marked, and peered beyond it. “Yes, there.” She pointed to another stone steeple, this one several yards away and farther up the side of the mountain. “I see the markings again.”
“That’s our path,” said Nathan. “The path of the solitary hunter.”
“Shall we follow it, then?” Graves asked.
Nathan nodded, feeling odd that consensus had to be reached before moving forward. He was still acclimating himself to working with others. With Astrid, they acted so smoothly in concert, hardly any discussion was necessary, and what disputes they did have were soon resolved. Now Nathan had two more opinions to consider.
But there was no conflict here. Everyone agreed that following the trail of markings in the stone was the best way to find the totem. It frustrated him that his senses and attunement to Earth Spirits’ magic could have grown so anarchic that he couldn’t provide more help. Yet Astrid proved again the depth of skills that made her a mountain woman and Blade.
He drew up beside her. “You’re a wonder,” he said, pulling her close for a kiss, which was enthusiastically returned.
“Glad I didn’t find those tracks,” drawled Quinn, passing them.
Nathan couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Your moustache would scratch.”
“But that’s precisely what the ladies like,” Quinn answered, stroking proudly the facial hair in question. “A little rough with the sweet.”
Graves and Astrid rolled their eyes. Soon, everyone was scrambling up the mountainside, following the markings, the terrain too uneven to permit anything but the most important conversation. Despite the fact that the going was slow and tough, Nathan felt an unfamiliar swell of lightness inside. Hell, was he actually happy?
He might very well be. The woman he loved was with him. He pushed himself toward an important goal. And, regardless of how Quinn or especially Graves felt about him, a kinship of purpose already began to weave around them. He’d never felt anything like this in Victoria, not even with the youngest attorneys at the firm. There, he was the outsider, the rebel. Here, he was a man, part of a team.
“Ahead,” he panted, gesturing forward. “The dark spot in the side of the mountain. A cave.”
“A bear den,” agreed Astrid. “The totem must be there.”
Breathless, everyone assented, and renewed energy flowed through them. The totem was close. As they neared, Nathan’s body began to thrum with awareness. He was drawn closer to the mouth of the cave as if impelled by invisible hands. He and Astrid and the other Blades were about to achieve what the ancients believed to be impossible. His heart nearly charged from his chest.
The first bullet slammed into the ground at his feet.
Chapter 14
A Battle of Bones
“Fall back!”
Quinn, Astrid, and Nathan had already made for cover behind a stand of fir trees as Graves shouted his command. The barren, rocky ground leading up to the cave held no shelter. Bullets whined all around, shattering stone and tracing lines of deadly heat.
Nathan and the Blades threw themselves behind the cover of the trees as pieces of bark splintered. Everyone took seconds to secure their firearms. Astrid pressed her revolver into Nathan’s hand as she took up her rifle.
“Wolf or no,” she said, low and urgent, “you’re just as vu
lnerable to bullets as the rest of us.”
He didn’t protest. He’d handled plenty of guns, though he’d never fired at a human being before.
Another bullet gouged into the tree behind which he and Astrid crouched, coming damned close to her head. No, he’d have no concerns about shooting a person.
“Damn it,” a man’s voice roared. “Don’t shoot the woman! We want her alive!”
Astrid cocked her head to one side, as if trying to identify a sound. Then she, Nathan, and the other Blades began to return fire.
The Heirs had taken up a position behind a large cluster of rocks on one side of the cave’s mouth. Nathan couldn’t see their faces, since they kept themselves hidden, only the barest glimpse of their eyes and hands and the flash of their gun muzzles as they shot at the Blades.
“No way to get into the cave,” Nathan said over the barrage. “Not without being either exposed to gunfire or taking out the whole nest.”
“They want me alive,” Astrid said. She peered around the tree and fired a round. “I could head out, provide cover.”
“No,” said Graves and Nathan in unison.
She scowled at them. “Don’t be foolish,” she snapped. “Not if I can give us an advantage.”
“I’ll think of something,” Graves barked. “Something that doesn’t involve using you like a shield.”
All discussion stopped as another heated volley of gunfire careened between the Heirs and the Blades. Nathan swore and ducked as he fired back, wanting more than anything to let his beast out. The savage need to protect his mate roared through him. He wanted blood. Blood in his mouth as he ripped apart the men who threatened her. Yet Astrid had been right. Even an angry, big wolf was susceptible to bullets.
“How the hell did the Heirs know about this place so they could get a jump on us?” Quinn snarled.
“Because of her,” Astrid muttered. She nodded toward a smaller rock, set a little ways apart from where the Heirs screened themselves. A Native woman crouched there, and, even at that distance, her eyes glittered with avarice and anger, like a long-buried curse. She carried no gun, but watched the gunplay eagerly.
“Who is that?” asked Graves.
Nathan had never met her, but he knew at once. “Swift Cloud Woman. An exile from the Earth Spirits’ tribe. Must have a grudge.”
An explosion of heat. Nathan and the Blades reared back as their covering trees burst into flame. Not a single spark or gradually growing fire, but an eruption of flames that engulfed the trees at once. A tiny hell on the side of a mountain.
A dark-bearded man with the Heirs grinned as he chanted, his hands moving and drawing patterns in the air.
“Bracebridge,” Graves said through gritted teeth. “A mage, and a bloody powerful one. Forcing us out.”
The trees gave no shelter, only a means of burning. There was no choice but to make a run for the cave.
“I’m laying down cover,” Astrid yelled, and before anyone could stop her, darted out and began firing as fast as she could at the Heirs. Shells from her rifle flew in a blur as she fired, cocked, and fired again with incredible speed.
Nathan swore violently and ran after her. He dimly heard Graves and Quinn behind him, bolting for the cave’s entrance and shooting at the Heirs.
Whomever had called the order to keep Astrid alive, his words proved true. No one fired at her, though everyone else was fair game, and, as she stood her ground to provide cover for her comrades, none of the Heirs or their henchmen aimed for her.
One of the Heirs stood up slightly, pointing his gun at Nathan. Nathan and Astrid shot back, but then her eyes widened as she caught sight of the man. For the barest moment, her finger hesitated on the trigger of her rifle. Color drained from her face. She looked as though she’d be sick at any moment, and then rage replaced her sickness.
She started toward the man, fury contorting her features. Hell, it looked like she wanted to gut the man with her bare hands.
Nathan grabbed Astrid’s arm and hauled her toward the entrance of the cave. Incredibly, she fought him, trying to break free.
“Let me go,” she snarled. “He’s mine. I’ll take him.”
Nathan held her fast as he sprinted to the cave. “Inside. Now.”
As he pulled her to what he hoped was safety, Quinn darted ahead to secure their position, while Graves kept up the rear. Nathan had to admit, for a scientific genius, Graves was mighty handy with a six-shooter. A heavyset Heir yelped in pain as one of Graves’s bullets sliced into the man’s shooting hand.
Even though Astrid continued to twist and struggle in Nathan’s grasp, he managed to get them closer to the cave. Then there was a clattering, and Nathan pulled Astrid down as large rocks were flung at them. He threw them both onto the ground, catching sight of the mage commanding the rocks through outstretched hands.
“Graves, down!” Nathan shouted. Too late.
One of the rocks crashed into Graves, knocking him in the head and sending him crumpling to the earth. Blood seeped, scarlet and wet, from a gash on Graves’s head. Astrid shouted his name as she struggled up. Graves didn’t move. Bullets whined and chipped the earth around him.
A lanky shape dashed out from the cave. Quinn. He’d thrown off his pack and was heading toward Graves. “Get to safety,” he shouted at Nathan. “I’ll grab Graves.”
With a clipped nod, Nathan leapt to his feet, Astrid’s wrist firmly in his grip. At least she didn’t fight him as they sprinted for the cave.
Once inside, Nathan and Astrid spun around to offer up more coverage for Quinn. The Bostonian had Graves slung over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could, given that he had a tall, unconscious man draped over him like a rag.
Quinn had almost made it to the cave’s entrance when he cried out, staggering. A crimson circle appeared on his thigh, and he sank to one knee. Graves slid from Quinn’s shoulder.
“Take him,” Quinn panted to Nathan.
Both Nathan and Astrid leapt forward to grab Graves’s arms and drag him into the cave. As they did this, more shots rang, and Quinn gave another hoarse cry. He glanced down at his chest, where a stain of red blossomed and grew.
He caught Nathan’s gaze as they both saw the wound. Somewhere between a smile and a grimace, Quinn said, “Well, damn it.” Then he pitched forward and lay still.
Seeing that Astrid had Graves secured, Nathan darted to Quinn. He turned the man over and blood coated his hands. Sightless eyes, now empty of humor, looked back at him.
Quinn was dead.
Rage. Everything, everywhere. He’d never known a fury so strong, so potent, pouring through him.
Nathan saw Quinn’s lifeless body, the blood pooling around him, and a mindless, rioting rage took over. His beast broke free. He never felt the change, the gradual shift into animal form. One moment, he was a man, crouched beside a body, and the next…Scraps of leather littered the ground around him. They’d been torn apart in his transformation.
He bellowed his wrath at the Heirs. Nathan didn’t recognize the sound. It was unlike any noise he’d ever made before, even as a wolf. He stalked toward the side of the cave closest to the Heirs. And the Heirs stared back, their weapons hanging in stunned hands, as they gaped. Up. At him.
“Oh, my God,” Astrid breathed behind him.
“The One Who Is Three,” yelped Swift Cloud Woman.
Nathan couldn’t hear. All he knew was fury. He rushed the Heirs with ready teeth and enormous claws. The men scattered like leaves as he swiped at them. Dimly, the vestiges of his humanity marveled at his giant, heavily furred claws. These were not a wolf’s paws. His height was not a wolf’s height. And the sounds he made were not a wolf’s challenging growl. Deep and guttural, he roared.
The Heirs and their mercenaries ran. They would not run from a wolf, even one who attacked. They would run from a bear. One of the Heirs, a heavier one, face white and terrified, lagged. Nathan lashed out and tore through the man’s coat with long, straight claws, ripping all the way dow
n to the skin. The blood he saw welling wasn’t nearly enough.
I am a bear. I give death.
He could chase. He could kill them all. Wanted to. Wanted their blood for Quinn’s. He charged in pursuit.
“Nathan!”
Astrid’s voice, commanding and urgent, stopped him. His massive body lurched around and he saw her staring at him, her face ashen. Graves knelt at her feet, struggling to regain sense. Graves saw Quinn’s body and started. Shock and anger crept over his face, reigniting Nathan’s rage. He started to turn to continue his pursuit of Quinn’s murderers.
“Nathan,” Astrid said, her words tight. “We have to move on. Catullus is hurt and we must get the totem.” Then, somber and sorrowful, she added, “Please.”
His hesitation dissolved with that one word. Nathan ambled toward her, familiarizing himself with his new, immense body. He had none of the speed of his wolf, his hearing and eyesight dimmer, but a thousand times more power. When he reached Astrid, she held out a hand to him, knowing full well that, deep as he was within his new beast’s form, he could take her hand off with no effort. But she used it, the scent of her flesh, to bring him back.
He drew in the smell of her, warm woman, his woman. And felt himself coalesce back into a man.
Naked, he crouched on all fours and saw the much smaller shapes of his human hands upon the rocks. When he stood, the world was lower.
“Take some clothes from Catullus’s pack,” Astrid said. She pressed a length of muslin against Graves’s head, stanching the bleeding. Her hands, so slightly as to almost be invisible, trembled.
Numb with anger and shock, Nathan did so, pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt. His moccasins were entirely lost, and there weren’t more boots. He refused to take Quinn’s.
“We have to bury him,” he rasped.
Astrid’s silver eyes reflected pain and resolve. “No time. The Heirs will regroup in moments.”
“Quinn—”
“Is dead.” Her voice was as hoarse as his own, but firm. “There’s nothing to be done now.” She held Nathan’s gaze, and he saw old and new heartbreak with strength beneath. “I had to do the same with Michael. I came back afterward to bury him. We will do the same. But later. Now we owe it to Quinn to complete the mission.”
