by Zoë Archer
He would say these things. He refused to believe this was the last they would see of each other.
But he couldn’t even touch her, damn it.
“Go now,” she mouthed.
Heart torn into shreds, Nathan wheeled away. A rending within as the distance between him and Astrid grew.
He felt the hawk totem reaching out to him, snaking tendrils of control, trying to rob him of his will. Just before he became engulfed in its demands, he landed and shifted into his wolf form, already running. In his mouth, he held the leather thongs attached to wolf and bear totems. Dimly, he saw his body covered with cuts, oozing bright blood and staining his fur, but the wounds belonged to someone else.
He could still see her, above him, and he hurtled in pursuit. Eyes to the sky, he watched with helpless fury as the falcon and Astrid shrank with distance, no matter how fast he ran.
Sensing him, the falcon turned its head and let out a piercing shriek. The sound reverberated, a noise so shrill and high it stabbed through his sensitive wolf’s hearing. He felt himself stumble, then realized it wasn’t him that shuddered, but the ground beneath him.
The shriek did not stop, and, as it continued, fissures spread through the earth under Nathan. It quaked and rumbled, then split apart into gaping crags. Trees, dirt, and rocks tumbled down. Roaring, a fissure cracked open beneath his feet and began to widen.
He leapt, trying to keep on solid ground. But the fracture widened and he found himself tumbling down in a hail of debris. He scrabbled for a hold, shifting in mid-fall into a man. Yet every rock or outcropping he grabbed crumbled beneath his hands. He fell, the earth swallowing him, the last of the falcon’s shriek ringing in his ears.
Astrid—
A hard slam as he hit bottom, then darkness.
The falcon’s scream nearly cleft her head in two, but she tried to shake off its effects. She couldn’t break free of the falcon. Fighting now would only use up her strength. She had to wait. It would land sooner or later, and when it did, she would be ready.
The earth below her sped past, a panorama of trees, valleys, mountains. Sky all around, vast as eternity.
A god’s view. Beautiful, or it would have been, if she wasn’t being abducted. As it was, anger and fear turned the sight rancid. Not minutes before, she had wished to be in the sky, to share with Nathan the wonder of flight. Now she hadn’t that wish, but a travesty of it.
At least Nathan had heeded her directive, changing out of his hawk form. He would be safe from the totem’s sway.
Would she see him again? She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing herself the barest moment of weakness. This capture might almost be easier to bear if she had nothing and no one. But he’d come crashing into her life, bringing energy and motion and love, and now to lose all this, to lose him was a deeper wound than she could bear.
No, she thought fiercely. Whatever awaited her when the falcon landed—and she had a good idea it wasn’t going to be pleasant—she would fight and stand, until there wasn’t breath or blood left in her.
As the falcon flew, Astrid kept a careful eye on her surroundings, noting direction. If she did manage to get free, she’d have to find a way back to Nathan. She didn’t know this part of the Territory, but she was an able mountain woman.
The falcon banked, heading toward a forest clearing that held an encampment. Astrid tensed. People gathered there, pointing, their faces turned up to the sky. Waiting for her.
He was a boy again. He stood in Mr. Engleby’s study, and the headmaster was angry. Once more, he’d been caught trying to run away, and, once more, Mr. Engleby railed at him, calling him an ungrateful heathen brat. Didn’t Nathan know that most Indian children had to live in misery and godlessness? Nathan should be thankful to be the recipient of such generous condescension, to be brought up in the proper English way. If Nathan was truly lucky, he might one day become a carpenter or blacksmith or even, God willing, a teacher.
As Nathan listened to this blistering lecture, aware that it would be followed by a beating from Mr. Engleby’s cane, he felt he had to leave. He had to leave now. Time was running out. Didn’t Mr. Engleby know? Every second Nathan spent in his office meant that it was getting away, that she would be gone. He had to reach her.
“Now, this will never do, Lesperance!” snapped the headmaster. “I did not give you permission to turn into a wolf!”
Nathan glanced down and saw not his boy’s feet, but the paws of a wolf, standing upon the faded Turkish carpet. Yes, he thought. It will help me run. To catch her.
“Such insolence,” hissed Mr. Engleby. “I will show you who is master here, Lesperance!”
Then Nathan felt the sting of the cane. Again and again, but it was more of an insistent pelting than the usual bite that left red welts. Mr. Engleby kept hitting him, kept saying, “Lesperance! Wake up! Lesperance!”
He had to leave. Had to go. And he wouldn’t stand another second of the headmaster’s punishment.
He growled, swatting away the annoying sting.
The sensation abruptly stopped. “Thank God,” someone said above him. “You’re alive.”
He was no longer in Mr. Engleby’s study. Rocks and sticks poked into his back, and a coating of dust filmed his mouth. Everything felt stiff and sore. He cracked open his eyes from beneath lids that felt mortared shut, and winced at the crescent of light above him. Someone’s head peered over the edge, but the person had two reflective circles instead of eyes.
“Lesperance!” the man called. “Can you hear me? Are you injured?”
Nathan struggled to sit up, every part of him protesting the movement. His head spun for a moment before the ground beneath him righted. Looking around, he found himself at the bottom of a deep ravine, surrounded by fallen tree trunks and rocks. He struggled for several seconds to remember just where the hell he was, still drifting between dream and waking. He fumbled beside him and felt the barest relief when his hand closed over both the wolf and bear totems. At least something was safe.
“I lost the falcon,” the man shouted down. “There was no way to keep up.”
Damn it. Astrid.
Nathan surged to his feet, ignoring dizziness and blinding pain. His body was a network of bruises and cuts in different stages of healing, some more fresh than others. Something wet trickled down his side and, when he touched it, his hand came away red. He wiped it on his thigh, leaving a smear of blood.
“Easy,” Graves called. “You took a bad fall. Actually—you look like hell.”
Nathan glanced around, assessing the situation. The chasm was thirty feet deep, fifteen feet wide. The walls rose up steeply. The lower part of the walls was composed of huge, smooth slabs of granite, while farther up, smaller rocks jutted out. If he could trust taking his hawk form, flying out would be simple, but the hawk totem belonged to the Heirs, and so flight wasn’t a choice.
Astrid. Every second he was here, the farther away she got. The Heirs might have her already.
He almost sank to his knees, slammed with rage and panic.
“Can you climb out?” Graves asked.
Shoving aside his fear for Astrid, Nathan strode to the wall and made a few jumps, trying to reach the part of the wall that had more hand-and footholds. But they were too high up, and every time he landed, excruciating pain shot through him.
“Can’t,” he growled. “Any rope?”
Graves cursed. “In Astrid’s pack, back at the cliff.”
Nathan hadn’t any idea how far he’d run or how long he’d been unconscious. All he knew was that to have Graves go back for Astrid’s pack and then return would take too long. There had to be another way out. He scanned the bottom of the chasm again, searching for something he could use, and his gaze alit on the jumble of tree trunks scattered like jackstraws. He realized with a start that he’d been damn lucky not to have been crushed underneath any of them as they fell with him into the ravine. But now they offered a solution.
“Got an idea,” he called up to Graves.
He allowed the shift to come over him and, in an instant, looked down with dark satisfaction at his bear’s giant claws. With his mouth, he picked up the thongs laced to each totem. Then felt the brute strength of his ursine form as he moved toward the piles of fallen trees.
He put his paws against one of the trunks on top and shoved. The pine rolled as easily as a twig rather than a trunk with a two-foot diameter. In his human shape, he’d never have enough muscle to move it on his own. But as a bear, incredible strength was his for the using. He pushed the log, sliding it along the ground until it came up against the wall of the chasm. Another shove, and the trunk tipped upward, braced between the ground and the wall. It wasn’t easy, though. He had a bear’s strength but not a human’s dexterity. A frustrating process of trial and error until he got the log just where he needed it.
“Good man,” Graves called down in approval. “Or, uh, good bear!”
Nathan shot him a glance before throwing himself back into his task. After testing the sturdiness of the propped trunk, he dug his claws into it and began to climb. The tree protested under his weight, threatening to splinter. Nathan growled. He would have only one chance at this. None of the other trees at the bottom of the ravine would support him.
“Try your wolf,” Graves suggested. “It’s lighter.”
A good suggestion, and one Nathan immediately took. He felt his body grow smaller, sleeker. Ah. Better, though fractures still spread throughout the tree. Balancing, he climbed up the wedged log until he was within a few feet of the chasm wall.
Nathan leapt, using the powerful muscles of his back legs, aiming for the closest handhold with his claws. At the same time, the tree beneath him groaned, splintering. It gave a loud crack before splitting in two and tumbling to the ground.
“Careful, Lesperance!” Graves shouted.
Nathan pushed himself upward, forcing the shift faster than he ever had before. And scrabbled on the handhold with human hands. He had just enough grip to hang in midair, his feet dangling fifteen feet above the ground. Agony burned his arms as they bore his full weight. He clenched his teeth around the totems’ thongs, the claw and tooth swaying and knocking into his chest.
“Climb ten feet more,” Graves urged. “I’ve got a branch up here just long enough to reach you.”
Drawing in a fiery breath, Nathan pushed himself upward, hunting for handholds. Blood trickling from his fingers and palms made his grip slippery. He searched, and found, narrow wedges in the rock wall, and hefted himself up. Dug his toes into the rock and used the force of his shaking legs to propel him higher. Each ascending inch was a torment, his body demanding surrender, but he ignored all of it. Only Astrid mattered.
Then, lifetimes later, Nathan saw a stout branch lowered by Graves. “Take it,” the man urged.
Nathan wrapped his arms around the branch. Using his feet, he helped push himself up as Graves pulled. A minute later, Nathan found himself sprawled at the lip of the ravine, gasping. He raised his head to see Graves, gleaming with sweat, lying on his back.
“You’re damned heavier than you look,” Graves panted.
“Thank…you…,” Nathan rasped. He cast a glance over at the branch that had been used to haul him up. “Very…soph…sophisticated design.”
Graves offered a wry smile. “Yes, the best my famed brain could come up with under duress. The most primitive lever.”
Nathan pushed himself up onto hands and knees before staggering upright. He took a step before his legs shuddered under him.
Graves was supporting him within a second. “Slowly now, Lesperance. You’re banged up worse than a regimental drum.”
“Astrid—” Nathan rumbled, hating the shaking in his limbs.
“Doesn’t need you killing yourself,” Graves said sharply. “I want her back, too, but you’re of no use if you push yourself too hard. Sit.”
There was little choice as Graves lowered Nathan to the ground, then handed him a canteen. Nathan took several sips of water and felt slightly better. He noticed that Graves had both Astrid’s rifle and his own shotgun, as well as the pistol at his waist.
“Why didn’t you stay with them as a hawk?” Graves asked.
“It’s got the damned totem.” Any reminder that he’d had to let Astrid go sliced him open. “The Heirs could make me their puppet. Almost did.”
Graves cursed, understanding the truth.
“I’ll get her back.” Nathan’s voice held enough edge to cause sparks.
“She still has her Compass.” Graves took his own Compass from his pocket and showed it to Nathan. Sure enough, the needle pointed in the direction where the falcon headed. “We can track her with this.”
The other man’s slightly trembling hands revealed his own barely contained anger.
Nathan shook his head. “I don’t need the Compass to find her.”
“How—?”
“Here,” he gritted. He placed his fist in the center of his chest, where a sharp, cutting pain screamed, obliterating everything but the need to reach Astrid. “I feel her. We’re…” He tried to think of a word that contained everything he felt for her, which was everything, and the living connection that stretched between them like a shared sense. But words were lost in his fury and fear.
He could only say, “We’re bonded.” He sent a defiant glare to Graves, as if challenging him to contest this.
Graves, wisely, didn’t argue. He saw at once that Nathan spoke in dead earnest. He gave a clipped nod and put the Compass in his pocket.
“Take these.” Nathan handed the totems to a shocked Graves. “If anything happens to me, keep them safe.”
“They belong to your people,” Graves protested.
Time was slipping away. Darkness would fall soon, making their task that much more difficult. “I trust you. And,” he added with a grim smile, “I don’t have pockets.” He rose to his feet, glad to have regained some of his strength.
Graves also stood. “We’ll find her, Lesperance.” He held out a hand.
Nathan clasped the offered hand, sealing the vow. “I know.” Because there was no alternative. And he knew that if there was one man he could count on as an ally, at least where Astrid was concerned, it was Graves. He released his grip on the other man’s hand. “I’ll see you there—when it’s time to annihilate those bastards.”
Graves nodded. “That you will.”
Nathan broke into a run, releasing his beast simultaneously. His body shifted, re-formed into his wolf, running first on two feet and then four. Fur and fang, deadly intent and instinct.
Yes, this was exactly right. He had the speed and the will to kill. And he would. Blood would be spilled that night. Until Astrid was safe, he would cut down anyone in his path. Without her, he had nothing, only rage and sorrow.
He paused, just long enough to throw back his head and howl, pouring everything into the sound.
It echoed throughout the wilderness, his howl, through the forest, the mountains, over rivers and fields of ice. Enraged and heartbroken and louder than an army of cannons. Nothing hidden. The best part of him was gone. He mourned. He threatened.
Everywhere, all around, the forest stilled, arrested in motion by the wolf’s howl. It held the wilderness in its frozen, furious grip. Everything shivered.
Let the Heirs know he was coming, he thought, savage. Let them know that death awaited them.
He bound on swift legs into the forest, not sparing a backward glance for Graves. The other man would catch up. As the earth sped beneath Nathan, he vowed that he would get Astrid back, and kill as many Heirs in the process as he could. If his own life was lost to ensure this goal, it was a price he was willing to pay.
Chapter 18
The Assault
Her husband’s murderer. Years had passed, but his face was a recurring nightmare. An incongruity. The face of a killer should be twisted and ugly. Yet Albert Staunton was a rather pleasant-looking man, of medium height, well formed and possessing regular, even feat
ures. A model of British manhood, hale and gently bred. Someone’s perfect son.
She fought gagging on her disgust and wrath.
As the falcon neared for its landing, Staunton ambled forward with a welcoming smile, an amiable host. Still a dozen feet off the ground, the falcon opened its talons, releasing Astrid. She landed in a ready crouch, reaching for her pistol.
“Please, Mrs. Bramfield,” Staunton said, grinning affably. His mild voice brought back a flood of bitter memories. Rage swept through her, leveling everything in its path. “Let’s not make this troublesome.”
“Let’s,” she answered. She pulled her gun and cocked it with one motion.
Then found herself utterly frozen, gripped by an invisible fist.
Darkest fury misted her sight. Trapped, utterly trapped, and entirely helpless.
Bracebridge walked forward, his hands making patterns in the air, chanting softly. His spell held her immobile. As he neared, he passed the now earthbound falcon. The mage gave his familiar a fond pat, and the bird stuck out one talon, the totem within it offered up like a kill. Bracebridge took the totem, cooing his gratitude, as if the falcon was merely a pet and not a monstrous beast. The two grizzled mountain men nearby eyed the falcon warily.
“Good girl,” Bracebridge murmured. “Did you work the Earthsplitter Spell? Did you? Such a good girl.”
Earthsplitter Spell? Astrid did not like the sound of that at all. Was Nathan all right? The scream of the falcon still rung in her ears, and she had seen the earth begin to shake, cleaving apart. Nathan might have fallen, or been crushed by tumbling rocks. He could be hurt, or worse. She wanted to scream her frustration, but forced herself to silence.
Instead, she took in the layout of the camp, the people within it, to learn as much as she could. The encampment stood in the middle of a clearing, with thick evergreens encircling the perimeter. Beyond lay the forest, and possibly freedom, if she could reach it. But she need not run. She could use her environment to her advantage. Five tents were scattered in the clearing. Packs and gear lay strewn about. At the center of the camp, a fire burned—openly, displaying the Heirs’ arrogance. They did not care who was aware of their presence.
