by Laura Taylor
But then what? Sempre wouldn’t tolerate much more insolence from her, and while it was unlikely the woman would kill her, she could still injure her badly, breaking one of her limbs, perhaps, and crippling her to the point that Genna was helpless to resist her.
Or she could break out of the cage by night, sneak away from the camp… but then what? The shifters were a notoriously closed society, and if one wasn’t a member of either the Grey Watch or their rival pack, Il Trosa, then they were hunted down and killed as a deserter. And given the current state of affairs between the two packs, she hardly thought that Il Trosa would welcome her with open arms.
She could go back to the Noturatii, she mused for a moment, but then dismissed the idea almost immediately. Her first effort at contacting the shifters’ enemies had led to an enormous amount of guilt and regret, and more than a few unintended complications. While it was a tempting fantasy to imagine them capturing Sempre and punishing her in the same way that she punished the members of her pack, the hard reality was that the Noturatii were a far worse evil even than Sempre. They wouldn’t just take the alpha; given the chance they would capture or kill every wolf in the whole pack and torture those who survived for information. Then they would do the same to the other Grey Watch packs right across Europe. No, going back to the Noturatii was a path that went far beyond foolishness and crossed right into the realm of insanity.
But did she even want to leave, Genna wondered? These women were strong, tough, determined and resilient. Genna genuinely admired them, despite the routine antagonism around the camp, and there was a part of her that was still determined to prove her worth to them. Leaving felt too much like giving up.
She was tougher than this, she decided, cowering from the rain. She could survive hunger. She could survive the cold. She could out-wait Sempre and use the time to come up with an alternative plan that would let her keep both her pride and her morals intact.
Two hours later, Genna was seriously rethinking her stance on the Grey Watch. Tough and resilient they might be, but it was hard to truly admire someone who refused to make even the slightest stand for what was right and honest and decent. Dinnertime had come and gone, and Sempre had handed out dried meat to the pack like a queen tending to her pet dogs. Each of them had taken the offering without protest, and no one had so much as glanced in Genna’s direction as they’d eaten their meal. Some of these wolves were supposed to be her friends. Some of them had privately supported her in her resistance to Sempre’s rule, offering whispered encouragement even when they hadn’t had the courage to risk backing her publicly, and many of them hated their alpha with even more vehemence than Genna herself did.
But no one had bothered to even try to bring her a morsel of food, though it would have been relatively easy to create an opportunity. Sempre and her harpies couldn’t watch everyone all the time, after all.
And more than that, no one had dared to voice any opposition to Sempre’s decision to lock her in the cage.
Sempre knew she could escape, of course. Genna didn’t even consider the idea that the alpha had forgotten about her gift for long enough to make such a foolish mistake. It was far more likely that she was counting on Genna not even trying to escape. After all, if she left the pack, there was really nowhere else for her to go. Il Trosa was the only alternative, and that option was problematic, to say the least.
But as the evening wore on and the daylight faded to grey, and then black, the idea became more tempting. The night was going to be cold, and it was proving impossible to find a comfortable position to lie down inside the cage. The fire in the centre of the clearing was burning low and most of the wolves were finding spots to sleep for the night. Sempre had disappeared inside the tent on the far side of the clearing and wasn’t likely to emerge until morning. It would be such a simple thing to magic away the lock and slip away on silent paws.
A part of Genna was disgusted at her own lack of perseverance. A couple of hours in the cage and she was ready to jump ship, when only a short time ago she’d been telling herself that she was prepared to go the distance, to out-wait Sempre, if it was even possible. Her change of heart was rather pathetic, really.
But on the other hand, she counselled herself, this was hardly the beginning of her problems. Months of bullying, of hunger, of cold and of trying to hold her own against Sempre had taken their toll. Would it really be so bad to call it quits now? She’d put in a good effort, hadn’t she?
But could she really call on Il Trosa for help? Aside from the ongoing antagonism between the two groups, there was also the fact that she’d betrayed them to the Noturatii. That made their estate a dangerous place to be, not to mention the risk that if they ever discovered what she’d done, they’d likely shoot her on the spot.
But on the other hand, when her pack had visited Scotland in the summer, more than a handful of Il Trosa members had gone to a lot of effort to make them feel welcome. Sempre had lectured them beforehand on the vices of their rival pack, on the animosity between them, on the need to keep their guard up and maintain the solidarity of the group, but when they’d arrived, that strange Ukrainian man had given them vodka and the Den had provided a generous lunch, and many of their members had taken the time to chat with the Watch. The things she’d seen were so different from the things she’d been told, and it was difficult to know where the truth lay.
She still remembered Tank’s phone number, she reminded herself. He’d been a completely unexpected part of their visit, a powerful, charismatic male who had treated her with what seemed to be genuine concern. If she were to run away, surely she could make it to a pub or a hotel and beg the use of their phone for one simple call?
But how was she ever going to explain why she’d run away from the Watch? After the way Sempre had reacted to her gift, trying to control her at every turn, telling Il Trosa about her abilities seemed like a bad idea. The reality was that she knew very little about the other pack or how it was run, and walking into another trap where people just wanted to exploit her for their own purposes wasn’t at all appealing.
A new thought came to mind, and Genna almost dismissed it, the idea so devious, so deceptive that her natural bent for honesty made her shudder at the mere thought of it.
But it would solve her current problem very neatly. And would also solve the problem of how to warn Il Trosa that the Noturatii were now attempting to track down their private estate, something she had been longing to do for a while, though until now she’d had no idea how to do so without incriminating herself.
Could she do it? Could she walk up to honest people, lie to their faces and then expect them to help her?
A burst of wind whipped through the clearing, sending the rain almost horizontal, and Genna cringed, shrinking back against the bars of the cage as it blasted her in the face. That made up her mind. Staying here was stupid. Sempre was going to end up beating her into submission one way or another, and if the rest of the pack wasn’t willing to lift a finger to help her, then she was done with them.
She glanced around, seeing that most of the wolves in the clearing had lain down to sleep, huddled up under the bushes for what little shelter they provided, and that Sempre and her cohort were nowhere to be seen. She shifted into human form, then reached out and gripped the lock in her fingers, making the cold metal disappear with a mere thought.
She brought the padlock back into reality and dropped it on the ground, seeing no point in taking it with her. Then she opened the cage door as quietly as possible. With the wind howling and the rain pattering around her, there was little chance of anyone hearing her slight movements over the storm, but she didn’t like to tempt fate.
On bare feet, she stepped gingerly into the mud, feeling it squelch between her toes. She curled her lip in disgust, but pressed on. She crept around the back of the cage, then headed off into the trees, making sure to keep an eye on the big oak at the edge of the clearing. She’d have to go north, then west to reach the road where she could hope
fully hitch a ride with someone, and she needed that landmark to start off with, to make sure she was heading in the right direction. She skirted the edge of a holly bush, winced as she stepped on a sharp rock, and then-
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Oh shit. It was Feriur, Sempre’s second in command. The woman had only risen to her new rank after Lita’s death a few weeks ago, but she’d made the most of the opportunity, quickly making herself all but indispensable as she fawned over Sempre and saw to her every need. And now she was standing directly in Genna’s path, arms folded, ignoring the rain as she glared at her.
Genna tensed, bracing herself as she glanced around, weighing up her options. There was no way Feriur was going to let her walk away without a fight. She could play the meek victim and march herself straight back into the cage. She could run away and hope she was quicker than Feriur – an unlikely plan, even if she was in wolf form. Or she could stand and fight.
But with the constant shortage of food and the stresses of their lifestyle, Genna was at nothing like full strength, whereas the more senior members of the pack always seemed to manage to get their hands on enough food to fill out their frames with thick muscles, and her chances of winning a fight against Feriur were slim to none.
“Get out of my way,” Genna said, not even trying to hide the weariness in her voice, and even she was surprised as she heard her own words. Really? She was just going to challenge Feriur head on? What kind of death wish did she have?
A flash of confusion crossed Feriur’s face, but it was gone quickly, and her expression relaxed into a smile. She stepped forward, crowding Genna, forcing her to retreat until her back hit a tree. “You’re trying to run away,” she crooned, and Genna fought not to roll her eyes. Way to go with stating the obvious. “That’s cute.” Feriur looked her up and down. “How far did you think you were going to get?” She glanced sideways at where the clearing was still visible through a gap in the trees. “Twenty metres? Thirty? Is that really the best you can do?”
There was no mistaking the malice in Feriur’s eyes, and Genna felt her magic spark and flare as her heart sped up, adrenaline beginning to course through her veins. Feriur was gearing up for a fight, and Genna had to be ready to meet her-
There was a knife at Feriur’s waist, she knew suddenly. She couldn’t have said how she knew that. The magic flowing through her seemed to have taken on a life of its own, and she could feel the waves seeking out a target, exploring her surroundings. The cool weight of the metal knife showed up loud and clear on this unexpected radar.
Without hesitation, she made the small object disappear, even as Feriur continued to taunt her. It was only a matter of time before the woman reached for the weapon, and while Genna was fairly sure she wouldn’t try to kill her with it – Sempre had been rather insistent about wanting to keep her alive, after all – it could still be put to effective use maiming or disfiguring her. She could well do without the trauma of having her face sliced up this evening, thank you very much.
“Now,” Feriur was saying, lips curled back in a snarl, “are you going to put your arse neatly back in the cage before Sempre wakes up, or am I going to have to persuade you?”
“I’m not going anywhere near that god forsaken hellhole,” Genna said through clenched teeth. It wasn’t only anger that was making her clamp her jaw shut. She was also freezing, her cloak drenched, her thin body losing heat rapidly in the dismal weather. But now that her mind was made up, sticking to her decision to leave was surprisingly easy, even if she knew she was likely to lose the impending fight.
Feriur slammed into her without warning, Genna’s head thudding into the tree behind her, and then Feriur’s hands were at her throat, choking her. “I’m actually glad you tried to run away,” she murmured, teeth showing in a macabre grin as her hands squeezed. Genna reached up to try and pry them away, to give herself a little breathing room, but failed completely. “Because now I get to choke you half to death – which I’ve been wanting to do ever since the day you were recruited, by the way – and then drag you back to Sempre, who will thank me for having done so.”
She had to escape, Genna thought frantically, eyes rolling wildly as she fought for breath, at the same time as trying to see anything in her immediate surroundings that could help her. Feriur was far stronger than her, and quicker, and heavier. She could shift, but Feriur would do the same, and then she’d be in the same position, just with wolf teeth around her throat instead of human hands.
She brought her hands up to Feriur’s throat, a half-formed thought in her mind about choking her in return, though in reality she knew it would never work. Her vision was already turning hazy, and she hadn’t the strength to do the job properly. If only she’d thought to grab a weapon of some sort on her way out of the camp…
The knife she’d stolen from Feriur reappeared in her hand unbidden, slipping back into reality as Genna’s grip on that same reality faltered. And then suddenly the hands about her throat were gone, Feriur slumping forward onto her, the weight of her dragging Genna to the ground as well. Something warm and wet splattered across her face, but Genna was too busy trying to breathe to bother about it. She hovered there on her hands and knees for a long moment, until her vision cleared and her lungs stopped feeling like they were on fire. When she managed to focus her eyes, her gaze rested on the knife, still in her hand, her fingers clutching the handle fiercely. Her sluggish mind tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.
Feriur was lying awkwardly on the ground. Genna rolled her over, only just able to make out her body in the gloomy blackness. A shaft of lightning arced across the sky, momentarily lighting up the entire forest like daylight-
“Oh, Jesus! Fucking hell, mother fucking shit…” Genna was scrambling backwards as the words poured out of her, unable to believe what she’d just seen. Feriur’s throat was slit wide open, the knife in Genna’s hand coated with streaks of red. She ran a hand over her face where the warm fluid had hit her and sniffed at her hand. The faint, coppery smell of blood was unmistakable.
She’d just killed her.
Unintentionally and as a desperate act of self defence, but it was all but guaranteed that Sempre wouldn’t see it that way. She’d killed the pack’s second in command. The only possible outcome of that was that Genna herself would be put down for her crime.
A moment later, Genna was in wolf form, backing away from the body before any of the other wolves came to investigate. Swift, silent feet took her rapidly from the site as she tried to block out that split second image of Feriur’s blood seeping into the dank mud, and then she was praying to Sirius as she ran that Tank would be as good as his word and answer her call for help. If he didn’t, she was as good as dead. There was nowhere else left for her to go.
CHAPTER THREE
High on the hill above the manor that housed their pack, Andre and Caroline raced through the trees in wolf form, excellent night vision making it easy to navigate the path despite the late hour. Slightly ahead and to the right of Caroline, Andre darted left, then right, ducking under a fallen tree and leaping over a small boulder. He glanced back and slowed his pace a fraction when he failed to see his smaller mate following along. His ears twitched, excellent hearing tuned to pick up the slightest sound… and there she was, off to the right. She’d circled around him and was going to come at him from over the top of that-
Andre swerved suddenly, reacting purely on instinct as a furry body shot out of a gap in the rocks, teeth snapping at his flank, missing only by a hair’s breadth as he whipped his rear end out of the way. Caroline skidded on the loose leaves, coming back around to have another go, but she’d lost the element of surprise now, and by the time she’d recovered her footing, Andre had spun around to face her, a wolfy grin on his face. Knowing she’d lost, but not wanting the game to end, Caroline bowed her front end down, darted right, then left, then pounced right on top of him. Andre let her, rolling over in the leaf litter and batting at her p
layfully with his paws while her tongue lolled out, looking so damn pleased with herself. It was a rare thing for him to let his guard down, even in play, but he made the effort now and then, knowing how much Caroline liked it. She mouthed his muzzle, teeth stopping just shy of a bite, then sat on top of him, tail wagging as she panted.
Andre felt the urge to laugh and shifted where he lay, giving in to the desire as he wrapped his arms around her furry body, burying his face in the thick mane around her neck and inhaling deeply. The scent of her was achingly familiar, the strong smell of wolf, which had been a central part of Andre’s life for as long as he could remember, and the subtler scent that was Caroline’s alone. He lay comfortably on his back, his she-wolf sitting on his chest, and couldn’t think of a single place in the world he would rather be.
“You did well,” he told her, running his fingers through her fur. “For a split second there, you actually surprised me.” He was aware that, phrased the way it was, the statement might come across as patronising. But as a recently retired assassin, he also knew that Caroline had a very realistic estimation of his abilities, and he was confident she’d take the words as the compliment they were intended to be. In the months since he’d joined the Den on a full time basis, Caroline had made no secret of her desire for him to help her improve her fighting skills. He hadn’t been sure about that one at first. Training others in combat often involved strict routines, harsh criticism and unyielding standards, and he hadn’t expected that to go down very well with a woman who was also sharing his bed.
