Wolves of Wrath: Book 4, The Gypsy Healer Series

by Quinn Loftis

  His Alpha took off at a dead run, heading straight for the veil. Dalton was right behind him. He shed his worries, pain, and fear as he let the wind flow through his fur. His claws dug into the ground as each paw hit the ground, propelling him forward. Faster and faster he pushed himself.

  They passed through the veil and were hit by the scents of the human realm: moist dirt, dead leaves carpeting the forest floor, and animals hiding in their holes. There was the faint smell of rain on the air, and Dalton found himself hoping they would be caught in a torrential downpour. Hunting large prey would be challenging, but it would be even more challenging if they were nearly blinded by a thunderstorm.

  They’d been running less than fifteen minutes when he got his wish. His lips spread into a wolfish smile as the thunder rolled across the sky and the clouds moved in. The sun was covered, turning day into night. Periodically, the sky and forest around them would be lit by flashes of lightning. The ground would shake as the bolts made contact, and he could feel the jolt up through his legs. The rain came down in sheets as the huge drops pelted his fur. Most of the water ran off, but some penetrated the thick coat and made contact with his skin.

  He reveled in the violence of the storm as it seemed to grow more volatile with his own mood. The wind picked up, and the trees danced to the violent music as their branches swayed. The leaves that rustled only added to the eerie sound, as if they were applauding nature’s rage. Dalton threw his head back and let out a loud howl as he ran, his voice joining with the display.

  They ran harder, and Dalton could tell the storm was pushing his Alpha as well, almost challenging them to try and survive all that nature could throw at them. Suddenly, a bolt struck only fifty yards in front of them, and a huge tree began to fall. They picked up their pace and shifted, hopped, and ducked, as the branches closed in on them. They’d barely made it through the last branch when the tree hit the ground with a deafening crash. The giant trunk would have crushed a small house, much less two running wolves. Something inside of Dalton laughed that they’d just beaten death. He recognized it as the morbid part of him that was willing to play chicken with the grim reaper and knew he wouldn’t have been so eager had Jewel been nearby.

  Dillon stuck his nose in the air and took in a deep breath. Turning his head in all directions, he continued to sniff the air until he whipped to the right and took off at a dead run. Dalton followed, picking up the scent as well—wolves, natural wolves. What was Dillon doing?

  Surely, they weren’t going to attack their own cousins? He continued to follow until they came to a ridge that overlooked a valley. Dalton stopped beside Dillon. They stared down at the pack of wolves, which had recently brought down a large elk. Dalton couldn’t help but be a little jealous.

  The wolves, having caught the werewolves’ scent, turned their own heads up toward the sky. One by one they each tilted their heads, showing their necks. Dillon let out a loud howl, and the pack joined in.

  They sat and watched as the few pups in the pack played and the Alpha pair watched over them. It all seemed so simple. Why couldn’t their lives be that simple? Why couldn’t they just live, hunt, love, and play? It was not their lot in life. They were meant to be protectors, to help those weaker than themselves. And many times, that meant significant sacrifices on their part.

  The rain still hadn’t let up and they still hadn’t killed anything, yet Dalton felt a small measure of peace. Maybe it was the run or being a part of the storm. He wasn’t sure, but he felt clearer headed than when they’d set out.

  They ran back, this time at a slower pace. Dalton thought about Jewel and about the day he would play in the valley with his own pups. He dreamed of the day when he would hold her as they slept and would wake her with a kiss. He would make many sacrifices in order to keep others safe, but letting go off Jewel and the future he wanted with her was not something he was willing to give up.

  The next time he saw her, when she came back to him as she promised, he would tell her. He was willing to help her, support her, fight for her and with her, but he wasn’t willing to lose her.

  Elle paced the length of the living room. She felt stuck. She knew Peri wanted her to keep an eye on the new wolves, but she felt useless babysitting a bunch of fur balls that acted like bored toddlers.

  “Are you alright?” Sorin’s voice came from the entryway into the kitchen.

  “We shouldn’t have left the pixie realm. We should have stayed with them.”

  “If we sit around and think of all the things we should have done, then we are no use now.”

  She felt her ire rise. “What good are we now anyways? I’m sitting here doing nothing. I’ve never felt useless, Sorin, in my very long life. I’ve never felt like there was nothing I could do to help.”

  “Sometimes the best way to help is simply by being ready when it is time to act,” he said gently.

  She didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded reasonable, but she wasn’t in a reasonable mood.

  “Have you tried flashing to the pixie realm?”

  She nodded. She’d tried a hundred times, and each time she was met with an invisible wall. “I feel like he’s winning and there’s no way to defeat him. He’s so much more powerful than what we’ve faced in the past.”

  “But he’s not immortal,” Sorin reminded her. “He has weaknesses. He can be killed. We just have to be patient.”

  “But in being patient, how many will suffer at his hands? Jewel, Anna, and any others they manage to change into witches. Must we sacrifice them in the meantime?”

  “You know the answer to that question.”

  “That’s not good enough, Sorin. It’s time we come up with a different answer.”

  Chapter 4

  “I killed a person. Well, not me exactly—Jewel and me. We killed a woman. Even in my worst nightmares, I never thought I’d say something like that.” ~Anna

  Dead. She’s dead. Jewel couldn’t stop staring at the woman. Amy. The woman has a name. But still, she’s dead.

  “What the hell just happened?” Sly’s voice rose in the background as Jewel stared down at the woman who’d fallen to the ground. She was lying on her back, staring up blankly. She looked anything but peaceful.

  “HELLO!” Sly yelled. “Wheelers! What. Happened.”

  “We heard you the first time,” Anna snapped. “We’re trying to process this, so if you could just shut your warlock trap for just a second that would really help.” Her voice was shaky, and Jewel could tell the girl was every bit as terrified as she was.

  “What have we done?” Jewel whispered. “I don’t understand. I did it the exact same way I did it with you.” She glanced at Anna and then looked back down at the woman. It was like a horrible accident, impossible not to stare no matter how badly it freaked her out.

  “You said we were taking her essence,” Anna said. “Something about her soul.”

  Jewel nodded. “I saw her memories and felt her emotions. It’s like they were merging with my own.”

  “Yeah.” Anna breathed out a trembling breath. “That’s what I felt and saw, too.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Geeze, Anna. We killed her. We killed Amy. Do you know how long we could go to jail? Does California have the death penalty?” Jewel asked as her eyes widened and she looked back at Anna.

  “You’re the genius. How am I supposed to know?”

  “I don’t know all the states that kill people who kill other people. I never exactly planned on killing someone.”

  “Well, it wasn’t premeditated, so won’t that get us a break?” Anna asked.

  “Yeah, that sounds right.” Jewel nodded, thinking she probably looked a little frantic. “Crime of passion. Surely we’d get a break on that.”

  Suddenly, their ears perked up at the sound of sharp whistle. Their heads snapped to the left, and Jewel frowned at Z, who was pulled his fingers away from his mouth.

  “Nobody is going to jail or
facing the death penalty. You two need to pump the brakes on getting a new wardrobe consisting only of orange jumpsuits.” He pointed to Amy. “There’s no way for the human police to tie her to you two. And what would they charge you with? Murder by magic? But you probably shouldn’t be standing here chatting when someone comes along to find her. I’m not sure if Volcan has a good lawyer on retainer, but I’d rather not find out. We need to make tracks … now.”

  “We can’t just leave her here.” Jewel gasped.

  “We can, and we will,” Sly argued. “There’s nothing you can do for her. She’s gone. A casualty of war.”

  “We aren’t in a war,” Anna countered.

  “Aren’t we?” Z asked. “Volcan is the enemy, but you’re stuck in his army and you have to do what he expects when he expects it, unless you want to end up just like her. Actually, if you two don’t figure out a way to start making his witches, Amy’s end will look pleasant compared to what will become of you.”

  “By all means,” Anna said, glaring at Z. “Don’t pull any punches.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sly smiled. “We won’t.”

  “Now, we need to go.” Z motioned toward the door. “We need to plan your next move.”

  “Our next move?” Jewel asked. She felt as if she was hearing everything from underwater. Their voices and words were distorted, and her brain was beginning to feel oxygen deprived. Was she going into shock? She started to review the symptoms of shock in her mind, but then wondered if she would really be able to go over the symptoms of shock if she were actually going into shock.

  “Jewel,” Anna said, shaking her arm. “You okay?”

  Jewel shook her head. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “That’s really good to know,” Anna said, obviously trying to lighten the moment. “I haven’t either, and it sucks, like seriously sucks, but the warlocks are right. We can’t fix her. It’s done, and we can’t be here when she’s found. We have to go.”

  Jewel knew Anna spoke the truth, but her feet wouldn’t move. She wished Dalton were there to carry her. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Dalton. She would have to tell him she’d killed a woman. What would he think of her then? Would he still want her? Could he still love a murderer? She didn’t realize she was moving until she looked down and saw her other hand in Anna’s. Anna was in front of her, pulling her through the building and out of the doors.

  Z and Sly were moving at a jog and Anna was picking up her pace as well, causing Jewel to have to have to scurry to keep up.

  “We can’t call a cab until we’ve put some distance between us and this place,” Sly shouted out so they could hear him.

  That made sense, Jewel thought and then felt as though she was going to throw up. They were trying to put distance between themselves and the dead body they’d just left behind. What was wrong with them? Had they lost all their morals simply because an evil fae was forcing them to create witches? What was their other option? She couldn’t think of one, at least not in that moment. All she could think about was Amy and her empty eyes. Would she ever be able to close her own eyes and not see Amy’s blank face staring back at her? She doubted it.

  “Come on, Jewel,” Anna called over her shoulder. “You’ve got to move!”

  Jewel shook her head, trying to clear her mind and focus on surviving. That’s what she had to do—survive. She would deal with her guilt and shame later. Her feet began to move faster as she followed the others, but she kept her hand wrapped around Anna’s. She needed the connection to another living being. She needed to know she wasn’t alone.

  They alternated jogging through alleys and briskly walking down streets for several blocks. Other pedestrians were few, and no one seemed to pay them any particular attention. At some point, Z took Jewel’s hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He pulled her close and began singing a bawdy song at the top of his lungs. Jewel heard Sly behind her joining in on the chorus. A quick glance showed her that he had wrapped himself around Anna. He appeared to be using her as a crutch as he mimed stumbling along. The rounded a corner into a trendy bar and restaurant district where people waited in line to enter eating and drinking establishments. After a few more blocks, they stopped under an awning, and Z pulled out his cell phone and called for a cab.

  “We’re going to go back to the motel and get some rest,” Sly informed them. “Tomorrow, we will hit up some of those occult shops and see if we can try this again.”

  Jewel felt the panic starting to rise again. “Again? What if we kill someone else? Are we just going to keep doing this and killing people over and over again and become serial killers?”

  “Hey, keep it down.” Z hissed. “We’ll talk about it when we back to the motel.”

  Fifteen minutes later, a cab pulled up and they all clambered inside, Jewel and Anna, somewhat shakily. Sly told the driver the motel name, and they all rode in silence. It’s quiet as the grave in here, Jewel thought. Great, now all I can do is think about death. Jewel squeezed her eyes closed and fought off the tears that wanted so desperately to fall. It seemed cruel not to cry for Amy. She should grieve for the life the girl would never have. What about her family? Did she have kids, parents, aunts or uncles? How many people would be affected by her death? How much pain would it cause? And Jewel had been the source of that pain—or at least half of it.

  She felt Anna nudging her and opened her eyes. They were parked in front of the motel. The neon lights felt like huge arrows that pointed at her and screamed ‘murderer sleeping right here.’

  Z paid the driver in cash, and they all climbed out of the cab and walked to their rooms. It felt like they’d checked in weeks ago, not simply one day. One day and they’d gone from gypsy healer witches to murders. Quite the transformation, Jewel thought.

  As she got ready for bed, Jewel was moving on autopilot. There was no thought as she brushed her teeth, changed her clothes, and washed her face. She climbed into bed and waited for sleep to take her away from the horrific reality that had become her life.

  Anna didn’t say anything as she and Jewel moved around each other. The younger witch changed her clothes, took care of her bathroom business, and, by the time she was done, Jewel was already in bed. Anna turned off the light and climbed in next to her friend. Anna wasn’t sure how Jewel was coping but knew the girl must be hanging on by a thread. Who could blame her? The two of them had killed someone. No, they hadn’t done it intentionally, but they had intentionally tried to turn Amy into a witch. That decision had directly led to the poor girl’s death by their hands.

  Anna’s eyes slipped closed as she felt sleep begin to pull her under. For a minute, it seemed as though something was causing her to become extremely drowsy, making her want to sleep more than anything else in the world. But then she hazily considered the events of the evening. It would make sense that her mind would want to shut down. She was not only physically exhausted but emotionally as well.

  It felt like her eyes had just closed when she opened them again. She blinked a few times and looked around. She wasn’t in the motel. She was lying on a plot of lush grass. Anna pushed herself up, and her brow dipped low as she tried to figure out where she was. Was she awake? Surely not.

  “It’s a dream, Criña,” a deep, sensual voice said from behind her.

  She knew that voice. She’d heard it in her mind several times and, just like on previous occasions, it soothed her. Anna turned slowly, moving onto her knees as she did. Her breath caught as she looked at the tall, incredibly handsome man before her. He had broad shoulders and clearly took his physical fitness seriously. His eyes were a dark, rich brown and piercing in their gaze. His hair was black, slightly wavy, and long enough to brush the collar of his shirt. He was dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt that was tucked in at the waist. He had on a black belt and black dress shoes. It looked like the kind of apparel that would cost her a year’s salary to afford—expensive, finely tailored, and classy. In short, he was the complete packag
e. And if all of that wasn’t sexy enough, he also had a tattoo that ran down half his neck, disappearing under his shirt. She’d be a liar if she said she didn’t wonder how far down that tattoo travelled. Yep, she was going to hell—killed a woman a couple of hours ago, and now she was lusting after a Spanish god when she should be sitting and rocking back and forth in shame.

  “You’re Gustavo?” she asked, still attempting to get over how attractive her was.

  “I am,” he said with the hint of a crooked smile.

  “And you are my Anastasia.” His Spanish accent made her name sound seductive and cultured at the same time.

  “Yours?”

  He nodded. “As I am yours.”

  “You mean the whole true-mate thing,” she said.

  He nodded again but said nothing.

  “This is a dream.” It wasn’t a question. “But how? I don’t know what you look like. Am I just making up what you look like in my mind?”

  “This is a dream, yes, but it is more than a dream. Our minds are linked. What you see is my true form. Just as I see your true form. You are very beautiful, Criña.”

  Anna didn’t know what to say. She didn’t understand how it was possible to be accurately dreaming about a man she’d never met in person. Then again, she didn’t understand how werewolves could exist, and yet they did.

  He took a step toward her, and she scrambled to her feet, taking a step back. He took another forward, and she mirrored his by taking another step away from him. Her back hit something hard. Stupid tree. She mentally growled.

  “I won’t harm you,” he told her gently.

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Not yet. But you will.”