Winter Fae: An Imp World Novel (Northern Wolves Book 3)

by Debra Dunbar

  Wait. Wait. He cautioned, as the hunters drew close. The bullets were nearly through the ice and Gwylla was breathing heavily, her hands shaking as she tried to increase the thickness of their wall.

  With a shower of ice chips, one of the shots broke through. Gwylla cried out, clapping a hand to her shoulder, and the wall fell like a waterfall to the ground. Dustin saw one of the hunters take aim, and sprang, knocking the gun from his hands as he dove for the man’s throat. In his peripheral vision he saw the other hunters turn from Gwylla to train their rifles on him. He tried to ignore them, sinking his teeth deep into the man’s neck and feeling the rush of blood.

  One down. And that was probably all he had time for. But instead of the agony of magicked bullets ripping through his flesh, he heard shouts and curses, and turned to see the two men dropping rifles that were suddenly freezing cold. Actually, more than freezing cold. The guns smoked as if they’d been stored in dry ice.

  Not wanting to take the time to contemplate that, Dustin sprang on the nearest human, feeling the guy’s frostbitten hands fumble clumsily with his fur. There was still one hunter, and Dustin wasn’t sure how much magic Gwylla had left to use.

  When he lifted his head, blood dripping from his muzzle, he saw the man running to the plane, clutching something in his hand. With a burst of speed, Dustin raced after the human, closing the distance with each stride. The white elongated light appeared once more, and Dustin tried to pump his legs harder, feeling the twinges in his chest and hip rip into agony. He was five feet away when the man began to step through the light—easy jumping distance, but if he leapt, they’d both be propelled through the passage, and Dustin was pretty sure there would be a whole host of humans on the other side ready to fill him full of lead. Instead of jumping, he skidded to a stop, watching the light fade. Then he turned and jogged back to Gwylla.

  She was sitting next to the two dead hunters, breathing heavily, her hand still on her shoulder.

  Let me look at your wound.

  There was a lot of blood, but from what he could see the bullet had just grazed the top of her shoulder. A werewolf wouldn’t even have blinked at such an injury. A human would have gone in for stitches and been fine in no time. But Gwylla was neither human nor werewolf.

  How bad is it? Was she going to die? Was this like a sort of blood poisoning, that being grazed by a bullet could kill her? And what metal was she sensitive to? All? Only iron, like in the fairy tales?

  She bunched up a piece of cloth that she must have torn from her shirt and pressed it against the wound. “It hurts, and it will scar, but I’ll live.” She sniffed, shaking her head. “I’ve been injured many times, and nothing has hurt like this little flesh wound. And I’ve never had a scar. Such a thing on a sidhe is unheard of.”

  A scar. She was worried about a scar when he was fretting that she would wither and die right before his eyes. Then Dustin remembered the pain he himself had felt when he’d been shot. It didn’t look like much, but he knew that injury had to hurt like heck. Even hurt she’d managed to freeze two guns. And that wall of ice…once more she’d saved his life. If it hadn’t been for her quick thinking, they would both have been dead.

  “You saved my life,” she echoed his thoughts. “Thank you.”

  He tilted his head. And back at cha’. We make quite the team, you know. We work well together.

  She smiled at him. “We do. Our powers are complementary. We are like…twins when we are fighting.”

  Twins? Why did his mind immediately go to Sunday morning cartoons? We’re Wonder Twins! Power of ice. Form of a wolf.

  She tilted her head. “Wonder Twins. I like that. Where should we go now?”

  We should probably head to your sanctuary. I don’t think either of us is in any condition to fight a dozen armed humans right now.

  She fixed her gaze toward the horizon, a sad expression on her face. “We can’t return. That man who got away will tell the others of a woman with long white hair who creates ice from nothing and freezes their weaponry. They used an elven transportation method to arrive and leave. Talligie must be in close contact with them. As soon as he hears that man’s tale, he will know where I am. The sanctuary is no longer safe. I have no desire to hide there like a rabbit, waiting for him to eventually hammer through my defenses. I would rather we find your people to warn them. Then, hopefully, I will be strong enough to face Talligie and end this thing between us.”

  He watched her, knowing the need to abandon her beautiful sanctuary was just as painful as the wound on her shoulder. And he could read between the lines of her speech. She’d take him somewhere safe, where he could be with his own kind, then she’d set out to what might be her death—and she hoped that before he killed her, she managed to take Talligie down.

  Chapter 11

  Gwylla followed Dustin’s lead. She wasn’t sure where they were going, but trusted that in his wolf form, he would have the senses to lead them in the right direction. Against his silent protests, she’d robbed one of the dead men of his clothing, knowing that if they reached a human town, Dustin would need to revert to his bipedal form—and that being naked would only hurt his cause if not get him arrested and put in jail. There had been a carrying case of sorts on the man’s belt, and she’d taken it too, as well as the long gun, which she’d wrapped carefully with the clothing. The awkward bundle made it difficult to hike across the rocky, uneven terrain, but she didn’t want to use the energy to create an ice sled to haul it on.

  Actually she barely had enough energy to put one foot in front of the other. The ice wall had taken a lot out of her, as had freezing the human weapons. It had been a bit overkill to ice them down to that point. She was pretty sure those guns would no longer be functional, even if they thawed out, but the one she carried should be usable since it belonged to the first one Dustin had killed. Well, usable by the wolf-man, as she was trying hard not to touch the thing.

  How in the world had the hunters planned this? She doubted Dustin flew this route every day. She’d picked the spot for her sanctuary because it wasn’t a high-traffic area. If the hunters had camped out in a randomly selected location, waiting for a chance occurrence to kill a shifter, they would have probably been waiting for weeks if not months. Even she knew that was a complete waste of time.

  Hunters knew their prey. The foxes knew where the rabbits played and fed, knew where their dens were. She doubted a human hunter would just walk out his front door and wander around until he happened to come across a wolf-man. No, just like the fox they’d know where their prey frequented by studying the landscape and their habits. And if a hunter wasn’t familiar with the area, he’d hire someone to show him the right spots, to increase his chances of seeing, and shooting, his intended prey.

  Which meant the hunters knew the shifters on sight. In his human form, Dustin blended right in. She wouldn’t have been able to tell him apart from the other humans visually. And even in wolf form, she’d thought him only a bit off from the non-shifter canines she’d seen. Gwylla might not have been around humans for long, but she was reasonably sure they didn’t have heightened senses that she didn’t possess. Either they were working from a list of shifters, including where they lived, what they did, and their habits, or they had a magical means to identify them—like an amulet or stone that would detect the miniscule bit of angel in them and alert the hunter that the human he was facing was not, in fact, a human.

  She wasn’t sure which theory was more disturbing.

  Is it possible for the hunters to have a magical means to identify shifters? Like an orb that glows blue if we’re a werewolf, and stays white if we’re human?

  Gwylla turned to Dustin in surprise. Had he been reading her thoughts? There was so much she didn’t know about these children of angels. She’d made so many assumptions in the last few days—so many false assumptions. She’d seen Dustin as no more than a wolf, and no more than a human, completely forgetting that the wolf part of him came not from an animal, but from a
n angel. There had been something when he’d fought the hunters, some hint of his angelic ancestors. It was locked tight, but it was there. And it made her curious to know more about him.

  “It’s possible that the humans are using a magical device,” she replied. “I thought you were a dog when I first saw you, and when you’re in your human form, I couldn’t tell you apart from other humans. But I’ve not been around a lot of humans, canines, or even shifters, and there is something that feels unusual about you. I’m sure the elves or possibly a human sorcerer could narrow that down and enchant an object to indicate whether someone was a shifter or not.”

  Or they have a database of who we are. It wouldn’t be hard. We haven’t been secretive about our existence here in Alaska. It would take time and work, but eventually someone could have detailed information on enough shifters that they could set up these hunts and give reasonable guarantees that the hunter would bring home a shifter pelt.

  The thought wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  “Where are we heading? I’m not familiar with the cities and towns here.”

  As far as she knew, they’d need to cross mountains to reach any nearby city and neither one of them were in any condition at this moment for a long, grueling hike.

  Right now I’m just trying to get us out of this valley and somewhere with a good vantage point so I can get my bearings. Then…maybe Cantwell. It’s is the closest city as the crow flies. Except we aren’t crows and flying isn’t an option. Pretty much everything would involve crossing several mountain ranges unless we want to hike southeast. It’s farther distance-wise, but we could cover it at a faster speed, so we’d probably make about the same time in arriving in a populated area or near a road.

  “Days? A week or two? How far is it to walk to this Cantwell village?”

  If we go through this range, then northeast, it should be around 40 miles to Route 3 just outside of the preserve. We’re bound to encounter someone eventually along the road. If not, we’ll walk south and toward Cantwell.

  “I’m a bit worried about encountering someone along the road,” Gwylla replied. “Who can we trust if any human you encounter might be intending to kill you?”

  Sitting on the roadside waiting for a shifter to drive by wouldn’t be a good use of time. I’m hoping that once I’m in my human form and dressed, I won’t be recognized as a shifter. Unless there are thousands of magical devices that can identify us and they’re in wide distribution, the odds are in our favor.

  She still didn’t like it. “Can’t we just go to the home of one of your wolf-people? Didn’t you say you were coming back from transporting two of them when you were deceived into landing?”

  That’s actually a good idea. They’re in McKinley Park, just north of the town. It’s a bit farther north and west, but probably a better plan than hitchhiking into Cantwell.

  “How far?”

  The wolf evaded her eyes. Fifty miles, give or take. It’s not easy terrain, so it will probably take us a couple of days. I can hunt for food, and we can put together a makeshift shelter for us.

  This was a terrible situation. Gwylla had left the sanctuary with no thought that they’d be gone for more than the day, and here they were hiking through the wilderness with nothing but clothes, and a gun. They could find water, and she could provide a shelter, but the thought of plodding along, injured and tired, for two days wasn’t thrilling.

  There was no other alternative. Well, there was an alternative. Fifty miles. The two of them. She’d be pushing it, but once safe with Dustin’s wolf-people friends, she could rest and recharge. “Do you have knowledge of where these shifters live? I mean, a picture in your mind, and a way to pinpoint their home in the geography of this land?”

  He looked up at her in surprise. Of course. I was just there, and I’m a pilot. I can visualize the flight path, the approach, and the lake where I need to land. Why?

  She took a deep breath, knowing what this would cost her. But time was running out, and getting them safely to Dustin’s people was more important.

  “Because I need you to show me where this place is in order for me to teleport us there.”

  Dustin stopped in his tracks in surprise. He knew she was right. Neither of them were fit for this journey on foot, and they’d reach their destination probably weaker than if she used the energy to teleport them. But how much energy could she expend and still be able to fight and beat this ex-boyfriend of hers? How much could she expend and be able to fight him and live?

  At Brenda and Mark’s he could accomplish multiple tasks at once—alert the Denali Pack of his attack, call Jake and let him know what happened, and maybe buy Gwylla some time. This ex-boyfriend of hers would be searching for her near her sanctuary, perhaps wasting time battering down the defenses so he could enter. The more distance he could put between the pair of them, the quicker he got her out of the area, the harder it would be for that elf to track her. And it would give her time to recover and be prepared to fight him.

  How do we do this?

  “You should probably shift into your human form and wear these clothes. Then I’ll read your thoughts as you picture the place where we’re to go. I do the rest.”

  He envisioned a sort-of Vulcan mind-meld and then the transporter glowy-light thingie. How much will this tire you?

  She smiled. “Fifty miles isn’t too bad.”

  He noticed that she hadn’t answered his question. Which meant it would tire her more than was safe given that there might be a homicidal elf on their tail right now.

  Okay. Put down the bundle of clothes and turn around. I’ll shift into my human form and let you know when I’m finished.

  She did as he asked, grumbling about his silly wolf-man modesty. As soon as her back was turned, Dustin began his shift.

  When he was done, he picked the clothing, grimacing as he examined the heavy, army surplus camo cargo pants and shirt. Putting them on over naked skin just felt gross, and once he got them on, he started to laugh.

  Gwylla turned around and began to laugh as well. “That shirt is big enough for you and me both,” she giggled.

  “You think that’s bad, watch this.” He let go of the waistband and the pants immediately fell to his ankles. The only thing keeping his nether regions from view was the knee-length shirt.

  There had to be something somewhere to help him hold these pants up. Dustin picked up the pack that had been on the man and began to rummage through it. If there wasn’t any twine, maybe he could rip down a vine from a tree and use that. Although the only vines around here were most likely poison oak. He might be a werewolf, but poison oak was still no fun.

  “That shirt is like a dress.” Gwylla grinned. “I didn’t realize our attackers were giants. You should be proud that you so quickly bested a man so much larger than you.”

  Multi-tool. Skinning knife—he didn’t want to think too deeply about that item. Lighter. Carabiners. That might work. He could gather the waistband and hook them through the belt loops. Figures the one guy they strip wasn’t wearing a belt.

  “Well, to be fair, I am a werewolf, and he was a human.” Which meant size didn’t really factor into the equation as it would with two humans fighting. He still had the unfair advantage.

  “Yes, but he had a weapon as well. Do not be humble. You chewed his buttocks.”

  “Kicked his ass,” Dustin corrected. “Actually I chewed his jugular, if you want to be precise.” He looked around the ground at the rifle and the pouch. “Crap. We didn’t think to grab his shoes.”

  Gwylla clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I am so sorry! I took them off his feet to pull the pants off, then was so concerned about wrapping the gun that I didn’t take them. Perhaps your werewolf friend has a pair you can borrow?”

  Hopefully Mark’s shoes would be a better fit than this dead guy’s clothes. Actually, he hoped Mark had clothes he could borrow as well. Anything would be better than these nasty camos stripped off of a man who’d been trying to kill him.
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  That done, he gathered up the pouch and the rifle and spread his arms wide. “I’m ready when you are. What do we need to do to make this happen? Click our heels together three times? Hold hands and sing? Get naked and have sex like monkeys?”

  “You just got dressed,” she pointed out. “All I need is to touch you, and for you to envision where we are going, and I will do the rest.”

  “I like a woman who takes charge,” Dustin wiggled his eyebrows. “Touch me where? Do I get to pick the spot, because I have preferences, you know.”

  She tried to hide a smile. “I’m sure you do, but as you are holding a gun in one hand with metal on it, I would prefer to stand on your other side as far away as possible and touch your shoulder.”

  He sighed. “Maybe next time.”

  Gwylla put her hand on his shoulder and he closed his eyes, picturing the lake and Mark and Brenda’s house. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, as if the air had been sucked right out of his lungs. He felt as if he were tumbling, as if the world was closing down on him tight, like a vise squeezing his entire body. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the feel of Gwylla’s hand on his shoulder.

  Then it was over. He sucked in a breath, then staggered a few feet to the side. The world was still spinning when he opened his eyes and it was all he could do keep the contents of his stomach in place.

  “Where is the house? Is it hidden from view by some magic?”

  “No. It should be…give me a moment until I can see straight again.” He closed his eyes, waiting for everything to stop spinning, then opened them again.

  There was the lake. And he was pretty sure that brown dot was the house. Crap. When he’d pictured it all in his head, he’d envisioned it as he saw it from the plane. Luckily Gwylla hadn’t transported them five thousand feet in the air, but they were three miles off where they should be, and quite a bit higher in elevation.