Wild Wolf

by Jennifer Ashley

  Misty closed the book and did the turning again. “A-S-S-I-L-E-Mmm . . . Holy crap.”

  She’d stopped moving but seemed to be still spinning in place. The flowers lifted around her, circling her, petals leading stems. Yellow, blue, violet, yellow, blue, violet. Faster and faster, making her dizzy.

  In the blaze of petals and scent—rose, violet, rosemary, forget-me-not—Misty reached out and latched her hand around Dougal’s wrist. Xav shouted. Misty felt Xav’s warm fingers on her arm, and then they slipped away, disappearing.

  The whirlwind increased, the vortex sucking them somewhere. Misty couldn’t think or see, hear or smell anymore. She could only feel the steel strength of Dougal’s arm under her hand, and the warm body of Kyle against her chest.

  The whirling dropped away, the flowers falling at once. Dead, petals and leaves brown.

  But scents and color lingered. Misty was in a cave with a smooth black floor, covered in vines of colorful flowers, their scents so strong they were sickening. The fountain she remembered burbled enticingly in the center of the cave.

  Other than that, all was quiet. No one was there, not Oison, not Graham. Xav was gone too, left behind. Misty’s hand remained on Dougal’s arm. He moved closer to her, Matt whimpering.

  “Where is he?” Dougal’s whisper was loud in the relative silence.

  Misty looked around the cave. It was dark, but again lit from above, as though cracks opened to sunlight. If she found the entrance to the cave, would she emerge in the hot Nevada desert? Or someplace strange to her?

  “Matt,” Dougal said frantically. “Son of a bitch.”

  Matt had wriggled hard out of Dougal’s arms. Kyle kicked free of Misty at the same time and landed on his paws, running as soon as he hit the ground.

  “Kyle, Matt!” Misty yelled. “Wait!”

  She ran after the two cubs, who were loping off into the darker part of the cave. She jumped over ropes of flowers she swore reached up to grab her as she passed. Dougal came behind, his human snarls changing to wolf’s.

  The cave went on for a long way. The daylight faded, the only light a strange glow from beneath the fountain’s water.

  Misty heard Matt and Kyle’s yipping ahead. She kicked at a Lady Banks’ rose vine trying to wind around her foot, and kept going.

  She found Matt and Kyle pawing at a huge mound of flowers. Ropes of stems wound tightly around themselves, topped with vibrant flowers that shone in the eerie light.

  Kyle and Matt pawed vigorously, little bodies moving as they tried to shove aside the vines. Whatever was under there, they wanted it.

  “Will you listen to me if I tell you to leave it alone?” Misty asked them.

  No response. Frantic digging. Yipping that turned into wild howling as soon as they made a hole in the vines.

  All Misty’s breath went out of her. She fell to her knees, shoving aside the flowers Matt and Kyle had loosened.

  Beneath them was Graham’s face. His eyes were closed, his skin pale, the scars and shadow of dark beard stark on his bloodless skin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "No!” Dougal shifted back to human even as he dropped beside Misty, his big hands scrabbling to move the vines. “Uncle Graham. No!”

  His last word ended in a long wail, which held the pathos of a wolf’s howl. Dougal lifted his head and cried out to the echoing cave, then he put his hands over his face and bowed his body, rocking in grief.

  Misty, her heart pounding until it ached, pulled at the vines over Graham. Graham—this strong, amazing man—couldn’t be dead. Couldn’t. Seeing him unmoving, not breathing, was a knife to her heart.

  “Dougal,” she said sharply, trying to cut through his wails. “Help me uncover him.”

  Dougal raised his head. His face was red and streaked with tears, and he sniffled, unashamed. He unfolded himself enough to pull at the vines.

  The flowers were tough, and they fought back. Misty had spent years cutting flowers and sticking them into vases or baskets, where they’d last a while, then wither and die. She had the sickening feeling that the plants were taking their vengeance for all those flowers Misty had used.

  “Harvesting flowers helps the whole plant,” Misty said firmly to them. “Reinvigorates it, makes more buds.”

  The vines didn’t care. They reached for her, wrapping around her hands and arms, trying to drag her away from Graham.

  Dougal, with amazing strength, ripped them away. He growled as he changed into a wolf, a black beast, like Graham, with silver eyes.

  Dougal’s wolf tore the vines, dragging them out of the way. He revealed Graham’s torso, his neck with its Collar, his naked chest, his arms bound by the vines, which followed the lines of his tatts.

  Misty put her hand over Graham’s heart. Through the pounding of her own pulse, she felt nothing. Barely able to breathe, Misty leaned down and rested her ear against his cold chest.

  There. A flutter. A small but strong beat, a long pause, and another beat. Graham’s chest rose the slightest bit before falling again.

  Misty sat up. “He’s alive. Dougal, he’s alive!”

  Dougal kept tearing away the vines. He didn’t acknowledge her announcement but kept pulling, with teeth and claws, growling when a vine proved too tough to move.

  The vines holding Graham’s arms and legs refused to budge. Dougal and Misty pulled the rest of the flowers away from Graham’s chest, but thick, tough stems wrapped his limbs and held him in place.

  “Graham.” Misty touched his face, patted his cheek. “Graham, wake up.”

  Graham didn’t move. Dougal put one big paw on Graham’s chest and shook him, his mournful howls returning.

  Through it all, Matt and Kyle remained to one side, as though realizing they couldn’t move the vines with their small paws. They sat together now, pressed tightly together, watching as Misty and Dougal tried to wake Graham.

  “Now would be a great time for Reid to pop in and save the day,” Misty said.

  She waited, just in case. Nothing happened, no Reid, no response from Graham.

  Dougal shifted back to his human form, snarling a little as his limbs jerked. “Reid left us to rot,” he said. “Fucking Fae. They all stick together.”

  Rock clicked together somewhere, as though a spatter of gravel had fallen. Both Misty and Dougal froze, but the sound wasn’t repeated.

  Misty pulled away several determined vines that had crept back over Graham. “We have to wake him up.”

  “Don’t you think we’ve been trying?” Dougal growled. “Uncle Graham! Wake the hell up, already!” He shook Graham, hard. Tears trickled from Dougal’s eyes again, his fear stark. “He can’t die,” he sobbed. “I’ll be alone.”

  “No, you won’t,” Misty said quickly. “You have these little guys. And me. And other Shifters.”

  Dougal shook his head. “If Graham leaves me alone, the other wolves will kill me. They know I can’t lead them.”

  Misty put her arm around Dougal, then rested her forehead on his bare arm, pulling him into a hug. She’d been around Shifters enough by now to know how a touch and embrace could calm them. Misty stroked Dougal’s long back until Dougal quieted a little.

  “Graham won’t let that happen,” she said. “Because we’re going to wake him up.”

  “How?” Dougal went back to his hunkering. “We don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s Fae-spelled. He’s dying.”

  “Be quiet a minute.”

  Misty fished around in the fallen vines for her leather-bound book. She opened it, leafing through the pages. A few flowers raised their heads next to her, as though reading with her, which gave her the creeps.

  The book had no table of contents and no index. Misty had to turn every page to find out if there was anything in the book that might help at all.

  “Here we go.” Misty paused on a page abo
ut halfway through the volume. “For enchanted sleep. Did he mean to release from? Or to create?”

  Dougal didn’t answer, sinking into his own fears again.

  “Let’s see. Roses—no surprise—all these spells seem to have roses. Irises, a little trickier. Plus honeysuckle. Blend petals together, mix in water, and sprinkle over the victim. Hmm. I don’t like the sound of ‘victim.’ Call down the power of the Father God, and keep the victim warm. What does that mean? Calling the power of the Father God. Praying?”

  Dougal raised his head again, his voice hoarse with his crying. “The Father God is represented by the sun,” he said. “Probably means Uncle Graham has to be in sunlight.”

  The cave was very dark, the patches of sunlight far behind them. “Well, we’ll work on that,” Misty said. “Plus the water.”

  The fountain burbled, sounding louder, as though enticing Misty to use it. But the fountain’s water was how they’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

  One thing at a time. “Flowers, I can do,” Misty said. “I see roses, honeysuckle, and even irises. Over there.” She pointed to a line of purple and white flowers sticking up from spearlike leaves not far from them.

  “You’re going to tear up the flowers in here?” Dougal asked. “Are you crazy? They’ll try to strangle you.”

  “They’ll have to deal with it. I’m trying this spell.” How Misty would find safe water and sunlight, she didn’t know, but as she’d told herself, one thing at a time.

  “Hey—wait!” Dougal was on his feet, yelling. “Come back here, you little shits!”

  Misty scrambled up as well, her fear intensifying. Matt and Kyle were running away, twisting and turning through the vines until they were swallowed in darkness.

  “Matt! Kyle! No!” Misty screamed.

  Dougal took a step forward, then back again, torn by indecision. “I can’t leave you alone,” he moaned.

  “Yes, you can. Go find them. I’ll stay with Graham. There’s enough light. You’ll make it back.” Misty rubbed Dougal’s shoulder as he hesitated. “You can do this, Dougal. You know you can. You’re his second, remember?”

  Dougal took a long breath, drawing himself up at Misty’s words. He nodded at her, mouth set in a grim line, then he loped off in the cubs’ wake.

  Misty sank down again, still clutching the book, as though it were a lifeline.

  Graham lay so still it broke her heart. Misty touched his face, trailing her fingertips along the rough of his beard. “I love you,” she said quietly. She smiled as she touched his lips. “I love how you can’t talk at anything less than a yell. I love how strong you are, and how gorgeous you always look. I love that you growl and snarl but let people laugh at you, especially when you know they’re weaker than you are. I love how you agreed to take care of Matt and Kyle, and I love how you take care of Dougal without letting him know it. And I love how you touch me.”

  Graham didn’t move. He lay still, no flush of life in his skin.

  Misty drew her hands down to his chest. “When you touch me, I feel alive. I spent my life taking care of other people—I love that now you take care of me. You make sure I’m all right before you leave me. I used to think you didn’t care when you’d send me home alone, but I know now that if it hadn’t been safe for me to go, you wouldn’t have let me. You’d have come with me or sent someone to make sure I was all right.”

  Misty ran her fingers over Graham’s Collar, which was bone cold. “You snarl at me because I always want to talk, and then you let me do it. And you listen, even when you pretend not to.” She leaned down and kissed his cool lips. “That’s why I love you, Graham McNeil,” she said. “Because you’re a good man, even though you pretend not to be. You take me for who I am, and don’t want me to be anything else.” Another kiss. “And you make me feel so wonderful, I could lie in your arms forever. And I will.” Misty kissed him again, gently, savoring the satin feel of his lips. “As soon as I wake you up, get you free, and take you home.”

  Misty heard scampering claws and Dougal’s irritated tones, and the wolf cubs ran back to her. Dougal carried a backpack that he dropped at Misty’s feet. Inside were sports bottles of water, along with bags of chips and a few candy bars.

  Misty grabbed for a water bottle. “Where did you get this stuff?”

  “The cubs. When I found them, they were dragging this between them.”

  The two wolves were wagging tails, clumsily digging into the bag to pull out various packets of chips. Misty eyed them severely. The cubs seemed to be able to walk the ley lines without spells, and she knew where they’d found the stuff.

  “Did you two go back to the convenience store and take this out of the stockroom?” she asked. “That’s stealing.”

  Kyle started yipping then changed to his human form to answer her. “We didn’t take it out of the stockroom. We came on the ley line back here. So, it’s sorta still in the store, right?”

  “Not if you eat it,” Misty said to Matt, who’d clawed open a bag of chips. But she needed what they’d brought too much to put much heart in her scolding.

  Misty opened one of the waters and took a drink. It tasted clean with just a hint of plastic, as commercially bottled water normally did. She remembered the unbelievable clarity of the Fae water she’d drunk, and took another pull of the warm bottled water. She’d take the plastic taste anytime.

  Matt had his head and half his body inside the big bag of chips, crunching happily, tail wagging. Misty handed the water bottle to Dougal. “Hold this. It’s time for these flowers to give back.”

  She got to her feet. She’d feel better if she had a good set of shears and some gloves, but she’d have to do what she could with her bare hands.

  Misty had never before cut flowers that fought back, and she hoped to heaven she never had to again. She grabbed at the yellow Lady Banks’ rose that had tried to trip her before—its vines twined around her arms, thorns out. Blood dripped from her fingers, but Misty relentlessly seized blossoms and stripped three of their petals. The petals fell, inert, to the floor, though the vines still tried to grip her.

  Dougal helped her fight her way free. Once Misty stopped trying to harvest the petals, the rose vines snaked away, lying still.

  “They’re only plants,” she said in a loud voice. “Able to move on their own, but without a true mind to guide them. Instinct only.”

  Dougal pointed to the petals. “What do I do with these?”

  Misty started sweeping them into a pile. “Find something for me to put them in.”

  Dougal looked around and came up with a shallow stone that was slightly concave. Misty piled the petals on it, then made her way across the vines to the irises.

  The irises didn’t fight her as much as the roses had, though the leaves mindlessly tried to drive themselves into her skin. Kyle, who’d followed her, yapped at the plant while Misty pulled off the blossoms, separating the mouthlike petals. The honeysuckles tried to entwine her when she plucked off the flowers, but these vines at least lacked thorns. They were strong, though. Dougal had to help rip her free.

  Misty piled the petals on the stone, mixed them together, and poured water from the sports bottle over them. The runny, petal-y mush was pungent.

  “How do I call the power of the Father God?” Misty asked. “The cracks for the sun are a long way from here.”

  “Um.” Dougal sank down on his knees, gently pushing Matt aside to go through the backpack. Matt sat on his haunches, still crunching, his whiskers full of salt and chip dust. Kyle whined at him.

  “Here.” Dougal grinned in triumph and folded down a zipped pocket of the backpack. “Mirror.” He ripped a small square mirror free of the stitching that held it in place.

  “Will that be big enough? How far can light reflect?”

  “Hang on.” Dougal got to his feet and jogged away, his step exuberant. He came back
wearing his jeans again, his wallet in his hands. “There’s a little piece of mirror in here,” he said. “Came with the wallet. Maybe we can set up a relay.”

  “You work on that—the cubs can help you. I’ll do the sprinkling and try to get Graham free of these vines.”

  Dougal saluted her, a mirror in each hand. “You heard her, kids. Help Uncle Dougal. Matt, stop eating.”

  Matt shook himself free of another bag of chips and trotted off after Dougal and Kyle. Misty mixed the petals in the water with her hands, then lifted the mess and dribbled it over Graham’s body.

  Water pattered down to bead on his skin. Roses and the wet stamens of honeysuckle, the purple and white streaked petals of iris dropped on him, sticking to his chest and arms, curling around his tatts. Misty knew Graham was truly out then, because he’d have snarled at flowers covering his tatts.

  Something bright flashed into Misty’s eyes. Dougal’s voice carried across the cave. “Hold it still, move it to the right. The right. No, the other right. Goddess.”

  The light moved around wildly, winking in the darkness. A wavering beam slid onto Graham’s body, faint but clear.

  “There!” Misty shouted at him. “It’s touching him.”

  “Now call the blessing,” Dougal yelled back.

  “What do I say?”

  “Keep it simple. The blessings of the Father God be upon you.”

  “The blessings of the Father God be upon you, Graham,” Misty repeated quickly.

  Her words drifted into silence. The beam wavered again, spearing the wall and falling onto a strand of vine. The vine shrank away from the reflection, receding into the wall. Weird, Misty thought dimly, because plants usually tried to push their way toward sunlight.

  Somewhere in the darkness, she heard little voices say, “Hold it still.” “You’re moving it.” “I am not!”

  Misty started scooping more water and blossoms onto Graham, every drop, every petal. “Damn it, Graham. Wake up!”

  The vines around Graham jerked. Misty sucked in a breath. The vine flowers watching her trembled, light flashed over them wildly as the twins struggled with each other over the mirrors.