by Abigail Owen
Her brain and body came alive like her shot of morning espresso had been spiked with a bolt of lightning. Now she remembered. She’d been taken from her room at the castle.
Her heart tried to gallop out of her chest, but then her training kicked in. Solve the problem. That’s what she had to do.
She didn’t want her captor to know she was awake, so she stayed still, eyes closed, did her best to slow her pounding heart and took stock. Night had fallen, and thankfully the clothes she’d worn to meet Daje warded off the cold. Worse news…whoever had her had taken her in the early morning, which meant she’d been unconscious a day or more.
Has to be only twelve hours or so. She’d been shot with only one dart, the size of a small thimble. It wouldn’t hold enough to keep her under much longer.
She was definitely moving, and situated at an odd angle. Her hair was hanging in her face. A cracked eye for a quick peek filled in several of the puzzle pieces. Based on the sweet, leathery scent of animal and saddle that filled her nostrils, as well as the plodding gait, she could tell she was riding some kind of horse or donkey—laid over its back like a saddle bag, stomach down, head hanging, arms tied behind her back.
Okay. First things first, she had to get her hands unbound. With a tug, she tested the strength of whatever held her, only to discover she’d been bound tightly, maybe with rope. Good. She could work with rope as long as her assailant hadn’t found the knife strapped to her ankle under her yoga pants.
The question was how to get to it without her captor noticing. Another swift peek showed her whoever had her was up ahead on a mount of their own, pulling hers along by a long lead. Interesting. How had Gage not found her yet? They weren’t moving all that fast, but the bond that linked her to her mate burnt like a son of a bitch in the center of her chest, and told her Gage was far from her. And relieved? Why would he be relieved?
Solve the immediate problem.
She tried lifting her feet to her hands, only to find having them dangling low kept her balanced over the donkey. She would overbalance and tumble onto her head if she did much more of that. Time to give away her alert state.
“Um,” she called out. “Would it be possible for me to sit up? The blood is running to my head and giving me a terrible headache.”
The figure up ahead turned back. “So you’re awake?”
Obviously. “Yes.”
She didn’t quite recognize the voice—male, dark and gruff. And familiar. “Can we stop for a second?”
To her relief, they did stop moving and the man dismounted. She couldn’t get a good look as he approached because he was shadowed with the sliver of moon, the only source of light, directly behind him, and her hair a dark curtain in her eyes. In a show of impressive strength, he grasped her by the waist and heaved her up. He was close enough for her to catch the earthy scent of mountain lion over the smells of her ride.
“Swing your leg over,” he grunted.
She did as asked. With efficient moves, he fit the stirrups to her feet.
“I’ll do better if my hands are free,” she suggested, pulling out her best innocently naïve act.
He ignored her and returned to his donkey. Now she had a better view, she could tell what animals they rode. With a toss of her head, she did what she could to get her hair out of her face. They were definitely still in the desert mountains. A breeze blew the sand around them in a slow hiss.
Time for distraction. If she sat there too quietly, he’d become suspicious.
Putting a wobble of fear in her voice, she continued the sweet, submissive act. “Where are you taking me?”
“Your father.”
She frowned even as she kicked her right foot loose from her stirrup. “Dad? Was he worried when I disappeared? Did he send you to rescue me?”
“No.” The sneer in the man’s voice was obvious.
Of course not, or he wouldn’t have bound her wrists. But she was supposed to be naïve, and she played the part like a multi-award-winning actress after almost twenty years of practice.
Using the stirrup on the other side as leverage, she bent her knee and inched her foot up the mule’s side. She had to twist awkwardly to try to get her foot to her hands, an interesting feat when being jostled by the bumpy gait of her ride. It took a couple of tries, and a nasty cramp in her hamstring that brought a silent gasp of pain to her lips, but she finally got it. A quick search revealed her knife had remained undiscovered. She slipped it out, sat up straight again, and got to work sawing on the ropes around her wrists.
Sometimes being underestimated was awesome.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When they finally came to a stop, Seneca was sore, stiff, tired…and ready. She held her arms behind her back, with the rope still wrapped around her wrists, but now cut, allowing her to get out quickly when the time came.
And she waited.
The hooded figure busied himself setting up a small campfire. “Are we stopping to rest?” she asked as smoke rose from the wood and the flames crackled to life.
Her question was greeted with the same loaded silence every other babbled question had been. They’d ridden for at least two hours, the skin of her inner thighs and tush rubbing raw since running pants were not ideal for riding a donkey, and the pain in her chest moving from a burn to a sharp stabbing sensation the further she got from Gage.
Why wasn’t he following? Coming after her? By now he had to know what direction she went in, had to feel her, but the distance between them continued to grow. She hoped the pain caused by their separation didn’t become unmanageable. Not when she had to focus on getting herself out of this situation.
To distract herself from her thoughts, she’d peppered her companion with questions and comments all along the way, and still had no more information than when they started. Her father wanted her. Most likely so he could kill her. The question was, which of her secrets had he discovered?
Best guess…Rick now knew she’d been the one to give him up to the Alpha’s Council. With Silva and the other two Alphas working with him, that was the most likely. She didn’t have a Belief about her situation either way. Though she’d tried, no gut-level insights had come her way. Which had her flying blind in terms of what steps to take next. Fight? Escape? Wait?
Once her captor was done setting up, he stalked toward her. Seneca kicked her feet out of the stirrups, ready to move when he did. She knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun him in either of her forms, which meant knocking him unconscious before she took off.
Trying to do anything from off the donkey with her arms starting behind her wasn’t going to work, so she allowed him to get in close, even lift her down, before she made her move.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she whipped her hands out from behind her back to snag him by the wrist and bend his hand down at the wrist at an awkward angle, giving her complete control over his motion. Using his surprise and his size against him, she jerked him forward, twisting to her left so he was off balance with his arm stretched straight out in front of him. Then she spun on her foot, bringing his straight arm around her other side, a move which toppled him to the ground. She came down hard with her knee aimed at his head.
But he wasn’t there when she hit. He jerked his wrist out of her hand and rolled away. Pain splintered through her leg at the impact with the ground. A rock sliced through the thin cotton of her pants and into the skin beneath.
She ignored the pain and jumped up to face the man now on his feet and standing across the fire from her. “So you’re not quite the tame little kitten you pretend. I wondered.”
She was assessing her next step when he leapt at her through the flames, sending a shower of sparks heavenward, arms held up, similar to how a tiger would fly at prey larger than it. She ducked under those arms and to the side to strike him in the ribs as he flew past her.
A growl ripped from his throat as he spun to face her, and he launched a right hook at her head that would certainly knock her out if it c
onnected. Blessing the speed she’d been graced with, she sprang back so he missed her, but reached up to hook her arm through his. Then using his thigh and momentum of his swing, she leapt up around his shoulders to straddle his head from behind. She slammed her hands down on both his ears before flipping off his back in a rolling motion that landed her close to his feet.
She reached for them, but got a backward kick to the breastbone first. She flew backward, smacking into a boulder. Every molecule of air deserted her body, and her lungs stopped functioning. Her eyes watered and her throat constricted as she tried to suck air back in.
A shadow descended, and she raised her eyes to her attacker, getting her first good look at his face.
“Gage?” she croaked. Her body clenched as the pain of betrayal tore through her, leaving a jagged, bleeding hole where her heart had been. Was that why her kidnapper’s voice had been familiar?
His smile, once warm and welcoming, held a special brand of hatred aimed straight at her. “And you thought you were my mate,” he sneered.
The anguish of his duplicity paled in comparison to how that contemptuous declaration shredded her. All she wanted was to curl in on herself, shrivel up and float away like a dead, dry leaf on the wind.
“Rick wanted to be the one to do this, but given the skills you’ve just displayed, I think not.” He raised a knife, one that had a wicked blade, thick and long. But she couldn’t bring herself to care through the devastation ripping her insides out. She lifted a token hand to ward off the blow.
As he brought the weapon down, a massive form slammed into him. Through the blur of tears, Seneca couldn’t understand what was happening. An animal of some kind had attacked Gage. Huge…and white.
“Seneca?” A woman was at her side, kneeling down in front of her. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, trying to clear it, still trying to make sense of anything other than the hell rampant inside her.
In seconds the fight was over.
Her vision cleared enough for her to recognize that a huge polar bear stood triumphant over the limp body of the man she’d given her heart to.
“Gage,” she sobbed.
“No, he’s not.” The woman still crouched beside her glanced over her shoulder at the body.
What?
Seneca turned her head to focus on the woman. “Sarai?” She swung her gaze back to the bear who’d shifted, leaving a towering, and stark naked, man in its place. Sarai’s mate, Zac.
“That man isn’t Gage.” Sarai lay her hand over Seneca’s arm and gave her a shake.
Seneca stared at her blankly, mentally urging the gears of her brain to re-engage. “How?” she croaked.
Sarai’s lips flattened. “He had the help of two raven shifters who apparently also possess a bit of magic. They altered his appearance.”
Ravens? Seneca shook her head. This didn’t make any sense. “Why?”
“Who knows. To cause you pain, I suspect.”
“If he’s not Gage, who is he?”
“Someone named Lorn.”
Seneca’s eyes widened. “Lorn is Rick’s favorite assassin.” But all she could think was how Gage hadn’t attacked her. Of course, he hadn’t. The stabbing sensation in her chest told her he was still far away.
“It’s not Gage,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t need her gift to know the truth, but her mind was having trouble keeping up.
“Are you okay?” Sarai asked. “Can you get up?”
Still in shock, Seneca rallied and took stock of her injuries, wincing at a couple of sharp jabs of pain. Nothing that wouldn’t heal in a week or so. “Yes.”
“We should get going,” Zac said from where he squatted beside the body.
“The real Gage is going to be grateful to get you back, I think.” Sarai smiled and offered a hand to pull Seneca to her feet.
She stumbled up, testing her weight on the knee she’d come down on so hard, brushing dirt and sand off her clothes. But all without thought, still too focused on her mate.
Would Gage be grateful to see her? Now she wasn’t sure how much of their talk just before her kidnapping had been Gage, and how much had been Lorn. Given her attacker’s surprise at her fighting skills, logic told her those moments had all been Gage. But how could she be sure? She’d thought she’d found acceptance, if not love.
But what was true?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Getting back to the castle took the rest of the night and a good chunk of the next day. They slowed down significantly in the daytime because Zac couldn’t travel in his polar bear form and the donkeys couldn’t hold him, which meant walking in their human forms or resting. Between her sparring with Daje and her fight with Lorn, her battered body protested their mode of travel loudly. According to Sarai, Seneca’s back was a patchwork of black, green, and red from where she’d hit the rocks, and her knee screamed in protest with every step. Her aches and pains were only marginally better in her tiger form, which Sarai and Zac apparently already knew she possessed.
Was there anyone now who didn’t know that secret?
Thankfully, George had provided directions to Sarai and Zac, because Seneca had no clue where she was. Though she could probably have navigated by her connection with Gage, which gave her the odd sensation of gravity or of a magnet being pulled back to its match. Every step closer eased the ache.
When they were perhaps a mile out from the castle, one of Zula’s patrols picked them up. The lion who stumbled across them, one she didn’t know, immediately recognized her and shifted. “Everyone is looking for you. What happened?” He bared his teeth at her companions. “And who are they?”
“They saved my life,” she rushed to assure him, and he backed off.
She gave him a fly-by explanation as he led them the rest of the way to the castle. They went in the front gate, a massive set of iron double doors that gave a series of clunks along with a grinding noise before being swung open with a rusty squeal. Inside, Seneca inhaled deeply, taking in the hot, summer-day scent of her lion pride and releasing a small amount of the tension trapped in her body since she’d woken on the back of a donkey.
The castle sprang to life, similar to a fire ant pile after it’s stepped on.
“Where’s Gage?” she asked the lion who’d found them.
“Searching for you.” His lips flattened in a grim line. “In the other direction.”
Her steps slowed. “Did they not catch the scent?” And didn’t Gage feel the pull?
“No scent. No tracks. And they were given information to head north.”
“By who?” Zac asked.
“The ravens.”
She exchanged a glance with Sarai and Zac. Like the ravens who changed Lorn’s appearance?
“Can we get Gage word I’m back safely, along with Sarai and Zac?”
“Already on it.”
She nodded, though holding back her disappointment that Gage wasn’t here. “Can you arrange a room for my friends?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Sarai put her hand on Seneca’s arm. “You’re ready to drop. Why don’t you go to your room and rest?”
“You won’t have to twist my arm. Though you should rest as well. Your journey has been a lot longer than mine.”
“Minus a few bumps and bruises.”
She gave Sarai a tired smile and left her companions to the care of the lions. Potentially a bad idea, given the last interaction she’d had with them, but the lions were acting more…helpful…than they had before. Besides, Zac was a polar bear and Sarai a Seer. They’d be okay.
Outside her room, she discovered Beno lying, his maneless head resting on his paws. As soon as she rounded the corner of the hall, he stood. And she slowed. The last time she’d seen him she’d revealed her tiger shift.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
He shook his head, and she moved closer.
“Upset that I’m a tiger?”
He rolled his eye
s as if to say, I’m not that petty.
She twisted her lips. “Happy to see me back safe and sound?” She’d meant it in jest, so danged if she wasn’t shocked when he rubbed up against her, a clear sign of affection.
She laid her hand on his back. “I missed you too.”
Beno prowled back to his place by the door and lay back down, and she knew he’d guard her until Gage got back.
Pathetic that she got choked up at this sign of friendship. She cleared her throat. “Thanks, Beno.” Then she scurried into the room before she made a total fool of herself by weeping.
Inside, Seneca briefly debated soaking in the deep tub, but exhaustion weighed down her limbs like sandbags on a hot air balloon, and she worried she’d fall asleep in there and drown. Instead, she peeled off her filthy clothes, which reeked of sweat and dirt, sand cascading off her onto the tile floor with a hissing sound, and hopped in the shower, turned at a temperature barely below, boiling which eased her sore muscles and washed away the layer of grime that clung to her skin like mold on cheese. The spray stung against the various cuts, and she bent her leg so the water didn’t sluice over the deep gash on her knee.
By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a soft, fluffy towel, she felt slightly more human.
“Seneca!”
Gage’s call echoed all the way down the corridor outside their room. During her shower, a wave of relief had communicated itself down the line of their bond, followed by a gradual easing of the tension caused by distance. Now, she paused in her search for clothes to turn to the bedroom door. She didn’t have to wait long before the heavy wood was thrown violently back. Seneca winced. Good thing it was so solid or it would be splinters on the ground.
“Seneca.” Gage’s voice cracked with combined panic and relief, and warmth displaced the cold rock that had filled her stomach since realizing she’d been shot with a tranquilizer.
