He reached his office in no time and hastily locked the door. Using a telekinesis spell, he placed several pieces of furniture in front of it. That wouldn’t stop the orcs, but it would slow them down.
That taken care of, he grabbed his car keys and headed toward the secondary exit, hoping that the creatures had been stupid enough to miss it. Indeed, there seemed to be no one around as he slipped through the hidden door. His hands sweated terribly as he rushed to the first level once again, but this time, to the underground garage.
Once he reached his destination, he couldn’t help but notice the strange, almost eerie silence. In fact, it was far too quiet, and Hewitt easily understood he might be walking into a trap. But there was no going back now, and Hewitt ran to his car, expecting to be jumped any moment now.
To his shock, he reached the vehicle safely. He managed to insert the key in the lock and slid inside. Surprised at this turn of events, Hewitt nevertheless started the car and drove off, not willing to question his good fortune.
But just as he left the main building, an orc jumped on the hood of his car, punching at the metal and glass angrily. Hewitt swerved, trying to dislodge the creature with an abrupt motion of the car. He succeeded, but even as the orc flew off his car, more appeared, surrounding him.
Hewitt sped up, attempting to escape his pursuers. However, his haste proved to be counterproductive. When another group of creatures jumped on the car, Hewitt lost control of the vehicle. The car crashed against the wall of a nearby building and pain exploded through Hewitt as his body flew through the windshield. He had enough time to wish he’d remembered his seat belt before everything went dark.
* * * *
“Can I get you anything else?”
Devon looked at the feral in front of him, still puzzled by the man’s existence. He had no idea how one of their kind had managed to control the beast within them and have a hotel in London, out of all places. Sure, there were many places like that hidden all over the world, but Devon had never expected a feral to have founded one.
Placing his beer on the bar table, Mason gave them both an amused look, as if guessing Devon’s thoughts.
“Thanks, JC,” he told the feral. “We’re good.”
JC just grimaced and disappeared behind the bar. Obviously, he didn’t appreciate their presence, or at least Devon’s. Ferals in general disliked each other, so the feeling was completely mutual on Devon’s part.
Once JC was gone, Devon turned toward his mate. “Who’s he?”
“I’m an Alpha feral, so I know a lot of our kind,” Mason replied. “They might not like me, but they obey me because they know I can protect them from the hunters.”
“And do you?” Devon asked. “Protect them from the hunters, I mean.”
“Sometimes.” Mason shrugged. “I don’t actually have an organized pack, so when some of them go on a rampage, they’re likely to be caught.”
“Why do I get the impression that JC is different?”
Mason leaned in closer, invading Devon’s personal space. “Jealous already? I like that.”
The wolf inside Devon might have submitted to Mason’s more powerful beast, but that didn’t mean Devon’s animalistic nature didn’t manifest just as strongly. In fact, just the thought of either of his mates being touched by someone else made him growl lowly in his throat. “Did you fuck him? Did you fuck JC?”
“A long time ago.” Mason smirked. “Quite a memorable experience, if I might add.”
Already on the edge due to being apart from Hewitt, Devon suddenly had the urge to follow after JC and tear the other feral’s throat out. Perhaps he’d have done just that, had Mason not pulled him close and crushed their lips together. The kiss drew on Devon’s angry passion, feeding on it, fueling the fire growing inside him.
At the bottom of his mind, he felt something else, an arousal not his own, or Mason’s. It was something different, a sweet perfection that Devon identified as Hewitt. For a few moments, he thought his mate might be with someone else, but his instinct pacified him. Hewitt was thinking about Devon and Mason, touching himself and wishing they were there. Devon might not be able to connect with the witch fully, but in spite of that, their unformed bond still echoed within him, transmitting Hewitt’s emotions.
Mason pushed Devon off the barstool he’d been sitting on and against the table. The other feral swept his hand over the wooden surface, sending the bottles flying and creating more space for them. Somehow, Devon ended up lying on his back, with Mason on top of him, ravaging his mouth.
They might have ended up fucking right there, in the deserted bar of the small hotel Mason had taken him to, had Devon not felt something was wrong. Mason tensed above him and broke the kiss.
“Hewitt,” they both said at the same time.
They separated, and after Mason left a few bills on the counter, they rushed out of the small hotel. They hadn’t gone too far from The Witching Hour, but that was by London standards. This meant they were still a good distance from the club, much farther than both of them would have liked in such circumstances.
Uncaring as to who might see them, Mason and Devon used their supernatural speed. They were urged on by an increasing feeling of doom, and a calm but very real fear they sensed coming from Hewitt. The emotions were distant, as if through a veil, due to their incomplete bond, but they were there, and undoubtedly true. What had happened? Had the spirit wolves done something against Hewitt, or had there been another feral attack? Devon was inclined to believe in the latter option. As treacherous as the spirit wolves could be, Hewitt had helped them in the past, and they had no reason to go against the witch.
Mason and Devon had almost reached the club when a shot of excruciating pain struck them. Devon’s beast immediately identified the source as Hewitt and panicked. In fact, he might have shifted into his wolf form had Mason not been there to anchor him.
And then, Hewitt’s presence in their minds dwindled to nothing. Even as he ran, Devon gasped, the shock of his mate’s absence so intense it nearly made him keel over. It was only the knowledge that Hewitt needed them that kept him from collapsing. In that agony, he found renewed strength, and together with Mason, he ran even faster.
In spite of their race, however, their efforts proved to be futile. When they at last reached the club, signs of devastation were everywhere. Sirens sounded in the distance, the authorities having probably been alerted. Devon followed his instincts to his mate’s trail and soon found a crashed car just a few blocks away from the club. Its windshield was shattered, and it looked like someone’s body had flown through, propelled by a powerful impact force. Devon scented Hewitt’s blood in the area, and knew without a doubt who the person in question had been.
Twin roars echoed in the area as Devon and Mason screamed their pain and anger. For the first time since he’d become a feral, Devon turned into a rabid beast, unable to control the power inside him. This time, the knowledge of what had happened to Hewitt sent both Devon and Mason into a frenzy.
The humans around them suddenly seemed like prey, perfect targets for Devon to release his aggression on. There was a foul stench in the air, though, something evil that gave Devon pause. A creature like he had never encountered had been behind this attack. Lost in his madness, Devon pursued the scent, with Mason right by his side.
He no longer cared if the humans saw him, or if the spirit wolves decided to hunt him. His mind had been completely taken over by the instinct to kill. Deep inside, he still sensed Hewitt, and he somehow knew the witch was still alive. That, and Mason’s presence, anchored him and kept him from completely losing himself in his beast.
Whoever had taken Hewitt seemed to have been very fast, but Devon didn’t give up. He snarled at whoever tried to get in his way. Everyone except Mason was an enemy. Nothing else mattered except getting to their mate and rescuing him. Alas, the trace seemed to grow ever fainter, disappearing into the numerous scents of the city. God, they wouldn’t be able to find Hewitt. They di
dn’t have a chance.
And then, all of a sudden, the world froze. Blinding light filled his vision, and he stopped, no longer able to move a muscle. A white, translucent wolf appeared in front of him. Devon’s reason might not know who it was, but his soul did.
Every spirit wolf knew the story behind the creation of their species. They had been brought into this world by the Spirit Mother, the only one of them who was not bound by limitations of the flesh. Devon had never actually seen the white wolf before, and sometimes, he’d had doubts that she existed at all. Ferals, at least, seemed to have been abandoned by her. But if he wanted to be completely honest, from time to time, he had felt the support of a hidden presence, someone unseen, far greater than him or any earthly force, for that matter.
In this moment, though, not even the Spirit Mother could calm him down. He rebelled against her power, trying to break free of her hold. Why was she keeping him from Hewitt? Could she truly be so cruel so as to grant Devon and Mason a mate, then separate them?
“You must remain calm,” her voice sounded softly, like a spring breeze reaching out to soothe Devon’s senses. “You can’t help your mate if you lose yourselves.”
How could she say something like that? Didn’t she know that the pain he and Mason experienced now was like having a thousand needles piercing their bodies? Devon’s very soul writhed in agony. Even so, the certainty in her words gave Devon pause. She could help them. She could help Hewitt. Surely, she must know who had taken the witch.
Clinging to his mate’s image, Devon managed to change back into his human form. It was harder than it should have been, harder than ever before. The sheer difficulty of it illustrated how close Devon was to completely surrendering to his beast. As Mason did the same, Devon realized his feral mate was in the same situation.
“What would you have us do?” Mason asked, his voice a low growl. “Wait?”
“No,” the Spirit Mother replied. “You merely need to work with the same people you hate. I will guide you, but you must make haste. There isn’t much time.”
That wasn’t very comforting for Devon. Taking a deep breath, he fought to control himself. “Just tell us what to do,” he said to the white wolf.
“Relax and close your eyes,” the Spirit Mother said. “Remember, this won’t be easy, but it needs to be done.”
Devon shared a look with Mason and nodded. Of course it would be difficult. He’d already hated asking for the Magistrate’s help with regard to the famous serum. But if Wolfram could help them find Hewitt, Devon would grovel, plead, and even die.
Obeying his goddess, Devon allowed his eyes to drift shut. Relaxing was impossible, but he did reach out for Mason’s hand and hoped that would do. As he did so, he felt the very fabric of reality tilt and shift. Even if his senses were screaming danger, he ignored his own instincts of self-preservation and surrendered his very being to the Spirit Mother.
He didn’t know how much time passed, but at last, the world seemed to be come stable again. “It’s all right,” the Spirit Mother said. “You can open your eyes now.”
Devon did, already knowing what he would find. His beast had felt the presence of spirit wolves even before she had spoken. And indeed, for the first time in many years, Devon found himself in the presence of Magistrate Wolfram Rozenstadt.
The older spirit wolf had not changed much since Devon had last seen him. The only visible trace of his age was his salt-and-pepper hair and his eyes, those eyes that had always seemed so old. But even the wisdom and power of the Magistrate could not intimidate Devon. He’d been brought here for a purpose, and he fully intended to reach that goal.
To his surprise, Devon also realized that they were not in a normal room. Rather, the Spirit Mother had taken them to an airplane, obviously the one the Magistrate and his entourage meant to use to get to London.
And there were certainly plenty of people around. Devon didn’t know them, but then again, he’d been gone a long time. New generations of hunters had emerged, some of them notoriously skilled. Devon had never faced any of the spirit wolves here in a battle, something he felt thankful for.
Naturally, though, the exchange between two parties that had lived in conflict for centuries wouldn’t have gone well. It was very fortunate that the Spirit Mother hadn’t left them, instead appearing in the middle of the plane in her white wolf form.
“Well, it appears introductions need to be made,” she said, the disembodied voice echoing through the plane without seeming to actually come from her mouth. “Wolfram, if you would do the honors.”
The Magistrate might have been surprised to see them there, but he nevertheless followed the Spirit Mother’s suggestion. “Right,” he said. “Everyone, these two gentlemen are Devon Saunders and Mason Kale.” As he spoke, he wordlessly handed Devon and Mason a pair of shirts. They weren’t much, but they’d at least cover Devon’s and Mason’s nudity.
Pointing to the two men closest to him, the Magistrate then said, “This is Fritz Bauer and Dietrich Dupont, my mates.”
“You must be Hewitt’s ferals,” the dark-haired man identified as Dietrich said with a frown. “I’m Dietrich Dupont. Where is Hewitt?”
“He was kidnapped by someone, or something,” Devon replied as he buttoned his shirt.
“Ferals?” another of the Magistrate’s companions asked. Devon turned toward him and found himself facing a blond, slender human. “Oh, I apologize,” the man added. “I’m Doctor Andrew Blunt.”
Devon guessed the other two men around the doctor to be Andrew’s mates. His suspicion was confirmed when the duo introduced themselves as Valerius D’Averam and Trent Hart.
Once that was out of the way, Mason finally replied to the doctor’s question. “We don’t know. It must be, but I can’t understand how ferals could defeat Hewitt’s wards.”
“That’s because it wasn’t them who attacked The Witching Hour,” the Spirit Mother finally spoke out. All of the men present turned toward the white wolf. Devon held his breath, waiting for the explanation he had been denied.
“Then who?” he prodded.
“To answer that, I must begin somewhere else,” the white wolf replied. “You see, the world’s creatures as a whole are a mix of flesh and spirit. Humans, for example, have very strong souls, but they don’t have the ability to control that strength and oftentimes allow other factors to pollute it. Some, like Hewitt, are stronger, and their magic stems from that. Beasts are to a certain extent similar, but their souls lack the focus and the reason required for a true balance. Spirit wolves represent a middle ground, but one that can be destroyed if they lose themselves to that part of them that is purely animal.” The Spirit Mother seemed to consider her words, as if wondering just how much those present could process. “There are many other examples that could be given, but I won’t delve into that. Instead, I have to say that there are also beings that are purely spirit or purely flesh. I and others like me are soul alone, but soulless beings also exist. And one of these creatures has taken Hewitt.”
“A soulless being?” Mason repeated in disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“Creatures only of the flesh. Due to their affinity, they are immune to Hewitt’s magic, or any type of magic for that matter, and can only be hurt by blunt force. They are called Oriakai, by their ancient name, but you’re probably more familiar with the word orcs.”
“Orcs?” Devon couldn’t believe his ears. He’d always thought there were some legends the humans had come up with that weren’t actually true. For him, those foul little creatures were just the stuff of stories. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
He didn’t doubt the Spirit Mother, however, and it made sense that Hewitt would have had trouble to fend off creatures immune to his magic. Devon had no such problems, though. He understood blunt force, and he just ached to sink his fangs and claws into those who’d dared to take his mate. “All right, then. Where do we find them?” he inquired.
“Not so fast,” the Spirit Mother cautioned. “
They are stronger, faster, and more agile than you. In current circumstances, you will not be able to defeat them.”
Devon was beginning to get irritated. No, more than irritated, he was out of his mind with concern for his mate and tired of riddles. He just wanted to be pointed in one direction and start slashing. Whatever the Spirit Mother said, he was convinced that between him and Mason, they would be able to tear apart whoever stood between them and Hewitt.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the white wolf told him in a reprimanding, but gentle tone. “If you run ahead without knowledge of how to deal with this threat, you will not be able to help your mate.”
“Spirit Mother,” the Magistrate said at last, “tell us what we must do. We will contact every spirit wolf if it’s required.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy. It’s not about your core ability to fight. No, it’s much more complex than that. To be brief, the leader of the orcs needs spiritual energy to fully escape the prison he is currently held in. If you went as you are, you’d only make things worse, as he is very powerful. To defeat his minions, you have to become flesh like them,” she replied. “You have to surrender to your basest instincts and turn into what you fear most.”
Silence fell, the roar of the plane’s engines sounding almost obscenely loud. Devon couldn’t believe his ears. All his life, he’d been berated for becoming a feral, and now, it seemed that to beat the worst threat ever to cross his path, he needed to embrace what he was. He’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious.
“Fight fire with fire, you mean,” he said, breaking the ominous quiet.
“Indeed. It will not be easy. You might not realize it, but deep inside, you are still spirit wolves. To do this, I must completely remove my hold over you, and you will feel it.”
Bewitched by Their Mate [Feral 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) Page 7
