Sorcha's Wolf

by Billi Jean

  For the first time, she looked the powerful, deadly witch. She met his surprised gaze, seemed to look him over once, then satisfied, turned to face Helga. Two jackals raced forward, trying to take her down, only to have her flick a hand at them as if shooing an annoying fly. Both men curled up in agony on the ground before bursting into green flames.

  What had she told him on the mountain before she’d tossed him off to the side? You have the most powerful witch in the world and instead of letting me help you, you’ve bound my powers!

  He reached her side and stopped two more jackals that tried to take her. “Sorcha!”

  She turned with a shocked expression, then smacked the smoke rising from his clothing. “You’re burning!”

  He caught her hands. “I’m fucking fine! You have your powers—”

  “Yes, and no way are we leaving without the child!”

  “Damn it, witch—”

  “Stop calling me that, Lykae!”

  He froze again, then reached out and grabbed hold of one of the men, tossing him aside before he could touch Sorcha. He spun back around to see her wide eyed exactly where he’d left her. He grabbed hold of her wrist and stared at her breathlessly. She was angry about him calling her witch at a time like this. She amazed him.

  “We will get the child, I’d always planned to, and you…” He jerked her wrist to get her full attention when she started looking around, no doubt for the child, and her eyes zeroed in on him with a snap of green fire. “You have your powers?”

  She smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “Obviously, now—let go!” She started chanting in a language he couldn’t quite follow and two more men crashed backwards as if she’d hit them with a wave of wind.

  “Alex, would you pay attention!” she cried.

  Shit. He turned to engage a pair of men with four of the jackals nipping at his feet. One went down with a lucky sword stroke to its head. The other three backed off, snarling, and leaving him facing the men. Near him, he spotted Sorcha weaving her hands in and out of a pattern. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred, but he attacked the men, keeping them away from her. Suddenly the witch shrieked something and he managed to duck under one of the attackers and toss him in time to see Helga hurl something from her hands at Sorcha. His heart felt like it stopped when a cloud of black formed into a two-foot wide arrow aimed right for Sorcha’s chest.

  Sorcha shrugged, and a smile blossomed on her lips as she swept her hand in a casual, dismissive gesture. The black melted to the ground as easily as that, but the other witch flew head over heels for several feet before hitting the ground with a solid thud.

  “Now that witch is not getting up, eh?” he asked.

  Sorcha cast him a playful smirk. Was she enjoying this? Bloody hell. And she called him bloodthirsty.

  “Best be certain,” she said, “besides, they never go down that easily. But while she is down…”

  As he watched, Sorcha spun her hands and green fire surrounded the child and slowly grew before it blew outward with a gust of wind that knocked him backwards. He struggled upright from where he’d landed on his back and raced back to her side. He tried to reach her before anything else happened, but as he neared, he heard her whisper another spell.

  A sound like a train shook the valley, flattening the grass in the meadow, shoving him backwards. The jackals tore off yelping into the forest, sparks flying from their thick coats. The other witch rose from where she’d fallen, screaming words he couldn’t follow above the sound of the hurricane-like winds Sorcha had called.

  The men nearby attempted to circle behind them, but he turned, catching one man’s knife with his sword, and tossed him aside. Immediately another landed a blow to his chest. The pain seared through his brain like a match to dried tinder. He used the sting to focus his rage on the one in front of him. The man still had his knife out and shifted left, hunched down low for another attack. Alex let him, using his opponent’s own momentum to slice deep in his thigh as he shifted too far to the right. As expected, he stumbled. Alex turned, grabbed him around the neck, and spun him into his partner’s blade. Growling, Alex delivered a deadly strike and tossed them both down.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Sorcha running straight for the child. Two men held the little one between them, while another four broke off from him to stop her.

  His wolf rushed to the surface, demanding to take part in the battle. His hackles rose in another rush of anger, but he kept his wolf in his place. He swung a fist into one man’s face, barely pausing before he dived into two more, knocking them aside on his way to Sorcha. Out of that fight, he ran straight into the giant meant to intimidate him.

  Nothing was stopping him from reaching his witch.

  Alex fisted his sword hilt two handed and charged, so enraged he could barely keep his wolf in check. The giant went down, gasping as Alex’s sword sliced clear through his abdomen and into his spine. Not willing to give the man a better death, Alex yanked his bloody blade free, then turned to find two more men blocking him. They exchanged several blows, but his focus was on killing quickly to reach Sorcha. He felled both men ruthlessly, using his strength and cunning to snap one’s neck and shoved his sword hilt into the other man’s face, crushing his nose.

  Anxious and cursing at the precious minutes they’d cost him, he shrugged the last man off. Panic blossomed in his chest at the sound of Sorcha’s yell breaking off with a muffled sound. Had someone reached her, harmed her?

  With a vicious punch, he downed another man in his way and spotted Sorcha a mere five feet from him. He lunged past one man, reached her side, and shoved her back out of reach of the two with the child.

  “Careful, Alex, careful of her!” Sorcha cried, but he was too pissed off at the witch, the situation, Sorcha in danger and the men harming the girl, to listen.

  He dived at the two, breaking their hold on the child, and yelled, “Duck!”

  The youngling let out a screech, but she ducked. He cut through the men with a brutal stroke of his sword and gathered the child in his arms. He turned and Sorcha was there, looking at him as if he was some kind of hero. A painful block filled his throat, making it impossible for him to ask if she was unharmed.

  The next instant, pain shot along his back and fire broke out around him. He thrust Sorcha and the child from him, safe from the fire and turned only to feel a massive tree crash to the ground inches from where he stood. A branch whispered so close to his face he felt the brush of its pine needles along his jaw. A breath closer and he would have been out of the fight—possibly dead. He tossed the thought aside and dealt with the threats still facing him.

  Flames circled him, coming closer at a rapid, unnatural pace. They shot at least twenty-five feet high. The heat licked at his skin and burnt along his face and nose. The ground shook, trembling under his feet and knocked him to his hands and knees. Another tree broke through the fire to land inches from him. He rolled to the side and the lick of heat kissed his left arm and face as he got to his feet. One glance proved that the flames were moving closer, devouring the wet heather like it was dry fodder.

  Sweat beaded on his body, dripping into his eyes even as he squinted against the powerful blast of heat and light. There wasn’t a sound above the crack of fire, not a call or shout, not a sound of combat—but would there be? Sorcha would have left. He’d got her free. She’d get the child to safety.

  Would she return? As she had on the mountain? She would. The witch—he grinned suddenly remembering her scolding him in the midst of the fight—Sorcha would come for him.

  A howl of a jackal sounded above the fire and he spun to face the sound, backing a step from the fire closing on him.

  She’d come, but would she be too late? He’d be dead soon. Fire could kill a Lykae faster than silver.

  Had it been worth it?

  No, he realised, nothing in his life had been worth this ending. In the blink of an eye, his life became crystal clear. He’d not allowed himself to live. Too lat
e, the veil lifted from his eyes and he saw how his life could be, or rather would have been if he’d allowed himself to have it.

  Except now, it wasn’t his need for retribution that held him back but a twenty-foot blazing fire. Inch by inch, it destroyed the chance at a life he’d never known he wanted.

  Chapter Twelve

  From the side, a break in the roaring blaze appeared before Alex. Sorcha, her bright hair curling around her dirt-smudged face, her eyes like green flames, dressed in the rough sweater and jeans he’d got her, walked through the arch she’d created and tipped her head to the side, frowning at him fiercely.

  “Alex!” She waved her hand in a motion to come to her, her impatience clear.

  He nearly kissed her. Instead, he soaked in the moment and her. She’d never looked more beautiful.

  Apparently thinking she’d waited long enough, she reached his side, latched onto his arm and dragged him towards the break in the fire.

  “We have to go!”

  He heard her shout, but couldn’t stop himself from pulling her close and kissing her soundly as soon as they exited the circle of fire. She gaped at him as if he’d lost his mind, but he didn’t let her speak, instead he held her under his arm and urged her farther from the bonfire. She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him along several feet with more strength than he’d given her credit for, before he stopped them to one side of the huge blaze.

  “I don’t know how you did that, witch, but damn, I’m glad to see you, eh?”

  She wrinkled her nose adorably and looked like she’d just heard the strangest thing instead of him being nice to her. “Did they hit you in the head?”

  He shushed her with a finger to her lips and quickly tried to remind her they were still in trouble. “We aren’t out of hot water—”

  Sorcha batted his finger off. “I know that! You still need to get those jackals and—”

  “There! There they are!” Two arrows struck the ground a foot from where they stood.

  He hunched over her and turned her away from the firing so she was safe on his other side. “Out of the frying pan and into the—”

  “Not the fire again, Alex. Just kill them already!”

  “Gladly, witch.”

  Behind him feet pounded and his instinct surged to life. Three more arrows hit the ground near their feet. Alex dragged Sorcha down, landing on his back so he could take the brunt of the fall and rolled to ensure she was safe under him. She landed on him with a soft cry, her breasts in his face and one of her slim legs pressed tight to his groin.

  Was she the reason he lived, or the reason for living?

  “Alex!” she cried, when he held her there for a moment longer than necessary, but hell, her breasts were fucking perfect. “Let me go!”

  He jumped to his feet, and helped her to hers. She gave him another look as if he’d sprouted wings, but ran when he guided her to the relative safety of the woods. If they could make the tree line, they might be able to gain the upper hand. He could track the men and jackals and Sorcha could work her magic uninterrupted by arrows whizzing by her head.

  As if the mere thought called them, more arrows cut the air, their tips flaming this time. They hit the ground twenty feet ahead of them, cutting off their escape with another wall of unnatural flames.

  Two men suddenly appeared out of the smoke and fire to catch Sorcha around the waist, dragging her from his side. She screamed in surprise then fought like a wild, wiggling eel to break free.

  He tackled them all and tossed the men off her. Sorcha gasped and rolled, rising slowly to her knees, then threw her arm out with a curse.

  He ducked, thinking she aimed a spell at him. Behind him, he heard the scream from Helga and spun to watch her clawing her middle and rolling from side to side on the ground in agony.

  “What did you do?” he demanded, grabbing Sorcha’s hand and running with her.

  “Hurt her.”

  “Damn it, witch, I can see that, can she talk?”

  “Wolf, when you start calling me by my name I might just pass out from the shock!”

  He jumped a fallen tree and pulled Sorcha long with him. The woman was in the middle of a battle and had scolded him for calling her witch when the only time she used his name she made it sound like a curse. Women—this woman especially—confused the hell out of him. “Answer me!”

  “Yes, she can talk.”

  They reached the witch and he hauled her by her black hair from the ground and shook her until she stopped screaming.

  He met Sorcha’s gaze and tried to ignore how his chest grew too small when he saw her perfect face covered in soot, grime and sweat. Her green eyes weren’t glowing any longer, but the beautiful colour drove a sharp spike of fear through him. What if this witch had hurt Sorcha, after she’d killed him? If she’d not been able to fight off the poison?

  Breathlessly Sorcha slowly grinned at him, looking so young his heart took another blow. Still, he growled at her to get her on task. “Make her tell me where Zith is.”

  She blinked and her grin faded. “I can’t make her!”

  “She can’t make me do shit.” The witch coughed blood.

  “Oh? I can give your makeover a new twist.” Sorcha jerked her by her ruined silk gown and pressed her palm to the woman’s face. The dark-haired devil didn’t do anything for a moment, then with an unholy shriek, her youthful form melted away and an old, ancient hag hung from his fist.

  Alex nearly dropped her.

  “Tell him what he wants, believe me, he’s stubborn enough to get it from you.”

  “I will die before—”

  “I will make you suffer first, witch,” Alex assured her, pressing his sword to her ribs.

  Her beady, evil gaze flickered from Sorcha to him and back. “He will never—”

  Sorcha slapped her.

  Alex blinked. He’d never seen her so upset. She was seething mad. “You stupid hag. You think to harm others, to suck their life force from them to retain your beauty and you dare lecture me on my life? Tell him. Now.”

  She did something and the witch screamed in pain, shuddering with it, spluttered then begged her to stop. When Sorcha did, the hag gasped for air.

  “I don’t know, I swear, I don’t know where the mage lives.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Alex snarled, but backed down when Sorcha reached out and gripped his arm. She didn’t look at him but focused on the witch.

  “Did he send you to do this? To take me from Alex?”

  The witch hacked and coughed, but shook her head when Sorcha lifted a palm to her chest.

  “No, I was to meet the Lykae, then assure him that you were without your powers.”

  “How? How would you do this?” Alex demanded.

  The witch gasped, clearly in pain, but when Sorcha pressed her palm flat to her chest she tossed her head and said, “I would have used this—” She dug out a black and green oval from her gown that when she turned it over, revealed a mirrored surface.

  Sorcha lifted her hand from the hag and rocked back on her knees.

  “What does it mean?” Alex demanded.

  Not looking at him Sorcha shrugged. “It means she will not report in. It means that your quest may be over.”

  “No, no, I can still contact him—” The hag broke off to cough and shudder, then continued in a whisper, “if you promise not to kill me.”

  Alex glanced at Sorcha and saw her watching him. Did she think he’d let an evil witch like this live?

  “There’s no bargaining. You will die.” He let the tip of his blade rest under her jaw, forcing her head back at an odd angle. “It’s up to you if it’s fast, or slow.”

  She screeched like a cat caught in a door, but he kept his sword steady, not backing off from what he’d said. She wouldn’t live. He couldn’t allow that, not because Sorcha wanted the hag dead, but because he would never let evil like this walk away.

  “Do it. Call him now, and report that I am powerless. If you do not,
I will aid the Lykae in making you beg for death before he’s done skinning you.”

  Well, Sorcha had convinced him, if she didn’t convince the witch.

  The hag sobbed, but her cries turned softer and when he thought she’d simply refuse, she turned evil eyes on Sorcha. He nearly ran her through in reflex.

  “Aye, but you will have to return me to how you found me.”

  Sorcha tilted her head, as if considering, then with a sudden move that startled him, she slapped the woman again. Flames broke out on the hag’s face and he jerked Sorcha away, fearing the fire would reach her.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted over the hag’s scream.

  “She’s lying. I can use the mirror to track him.”

  A chill raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Sorcha could find Zith. The knowledge made his head spin with too many questions.

  The only thing he could pull from it all was one question. “Are you certain?”

  She eyed him sceptically and shrugged. “I believe so, but when the fire dies, we will ask her.”

  He shook his head at her ruthlessness, discovering another part of her to admire.

  The flames appeared to sink into the woman’s flesh and in their place, her skin began to glow with youthfulness again.

  “I thought she was lying?” he asked, confused now.

  “So, why let her return to this?” Sorcha asked, giving him an impish smile. “Because I don’t put all my eggs in one basket.”

  The little…

  “Now, hag, call him and I’m warning you, if you so much as blink wrong, I will make you wish you’d never been spawned.” Sorcha yanked her by her hair, forcing her to meet her eyes on the last of her little threat.

  The once again young looking witch nodded, clearly terrified by Sorcha’s words. Hell, she was as badass as he was. Almost.