He returned to Jamie and was relieved to find him calm. “I counted five tracks, which means two shifters took out these three.”
“They must have been big, because the dead ones aren’t exactly tiny.”
Jamie’s observation was true, but Luuk knew a lot depended on how the fight went down. Had it been a cowardly ambush at first, as had happened to him and Jameson so many times? Or an honourable fight?
“Come on, there’s nothing else to learn here and we need to find a place to stay.” Luuk had thought about trying to track the two wolves who’d survived, but if he found them, what then? He was in no shape for a fight.
Jameson turned and began leading the way back. He stopped halfway there and cocked his head to the side, sniffing delicately. Luuk did the same just as Jamie darted off in the direction he’d been sniffing.
“Jamie!” Luuk’s heart ached, like a physical cramp as fear flooded his bloodstream. He sprang after Jamie only to nearly smack into his backside a couple dozen feet ahead. Jamie was pawing at the ground, whimpering and snarling.
Luuk got the message and began helping his mate dig. The ground had been disturbed not too long before, and he smelt it now as well, the scent of the deceased shifters.
It wasn’t long before Jamie stuck his muzzle in the hole and pulled out a pack, swinging it triumphantly around. Luuk’s spirits lifted at Jamie’s delight. Jamie shifted and before Luuk could chide him about the cold temperatures on a human, Jamie had the pack opened and was pulling out a wad of euros and zlotys.
“We can stay somewhere decent with this, right?” Jamie asked, fear and hope making his eyes shine as he waved the stack at Luuk.
And Luuk decided it didn’t matter if that stack was legit or not, he would make sure Jamie had at least one luxurious, decadent night as soon as possible.
Chapter Seven
Luuk’s planned night of spoiling Jamie would have to wait, however, since he was barely able to stand. He hoped he kept it from Jamie, hoped Jamie hadn’t seen the wobble when he went to turn. He should have known better.
“Stop.” Jamie’s tone was rare, the command all the more effective for it. Luuk not only stopped, he went ahead and sat, knowing his mate was aware of how weak he truly was.
“Why aren’t you healing like I do?” Jamie set the money down and began running his hands over Luuk’s fur. “Was there something on the bullet, maybe?”
Well, there was a question Luuk hadn’t thought to worry about, but it made sense. He hadn’t thought he’d been shot-shot, just a crease, and yet he felt weak as a newborn and what the fuck was wrong with him?
“Stay here, I’m going to see if I can find clothes. Those shifters left money, surely there’s clothes somewhere…” Jamie gave him a worried look and didn’t bother tamping down the fear he felt for Luuk. It broke Luuk’s heart, what he was doing to Jamie, but he couldn’t undo it, and he’d never leave Jamie. Neither of them would survive that, or he’d have found a way to free Jamie of him. No one wanted to be the cause of their loved one’s suffering, and that was what Luuk was.
“You are not!” Jamie snapped in his head, having already shifted back to his wolf. “The ones responsible are the fuckers who are hunting us, and if I find any of them, I’ll kill them and find a way to live with it!”
Those words stirred more worry than anything else. Luuk knew the toll on Jamie’s soul would be too great if he had to kill again. The best thing he could do was to ensure it didn’t come to that. He began formulating a plan, bits and pieces of one, anyway, but he found it hard to think and exceptionally hard to keep his thoughts buried, so Luuk finally gave up and closed his eyes—only to yelp when his hip was nudged by his mate.
“Shift.”
Since Jamie had a pack in his mouth, Luuk was betting he’d found the clothes he was searching for. Luuk shifted, biting his cheek until he bled to keep from whimpering. But God, his whole side ached, a fiery sensation that seemed to sink into his bones and didn’t do one damned thing to keep him warm.
Luuk shifted, and nearly blacked out from it. It took a great deal of help from Jamie to get him dressed, and the trip into the town, whatever town it was, was more of a blur than anything else.
Jamie’s arm around his waist helped keep Luuk upright, but it was the knowledge that if he fell he’d take Jamie down with him that steadied his legs and kept him trudging on.
“Can you read the signs? Any idea where we are?” Jamie asked as they finally reached civilisation. Luuk wished he wasn’t so out of it. He’d have liked to enjoy Jamie’s excitement, something he couldn’t do since Jamie was too worried about him.
“Polish,” Luuk said, squinting hard. He thought that was right, but his vision was for shit right now. “Wroclaw, I think.” It didn’t really matter, because Luuk was beginning to fear this would be where he died.
“No you won’t, don’t even think that!” Jamie shouted, or it seemed so to Luuk. Then the world went dark and the pain stopped, and his last thought was he’d failed his mate once again.
“No no no no no!” Jameson yelled, reaching for Luuk with his other hand to keep him from toppling over. Luuk wasn’t dead, Jameson could feel him, inside. Luuk was the reason his heart still beat.
Jameson hefted Luuk onto his shoulder, terrified for his mate. Luuk, always so strong, so determined, wasn’t dead yet—no—but he wasn’t long for this world. Jameson had no desire to exist without him, and anyway, he didn’t think his wolf would make it without its mate. Both of them would die of a broken heart, unless he figured out how to save Luuk.
As it turned out, Wroclaw, if that was where they were, wasn’t a small town. It seemed huge to Jameson, who hadn’t really been out of the wilderness in three years or so. Everything about the place set his teeth on edge. He didn’t know the language, or where the local pack was—he would bet there was one, though—or how to find one goddamned thing they needed.
The only thing familiar to him was a church, and Jameson, never a religious man, was loath to go inside it. However, Luuk was shaking so hard Jameson was scared he was going to drop him, and he was freezing his balls off. He was worried about frostbite for Luuk, along with everything else, so Jameson stumbled towards the large structure and hoped the doors weren’t locked. Even if they could just go inside and get warm, maybe it would help.
Jameson made it to the top step, having no recall of climbing the stairs. “We’re almost there, Luuk. Just hang on for me. Hang on for me,” Jameson muttered, aching for some reassurance from his mate. “Luuk, hang on,” he repeated louder, fear sharpening his voice and words.
The doors loomed large and Jameson wondered if he’d have the strength to pull one open. He edged closer and gripped the handle, the metal bitingly cold against his palm and fingers. A gentle tug and the door opened, warm air wafting past it to slap at him, stinging his skin.
“May I help you?” a rich baritone voice asked. Jameson blinked, unable to figure out how he understood Polish all of a sudden, when it dawned on him he was hearing heavily accented English and there was an old, stooped priest standing inside, looking all…priestly. Jameson supposed he was a priest, but what did he know? He might not be in a Catholic church, although he thought Poland was largely Catholic. With his luck he had stumbled into some Druidic temple where they sacrificed strangers.
“I can see that you need help,” the old man said slowly, as if the words were unfamiliar, although it was probably just the language. “Bring him in—come, come.”
Jameson was too tired to question it so he stepped inside as the old man called out a name or…hell, he could be calling the police or the pack, Jameson wouldn’t have a clue.
A younger man, probably in his fifties, came out from a room at the back of the church. He took one look at them then rushed over, talking in a language Jameson didn’t understand for a few moments before turning to them.
“Father Piotr says you are in need of help.” He looked Jameson over then held out a hand. “I am Father Norbert
, and we shall help you, but if you or the man you are carrying is in trouble with the law, we must know.”
Jameson shook his head. “Not the law, no. We’re travellers who are lost. We were hiking…” He trailed off, thinking if there was a hell he was surely going there for lying, but what else could he say?
“Very well then. Let us help you carry him. What is your name?” Father Norbert asked.
Jameson gave the abbreviated version of his name, James, and left it at that. They could think he was just an idiot but he wasn’t willing to risk using his last name or Luuk’s. “This is Lowell, and he’s been hurt, on his side, and I think he ate something poisonous when we were lost and starving…”
Such a ludicrous story, to Jameson, who knew there wasn’t a fucking thing to eat in those mountains. There was snow and the occasional animal if they could catch it, but not berries and such. Not anything poisonous that he knew of, at least.
But the priests didn’t question him, and later, he helped them clean Luuk’s wound, which was already festering and infected—and it shouldn’t have been, not with their healing abilities.
“Is the poison from here”—Father Piotr touched one small patch of inflamed tissue— “or did he ingest something?” He pinned Jameson with a non-judgemental look, and Jameson wanted to trust the man so bad, wanted to be able to share the concerns and fears for just a while. Could he take such a risk?
Father Norbert grunted and scratched his neck as he averted his gaze. “We have promised to help you. You have told us you are not criminals. Have you lied?”
“No,” Jameson croaked, “I haven’t, we aren’t. But there are those who want us dead, and I can’t tell you why. I’m sorry but I can’t.”
Father Piotr nodded. “We accept that, and so, can you now tell us, did he truly eat anything—?”
“No,” Jameson interrupted, “he hasn’t. Neither of us have had a decent meal in…” Longer than he cared to remember. Jameson ditched the thought. This wasn’t about him. “He was shot, and it should have just been a scrape, really”—healed already—“not…not this. And he should be awake!”
Jameson hadn’t meant to shout that last part, but Luuk’s pulse was growing weaker, and damn it, he was so afraid…
“So poison, maybe on the bullet.” Father Piotr gestured to Father Norbert. They didn’t speak but something passed between them, because Father Norbert stood and left the room. “He shall return with the medicines we hope will work. We have modern medicines, and more…traditional ones. I am believing it is the older ones that might help Lowell. There are things that work better on otherly types.”
Jameson’s stomach crystallised into a ball of ice. Father Piotr knew…and so did Father Norbert, who could even now be calling someone! Jameson leapt up, prepared to do whatever he had to do to keep Luuk safe.
Father Piotr didn’t move, just looked at him all calm and soothing and what the hell was up with that? What is he, some shifter whisperer? Because Jameson was beginning to trust the man, and his instincts were telling him he could.
“How?” was all he asked.
Father Piotr shrugged. “Both Father Norbert and I grew up in a very small town at the base of the mountains you must have come through. We saw things, and perhaps, because of it, we are more open-minded than many other priests. In fact, my sister became a wolf, and I do not think her lacking a soul for it. Her and her husband are not demons by any means, although I would not share any of this with anyone besides Father Norbert, since it was his half-brother she is mated to.”
How did that even happen? Jameson supposed Father Norbert’s mother or father had found a shifter mate or been found, whatever, after his birth. Probably way after, because otherwise he doubted the priest would be here instead of with a pack.
“We will not hurt you, and will not question you anymore.”
Jameson nodded, then looked at Father Piotr. “And please, don’t mention us to anyone, not your shifter family members, no one. Please.”
Father Piotr agreed easily, then asked the same of Father Norbert when he returned. Jameson had expected questions about what he was but didn’t get any. Maybe he shouldn’t have thought he’d be grilled. So far the priests were cool and they already probably knew everything they’d ever wanted to about shifters.
Jameson just hoped he wasn’t wrong to trust them.
Chapter Eight
Amidst the bustling of the two priests, something occurred to Jameson. As exhausted as he was, worn down inside and out, he couldn’t relax while Luuk’s care was in others’ hands, and certainly not when he was so afraid Luuk was edging out of this life.
Jameson could still feel him, his presence warm inside his mind, a comforting sensation, so familiar and beloved. But that was all he had right now, just that feeling. There were no reassuring words or thoughts, and that terrified him. He didn’t know if Luuk’s body was trying to conserve strength to fight this battle of survival, or—no, he couldn’t think anything else.
Jameson narrowed his eyes as he watched Father Norbert hand a steaming cup of whatever concoction they’d made. Father Norbert had told him what was being mixed together, and while most of the ingredients weren’t ones Jameson was familiar with, he sure as hell recognised the strong scent of garlic. It burned his nose and he rubbed at it as the cup was brought to Luuk’s lips.
“Wait!” he snapped out, his mind finally throwing out the piece of the puzzle that had him on edge despite the priests’ claims of good intent. Jameson slapped the cup out of Father Piotr’s hand, stunning the old man as well as Father Norbert, who squeaked before flinging his hands up and bellowing, “Do you know how hard it was to get that mixed properly?”
“Get away from him,” Jameson snarled. The priests were between them and the doorway, but Jameson didn’t care. He’d do what he needed to in order to get Luuk out of here. “Touch him again and I’ll rip you in half.” He had no qualms about threatening the other men. If they’d intended Luuk harm… Jameson had already figured out they were liars.
“What has happened?” Father Piotr asked. His wrinkled brow became more so as he looked from Jameson to Luuk then to Father Norbert. “What has changed? We have promised to help.”
“English,” Jameson bit out, wedging an arm under Luuk’s shoulders and propping him up so it’d be easier to put him in a fireman’s carry. The priests had spoken English to him before ever having heard him speak. How had they known to do that? He could tell the priests were befuddled by his one-word explanation and didn’t care. Jameson grunted as he lifted Luuk. He was so tired and weak himself, but the adrenaline surge was giving him the boost he needed to rescue his mate.
He knew exactly when they figured it out though, because Father Piotr closed his eyes and muttered “Palant,” while Father Norbert gave an emphatic “Gówno!” What the words meant he couldn’t be sure, but he’d bet they were curses.
“Get out of my way,” Jameson ordered, knowing his strength might ebb quickly. “Or else.”
Father Norbert scrambled back and Jameson thought it was going to be an easier escape for a moment—until the priest slammed his back against the door and spread his limbs out.
As if that would stop me. Jameson called on his wolf, bringing it as close to the surface as he could without shifting. Damn it, Father Norbert look terrified and soft in the middle, and Jameson wasn’t so sure he could carry through on his threat after all.
“I can,” he told himself, and maybe the Fathers, too.
Father Norbert however, didn’t move, but the scent of his fear was stronger than the noxious mixture he’d carried in moments earlier. Jameson took a step forward, lowering his head. Inside his wolf was wild, prepared to protect his mate.
“Stop this!” Father Piotr shouted with a surprising amount of command in his voice. And for an old guy, he proved he could move rather quickly, darting to put himself between Jameson and the other priest. “You stop this right now! Use your senses!”
“It’s my senses
that tell me you are both liars, and therefore untrustworthy,” Jameson spat out, so tired and angry he felt dangerously close to just losing it.
“We’ve lied about nothing,” Father Piotr said, “nothing. I spoke English because I was foolish, yes, but having you come here, knowing the both of you are still alive—”
Jameson swayed, frigid inside. He had to exert every bit of control not to attack right then. “What do you mean? Who do you think we are?”
Father Norbert said something Jameson didn’t understand, but he had the thought to use his intellect, his and his wolf’s, rather than just pouncing. Had he seen or heard, or even scented any signs of deceit from the priests? Granted, his instincts might be rough, but then again, perhaps not. Years of depending on them for survival had honed them to a point where even being ready to keel over from exhaustion likely wouldn’t dim them.
Right now the older men seemed to be bickering, with hands gesturing and frustration clear in their expressions. But did he sense anything else? Jameson lowered Luuk to the floor and stepped in front of him. The priests stopped talking and squawking. “Don’t move,” Jameson said. He shoved his clothes off, his audience gasping then averting their gaze, but standing still.
In seconds he’d shifted. Jameson approached them, everything sharper in his mind and senses in this form. If he’d have been expecting the priests to shy away or cower in fear, he’d have been wrong. Very wrong.
“What a beautiful coat you have,” Father Norbert murmured, and he proved his nativity or stupidity—Jameson wasn’t sure which—by stepping around Father Piotr and reaching out to stroke Jameson’s fur. Even a soft growl from Jameson got him a cluck of tongue from the priest. And a scratch behind his ear.
Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 07 - Revolution Page 3
