“Rowan, no! Don’t hurt him,” Win yelled, once more face to face with the wolf, captured in his eerie, empty gaze. His jaw snapping, snarling, and twisted with anger, he leapt, impossibly high. Win cried out, panting as she threw her whole body sideways, muscles tearing as she caught a branch with both hands and clambered into the trees, his teeth a whisper away from her dangling feet. The wolf howled in anger and pain, too distracted to notice the second aerial attack. Rowan clawed at his hind legs.
Grandpa, what is going on? Rowan cried out to him. Don’t hurt her!
He was feral. John Hickory was a mere shadow. Win’s fingernails dug into the slippery bark, and she swung her feet away from his snapping muzzle, his breath hot on her bare legs. He leapt, his claws splayed, trying to bat her out of the tree. She dropped to the ground, any agility she’d once had vanishing in terror. He turned, eyes narrowed, and sprang again as a shadow reared up behind him.
There was a sickening thud, and the wolf slumped sideways, confusion sparkling for a moment in those dead eyes before it fell to the ground with a thunk. Ben dropped the trunk he’d been gripping, his clothing soaked and hands trembling.
“Jesus Christ!” he stammered, his fingers shaking under strain. He fell to the ground next to her. “Are you alright, Win?”
Win sat up. Unable to keep from sobbing, she scurried across and huddled in her father’s lap like a toddler. “You saved my life,” she choked. “He was going to kill me.”
Ben wrapped his arms around his youngest, eyeing the massive golden eagle perched on the stump he’d used to give the wolf the final blow. The beast’s stomach moved gently with its breathing. “It was a team effort.” He smiled shakily, staring up at Rowan.
“What the hell happened?” Win was drained from the exertion. Every muscle hurt. “That wasn’t Grandpa.”
I don’t like this at all, Rowan said to Win. Ben was confused, knowing something was being said between them he couldn’t understand. This is what happens to us near the end.
“No,” Win stammered. “Not like this. He didn’t know us. That wasn’t him.”
We need to get him home. I’ve hurt him, and Therian-inflicted wounds don’t heal as well.
“You could have died. One swipe and he could have mauled you,” Win whispered, locking eyes with the eagle. The very real danger she had been in hit her between the eyes, leaving her wrung out. He had been a feral animal. Win was convinced if her family hadn’t been there, she’d be dead right now.
Ben whistled through his teeth, all color draining from his skin. “He is going to be so pissed tomorrow.”
“We’ll have to drag him home, Dad.” Win grabbed his arm, and he pulled her up. Win’s legs nearly gave way. “Can you manage?”
“We’ll have to.” He flexed his arms.
“How did you know to come to find me?” Win asked. They were in the middle of the dense wood, plastered with rainwater and shivering. It was a miracle he’d found her in time.
“Rowan circled back and said she had a bad vibe,” Ben admitted. “But I already was about to leave to go into town. She led me here.”
Win spotted the falcon in the distance watching the three of them. It cocked its head and took off into the air. She still wasn’t ready to join them. But Win thought perhaps her father wasn’t ready to see Alice yet.
The wolf lay unconscious at their feet. Rowan screeched and beat her massive wings before lifting effortlessly into the air. Win and Ben took a breath before they each lifted one end of the wolf and hauled it along the forest floor.
“How did I know I’d get the head end?” Ben joked, and Win laughed shortly, shocks of adrenaline slowly ebbing away. “I hope we get him home before he wakes up!”
Poor John bumped and tussled over twigs and stone, dirt thickening in his mane of fur as they dragged him with the last of their waning strength. Win kept one eye on the beast, praying the blow Ben had dealt was enough to keep him docile for the uncomfortable journey. For one fleeting second, Win had glanced up, feeling another set of eyes watching her. She saw Grayson hiding in the shadows, his hood pulled up and mask on, his cross-bow aimed straight at them. Their eyes met, and he nodded at her, before slipping back into the darkness. She realized he had been there, watching the entire time. And if he had been forced to, he would have fired the arrow.
Six
THEY REACHED THE yard. The wolf jerked and spasmed on the ground. Rowan crashed through the open back porch door, armed with a blanket. She threw it over the wolf’s body before calling over her shoulder.
“Go inside…I’ll stay with him.” When Ben didn’t move and only stared in horror at the body jerking under the blanket, Rowan yelled again. “Dad, take Win inside. I’ve got this!”
Win was hesitant, but her father caught her arm. She limped up the porch steps, throwing a worried glance at Ben as they let the door clang shut. He raked his hands through the thinning dark hair sticking to his scalp. Win was dripping water on the floor, her sneakers soaked and squelchy.
Neither could speak as they trudged upstairs into their separate rooms. Ben paused at his door. “I need a minute,” he said, more to himself. “Will you be okay?”
Win nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. She flinched as his bedroom door slammed shut, trying to be sympathetic to his jangled nerves. He looked ashen.
Win flexed her arms, stretching out the sore tendons in her upper biceps, aching from where she had clung to the branch. Her fingernails were torn. She paused, the severity of the past hour seeping in like the cold. She had stared into death’s face, still feeling his breath on her neck.
You didn’t die today. Her inner voice scolded her. Get it together.
Shivering, she stripped out of her wet clothes down to her underwear, peeling the fabric off her body. Naked and cold, she scurried across the room, flinging her robe around her shoulders and stuffing her arms inside. She caught a flicker of movement by her window, a shadow against the grey sky outside.
Grayson dipped his head, bringing his fingers to his mouth to shush when she muffled a shriek. She scrambled her robe around her, crossing the room and hiking up the heavy window frame. Rainwater flew in. He was perched on the edge of the roof, tight to the frame so he couldn’t be seen. Win gripped his arm and pulled him inside, where he dumped rainwater all over her wood floor.
“What…” she lowered her voice as he pulled down his mask. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes scanned her room with interest like he’d never seen the inside of a girl’s bedroom before. “Are you hurt?”
Win shook her wet hair, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her head. “I’m fine. Shaken, but okay.”
“I wanted to make sure you were alright…and your grandpa,” his voice faltered.
She crossed the room toward him, staring up at him in wonder. It was jarring to see him, fully clad in black, bow slung across his chest, standing in the brightness of her bedroom.
“Thank you…but you should really go. Rowan is with him, and he’ll be in a terrible mood when he changes. Plus, he’s wounded; we need to take care of him.”
“Of course.” He looked uncertain, not knowing where to put his eyes. Win was conscious of the mess in her room, her books thrown across the bed, her underwear drawers open.
“I shouldn’t have come. I wanted to help you…I would have.”
She took his hand, warm in hers, loving the way she could feel his heat through his gloves. Aware of how cold she was, she trembled. Grayson rubbed her arms briskly, sparks of warmth emitted from the movement of the fabric against her skin.
“You’re freezing,” he said, pulling her against him. Thank goodness he was so much taller and couldn’t see her blushing furiously. “I was so worried. I didn’t want to shoot him. Thank god your sister got there in time.”
Lifting her chin bravely, she gazed up at him. Something about the way he was touching her hair, pinching it between his fingers, sparked fire inside her.
Using both hands on his chest to push away gently, she sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes wide and green like a doe silently beckoned him to her. He hooked a leg back across the ledge, deliberately putting a barrier between them.
“I’ve never seen him like that. Ever.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “I really thought he was going to kill me.”
“I think he might have,” Grayson replied tightly, his jaw tense. “What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?”
“Rowan says this is what happens…when we get older.” She pushed back a lump in her throat. She stood, crossing the room to her dresser, pulling free a faded sweater and some shorts. “I need to put some clothes on.”
“I’ll go.” He looked uncomfortable, a rush of color crossing his cheekbones.
“No, don’t go yet,” Win begged, grabbing his forearm. “Just, don’t look.”
She waited until he turned his back, painfully aware of his presence, as she quickly pulled the shirt over her head and scrambling into shorts. She kicked away her white robe, and it landed at his boot. Leaning down, he picked it up and folded it over his arm, waiting until she turned to give it to her. Shyly she took it out of his hands, propping herself against the window ledge.
“I’m going to have to go downstairs,” she whispered. “But you can stay here. It’s so wet out there.”
Her fingers interlaced with his, heat traveled up her neck. He leaned nearer.
“I really don’t think it’s wise,” he whispered. “But if it dries up, I’ll be waiting at the brook.”
Win made a disappointed noise, content to fiddle with the buttons on his jacket. “I need to see if Grandpa is alright…but I’ll try.”
He pinched her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up. It was so dangerous, so tempting. All she had to do was lean an inch close and kiss him. Then she’d never let him leave.
“You go, see to him,” he said. “You don’t have to meet me. Not after everything.”
“I want to.” Win let her fingers wander up his wrist under the fabric of his jacket. He was so warm; she could have dissolved into him. “I always want to see you.”
Grayson pulled away. He opened the window further and slipped outside onto the shingle. “Go,” he urged. “I’ll see you around.” Catching her hand in his, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her palm.
Win let him go, watching as he lowered himself to the ground below, landing deftly and quietly. She fanned her face, her skin irritable and hot, wandering barefoot out into the corridor. Her grandfather’s door was open a crack, and she peered inside, seeing Rowan standing over the bed, a bloodied cloth in her hand.
“Is he okay?” Win asked softly as she pushed the door open, sitting by the side of the bed. Their grandfather was lying face down, his tanned back exposed. Rowan bit back tears, staring in dismay at the deep gashes sliced through his skin. Win blinked rapidly, bile rising in her throat. They were deep and raw, blood beginning to congeal along with the cuts. Win stared open-mouthed at the destruction of his human form. The cuts had interrupted a tattoo.
Win was used to seeing his half-naked torso; he was always running around the house in his shorts, especially after a hunt, and she had seen his tattoos before. Swirls of inky black patterns woven over the muscles of his shoulder blades, Win had always thought they were some random pattern he’d chosen in his youth, but when she tilted her head, there was a distinct shape hidden there among the swirls.
“It’s a hare,” Win whispered, staring open-mouthed. She reached out her fingers but didn’t dare touch him. He was asleep and probably in a lot of pain.
Rowan sniffed, wiping her eyes. “What are you talking about?” She swallowed back another sob. “Oh, Win, look at what I’ve done to him.”
Win charged around the bed, throwing her arms around her sister’s neck. “He would have done the same if he needed to.” She hugged her sister fiercely. “You saved my life, Rowan.”
“I can’t lose him, Win. I can’t.” She sat by his bed. “When I got here in Cedar Wood, he was all I had.”
Win wanted to tell her she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t going to be abandoned, but her mouth couldn’t form words. If she tried to speak, she knew she would dissolve. Instead, she sat behind her sister, mattress dipped, and snuck her arms around Rowan’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. They stayed silent for a while until it was clear he was comfortable, deeply asleep, and not going to make an appearance until morning.
All Win’s questions of Iris and who she had been would have to wait. Rowan fell asleep in the chair by his bed. Win covered her with a blanket, tiptoeing out of the room. She called out goodnight to her father before shutting her door carefully behind her. Like an irresistible addiction, Win lifted up the window and stole away into the rainy night. She hated herself for being so weak.
Grayson was huddled by a fire when she arrived; she slipped onto the log beside him. He didn’t flinch, his blue eyes transfixed on the flames. His hood was pulled down, his hair loose around his face. Win pressed against him, her thigh brushing his. He lifted his eyes, giving her a small, fleeting smile.
“How is he?”
Win shifted closer, watching as sparks of light, black embers danced into the air. “He’s sleeping at last,” she answered, focussed on the flames. “It’s crazy. What happened. That wasn’t my grandpa.”
Grayson managed a grimace, stretching out his long, powerful legs, his boots nearly touching the fire. “But it was him, Win. Do you have any idea how dangerous he is?”
Win stared at his profile. In the orange glow of the fire, his scars were pink, and the skin shone. He caught her looking and turned away. She put a hand on his shoulder. “He wouldn’t ever mean to hurt me…or anyone. This is what happens when we get older. Eventually…” she couldn’t form the words. It hurt too much to voice it out loud. He nudged her shoulder with his.
“Be careful, that’s all,” he warned. “I couldn’t stand it…” he faltered, his words lingering in the darkness. Blood rushed to her face. He held up a stick, a pink marshmallow stuck on the end. Win grinned. He lowered it over the fire, waiting while the outer skin melted and crisped before offering it to her. She bit into it and yelped, the gooey insides dribbling down her chin. Grayson’s face split as he laughed, revealing his even teeth. “You were meant to blow on it first.”
Win smiled, leaning heavily against him as the balmy evening air started to turn chilly. He didn’t seem to mind or push her away. Eventually, Win brought up the subject of her visit to Mercy. Grayson listened, a talent he had, remaining silent until she finished.
“So he’s moving away, huh?” he joked, giving her a smirk. “Terrible news.”
“He isn’t moving. The house is being sold.” Win was defiant. “He wants to stay here.”
“Shame.” Grayson was in a snarky mood, roasting another marshmallow for himself. “But seriously, the old place has been there for years. It’s no wonder you felt uncomfortable.”
Win slumped against him, soaking up the heat he was emitting. “Luke didn’t take me seriously. But I know I felt something up there. I could… smell it. Does it sound crazy?”
Grayson pulled his brows together in a frown, shaking his head before biting into his marshmallow. “Not at all,” he said around a mouthful. “Not with everything you can do. We had a dog years ago…” he stopped, wiping his mouth on the edge of his sleeve. “She died. My grandpa buried her outback, and he put these giant slabs across the dirt. When I asked him why he said the foxes would dig up her carcass if they smelled it.”
Win tried not to pull a face. Sometimes Grayson’s stories took a grim turn. He didn’t seem to notice her reaction, looking hard into the fire. “Animals know. They can smell death.”
“I’m not an animal,” she whispered, affronted at the suggestion. “Not yet.”
He looked up sharply, realizing his blunder, sneaking his arm around her back, his hand finding the skin between her shirt and her short
s. “I didn’t mean that,” he insisted. “I meant…you should trust your instincts. Did you find anything?” He was stroking the patch of bare skin; she was finding it hard to concentrate.
“No, only dust bunnies,” she said, turning her knees in toward him. “But I’m going back tomorrow.”
Grayson made a face. “I guess Luke needs all the help he can get.”
Win’s expression broke. She slung an arm around his broad shoulder, giving his jaw a pinch. “Hey, I thought you said you weren’t jealous?” she joked. “Why do you think I come here every night? For your scintillating conversation?”
Grayson tipped his chin, the flames reflecting off the blue of his eyes. He had a habit of teasing her when things took a serious turn. “There was me thinking you wanted to learn to shoot,” he fired back, an easy smile crossing his face, only briefly before it vanished.
Silence loomed between them. Win watched fascinated as he picked up a piece of bark from the ground, taking it between his fingers and taking out his knife, running the blade over the wood, slowly skinning it. Win shivered, imagining it was an animal he was skinning. His fingers were so precise, so deft and quick. She took his hand and pulled it into her lap, running her fingers over the pink scar Spencer’s gunshot wound had caused the night of the bonfire. He flexed his fingers and closed them around her hand.
“Why do you come?” he asked. Win loved every inch of the power she held over him. She tilted her neck, eyes wide and innocent, tempting him.
Win leaned closer, knowing she could kiss him any time she chose, her top lip close to his. “I love being here with you.”
He pulled back, clearing his throat. He huffed and stared down at his boots. “Oh, Win…I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes. “This is my fault.”
He stood up, pacing around the fire, deliberately putting it between them. She stared up at him through the hot flames, the glow making her hair orangey-red. “You don’t feel the same,” she said, and he shook his head fiercely.
Wild Spirit: Huntress Page 7
