Win questioned why she automatically assumed he’d tired of her and left. Win knew Grayson. She loved him. Something must have happened. Win walked for a while, her feet aching and sore. Her inner body heat was plummeting, and she guessed it must be nearing midnight. She wondered if Rowan was still angry with her. She wondered if Evan had offered to go look for her, but they had warned her off, advising her Win would be fine; she needed to cool off.
The brook opened into a rushing, coursing river. Win scrambled up the bank, her feet wet in the short grass, following the bend of the current. The scent of Grayson still lingered in the air. Up ahead, there was a narrow, wooden bridge crossing the widest part of the river. Win stared at it hard, peering at what lay beyond. Nestled in the trees, entirely hidden, was a small log cabin.
Oh no, please, she thought wildly. Her knees weakened, standing at the mouth of the bridge. This couldn’t possibly be Grayson’s home? She’d followed his scent right to his front door. She laughed at her absurdity. Of course, it could be his home. She knew nothing about him, something Rowan and Grandpa had reminded her of constantly.
Win wondered what John would think of her now. Would he be disappointed in her? Hadn’t she done all the things he’d ever done as a hot-headed teenager? Now more than ever, Win channeled his courage, stepping on the bridge, the planks wobbling under her weight. Keeping to the shadows, she crossed the bridge, staying low to the ground as she snaked along the path winding into the yard. There was a truck parked out front, and puffs of smoke trailed from the small, squat chimney stack. Inside, the house was dimly lit, her ears pricking up at the faint noise of raised voices coming from inside. Two people were arguing. Win sank to her knees behind some bushes, closing her eyes and seeing if she could pick up on what they were saying.
One of the tones was distinctly familiar, a gruff, low voice.
Grayson. Win’s heart leapt. This was his home. The other voice was high pitch and frantic and, without doubt, female. Win’s brow furrowed, closing off all her senses and trying to pick out words anything she could make out. She heard the word camp and her name spoken. Win’s stomach dropped like a stone. She was about to creep closer to the house when the small red door banged open and heavy footfalls crunched over gravel.
“You get back here, Grayson!” the woman screeched.
Win peered around the greenery. She saw a woman’s shape on the porch, hidden in the shadows. Her voice was scratchy and hard. It grated on Win’s senses.
“You get back here now!”
“No!” he roared. “I need to get back to my camp. I left her there.”
Win flooded with relief. He hadn’t meant to leave her. Perhaps this woman had called him away for some reason? Who was she?
“Then I suggest you stay put for two seconds!” the woman cried, stalking past him and going to another building, smaller with a corrugated roof. “I need to give you something.”
Win crept closer, her knees pressing into the stones. The woman unlocked the smaller building, emerging moments later with yards of thick rope coiled around her forearm. Win struggled to hide a gasp. Grayson was staring at the woman; she tossed the rope at him, which he caught fluidly.
“What’s this for?” he muttered dryly.
“If you’ve left her there, tie her up and bring her back here. She won’t protest at first, not if she really trusts you.”
What? No! This isn’t happening. Win sat back on her heels; she couldn’t breathe like someone had fastened a cord around her ribcage. Tears blurred her vision, and the woman stepped into the light of the porch. Win’s insides turned to liquid. No, not her, please!
Win covered her mouth with both hands, suppressing a moan. How could she have been so stupid? Jennifer Riley!
“Mother, I won’t hurt her,” he said. “I’m going back there, and I’m going to tell her everything.”
Jennifer spat at his boots. “You are pathetic! A waste of a good carcass!”
Mother! She’s his mother?
There was a scuffle between the two of them. Win squinted in the dark, unable to see who had initiated it. It all played out in the dim light of the porch. Jennifer had lunged at him; her fingers splayed like claws. He’d caught her and wrestled her to the ground, binding her tightly with the rope so hard she yelped. Grayson dragged her up the porch steps and inside the house, where she wailed frantically.
Win waited, licking her dry lips when finally he emerged, raking his hand through his hair. He stalked across the yard, down the path, his boots passing inches from where she hid in the bush. When he had gone, her chest beating like a frantic little bird, she emerged from her hiding place and jogged across the path. Peeking in through the window, behind a veil of netted curtain, Jennifer was bound to a chair, and a gag pressed firmly into her mouth.
Win swallowed, imagining the ferocity of Grayson’s grip, the strength in his hands, hands capable of skinning an animal, binding up his own mother. Hands that had been on her body only a short while ago. Jennifer was best off where she was while she looked around.
Win tried not to break, not now. She had to see what they were hiding. She jogged to the smaller building, the door was still swinging open, and Jennifer had obviously intended to lock it up before her son decided to take matters into his own hands.
Win wrinkled her nose at the smell as she wandered into the dark interior. She knew that stench. Old death, lingering, blood-soaked into the cracks of the floor. Trembling, she found the light switch, and the light sprang on overhead with a light hum. She saw a shiny, steel table, her horrified reflection beamed up at her. There were knives laid out neatly, sharp, pristine. Win picked one up, the hilt cool in her palm, dropping it with a clatter. All around the room were hooks, large enough to hang an animal from. The smell of blood pooled strongly on the ground, where she saw a drain. Bile rose up her throat, the acid burning.
“Oh god,” she whispered. What had the woman planned for her? Would Grayson be the one to cut her? “Oh god.” Her knees buckled, she caught the steel table for support. Had her great grandmother, the White Wolf, been brought to this very room? Did the hunter cut her throat? Rip her open and embalm her? All while deep inside, she lived, petrified at what was happening to her. Win whirled about; knowing she didn’t have long, Grayson would find her missing. She had to get to her sister and warn her. To tell her she was sorry, and she was wrong. She imagined Grayson’s expression when he found her missing. What lies would he tell to cover this up?
But how could he? She was nearly at the door, nearly out of this terrible room, when she heard something that made her freeze. Her neck prickled, a chill creeping up her spine. It was a whisper. On leaden feet, she turned and found the door.
Her forearms broke into goosebumps. The metal door from her vision bolted with a heavy steel padlock. It was nestled in the back of the room, but Win would have recognized it anywhere.
Her eyes flew wide. The day Grayson had first kissed her, the sweetest time when they were ankle-deep in the brook, soaking wet, she’d seen the door. And in the afternoon near the bar, the first time she’d seen the door in a fuzzy vision had been after she’d spotted the woman across the road, staring at her.
There was no choice; she had to get it open. She darted across the room, peering closely at the bolted metal frame, her fingers fiddling with the padlock.
Keys, I’ve got to find the keys! She wandered around the room frantically, pulling open draws, rifled through cupboards, sweat beading across her neck. She scanned the surfaces, ran her hands along the beams, searching out hooks, anywhere where you’d stash a set of keys. Come on, where are you? Through gritted teeth, she knelt, eyeing around her feet. She spotted a coat rack, nails pegged to the walls. She rushed across, patting down the coats, shaking them all one by one. Something jangled and dropped out by her feet. Yes! Win bent and scooped up a large set of keys.
Hurriedly, she returned to the door, taking every key and poking them unsuccessfully into the
lock. There must have been about twenty keys on the ring. Clicking her tongue impatiently, her shaking hands not helping, she jabbed her own finger and swore. She winced, bit her lip, but carried on.
Come on, please!
Finally, one clicked in, turning in the lock like a dream. Win huffed in relief. The padlock clattered to the ground; she pushed open the door with her palm. The hinges groaned, and a smell wafted out, stale urine filling her nose. She gagged, covered her mouth, and stepped inside, her hands roaming the wall for the light switch.
The light flickered on. Win screamed, too late to claw it back. The room was full of antlers and deer heads, staring down at her, their eyes long dead. Dotted around the room were several glass cabinets, each one with an animal inside. Win’s vision blurred, her throat burned. In the far corner, there was a double-length worktop, and perched on top was a surgical machine. It was small with tubes and wires and a tank that looked like it held liquid. Win shuddered. It was an embalming machine.
This can’t be real! Her grief erupted up her throat, and she sobbed, stopping momentarily at the cabinet housing a mountain lion. Fingers on the glass, she peered inside. At the base of the cabinet, there was an inscription pressed into a plastic plaque.
“Annie Talbot Hickory,” she read, her lower lip wobbled. Her stomach swam. She saw another, a large red fox, the plaque underneath read ‘Louisa Hickory.’ Win remembered Uncle Willard’s family tree. She was one of the four sisters, the first to suffer the curse.
Her eyes wandered the aisles, finding another and another. The last one chilled her to the bone. It was a small glass cabinet; it looked so old, so fragile. Inside sat a figure of a kestrel, perched on a branch, reminding her so much of the falcon, the way she was posed.
Vomit rose in her throat when she read the plaque. Vivienne Hickory. Win whimpered, making a noise a child would when it was terrified; she started to back out of the room, her spine colliding with another cabinet. She whirled about. It was empty, save for the plaque on the front, which simply read something made her blood turn to ice.
Rowan Adler.
“Oh my god, no!” Win cried. The room stank; there was dried blood on the floor. She thought of Grayson’s grey complexion, how awful he’d looked earlier. Had he been locked in here? Is this why she could smell urine and sweat? Is this why he hadn’t come to her after her grandfather had died? Stress coursed through her blood as she went to flee the room, her foot slipping over loose paper on the floor.
She stared at what looked like drawings, sketches, mostly of the creatures in the cabinets. They were the same sketches in Jennifer’s book, the one she had stashed in her bedroom. They were all signed G.R, for Graham Riley, or so Win had thought.
Grayson’s fingers, holding the knife, skinning the bark of a tree, binding his mother, cutting an animal’s throat, his trigger finger on the arrow, fingers that held a pencil, and made these sketches.
Grayson Riley. Win’s mind broke into tatters. It was all a lie. Her throat closed.
You are so blind, so stupid!
Her hands found the edge of a table, her naivety making her sick. Rowan was being hunted; they’d planned this.
And you called her weak. Win wanted to scream. Her anger kicked in, every ounce of her knowing she had to somehow make this right. Frantically, she searched the room, flinging open draws, letting the contents scatter to the floor.
I need matches! After ransacking every shelf, every work surface, she padded back out into the adjoining room where she had found the keys. Again, she scrambled over the surfaces, pulling out paper, old files, tools, everything. She dropped to her knees and found more draws running along a work surface. Flinging it open, she nearly cried out in relief, snatching up a box of matches. She fled the room, not bothering to shut the door behind her, knowing she must find some kind of liquid to start the fire. Kerosene or fuel, the yard had to be full of it. She had to be fast, and she had to get back home and warn her family. They wanted to kill Rowan. Jennifer had already killed her grandpa. She would be next.
Cool air filled her lungs as she fled outside, the yard dark, light from the flickering porch lamp throwing shadows across the gravel. Win bolted for an old, rickety car lodge, but her heart nearly stopped in her chest. She dropped the matches.
Grayson was watching her on the other side of the bridge.
Twenty Six
“GET THE HELL out of my way.” Win’s voice cracked, hot tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall, not this time. She gripped the sides of the bridge, the wood damp beneath her fingertips. She was shaking; she held on tight for support. “I mean it.”
“What have you seen?” he asked. His hood was up, his mask pulled up over his nose, not unlike the first time she’d seen him in the woods. She should have run and never looked back. I am such a fool.
She exhaled long and hard, hands balling into fists. “Everything,” she said through clenched teeth. “Your little butcher shop…the trophy room.” She had the pleasure of watching as his shoulders slumped. He pushed back the hood; his hair pulled back in a band, he ripped off the mask.
His lips quivered. “It isn’t what you think.”
She laughed bitterly. “Really? I saw an empty case in there, with my sister’s name on it. So, tell me how it isn’t what it looks like!” He was blocking her path across the bridge; she would have no choice but to barge past him or else end up in the water. “Get out of my way!”
“No!” he barked. “Not until you listen to me. I didn’t want this to happen…I was going to tell you.”
“When? After you shot her out of the sky?” she spat acidly. Win stalked across the bridge, but he grabbed her by the shoulder. She shook him away. “Did you kill him? My grandfather? Was it you I saw in the woods?”
“I told you I didn’t. I’m not lying!” He pulled her closer, his arm snaking up her back, pinning her there. “I swear it.”
“Then who did?”
“She did,” he cried, his temper flaring.
Win shoved him away; he staggered back onto the bridge—the awful smell in that room, his sweat, his urine. The woman had kept him in there. She shook her head bitterly, stalking through the undergrowth, starting to follow the path back to the camp. She couldn’t stand to look at him for long, but he was right behind her.
“Look at me, Win,” he begged. “I’m telling you the truth.”
A tiny part of her cradled what they’d had, everything they’d shared. The vision of him locked in the room, as helpless as the animals he hunted, chilled her to the bone. But her stubbornness clouded her thoughts. She couldn't think. She could barely breathe. Every time she tried to absolve his actions, she saw the glass cabinet with Rowan’s name on it.
“You expect me to believe a woman like her was able to take down a wolf twice her size?” She batted his hand away when he tried to snatch at her wrist.
“You don’t know what she’s capable of.” He caught her, whirling her about. “And it wasn’t him she was aiming for.”
Win paled under the moonlight. “Me? Why would she want to kill me?”
“She was angry. She found out about us.” When she wouldn’t budge, he begged. “Please, you have to listen to me. The night she shot your grandpa, I was locked in that room. I couldn’t get out, I swear to you! You wanted to know why I didn’t come? I couldn’t. She kept me in there six nights until I was half-crazed from dehydration.”
“Why would she do this to you?” Win choked on the words. “You’re her son!”
Grayson let his hand fall away from her arm, where he’d held her tight. “Not all families are like yours.”
Pinpricks of heat gathered under Win’s skin, her bones ached. There was a muffled noise in her head. Beginning to panic, she tracked away. Grayson kept up beside her.
“Leave me alone,” she wailed. God, she couldn’t stand the sight of him.
“No, not until you listen to me!”
“There i
sn’t a sob story worthy enough to explain what you’ve done,” she yelled. She thought she could outrun him easily if she tried, but a dull ache had formed behind her eyeballs. She thought she might end up falling on her face if she attempted to bolt. “We’ve been seeing one another for months…you’ve known all this time…and I’ve told you everything about me.” A sob escaped her lips.
She was confused. She couldn’t track her original path; she paced in one direction, stopped, and bolted back the other way. The cabin was far in the distance. They were deep in the woods. Grayson seized her shoulders, she lashed out with her foot, but he held her firmly.
“I know what I’ve done to you, and I’m sick with it.” His eyes begged her not to flee. “But what happened tonight between us? I don’t regret it. It was real, Win, I swear.”
“No, I was reckless,” she sobbed. “I walked out on my family. I said awful things to my sister. I defended you! And you were going to kill her?”
“No, no!” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have done it. That was why she locked me up. She knew how I felt about you.”
He took her face in his hands, kissing her roughly. Win’s treacherous body reacted, he kissed away her damp tears, and she let him. When he sought out her mouth again, she cried out and shoved him away. “Get the hell off!” she screamed. “You are disgusting!”
“I know,” he wept, falling to his knees at her feet. He kissed her hands. “I know you’ll never want to see me again. But you have to believe me. I love you!”
Win’s heart broke, her nerves shredded. “Grayson, I loved you so much. But I can’t look at you.”
When he didn’t speak, she filled the silence with a closing blow. “I asked you if I could trust you that day. They all warned me and I wouldn’t listen. You lied to my face!”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t know what to say to you.”
“How about the truth?”
Wild Spirit: Huntress Page 27
