by Brea Viragh
The mage leaned forward to growl in her face, “Never.”
Before she could say anything else, the mage stumbled to his knees, and Odessa could make out the gleaming white, brown, and black feathers before the Canadian Goose tore into the man with a honk and a hiss.
Go!
Desmond’s voice echoed in her mind. The mage shrieked and released her, leaping to his feet as the goose attacked.
Another roar of sound, this time from the man instead of the animal, and the marrow of her bones went cold. The remaining birds darted away, taking to the air to save themselves from the wrath of that sound.
I’m not gonna tell you again!
The goose flew at the mage, who managed to get a few steps away before the bird was in his face, biting and clawing with webbed feet.
Odessa remained where she was until the final crack of lightning signaled that time was up. It was all she could do to get to her feet, into the water and ignoring the pain in her knee, as the sun crested the trees.
“YOU HOLD THE BOW IN your hands and keep your arm straight. No, the other arm! Jesus, Calen, has no one showed you how to properly handle a bow and arrow? What have you been doing with your time? I thought you and Roberts were working with weapons?”
Which time? Calen wanted to complain, but smartly kept his mouth shut as Bozart thrust the arrow into his outstretched hand.
Instead, he told the other man, “I never excelled with the bow, so we set it aside to focus on swordplay. I appreciate you taking the time out to show me what to do.”
Bozart huffed out a breath and paused to adjust his pants, making sure his belt was tightened fast. “Yes, well, Captain’s orders.”
“What Captain?”
“It’s a figure of speech. Alex and Baron wanted to make sure that any eligible wolf had an opportunity to participate in the tournament, and your good buddy Van told me to make sure you were front in line. Seems to me, with all the time you two have been spending together, he might have taken some of it to show you how to work with this damn bow.”
“Yeah, well, he thought a sword would serve me a little better.”
Calen adjusted his grip as Bozart showed him, the wood awkward in his hands and the twang of the bow echoing through his subconscious.
“There now. Hold it.”
Bozart took a lumbering step in the opposite direction, scrutinizing Calen the way he did with a chocolate souffle that hadn’t properly risen. “We might just make a man out of you yet.”
“My fondest wish,” Calen said dryly.
He’d been up half the night preparing the tastings Alex had specifically chosen for the tournament, mind flashing back to that day weeks ago where he’d done the same thing for a very different occasion.
A morale boost, he told himself. Odessa is far enough away not to be impacted. More than likely no one would catch a damn thing, because they were Lycan, and more used to hunting with their claws than a bow.
None of those did anything to help the knot of tension growing tighter in his chest. Or the way his heart pounded, and his blood pressure was pushing dangerous levels.
“According to the schedule, you’re in the second group to go out, along with your good buddy.” Bozart shook his head as though he could not understand what the two of them could possibly have to talk about. “Which means, I’m going to need you to help me set up the tables for the first round. We have platters of lamb—”
“I know what we have,” Calen snapped in interruption. Then instantly contrite, amidst Bozart’s surprised yet outraged stare, he replied, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”
He didn’t expect the ham-sized hand to clasp him on his shoulder and squeeze. “I know things have been tough around here, my boy.” If Calen didn’t know any better, he would have found the affection in his mentor’s voice at odds to their normal relationship. “But we’re doing what we can to maintain that sense of normalcy. It’s been harder on you than it has for most everyone except for the alpha.”
Calen forced himself to nod. “It has.”
No sense in denying what Bozart already knew.
“Do well today,” the chef finished, and released his hold on his charge.
Hours later, Calen found himself standing in a group of young wolves around his age. Most of them he knew by face, had seen them around the manor house, but only three of them belonged to his own pack. The rest of them shared the same tensed shoulders, shifty-eyed expression he’d come to expect of the Evertooths. Except now he understood the look a little better, and knew it came from lack of resources rather than a malicious source.
Van stood in the center of the group testing out the string of his own bow. Calen craned his neck to search for Nova and Ghast, wondering if they were close, and saw nothing.
“Men, take your places!” Alex called out from his position near the rear patio of the gardens.
Calen fell into line with the rest of them, the weapon heavy and awkward at his side and the quiver of arrows across his left shoulder.
The two alphas stood next to each other, Baron taking a long sip from a pewter cantina. The wooden bench they stood on groaned as Alex adjusted his weight, shifting to make sure the rest of the group overheard his following remarks.
“The tournament will last four hours, at the end of which a gong will sound to draw you all back home. Those with the largest cache of bird and fowl will move on to the championship round. From there, our four winners will compete against one another for a highly coveted prize.”
“Of which we are still working out the details,” Baron joked, although no amusement reached his eyes.
The crowd indulged in an obligatory laugh.
“Stick close to the grounds. However, if you happen to see something outside the territory lines, by all means, do what you need to do.” Alex flashed the men a wink.
Calen focused on the bow, blocking out the rest of the speech. His stomach had been unable to quiet, the lack of sleep causing his brain to fuzz out.
It wasn’t until someone knocked against his shoulder that he came back to reality, turning to see Van staring straight ahead.
The other man shot him an inscrutable look before the gong sounded, sending the young men off into the forest.
One foot in front of the other, Calen told himself. The trampled line of grass leading into the woods was speckled with brown and orange and red leaves from nearby trees, blown off their limbs from a gusty wind.
He clicked his tongue and grimaced at the smiles he witnessed. The eagerness he could taste on his tongue.
Van was right, they had needed this tournament, a way for them to get their mind off of the stress of their lost princess and slain females. He couldn’t say he agreed with the methods, but perhaps, and he would never admit this, it had been a good idea.
He’d been so caught up in breaking the curse that he hadn’t stopped to consider what the other members of his pack were going through.
Shifting the quiver of arrows to the opposite shoulder, Calen kept one eye on Van and the other trained to the treetops.
Having never gone hunting for fowl before, he was ignorant on protocol. The others crept forward silently, their movements stealthy, gazes focused on the ground.
Woops, okay, maybe he needed to change direction.
Another glance at Van saw the alpha’s son with his finger to his lips, urging Calen to lighten his steps and be quiet.
Muscles taut, heels cramping in effort, Calen did as he was bid, thinking about the curse. The idea to look for the wolf pelts, although a disgusting prospect, was in all actuality a good one. If this tournament gave one of them a chance to search, to seek out the pelts with no one the wiser and determine the “who” behind the spell work, then yes. He could agree to participate.
It will all work out in the end, he tried to tell himself.
Yet, after the first hour had gone by with nothing but a grouse and two pheasant to show for their effort, he began to see the fruitlessness of the situation.
“Don’t worry.” Van stepped forward, his voice low. He’d kept close the entire time, making sure Calen kept out of trouble and didn’t accidentally kill himself or someone else in the process.
“Does it look like I’m worried?” Calen muttered under his breath.
A flash of movement drew their attention twenty feet ahead. Van pointed a silent finger toward the elm tree, leaves golden with the approaching autumn. “There. Take your shot.”
Calen didn’t see the bird in the tree, but he took Van’s word for it.
“Aim north.”
Feathers rustled between leaves, and...there! Calen did as Van asked, notching the arrow and fighting to keep his arm straight, his aim true. The arrow flew and embedded in the trunk of the elm tree. Three doves took flight away from them.
His heart thudded in his throat.
“You’ll get another chance.”
One of the men whistled behind them.
A flash of white caught his eye, and too late he caught sight of the arrow whizzing through open air toward the swan.
The swan?
Calen lunged forward with a yell caught in his throat. “No!”
Chapter 22
Her human mind didn’t register the danger until it was too late.
The swan might have, had Odessa allowed those instincts to take the lead. Instead, she flew toward the noise, toward the movement, knew each flap of her wings brought her closer to her home.
Dad. Calen.
Her heart lightened and she forced herself to fly faster. The forest whizzed by around her as she beat a course for home, toward safety. Her father would have to understand her. Her predicament.
Why hadn’t she considered it before? The alteration of her shape could not disconnect the bond between them. Not just as Lycans but as a father and daughter. One look into her eyes and he would see that it was his child trapped in the body of a swan.
If she’d been human, Odessa would have sneered. Jean had warned her against it. But their time was ticking down, and she couldn’t sit on the sidelines anymore. They needed all the help they could get, and her father was a reasonable man. An intelligent man. If anyone would be able to see her through the swan’s eyes, it was Alex Darrow.
She flew toward hope.
A scream caught her attention and Odessa turned just as searing pain split her side, the arrow nicking her in the thigh and embedding in the tree trunk beside her.
The swan honked. She faltered, dropping feet toward the ground before the swan took the reins. Wings flapped in time with her heartbeat, agony coloring her senses.
Her leg, tucked against her body, dripped blood on the ground and left a trail when she finally righted herself.
It was an effort to keep aloft when the pain wanted to take her down. Down, down into the waiting arms of the hunter who had shot her. A dim and distant part of her recognized raised voices; some in a cheer, others in outrage.
Finally, when it became too much to bear, her consciousness drifted back. Odessa allowed the swan to take over as she shoved herself into a tiny box in the back of her mind. The wounded creature continued to flap its wings, circling around to turn in the opposite direction, the way it had come. Toward the known. Toward its nest.
Blood continued to pour through her feathers and left a trail for others to follow.
She didn’t care. It didn’t care. Odessa felt herself slipping away into the darkness. And wasn’t sure when she would be able to surface again.
CALEN COULDN’T BREATHE.
Not when he knew, he knew, the swan they had hit was Odessa. Somehow, she’d managed to find them, to break free from the lake in her alternate form to find them. Wanting to help, no doubt.
“No,” he whispered again. And made to run for her when a hand at his elbow stopped him.
“Calen...”
“What did you do?”
“Calen, calm down!”
Van. The voice of reason. Urging him to consider his actions and what running away in the middle of the tournament would do. What kind of message it would send to the others.
No, he refused to calm down. He stalked toward the wolf holding the bow, a goofy grin on his face as he peered in the direction of the wounded swan. Calen grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and hauled him up.
“What did you do to her?” he demanded, seeing red.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry you missed your shot, but don’t get pissed at me!”
Calen would have ground his fist into the man’s eye had Van not reached out to grab him. Kept a hold on him while the rest of them stalked forward to investigate the blood trail.
“You are going to have to keep it together,” Van growled. “We don’t even know that was Odessa.”
Warning bells sounded in his head. “Are you kidding me? Of course it was!” How could it not be?
Van stared off in the direction of the crowd before shaking his head. “Your pack encompasses a good number of lakes. Taunway Lake pack, Calen. It could have been any swan.”
But it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. He felt the rip of pain when the arrow hit home, the gut-wrenching agony coming through the bond loud and clear.
Blood pounded like a tsunami through his veins, and Calen fought to keep his chin raised as he said, “I know. We have to do something. Listen to me this time. She’s in trouble.”
He kept what he really wanted to say to himself. That it was Van’s fault. That Van had been the one to suggest the ridiculous bird hunt. That I’m the one who told Odessa she was the wolf, and not the swan. She was here because of me, too.
“Come on. We have to join them, or they’ll know something is amiss. Which doesn’t exactly bode well for our cover, does it?” Van kept one hand on Calen’s arm. “I believe you. But you can’t run off again. Not yet.”
Each step toward the waiting wolves was too loud. His stomach dropped.
And when the rest of them headed back to the manor house with their time up, a few dead fowl thrown over their shoulders, their time up, Calen held back. His feet shuffled, stumbled, and his arms felt too heavy. His heart breaking.
Odessa...
He needed to run.
He needed to go, now. The bond between them told him that she was still alive; he knew that much. But with her hurt.
Van stared at him, jaw tense and teeth surely gritted beneath his closed lips. His words could not have been plainer had he spoke. Act normal.
It would not be normal to bolt away in a panic. Not at all. And yet that was all Calen could think about. His heart began to skip beats.
They made it back to the manor house with Calen barely managing to keep inside of his skin. Van prepared to follow him when a tug at his mind turned his attention.
Baron stood near the old oak with his arms over his chest.
Knowing better than to refuse the conversation, Van heaved a sigh and broke away from the rest of the group.
“Did you have fun out there?” His father’s familiar growl broke through the quiet hum of afternoon insects.
“Someone shot a swan, if that’s what you’re asking.” He glanced behind him. “Where’s your retinue of loyal soldiers?”
“I gave them the day off,” Baron stated, holding his hand out in front of him and staring at the ruby ring adorning his middle finger. “Do it.”
Van didn’t need to be told twice. A wave of his fingers brought a bubble of silence down around them. “What do you want?” he barked out.
Baron stared at him, dark eyes going flinty. “How goes things?”
“No changes.”
“Come on, Van, I know you found something. I need to know what it is so I can keep steering this ship straight. I don’t like going into things blind.”
His father did not know about the curse, nor did he know Odessa’s whereabouts. He did, however, know enough to realize that what his son did, he did so with utmost care and caution. And that in order to see things to completion, Baron had a part to play.
A fog
came down over Van’s mind, though he didn’t realize it. He didn’t realize much outside of the heat of the sun on his hair, the breeze ruffling his shift, and the ache in his fingers from holding the bow.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I just told you that nothing has changed.”
“Van.” Baron shifted, using his massive body to corner his son between himself and the tree. “This isn’t going to work unless we have complete trust between us. And we need this merger to happen.”
“I know that’s what you think,” Van began.
His father’s brows drew together, his lips twisted in a snarl. “That’s what I know, son. Your people, our people, are here because of that man’s mercy.” He pointed in the direction Alex Darrow had gone, to speak to the next group of wolves taking part in the tournament. “They won’t remain that way for long, not if we can’t find your runaway bride. You told me that you had things handled on that front.”
“I do.” His words were clipped.
“Then I need you to bring me into the loop. We’re in this together. For all of us.”
“All of us,” Van repeated.
“Alex isn’t going to be distracted by this tournament much longer, and then—”
Van slipped through the tiny space left and walked backward, holding his hands out to his side. “I can’t help you anymore,” he interrupted.
Baron stared after him without making a move. “Van!”
His name was a grunt of sound.
He shook his head, feeling nothing. Seeing nothing, the words coming from his mouth not his own. “I know what I’m doing.”
“GET BACK IN THE KITCHEN, Siegfried.”
Nova and Ghast stood as one, leading the rest of the competing wolves into the forest for round three.
“We filled our bellies with those cannolis. Better go and make some more,” Nova continued to tease.
Instead of his normal anger, the reaction he could feel welling up inside of him purely by repetition, he said nothing. Simply stared at them as he reached along the rapidly darkening bond between him and Odessa.
