Unleashed (Dark Moon Shifters #1)

by Bella Jacobs

  Demanding I go to a place deeper and darker than sleep.

  Demanding I go…now.

  Chapter 11

  Dust

  The ride to the safe house outside Port Townsend—careening up the highway and off onto side streets and then onto still smaller, even less trafficked country roads winding out into the middle of nowhere—as Wren bleeds on my lap is the longest in memory.

  And I have a long memory.

  A near perfect one, in fact.

  I remember every second of my captivity, from the morning my new mother and father adopted me at the orphanage in Salisbury, to the illness that took hold soon after our move to the States, to every hard as hell day after as I struggled to finish the business of growing up while battling what I’d been told was a disease doing its best to devour me from the inside out.

  There was only one bright spot—the girl with the big blue eyes and jet-black hair. The girl with the skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood, just like Snow White.

  Until I met Wren, I’d assumed I was a Sleeping Beauty kind of guy—all that long blond hair did something for me, even as a child—but Wren changed all that.

  I had never seen anyone that stunning in real life. And it wasn’t just her pretty face or her sweet smile or the way she giggled like she was going to pass out when I told one of the not-safe-for-grown-ups-to-overhear stories she loved so much. It was all the things inside of her—her hope and gentleness and her fierce loyalty to those she claimed as her own.

  For a time, I was part of Wren’s tribe, one of her people. I know she must have grieved when I left. It must have torn her apart not to know where I was, what I was doing, if I was okay or if I’d lost the battle against the “virus” like so many of the kids we’d grown up with in our school for the tragically ill.

  If I could have reached out to her, I would have. But it was too dangerous.

  For both of us.

  I’d hoped to explain myself now that we’re adults, all grown up and old enough to fight for our right to exist together. But I might never get the chance.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” I growl to Creedence, who’s in the driver’s seat, steering the car with a wrist propped on top of the wheel.

  “I’m going ten miles over, Captain,” Creedence drawls in response. “If I go any faster, we risk getting pulled over, and I don’t want to explain to small-town cops why we’ve got two gunshot victims in this car. Do you?”

  Curling my free hand—the one not cradling Wren’s head—into a fist, I fight to keep a rein on my temper. “She needs medical attention. Now. It’s worth the risk. Drive faster.”

  “No, she’s going to be okay,” Kite pipes up from beside me. “She’s fighting back, digging deep. She’s not going to be leaving us anytime soon.”

  I turn to see the bear shifter with his big hands wrapped tenderly around Wren’s calves. He’s pushed up her filthy pajama pants to achieve skin-to-skin contact, something that allows all shifters to bond more closely with each other—emotionally and supernaturally—but which is especially powerful for bear shifters. Empathy can become almost like telepathy if it’s strong enough, and Kite is evidently the best of the best, the most devoted feeler his clan could offer. When we first met a few months ago, as we plotted our course and our rescue mission began to take shape, I actually liked the guy.

  But that was before he went undercover to get closer to Wren.

  Before he started flirting with her, teasing her, touching her way too often and hugging her goodbye in a way that made it clear he couldn’t wait to get his paws all over her.

  That was before the kiss yesterday, the one I was forced to watch from afar because it was my day to run security detail.

  Now, I mostly want to rip his meaty hands off and stuff them into his Wren-molesting mouth.

  We all know what we’re here for, and I’m as willing as the rest of them to share—assuming Wren decides there’s a place in her heart for one or more of us and doesn’t send off for another batch of mate candidates once she realizes how much is at stake—but Kite took unfair advantage of his early access to Wren. And I, for one, am pissed the fuck off about it.

  Right, that’s why you’re pissed. Because he took off before the starting gun, not because deep down in your gut you will always think of her as yours. Your first best friend, your first crush, your Snow.

  I lay my hand gently on her forehead, wishing I could feel what the bear can feel, that I could be as sure that she’s going to make it to the safe house where we have supplies and medicine to help her heal.

  But that’s not where my power lies. So instead, I lift my free hand to the roof of the car and dig down into my core, summoning my own special skill.

  “Drive faster,” I calmly order as my marrow begins to hum and power sizzles up my arm, into my palm and out to hover in a bubble over the car. “I’ve got us covered.”

  “No, we can’t risk it,” Kite says. “What if there are other shifters around, Dust? Kin Born? They’ll be able to feel you and—”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take. Drive faster!” I order.

  “You’re the boss.” With an easy nod, Creedence mashes his foot down on the pedal and the car leaps forward. Soon we’re speeding down the narrow country lane at nearly seventy miles per hour, but I’m not worried about losing control of the car. Creedence can be frustratingly laid-back and maddeningly shallow at times, but the man is one hell of a driver.

  “It’s not going to help Wren if we’re all dead on the side of the road,” Kite seethes through a clenched jaw.

  “Relax, man,” Creedence says. “I’ve got this. No one’s getting hurt on my watch. I’ve been driving getaway cars since before you were out of diapers.”

  “Oh yeah, since you were seven?” Kite snaps back, clearly still irritated at being the youngest member of our crew. At least for now…

  We’re not sure who the wolves are sending. Wolves outnumber all other shifters three to one, but only very rarely bear the mate mark. Last I heard, the various pack leaders across the United States and Canada had been searching for a potential candidate for months without success and had decided to expand their search to wolves usually considered beyond the pale. Ideally, we’d prefer a marked wolf who isn’t a criminal on the outs with his pack, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “That’s right.” Creedence chuckles. “That’s growing up with shit parents, Pooh Bear. As soon as you can see over the dashboard, you’re ready to take over as designated driver while Ma and Pa get smashed.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Kite braces a hand on the roof with a wince as Creedence takes a hairpin turn fast enough to send all of us leaning hard to the left.

  “It’s Pooh-bie now,” I offer, because fucking with Kite is preferable to watching Wren’s lids flutter as she fights for her life. “I’ve shortened it for efficiency.”

  “Pooh-bie,” Creedence echoes. “That does roll off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re a pair of assholes,” Kite grumbles, but the irritation fades as he sits up straighter in his seat. “Is that the turn?”

  “That’s it.” Creedence cuts hard to the left this time, sending us sliding back to the right. “Just a few minutes now, folks, and we’ll be home sweet home.”

  “When we get there, take Wren up to her room,” I tell Kite. “I’ll get medicine, blood for a transfusion, and everything else we need from the basement and—”

  “Nope, the basement is a no-go, Captain,” Creedence cuts in. “Those items have been relocated to the pantry and the basement is off-limits for the time being.”

  My brows snap together. “And why’s that? What happened in the basement?”

  “Who happened in the basement,” Creedence corrects. “While you two were out kidnapping damsels in distress and running from bad guys, we had a wolf special delivery. His name is Luke and he’s been made as comfortable as possible until such time as we can figure out what to do with him.”

/>   “What to do with him?” Kite shakes his head. “What does that even mean? Doesn’t he know why he’s here?”

  “Oh, he knows.” Creedence nods. “But the man isn’t too happy about it. He’s what you might call…an unwilling volunteer.”

  I curse. “I was afraid of this. I told the pack leaders we needed cooperation, not a fucking captive of our own. We’re in the business of liberating shifters, not locking them up. We’ll have to let him go.”

  Creedence grunts. “Pardon my French, but the wolves do not give one sloppy shit about your orders, Captain. They do what they want, when they want. We’re lucky they sent a candidate at all. If you cut this guy loose, we might not get another, and we have zero time to waste playing nice. Pooh-bie might be able to feel what this girl feels, but I can see what she’ll be facing.” He shakes his head, his tone uncharacteristically sober as he adds, “No toss of that coin looks particular rosy right now, but with the wolf, we have a chance. Not a great chance, but we might come out with at least some of our balls intact.”

  Silence falls as the small, unassuming ranch house tucked into a glen at the edge of the coastal rain forest comes into view.

  Creedence comes from a long line of cat shifters with the ability to see different possible versions of the future. It’s how his parents made a killing conning marks across three continents and twelve countries and how his sister knew to get out of the life before she lost the child she was carrying in a con gone wrong.

  If he says we need the wolf, then we need the wolf.

  “I’ll figure out a way to get through to him,” I say. “But Wren comes first.”

  “I’ll make a meal and get her some clean clothes. Though I’m pretty sure everything I bought is going to be too big. You didn’t tell me she was skin and bones,” Creedence says, his initiative also surprising. He’s been cooperative so far, but not nearly as enthusiastic about his role as a potential as the bear. Creedence gives off the strong impression that he’s tolerating the new course his life has taken rather than embracing his destiny.

  But maybe now that he’s seen her, and seen what she’s up against…

  I want to ask what’s coming next and how long we’ll have to prepare for the battle we all know is coming, but there’s no time. We’re here, and Kite is already drawing Wren tenderly out of his side of the car.

  I jump out, hurrying to open the front door for him, only to release an unearthly howling into the gray afternoon. “Shit,” I mutter as Kite slides past me, heading for the stairs and the room I prepared for Wren.

  “Yep, that’s Luke. He’s a real charmer so far.” Creedence pauses beside me, leaning lazily against the doorframe before prowling inside with a grin. “Dogs, am I right? So fucking dramatic.”

  With a sharp sigh, I shut the door behind me, grateful we’re miles from the nearest house and won’t have to worry about the baying of our captive arousing suspicion. Mentally adding Win over one pissed-off pup to my to-do list, I head into the pantry to gather medical supplies.

  Wren first. She’s what matters most to our mission, and the one who’s always mattered most to me.

  Even if I didn’t bear the mark, even if she were just another captive shifter in need of help, I would have fought for the chance to be here. She’s that important to me, the light that kept me going through the darkest days of my life.

  I just hope I get the chance to tell her that, and everything else that’s in my heart.

  Chapter 12

  Wren

  I wake up alone on a tiny island in the center of a vast blue ocean and sit up in the powdery white sand to look out at the waves. The water is cerulean, crystal clear, and glorious. The warm breeze carries the familiar salt of ocean air, but instead of the funky, murky notes of the sea breeze I’ve known all my life, the wind is perfumed with citrus and flowers.

  Everything smells fresh and new, crisp with possibilities, and as I rise to my feet I’m filled with a joy so intense I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry as it rushes through me.

  I lift my hands to the sun, fingers spread wide, feeling like every piece of creation is celebrating with me.

  This is how it’s supposed to be. This is how it was long ago, before we took too much too far too fast. This was how it was in the years when there was balance, before the disease took root and began to spread.

  The disease…

  But not the viruses released by the Meltdown.

  This is something worse…

  Someone worse…

  The realization drifts through my head like poisoned smoke, carrying a whiff of sulfur and sweat, of things long left unwashed and important tasks neglected. As my thoughts darken, a cloud covers the sun, spreading out until it encompasses the entire sky, blocking out the light.

  A storm is gathering, and at the center of the churning and frothing overhead is a face made of clouds, a man with a beard, mad eyes, and lips that spit rain as he promises, “You will fail, child. Challenge me and meet the same end as those who came before you.”

  The cloud face takes on sharper definition as the man opens his mouth, wider and grotesquely wider, a snake unhooking his jaw until I can see down the funnel cloud of his throat. And there, in his belly, dozens of people are writhing, screaming, suffering for all eternity as he digests them—still alive, always alive, yet always on the verge of death and in unimaginable pain.

  I back away in horror, tripping in the sand and scuttling backward, but there are no trees on this island, nowhere to hide from the sky.

  “Run, little one,” the cloud man says. “Run and keep running and don’t ever stop or I will catch you.”

  He spits more rain as he speaks, the hot drops stinging into my eyes. I reach up to wipe the wetness away and bring away red, sticky fingers.

  Blood.

  It’s raining blood, the blood of all the innocent people this monster has devoured.

  I hold my arms away from my body, trembling as streaks of red splash across my skin. I turn to run and the sky thunders with laughter—booming, exploding, splitting the world in two as the man in the clouds takes my measure and finds me lacking. Pitiful. Not even worth the trouble of plucking from the sand and popping into his endless mouth.

  The shaking in the sky becomes an earthquake rocking the world beneath my feet and soon the island crashes in two, opening a chasm filled with fire in front of me, but I’m running too fast to stop. I dig my heels into the sand, fighting to reverse course, but I’m already stumbling, tumbling, hurtling into the void, burning so hot my skin begins to melt from my bones.

  I’m so hot, miserably hot…

  And thirsty, so thirsty…

  “There you go, Slim, open up those pretty eyes,” an unfamiliar voice murmurs close to my ear. “I’ve got something to wet your whistle.”

  My eyes creak open to see an angel by my bedside—a rumpled angel in a wrinkled T-shirt and battered blue jeans, with sandy-blond hair, golden whiskers on his chin, and a wicked smile on his impossibly handsome face. His eyes are gold with a brown patina on top and absolutely the most mesmerizing thing I’ve ever seen.

  I blame the eyes for the fact that I don’t notice the straw wresting lightly on my bottom lip until Golden Boy reaches out, adjusting it as he insists, “Here you go. Big drink, Slim, or the captain is going to hook you up to an IV again and that’s no fun.”

  I pucker around the straw, sucking gently, drawing something sweet and tangy—lemonade—into my mouth. The citrus hits my taste buds, clean and refreshing, reminding me of the dream.

  The first part. Before the monster in the sky.

  I release the straw and swallow with a shudder.

  “Bad dreams?” Golden Boy asks.

  I nod, wincing as the movement causes an ache to spread through my chest and memories to come rushing back. The kidnapping, Kite, the sudden appearance of Dust, getting shot down in the middle of the road—images flash across my mental screen, but none of them are as scary as the Devouring God.

&nbs
p; “Well, you’re safe now,” Golden says, his handsome face breaking into a smile so charming my lips curve instinctively in response. “Well, as safe as you’re ever going to be. Must suck being the chosen one, huh?”

  My forehead furrows, but before I can discover if my pain will allow me to speak, a voice comes from the doorway, “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about, Creedence. Shut your trap and let her rest,” Kite says, meeting my gaze as my attention shifts his way. His lips curve in a tentative smile. “Hey, there. You’re looking a lot better than you did yesterday.”

  “Don’t…want rest,” I force out, finding my voice does indeed work, though sucking in the air needed to speak isn’t exactly pleasant. “Want…answers.”

  “You heard that, Pooh-bie,” Golden Boy—Creedence—says with a wink. “Slim wants answers, and I think we ought to give ’em to her. I’m Creedence.” He holds out a hand, waiting patiently as I shakily maneuver my palm into his and then giving my fingers a careful squeeze. “I’m low in the pecking order around here, but I’m on your side.” He lifts a shoulder in a loose shrug, but the look in his extraordinary eyes isn’t the least bit easygoing as he adds in a voice for my ears only, “Don’t take any more shit from these clowns until they put their cards on the table, okay? You deserve at least that much.”

  “What was that?” Kite strides across the room, his head cocked at a suspicious angle.

  “I said we should all play cards.” Creedence stretches lazily, once again the laid-back Golden Boy. “I’ve been bored out of my skull sitting here waiting for Slim to wake up and wolf boy to stop screaming. Someone really should have considered cable. I mean, can’t we save the world and binge watch all six seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer at the same time?”

  “Seven,” I correct in a slightly stronger croak.