by RJ Blain
Georgia had changed since I’d last been there, and the deep snows had made way for thick mud and flooded rivers. In places, I smelled death, and the responsibility for those deaths belonged to me.
In the quiet places away from the cities, I found bodies in cars, in worn homes incapable of handling harsh winters, and even on the ground where they’d fallen. I stopped counting after ten.
Numbers wouldn’t matter. Once I dealt with Basin, I would turn my efforts to those I’d killed, and where I could, I would provide for the families of the fallen and live with my regrets. I had many, but I’d endure them in silence.
It would have to be enough.
I returned to where I’d been captured with Dante and Nicole. I remembered nothing about the attack, but my witchcraft—and Dante’s—resonated in the heart of a small grove. Gunshot wounds scarred the trees, but there was no other evidence anyone had been there.
There was a scar on the Earth itself, as though it wept for what had happened, for what it couldn’t prevent or change. One tree, scarred like the rest, withered and died, as though it couldn’t handle the guilt of being involved with Basin’s attack.
While I couldn’t remember, my witchcraft did; I had, for a time, died among the wounded trees, injured beyond salvation, and they’d taken my failing body to fuel their bloody stones.
I wouldn’t die again, and I refused to allow any more of my friends to die at Basin’s hands.
~East and south,~ the moonstone instructed, and I felt the tug of its magic on mine, guiding me to who it yearned for the most, to Nicole.
For its sake and mine, I prayed we found her alive.
Deep in the woods, a hillock rose to become a cliff overlooking the sea, and an old, worn farmhouse overlooked a stony shore. The tide recoiled from the land, as though it abhorred what waited within.
To me, it seemed innocent enough, a home eroded by the years and left to ruin.
It was the perfect place to hide secrets and bodies.
Baring my fangs, I took cover behind trees and scrub, crouching low to the ground so I could wait for movement. I was rewarded far sooner than I anticipated when shadows crossed behind thin curtains hanging in the windows.
Someone was within, and I’d kill anyone who kept me from my goal.
~Below,~ the moonstone whispered.
Basin did like their basement prisons, and the organization enjoyed trapping the bodies of those it murdered in dungeons beneath the ground, using foul magic to make the dead do their bidding. I remembered some of what Dante had said.
I remembered what they’d done to his child.
Snowflake whined, and I twisted around to comfort him with a nuzzle. I gave him a rebuking nip, picked a promising tree, and dug a small den for him to hide in.
While I had no proof, I suspected the moonstone helped convince the fox to heed my wishes, as Snowflake crawled into the tree’s roots and hid, the mud darkening his bright fur and masking his presence.
He would be safer in the wild. If he left, I’d find him and take him home to Richard.
Richard still had a few pairs of shoes left.
The moonstone flooded my body with living warmth, and my awareness of magic and the weather strengthened.
All that remained of Dante’s power within me was a seed waiting for the spring, and I no longer sensed him in the clouds.
My storms were gone, blown out in the time it had taken me to travel east. My plans, as always, fell apart before they could bear fruit. I made a new plan. It involved biting people, tearing them into small bits, and finding my friends so I could take them home.
Then I’d hunt for my mate and demand my due. Behind my ears needed a good scratch, and I liked his fingers in my fur.
~Focus,~ the stone rebuked.
I bared my fangs and growled but conceded the point. First, I needed to kill people. After, I’d chase my mate.
The moonstone sighed. ~Damned wolves.~
I lolled my tongue, left Snowflake in his makeshift den, and prowled to the house. Despite the movement within, no one noticed me approach the door. I considered it, bared my teeth in a vicious grin, and knocked with my paw.
No one expected the devil to come calling, and I only cared for one thing: the moonstone could feel Nicole, and she was close, so close the stone’s excitement burned through me.
I knocked again, and footsteps approached, floorboards creaking.
The door opened.
Death had come calling, and I rammed my way inside, closed my fangs around a pale, warm throat, and bit down hard. With a single shake of my head, I killed, and blood flowed over my tongue.
While warm and fresh, I disliked the taste of human blood. I released my prey, letting his body fall to the floor.
“Jonas? Who’s there?”
I recognized the voice, and I lowered my head to protect my throat so I couldn’t be killed as I’d just killed. Hatred stoked an inferno.
Markus didn’t deserve the merciful death I would give him, and if all went well, he wouldn’t realize his mistake before I ended his repulsive life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Markus called for Jonas again, and I stepped over the man’s body in search of a place to stage my ambush. Wisely, the humans—and their shaman pawn—had kept the entry clear of furniture.
Since I couldn’t hide, I’d wait in the open, and I’d let him despair over his choices in life.
“Jonas, stop playing around already. It wasn’t funny the first ten times you pulled this dumbass stunt. No one’s at the door.”
Someone was at the door, and maybe one day I’d have a scrap of remorse for Jonas’s death. Maybe.
I wouldn’t hold my breath for that moment, but no one needed to know that.
“Damn it, Jonas!” Markus snarled, and his voice drew nearer.
I stood tall and proud, bannered my tail, and posed for the moment he showed his face, so he might remember me in all my glory in the moments before his death. Footsteps drew closer.
The last time I’d seen Markus, he’d been lean and muscular, a man in his prime. Time hadn’t done him any favors. Gray touched his hair, and he was young enough I would’ve worried if I’d cared.
I didn’t. He deserved those hairs for betraying me and my puppies.
He froze when he saw me, his eyes widening as his gaze roamed over me and fixed on my bloodied muzzle. He gasped, “Vicky? But you’re dead.”
My name was Vicky, but the woman he asked for no longer existed. She’d been broken, melted down, and reforged. I took advantage of his uncertainty and shock. I took a single step forward, lowering my head and angling my ears to portray misery. I couldn’t smell any lies, and my magic confirmed the truth of his words as well.
I had died, and he had helped kill me. I heard it in the shock and astonishment in his voice. He’d watched me die.
The wolf in him, the source of his shamanistic magic, had Markus covering his throat with his chin to block my swiftest way to kill. I waited and focused on the little things, like why he’d wanted me dead so much he’d entangled himself with me, pretending to love me to get close enough to kill me.
He’d gotten close. Had he changed a few things, I would’ve given him everything without hesitation. But he hadn’t. He’d shown his true colors, and while I was ignorant in many ways, I liked to think I’d known I’d denned with a snake, explaining why I’d hesitated when he’d offered me everything I thought I’d wanted.
I feigned hesitancy and took another step forward.
Markus kept his throat covered, and I could smell his wariness, but he didn’t run. I hoped he would. A chase would only make the moment I sank my fangs into him sweeter. If he didn’t, I’d kill him as my wild cousins killed their prey. First, I’d go for his tender, unprotected abdomen. When he fell, I’d finish the job with a bite to the throat, swift and merciful.
Had he not covered his throat, I would’ve been an angel of death as I’d been for Jonas, merciful in my slaughter.
&nb
sp; The stone approved.
We had come to kill, and when the killing was done, we had another mission, the most important one of all. I would take back everything I had lost.
Markus stood his ground, and when I was close enough to touch, he knelt, reached out, and cupped my muzzle in his hands, which shook. “How can you be alive? It’s impossible.”
Impossible would be his final word, and that pleased me. So many impossibilities surrounded my life. I had a mate, someone who loved me as much as I loved him, although I hadn’t been brave enough to admit it. I had puppies, and they loved me, too, no matter how often I failed them.
I had a pack. I had a home.
Once, all of those things had been an impossibility for me, and somehow, they had become my reality, one I would fight for until my dying breath.
I stood still and quiet, waiting for the moment Markus believed I meant him no harm. He tilted his head a little too much for him to be able to protect himself, his eyes still wide from shock, his astonishment still bleeding into his scent.
I struck as hard and fast as the snake he was, and like Livingston, who had falsely claimed she was his mother, Markus’s magic attempted to shield him. A sour, repugnant flavor stabbed at my tongue, and I shuddered.
~Harder!~ the moonstone snarled.
I obeyed, clamping down and squeezing my jaws together to pierce through the magic thwarting me. No longer would I bury bodies because of him. Mike and his pack would rest easy, and my puppies would never again need to fear the man who had almost killed them.
My teeth broke through his skin, and a moment later, all that remained of Markus Dupree was a bitter memory. The twitching in his arms and legs and the breath that sighed out of his dying body reaffirmed what I had committed to when I’d abandoned my mate in Yellowknife to protect him and our puppies.
My time had come.
Markus deserved far more than a broken neck and a swift end to his life, but I accepted what I couldn’t change. Justice had come for him, and it would have to be enough. Like I had with Jonas, I stepped over his body, and I didn’t look back.
From what I remembered of Dante’s foray into a Basin compound, few monitored the outer perimeters, leaving a small—or non-existent—guard to protect their lab, which had been hidden beneath the ground. Miles of tunnels might separate me from my goal. I hoped that was the case.
More ground to cover meant less chance of meeting more than one or two guards at a time, and no mere Normal could hope to stop me, not without old silver bullets and the advantage, which belonged to me.
Defenders usually had the benefit of known terrain, but I’d weaned on infiltrating dens and killing Alphas in their prime on their turf. I remembered.
Strike hard. Strike fast. Show no mercy. Never hesitate. Those had been my salvation, beaten into me until I lived as nothing more than a killing machine leashed until someone had crossed a line that couldn’t be forgiven. Basin had their flaw fatale.
They trusted in their weapons, in their guards, and in the element of surprise.
The tables had turned, and I prowled through the old farmhouse in search of its secrets. While the blood of the men I had killed hampered my sense of smell, I determined few others entered the home.
In the living room, I detected the faint hint of cinnamon marking a Fenerec’s presence. I pawed at the rug, and disgusted over how predictable Basin was in hiding their trap door, I located the inset pull ring. Anyone with any sense would’ve found it by walking over the floor.
I bit the corner of the rug and pulled it back, uncovering the entrance. With a few tugs, I popped open the trap door and hauled it away, letting it thump to the hardwood. Peeking within, I discovered a ten foot drop to packed ground. I jumped down, grunting at the impact. Shaking off the ache in my joints, I lifted my head and inhaled.
I could smell Nicole. Of Dante, I sensed nothing.
I followed the tunnel, loping until it curved towards the woods, coming to a halt to breathe in the scents and make sense of them. Long ago, before modern prisons, before the Inquisition had partnered their policing with mercy, guilty witches and wolves had been locked away in cages until they reformed, and I remembered the stench of refuse and neglect.
I remembered how long it took someone to die from abuse, how long someone could survive with minimal care. Disease might kill mercifully—more mercifully than those who would jail the supernatural.
I had entered a prison of draconian nature, one built in the old ways, where humans were treated worse than animals, for the animals served a purpose whereas the humans did not. Anger burned through me, blossoming into the sort of rage that had once made me attack the bars of my cage and burn myself with silver, over and over again, at the cruelty of what people did to one another.
Some of it had been justified. Most of it had been the evilness of man manifesting, taking advantage of an opportunity.
I found the first cells within a mile of the farmhouse, and the occupants had died long ago, so decomposed I couldn’t tell if they’d been men or women. I suspected women.
Witches usually were.
Death had come calling for them as I’d come for Basin, and I grieved I hadn’t been able to find them sooner, that I’d been as much a victim as them, unable to break free. Had I been one of them, dead and abandoned in a cell?
I couldn’t imagine a squirrel escaping the tunnels without a lot of help.
With every body we passed, the moonstone’s rage grew hotter, and beneath its anger, I felt its fear. I understood its fear.
How could anyone survive these conditions? How could Nicole have survived for so long? Through the pervasive stench of decay, all I could tell was Nicole was somewhere close. I had no way of knowing if she, too, had died.
Unfinished dirt made way for tiles, and muddy footprints led me into a maze of nicer cells, but cells all the same, all filled with the dead.
Death was too good a fate for Basin, but I would have to accept death as their judgment. Only in death could they be prevented from acting again.
With a weary heart, I moved on.
I found a medical lab, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have believed it a hospital, a place of healing and care. The moonstone cried out in my head, its pain so strong it staggered me. Through the beeps of life support machines, I saw what it saw.
Nicole was one of three still clinging to life, although she’d grown so thin it hurt to look at her. If I unhooked her from the machine, would she—
~No!~ the moonstone howled in my head.
I sighed, unable to tell if the stone refused to allow me to move her, or if it refused to allow her to die. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t let her die, either.
Couldn’t and wouldn’t were two painfully different things.
Until I explored the whole place and made certain there were no other Basin operatives, I couldn’t deal with Nicole and the other two victims. The moonstone snarled curses at me, but it relented when I stood firm.
All or nothing, and the two other women didn’t deserve death for being witches, either—or whatever they were. I couldn’t tell through the stench of disinfectant.
I wanted blood, but Basin denied me vengeance yet again. No one else lived in the compound. My rage matched the moonstone’s.
The theory they had kept Nicole alive to siphon away her magic made more and more sense. Basin didn’t care what happened to her. When they drained her dry, they’d discard her as they had the others. I clawed at the tiles and growled.
First, I needed to rescue Nicole and the other two victims, taking them as far away from Basin’s outpost as I could. Once certain they’d get the care they needed, I would resume my hunt for Dante.
My mate needed his brother. My Alpha needed his friend.
I’d found no sign of the man in the compound, not even a hint of his scent. Dead or simply gone, I couldn’t tell through the miasma of decay infusing the place.
~I will keep them alive,~ the moonstone whispered. ~I was
once a stone of healing before I became a stone of destruction.~
I sat on my haunches and regarded Nicole, my misery running as deep as the seed of Dante’s magic hidden within me.
Dante would have to wait, and I could only pray I—we—wouldn’t be too late when we could begin the chase again. I whined and hung my head.
I hated having to choose, but the decision had been made for me the instant I’d smelled Nicole in the compound. Until she was safe, until she got the care she needed—that all three of them needed—I would remain with her, guard her, and protect her.
I knew the perfect place to take them, if I could only get them out of the compound along with the medical equipment keeping them alive.
Hands would make my task much simpler. While I’d managed to shift a few times on my own, I was so accustomed to relying on a witch I faltered, trying to remember how I’d done it.
~Welcome her,~ the moonstone suggested.
Welcome who? My wolf? My witch?
~Both.~
Right. Both. Of course. If an award for the most pathetic witch wolf existed, I’d be crowned the eternal champion while being given a diagnosis for extreme split personality disorder. I’d been taught from the beginning what would happen if I lost the battle with either one of them.
I’d die.
~Nonsense. You are who you are.~
I flattened my ears and growled, but I couldn’t argue.
Without my witchcraft, I’d been only part of a person. She was me, I was her, my wolf was me, and I was also her. Denying the truth was pointless.
I just didn’t understand how.
~Later,~ the moonstone decided, and the pain of shifting slammed through me. I yipped, cursed the stone in howls, and writhed as it took my body and reforged me into human shape.
I had no idea how long it took, but while the stone lacked patience, it made up for its surprise attack with clothes. I wouldn’t question where the clothes came from or what they were made of, content I wouldn’t have to haul bodies around while naked.