Renzo’s eyes narrowed and his voice rasped. “You don’t trust me?”
Dathan grunted. “You’ve dedicated your life to saving shape-shifter slaves, rebel werewolves and the occasional vampire. You, I trust implicitly. Someone like Mortimer, who could access your mind or use you to find me, no. I can’t risk that happening.”
Renzo calmed, as though resigned that he had no argument against Dathan’s reasoning. Zack couldn’t be left with the werewolves, but Renzo couldn’t risk putting his son in more danger, especially if he had any chance of being compelled to hurt his own son—or the rest of us. “Autumn will be one more to add to your absurdly small army.”
“You have a chance to reacquaint yourself with your wife and spend some time with your niece Alura. You’ll be reunited with your son soon enough.” Dathan switched to me. “Go pack.”
† † †
“Are the witches friendly?” I asked, squirming in the backseat of Cedric’s brand-new Escalade.
“Depends on the witch. These particular ones are receptive, according to Cedric. I’ve never met them.” Dathan raised one shoulder, then dropped it. “He doesn’t think the queen will go into battle with us though. We have to hope that other older and more powerful witches will hate werewolves enough to volunteer. Even having only one of them could give us the edge up to win.”
Autumn? Zack’s voice penetrated my mind and relief filled me to hear from him.
“Zack’s talking to me,” I announced as the Escalade cruised down the highway toward Arizona. “How’s it going?” I asked him both silently and aloud so Dathan and my parents would know I was answering.
I’m in solitary confinement for beating the crap out of my superior. They drugged me and threw me in a cell. Zack sounded more worked up with each word.
Did this mean he could be eliminated at any time? My stomach bottomed out. Now what?
I’m lying in pitch black with no idea how long I’ve been here because they took my phone. And I’m starving. How long has it been since you contacted me earlier?
About an hour. I checked the screen on my phone. It’s a little after twelve.
When they come back for Zack, would they give him another chance or would they kill him? Would this be the very last time we spoke? Werewolves were notorious for their lack of empathy. With Zack secluded in another state, none of us could do anything if something happened to him. My throat tightened but I forced my brows not to furrow so no one around me would get suspicious. I didn’t want my carmates as stressed out as I was.
I hear someone coming. I have to go.
Love you. I waited for a reply but it didn’t come.
“What did Zack say?” Dathan twisted in the driver’s seat to see me, then focused again on the road.
“He had a moment while he was waiting for someone. The guy arrived and Zack had to go. He’s fine.” Someone had to keep a level head and I didn’t think that someone would be me. If I relayed the rest of it, they’d just worry too. No point in getting them riled up when I didn’t actually know if Zack was in real danger.
“Is he all right though?” Worry lines creased the corners of Dathan’s eyes. Although I wished Renzo had come with us, I was thankful he wouldn’t be part of the minute-by-minute tension over what was happening with Zack.
Who was I kidding? Renzo would get less updates now than before when we’d been traveling together, since he didn’t talk to Zack directly—too risky. We’d all made a deal that I was Zack’s contact, since any unnecessary communication could distract him from his mission. Without me around to update Renzo, he’d probably obsess over it constantly. I’d try to keep him in the loop when I could. Maybe Zack’s mom Favianne and his niece Alura would keep his mind off Zack.
“He hasn’t had much privacy with werewolves around, that’s all.” Because I doubted my terrible poker face would convince Dathan, I turned toward the window and didn’t say another word. I took the moment to check in with Renzo, so he’d know his son was okay.
My parents sat together in the back seat, quiet as usual. That left me stuck in the front with Dathan. I would’ve taken the third-row seat except that leaving the front seat empty would’ve been rude.
“Witches don’t read minds, but they can pull images from your head. Be careful and block your thoughts, just as you’d do around any powerful supernatural.” Dathan checked over his shoulder before changing lanes. “Some images in particular must be hidden. For instance, anything you wouldn’t want plucked from their minds without their consent, specifically anything about Zack—in case they become vulnerable to Mortimer.”
And anyone else we needed to protect, like my best friend Maya and Zack’s cousin Trevor, who were human but had figured out what we were. Humans weren’t allowed knowledge about the existence of supernaturals. They were either turned into one of us or eliminated.
So many factors working against us. So many little aspects of danger. So many ways for us to screw up. I wanted us to descend upon the werewolf king immediately, wage the most epic of battles, and triumph over evil. We had joined forces with shape-shifters and rebel werewolves, but that was before we knew Mortimer and his henchmen had gained the ability to glamour totally from a distance. The shape-shifters and werewolves who had survived the last battle were either still healing or not strong enough to withstand Mortimer’s ability to control their minds.
If we had known about the werewolf king’s new powers, we wouldn’t have joined forces with the shape-shifter queen—my aunt, Natasha. Her people would all still be alive and she wouldn’t be Mortimer’s captive right now. And Zack wouldn’t be undercover.
But we couldn’t have known and we couldn’t turn back time.
How could only a handful of us win against all the king’s werewolves—and whoever else he had helping him? I couldn’t muster even a tiny shred of hope. We’d never rescue my aunt, Natasha. We’d all die, leaving Mortimer free to continue ruling all werewolves and keeping shape-shifters as slaves for all eternity. And once he killed us, he’d have no reason to keep Natasha alive. Any surviving shape-shifters would have to find a new queen.
Why was I going along with this? I should tell Zack to get the hell out of there, then both of us could go on the run. “You seriously expect the four of us and maybe one or two witches to win against Mortimer and hundreds of his psycho werewolves? Do you even have a plan?”
Dathan sighed, keeping his focus on the road ahead. “Autumn, failing isn’t an option. Natasha is being held prisoner and I’m not going to throw her to the wolves, literally. And, no, I haven’t fully mapped out how we’re going to rescue her and dethrone Mortimer. But I will.”
I believed him. He hadn’t let us down yet.
The odds were impossible, though, and we had no chance of winning. But since I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing, I’d probably die before seeing my nineteenth birthday. I’d never get a chance to tell Zack who my parents really were and that the shape-shifter queen was my aunt. We would both be killed without him ever knowing I was a hybrid—and proof that we could mix species, and that he and I could be together like any other couple.
Except we wouldn’t. Because a handful of us couldn’t conquer Mortimer and an entire army.
Chapter THREE
Zack
I woke up again several minutes ago, but was afraid to move. When I had roused from my drug-induced sleep earlier and contacted Autumn, I had moved and alerted the werewolves. They’d arrived and shot me with more tranquilizers. Pretty sure they pumped me with even more this last round.
I lay inanimate, kept my breathing exactly the same. They had to think I was unconscious, at least until I had a chance to assess the situation. Plus, my brain was still a little groggy and I needed a few moments to shake it off before being required to use it. The enforced alone time was actually a nice break.
The dark musty room had no windows, which made me think I was underground. A dungeon would’ve been my guess. With no sunlight to judge and no phone
to see a clock, I had no clue how long I’d been unconscious this time. I only knew my stomach roared in its effort to digest something.
This place sucked. My life sucked. An image of Natasha invaded my head, reminding me why I’d come to this filthy, wolf-infested town. I couldn’t bail and I had to make the werewolves believe I was worth keeping alive.
Mortimer’s mansion was surrounded by a hundred houses or more. Like any other small town, they were always in each other’s business. I’d seen countless fights and some werewolves died. Foul tempers made for bad relationships.
Many of them ate together in the main hall of the mansion instead of their homes. Those who were higher on the food chain kept to themselves, and often had meals brought to their houses. A few of the werewolves had jobs outside the town, so I didn’t see much of them. The rest oversaw shape-shifter slaves or served the king in some capacity.
But where did they keep the other shape-shifters, like Natasha?
From what I remembered about the legend of Hannah and Eli, Mortimer had used Eli as a slave and had kept his sister a prisoner. Mortimer imprisoned one shape-shifter to enslave another. Knowing Eli wouldn’t fly away and abandon his sister, Mortimer gave Eli freedom to roam the grounds. And so Eli met and fell in love with Mortimer’s fiancé, Hannah.
I’d seen shape-shifters here and there. They were beaten and humbled, but not chained. Mortimer had to be holding a ton of shape-shifters somewhere in order to keep the other shape-shifters working for him. But where were they?
Gunther and the other werewolves had driven me nonstop since my arrival with no chance for me to explore. Sounds of reveille woke me at six each morning, followed by eight minutes to shower and get ready, then eat breakfast in five minutes. Once I was fed, I resumed being everybody’s bitch. As a rookie, I was at the bottom of the food chain and all other werewolves were my boss. I got passed around and treated like garbage. I followed all their orders, from digging ditches to cleaning toilets and mopping floors. Under no circumstance, however, was I allowed to enter any of the other rooms while I was in their homes.
Of course not. That’s where they kept the women. I’d only seen a few since I’d arrived. This town could have been mistaken for a third world country, since werewolf women had zero rights and couldn’t leave the house unless fully covered, except for their eyes, and accompanied by their husbands. No wonder my cousin Alura wanted nothing to do with the werewolf kingdom. At least as part of SWAAST— Shape-shifter Werewolf Alliance Against Slavery and Tyranny—she was treated equally. That her uncle, my father Renzo, was the leader of SWAAST ensured she wouldn’t be treated as property.
I’d seen a handful of other rookies, but Gunther kept me too busy to talk to them. As newbies, they had no information I could use anyway. Plus, they were too busy for idle chitchat. I wasn’t here to meet people and make friends anyway. I had one mission—to rescue Natasha. If I could take down Mortimer while I was there, all the better.
I worked off so much energy during the day, I couldn’t seem to get enough food at mealtimes. At about nine each night, Gunther would order me to stop working and switch to training. Then I’d get my nightly ass kicking.
A break from chores and beatings was kind of nice at the moment. Though I picked up distant conversations, they weren’t close enough for me to decipher the words. Which meant they were far enough away that they wouldn’t sense any energy emitted from me and then realize I was talking telepathically. I could talk to Autumn. Thoughts of her were the only thing that made this mission with the werewolves bearable. Autumn, are you there?
Hey, we were getting worried. What happened?
What time is it?
It’s around 3. They put you in solitary confinement three hours ago. What have you been doing since we last spoke?
Sleeping. They drugged me up again. I checked my cheekbone and didn’t wince. Completely healed.
Jesus, Zack. What are you going to do?
Not much to do but wait. I wish I hadn’t told her about being put in solitary confinement. All she’d do now is worry, worry, worry. Fill me on what’s happening. Pretty sure I have lots of time and I’ll only get hungrier. You could help keep my mind off food.
I want details. Autumn’s telepathic voice sounded concerned. Why was beating someone up a reason to put you in isolation? I mean, don’t werewolves have temper issues? Aren’t fights pretty normal?
He was my superior and I humiliated him. If I didn’t tell her all of it, she’d probably imagine worse. I’m working or training all day every day and it’s grueling. Training is easy, but I have to slow down or they’ll get suspicious. Meanwhile, these werewolves are vicious and morally bankrupt and I have to put up with their crap. The constant pummelings don’t make it any easier, and I finally snapped. Knocked a guy out and then the others shot me with a tranquilizer dart. Woke up again a few minutes ago. I hesitated, listening to see if the faraway footfalls would get closer. Disappointment ravaged my empty stomach when the steps grew fainter. Tell me all about Dathan’s plan. And it’d better be good.
We’re on our way to meet some witches. Apparently, they have blocking abilities which will come in handy so they don’t get under anyone’s control. And with their shielding powers, no one will sense our presence.
Footsteps sounded again, gradually getting louder. Someone’s coming. I have to go.
Get back to me as soon as you can.
The door burst open and two men came into view, both carrying assault rifles. I already knew they didn’t carry normal bullets. Most of the time their rifles were loaded with tranquilizer darts. Occasionally, the werewolves would use explosive bullets to target practice on someone who was being punished. Either option would take me out for a while. Again.
“Get up.” One of the werewolves waved the assault weapon, signaling for me to follow. “You even flinch and you’re going down.”
I raised my hands and followed their directions, passing through the cell door and making a left into the dim, stale corridor. After a few feet, one of them ordered me to stop. I obeyed, keeping my back to them. Cold handcuffs circled my wrists and my hopes of fighting my way out vanished as quickly as my dreams of getting food. Two other big guys joined the party and one of them pressed hard metal into my back, shoving me forward.
A moment later, a guard cut in front of me and kicked open a door. Sunlight blinded me as they led me into the sun. A couple hundred yards ahead I spotted the king’s mansion. I glanced over my shoulder for a glimpse of where I’d come from. There was the plain building I’d passed at least a dozen times over the past three weeks, always wondering what they stored behind the thick stone walls. Now I knew it was a holding cell.
I grunted when the end of the barrel jammed into my back again and I concentrated on forging ahead. They led me to the rear entrance of the mansion and through a poorly lit hallway. At the end stood another big metal door with four guards flanking it.
“His Majesty summoned this one,” said the guy who was now gripping my arm.
The king wanted to see me? Uh-oh. My heart bucked beneath my ribs. But if he sensed my fear, he’d think I had something to hide. I commanded my adrenaline to ebb and my muscles to relax. Taking a long deep breath, I willed my pulse to slow. The barrel of the rifle jabbed me again, and I stumbled past the wide door and into King Mortimer’s suite.
I glanced around the room to see high ceilings, elaborate crown molding plastered with gold leaf, old shiny drapes and life-size paintings framed by more gold leaf. Gaudy didn’t adequately convey the degree of tacky invading the entire room.
“There.” The king’s dirty fingers extended toward an overstuffed gold-striped chair. Werewolves obviously didn’t consider hygiene a priority. His hair was so filthy, I couldn’t tell what color it was. It just looked dark. “Keep the cuffs on and then leave.”
The guards hurled me into the chair, my shackled hands crushed against the backrest behind me. One of them offered Mortimer a small key, then they bowed and
backed away through the door, closing it quietly.
On the rare occasions I’d spotted the king, I hadn’t had enough time to study him. I was six feet tall, but Mortimer had a couple inches on me. He stood ramrod straight, making him seem even taller. His stringy hair brushed his shoulders in uneven clumps. Everything about him screamed old-school, from his green and gold velvet robe to his long yellow fingernails and straggly brown beard.
I quickly refreshed my history facts. Hannah and Eli escaped seven hundred years ago. At the time, Mortimer had already been in power for a century or more. He could be older than Dathan.
Mortimer slipped the key into the pocket of his robe, then took the chair about three feet from me. The motion from the folds of fabric sent a breeze my way. Beyond the stink of his body and whatever filth he stored in his facial hair, the sweet metallic scent of blood prevailed. He drank vampire blood as Ulric had. Which made him stronger and probably even more insane.
I reminded myself to keep cool as I made eye contact with him, but it lasted only an instant before I bent my head forward. “Your Majesty.”
“Where are you from?” His voice was oddly soft and harsh at the same time. Creepy.
A shiver tried to make its way up my spine as I recalled the story Cedric and I had rehearsed. “Small town in northern California. My mother was human. She passed away a couple years ago. I lived on the streets for a while before meeting another werewolf who told me about this place. So I made my way here.”
He crossed one leg over the other and threaded his fingers through his beard as he studied me. “I gather from my men you are unusually strong.”
I shook my head. “No, not particularly. I took Gunther by surprise and struck him just the right way. Pure luck.”
Seconds stretched as he watched me. “In the old days, those who displeased the court were required to earn back their life by killing their opponent.”
Shapes of Autumn (Boxed set, books 1 - 5) Page 95