by RJ Blain
Without hands, I couldn’t open the door and let myself in. Backing away from the door, I considered the building’s streaked aluminum siding, concrete foundation, and shingled roof.
My wolf regarded the door with disdain. Were Fenerec jaws strong enough to bend metal? If I could get a grip on the doorknob, a twist and a pull would get me in—if the door wasn’t locked. I circled around the building, halting after I turned the corner.
Someone had stacked firewood along the back wall. A gap in the pile revealed another door. Those inside had plenty of ways out of the building, a fact I couldn’t change. I huffed my annoyance.
If I had my way, I’d burn them all alive as they had tried to burn me alive. Setting the place on fire, however, would only flush them out. Once they were on the move—once Harthel revealed himself—I could deal with him.
I thirsted for his blood and longed to listen to his screams.
Before I could deal with Harthel and his accomplices, I needed to check if Ryan was within, dead or alive. Even if his lifeless body waited for me, I didn’t want to burn him. My fear and grief welled up, and I lifted my abused and battered paws, placing them on the woodpile.
I had melted silver with magic. Wood had to be far easier to ignite than metal. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly I blistered my paws in the process, I wouldn’t give up. I wouldn’t rest until everyone responsible for Ryan’s shooting died.
My wolf wanted to crunch their bones in her jaws, and I had no intentions of denying her.
I prepared for the pain, closed my eyes, and concentrated, digging my claws into the dried bark. In their efforts to prevent me from starting unwanted fires, the witches had given me a list of things not to do, including visualizing flame in my head. Colors meant a lot to fire witches, as far as I could guess.
I couldn’t picture the yellows, oranges, and reds of flame, but I knew its bright warmth and feared its smoke. Shoving aside my discomfort and doubts, I focused my attention on the one thing left for me: vengeance.
Harthel’s world would burn, and I would stoke the flames until nothing remained but ash.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Instead of burning me, the heat beneath my paws soothed. Smoke tickled my nose, and I huffed to clear my nostrils of the scent so I wouldn’t sneeze. Cracking open my eyes, I examined the woodpile. Dark tendrils curled around my paws while bright flickers promised flames. I hopped back, perking my ears forward while I watched the smoldering wood brighten and ignite.
To flush out my prey and gain entrance to the building, I needed to smoke them out, which meant the flames needed to enter the building without being too low to the ground.
Unless I incinerated the building, the Fenerec inside wouldn’t be at risk. If Harthel didn’t manage to escape, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.
The wood caught, and heat washed over me. I was aware of the flames and their hunger, and I urged them to burn hotter, faster, brighter.
Streamers of licking fire spiraled upwards, and I stared at the roof above.
The shingles and plywood beneath didn’t stand a chance; they burned, and as though reading my mind, the tendrils of fire wormed into the building from above. Startled cries came from within, and I lolled my tongue, pressing as close to the woodpile as I dared.
My fires surrounded me, but they didn’t singe my fur. They welcomed and warmed me. Prowling along the woodpile, I stopped at the door leading inside, glaring at the barricade. Shouts came from inside, and I bared my teeth from frustration.
Flame slithered along the gutters of the garage, stretched down the siding of the building, and snaked into the building through the door’s frame. The heat grew so intense I backed away, my fur smoking. Metal groaned, crackled, and popped.
The knob’s familiar gray brightened, became vivid, and surpassed the brilliance of the whitest white I knew. Yellow, orange, and red were the domains of flame, but I didn’t know which color the knob was, nor was I given long to consider it. Smoke enveloped the door, and when it cleared, molten metal dripped to the ground. The door ignited, the glass panes shattering while the rest crumbled into smoldering chunks.
My abused paws throbbed, but I jumped over the debris into the building. Smoke stung my eyes, and I huffed to clear my nose of the stench. On the outside, the garage resembled the buildings of the town. On the inside, it was a home filled with couches, a big screen television, and hammocks hung from the ceiling. Rugs covered the floor, overlapping to hide most of the concrete.
Someone had opened two of the bay doors, and through the haze, I saw figures moving outside. With a mind of its own, the flames stretched from roof to ground, keeping my enemies at bay. I snarled and limped through the garage.
The smoke killed my sense of smell, but as though aware I needed my vision, the flames stayed high and clear of where I searched, followed me, and devoured everything in my wake.
I found Ryan lying on the floor near one of the couches, and the scent of his blood overwhelmed even the stench of the burning garage. He lay still, pale, his eyes closed. Dark marks stained the front of his pale shirt, and I knew the color for what it was: crimson red.
Everyone had been right. The color was vivid and brilliant, and if it hadn’t represented everything I had lost, it would have been beautiful.
My wolf’s grief welled up through me, but instead of voicing her mourning cries, I sighed, grabbed hold of the back of his shirt in my teeth, and dragged him, step by painful step, towards the back of the garage.
The fire cleared a path for me, the concrete black from where the flames incinerated anything in my way. Not even the door’s glass withstood the heat; nothing but a film of powder remained.
I pulled him through the gravel and over the weed-filled yard to the thick brush and the safety of the trees. My wolf’s misery intensified, and when she wanted to lie down and stay with our mate, I denied her.
Before either one of us rested, Harthel had to be dealt with. Then I could mourn for what might have been. I snarled and left Ryan’s body safely away from the fire I had started, limping around the building to where I had seen the Fenerec gathered.
As though understanding I had taken what I desired from the structure, my fires rampaged and a column of flame blasted skyward, roaring with a fury matching my own. Every step hurt, but the pain forced me to concentrate on my goal.
The burning building didn’t matter. Nothing did, except Harthel and his accomplices. I snarled, snapping my teeth in my eagerness to be done with them all.
I turned the corner and stopped. Dalton had told me how many were in the pack, but I couldn’t remember nor did I care. There were sixteen men in front of me, and Harthel was one of them. My wolf lusted for blood. While my prey stared at my flames, enraptured by them, I prowled closer.
Not even the smoke could mask the stench of Harthel’s cologne. His rotund body, large enough to account for two of the Fenerec combined, was easy to pick out through the haze. The man stood apart from the Fenerec, although I couldn’t tell if he was avoiding them or they wanted nothing to do with him. One of the Fenerec males spotted me, his entire body going rigid.
Instead of revealing me, he turned his gaze back to the flames, and as I drew closer, my nose detected the bite of wariness in the air. One by one, the other males noticed my approach, but none of them acted.
My wolf approved of their discretion. While responsible for more crimes than I cared to think about, they hadn’t hurt Ryan.
Once I dealt with Harthel, I would deal with the Fenerec males. Satisfied with my decision, my wolf focused her attention on our prey, her disgust strengthening as she considered him and his rolls of fat.
The Fenerec closest to Harthel retreated, which drew the man’s attention to me. The dark miasma I loathed reached out, coiling around the nearest male, who stopped and voiced a low whine.
“I thought I said none of you were to become animals,” Harthel snapped.
Most of the Fenerec flinched, and I displayed
my teeth but made no noise. Ryan had taught me that.
Hunting wolves made no noise.
The Fenerec males exchanged looks.
One took a step towards Harthel, and while his smile showed his teeth, there was nothing friendly about the Fenerec’s expression. “I warned you the male you shot had a mate. I warned you it wasn’t wise to bring him. I told you to leave him, but you insisted on bringing him. To study.”
I took a step closer, judging the distance separating Harthel and I.
“Get rid of her,” Harthel snapped.
“You shot her mate. Take care of her yourself.” The male shoved his hands in his pockets, his body appearing relaxed, but my wolf was aware of the tension in his stance and the way he balanced his weight, poised to act.
I couldn’t tell if he meant to help or hinder. My wolf didn’t care. She wanted Harthel’s blood and had no interest in the other males—not yet, at least. I couldn’t mimic Ryan’s fluid grace, not on bloodied, blistered paws, but I burst into a sprint, gathered myself, and lunged for Harthel, snapping my teeth at his face.
I scraped his cheek before sinking my fangs deep into his shoulder. With my front paws, I clawed at his neck and face. The surge of heat and stench of charred flesh heralded the man’s shrill screams.
While I was no longer small, I wasn’t large either, and with a heave of his arm, Harthel threw me off him. My fangs tore through him as I was forced to release him. I hit the ground on my side, rolled, and scrambled to get my feet under me.
“Matia, sit,” Dad ordered. Startled by the command in his voice and the fact he was somewhere behind me, I planted my hindquarters on the ground. My wolf’s disgust grated, but like me, she hesitated to defy him. I recognized my dad’s tone; he meant business and wouldn’t tolerate anything other than obedience.
“R-Ralph,” Harthel stammered.
Dad lifted a handgun, the kind I’d only seen in movies. “Fuck off and die, Chuck.”
The instant Harthel’s name left my dad’s lips, he pulled the trigger. Harthel jerked and toppled to the ground, his eyes open and staring. The bright, vivid crimson of blood sprayed while Dad aimed and fired three more times.
“Shit. I was supposed to tell him why I was shooting him in the face before I fired.” Dad sighed, clacked his teeth in his frustration, and stowed his gun in a hip holster. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to give him a name and humanize him, either.”
My dad had lost his mind, he had a gun, and he was a good shot. Being obedient seemed wise, so while I flattened my ears, I stayed put.
My wolf wanted to retreat and return to Ryan’s side; fat, sick meat didn’t appeal to her, and she had no interest in the other males. She wanted Ryan, and her grief melded with my own.
“Inquisitor.” The male who had the courage to speak to Harthel relaxed his stance. “You’ve come for us.”
It wasn’t a question, and the relief in the man’s tone startled me into turning my head in his direction. I flicked an ear at Dad, shifting my weight from front paw to front paw in an effort to relieve the discomfort.
“He’s not an Inquisitor,” Dalton announced, emerging from the trees. “We are, though. He’s just a very angry Fenerec-born father with a puppy to defend.”
“So I see. If you’re after the male, he was in the garage.” The Fenerec glanced in the direction of the gutted building, which still burned with unnatural intensity. “I request a full investigation and stay of execution for the majority of my pack. I acknowledge my guilt and the guilt of my Second, Third, and Fourth.”
Dalton crossed his arms over his chest. Fenerec, as wolves, emerged from the forest and surrounded the Alpha, their hackles raised and fangs bared. “Reason?”
The male pointed at Harthel’s still twitching body. “Sorcerer.”
“Sorcerer,” Dalton echoed, his eyes narrowing, focusing on Harthel’s corpse before glancing in my direction. “Ralph, if any of them move so much as an inch, shoot them. The rest of the pack will stay here. Matia, where’s Ryan?”
I lowered my head and whined.
Dad waved me off with one hand while unholstering his gun with the other. “Go on, Matia. Between me, Dalton’s pack, and my parents, I don’t think these pups are going to give us any trouble—not if they’re serious about a stay of execution.”
My wolf’s need to see Ryan again drove me to my paws despite the pain. I limped several steps before Dalton grabbed hold of my scruff with one hand, knelt down, and grabbed my foreleg with the other.
“Those are going to be a long time healing.” Releasing me, he rose and waited for me to lead the way. “Show me where Ryan is.”
Sighing, I made my way around the burning building. The flames were dying down, no longer stretching in spiraling columns to the sky. Smoke darkened the air and deadened my sense of smell whenever I got too close to the ruined garage. Dragging Ryan through the weeds hadn’t left much of a trail, but I found the spot where I had left him. Nothing had disturbed him in the time I had gone after Harthel.
Dad had stolen my kill and chance for vengeance, giving Harthel a far more merciful death than my wolf and I believed he deserved. I sat beside Ryan and whined, pawing at my mate’s still arm.
Crimson red, so vivid, stained the gray of his skin where my paw touched his arm. My blood was far brighter than the stains on his shirt, although I wasn’t quite sure what color it was; it wasn’t red. I didn’t want to know, either.
If the price for seeing color was Ryan’s life, I wanted my safe, comfortable world of black, white, and gray—a world with him in it. Dalton knelt beside me, digging his fingers into the fur of my scruff. With his other hand, he reached out and touched Ryan’s throat.
His gaze focused on his wrist. Had the Alpha always worn a watch? The detail seemed so meaningless, but I couldn’t look away from it. Unlike most people, he wore an analog, and I watched the second hand tick its way around the face.
“Matia, remember what I told you about older Fenerec being difficult to kill?”
I sighed, turned my attention to Ryan’s bloodied shirt, and pressed my paw over his heart, marked by the center of the dark stains. If he had a heartbeat, I couldn’t tell; the throb from my burns ruined any chance of feeling it, if he had one.
Dalton sighed. “Old Fenerec shut down their biological functions when they’re critically injured. He’s old enough they’d have to shoot him in the head to kill him, Matia—they didn’t. Your mate’s going to be fine. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s back on his feet within a week.”
I pinned my ears back and glared at Dalton. No one recovered from being shot in the heart, let alone within a week. My wolf wanted to growl, and I heeded her wishes. I removed my paw from Ryan’s chest, sat, and glared at the Alpha.
“You really don’t believe me, do you?” Dalton shook his head, worked his arms under Ryan, and rose to his feet with a grunt. “Damn, he looks scrawny, but he weighs a ton.”
I whined. If there was life in Ryan’s limp body, I couldn’t tell. The subtle discoloration to his nails bothered me. It wasn’t white, black, or gray, and my inability to comprehend what I looked at stoked my anxiety.
Everything, including my mate, looked wrong.
“He’ll be all right, Matia. The Inquisition has everything needed to speed his recovery. You can stay near him the entire time. When the witches aren’t trying to make sure you aren’t a menace to society—or destroyer of even more buildings—you can nurse him all you want. He’ll probably heal faster than you will. I’d carry you, but I’d rather not drop Ryan trying.”
I huffed, turned my head away from him, and forced myself into a lope. I made it a dozen strides before I slowed to a limping walk. By the time I reached the front of the garage, I had to swallow my whimpers.
The rogue pack of Fenerec hadn’t moved. Dad was crouched beside a row of firearms, dismantling them and leaving the pieces in nearby piles. He glanced up at my approach and focused on Dalton. “How is he?”
“Heart
shot, and I think it went through. I didn’t want to jostle him. No idea if there’s any spinal damage. Gavin, go shift. You’re in charge of Matia. She’s got silver burns on her paws. You better bring one of the muzzle sets with you; once the adrenaline wears off, we’re going to have our hands full with her.”
I growled at the thought of wearing a muzzle like some domesticated dog. My wolf snarled her displeasure.
A dark-colored wolf, which I assumed was Gavin, trotted off in the direction of the town.
Echoing my growls, Dalton balanced on one foot and gave me a kick in the ribs, hard enough to stagger me but gentle enough it didn’t hurt. “It’ll be ten times worse if you fight us on this, Matia. Enough. Cooperate, or I’ll have you locked on the other end of the headquarters in a room not even you can break out of. Don’t test me right now. I’m not in the mood for games.”
My wolf believed him, and before I could stop her, she wrested away control long enough to turn my head so I wouldn’t meet the Alpha’s gaze.
“How bad are the silver burns?” Dad straightened, narrowing his eyes.
“Bad enough. She’ll be fine; looks like she bled out any silver poisoning if there was any. It’ll hurt, but she’ll heal. I’ll keep an eye on our new friends, Mr. Evans. Why don’t you go make some calls? We’re going to need reinforcements, I think. Taking them alive wasn’t in our original plan.”
Dad snorted, rose to his feet, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Regarding the device with a disdainful scowl, he shrugged, wound up, and threw it on the ground as hard as he could.
“Or you can trigger the homing beacon on your phone and get us all in trouble.” Dalton shook his head. “Calling them would have worked.”
“And lose a chance to get a new phone at someone else’s expense? Nonsense. It’s far more fun this way, and apparently I’m out of people to shoot, unless you’re volunteering.”
Dalton knelt and lowered Ryan to the ground. Digging out his phone, the Alpha tossed it to Dad. “If you’re going to give them collective heart attacks, I could use a new phone, too.”